The author would like to thank the following people:

The Flying Rat Toli club, for support during a dark time.

Shelly Shapiro and Sue Rostoni for timely help, advice, and hard work at every stage of the process. My fellow authors—Troy Denning, Jim Luceno, Elaine Cunningham, and Mike Stackpole for helping me try and get things right. Thanks also to Michael Kogge, Colette Russen, Kathleen O’Shea, Deanna Hoak, Ben Harper, Leland Chee, Chris Cerasi, Enrique Guerrero, Eelia Goldsmith Hendersheid, Helen Keier, and Dan Wallace. And again, to Kris Boldis for his support. It’s been a blast, everyone!

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Anakin Solo; Jedi Knight (male human)

Booster Terrik; captain, Errant Venture (male human)

Cilghal; Jedi healer (female Mon Calamari)

Corran Horn; Jedi Knight (male human)

Colonel Gavin Darklighter; Rogue Squadron (male human)

Han Solo; captain, Millennium Falcon (male human)

Jacen Solo; Jedi Knight (male human)

Jaina Solo; Jedi Knight (female human)

Kae Kwaad; master shaper (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Kam Solusar; Jedi Master (male human)

Kyp Durron; Jedi Master (male human)

Leia Organa Solo; former New Republic diplomat (female human)

Luke Skywalker; Jedi Master (male human)

Mara Jade Skywalker; Jedi Master (female human)

Nen Yim; shaper adept (female Yuuzhan Vong)

Nom Anor; executor (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Onimi; Supreme Overlord Shimrra’s jester (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Qurang Lah; warleader (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Tahiri Veila; Jedi student (female human)

Talon Karrde; independent information broker (male human)

Traest Kre’fey; admiral (male Bothan)

Tsavong Lah; warmaster (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Vergere; familiar to the deceased Yuuzhan Vong priestess, Elan (female Fosh)

PROLOGUE

BLOOD, DRIFTING IN starlight.

That was the first thing Jacen Solo saw when he opened his eyes. It had beaded into what looked, in the dim, like polished black pearls reflecting the ancient starlight filtering through the transparisteel a meter or so away. He noted absently that the spheroids were all spinning in the same direction.

He was spinning, too, very slowly, through the little nebula of blood. Even in the negligible illumination he could tell he was only a few centimeters from a wall.

From the ache in his leg and skull, he had a good idea where the blood was coming from. It was cold, too, but the air seemed stuffy.

What was going on?

Outside the window, something large and irregular moved to block the stars, and he remembered.

Tsavong Lah, warmaster of the Yuuzhan Vong, clicked the obsidian-sharp talons of his new foot against the living coral of his command chamber floor and considered it in the pale light of the mycoluminescent walls.

He might have had the foot the cursed Jeedai took from him replaced with a clone of his own, but that would have been not only dishonorable but personally unsatisfying. That an infidel had taken something from him was bad enough; to pretend that the wound had never happened was unthinkable.

But a hobbling warmaster would lose respect, especially if he had not made the sacrifice himself.

The pain was fading, and feeling was coming into his new foot as the nerves learned their way. The four armored digits of a vua’sa now made up half his stride.

The choice was an homage to the most ancient traditions of his office. The first warmaster created by Yun-Yuuzhan had not been a Yuuzhan Vong, but a living weapon-beast he named vua’sa. A Yuuzhan Vong challenged the vua’sa to single combat, triumphed, and took its place. Even now, Vua was a popular name among the warrior caste.

Tsavong Lah had bade the shapers grow him a vua’sa. Though the creature had been extinct since the ancestral home planet was lost, its pattern still existed in the deeps of shaper memory-qahsa. They had made it; he had fought it and triumphed, despite having to fight on one foot. Now Tsavong Lah knew the gods still deemed him worthy of his station.

And from the cooling corpse of the vua’sa, he had a new foot.

“Warmaster.”

Tsavong recognized the voice of his aide, Selong Lian, but did not look up from the examination of his prize.

“Speak.”

“Someone petitions for words with you.”

“Not my expected appointment?”

“No, Warmaster. It is the deception-sect priestess Ngaaluh.”

Tsavong Lah growled in the back of his throat. Worshipers of Yun-Harla had failed the Yuuzhan Vong of late. Still, the sect was powerful, and Supreme Overlord Shimrra continued to favor the antics of those who worshiped the Trickster goddess. And since Yun-Harla oversaw the elevation of warriors and had possibly aided him in his fight with the vua’sa, he perhaps owed the goddess a favor, as well.

“Let me hear her words,” he said.

A moment later, the priestess entered. She was slender, her back-sloping forehead narrower than most, the bluish sacs beneath her eyes mere crescents. She wore a ceremonial robe of living tissue grown to resemble a flayed skin.

“Warmaster,” she said, crossing her arms in salute. “I am greatly honored.”

“Your message,” he snapped impatiently. “I have other business waiting. Harrar sent you?”

“Yes, Warmaster.”

“Speak, then.”

“The priestess Elan, who died to further the conquest of the infidels—”

“Who failed her task,” Tsavong Lah reminded.

“Just so, Warmaster. She failed, but died nevertheless in the cause of the glorious Yuuzhan Vong. The priestess Elan had a familiar, a sentient creature named Vergere.”

“I am aware of that. Did it not die with its mistress?”

“No, Warmaster. That is what I have come to tell you. It managed to escape the infidels and make its way back to us.”

“Did it.”

“Yes, Warmaster. She has communicated to us much of interest concerning the infidels, things she learned in their custody. Much more she knows and will not tell except to you, Tsavong Lah.”

“You suspect an infidel trick? An attempt to assassinate me, perhaps?”

“We do not entirely trust her, Warmaster, but determined to bring you her words so you might decide how to treat her.”

Tsavong Lah inclined his heavily scarred features. “It is good you did so. She must be interrogated and examined by the haar vhinic, of course. Afterward, have her brought to my ship, but keep her far from me. Tell her I will need further proof of both her intelligence and intentions before she may stand before me.”

“It will be done, Warmaster.”

He gave the priestess the sign of dismissal, and she immediately departed. Good. A priestess who knew her station.

His aide immediately took her place at the red-flanged receiving portal. “Qurang Lah has arrived, Warmaster,” he said. “And the executor, Nom Anor.”

“They will see me, now,” Tsavong Lah pronounced.

Qurang Lah was his crèche-brother, a less elevated version of himself. His face was cut in deep hatch marks, and the gash of Domain Lah, while not as deep as the warmaster’s ear-to-ear cut, was still a clear marker of his lineage.

“Belek tiu, Warmaster.” Qurang Lah saluted with crossed arms, as did the much slighter executor by his side. “Command me.”

Tsavong Lah nodded at his crèche-brother, but fixed his gaze on Nom Anor. The executor’s one real eye and the venomous plaeryin bol that occupied his other socket stared unblinking back at him.

“Executor,” Tsavong Lah rumbled. “I have taken your latest suggestions under advisement. You are certain they are ripe for conquest?”

“The hinges of their fortress are weakened, Warmaster,” Nom Anor replied. “I have seen to it personally. The battle will be a quick one, the victory easily secured.”

“I have heard this from you before,” the warmaster said. He turned his attention to the warrior. “Qurang Lah. You have been briefed in the matter. Have you anything to say?”

Qurang Lah revealed his sharpened teeth. “Conquest is always desirable,” he said. “However, this seems a foolish time to move. The infidels tremble before us; they fear to counterattack; they dare dream our bloody path ended with Duro and that we might be satisfied to live in the same galaxy with abomination-using vermin. This is to our advantage; the shipwomb produces their doom, but it must be given time. At this moment, our fleet is thinly scattered, more thinly than the infidels know. One misstep now, before the shipwomb again swells our fleet, could be costly indeed.”

“There will be no cost,” Nom Anor asserted. “And the moment to strike is now. If we wait longer, the Jeedai will have more time to act.”

“The Jeedai.” Tsavong Lah snarled. “Tell me, Nom Anor. With all of your infidel contacts and all your self-proclaimed expertise in manipulating them, why have you been unable to bring me the one Jeedai I desire above all others—Jacen Solo?”

Nom Anor did not flinch. “That is a most difficult task, as you know, Warmaster,” he admitted. “Certain elements among the Jeedai and their allies have gone rogue. They no longer answer to the senate, or any other body where we have allies. That is my point; when you told the infidels that we would cease our conquest if the Jeedai were delivered up to us, it was a brilliant strategy. It gave us time to build our force and secure our territories. It gave us many Jeedai. But Jacen is kin to Skywalker, the master of them all. He is the son of Leia Organa Solo and Han Solo, both worthy opponents who have managed to vanish for the time being. I have strategies that will uncover them; even now, a plan unfolds regarding Skywalker and his mate Mara and that will bring the others running, Jacen included.”

“And this place you wish to feel the talons of our might? This involves the Jeedai?”

“It does not, Warmaster. But it will throw their senate into desperate confusion. It will give us the leverage we need to end the Jeedai threat forever. As of now, the government of the New Republic still refuses to make it policy to outlaw the Jeedai. In one stroke I can change that, as well as build us a new fortress overlooking the Core. But the time is now; if we wait, we will lose our opportunity.”

“Nom Anor has counseled us ill before,” Qurang Lah said.

“This is too true,” the warmaster returned. “But it chafes me not to strike, to pretend quiescence so long. The number of Jeedai the weak-kneed infidels have given us has declined lately. We were humiliated at Yavin Four. There must be atonement, and Yun-Yuuzhan craves the scent of blood.”

“If you wish it, Warmaster,” Qurang Lah said, “I shall lead my fleet. I never shrink from battle when my duty calls.”

“Hurr,” Tsavong Lah murmured, considering. “Nom Anor, you will implement your plan. Qurang Lah will command the Yuuzhan Vong forces, and you will advise him how to proceed. If your advice is again flawed, there will be a more serious reckoning. If it is good, as you assure me it will be, you will atone for your recent mistakes. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Warmaster. I will not fail.”

“See you do not. Qurang Lah, have you anything else to say?”

“I have not, Warmaster. My duty is clear now.” He snapped the salute. “Belek tiu. The infidels will fall before us. Their ships shall burn like falling stars. As I speak it, it is already done.”

PART ONE

THRESHOLD

PART TWO

PASSAGE

PART THREE

DESCENT

PART FOUR

REBIRTH

ONE

“YOU’VE HAD WORSE ideas, Luke,” Mara Jade Skywalker reluctantly admitted, nodding her head back so the sunlight fell on her face and her deep red-gold tresses trailed behind her. Posed that way, eyes closed, framed against the blue line of the sea, her beauty closed Luke’s throat for a moment.

Mara’s green eyes opened, and she looked at him with a sort of wistful fondness before arching a cynical brow.

“Getting all fatherly on me again?”

“No,” he said softly. “Just thinking how ridiculously lucky I am.”

“Hey. I’m the one with the hormone swings. You aren’t trying to one-up me, are you?” But she took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s walk a bit more.”

“You sure you’re up to it?”

“What, you want to carry me? Of course I’m up to it. I’m pregnant, not hamstrung. You think it would be better for our kid if I spent all day lying around sucking on oorp?”

“I just thought you wanted to relax.”

“Absolutely. And this is relaxing. Us, all alone, on a beautiful island. Well, sort of an island. Come on.”

The beach was warm beneath Luke’s bare feet. He had been reluctant to agree to going shoeless, but Mara had insisted that’s what one did on a beach. He found, to his surprise, that it reminded him pleasantly of his boyhood on Tatooine. Back then, in the relative cool of early evening—one of those rare periods when both blazing suns were nearly set—sometimes he would take his shoes off and feel the still-warm sand between his toes. Not when Uncle Owen was looking, of course, because the old man would launch into an explanation of what shoes were for in the first place, about the valuable moisture Luke was losing though his soles.

For an instant, he could almost hear his uncle’s voice and smell Aunt Beru’s giju stew. He had an urge to put his shoes back on.

Owen and Beru Larses had been the first personal casualties in Luke Skywalker’s battle against the Empire. He wondered if they had known why they died.

He missed them. Anakin Skywalker may have been his father, but the Larses had been his parents.

“I wonder how Han and Leia are doing?” Mara wondered aloud, interrupting his reverie.

“I’m sure they’re fine. They’ve only been gone a few days.”

“I wonder if Jacen should have gone with them?”

“Why not? He’s proven himself capable often enough. And they’re his parents. Besides, with half the galaxy after him, it’s better he stay on the move.”

“Right. I only meant it makes things worse for Jaina. It’s hard on her, doing nothing, knowing her brother is out fighting the fight.”

“I know. But Rogue Squadron will probably call her up pretty soon.”

“Sure,” Mara replied. “Sure they will.” She sounded far from convinced.

“You don’t think so?” Luke asked.

“No. I think they would like to, but her Jedi training makes her too much of a political liability right now.”

“When did the Rogues ever care about politics? Has someone said this to you?”

“Not in so many words, but I hear things, and I’m trained to listen to the words behind the words. I hope I’m wrong, for Jaina’s sake.”

Her feelings brushed Luke in the Force, running a troubled harmony to her assertion.

“Mara,” Luke said, “my love, while I’ll believe you when you say picking up parasites on a strange beach is relaxing—”

“Nonsense. This sand is as sterile as an isolation lab. It’s perfectly safe to walk barefoot. And you like the feel of it.”

“If you say so. But I forbid any more talk about politics, Jedi, the war, the Yuuzhan Vong, anything like that. We’re out here for you to relax, to forget all of that for a day or so. Just a day.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re the one who thinks the whole universe will collapse unless you’re there to keep it spinning.”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“Say something like that again, and I’ll make you wish you were,” she said, a bit sharply. “And by the way, if we do this again, it’s your turn.”

“We’ll play sabacc for it,” Luke responded, trying to keep a straight face but failing. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, hard.

They continued along the strand, past a rambling stand of crawling slii, all knotted roots and giant gauzy leaves. Waves were beginning to lap on the beach, as they hadn’t earlier, which meant they were on the bow side of the “island.”

It wasn’t an island at all, of course, but a carefully landscaped park atop a floating mass of polymer cells filled with inert gas. A hundred or so of them cruised the artificial western sea of Coruscant, pleasure craft built by rich merchants during the grand, high days of the Old Republic. The Emperor had discouraged such frivolity, and most had been docked for decades and fallen into disrepair. Still, many were in good enough shape to refurbish, and in the youth of the New Republic, a few sharp businessmen had purchased some and made them commercial successes. One such person, not surprisingly, had been Lando Calrissian, a long-time friend of Luke’s. He had offered Luke use of the craft whenever he wished it. It had taken Luke a long time to call in the offer.

He was glad he had done it—Mara seemed to be enjoying it. But she was right, of course. With everything that was happening now, it was hard not to think of it as a waste of time.

But some feelings could not be trusted. Mara was showing now, her belly gloriously rounded around their son, and she was suffering from all of the physical discomforts any woman did in that situation. Nothing in her training as an assassin, smuggler, or Jedi Knight had prepared her for this compromised state, and despite her obvious love for their unborn child, Luke knew physical weakness grated on her. Her comment about Jaina might just as well have been about herself.

And there were other worries, too, and a pocket paradise wasn’t likely to help her forget them, but at least they could take a few deep breaths and pretend they were on some distant, uninhabited world, rather than in the thick of the biggest mess since before the Empire had been defeated.

No, strike that. The Empire had threatened to extinguish liberty and freedom, to bring the dark side of the Force to ascendance. The enemy they faced now threatened extinction in a much more literal and ubiquitous sense.

So Luke walked with his wife as evening fell, pretending not to be thinking of these things, knowing she could feel he was anyway.

“What will we name him?” Mara asked at last. The sun had vanished in a lens on the horizon, and now Coruscant began to shatter the illusion of pristine nature. The distant shores glowed in a solid mass, and the sky remained deep red on the horizon. Only near zenith did it resemble the night sky of most moonless planets, but even there was a baroque embroidery of light as aircars and starships followed their carefully assigned paths, some coming home, some leaving home, some merely arriving at another port.

A million little lights, each with a story, each a spark of significance in the Force that flowed from them, around them, through them.

No illusion, here. All was nature. All was beauty, if you had eyes willing to see it.

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“It’s just a name,” she said.

“You would think. But everyone seems to believe it’s important. Since we went public with the news, you wouldn’t believe how many suggestions I’ve gotten, and from the strangest places.”

Mara stopped walking, and her face reflected a sudden profound astonishment. “You’re afraid,” she said.

He nodded. “I guess I am. I guess I don’t think it’s ‘just a name,’ not when it comes to people like us. Look at Anakin. Leia named him after our father, a gesture to the person who became Darth Vader, as a recognition that he overcame the dark side and died a good man. It was her reconciliation with him, and a sign to the galaxy that the scars of war could heal. That we could forgive and move on. But for Anakin, it’s been a trial. When he was little, he always feared he would walk the same dark path his grandfather did. It was just a name, but it was a real burden to place on his shoulders. It may be years before we learn the full consequences of that decision.”

“For all that I admire your sister, she is a politician, and she thinks like one. That’s been good for the galaxy, not so good for her children.”

“Exactly,” Luke said reluctantly. “And whether I like it or not, Mara, because of who we are, our child will inherit part of our burden. I’m just afraid of placing an extra one on his shoulders. Suppose I named him Obi-Wan, as a salute to my old Master? Would he think that means I want him to grow up to be a Jedi? Would he think he had to live up to Ben’s reputation? Would he feel his choices in life constrained?”

“I see you’ve thought a lot about this.”

“I guess I have.”

“Notice how quickly this takes us back to the things you said we weren’t supposed to talk about?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Luke, this is who we are,” Mara said, stroking his shoulder lightly. “We can’t deny it, even alone on an island.” She dipped her foot in the wavelets lapping onto the beach. Luke closed his eyes and felt the wind on his face.

“Maybe not,” he admitted.

“And so what?” Mara said, playfully kicking a little water on the cuff of his pants. But then her face grew serious again. “There is one very important thing I want to say, now, before another second passes,” she informed him.

“What’s that?”

“I’m really hungry. Really, really hungry. If I don’t eat right away, I’m going to salt you in seawater and gobble you up.”

“You’d be dissapointed,” Luke said. “It’s fresh water. Come on. The pavilion isn’t far. There should be food waiting.”

Luke and Mara ate outside at a table of polished yellow Selonian marble while the blossoms around them chimed a quiet music and released fragrances to complement each course. Luke felt ridiculously pampered and a little guilty, but managed to relax somewhat into the mood.

But the mood was broken during the intermezzo, when the pavilion’s protocol droid interrupted them.

“Master Skywalker,” it said, “an aircar is approaching and requesting admittance through the security perimeter.”

“You have the signal?”

“Most assuredly.”

“Transfer to the holostation on the table.”

“As you wish, sir.”

A hologram of a man’s face appeared above the remains of their meal. It was human, very long, with aristocratic features.

“Kenth Hamner,” Luke said, a sense of foreboding pricking up his scalp. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

The retired colonel smiled briefly. “Nothing important. Just a visit from an old friend. May I come aboard?”

That’s what his words said. His expression, somehow, conveyed something altogether different.

“Of course. Link to the ship’s computer, and it will land you somewhere appropriate. I hope you like grilled nylog.”

“One of my favorites. I’ll see you soon.”

A few moments later, Hamner appeared from one of the several trails leading to the pavilion, accompanied by the droid.

“You two make me wish I was young again,” Hamner said, smiling, looking them over.

“We’re not so young, and you’re not so old,” Mara replied.

Hamner offered her a short bow from the waist. “Mara, you’re looking lovely as ever. And my deepest congratulations on your upcoming event.”

“Thank you, Kenth,” Mara returned graciously.

“Have a seat,” Luke said. “May I have the droid bring you something?”

“A cold drink of a mildly stimulating beverage perhaps? Surprise me.”

Luke sent the droid off with those rather vague instructions and then turned to Hamner, who was now seated.

“You didn’t come here just to congratulate us, did you?”

Hamner nodded sadly. “No. I came to give you a heads-up. Borsk Fey’lya has managed to secure an order for your arrest. The warrant will be served about six standard hours from now.”

TWO

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE Corellian Trade Spine and the Kathol sector, the Star Destroyer Errant Venture dropped out of hyperspace, reoriented its massive wedge-shaped frame, and resumed lightspeed. An uninformed observer would have had less than a minute to wonder what a Star Destroyer was doing in such an out-of-the-way part of space and why it was painted red.

Deep in the Destroyer’s belly, Anakin Solo hardly noticed the transition, so intent was he on what he was doing. He stood quickly into narrow profile, the point of his lightsaber aiming toward the deck, pommel level with his forehead and pointed at the ceiling. With two quick twists of his wrist, he deflected a pair of stun bolts from the remote whirring around him. He flipped the lightsaber to an identical position behind his back to catch the blast from a second remote, then dropped into a crouch, his luminescent weapon whipping up to high guard. A leaping somersault carried him over the sudden coordinated flurry of shots from the two flying spheres. By the time his feet touched the deck, he was weaving a complex set of parries that sent reddish bolts hissing against the walls.

He was in the rhythm, now, and his blue eyes sparkled like electron arcs as the stinging rays came faster, more often, better timed. After a few minutes of this, sweat was plastering his brown hair to his head and soaking his dark Jedi robes, but none of the painful though harmless attacks had found their mark.

He was warmed up, now.

“Halt,” he commanded. Immediately the spheres became stationary and quiescent.

He deactivated his lightsaber and set it aside. From a wall cabinet, Anakin removed another lightsaber, thumbed it on, took a few deep breaths, calmed his racing pulse. It was quiet in the storage compartment he’d converted into his training space. Quiet and spare and off-white. A motley trio of droids regarded him with unblinking eyes. Even the most casual observer could see they had been cobbled together from spare parts, though the central chassis of each was that of a rather common worker drone. They did not look particularly dangerous, until one examined what they held in their hands—wicked-looking staffs, sharp on one end, spoon-shaped on the other. They looked remarkably like snakes, an impression enhanced by the fact that they undulated now and then.

Anakin blew out another breath and nodded at the droids.

“Begin sequence one,” he said.

The droids flashed into motion, their spindly frames moving with eye-daunting speed, two flanking him on either side, one driving straight toward him. Anakin backpedaled and parried, dropped, and swept the legs out from under the droid on his right. The other two were attacking, one staff spearing at his neck, the other gone suddenly flexible, flicking around his rising parry toward his back. Anakin stepped forward a centimeter and felt the wind from the vicious whip-over as it came up short of his spine.

That’s it, he thought. I’m learning the range. The smallest movement possible to prevent the attack from landing is the best.

He dropped the high parry into a riposte. The droid, suddenly too close to him, tried to retreat but stopped instantly, deactivated when Anakin’s weapon touched its torso.

The downed droid was back up by then, and Anakin found himself circling, holding them at the very outside of his guard and in his field of vision. That kept them off him, and he could probably do that forever. He wouldn’t win the fight that way, though, so he gave them a rhythm to follow and let them try to break it.

One of the staffs suddenly spit a stream of liquid at him. He twisted his body to avoid it, again allowing only a centimeter for the miss. At the same moment, the other droid broke tempo and leapt in deep.

Anakin parried, but the staff wrapped around his wrist. He felt a distinct and painful electric shock. The other droid was an instant behind, leveling a blow at Anakin’s skull.

Somewhere a blaster shrieked, and the droid suddenly didn’t have a weapon—or the arm that held it.

“Halt!” Anakin shouted, and hurled himself away as the staff instantly released his hand. He came down in a fighting posture.

A dark-haired man with a blaster stood in the doorway. He had a beard liberally tinseled with silver and wore green robes the same shade as his eyes. He held the blaster up in a nonthreatening way, as if surrendering.

“Why did you do that?” Anakin asked, trying to suppress the anger suddenly boiling up. He had worked hard on that droid.

“You’re welcome,” Corran Horn said, holstering his weapon.

“Those are training droids. They wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“Oh no? Are those training amphistaffs they’re holding? if he’d hit you with it . . .”

“He wouldn’t have. They’re programmed to arrest their blows the second the staff touches my skin. And yes, they are training amphistaffs. They aren’t real.”

Corran’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you manage that? Why didn’t your lightsaber cut through them?”

“It’s not a lightsaber.”

Corran’s expression was almost worth the damage to the droid.

“It’s just a blade-shaped force field, a weak one,” Anakin explained. “Wouldn’t cut anything. The things my droids have act like amphistaffs and move like them, but they just spit dye and deliver a shock when they hit. They only weigh a kilogram or so.”

“I guess I ruined your droid for no good reason, then,” Corran said.

Anakin’s anger was entirely mastered now. It was something he had been working on. “It’s okay. I built it; I can fix it. I’ve got nothing but time.”

“I’m just curious,” Corran said, eyeing the droids. “Booster has a couple of duelist elites in storage. Why not use one of them to train with?”

Anakin deactivated the “weapon” and returned it to the cabinet. “Duelist elites don’t move like Yuuzhan Vong warriors. The droids I built do.”

“I wondered what you’ve been puttering at for the last few weeks.”

Anakin nodded. “I don’t want to lose my edge. You saw what happened—the one you shot had me.”

“Practice is fine,” Corran said. “I just wish you had informed me of what you were doing. Might have saved me a skipped heartbeat and you a droid.”

“Right. I forgot,” Anakin said.

Corran nodded again, this time with a more thoughtful look in his eye. “You didn’t notice me coming. That’s not good. You have to learn to extend your sphere of responsibility beyond the immediate battle.”

“I know,” Anakin replied. “I wasn’t using the Force. I’m training to fight without it.”

“Because the Yuuzhan Vong can’t be sensed in the Force, I assume.”

Anakin nodded. “Of course. The Force is a wonderful tool—”

“The Force isn’t merely a tool, Anakin,” Corran admonished. “It’s much more than that.”

“I know,” Anakin said, a bit peevishly. “But among other things it is a tool, and for fighting the Yuuzhan Vong, it’s just not the right tool for the job, no more than a hydrospanner is what you would use to calibrate the input feed of an astromech.”

Corran cocked his head skeptically. “I can’t precisely dispute that, but it’s not because it isn’t wrong.”

Anakin shrugged. “Try it like this, then. All Jedi training involves the Force, even combat training. Sensing blows and blaster bolts before they happen, that sort of thing. Shoving our enemies around telekinetically—”

“With some exceptions,” Corran dryly reminded him.

“Right. So you should know what I mean. What do you think of Jedi who can’t win a fight without resorting to telekinesis? For that matter, you were CorSec long before you were Jedi. You should be able to see that the Force has become as much of a crutch for us as anything. The Yuuzhan Vong prove that.”

“Sounding a little like your brother. Are you abandoning the Force?”

Anakin’s eyebrows arched up. “Of course not. I’ll use it when it works. When I was being hunted by the Yuuzhan Vong on Yavin Four, I discovered ways to use the Force against them. I looked for the holes in the Force around me. I listened to the voices of the jungle and felt the fear of its creatures when the Yuuzhan Vong warriors passed near.”

“And you learned to sense the Yuuzhan Vong themselves,” Corran pointed out.

“Not with the Force, though. With the lambent I used to rebuild my lightsaber.”

“How can you be sure? I’ve never believed the Yuuzhan Vong don’t exist in the Force. They must. Everything does. We just don’t know how to do it. You attuned yourself to a piece of Vong biotech and now you can sense them. Can you be sure you haven’t found where they live in the Force?”

“Maybe I did make some sort of metalinkage, but if I did I think it’s more of a translation from one to another. I can’t be sure. All I know is, I can use it. But if I lose my lightsaber, or it’s destroyed, or the lambent dies—I still want to be able to fight them.”

Corran placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Anakin, I understand you’ve been through a lot. The Yuuzhan Vong have taken much that was precious from you. I’ll always be grateful for what you did for my children, and so I’m telling you this as a friend. You need to control your emotions. You can’t allow yourself to hate.”

Anakin shook his head. “I don’t hate the Yuuzhan Vong, Corran. My time with them helped me to understand them. More than ever, I think they must be stopped, but I promise you, I do not hate them. I can fight them without anger.”

“I hope what you say is true, but anger is a quick-change artist and a trickster. More often than not, you don’t see it for what it is.”

“Thanks,” Anakin said. “I appreciate the advice.”

Corran again looked slightly skeptical. Then he motioned toward the droids. “These droids were a good idea. I’d be happy to help you repair that one.”

“That’s okay. Like I said, I have plenty of time on my hands.”

Corran smiled. “Getting a little deck fever?”

“I’m ready to get back out there, if that’s what you mean. But Tahiri still needs me.”

“You’re a good friend to her, Anakin.”

“I haven’t been. I’m trying to be.”

“Tahiri won’t get over her ordeal in a few months. She needs more time. I think she’ll understand if you have to go.”

Anakin dropped his gaze from Corran’s. “I promised her I would stay a while, and that’s what I’m going to do. But it’s hard, knowing what’s going on out there. Knowing my friends and family are fighting while I’m here doing nothing.”

“But you aren’t doing nothing; you just said it yourself. You’re still a part of the defensive effort. Protecting the Jedi students is important. Jumping randomly around the galaxy is probably the safest thing we can do, but there’s no telling when the Yuuzhan Vong or one of their sympathizers will pick up our trail. If they do, we’ll need everyone we can get.”

“I guess so. I’m just so restless.”

“You are,” Corran agreed. “I’ve noticed you’ve been kind of itchy. That’s why I was looking for you, in fact.”

“Really? What for?”

“We need supplies. Obviously, if we’re trying to keep our location secret we can’t take the only red Star Destroyer in the galaxy into an inhabited system. I was going to take one of the transports out. I thought you might like to go. Hopefully it will be a boring trip, but—”

“Yes,” Anakin said. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. I could use a copilot. I’ll meet you in the docking bay tomorrow, say after morning meal?”

“Great. Thanks, Corran.”

“No problem. See you then.”

THREE

JACEN WATCHED THE ship approach as if in a dream. It remained a black presence against the stars—it had no running lights. It must be in the shadow of the Millennium Falcon, he thought.

The Force told him there was nothing there at all.

It gradually moved from the umbra into the distant orange light of the nameless star a parsec below them, and now he could see details. Distances were deceiving in space—he couldn’t tell how large it was. It was spicular, like two cones with their bases pushed together. Where the cones met, three finned, heartlike structures projected. These Jacen recognized as dovin basals, living creatures that bent space, time, and gravity around themselves. There could be no doubt it was a Yuuzhan Vong ship, for it was made—rather, grown—from the same yorik coral Jacen had seen so many times already. Its surface was roughened by numerous small welts, as if the ship had contracted Bakuran fever bumps.

When he realized the bumps were coralskippers, the Yuuzhan Vong equivalent of starfighters, he suddenly grasped the scale. The thing was the size of a Dreadnaught.

And it was coming for them. It was almost certainly what had yanked them so brutally out of hyperspace.

Jacen snapped out of his fog of confusion and pushed away from the bulkhead. He was in the dorsal gunner’s turret. He’d been sitting there in contemplation before the sudden terrifying jolt. His head was bleeding, but not critically, so far as he could tell.

He pulled himself quickly along the rungs of the ladder into the main cabin. He fought the feeling of falling; it had been a while since he had done any zero-g training.

“Mom! Dad!” His voice rang in the silent ship. A primitive part of him cringed at the sound, warning him that the predator outside would hear him. It couldn’t, of course, not through the vacuum, but human instincts were older than space travel.

He got no answer. Frantic now, he pushed himself through the darkness to the cockpit.

He found them there, and for a heart-stopping moment thought they were dead, so still were they in the Force. But both were breathing.

“Dad!” He gently shook his father’s shoulder, but got no more than a reflexive response. Still gently, fear overcoming reluctance, he probed a little in the Force, suggesting the older man awake.

Han Solo stirred. “Huh? Whzzat!” Then he jerked fully alert, saw Jacen, and pulled back his fist.

“It’s me, Dad!” Jacen said. Next to him, his mother began to stir, too. He couldn’t feel anything seriously wrong with either of them. They had both been strapped in their crash couches.

“Jacen?” Han murmured. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“I was hoping you knew. As near as I can tell, we’ve been interdicted by a Yuuzhan Vong ship. It’s out there right now. I don’t think we have much time.”

Han rubbed his eyes and looked at the control panel, where a few feeble lights were still clinging to life. He let out a long, low whistle.

“That’s not good,” he said.

“Han? Jacen?” Leia Organa Solo sat straighter in the crash couch. “What’s happening?”

“The usual,” Han replied, flipping switches. A few more indicators came on. “Power system’s off-line, artificial gravity off-line, emergency life support on its last legs, big ship full of bad guys outside.”

“A really big ship,” Jacen added.

“Just like old times.” Leia sighed.

“Hey, I told you it would be like a second honeymoon.” Han’s voice dropped lower and grew more serious. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” Leia said. “I’m wondering what made us black out.”

“Probably the same thing that fried the power couplings,” Han remarked. Then his eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

“I told you it was big,” Jacen said, as their lateral drift brought the Yuuzhan Vong ship into view.

“Do something, Han,” Leia said. “Do something now.”

“I’m doing, I’m doing,” he muttered, working at the controls. “But unless someone wants to get out and push . . .”

“Why aren’t they doing anything?” Leia wondered.

“They probably think we’re dead in space,” Han replied. “They may be right.”

“Yes, but—” She stopped. Two of the coralskippers had detached from the larger vessel and were coming toward the Falcon.

Han unbuckled himself. “Take my seat, Jacen. I had a shielded power core installed, but the couplings have to be changed.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You don’t know the Falcon well enough. You two stay up here. The second I give you power, go, and I mean, go.”

“We’re too close. They’ll snatch us with their dovin basals.”

“They’ll snatch us for sure if we sit here.”

He kicked back through the doorway and was gone, swallowed by the darkness beyond.

The coralskippers continued to approach, in no apparent hurry.

“Mom, look,” Jacen said, pointing. Against the starfield were some brighter sparks, drifting in a nebulous lens.

“What is it?”

“Something reflecting the light from the primary. A bunch of somethings.”

“Ships,” Leia said. “Other ships they’ve interdicted.”

“Uh-huh. Must be a dozen or more.”

“Well.” She sighed. “I guess we found out something useful on this trip. This isn’t a safe route to smuggle Jedi through.”

A series of curses drifted from somewhere in the back of the ship.

“Han?” Leia shouted.

“Nothing. Hit my head,” the answer came back.

Another few moments of rummaging about, and then another, more colorful set of curses.

“It’s going to take at least half an hour,” Han called.

“We don’t have that,” Leia whispered. “They’ll be boarding us any minute. If they even bother, and don’t just cut us to pieces.”

“They’ll bother,” Jacen said. “The Yuuzhan Vong hate to waste good slaves and sacrifices. I guess we’d better get ready to meet them.” He unclipped the lightsaber from his belt. Leia unbuckled herself and drew her own weapon.

“You let me deal with this, Mom. You’re still favoring that leg.”

“Don’t worry about me. I was doing this before you were born.”

Jacen was about to lodge another protest when he saw the expression on her face. She wouldn’t be budged.

As they passed the lounge, a growl that made Jacen’s hair stand on end prompted him to ignite the cold green glow of his lightsaber. Two sets of black eyes blinked at the light.

“Lady Vader,” one snarled. “We fail you.”

“You failed no one, Adarakh,” Leia told her Noghri bodyguards. “Something put us all out.”

“Your enemies are about, Lady Vader?” the second Noghri, a female—Meewalh—asked.

“They are. Adarakh, you’re with me. Meewalh, you help Jacen.”

“No,” Jacen said. “Mom, you need them more than I do. You know it.”

“The first-son speaks right, Lady Vader,” Meewalh agreed.

Leia’s eyes flashed at the insubordination. “We don’t have time to argue about this.”

That was confirmed a heartbeat later when something bumped against the hull, followed by a second, similar impact.

“What’s that?” Han called up.

“Just get us some power,” Leia called back. “Fine. Both of you, with me. Jacen, watch yourself. None of this not-using-the-Force nonsense.”

“I’m over that, Mom.”

She kissed Jacen quickly on the cheek. “Watch out for my boy.” Then she pushed toward the cargo lifter, where the first impact seemed to have been. The Noghri went silently after her, as nimble in free-fall as on foot.

Jacen shifted the grip on his lightsaber and found a handhold to steady his weightless body as he tried to figure out where the second boarder was.

Within seconds, something began gnashing and grinding against the outer bulkheads, enabling him to locate it in the lounge. Moving slowly, he flattened as best he could against what would be the ceiling if the gravity came back on.

Must be grutchins, he thought. Yuuzhan Vong technology was all biologically based. They used modified insectoid creatures to hull ships. There would be fumes from the acid, then, and maybe worse, but there was no time to seek vac suits. If the Yuuzhan Vong were simply going to open the ship to space, they’d all had it. But if the enemy wanted the Solos dead, they would have blasted them while the ship was powered down, since they had, at best, contempt for nonliving tech and no use for the Falcon whatsoever. Knowing the Yuuzhan Vong, they were eager for live captives, not freeze-dried corpses.

Jacen calmed his mind and waited.

Not much later, a hole appeared in the wall. As predicted, an acrid, choking stench came through, but not the feared explosive decompression of the cabin. Jacen stayed out of visual range until something poked its head through an opening wide enough for a human to step through.

Jacen flicked on his lightsaber.

Something like a huge beetle was revealed in the viridian light of his blade. Jacen drove his point into its eye before it could even twitch. For what seemed a long moment, the energy blade refused to penetrate beyond the first few centimeters. The creature yanked its head back and forth violently, but Jacen kept the point on until, finally, with a sputter, it pushed in. The beetle spasmed and died.

Jacen came off the ceiling and, avoiding the steaming edge of the hole, hurled himself through the breach.

A flexible coupling had attached itself to the outside of the ship. It was about twenty meters long. Halfway down its length a Yuuzhan Vong warrior pulled himself along by means of a series of knobs protruding from the sides. Jacen kicked against the projections nearest him, accelerating toward the Vong.

His enemy was humanoid, with black hair plaited and knotted behind his head. His forehead sloped sharply down to dark eyes above swollen purplish sacs and an almost flat nose. He wore the characteristic vonduun crab armor and carried an amphistaff coiled around one wrist. A savage grin appeared on his scarred and tattooed face, and he duplicated Jacen’s move. The amphistaff straightened, pointing at the young Jedi like a lance.

When they were only about four meters apart, the staff spit something at him. If past experience was a guide, it was almost certainly poison.