Authors: Troy Denning
Anakin lowered the electrobinoculars and turned away. He would have liked to stay and see whether they escaped—they deserved that much—but he knew neither 2-1S nor Ulaha would want that. Every minute of delay reduced the mission’s success probability by 0.2 percent.
The strike team had traveled only five hundred meters when 2-4S’s metallic voice came over the comm channel. “Two-One-S reports zero survivability rating. Now optimizing—”
An orange fireball blossomed in the sky, drowning the droid’s last two words in a tempest of electronic interference. Anakin raised the electrobinoculars in time to see a trio of enemy corvettes burst into white sprays of yorik coral. The fourth vessel, a mere splinter at this distance, spiraled away out of control.
“Loss ratio optimized,” 2-4S reported.
Anakin nodded and said, “Maximum efficiency.”
They all knew from the training sessions with 1-1A that it was the highest tribute that could be made to one of Lando’s droids, and several Jedi repeated the compliment. They continued toward the spaceport, using the Force to smooth the dust behind them and keep it from billowing into the airless sky.
A few minutes later, 2-4S detected two coralskippers approaching. The strike team had to conceal itself beneath the dust and wait as the pair swept over in a slow, curving search pattern. Once the pilots reached the drop zone, they would find four huge baradium craters and nothing to suggest the
Exquisite Death
had dropped anything but four poorly targeted bombs, and they would return to base laughing at their enemy’s incompetence. Until then, the Jedi would have to wait and be patient.
Though no one said as much, all of their thoughts were on Ulaha alone in the
Exquisite Death
, with five corvette analogs and a host of skips on her tail. Though the Bith was growing more distant in the battle meld, Anakin could feel her consumed
with the tasks at hand, weary and in pain, but without fear—at peace, even. Daring to hope Ulaha’s tranquility meant she was escaping, Anakin raised the electrobinoculars as soon as the search craft were gone and combed the darkness above for the
Exquisite Death
, but it was an impossible task. Even if he were looking in the right direction, by now the Bith and her pursuers would be too distant for electrobinoculars to detect.
The strike team resumed its march. Ulaha’s presence continued to fade, then finally vanished altogether. Anakin could tell by the surge of anxiety in the battle meld that the same fear had leapt into the minds of all the Jedi.
Tahiri asked, “Is she—”
“No,” Jacen interrupted. “We would have felt that.”
“Maybe she jumped to hyperspace,” Anakin said. “Two-Four-S?”
“Negative,” the droid reported. “
Exquisite Death
still within sensor range.”
Then the music started, a reedy, haunting melody that came to Anakin inside his mind. Though there was a mournful hint to it, the strain was more tranquil than sad, and perhaps the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He turned and found the others staring skyward, some with heads cocked listening, others with a tear or two running down inside their face masks.
“
Exquisite Death
and pursuers decelerating,” 2-4S reported. “Analysis suggests tentacle arrest.”
No one seemed to hear the report. “I wish …” Jaina fell silent as the song drifted into a flighty passage and began to gather energy. “I wish I could record this.”
“Yes,” Jacen said. “I’m sure Tionne would like it for her archives … it’s a sad loss for the Jedi.”
Anakin could not tell from his brother’s flat tone whether Jacen was criticizing or just saying aloud what they all felt. There was no question of Ulaha surrendering the
Death
. Even were she to survive the boarding party’s initial assault, she could not endure another breaking.
The music repeated its opening refrain, but more powerfully now and without any hint of sadness, then rose to a robust crescendo …
In the sudden silence, Tahiri gasped.
In the dim planetglow shining down from Myrkr’s emerald face, the flattened senalak shafts looked more like ice spikes than any security system Anakin had ever seen. The rigid stalks were only knee-high and no thicker than a finger, but as Jovan Drark’s invisible Force wave pushed a safe furrow through the field, their blunt blue caps released a meter-long strand of thorns. The barbed cord would flail around in the vacuum for a couple of seconds, presumably entwining and capturing—if not killing—whatever had disturbed it.
Had Alema not warned them about the trap, the strike team would have entered the security field completely unprepared. Given the trap they had already flown into aboard the
Exquisite Death
, Anakin was beginning to wonder if they were really prepared for this. Ulaha had given them less than a 50 percent chance of success, and as far as he could tell, things were not getting any better. He was beginning to wonder if coming after the voxyn queen had been such a good idea after all.
“Anakin, this has to be done—and you’re not making it any easier with that big negatude.” Tahiri was crawling along behind Anakin, her blond hair spilling out behind her faceplate. “So they were expecting us. You dealt with it, and now they aren’t.”
“Sorry. Thought I had that stuff closed off.”
“You did.” Tahiri rolled her eyes. “This is
me
, Anakin.”
The last of the senalaks fell to Jovan’s Force wave, and they found themselves at the edge of the spaceport. Basically a huge pit thirty meters deep and a kilometer across, it was surrounded by a cavernous colonnade sealed behind a transparent membrane and accessed by a ring of air-locked valveways. Twenty biotic berthing bays lay spaced evenly across the floor, all covered
by retractable carapaces and sized to accommodate corvette-analog vessels.
On the near side of the spaceport, the latest rescue transport to return from the space battle was just berthing, the two halves of the bay carapace rising up to press themselves against the lumpy hull. Though Anakin and the others had not been able to see the battle as they stole across the worldship’s pocked surface, the steady stream of rescue vessels returning from space told them that their comrades had put up a good fight. They also knew the outcome; 2-1S had burst-commed a final situation report to 2-4S, and they had all felt Ulaha’s death—one of the reasons, no doubt, for Anakin’s “negatude.”
Perhaps five kilometers beyond the landing pit rose the hive-shaped grashal peaks they had seen from space. Anakin did not need to stretch out with the Force to know that was where the voxyn were kept. He could feel their hunger clearly, coming straight from that direction. The Jedi prisoner was another matter. He could not sense him—or her, or them—at all, even when he exerted himself.
“Ysalamiri?” Alema asked. She crawled up beside him on the side opposite Tahiri, stopping so that the shoulder of her vac suit touched his. “If they’ve got a Jedi, they’d need ysalamiri.”
Anakin was not really surprised to have the Twi’lek anticipating him. During the trip from the drop zone, the strike team had found itself acting in such harmony that, at times, it seemed they were sharing thoughts.
“I don’t think he’s dead,” Tahiri said. “I realize we don’t know who he is or anything, but I still think we’d know.”
Anakin did not think so, but there was only one way to find out. He turned to call for the ysalamiri mating pheromones Cilghal had supplied—then grimaced when Jacen was waiting to press the capsule into his glove.
“This is getting weird,” he said. “Tesar could have said something.”
A grin showed in Jacen’s eyes. “Try it from my end.” He grew more serious, an aura of distress rising around him. “Anakin, before we start, there’s something—”
“Not now, Jacen.” Anakin looked away. The last thing he
wanted to do was hurt Jacen’s feelings, but he had seen at Centerpoint Station what happened when he listened to his brother. “I need to do this my own way.”
“I know. I only want to—”
“
Please.
”
Anakin flicked the capsule toward the far side of the landing pit, where a service crew was busy moving provisions out of an open air lock. In Myrkr’s greenish planetglow, he quickly lost sight of the tiny capsule, but felt it stop when it entered the lock and came to the inner valve. A few minutes later, the crew finished its task and entered the air lock together. Anakin started to tell the others to be ready, then thought better of it. They were.
The outer valve was just closing when 2-4S reported, “Incoming vessel, enemy, frigate analog.”
The report meant the ship’s arrival was imminent—as marvelous as YVH war droids were, their sensor package lacked the power for deep-space detection. The news sent a prickle of danger sense down Anakin’s spine, but he refused to be rushed. Until he knew where the Jedi was being kept, entering the spaceport would only place the captive—and themselves—at risk.
Finally, a swarm of distant squiggles scurried out of an archway about a third of the way around the colonnade. More than a dozen Yuuzhan Vong followed, stooped over and half stumbling as they attempted to retrieve the escapees. One of the warriors grabbed a squirming form, then jerked his hand back and stomped the creature. Ysalamiri had sharp teeth.
It did not take long before all eyes—at least all eyes visible through transparent membrane—were fixed on the disturbance. Anakin backed away from the edge and stood. When he turned to order the holoshrouds activated, he found himself facing a long line of what looked like Yuuzhan Vong.
“I suppose you know the plan, too?”
“Straight to the ysalamiri house,” Bela—or was it Krasov—answered.
“Then back—”
“To steal the rescue shuttle,” Ganner finished. “We’ve got it, Jedi. Two-Four-S and I will cover the descent.”
“Well, then.”
Anakin activated his own holoshroud and stepped over the
edge, dropping alongside the wall and using the Force to cushion his landing. When he did not feel any surge of Yuuzhan Vong alarm through the lambent crystal, he turned to find himself standing before a rancor-sized air lock, a warren of murky tunnels and murkier doorways barely visible through its translucent door valves. He could feel a handful of Yuuzhan Vong somewhere back in the darkness, but his sense of them was too fuzzy to tell whether they were alarmed by his sudden appearance—or even aware of it.
Alema, Tesar, and the others began to arrive beside him. Knowing the Twi’lek to be the most experienced at infiltrating enemy lines, he assigned her to lead the way through the air lock, while he kept an eye on the rest of the spaceport. The landing pit appeared even larger from the floor than from above. In the murky green light, the excitement at the opposite end was visible only as a mass of shadows scurrying around behind the window membrane, and even figures in nearby warrens were difficult to see unless they were silhouetted against a patch of bioluminescent wall lichen. Only the rescue vessel, sitting pinched in its biotic berthing bay, was distinct and easy to see.
By the time Anakin had completed his survey, Ganner and 2-4S were on the floor behind him. They followed the others through the air lock and let their faceplates and breath masks hang over their collars, leaving their throat mikes and earpieces in place so they could communicate quietly. Anakin took the lead and began to hurry along the colonnade at the fastest pace he could without drawing too much attention; the power packs in their holoshrouds would last only two minutes before growing unreliable and needing to be changed.
As they went by the rescue ship, they also passed a rampway leading down to a bustling work level under the landing pit. An unarmored Yuuzhan Vong started up the slope, gesturing at them and calling in his own language. A wave of alarm shot through the strike team, but it was quickly quelled when Jacen used the battle meld to direct everyone’s attention to Alema’s unruffled composure. The Yuuzhan Vong reached the door and said something more insistent.
Tahiri’s voice sounded in everyone’s earpieces, giving the
proper response. Ganner, who had the most Yuuzhan Vong–like voice, stepped out of line and faced the scarhead.
“
Pol dwag, kane a bar.
”
“
Kanabar
?” the Yuuzhan Vong asked.
There was a moment’s pause while Tahiri gave the reply, then Ganner said, “
Dwi, kane a bar
!”
“
Yadag dakl, ignot
!”
The Yuuzhan Vong raised both arms in a rude gesture, then disappeared back down the ramp.
“What was that about?” Anakin whispered.
“Ganner called him the dung of a meat maggot,” Tahiri said. “I told him to say
kanabar
, not
kane a bar.
”
“
Kane a bar
was better,” Tesar rasped. “How do you say slime under my scales?”
This drew a chorus of sissing from the Hara sisters—and an order from Anakin to save the jokes. 2-4S reported that the incoming enemy vessel was indeed a frigate analog and had gone into orbit around the worldship. The prickles returned to Anakin’s neck and did not subside. With a frigate in orbit around the worldship, they would have to be careful about the timing of their escape.
They reached the dark archway leading into the ysalamiri warren. Anakin knew instantly they were in the right place, for the air stank of unwashed bodies, old blood, and even fouler things. The battle meld vanished three steps into the tunnel, and he saw that the passage ahead was lined with walking trees similar to those they had seen aboard the
Death
. Most had broken claws protruding from the trunks, but a handful of the trees still had ysalamiri clinging to them. A pair of Yuuzhan Vong warriors stood behind a yorik coral lobby counter, adroitly plaiting a living cord into a braided whip and somehow ignoring the anguished screams rolling up the corridor.
As Anakin approached, both warriors stopped work and crossed their arms over their chest.
“
Remaga corlat, migan yam
?” the taller one asked.
Anakin walked straight to the gateway.
“
Remaga corlat
?” the tallest guard asked again, now pulling his amphistaff off his waist and stepping to block Anakin’s way.