Authors: Troy Denning
Tesar brought his power blaster around and burned a hole through the chest armor of the first one, hurling him back against the wall. Anakin intercepted the second, freeing Lowbacca to make one last stab at the vanishing voxyn.
The Yuuzhan Vong tried to pin Anakin against the wall, changing his amphistaff into whip form and flicking the fanged head at the Jedi’s eyes. It was a tired tactic, almost disrespectful. Anakin feigned a stumble and dropped into a crouch, catching the attack on his lightsaber’s fiery blade.
The serpent recoiled. Anakin posted his free hand, whipped his feet around and trapped the Yuuzhan Vong’s knees, scissored his legs. The warrior yelled and hit the floor like a bag of rocks. The amphistaff struck again. Anakin blocked, flicked the thing away, brought his own blade down across the enemy’s throat.
As the head rolled away, he spun toward the rear wall and was relieved to find Lowbacca holding yet another voxyn leg. The Wookiee’s disappointed growls left no doubt that the creature had escaped, but Anakin was happy enough to see him standing. He gathered his own feet beneath him and saw, as he had feared, no sign of Ganner in the room.
Anakin noticed a chill along his spine and realized that his
sense of the Yuuzhan Vong had returned, then he felt Jacen’s touch brush his mind. There was also another sensation, the familiar hunger of the voxyn, wounded and angry, lurking somewhere in the ducts. They would hunt it down later, after the vessel was secure. Waving his lightsaber out the door to avoid being blasted by a minicannon, Anakin motioned Tesar and Lowbacca after him and stepped into the corridor.
Jaina’s voice came over the comlink. “What’s that I feel? It can’t be a voxyn. Two-Four-S and I killed it. I’m looking at its body right now.”
“Just keep an eye on those ducts,” Anakin said, resisting the urge to comm 2-1S about the odds of all three escaping the thermal detonator. “There’s another one.”
He turned toward the bulkhead and found 2-1S kneeling over the shredded door valve, firing an intimidating but relatively harmless stream of nonlethal bolts into the bridge. There was no return fire, but the droid’s armor was pocked and smoking from head to foot, with several fist-deep craters where the Yuuzhan Vong had managed to concentrate their attacks. Anakin dropped down beside the droid and the rest of the assault squad. There was a definite Yuuzhan Vong presence on the bridge, but the feeling was too murky for him to tell how many or what condition.
YVH 2-1S turned toward him. “Bulkhead secure, but the enemy is holding one captive—Jedi Rhysode—on the bridge.” His photoreceptors were shattered and smeared with thud bug juice. “Currently two minutes eleven seconds ahead of schedule.”
“You expected something else?” Anakin had intended to sound cocky like his father, but the effect was ruined when a pang from his bruised ribs made him squeak out the last two words. He glanced onto the bridge, then said, “You don’t look so good, Two-One-S. We’ll finish without you.”
“Affirmative,” the droid answered. “Sensor systems unstable.”
Rather than risk a security trap by entering through the bridge’s battered entrance valve, Anakin dropped to his belly beside the melt holes and peered through. On the other side lay more than a dozen Yuuzhan Vong, most deep in a coma-gas sleep. Some had gnulliths fastened over their faces, no doubt placed there by well-meaning comrades who had not realized
that an antidote agent would be required to awaken their comrades. A handful of warriors lay in the awkward positions of their death throes, their wounds still smoking from the heat of the fatal blaster strike.
The cognition hood used to steer the vessel dangled a few centimeters above the comatose pilot’s blank face, while the neural interface gloves employed in regulating the ship’s systems lay draped over several different control consoles, usually with the hands of a dozing Yuuzhan Vong crew member still wearing them. Anakin was disappointed to find the command chair empty and no one lying within three meters of it; Duman Yaght had escaped the coma gas.
“It doesn’t look like there’s much happening,” Anakin said, speaking to Lowbacca, Tesar, and the rest of the assault squad. “But be careful. We don’t want to get careless and blast Ganner by mistake.”
“You’re sure?” Tahiri asked, drawing a laugh from the others.
Anakin allowed himself a chuckle, but said, “At least for now.”
He ignited his lightsaber and dived through the melt hole headfirst, then felt an attack coming and brought his blade around to block. The thud bug sizzled out of existence with a sharp hiss, and Anakin spun in the direction of the assault, stepping forward to protect those who would be following him.
“Very impressive,
Jeedai.
”
Anakin looked toward the voice and found Duman Yaght wearing a gnullith and standing behind an instrument console, Ganner Rhysode’s limp form held in front with a coufee to the throat.
“There you are.” Anakin peered around the bridge. “All alone, it seems.”
“Lay down your weapons,” the commander said cautiously, “and your leader will live to meet our warmaster.”
Anakin thumbed off his lightsaber—then, as Lowbacca and Tesar stepped onto the bridge, drew his blaster pistol.
“You really don’t know Ganner, do you?” Anakin asked. “What makes you think he’s that important?”
“You came after him, did you not?” Duman Yaght retreated a few steps, bringing Ganner around to shield him from all three
Jedi. “We have studied you
Jeedai
. When it comes to the death of your fellows, you are soft.”
“Not that soft.” Anakin leveled his blaster pistol at the commander’s head, and Tesar did the same with his power blaster. “But I’ll offer you a deal. If you surrender, we’ll put you off in the shuttle with the rest of your crew.”
Duman Yaght’s eyes hardened. “And dishonor Domain Yaght?” He ran the coufee lightly along Ganner’s throat, drawing a two-centimeter-long trickle of blood. “Yuuzhan Vong do not surrender.”
“Really?”
Anakin reached out with the Force and used it to push the coufee away from Ganner’s neck. Eyes growing wide, Duman Yaght struggled for a moment to bring the blade back to his captive’s throat, then snarled something in his own language and let it fly from his grasp.
When the other hand twitched and started to rise, his head vanished in a convergence of blasterfire.
“By this one’s broken tail!” Tesar slung his power blaster over his shoulder and stepped forward to pluck Ganner out of the mess. “They
don’t
surrender.”
Nom Anor could not believe even Vergere would dare suggest that the warmaster waste his time playing an infidel game—much less survive the affront. Yet there she sat across from Tsavong Lah, studying a shaper’s version of a dejarik board complete with animate monsters and a mat of living terrain. The warmaster was down to a pair of monnoks and a single miniature mantellion savrip, while his feathery pet still boasted a kintan strider and three k’lor’slugs. Though Nom Anor had never really enjoyed the game, he had frequently been forced to play holographic versions during his time in the galaxy—often enough to recognize a master when he saw one. And Vergere was, undoubtedly, a master.
“If New Republic strategists were the only ones who practiced this game, it would not be worth the learning,” Vergere was saying. “But there are suggestions that dejarik was once a favorite study of Jedi Knights.”
That explained how she had enticed the warmaster into such a blasphemy, Nom Anor realized. Tsavong Lah would do anything that might help him defeat the Jedi.
“The strategies are more subtle than they appear, Nom Anor,” Tsavong Lah said, not looking away from the game mat—and surprising Nom Anor, who had thought the warmaster too absorbed to notice the scrutiny. “And a warrior must know the mind of his enemy.”
“The game is popular throughout the galaxy,” Nom Anor replied. “I have played a few times myself.”
“Indeed?” Tsavong Lah tore his gaze from the board. “Then perhaps you have some insight as to the route Jacen and his sister will be taking home?”
“Home?” Nom Anor was confused. The
Exquisite Death
was more than a day overdue, but such delays were not unusual for picket ships, which operated just inside enemy territory and had to be very careful choosing their routes. “I did not know they had escaped.”
“You didn’t?” Tsavong Lah looked back to the dejarik game, then nudged his savrip forward between two of Vergere’s k’lor’-slugs. “Interesting. By now, I would have thought that obvious to any dejarik player.”
An angry heat filled Nom Anor’s eyesacks. “The supreme commander’s last report claimed that this Duman Yaght has things well in hand. Has there been a communication I’m unaware of?”
“Not yet.” Tsavong Lah smiled as Vergere sent her strider up to upend his savrip, then he slipped his little monnok through the vacated space to slay her strider from behind. Taking advantage of the surprise-kill second move, the warmaster threatened a k’lor’slug, then smiled across the table at Vergere. “But the
Jeedai
mind is growing clearer to me. They will keep a low profile, then strike when their captor has grown complacent.”
Vergere returned the smirk with one of her own. “They will strike, but not where we think.” Instead of moving a second k’lor’slug to defend the first, she sent it slinking two squares toward Tsavong Lah’s side of the mat. “The dejarik vids call that the kintan strider death gambit. It defeats with promises.”
She now had her three k’lor’slugs arranged in a right angle, with each of his monnoks trapped between two of her monsters. No matter which he attacked first, both of the others would be in a position to counterstrike from behind, take a surprise move, and trap his remaining monster in an inescapable vise. The warmaster took all this in with a glance, his eyesacks growing dangerously dark as he realized how cleanly Vergere had defeated him.
“I see what you mean.” He cleared the game mat with a swipe of his hand, then stood and looked through an exterior viewing lens at the swarm of black-faceted vessels hanging in the starlight beside the
Sunulok
. “So, they have tricked us. To what purpose?”
“The Jedi do not think so differently from you.” Vergere
scanned through the holographic images of the tiny monsters and selected one, then projected it on the game mat. “They will strike hardest at what they fear most.”
Tsavong Lah turned away from the viewing lens and, finding the rancor alone on the mat, nodded.
“I suppose it would be wise to assume the worst.” He turned to Nom Anor. “You will take the
Ksstarr
and start for
Baanu Rass
at once.”
Nom Anor nodded, needing no explanation. Currently orbiting the planet Myrkr,
Baanu Rass
was the largest of the world-ships to enter the galaxy so far. With a dying brain that could no longer control its spin—the shapers there now used dovin basals to give it gravity
—Baanu Rass
was also three-quarters abandoned, a perfect home for the voxyn cloning program that was proving so effective against the Jedi.
“And the
Jeedai
?”
“Do what is necessary, but the Solo twins have been promised to Lord Shimrra. Those you must bring back alive.”
“As you command.”
The feeling that filled Nom Anor’s heart was closer to triumph than joy. While the warmaster had proven surprisingly tolerant of events on Coruscant, neither had he chastened Vergere for interfering with his mission. Nom Anor crossed his fists over his breast and backed toward the door, already planning how he would convert this assignment into a sector prefecture.
“Warmaster, I believe this to be a mistake.” Vergere spoke quietly, so that Nom Anor would be forced to admit that he was eavesdropping if he wished to challenge her words. “Given that your reputation with Lord Shimrra is at stake, would it not be wiser to send someone with a more
certain
touch?”
Nom Anor held his tongue—just barely—and continued to back toward the door, ears straining for the warmaster’s reply.
“If you are referring to events on Coruscant, I know what happened,” Tsavong Lah said. “Nom Anor is not to blame. He did well to return to us at all.”
More to Nom Anor’s astonishment than his anger, Vergere continued to press. “We must also consider the debacle with Elan and the Peace Brigade, and his failures against Mara Jade
Skywalker. Nom Anor has faced Jedi many times and done poorly.”
The door valve opened behind Nom Anor, but he remained where he was, not so certain of his position that he could bring himself to depart.
Tsavong Lah turned to face him. “You understand what is at risk, Nom Anor? Vergere’s words are rooted in rivalry, but there is substance to what she says. If you are not confident of success, say so now and let us find a better solution together.”
“There is no cause for concern, Warmaster.” Nom Anor understood perfectly well what was at risk: his prefecture and perhaps his life. “Now that I know you see through Vergere’s intrigues, I have no doubts at all.”
Tsavong Lah’s face darkened. “And you did before?”
“My master, I did not mean to say I doubted
you
, only my own understanding of your methods.”
Tsavong Lah motioned him back into the chamber. “And what, exactly, did you not understand?” The warmaster’s tone was sharp. “And do not insult me again by lying.”
Nom Anor took a deep breath and returned to the dejarik mat. “My master, the sentients of this galaxy also play another game called sabacc, where the chip-cards change identities before their eyes.” He cast a pointed glance at his rival. “Vergere was the infidels’ prisoner for many weeks, and she has yet to provide a satisfactory explanation of her escape.”
“The readers were satisfied,” Vergere replied. “As were all of Yun-Harla’s priests.”
“They have not met Han Solo.” Nom Anor kept his eyes fixed on Tsavong Lah. “He is not the type to let an enemy escape.”
“He did not
let
me do anything,” Vergere replied. “There is more to me than you know.”
“And they were in the middle of a battle caused by the ineptitude of
your
hirelings,” Tsavong Lah added. “More importantly, Vergere learned more during her captivity than how to play dejarik. Her insights have saved thousands of vessels, and we have destroyed three New Republic fleets when she guessed correctly about their intentions.”