Chapter Fifteen

The Imperator took another hit, but a glance at the
schematic told Thrawn the damage was negligible. Blasterfire and
charric bolts vanished before they could touch a wall of shielding
rocks. Thrawn ordered a swarm of TIE fighters out to destroy the
falling line of defense and the fast-flying fighters were met by
missiles and grutchin hoards. A yorrick coral battleship broke
apart under a barrage from five Chiss vessels, but two were
destroyed in turn by desk hai, which sped away before the other
ships could return fire, shielded by asteroids. The dovin basal-
equipped rocks locked on a collision course with the Chiss ships,
so they had to devote their fire to destroying them rather than the
planet killers.

Thrawn had to marvel at the tactics he faced: the Yuuzhan
Vong were incredibly coordinated, the entire fleet seemed to
function in perfect concert, adapting to new situations and strategy
with the efficiency of white blood cells fighting off a disease. It
must be the yammosk, what the Jedi called a war coordinator, that
made this harmonic fighting possible. If he survived this, Thrawn
intended to look for a coordinator of his own. The Jedi could
touch the minds of other beings, perhaps a Force-user was what he
needed. In fact, Thrawn had long suspected the Emperor
employed just such a method in directing the Imperial fleet.

The asteroids continued to fall back, but Thrawn was not
deceived into thinking victory imminent: Sang Anor?s intent had
been to thin the Imperial fleet before they faced the firepower of
his worldship, and it had succeeded. Winning against the (Long
Reach)?s formidable weaponry would be difficult, maybe even
impossible.

At least the planet-based weapon seems to have been
destroyed in the massive explosions the fleet had detected in the
enemy base. He had heard nothing to confirm this, though, either
from the TIE fighters or Beyin's landing force.

Something else was also bothering him, something to do
with Raine, his new phalanx commander. Thrawn sensed
something strange about her, the commander's behavior and
reactions to situations were just...odd. She was concealing
something, Thrawn sensed, some secret that either involved him or
was something he would take in interest in, but he couldn't figure
out what.

Briefly, he wondered if Vraet ever had any luck
outguessing this particular female. Personally, he doubted it.

Vraet...

Strange, to think of his son as if he were still alive, even for
a moment there. During all his battles he had fought, against
warlords, pirates, Ssi-Ruuk, the Vong themselves, he had held his
image of his Homeworld, wife and child in him mind. He had
fought against the chaos so they wouldn't have to be touched by it.
He had failed.

Now there was nothing left to fight for, nothing but
Palpatine's dream of order. And his own revenge.

************************************************
Drash huddled behind a wall of boxes, listening to the
sounds of searching on the upper floors. He glanced and Vlu,
leaning dejectedly against a wall. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry
for what I said," he offered. He felt like a fool, words meant
nothing: Frae had a great many words in him, so did Thrawn and
the Emperor's propagandists. So did the Vong. None of those
words were worth more than the breaths of air that carried them. It
was action that mattered. Action held the only truth.

He had learned that long ago.

"I'll be leaving you soon," Vlu said into the silence.

Drash smirked. "Of course you will. I'm glad you finally
saw how you're wasting your time." He made his tone light, but he
felt sick. The Eternal was giving up on him, now Drash would be
left alone in this terrible place.

"I don't leave by choice, but because I must," the Eternal
faded a little more. "My people are gone, I can no longer feel
them. They have left this plane to await a better time, but I cannot
follow. I cannot share in their hope."

"What are you going on about?" Drash whispered. This
was a place for whispers and soft footsteps.

Vlu explained the Eternals' plan to Drash. "They've
gathered energy from our world to live on while they wait, but I
am away from the planet and my reserves are nearly gone. I could
not survive a journey back to the planet, and even if I could the life
there is being destroyed as we speak. I can feel it." Vlu's voice
grew thin, the shade concentrated and Drash heard him clearly
again. "We Eternals must draw on life-energy produced on our
homeworld to exist, when mine are spent I will have no hold on
this plane. I will go...beyond, to that place where all beings go
when their lives end."

"Tell me about it."

"I can't," Vlu said. "I don't know myself: none who go
there have ever returned."

Then Vlu had given up his chance to live, at least after a
fashion, to stay with Drash. To try and help him when the pilot
couldn't even help himself. Or maybe he just wouldn't help
himself.

(I don't want this), Drash thought, (I didn't ask for this. It's
too much responsibility, because after all he's done for me I (can't)
just give up). And it would be so easy to give up, to just hide and
hope the hunter passed over him, even while knowing he wouldn't.
Drash had never been afraid to die, but he was terrified of what
was behind that door.

"It's happening," Vlu said. "I can feel myself fading, like
water draining out of a bucket." The Eternal quivered and held
himself. The ancient being looked at him with the eyes of a child.
"I'm so afraid, Drash."

Without being aware of it, Drash had transferred himself
across the room with a thought. Now he was beside Vlu, and his
hand tentatively touched the transparent reptilian shoulder.

Vlu wrapped his arms around Drash and the Imperial
fought the urge to shove him away. The closeness, the contact,
made him feel like he was suffocating. The quivering shape felt
solid, and yet fluid at the same time. Malleable. Like a mold of
rubber. He felt the Eternal quivering as he held onto Drash, onto
this plane of existence.

"Ah," Drash muttered just to break the silence, "um, I've
known a lot of pilots in the Empire, from a lot of different planets.
Sometimes they would, you know, talk about what happens when
you die." Religion was something of a taboo in the Empire:
Palpatine had suppressed most faiths during his reign, desiring that
his people would look to no higher power than the Emperor
himself, but climbing into a cockpit and knowing you might not
climb out again, especially given the shoddy design of standard
Imperial fighters, put some folks in a spiritual mood. Drash had
never given the matter much consideration.

"What did they believe?" Vlu whispered, his voice so small
it could barely be heard.

"Different things, different faiths, but a lot of boiled down
to you getting some kind of reward if you were good. Living in
some kind of paradise with all your dead friends and relatives, that
sort of thing." It took an effort for Drash to cast his mind back to
those days: it was so hard thinking about the past when he lived
entirely in the moment. "The arguments came from talking about
who ran the place and what you had to do to get in.

"Some of them said doing good deeds was enough, but
others said if you were good, really good, I mean good (inside),
then that was all it took." He gnawed his lower lip, remembering.
During Drash's first year as a TIE pilot there'd been another recruit
who'd talked about his people's beliefs, until an officer had
overheard and notified COMPNOR. The dumb kid had been
hauled off to reeducation. None of the other pilots would've
turned him in: pilots who depend on their wingmen to live develop
loyalties to each other.

"Like, if you were a good person then it didn't matter what
you did. Since a good soul lead to good works then they take it for
granted you did your best."

"Sounds nice," he was holding onto smoke now. Pale,
formless mist. "Is that what you believe?"

"No," was his immediate reply, "that wasn't what Frae
taught. He said life was all about being testing and proving
yourself worthy of transcendence. From the day you're born the
cosmos heaps trials on you. Suffer through it and you get to
somewhere better." From the deep pits of his mind he heard Frae's
gentle voice, telling the children how much he loved them all as
they began their daily ordeals.

Drash licked his lips. "He talked a lot about transcendence
too: it was in the middle of his whole religion."

"Tell me about it." Vlu huddled against him.

"If you're good as something and you do it so well you lose
yourself in it, then your whole identity changes. He called that a
moment of perfection. Get enough of those and you're soul's
worth more in the afterlife. They've got a ratings system there, I
guess." Drash shrugged. "I don't know, I've been looking my
whole life and I-"

He broke off.

"So that's why you seek your own destruction so
relentlessly," Vlu said, "Frae told you this life held nothing but
pain, but that there was a better one for the worthy after death."

"Shut up." Drash snapped. He tried to push the shape away
and stand, but his hands sank right into the unresisting mist. "Get
away from me!"

"It was never death you wanted, but a new life. Don't you
see?"

"Sithspawned liar!" Drash stood and backed away from the
faintly-glowing mist. "I was supposed to be comforting (you), not
spilling stuff you could use against me!"

"I'm using nothing against you," the fading Eternal
countered. "And I already knew most of what you told me. I just
wanted you to realize it."

"You-" Drash looked at the fading cloud, then snapped his
mouth shut. "You really are dying, for good this time I mean."

"Yes."

"And you..." he fell silent, (you used your last moments to
help me).

"It's time," the light said. "Goodbye Drash. Thank you, for
trying anyway. I'll soon know for myself what waits beyond that
final veil. Perhaps we will meet again there, but hopefully not for
many years yet." The light was so faint, it was almost gone.
"Remember, the only chains you wear are one you made for
yourself. You have the key to your prison. You can use it
anytime."

"No, no wait don't go yet!" Drash reached for the mist.

"You just need to see it..." then the voice was gone, and
Drash's hand closed on nothing.

There was a crash and the security door suddenly bulged
inward, as if shot by a projectile cannon. The noise of hunting and
searching had stopped, and the one who made it waited just
outside.

Frae had found him.

**************************************************
The rush of delight and satisfaction made Krelt feel
decades younger. He'd found his reluctant convert at last.

The provoker held one talon just above the comatose
human's right temple and the other above his left, neither quite
touching the skin, while Krelt mapped the paths of his brain in an
attempt to find just where the human's consciousness had hidden
itself. The organic instruments had assured him the brain was still
active. Very active in fact: Drash was having some sort of dream,
and a vivid one at that.

Like a tracker on a scent, Krelt had followed the electrical
impulses back to the source, all the while having the provoker send
small charges into suspected nerve cells: the priest had to be
careful, he wanted to stimulate Drash back into consciousness, not
damage him.

And now Krelt had found the center of this mental activity:
the last bastion of resistance against him. A few small charges
should bring Drash back to the world of the living, where his
shaping could finally begin.

*****************************************************
In the midst of the battle, a lone coralskipper leaving the
seed world caught Sang Anor's attention. Apparently damaged,
the fighter?s course would take it to the worldship. Hope flared
inside him. Was it possible Nom Anor had escaped the destruction
spreading across the surface? It could be, but there was no villip
aboard so he couldn't ask. He ordered a dovin basal to take hold of
the fighter and pull it into a bay for healing and refueling ships.

He hoped his son was aboard. If it was another member of
the garrison he could make himself useful with the gunnery crews.
If it was Ke'Nas then the prefect would find nothing but torture
and death aboard the (Long Reach).

*****************************************************
The titan's fist bashed against the security door again, but
that wasn't the way Drash now perceived the assault. In fact, his
perceptions of everything had changed.

Vlu had done something to him before he died. Or perhaps
he had simply left something behind. Not memories, exactly, nor
any part of his fading soul. It was more an understanding. No, an
(instinct), that was the right term. Or maybe the Eternal had
simply opened the pilot up to an ability he'd had all along. In any
case, Drash no longer saw the illusion of a physical world for his
mind to deal with.

He saw the Force.

He saw it in all it's splendor. The currents of energy arced
and crashed against one another in conflict or smoothed and ran
together in serenity. Waves of life energy coiled around one
another, each current a different shade, indicating a different
emotion.

But throughout it all there were cords and sinkholes of dark
energy, radiating anger, resentment and, most of all, fear. The
sinkholes filled what seemed like deep pits full of secret things,
and the cords seemed to bind the rest of the energy, or at least
restrict how it flowed. He felt one of the cords, not with his hand
for he no longer had 'hands' or any kind of body, but with his
mind. He quickly drew his will back. This power was wild,
dangerous, it lashed at everything around it with feral strength.

The most incredible realization came when he saw that for
all it's complexity the life-energy was, in reality, just a tiny pool
surrounded by leagues of blank space. It was only then that he
understood he was not seeing the greater Force, but only that
energy produced by his own body.

The hunter struck at his defenses again and dark threads of
pain and fear shot through him. Strangely, he couldn't perceive
what was making these attacks: only the damage they did and the
emotions they cause. Emotions that formed into the familiar shape
of Zesir Frae.

But it was only a phantom devised by his own mind, he saw
that clearly now. Whatever harmed him wasn't Frae. The old
madman was dead and unmourned, and Drash Tevock had never
feared death or enemies in battle. Without a second's hesitation he
turned his attention back to the dark energy, and seized it.

It was like grasping a hurricane or trying to hold a bolt of
lightning and use it as a sword. The power raged, it stung, it
burned, but Drash could tame it. With the strength of his will he
could control that power, he could make it obey him. This was
amazing, almost like flying a TIE fighter. Electricity crackled
through his blood. An inferno burned in his lungs.

Drash woke up.

The light from the lumin bugs shocked his eyes, but his
pupils adjusted instantly. He saw the burn-scarred priest leaning
over him first. Krelt's yellow olc'its widened in surprise. Four
acolytes were with him, and the effigy of Yun Yammka towered
above.

"Ah," Krelt smiled in satisfaction, "awake sooner than I
expected. It seems you have finally decided to rush out to your
pain instead of hiding from it." He glanced at an acolyte. "Bring
the boiling gel."

Drash didn't pay attention to the priest's words, they might
as well be the chattering of a lizard monkey. He was entranced by
a view none of the Vong were able to partake of.

Beyond the nothingness of the worldship a battle was
raging, and what a battle! Waves of anger and aggression roared
and clashed, geysers of sudden fear and death plumed up. True, he
could only sense one side of the fight, but the energy beyond the
worldship was incredible.

He shifted his view to the dimension of the purely physical
and tried to stand up. He found a pair of restraining claws locked
his wrists to the alter he lay on. Child's play. He sent currents of
dark energy into his arms and tried again, the claws tore free by the
roots. He grasped each claw with the opposite hand, broke them in
his fingers and ripped them off his wrists. When Krelt turned his
attention back to Drash the Imperial had already hopped to the
floor.

The priest blinked in surprise. "How-?"

Drash killed the closest acolyte before the word was out of
Krelt's mouth. He stepped past the falling body, it was dead before
it hit the floor, and backhanded another initiate of the priest caste.
They seemed to fall in slow motion, Krelt and the other two moved
like the room was flooded with tree sap, but that was only his
perceptions. To the Yuuzhan Vong, Drash was a blur of
movement to fast for their eyes to follow.

The third acolyte actually tried to fight; he stabbed at the
pilot with his sacrificial coufee. Drash reached out, took the young
Vong's wrist and broke his arm with a single twist. The Imperial
pivoted his upper body slightly and flung the acolyte face-first into
the wall. He bounced off and fell to the floor, but Vong didn't
register in the Force so Drash couldn't tell if he was unconscious or
dead.

The fourth was the one Krelt had sent to fetch the boiling
gel. Throughout the brief fight he had stood still, holding the
shell-bowl and staring stupidly. Drash took the container away
from him and broke it over his head; the boiling ooze running
down his face woke him up a little. To his credit, the acolyte
threw a punch in Drash's general direction before the pilot hit him
in the stomach. He doubled up and fell to the floor, curled in a
fetal position.

Then he turned to Krelt.

"What infidel trickery is this?" The priest demanded.

"No trick," Drash strode toward him, walking neither slow
nor fast, "just paying a debt."

"You are a fool, infidel. I offer you truth. I offer to give
your life and death meaning."

"Yeah." Drash reached out and grabbed a fistful of the
priest's living robe. "A lot of people have said that to me." He
walked two more steps to the alter and swung Krelt onto the
surface. The priest was nothing but skin and bones, Drash
probably could have lifted him without the strength that coursed
through him. Krelt grasped the pilot's wrist with his skinny fingers
but didn't come close to breaking his grip.

"The thing is," Drash went on, "I think I've had all the help
I can stand." An odd creature was perched at the head of the alter.
Two prongs extruded from its body. Drash thought he could guess
it's purpose. He pressed a point to either of Krelt's temples. "I
think from now on I'll try looking for all that stuff on my own."
The raised knobs on the thing's back looked like controls, trial and
error should send a good jolt into the priest's brain. "But here's a
token of my gratitude."

His fingers hovered over the knobs. Outside, the battle
beckoned. Inside him, another storm raged. The power he held
screamed and twisted in his grip, wanting nothing but to be given
free reign, to use Drash to destroy everything around him,
including Drash himself.

But the power whispered as well as screamed. It whispered
to Drash, telling him to kill the priest. Kill for his fear of him,
from his anger at what Krelt had done to him, or just for the sheer
pleasure of killing. There was something foul about this energy, it
was like a drug that gave delight as it rotted you from the inside
out.

Krelt was talking again, but the pilot wasn't listening.
Drash felt like he was being pulled in different directions. On the
one hand there was no reason not to waste this old freak, but did he
really want to? And there was something else, an instinct maybe,
that told him it was stupid to do anything the dark side wanted.
Stupid and unhealthy both.

Drash looked at Krelt then, really looked at him, and for
the first time he didn't see a demon from his past or a ghoul from
the shadows under a child's bed. He saw a crazy old man.

And that had been all Frae was, too. Maybe he had started
out with a few decent ideas and good intentions, but that's all he
was at the end. A sick, crazy old tyrant playing god over some
gullible people afraid to live their own lives without someone to
tell them what to do. And over the children unlucky enough to be
born under his control. A man who though he could help people
by killing them.

Krelt was looking at him. "Well?" The priest sneered.
"What are you waiting for? You're mistaken if you think I'll beg,
so you might as well kill me."

"I'm not going to," Drash opened his hand. Chains seemed
to break and fall to the floor around him. He felt...he didn't know
how he felt.

Krelt frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I don't need to," a question deserved an answer.
"I'm not afraid of you any more," he shrugged. "I don't even hate
you. You can?t hurt me. You can't do anything to me," Krelt was
nothing to him now, no different than one of the lumin bugs
fluttering and glowing above them. No, the bugs were pretty
things and the priest was a dry, withered husk. He would think of
a better comparison later. "You've got no power over me."

Krelt reacted as though Drash (had) sent that jolt through
him. Then he sat up, olc'its glaring daggers at the pilot. His
mouth worked as he tried to form a response, but Drash saw none
of this. He was already walking away.

There were important things to be done.

************************************************
The coralskipper was pulled into a cavern-sized ridge in the
worldship's surface, into one of many hanger mouths. Three
shapers, an adept and two initiates, were waiting when the
coralskipper set down in an empty cradle beside a few newly-
repaired fighters. They hurried to the damaged ship and pried
open the cockpit. The crystalline cover slid back and a violet
blade flared up. Two seconds later three corpses lay around the
coralskipper. Vergere and Oin climbed out.

"Much the same as I remembered," the Fosh said to herself.
She shivered, feeling the emptiness around her. She was now cut
off from the main body of the Force, only able to use the energy
her own body produced. "I know where to go and the way to get
there. If the Force is with us I'll soon be finished and gone."

"What do you want me to do?" Oin asked.

"Stay here, conceal yourself and wait. I'll return here for
you after I've done what I need to do." She started for the
doorway.

"No," Oin began following her.

"You can't help me," she spun to face him. "It's too
dangerous." Her mind was full of problems enough as it is: if she
succeeded in this, there was still something more that needed
doing, something that would take a lifetime commitment, but at
the same time she was honor-bound to see Oin safely to a world he
could prepare for his people. "I'll finish this, then return so we can
take one of the healthy skips and flee.

"And what if something happens and you can't get back
here?" Oin challenged. "What about when someone investigates
this place while you're gone and finds me? You said it yourself,
the safest place is at your side."

"I can't afford to protect you (and) fight the Yuuzhan
Vong," Vergere snapped.

"Maybe I'll be the one to protect you."

Vergere grimaced. There was no time to argue, no time at
all, she might be too late already. "All right then, come on-" she
turned and saw Drash Tevock standing in the doorway.

"Lt. Tevock?" Her feathers bristled in surprise.

"Hello there," the pilot said as he walked past them and
headed straight for the coralskippers. Vergere stared. She had
forgotten about the strange, Force-strong Imperial, and frankly she
had no idea what to do about him, if she even (could) do anything
about him: he could actively use the Force now. She had
perceived it the instant she'd seen him, she had also sensed the
dark power emanating from him. Drash hadn't fallen to the dark
side yet, but he was on the brink.

"Where were you?" That was all she could think to ask.

"With a priest," Drash stepped over the dead shapers with
out seeing them. He selected a healthy, fully-fueled skip and
hopped into the cockpit, "but I decided I'd worn out my welcome."

Gradually, Vergere began to understand what he was doing.
"How...how did you learn to touch the Force?"

Drash paused, for the first time something she said made an
impression on him. "An Eternal taught me," he said softly,
Vergere felt Oin stiffen beside her, "he called himself Vlu." She
heard sadness in his voice.

"I knew him," she said in a soothing tone, "he was my
friend. I'm a Jedi, I know about the Force. I can help you
understand it. Come out of the fighter and we'll talk." This would
disrupt her plans, she knew it, and the whole galaxy could well
depend on a few minutes, but-

"No," Drash settled the cognition hood on his head. "There
are things I need to do, and I have a feeling there are things you
need to do. Let's not hold each other up. Maybe there'll be time
later." The cockpit closed.

"I...I hope so," Vergere murmured. She was letting a Force-
strong man on the brink of the dark side enter a battle that would
determine the fate of billions. Mace Windu would have a few
disapproving words for her. Yoda would probably bash her head
with his cane. She didn't want to (think) of what Thracia would
do. But they were gone, and she was all that was left of the Jedi.

The coralskipper lifted off, turned and sped through the
gravity barrier and out the hanger mouth.

As she watched the situation spin further out of control,
Vergere never felt less like a Jedi in her life.

*************************************************
(We have lost).

That was Thrawn's first reaction when the Star Destroyers
met the first volley from the worldship. The fleet had fought its
way through the asteroids, but the (Long Reach) finish them.
Exceptional leadership and training had seen them through the
gauntlet, and losses that could have been critical were instead
merely costly, but the diminished fleet just didn't have the numbers
to take on the worldship's firepower.

He let none of this show, of course, he couldn't let his men
see him falter.

"Worldship is trying to grab the (Hammerblow) with a
gravitational anomaly," the tactics officer reported. Parck
clenched his fists and actually licked his lips once, even after all
this time Thrawn had to remind himself that such public displays
of emotion were acceptable by human standards. The Admiral
himself was perfectly composed, but he felt a chill creep over him.
If the countermeasures he'd devised failed then the battle would
be lost this very moment.

Powerful dovin basals seized the Star Destroyer and began
to strip away her shields while coral missiles converged on the
capital ship. The (Hammerblow) opened her fighter bays and
released a hoard of probe droids. Following their programming,
the small machines sent powerful gravitational pulses into the
vacuum around the capital ship.

As Thrawn had hoped, the tractor beam lost its hold on the
Star Destroyer and the conflicting gravity fields confused the
Missiles' guidance. A volley from the (Hammerblow) and a few
fighters and supporting ships quickly mopped up the alien
projectiles.

Thrawn, meanwhile, had focused on the sensor reading of
the worldship in his tactical display. "Priority instructions for all
ships," Thrawn said, "target this area." A flick of a switch
highlighted a region on the worldship's surface. Thrawn deduced
that particular group of pits and ridges housed the dovin basals
which had attempted to seized the (Hammerblow), now that the
gravity-producing organisms were tired out by the effort this spot
might just be the weak point to insert the wedge.

Thrawn offered a mental prayer to his ancestors and his
ruined Homeworld. This would be close...

*******************************************************
Drash flew into the Force and a maelstrom of conflicting
energy thundered around him, mirroring the chaos in his own soul.
A thousand forces threatened to tear him apart, but he knew where
to go. There was only one place where he'd ever known peace: a
fighter's cockpit. There he ceased to be a mere human troubled by
human failings and fears, he knew the purity of a single purpose:
the kill before him, and the one after, and so on. Once again, he
was the sharp edge of the knife.

His only worry had been that the Vong fighter wouldn't
respond to him, but the coralskipper was even more incredible
than he'd imagined. When he donned the cognition hood Drash
Tevock was no longer a man piloting a fighter: he (was) the
fighter.

Drash's body was the size of a rebel X-Wing and coated
with durasteel-hard living armor. Instead of arms and legs he now
had dovin basals that could propel him at awesome speeds or
shield him from enemy fire. He had plasma spitters and launchers
to hurl rocky projectiles, he could 'see' not only visible light but
electromagnetic fields, gravity wells and heat signatures. He could
'smell' the chemical trails of ion engines. He felt the cold vacuum
against his rocky skin and knew it could do him no harm.

The ship's intelligence was like a part of his own mind, and
Drash sensed it was ready for battle: the fighter was fresh, rested,
well-fed and fully armed. It was a young fighter, only just grown
on the seed world. It felt its own youth, health and strength and
yearned to be out in the fight like an athlete would yearn for a
good, rough smashball game. It sensed Drash's intentions and
eagerly put itself at his disposal.

The coralskipper responded to Drash's thoughts as easily as
his own body. He felt the dovin basal's effort as it shoved away
from the worldship, the scent of plasma and blasterfire in vacuum
stung his nostrils. Without hesitation, he picked out his first target:
a coralskipper flying close to the worldship.

Drash's first shot went a little wide, as he'd intended it to.
Once he'd gotten the alien pilot's attention he shot a few lethally
accurate blasts in his direction. Confused by the friendly fire, the
pilot hesitated for a second before evading and throwing up a void
to catch the plasma. That second cost his coralskipper it's rear
dovin basal. Drash sent another volley as he passed below and the
enemy broke apart.

The human turned his attention to other targets, he was
lobbing a projectile at a coralskipper's canopy when, as if from a
great distance away, he heard a voice making what sounded like
angry demands in the guttural language of the Yuuzhan Vong. The
coralskipper's villip must have activated and someone in authority
probably wanted to know what he was doing. Without removing
the cognition hood, Drash reached toward where he remembered
the villip was situated. He found the leathery sphere and crushed it
with one hand.

***************************************************
Sang Anor grimaced when the tactic of seizing, stripping
and shooting failed, obviously you couldn't use the same tactic
twice against Thrawn. He grimaced again when the Imperial
barrages began to get through the weakened defenses and chip at
the worldship's outer crust. He commanded the gunners to double
their efforts and, with no other option, commanded the (Long
Reach) to rotate.

Rotating would put the injured point out of range, but it
would also tax the remaining dovin basals. More, the Star
Destroyers were attacking from three sides, making it necessary to
defend on three fronts at once.

No matter: the Imperials still didn't have enough ships to
achieve a victory and the worldship's armament were still barely
tapped. He commanded all the remaining asteroids to fall on the
Imperial groups from behind and launched volleys of missiles and
plasma from the (Long Reach) herself.

He had only just given the order when another disruption
came to his attention: a coralskipper had apparently gone rogue,
turned on its comrades and was attacking everyone and everything
around it. More disturbing, the flight controller reported trying to
contact the pilot, who destroyed his fighter's villip. She claimed
she sensed a human mind in the instant of contact.

Sang Anor demanded an explanation and the yammosk
quickly pieced together some relevant information and gave it to
the Executor.

The priest, Krelt, had sounded an alarm moments ago,
saying that his human prisoner, a pilot, had escaped. The internal
sensors tracked his chemical trail, which lead in the direction of
the hanger which had held that particular fighter.

Sang Anor rolled his eyes at the incompetence of the
priests and sent a detail of coralskippers after the rogue.

****************************************************
Parck winced as three more frigates exploded and winced
again when a desk hai destroyed another Star Destroyer. Those
planet-killers were taking a heavy toll on the fleet, and they had
few enough ships as it is. TIE fighters swarmed on the desk hai,
but were met by coralskippers, grutchin and shielding rocks.

"Sir, they asteroids are moving to take us from the rear,"
Commander Veenir reported.

"I see it, Commander," Parck locked his eyes on the tactical
display, where small red dots swarmed the three fleets.

Thrawn frowned. "There is a disruption in the enemy
defenses," he said quietly. Parck followed the admiral's gaze and
saw coralskippers flitting about in confusion over the worldship's
surface. Thrawn seemed unperturbed by the dwindling fleet,
though Parck couldn't imagine what he might have under his
sleeve. The worldship's defenses would soon overwhelm the
battered fleet.

"Admiral," a cool Chiss voice spoke up, "sensors indicate a
large number of ships, mechanical ships, have exited hyperspace
and are on a course for us."

Thrawn turned and raised a brow. "Reinforcements from
Imperial Center?"

"No sir, they're Chiss vessels. The flagship commander is
hailing us."

"Put him through," no sooner were the words spoken than a
hologram of a white-haired Chiss materialized before the admiral.
It took Parck a moment to recognize him: he no longer wore a
Syndic's uniform.

"Syndic Taesk," Thrawn inclined his head and greeted him
warmly, without a sign of surprise. Parck all but gaped in
astonishment. Incredible! How had Thrawn convinced the Chiss
to throw in with them? And at this time, when the fleet most
needed ships? Parck could only stand amazed at his superiors'
brilliance and planning.

**************************************************
Thrawn had barely kept his eyes from bulging out of their
sockets when he heard the news, and Taesk was the (last) person
he'd expected to show up.

"Syndic Taesk," Thrawn inclined his head and spoke in his
own language, "from what do I owe the pleasure of your
company?"

"A desire to do something useful for once in my life,"
Taesk replied in the Chiss tongue. "And it's not 'Syndic' anymore,"
he tapped his chest, at the uniform of a phalanx commander he
now wore, "I abandoned my rank when I abandoned the
Council's mad plan for war against the Ssi Ruuk, after telling those
old fools what I truly think of them. I took all of my phalanx who
wished to accompany me, as well as their families who should be
requesting asylum at one of your worlds as we speak. My people
and I are exiles now, we wish to join your phalanx, if we may."

"I am pleased to have you," even in the midst of battle,
Thrawn was not one to forget his courtesies. "Deploy your ships
and reinforce the battle-groups, you will receive further orders
from my phalanx commander onboard the (Sentinel)."

"Thank you, Syndic," there was a flash in the old man's
eyes that made him look decades younger. The hologram
disappeared and Thrawn called up an image of Raine so he might
inform her of the influx of vessels under her command. He could
barely contain his buoyancy: none of the Chiss ships had the size
and strength of a Star Destroyer, but with their numbers increased
Unity Fleet actually had a chance at victory!

**************************************************
They traveled deep into the worldship, by side-routes that
would make running into a Yuuzhan Vong unlikely, especially as
most of them were out in coralskippers or manning plasma turrets.
The only Vong they saw was a shamed one huddled and asleep in
a corner, they passed by without waking him.

Eventually they neared the public areas at the center of the
worldship, also deserted, where Oin saw amazing things: the deep
pits of maw luur, pulsing, moist processing organs, artfully
designed temples and a vast pleasure garden with songbirds that
sang so sweetly the Nesz was struck dumb by the natural
beauty.

Yet the garden was not a paradise, far from it: dead and
dying corpses lined the walls and instruments of torture existed
side-by-side with makers of beautiful things. The birds and beasts
of the garden were not fed, but hunted and killed one another to
live. He even saw a beast gnawing on the bones of a Yuuzhan
Vong child.

"These creatures are mad," he said.

"Don"t dismiss their ways so easily," Vergere said, "there is
nothing of madness about their ways: everything you see has been
done by rational minds pursuing definite goals."

"Evil goals," Oin put in.

"Yes, I suppose that's true," they turned down another
corridor, "Just a little further now, past the menagerie, and we
should be there."

They walked through a series of large rooms, each one
containing a few creatures native to this galaxy in a simulated
environment similar to their native worlds. "The shapers have
taken a few specimens from each world the (Long Reach) has
visited in the Unknown Regions," Vergere explained. "The planets
had no intelligent life, of course, but analyzing these creatures will
give them an insight into the kinds of life that would best thrive on
these worlds. That information will prove very useful when they
begin their conquests: they want to make the most efficient use
possible of their seed worlds."

"These don't look like laboratories to me," Oin saw a six-
winged avian perched in a tree and a canine with a long, serpentine
neck in one enclosure. He looked to another and saw insects
almost as big as he in a pen that resembled a dry, desert cave.

"The shapers can get more information by observing how
the creatures behave in their natural environments," Vergere said,
"the menageries are open to the public, so they also provide some
entertainment to Yuuzhan Vong on their leisure time." They
continued walking.

Then a tunnel mouth gaped open before them with arches
carved in fantastic, hideous shapes on either side. "This is as far as
you go," Vergere commanded, and this time there was no arguing
with her.

"Why?" Oin had to ask anyway.

"Because this is something I must face alone," the Jedi said
quietly. "If I survive, I will return for you."

"And if not?" The last Nesz touched the seed packets
gently with his claws.

"Then more than your people will die," she unhooked her
lightsaber, "but there is no other way." She walked into the tunnel
with a steady, deliberate pace.

"Vergere," the Jedi turned back, "whatever happens..." Oin
said haltingly, "thank you, for everything. I'm glad to have known
you," he met her eyes, "and may the Force be with you."

The Jedi was touched, at that moment she wanted to run
back and embrace the Nesz, but that would only make leaving all
the more difficult. Steeling herself, not allowing her emotions to
have the mastery, she merely nodded. "Thank you," she said as she
turned back to the darkness.

*******************************************************
Beyin's ground forces encountered no enemy opposition in
his march on the enemy base, which wasn't to say the trek was
easy-going: the treacherous swamplands made it impossible to use
the heavily-armed and armored AT-ATs. The General had to
made do with repulser-powered hovering vehicles like tanks and
speeders. He also had the use of AT-ST walkers, lightly armed
and armored but fast and sure-footed even in the bogs.

The Chiss general commanded a mixed force of Imperial
and Chiss phalanx ground forces, supported by wings of TIE and
Chiss fighters overhead. His mission was simple: destroy the
enemy base, though it seemed the Yuuzhan Vong had made that
mission unnecessary. According to an advance group of TIE
fighters the aliens had destroyed their own dwellings first, saving
Unity Fleet the trouble.

It seemed the aliens had gone even further: if they couldn't
have this planet, no one could. From his command center aboard a
beautiful but functional Chiss hovering tank Beyin saw the trees
withering to dry husks before his eyes. The water had turned into a
thick, brownish substance and the native beasts were hacking their
lives away on the dying grass. Sensors indicated the air was
swiftly becoming toxic and the ground troops had donned
encounter suits equipped with life-support.

Beyin kept a sharp eye on his troops, alert for any lapse in
discipline: the TIEs informed him there was still one Vong
structure standing, a tower in the middle of the ruined base, and
even though there was no apparent opposition Beyin would never
permit his men to be careless, especially when it might cost lives:
he recalled the attack on Coerl's base and the Vongs' use of deadly
traps. Those dishonorable barbarians wouldn't kill another soldier
under Beyin's command through ambush or trickery, not if there
was any way to prevent it.

"Sir, we have a transmition from one of the forward
scouts," the tank pilot spoke.

"Put it through." The image of the AT-ST's human pilot
filled a screen.

"General, we have come across a group of fifty humans and
Chiss, they claim to be TIE pilots; survivors of a strike force the
Grand Admiral dispatched here earlier," he paused. "They're not
looking too good, Stent, their commander, says some of them have
already died from the air toxins."

"You didn't let them onboard?" Beyin demanded quickly:
there was a good chance this was another Vong trap, and even if
the pilots were what the seemed and not aliens in masquers there
was still the chance they carried some Yuuzhan Vong disease or
weapon implanted in them without their knowledge.

"No sir," the pilot said immediately, "but we tossed out
some breathing gear and a comm link." The image shifted to a
camera-eye view from the walker's chin. Beyin saw a large group
of ragged humans and Chiss passing around several facemasks and
air tanks. They were huddled together under the walker's guns,
with no visible cover for an enemy ambush. The general picked
out Stent: he stood closer to the walker than the rest, with a comm
link in one hand and a breathing mask all to himself.

"I'll speak to the commander," Beyin said. Seconds later a
Chiss voice came through the speakers.

"General Beyin, sir," Stent's tone was clipped and
businesslike, but didn't suggest any great emergency; if he was an
imposter, he was well-schooled in Chiss protocol, "Commander
Juhs'ten'trivah reporting. My men and I are at your disposal."

"Acknowledged, Commander," Beyin responded, "though
you realized I cannot trust you or your men until team of Imperial
medics have examined you all meticulously. Until then you must
remain under guard."

"Of course, sir, I imagine you have a number of questions
to ask. I am curious concerning a few matters as well: chiefly the
Chiss fighters and tanks we have seen." Beyin felt a sick feeling in
his stomach: they didn't know about alliance with Thrawn's old
phalanx, and they didn't, couldn't, know about Homeworld.

"But in the meantime I request breathing gear and medical
supplies be distributed to my pilots."

"I will arrange it, Commander."

"Thank you sir," Stent paused a moment, then allowed the
barest hint of emotion to color his voice, "and if I may say, it's a
great relief to see the Empire marching on these barbarians."

"The battle isn't over yet, Commander."

****************************************************
A score of coralskippers attacked Drash from every
direction, plasma cannons and grutchin struck from the planet
itself and filled the void around him with foes.

Drash was enjoying himself. He toyed with the attackers,
leading them down coral canyons and flying perilously close to
plasma geysers. Several skips had perished already, having
misjudge and flown too close to a canyon wall or a geyser as it
gouted up plasma at Imperial craft. Others he destroyed with his
own weapons.

He didn't waste energy trying to shield himself but rather
used all the dovin basals' power to propel his craft at high speeds.
The other coralskippers had to do the same to keep up with him,
leaving no strength to shield their own fighters, but while Drash
was used to fighting in an unshielded ship the Vong pilots were
used to having a void to call on.

Without warning Drash dropped his speed and opened fire
when the coralskippers shot past him. He got three of them before
the others could start an upward climb. Now the pursuer rather
than the pursued, Drash climbed after them, lobbing plasma when
he had a target in range. Tired dovin basals couldn't muster up a
void and a fourth fighter died, its corpse spinning aimlessly
through space. Three more tried to take him from behind, but he
dodged the plasma and projectiles with minuscule swerves in one
direction, then another. Now that he was fully aware of the Force
his piloting skills put his prior ability to shame. True, the aliens
and their creatures didn't register in the Force, but they had weight,
mass and velocity, (those) had an effect on the Force.

The coralskippers and their weapons made ripples as they
moved through that energy field, by paying attention to those
ripples Drash could tell where they were, what they were doing
and even what they were (likely) to do. Oh, not too far in advance,
a few seconds at most, but that was more than he needed.

A turboblaster bolt from an attacking Star Destroyer
streaked down to the worldship surface and tore up a small chunk
of coral, 'small' being relative to the size of the Star Destroyer:
coral segments twice the size of his skip erupted from the fresh
crater. A coralskipper crashed into one and disintegrated. The
human cast out with his senses, looking for other targets.

There were none.

To his chagrin, he saw that the coralskippers he hadn't
killed had all gone off to fight the Imperials. He banked toward
the fighting and only a last-minute warning through the Force
saved him from taking a rocky projectile in the cockpit. He
swerved away just in time, but the missile was followed by a
plasma volley and he had to execute a sideways roll to save
himself.

Drash winced as he skimmed the worldship's surface, coral
peaks and valleys to either side of him and ground mere
centimeters from his fighter's belly: there was a long score along
his fighter's side. That skip had hit him!

Even more astonishing, the craft was gaining ground
quickly, apparently using the same tactic Drash employed: using
its dovin basals for propulsion only. The human began some fancy
flying, steep climbs, sharp banks, sudden increases and reductions
in speed, and astonishingly the other skip kept on his tail the whole
way, and several of its shots almost hit him.

Under his cognition hood, Drash grinned: at last a
challenge!

*******************************************************
Wras pursued the rogue coralskipper with single-minded
focus. He didn't recognize fear or failure, doubt wasn't a part of
his makeup: since his shaping he had become a better pilot than his
earlier self could have dreamed.

When the lights had gone out in the base, Wras hadn't
hesitated: he'd run straight to the coralskippers and taken off for
the space battle. The base was a lost cause, and Wras knew this
was how he could best serve the Yuuzhan Vong.

There had been another reason he had run for the
coralskippers: because he needed the cold focus they provided.
When he flew there was no purpose beyond the enemies in his
sights. Wras hadn't shown it, but seeing Stent, speaking to the
Chiss, had shaken him. Being so close to one of his people again
had awakened, not memories exactly, but (sensations): the vague
feeling that he belonged with the red-eyed infidels, which was
utterly at odds with the not-at-all vague knowledge that his place
was with his fellow Yuuzhan Vong.

Wras had experienced a moment of creeping dread:
suppose that other personae, the weak, damned infidel he had once
been, was resurfacing? Under normal circumstances he would
have run to the priests and shapers, but none were available at the
moment so he ran to his coralskipper: the focusing power of
combat piloting would help with this division of his psyche. At the
very least it would keep him sane until he could speak with Krelt
and the shapers.

The infidel-infested coralskipper tried to shake Wras by
following the worldship's landscape at high speeds, sometimes
passing so close to coral outcroppings a sneeze would have meant
crashing. Wras never hesitated in following.

The enemy dived into a canyon and Wras followed, lobbing
two projectiles as he went. He almost hit the infidel, almost.

Wras didn't experience frustration at the miss: he would
destroy the infidel eventually. He knew only the pure, overriding
purpose of his mission and through the yammosk he experienced
the group-sensation with his brother Yuuzhan Vong and their
creatures. It didn't matter if he died: Wras was no longer an
individual, he was an amphistaff with bared and venomous fangs,
he was a sharpened coufee, thirsty for blood.


*******************************************************
Sang Anor felt an instant of panic when he saw Thrawn's
reinforcements. Had he miscalculated? Had his attack on the
Chiss Homeworld incited them to throw in with Thrawn rather
than let their pride lead them into a useless war, as the Executor
had intended?

The distress vanished as soon as it appeared: the new ships
constituted less than a single phalanx, and none of the Chiss ships
was the equal of a Star Destroyer. Even better, none of them were
equipped with Thrawn's countermeasure, the Executor quickly
discovered this when the (Long Reach) grasped one of the bigger
Chiss ships in its gravitational clutches and succeeded in holding it
and stripping away the machine's shields. A volley of guided
missiles demolished the infidel craft.

This changed nothing: the newcomers would be easily
cleared away once the Imperials were dealt with. Sang Anor's
victory would simply cost a little more effort and time, so he
thought as the desk hai moved in to demolish more Star
Destroyers.

Now all that remained was to deal with that rogue
coralskipp-

Sang Anor's mind froze in midthought. The very synapses
in his brain seemed to overload and (surge). He literally could not
believe what the yammosk had just shown him. He was
hallucinating, that was it: the creature on the other side of the
chamber door could not possibly be here. Sang Anor waited for
the yammosk to replace this delusion with the real image the
internal sensor-eyes had picked up, but the brown-robed avian
remained. Not only did she remain, she activated her vile
machine-produced blade of light and plunged the point into the
door.

Still stroking the amphistaff around his arm and over his
shoulders, Sang Anor slowly turned and looked down at the door.
He caught the smell of sizzling flesh as the lightsaber roasted the
door's tissue.

The damaged coralskipper from the planet, the one he had
let aboard and then forgotten about in the heat of battle, the Jedi
had been inside. Sang Anor knew it with sudden but total
conviction. His mind drifted to the ruined seed world; so Nom
Anor was dead after all. He had a flash of memory so strong it
might have been qasa-induced; in this memory he was seventeen
years younger and newly wed to his first and only wife. He had
fewer scars and less tattoos, but for once rank and power were no
part of his thoughts. All his attention was concentrated on the
newborn infant he held, still slick with birthing fluids.

He looked at the newborn in his arms: a disgustingly soft-
skinned creature, its wrinkly body unscarred and bare of tattoos, to
Yuuzhan Vong, children too young to provide for themselves were
looked on as burdens to family and domain. They weren't people,
but potential; creatures yet to be tested and found worthy of life.
The baby was nothing of great importance.

And yet Sang Anor loved him.

He had given the child to Lyrra before the attendant came
to take little Nom to his creche, and seeing his beautiful wife and
son together Sang Anor, a politician to the core, experienced a
simple but powerful feeling he could never put into words. It was
more than a feeling: it was a conviction.

He loved them both more than he could ever describe.

Oh gods how he loved them.

(Gone), the shadows around him whispered gleefully,
(alone, alone, alone).

The blade continued its path through the door, it would
take a few seconds more for her to get through. Sang Anor sent a
thought to the yammosk and the portal simply irised open.

***************************************************
Vergere was caught by surprise when the door opened. She
jumped back, blade raised to a guard position, but when no attack
came she edged slowly into the doorway.

The chamber was large and round, with a high pedestal that
but the yammosk in the exact center of the room. Beside the war
coordinator, in full armor except for the masked helmet, was Sang
Anor. The room was full of images of the space battle, but when
the Jedi stepped into the room they all faded away and she was left
with Sang Anor to concentrate on. He was more than enough.

The Executor's face was unreadable, his eyes without
expression, his soul, if Yuuzhan Vong had souls, gave off no
signature in the Force, but when Vergere met his eyes she felt her
heart contract with terror as darkness and death washed over her.
Not through the Force, but through some manner or instinct more
basic and primal, something that reached into animal part of her
brain and set off alarms. The smell of fire in the air, the feel of an
earthquake building under your feet. Vergere knew which future
had to be, and she knew what she had to do to make it happen, but
looking at Sang Anor she very much doubted her ability to do so.

"Its been a long time, Jedi," the calm voice sent waves of
icewater through her blood.

"Three years," somehow, her own voice was as composed
as his, "not so very long in the grand scheme of things."

"Three years can be an eternity," Sang Anor replied. Three
years in an empty bed. Three years living when a part of your soul
has been cut away. He didn't speak these words, but somehow
Vergere heard them.

"You know why I'm here," she raised her weapon.

"Of course. You're here for the same thing you did at
Zonama Sekot, the same thing you did by saving Thrawn and
helping the slaves and infidels on my seed world: you're here to
interfere with your betters in matters not your concern."

"I am a Jedi," Vergere felt strength rising withing her when
she said that, "I fight evil wherever I find it."

"And am I evil?" Sang Anor smiled, almost gently.

Vergere thought of the torments inflicted on the Nesz, of
their dead world and dead ways. She thought of the plagues Sang
Anor had loosed on the Unknown Regions, of the tortures,
sacrifices and atrocities beyond count she had seen as a Yuuzhan
Vong prisoner. Of the Executor's many deceits, treacheries and
murders. "Yes," she said, "you are." Sang Anor was not as far
gone as Palpatine, he not as lost to darkness as a Sith Lord, but he
was getting there.

"Perhaps I am," he nodded slowly, "we will discuss this at
length later, during your sacrifice." He cocked his head. "Take
her."

Vergere didn't need to wonder who he was talking to for
long: the yammosk attacked her immediately.

The war coordinator bent its will on her, seeking to
overwhelm her mind with its telepathic might, to crush her will
and break her spirit, leaving her a babbling, drooling thing.

Vergere shoved it off easily. Under normal circumstances
a yammosk would be more able to break her defenses with ease,
but this one was in the middle of a battle, with the bulk of its
energy tied up in organizing and commanding the Yuuzhan Vong
forces. It just didn't have the strength to spare.

"It wont work," Vergere shook her head, "if you want me
dead you'll have to do it yourself."

Sang Anor watched her with those sharp, cold eyes of his.
Then, slowly, he smiled.

"So be it," he said, "Jedi."

*******************************************************
The (Sentinel) sent another volley of charricfire down on
the worldships, and though many of the bolts were swallowed by
dovin basals, more than half got through to the surface. A casual
observer would think the Imperials were winning, but Raine knew
better: the mass and size of the (Long Reach) was defeating them.
Thrawn's forces were wearing themselves out against the
worldship, which responds with its own seemingly inexhaustible
armaments.

The worldship dominated half the viewscreen, the dying
planet the other half. Her view was occasionally blocked by the
Imperial probe droids Thrawn had provided. Barbarous devices,
but she had to admit they worked: the worldship could no longer
simply swat their fleet out of the sky. A few larger chunks were
breaking off the (Long Reach), but compared to the main body
they were merely chips. Meanwhile, the desk hai continued to
take out the biggest ships with impunity. It was only a matter time
before the Imperials succumbed.

Abruptly, she spun to the comm station. "Hail the
(Imperator), I need to speak with the Syndic," the title stung her
mouth.

"Commander," Thrawn's image flickered to life before her.

"Syndic, dividing our forces is a mistake," she didn't waste
time with courtesies. "You need to combine the fleet and strike at
one point on the worldship. If the worldship starts to rotate we
need to follow the spin and keep firing. We're too few to inflict
significant allover damage."

The Admiral nodded. "You are correct, Commander. I
will recall the other two battle groups, and thank you for the input.
In the meantime, concentrate your fire on the largest craters." The
hologram dissolved.

(That was quick), she thought. She had half expected
Thrawn to reject her suggestion out of hand and had been ready
with reasons to convince him differently. If anything, this only set
off another flare of anger within her: Thrawn was apparently a
living ideal, everyone perfect commander. No wonder Vraet was
so insecure and resentful, so easily goaded into trying to prove
himself. A lifetime of trying to live up to someone like
Mith'raw'nuruodo would do that to anyone.

That was the way of Chiss nobility, where a child was just
a commodity, shaped to fit a mold of unyielding cast. Thrawn
would do the same thing to his grandchild if he ever found out
such an heir existed, Raine intended that he never would.

"Commander," the tactics officer raised his voice,
"incoming hostiles." A desk hai preceded by five shielding rocks
approached the (Sentinel) from the port side. A wing of Chiss
fighters hurried to intercept it, but the desk hai abruptly reversed
course and began heading backwards, quickly picking up speed.
Two of the rocks followed and the fighters pursued.

But the three remaining shield rocks not only kept their
course, but increased speed once the Chiss fighters passed them.
They locked their powerful dovin basals on the (Sentinel) and two
other Chiss capital ships. Raine's red eyes widened when she saw
ten more asteroids rushing towards them.

"Send a call to Red Wing," she somehow kept a level tone,
"tell Red One's fighters to engage and destroy those three
asteroids."

"Commander, gravitational anomalies have disabled our
port shields and four asteroids are on a collision course."

"Lay down suppressing fire and roll the ship," she ordered.

The (Sentinel) began to roll, putting her shielded underside
to the rocks, but they weren't rolling fast enough. The
gravitational compensator maintained that the deck was still
(down), no matter how the ship rolled. Turbocharric bolts
disintegrated two asteroids, but the others rammed the capital
ship's unshielded hull.

The blast knocked Raine off her feet, but she rolled as she
hit the deck and was back on her feet a few seconds later with only
a bruise or two for her troubles. Many of the bridge crew weren't
so skilled or lucky: the tactics officer had hit his head against the
display, the screen was cracked and a cut on his forehead spilled
red blood into red eyes, the rest were mostly cuts and bruises, the
worst was a crewer who had broken his arm in the tumble.

"Status," Raine began to say when her booted feet left the
deck, the gravitational compensator, it seemed, was one casualty.

The lights dimmed, but the screens stayed up as emergency
power kicked in. "Heavy damage to the underside and lower
levels," a crewer reported, life support is still operational, weapons
are offline."

"Shields?" She asked.

"Gone," the crewer grimaced, "I'm trying to contact the
technicians to-"

"Commander!" Another Chiss spoke up. "We're being
boarded!" The viewscreen flickered back to life, showing a hoard
of grutchin streaming into the (Sentinel)'s wound.

"Seal all blast doors!" She ordered.

The sight Raine found even more ominous, though, was
beyond the forward viewport where (Night of Fire,) a Yuuzhan
Vong battlecruiser the size of a Star Destroyer, closed in on the
drifting ship.

**********************************************
Thrawn immediately dispatched a Star Destroyer and
supporting cruisers to rescue the crippled ships. He hoped Raine
survived, but it looked doubtful: there was no way the
reinforcements could arrive before the Vong cruiser finished off
the (Sentinel).

A pity, Raine had proven more capable than he'd
suspected: consolidating the fleet was good strategy, Thrawn had
been about to do just that when Raine had contacted him with the
suggestion.

Even more disappointing, she would die before Thrawn
had a chance to puzzle out her secret. Whatever it was, it seemed
tied up with her intent to leave his phalanx directly after this battle.
Try as he might, Thrawn couldn't convince her to stay. Clearly,
this secret was important if it was compelling her to leave the
phalanx she'd built and commanded for years. But what could be
more important to this female than her duty to the Chiss and
preserving the honor of her phalanx? What could-

The whole universe froze around him as an idea, a thought,
an (insight), bloomed in his mind.

Raine was female.

She had been Vraet's lover.

What was more important to a female than (anything) else?

Thrawn had no proof, it was only a hunch, but he (knew)
the truth. He watched the battleship close in on the (Sentinel), and
the only time he'd felt more helplessness and fear was when he'd
seen what the Yuuzhan Vong had done to Homeworld.

***********************************************
Sang Anor took three steps back from the edge of the pillar,
his eyes drilling holes in Vergere. "Do," he thrust his right arm out
sideways and spread his fingers wide. "Ro'ik," the amphistaff slid
down his arm and crossed his palm. "Vong," he closed his hand
and the serpent went ridged. "Praaaaaaatte!" He ran to the edge
and (leapt) off the pedestal.

Sang Anor was a black silluete in the air, the amphistaff
raised overhead and the war cry still on his lips as he arced down
towards her. Vergere rolled out of the way as he landed, but Sang
Anor executed a forward roll the second the balls of his feet
touched the deck. When he came up he was in range and he lashed
at her with the amphistaff.

Vergere jumped straight up, strong legs and quick reflexes
saved her from a blow that would have shattered her bones. She
arced her lightsaber in a downward slice at the Yuuzhan Vong's
head, but Sang Anor wasn't to be taken that easily: at a twist of his
arm and a flick of his wrist the other end of the serpent curved up,
hardened and took the blow, then he tried to catch her blade in the
curve of his amphistaff and rip it from her hands with a sudden
pivot of his upper body. The Jedi barely kept her grip on the
weapon. She somersaulted and kicked at the wall behind her, spun
over Sang Anor's head and landed behind him.

She stabbed at Sang Anor, but the Executor was already
turning and bringing up his weapon. The violet blade threw up
sparks as it skidded across the amphistaff tail, then Sang Anor
sprang at her, his amphistaff a whirlwind in his hands.

Vergere dodged and rolled. In this battle she had speed and
fast reflexes, but those were her only advantages. She wore no
armor and in the middle of a worldship she was cut off from the
greater power of the Force; she had only her own life-energy to
draw on.

Sang Anor was another matter altogether; as a member of
the intendant caste he was a politician, not a warrior, but Yuuzhan
Vong practice literal cut-throat politics. Sang Anor was a master
of the amphistaff and he wore full body armor. He had a longer
reach than Vergere, he was taller than her and much, much
stronger.

The Yuuzhan Vong pressed his attack and Vergere gave
ground. She ducked an amphistaff swing and slashed back with
her lightsaber, Sang Anor blocked the strike with an armored
forearm while the other hand twirled the amphistaff and drove its
fangs toward her body. She pivoted and tried to tangle the snake's
head in a fold of her robe, then feinted a thrust at the Yuuzhan
Vong's neck. When he moved his staff to block she swung the
lightsaber at his ankles, intending to sweep his feet out from under
him.

Sang Anor saw the trick coming: he blocked the swing with
the other end of the staff, then aimed a side-kick at her head. The
Jedi ducked and rolled away, robe billowing around her.

******************************************************
The Vong battleship filled the viewscreen. Floating in
zero-gravity, Raine kicked against a wall and launched herself at a
control station. She caught the chair back as she sailed past and
the uninjured Chiss at the station finally tore his eyes from the
living ship and noticed her.

"Commander," he managed to maintain something like
discipline in his manner, even if he had to brace his legs against
the underside of the control console to keep from floating off his
chair.

"Do we still have contact with the probe droids?" Raine
asked. The crewer looked at her with uncomprehending eyes.
"Crewer, report!" She made her voice sound like the crack of a
whip, and the crewer turned to his station without thinking.

"We do," he reported.

"Good," her hands clenched on the chair back as she told
him what to do. Raine turned to another officer. "I need a torpedo
primed and ready to launch, now."

The officer blinked. "What good would one torpedo do-"

"That was an order, not a suggestion," the bright flare of
her red eyes stilled all objections. At that moment, with her face
framed by a stormcloud of black hair and her eyes burning with
something more than the obligatory red inner light of the Chiss,
Raine resembled one of the ancient war gods the Chiss once
worshiped, or perhaps Grelm'ine'nethtu, the witch-queen of myth.

As the warship entered firing range a black cloud of probe
droids rose to meet it, and the vessel seemed to stagger as the
gravitational disruptions meant to defend against the worldship
interfered with and confused (Night of Fire)'s dovin basals. The
plasma cannons loosed gouts of fire that atomized the small droids,
but for a few seconds the ship was drifting, propelled forward by
momentum alone, and in those seconds the (Sentinel) fired a
torpedo.

The ship must have seen it, but before the recovering dovin
basals could raise a void the missile struck a lumpish projection on
the upper-forward area of the ship, which Raine hoped was the
bridge, and disintegrated it.

For a long and hopeful moment the warship kept on
barreling forward on nothing but momentum, then the vessel
slowed and stopped as the dovin basals cut in. (Night of Fire)
slowly turned, bringing its plasma cannons back on the (Sentinel)
as its backup brain took charge.

"Ancestors embrace us," the officer began the prayer.

"That may be a little presumptuous," Raine said dryly as
turbocharric bolts dug into the side of the Yuuzhan Vong ship.
The officer looked to the display screen and saw the (Ever
Watchful), Syndic Taesk's flagship, closing in and attacking the
much larger Vong ship.

*******************************************************
Oin paced the deck with restless energy, with the passing of
every second he seemed to feel the worldship shudder under his
feet. He fingered the bandolier and it seemed the weight of a
planet hung around his neck. The Nesz were depending on him,
and if the Imperials destroyed the (Long Reach) the seeds, and the
future of the Nesz, would die with it.

For the hundredth time he turned back to the archway, this
time more than half ready to run after his friend. Vergere had told
him to stay here, that it was dangerous, but if she got herself killed
then Oin's chances of escaping weren?t worth consideration.

(Besides), he thought as he began running, (I've gotten her
out of a few tough spots before).

He wouldn't be any help to Vergere this time, though, as an
amphistaff from behind struck at his feet, tangling in his legs so
that he was pitched forward onto his face. His snout struck the
coral deck and stars went supernova behind his eyes. He shoved
himself around and on his back as the amphistaff reared up to bite
his face.

"Well now," Krelt moved into Oin's line of vision, "they
missed a slave during the sacrifices." He shook his head
disapprovingly. "Such carelessness, and now I suppose it falls to
me to finish their work."

*******************************************************
Vergere parried a glob of venom that hissed and sizzled on
her blade, then Sang Anor was charging her. The Jedi stood her
ground and spun, the Yuuzhan Vong missed her by inches and she
slashed at his back as momentum carried him past her, he spun and
the slash took him across the chest. Vergere put all her strength
behind the swing and the blade cut into the armor and scorched the
flesh beneath.

Then Vergere was leaping to avoid the counterstroke. She
ran until the curving wall blocked her path, then jumped and ran
along the surface of the wall itself. The Jedi spun away from the
wall and stabbed at Sang Anor's side, but the blow was blocked by
the amphistaff. Sang Anor followed her with burning eyes, his
anger beat down on the Jedi.

Vergere fought without anger, without despair, frustration
or fear. Deep inside she felt the simple, powerful peace that came
from the Force. She seemed to flow like water, moving one way,
then another, blocking and giving ground before his attacks but
moving in to strike when she saw an opening. Sang Anor was
good, no question about it, but she danced around him and avoided
his swings with ease. If not for his armor he'd have been killed
three times by now.

The Fosh ducked a punch from the Yuuzhan Vong's
guantlet-covered fist, pivoted to avoid the stabbing amphistaff then
rolled under a kick. Patience was the key here: wait for Sang Anor
to tire or make a mistake in his own impatience, then-

(OIN)!

The Nesz's fear was like a scream. He was in danger!

For the barest fraction of a second Vergere lost her
concentration. Then she saw the attack coming, too late, and
moved, too late.

The amphistaff caught her across the right leg and agony
tore through her, shattering what remained of her focus. The Jedi's
lightsaber slipped from her hand, deactivated and bounced across
the floor. She knew the leg was broken, she shifted her balance to
her left leg and hopped backwards, trying to call her lightsaber
back.

Then Sang Anor was rushing her, and Vergere had neither
the agility to dodge or the weapon to block and counterattack.
Sang Anor rammed his shoulder into her chest and her entire body
flew back and hit the coral wall. The impact knocked the wind out
of her and the back of her head struck the wall. She fell to the
deck.

*******************************************************
The (Ever Watchful) shielded the damaged (Sentinel) with
It's body as it traded volleys with the (Night of Fire). Thrawn
watched as the much larger Vong battleship poured plasma on the
Chiss vessel. The (Ever Watchful) was faster, it could have
evaded the living ship, but other than roll to present shielded sides
to the (Night of Fire) it didn't move.

Taesk knew that if he moved his ship the Vong cruiser
would immediately continue its assault on the (Sentinel), and when
Thrawn had seen the (Ever Watchful) was the only friendly ship of
any strength near Raine's vessel he had immediately contacted the
former Syndic and given him a direct command, Syndic to phalanx
warrior: "Protect the (Sentinel), protect her at all costs."

The (Night of Fire) attacked the Chiss ship brutally,
oblivious to the Star Destroyers closing in on it. Its bridge crew
dead, the battleship no longer had a Yuuzhan Vong to guide it and
so the living vessel reacted as any large, fierce animal, injured and
enraged, would. The (Sentinel) had injured the ship, it wanted to
destroy the Chiss craft in turn, and if this other vessel got in the
way (Night of Fire) would vape it as well.

Still, Taesk didn't abandon the (Sentinel), even when (Ever
Watchful)'s shields finally gave out and it had nothing to block
with but its hull. Plasma and projectiles struck the capital ship and
it exploded under the onslaught.

Thrawn's heart sank. ("...do something useful for once in
my life.") that was what Taesk had said. (You have, my old
friend), Thrawn thought as five Star Destroyers converged on the
(Night of Fire), their combined firepower overwhelmed its dovin
basals and tore the Vong warship apart. "May your ancestors
embrace you," he murmured in his own tongue, "and carry your
soul into the stars." There was more to the ritual prayer,
beseeching the deceased's decedents to look to his life for
guidence and wisdom, but Taesk had died the last of his line.
(You have done more than you know).

*******************************************************
"A disgrace," Krelt continued to shake his head, watching
the struggling Oin with impassive olc'its as he talked, to himself,
Oin knew, not him: a Yuuzhan Vong didn't speak to a slave. "I
come to the yammosk's chambers thinking to sacrifice myself to
Yun Yammka, to atone for letting an infidel convert slip escape
me, only to find the worldship crawling with stray vermin," the
burned priest sighed. "The gods will not be pleased." He walked
forward, limping slightly, he must have injured his hip somehow,
obviously why he needed the support of the amphistaff he'd cast at
Oin.

The serpent twined around him and the Nesz struggled to
pry the coils away with one hand while the other gripped the
amphistaff's neck just below the head. With every breath he took
the Vong creature tightened around him a little more.

Krelt drew a sacrificial coufee from his transparent robes.
Oin struggled to free himself from the amphistaff's coils as Krelt
closed in on him. The priest reached for Oin's head with his
skeletal hand, but the Nesz jerked away and bit at his fingers, all
the while still wrestling with the snake.

"Wait!" He yelled into Krelt's face and the priest paused,
bemused to hear a slave speak with the tongue of the gods. "Tell
me why first. Why did you come to our world? Why did you
enslave and kill us? The Nesz did nothing to you, we did nothing
to anyone, why did you do this to us?" He pried at the coils.
"Answer me!"

Krelt frowned. "To you?" He repeated. "Foolish creature,
this was never about you, and it was never your world. The gods
have decreed all the planets in this galaxy belong to us, all (life)
belongs to us. We took your world because we could use it, and
we enslaved you because you were convenient. It's that simple."

Krelt tried to grab Oin a few more times, wanting to pull
Oin's head back and slit the Nesz's throat in a reasonable clean
kill, but when he kept moving he sighed and simply stabbed at
Oin. The blade missed cutting the reptilian as Oin rolled away, but
the edge cut his bandolier. Before his horrified eyes the cut end
fell to the deck, spilling the seeds of his people's future. Krelt
merely kicked the end away as he advanced on the Nesz.

Horror turned into white-hot rage when Oin saw that. For
the Yuuzhan Vong to destroy his people's last hope so casually and
then (not even notice) was just too much to bear. Without
thinking, he pivoted his lower body and swung his tail. He
knocked Krelt's legs out from under him and the priest fell to the
deck with a yell of surprise, the coufee flew from his hand.

Oin saw the weapon spin through the air and clatter to the
deck, almost within arm's reach. Oin could reach it, but he'd have
to release his hold on the amphistaff to do it. He looked into the
serpent's eyes, mere inches away from his own and kept away only
by Oin's grip on its neck. If he didn't try for the weapon, though,
the constricting snake would strangle him.

He released the serpent's head, rolled and seized the coufee
as the amphistaff coiled around his neck. The creature was
strangling him, cutting off his air, and Oin had a moment of panic
before stabbing with the Vong blade.

Oin felt the edge bite into something, then heard a grinding
sound and a startled scream from the amphistaff and saw the
serpent's severed head flop onto the deck. The strength gone out
of its body, Oin shoved the coils away and stood.

He spun and found Krelt, the priest was leaning against a
wall, pulling himself upright and trying to stand. Oin felt a low
growl build in his throat, then he was sprinting across the deck. He
knocked the ancient priest to the floor and leapt atop his chest.
Oin felt something snap under the Vong's burnt skin and the
gasping priest clawed at him with bony hands, but the Nesz was
too infuriated to notice.

"Boast now, you stinking monster!" Oin snarled at the
priest and wrapped his hands around his scrawny neck. "Tell me
how great you are, tell me we don't matter! Come on! Tell me!
Come on!" He punctuated each sentence by ramming the back of
the Yuuzhan Vong's head into the coral floor.

Krelt made no response, his mouth had gone slack, his eyes
wide and expressionless and his hands limp at his sides. Oin
shifted his feet, felt the broken bones in the priest's chest and
understood. He opened his hands and the burned, bald head fell
back against the deck.

Oin climbed off the body, then looked away in disgust as
the yellow olc'its began climbing out of the dead body's sockets.
Shuddering, he bent and gathered up the seeds.

*******************************************************
Vergere's vision swam out of focus, for a moment it
seemed she might pass out but the pain in her broken leg wouldn't
let her lose conciousness.

Then a great, black shape towered over her. It stooped on
her like a bird of prey with its kill and an armored hand tangled its
claws in the front of her robe, then she was being hauled up and
suspended in the air as if she weighed no more than a bag of
feathers.

She barely felt the pain when the figure slammed her
against the wall and held her there. She was busily engaged in a
Jedi calming exercise, then something seemed to snap back in
place in her head and Vergere saw Sang Anor's face take shape in
the fog. She recovered her wits just in time to see the Executor
draw his coufee and drive the blade through a fold in her robe and
into the wall. He released his hold then, but Vergere stayed in
place: dangling from the coufee with her face on a level with Sang
Anor's.

The Yuuzhan Vong's face had taken on a semblance of
calm, but the mad glitter of his bright eyes and the twitch at the
corner of his mouth let the Jedi glimpse a trace of what the Force
could not reveal to her. He pulled the gauntlet from his right hand
and cast it to the deck.

Sang Anor smiled slowly and raised his bare hand, it was
so close she could reach out and trace the tattoos on the back of his
hand. The fingers were stiff but slightly curved, his talons, wicked
and sharp, curved back toward his face. Vergere knew his
intention as clearly as if she'd ready his thoughts: Sang Anor would
slit her belly open with those claws, then, with his bare hand,
remove her organs one at a time.

Vergere had failed, she knew it. She looked into the
Executor's eyes and saw her own death, and this time there was no
Nesz to save her and no Eternals to heal her. She was cut off from
the Force and beyond even Thracia's reach. She was alone in the
pits of hell, without weapons or friends.

"You stupid animal," Sang Anor shook his head, "did you
learn nothing from living among us? The Yuuzhan Vong are
invincible," he leaned closer to Vergere. "We cannot be stopped,
not by any scheme or treachery you can devise, not by any allies
you can muster against us, and not by your Jedi magic." He took
another step toward her, he was close enough to-

(To what)? She felt like laughing at the part of her, shaped
by long and intense training, that still sought a way to win. (If I
kick him he'll break my other leg, if I try to punch him he'll bite
my fingers off).

"Today I will triumph here," he continued, "tomorrow I will
triumph everywhere, in spite of you. I will crush any who stand in
my way, the infidel Empire, the Rebellion and any stray Jedi that
might live. I will shape all that live to my will, and the (Force),"
his mouth twisted in contempt, "will die." He showed his teeth.
"Your sacrifice will make it so."

But Vergere wasn't listening to him anymore.

She had seen something behind him that made hope spring
to life in her breast.

Her lightsaber.

She reached out with her own life force, shaped with her
will, and made the handle levitate. It slowly rose through the air
until it hung on a level with Sang Anor's head.

But the Executor was no fool, and he wasn't so caught up
in dreams of future conquests not to notice Vergere's expression of
intense concentration, or that his victim was focusing not on him,
but at a point over his shoulder. He spun around as the Jedi
weapon ignited.

Sang Anor merely smirked as he raised his amphistaff in a
guard position: let her launch her infidel blade at him, he would
break the machine and then break the pieces into still-smaller
segments.

The lightsaber didn't launch itself at him, though, but up
and at a sharp angle, building up speed as it moved. Sang Anor
frowned in confusion, then his eyes followed the blade's path:
straight as blaster bolt to the yammosk!

"No!" He drew his arm back to throw his amphistaff,
intending to knock the lightsaber off-course. That was his mistake:
had he turned and killed Vergere or rendered her unconscious the
lightsaber would lose its animation and fall back to the deck, but
Sang Anor's first instinct was to deflect the attack.

While his back was turned, Vergere braced her shoulders
against the wall, clenched her mouth tight against the pain and
kicked out with her good leg. She wrapped her muscular leg
around the Yuuzhan Vong's neck and pulled him back as he threw.
The amphistaff flew wide but the lightsaber sailed unobstructed
toward the war coordinator. The yammosk was so busy
concentrating on the battle that it didn't notice the weapon until the
blade buried itself in its body. Vergere grabbed the coufee that
held her and struggled to pull it from the wall.

All the while she shoved the lightsaber deep and made it
twist and swirl, destroying the mighty brain. The yammosk's black
eyes bulged and it loosed a scream that Vergere heard with her
mind, not her ears.

The yammosk's death-cry was deafening to Vergere, but to
Sang Anor, linked so closely with the coordinator, it must have
been beyond her comprehension. His eyes bulged and he
screamed in pain and shock. He pitched his body forward,
doubling up and tearing Vergere away from the wall in the
process. She rolled across the deck and shrieked as someone
seemed to pull her broken leg apart and pour molten rock over the
pieces, but she kept hold of the coufee.

Sang Anor flung his torso backward until his back arched,
his screams had become hoarse and ragged things. He pressed his
hands to his temples and his talons dug into the skin over his
forehead and scraped the skull beneath, crimson blood streamed
over his face.

Afterward, Vergere could never explain where she had
found the strength to do what she did then. In truth it wasn't
Vergere at all who acted in those next crucial moments.

It was the Force.

Rather, it was the part of her that most belonged to the Jedi
Order, the part that cared nothing for her own fears, weaknesses,
indecisions or pain, the part of her that was a servant of the Force,
nothing more.

In any case she didn't think before standing up and
balancing on her good leg, she hadn?t even made a conscious
decision to do so. Her mind was empty as she took those five long
hops toward Sang Anor, still holding his coufee in one feathery
hand. She felt no fear, no anger, only the beautiful peace of the
Force. She didn't even register the hell in her broken leg.

One last awkward bound placed her in front of Sang Anor.
The Yuuzhan Vong was staggering blindly, but his screams were
no louder than coughs now. Vergere relaxed, splayed her toes
wide to keep her balance, and plunged the coufee into Sang Anor's
lower chest, through the cut her lightsaber had earlier made across
the armor covering his chest and abdomen.

She yanked the coufee up until she encountered the bones
of his sternum and ribs, then plunged the thirsty blade deeper and
bade it drink deep. She twisted the weapon and pushed it from
side-to-side, blood and other fluids spilled from the cut in his
armor as vital organs shredded under the Jedi's onslaught.

Sang Anor jerked, stiffened and fell to his knees. Once
more their faces were on a level, Sang Anor's eyes rolled back and
his mouth gaped slack. A low, groaning cry resounded from the
cavern of his mouth. His shaking, shuddering arms slowly reached
for the ceiling, perhaps to some presence revealed to his tortured
brain, and he fell backward and lay still. Vergere looked down at
him, at the great, twisted, bloody shape with a coufee jutting from
its torso, then collapsed herself.

*******************************************************
Thrawn saw the change instantly: one moment the alien
forces were all fighting as one, the next their unbelievable
coordination vanished. Before his amazed eyes the enemy
formations fell apart, coralskippers broke formation, coral
battlecruisers and asteroids no longer worked in concert but simply
attacked whatever targets were nearby.

(This must be some kind of trick)! Was his first thought,
but what purpose could Sang Anor have in throwing the battle?

No, some other force was at work here, and on thinking of
the word 'force' Thrawn suddenly understood: it was Vergere's
doing. She had destroyed the ground-based weapon that had
threatened Unity Fleet, and now she had somehow disabled the
yammosk.

"Press the attack," he ordered his commanders, "we've got
them."

******************************************************
Using her arms and one leg, Vergere crawled away from
Sang Anor. There was still one thing left to do, one thing to make
certain the Yuuzhan Vong tasted utter defeat today. True, as
things stood now Thrawn would almost certainly win, but the Jedi
couldn't afford to chance it. Suppose some shaper or commander
managed to access the worldship rikyam and order the (Long
Reach) to withdraw and jump into hyperspace? If the worldship
escaped then the danger would remain: it was a big galaxy, the
Yuuzhan Vong could hide and grow strong again. They could
make other seed worlds in secret and shape beings like Wras to
replenish their losses. They could even grow another yammosk.

They could do all that, if the worldship survived.

Vergere was certain she would find what she needed at the
base of the yammosk pillar. All she had to do was-

She screamed when Sang Anor?s hand closed around her
ankle. He began dragging her backward.

*******************************************************
The tanks fired a fresh volley at the tower. Beyin watched
as the base cracked, then the tower collapsed like a rotting tree. It
shattered as it struck the blasted ground, and the last Yuuzhan
Vong structure on this world died.

Along with everything else, it seemed.

The trees had mostly withered away, and the birds and
beasts were hacking their lives away. Dead fish floated to the
surface of poisoned ponds by the hundred. Beyin felt something
crack under his feet, looked down and saw the charred bones of a
Nesz. He grimaced and stepped away.

"We've encountered no resistance, sir," he turned to face
the captain, a young Chiss phalanx officer eager to impress the
legendary General Beyin.

"It seems someone has done our job for us," the general
nodded. "Let's just hope the rest of the battle is going as well."
The processed air in his breathe mask stung his sinuses, but it was
better than breathing the tainted air. He adjusted his face mask
and goggles, then turned back to the ruined tower. "Someone
really didn't care for the Yuuzhan Vong."

"Sir," the comm link in his ear came to life, "commander
Stent is requesting to speak with you."

Beyin grimaced, Stent and his group had given him an
abbreviated report of their activities planetside, and the general
would have been tempted to dismiss the story as delusional
nonsense - lizard ghosts and underwater domes made with magic,
ridiculous - if they all didn't tell the same tale. Also, the facts
seemed to fit their explanation: (something) must have devastated
the base.

"Put him through," Beyin no longer believed the stranded
pilots were part of an alien trap: there was no one here to do any
trapping.

"General, my men and I know the location of some alien
artifacts the Grand Admiral might express some interest in,"
Stent's voice buzzed in Beyin's ear, "I suggest we take some
samples for study before the alien pollution reaches them."

"I hardly think archeology is one of our chief priorities," the
general admonished.

"These artifacts are special," Stent returned, "a study of
them could lead to valuable technological breakthroughs." Stent
paused for a moment, but Beyin could tell he was hesitating,
unsure if he should continue to voice his thoughts.

"Also General," he continued, "the natives of this world
were instrumental in saving our lives and ending the Vong threat
their focusing tower posed. My men and I believe there should be
something preserved to remember them."

Beyin frowned. "Very well, Commander, I'll send a
detachment to retrieve this artifact, you can guide them."

He arranged the party, then climbed into the cockpit of a
crouching Walker and ordered the pilots to head deeper into the
coral fields. The ground forces were scouring the base for signs of
remaining Yuuzhan Vong, so far without finding so much as a
stray amphistaff or a segment of vonduun crab armor. The distinct
shapes of AT-ST Walkers could be seen everywhere, and
occasionally a TIE fighter passed overhead. Beyin turned his
attention to the sensor readouts and the narrow, horizontal slits that
serves as windows.

At this point, he was ready to declare this site officially
secured. He wouldn't risk returning to the landers and trying to
rejoin the fleet above, not with a battle in progress, so there was
nothing to be done but dig in and wait. If Thrawn was victorious
they could expect to return soon. If the savages won the day Beyin
could expect a planetary bombardment to herald the Imperials'
defeat.

"Sir, the sensors have found something," the pilot bent over
the console, "not alien though: it's not organic." He turned to the
general. "It's metal sir, durasteel. Looks like an Imperial ship."

Beyin raised a brow. "Curious, take us closer."

The object in question was covered by debris of dead coral
and ash. "I want a closer look," Beyin said. "Crouch and
dismount."

They exited the Walker and slowly circled the lump, from
the sides of which two dirty metal fins jutted, meeting at the top to
form a triangle. "It looks like a Lamda class shuttle," the pilot
mused aloud. "How could it have gotten here?"

"I believe I know," Beyin said. "During the first official
encounter with the Yuuzhan Vong there was an assassination
attempt on Admiral Thrawn. The aliens actually penetrated the
(Admonitor) using their ooglith masquers and tried to eliminate
him in his own chambers, killing a Royal Guardsman in the
process. Afterward the surviving infiltrators escaped by stealing a
Lamda class shuttle. I believe this is that shuttle."

"The Admiral should be happy to have it back," the pilot
ventured, "not that it will be much use after rusting here for over a
month."

(A month), Beyin thought, (things of great import often
occur swiftly. A month ago I had never heard the name 'Yuuzhan
Vong,' two days ago my beautiful Homeworld was strong and
alive. The universe must have the mind of a capricious child if it
loves surprises so).

"The shuttle is probably in worse shape than it looks,"
Beyin said when the reached the other side. "The rampway has
been left open," he shook his head, "ranats have probably nested
under the control panels." He turned back, but the pilot paused.

"Sir, I hear something," he stepped close to the ship's body,
pressed his head to the debris-covered hull, then pressed his palms
against it. "This shuttle's activation sequence has been initialized,"
he started around to the walkway, "the engines are heating up, I'd
say it's almost ready for takeoff."

Beyin's eyes widened, the pilot set one foot on the ramp.
"Stop!" He shouted, too late.

The pilot's head snapped back and his legs skidded forward
and kicked up. He fell on his back, a razorbug stuck out of his
forehead.

Beyin stepped back and drew his blaster, his hand went to
the comm link at his ear as two Yuuzhan Vong, faces covered by
gnulliths, bounded down the ramp. Beyin fired and hit the taller
savage in the chest as he threw another razorbug. The impact
knocked him off the far side of the ramp, but the blade-edged
insect flew its course and struck Beyin's hand as he reached for his
comm.

The general felt a rush of agony from his fingertips to his
elbow, glanced at his hand and saw a razorbug had impaled his
palm. Blood spurted from the wound and the fingers (he found it
hard to think of the thing as (his) hand, with (his) fingers) twitched
uncontrollably. He cut his gaze back to the shuttle, the smaller
Yuuzhan Vong had leapt from the ramp and was only a few steps
away from him, and the one Beyin had shot was struggling to his
feet.

Beyin was squeezing the trigger even before he took aim,
but the savage's amphistaff flicked out and knocked the weapon
from his hand. Beyin dropped into a defensive crouch and reached
for his vibroblade, but the alien warrior merely advanced another
step, spun the amphistaff around and plunged the serpent's head
into Beyin's chest.

(The universe is capricious indeed).

*******************************************************
Sang Anor slowly pulled the Jedi toward him. Vergere
flipped onto her back and braced her hands on the floor. She tried
to shove away but the Yuuzhan Vong's pull was inexorable. He
lay on his stomach, he must have rolled over while Vergere was
crawling toward her own goal, his arm had been fully extended to
grab her ankle with his bare hand, and he was pulling himself
forward with his other hand even as he drew her toward him.

Sang Anor reached with his armored hand and grabbed a
handful of her robes over her stomach. He released his hold on her
ankle and pulled her with his gauntlet-covered hand. Her leg
freed, Vergere could have kicked him then, but she didn't move.
She had looked at Sang Anor's face, and she was frozen.

Blood flowed from his forehead cuts, obliterating his facial
tattoos. The Executor's face was a mask of crimson save for his
ivory teeth and bright eyes. The sharp teeth were stained pink now
and more blood dribbled down his chin, but it was the eyes that
held Vergere, that froze her like a bird trapped in a serpent's gaze.

Sang Anor's eyes were wide and bright with life, but devoid
of intelligence. The yammosk's death had damaged his brain,
perhaps permanently. He didn't know who she was, he probably
didn?t even know who (he) was, but on some level he understood
two things: he was dying and this bird-creature had killed him, and
his last act would be to take her with him.

It was the power of his will that held Vergere pinned: this
terrible, inner strength that refused to die, that drove him on to his
goals despite pain or injury, despite opposition, despite his own
mortal wounds. How could she ever hope to win against a being
that this? He would kill her. He would. He would. He would.
His will reached out and drove that thought into her mind with
every breath he took. For an eternity the chamber was silent, the
only sound was Sang Anor's breathing: thick, wet noises that made
his mouth foam pink.

He reached for her with his bare hand, his arm arced over
her. The muscles in his face and neck stood out from his skin and
every breath was forced through his clenched teeth with more
effort than the last, but he never blinked. If he had, then perhaps
the spell would've broken and Vergere freed to think and move
again.

His talons hovered over her neck, there was a pause in
which a thousand futures balanced on the tip of a feather, then
Sang Anor's head slumped over and lay sideways on the floor. His
hand slowly lowered to rest on her robes.

This time, Sang Anor was truly dead. Vergere couldn't feel
him through the Force, but she saw him die all the same. She saw
his face lose its tension and go slack, she heard his breathing still,
but most of all she saw the life go out of his eyes. For a few
moments more his will still held her in place, not understanding
what was happening, still trying to drive muscles that just couldn't
respond. Then, by increments, the light behind those eyes faded
until it was gone.

Vergere looked on the corpse and found she could move
again. She pushed the hand off her, not with any loathing, not with
any feeling at all. He looked different now, smaller, befret of the
will that had made him a force to be reckoned with. This wasn't
Sang Anor, this was just a dead thing. The energy that had driven
him, that snapped between the synapses of his brain, was gone.
All that remained was meat.

The Jedi crawled away from the corpse, she could not think
of it as Sang Anor. She noticed her robes were bloody and touched
them. No torn flesh, it came from the body.

She knew she still had work to do, yet she lingered a
moment more. "I never hated you," she said. "I suppose I had a
right to, but I never did. I was afraid of you. I felt anger at what
you did to Oin and the Nesz. And now," a tear slowly ran down
her face, "now I pity you. Wherever you are, I hope you're
reunited with Lyrra Anor. And I hope you're shown more mercy
than you deserve."

She turned away.

And gasped in shock.

****************************************************
While the rest of the alien forces fell apart, Drash was
happy to see his own opponent remained fixated on the target: the
target being Drash and his coralskipper.

Asteroids, plasma and turboblaster fire spun and flashed
around them, but Drash was exhilarated as he led his pursuer on a
merry chase through the chaos. The Force was a raging maelstrom
around him as Chiss and human lives flashed into nothingness, the
feeling was beyond anything he'd experienced before. He glanced
back with his sensor-eyes and was surprised to see the other skip
was no longer chasing him, was nowhere to be seen in fact. Had
his opponent succumbed to a stray bolt of blasterfire or-

Instinct and a flash of light his sensors caught in their
peripheral vision made him roll right just as a bolt of plasma shot
past from beneath him. The alien-controlled skip had hidden itself
in the mass-shadow of an asteroid hurling blindly below, now it
shot up at him like a bullet from a projectile-gun, blasting plasma.
Drash increased speed and streaked forward to avoid the enemy
skip, which passed through his path from behind and continued up.

Drash cut his speed and banked, turning his skip in the
direction of his opponent. He saw the other living craft was doing
likewise and they charged each other at top speed. Both held their
fire, knowing that without shielding voids they would have to
swerve at the first hint of plasmafire, knowing neither could afford
to shoot until he was sure he would hit his target.

Then an asteroid spun through their path, blocking Drash's
view of the other skip and vice-versa. Drash reduced speed and
pulled up, intending to gain a height advantage over the other skip
only to find it doing the same. They were almost nose-to-nose and
they fired and dodged, then they were both climbing and spiraling
around on another, one moment Drash was behind the enemy skip,
the next he was the pursued.

Drash had him in his sights, he was squeezing off a shot,
then the skip was beneath him and pain lanced up his ?side? as a
plasma shot caught him.

He was spinning, out of control, one second he saw Star
Destroyers floating in the starry night of space, the next the pitted
surface of the worldship, and with every second the worldship was
closer. He would shatter against the coral surface and there was
nothing he could do about it. The coralskipper's mind screamed in
panic, but Drash was strangely calm in these last seconds of life.
He would die in the only place he'd been remotely happy: a
fighter's cockpit. More, he had experienced flying firsthand
through the cognitian hood's interface. He'd been one with his
fighter. After this, yes, he could let go of the struggle.

For the first time in his life a sense of peace came over
Drash, peace both complete and profound, and with the coming of
that peace the dark side lost its hold on him. And everything
changed.

No, (Drash) changed. With that act of surrender he opened
himself to the truth of the Force, a truth that wasn't found only in
conflict or rooted in the expression of power. His calm spread into
the mind of the coralskipper and they were again one.

Without knowing why, or needing to, Drash used his dovin
basals to reach for a point below and to the right of his path of
descent, just as the worldship launched a missile. The organic-
generated tractor beam latched onto the projectile as it sped toward
the Imperials, pulling Drash away from the worldship and out of
his spin. He released the missile and propelled himself under his
own power, straight at the enemy skip.

The Force understood conflict: the struggle to live was a
part of life, and even Jedi recognized the need to fight evil when
there was no other option left.

"Thank you," Drash murmured to the enemy pilot as he
loosed a volley of plasma blasts and projectiles, the skip dodged
one shot but flew into the path of another and fragmented into
melting, freezing segments, spinning through space. Drash flew
through the wreckage.

****************************************************
Vergere fell backwards to the coral deck, gasping in shock,
her violet eyes wide and staring. It was not pain or fear that
stunned her so, but wonder: she was experiencing the Force for the
first time.

Since before she was born a shadow had lain over the
Force, slowly growing in strength over the decades, disrupting the
balance of the Force and slowly tilting it towards the dark side. It
lurked at the corners of their vision, just out of sight, encouraging
war and conflict, undermining and perverting the noble ideals of
the Republic, hastening its fall into decadence and corruption.

The Jedi were the guardians of this balance and for long
years they had sought the source of the shadow that so threatened
the Force, but not even the wisest Masters could discover the
nature of the menace they all felt, like the first chilling winds
before a hurricane.

When they finally percieved the being who cast this
shadow it was too late and the tides of war and hatred swept them
away, leaving the Sith unopposed. From Coruscant, where the Sith
lord dwelled like a spider in a vast, black web, waves of darkness
rippled out to the farthest planets in the Rim.

Misery, pain, hatred and fear increased, feeding the dark
side, and as the dark side grew in power beings found themselves
more inclined toward violence, conflict and despair, which in turn
fed the dark side and made it still stronger in a cycle that pushed
the Force further and further out of balance.

But today, this very moment, something monumentous had
occurred: the being who cast the great shadow, who had been like
a stormcloud over the bright sun, was gone. Vergere felt the true
power and beauty of the Force at last. She felt like a slave who
had worn heavy chains for so long she no longer noticed them,
only to have them finally struck off, or a patient who has carried a
parasite coiled in her guts for decades, then at last having it
excised. There could be only one reason for this.

The Emperor was dead!

For a long moment Vergere wanted to sleep, to allow the
euphoria and shock to carry her into oblivion, at least for awhile.
She had journeyed so far, done so much, and now that the great
battles were over she could afford to rest. Her eyelids creeped
down-

-and her eyes snapped open again. No, there was still work
to be done. The worldship had to be finished, and Oin...she had
forgotten about Oin...was he safe? Dead? She had no way to
know: her vision had come to pass and the Force gave her no hint
of what the future held for her friend. She would have to look for
him.

But first things first. Vergere dragged herself to the base of
the pedastal, a few seconds of searching yielded up the touch-pad.
She stroked the surface and a compartment mouth opened in the
base, she reached in and found a cognitian hood and attaching
umbilical cord. She slipped the hood on and felt it make the
mental connection.

Command ships had such creatures in case an emergency
occurred with the yammosk that put the war coordinator out of
commission and the commander needed to issue orders quickly.
The hood linked her to the (Long Reach)'s rikyam, which could
send out messages via its own villips to any ship, asteroid or
coralskipper.

Vergere didn't try to contact the gunnery commanders or
the coralskippers: she would never be able to fool a Yuuzhan Vong
into thinking she was Sang Anor, but the desk hai were another
matter. She quickly found those seven distinct life-signs.
Confuses and frightened, they were retreating to the comforting
mass of the worldship. Perfect.

Thinking in the Yuuzhan Vong language, Vergere issued
her orders. The semi-intelligent desk hai didn't question her, they
were happy to have some kind of guidence again. They moved
into position and prepared to fire one last time.

Now all she had to do was find Oin, get him to a safe
planet, then find a way to return to the Yuuzhan Vong and try to
guide events so that the right future, the future she had glimpsed in
her visions, came to pass.

Oh, and she had to do all this with a broken leg.

"Well," she muttered, "no one ever said being a Jedi was
easy." She crawled to the stairs spiraling up the pedastal and used
them to pull herself up to a sitting position. Reluctantly she looked
down at her leg and winced on seeing how it bent. She had to use
Jedi pain suppression techniques just to keep functioning. The
Fosh braced her hands against the pillar and stood upright. She
was able to keep her balance with no difficulty, thankfully she was
not humanoid and her sense of equilibrium was such that she could
function perfectly well with one leg. She would have to hop.

Now she reached out with the Force and called her
lightsaber. With some difficulty it began to work its way out of
the yammosk's body. She had to work fast, soon the desk hai
would-

"Vergere!" The Jedi spun, grimaced at the pain in her leg,
and laughed in joy and relief at seeing Oin framed in the doorway.

The Nesz laughed and ran toward her, arms flung wide to
embrace the Jedi. Vergere understood the feeling well: they're
losses were great, but at least they still had each other, at least they
didn't have to face the future alone.

Oin stopped at arm's length from her and refrained from
hugging his friend. He saw her broken leg he suspected she had
other injuries, it might be dangerous to play too rough with her.
The Fosh took a hop toward him and threw her arms around him.
Oin relaxed and embraced Vergere in turn, he twined his long neck
around her.

But they had little time and they both knew it. Vergere
broke off the hug and resumed calling her lightsaber. "You're
well?" She asked Oin.

"Yes," the Nesz nodded, "and you?"

"I can get around," the Jedi weapon flew into her hand and
she buckled it to her belt. "We need to move, now."

Oin nodded and turned to the door, but paused a moment
when he saw Sang Anor's corpse. "Is this him?" He nudged the
body with his clawed toe, so that he could get a good look at the
bloody face.

"Yes," Vergere said, "that was Sang Anor."

"He doesn't look any different from the rest of them," Oin's
slit-eyes were unreadable, "but they all look alike to me anyway."
The dead Executor's amphistaff had returned to him, it coiled
around its master's corpse and reared, baring its fangs at the
possible defilers.

"He looked different when he was alive," she took Oin's
arm and gently propelled him to the doorway, "you would've been
able to pick him out in a crowd of thousands. But we have no time
for this, we must-"

The worldship shuddered and bucked beneath them, Oin
was cast to the deck and Vergere barely kept her balance. The
ceiling cracked and she hopped out of the way to avoid a falling
chunk of coral.

"What's happening?" Oin cried.

"The death of a worldship."

*****************************************************
Thrawn's one remaining worry had been the desk hai: with
his Star Destroyers packed so close together it was conceivable the
planet-killers could shoot into the mass and take out multiple
capital ships. He was counting on the fighters and smaller picket
ships and frigates to prevent them from getting within firing range,
but he still expected to lose several more capital ships before this
was over: larger segments were breaking off under the fleet's
barrage, which was digging a deep crater in the (Long Reach), but
the worldship had mass to spare. Thrawn's greatest concern was
that Sang Anor would attempt a retreat using the desk hai as cover.
If the (Long Reach of Death) escaped then this war in the
Unknown Regions could drag on for years.

"Sir," Parck reported, "Commander Raine is onboard and
heading for the bridge."

"Thank you, Captain," Thrawn tried not to sigh in relief. If
what he suspected was true, then he would be doubly thankful for
Taesk's sacrifice.

"Admiral," Commander Veenir spoke up, "the planet killers
are moving!" Thrawn felt Parck tense beside him.

"Toward which of our vessels?" He would need to send the
fighters to run interference and the picket ships to make the kill.

"None, their falling back to the worldship, and sensors
detect a gravitational surge. They're preparing to fire."

At what? There was no way their projectiles could reach
the Imperial ships from their current positions.

Thrawn didn't need to wonder for long, as the seven desk
hai fired all at once, into the worldship.

The fired into roughly the same spot, and before the
Imperials' eyes cavern-sized cracks radiated from the spot.
Abruptly, the plasma cannons were silenced and the dovin basals
went dead. Segments of dead coral twice the size of the
(Imperator) spun away from the impact, and that still wasn't all.

Unbelievably, the (Long Reach of Death) began to split in
half. 'Skin' of kilometer-thick coral crust peeled back and vital
organs the size of Star Destroyers spilled out into the void.
Thrawn looked under the skin and glimpsed a skeletal structure of
curving bone pillars, endless tubes that must comprise a circulatory
system and a hivework of insect-sized halls, floors and rooms. But
the insides were already breaking apart and drifting into space. A
swarm of coral escape pods and other ships flew from the
worldship's craters and canyons.

He heard the turbolift doors open behind him, then Raine
was walking down the long bridge deck to stand beside Thrawn
and Parck. "Homeworld is avenged," she whispered.

"So it is," Thrawn nodded, but the victory seemed empty,
inconsequential even. Homeworld was still ruined and Vraet still
dead, what mattered wasn?t revenge, but that the devastation would
never be repeated. Those under his protection wouldn't have to
fear the Yuuzhan Vong and their bloodthirsty ways.

"Pull the fleet back," he ordered, ?the debris could be
dangerous. The (Long Reach) can finish itself off," and he needed
time to consider how he would handle a certain...delicate...subject.

*******************************************************
Drash swerved to avoid chunks of dead coral. Under
ordinary circumstances he wouldn't have cared whether or not he
crashed. He might even seek out a piece of debris to ram into:
after being part of a kill this big, what was left? Now, however, he
found he had no desire to give up on living just yet.

Everything had changed, or maybe he was seeing the
universe with new eyes. All his life he'd sought the trancendence
Frae had promised, and in excepting death he had found it. He was
no longer that frightened little boy, cowering in the basement of
his own mind, hiding from the world. He was no longer a
frightened (anything), the fear that had ruled his life was gone and,
for the first time in his life, Drash Tevock was free.

His heart surged with joy and the coralskipper echoed the
sensation as they soared through the wreckage. Drash was free,
mind and body, and he had a fighter who felt the same way. They
could go anywhere, do anything, the whole galaxy was theirs. He
wasn't exactly sure where he would go now, but he knew it
wouldn't be back to Unity Fleet: he'd had enough of the Empire.

Besides, they would take away his coralskipper, dissect it
maybe, and Drash already loved his new fighter. Yuuzhan Vong
escape pods were drifting around him, Drash's sensors saw a
giant's shadow and he swiftly flew behind a coral segment as a
Yuuzhan Vong battlecruiser, perhaps the last one left, sailed near
to hurriedly gather up the pods. If Drash didn't intend to return to
the Empire, that went double for the Vong.

Drash put some distance between his fighter and the larger
ship. He'd need to jump as soon as possible, he was on his way to
just such a route when he heard a call through the Force. More, it
was a call for help.

For a moment Drash considered ignoring it. He was free
now, why risk himself, and there was sure to be risk, for someone
he probably didn't know? Best not to get involved.

(Vlu took a risk for you), a cold voice he felt rather than
heard, the voice of the Force, or perhaps from somewhere within
himself, (Vlu died for you, is this how you will honor his sacrifice?
If so then it would be better had you died in that temple).

He turned toward the call and found its source: a coral
escape pod caught in the dead planet's gravity well. It was heading
into the atmosphere and would soon be out of the battleship's
reach. Now that he was closer, he could sense (two) presences
aboard, not one. And the one who?d called him was familiar.

"Vergere," he breathed.

*******************************************************
Stent felt sick.

As sick as poisoned Homeworld must feel, his skin
shuddered as Homeworld's quake-beset crust must be. Learning of
his home planet's fate was like seeing his own heart cut from his
chest and burned in front of him, and now, seeing Beyin's corpse
sprawled on the blasted, ash-covered ground, it was all he could do
to hold onto his Chiss control.

"The artifact is secured in the lander," the voice from his
comm link might have come from another galaxy.

"Thank you," was that his voice? How could it be so
steady? "Send a sensor team to my position, the general has been
killed." He was a Chiss, that was how.

"Commander-?"

"You heard me correctly, lieutenant. Home in on my
position."

One of the ground troops he was with, a Chiss, knelt to
arrange the body in a more dignified position. "Leave him," Stent
said, "the investigators will need him to remain undisturbed."

The soldier looked up, the eyes behind the face mask held
some of the disdain ground pounders had for flyboys. "He was our
commander," he said coldly.

"And he would be telling you the same thing if he could,"
Stent replied.

The soldier frowned, Stent could tell it by his eyes. "Yes,
he would." He stood and waited.

A hovering tank arrived with an investigative team. Stent
entered the tank to make his report. He was instructed that, since
the planetary attack was officially a phalanx mission, he would be
patched through to the phalanx commander. Strange, how a Chiss
household phalanx was in the Grand Admiral's service, and that he
was a Syndic again.

With all these surprises, it was no wonder he started when
the image took shape in the holoprojector's light. It was a female,
a female in a (uniform)!

"Commander Stent," she greeted.

"Who are you?" Stent blurted the question.

The female narrowed her glowing eyes slightly, "Phalanx
Commander Haar'ain'ellena," she said, "I will hear your report
now."

"But I should tell someone..." he trailed off with the word
(male) hanging unspoken. Raine's expression didn't change, but
he got the creeping sensation she had heard his thoughts, "in the
Imperial fleet," he concluded lamely.

"I will see that your news reaches the Syndic," Raine
replied.

"Of course," Stent wanted to end this conversation quickly,
there was something in her manner that made him feel he was
behaving inappropriately, but surely it was the entire (situation)
that was inappropriate. Females could not become officers; it
wasn't...well...it wasn't how things were (done).

"General Beyin has been killed," he said. "An investigative
team is looking into it. The enemy base is secured and the General
and his pilot were the only casualties, but there may be at least one
active Yuuzhan Vong remaining. I personally doubt it: there is a
shallow depression near the general's corpse, I suspect it housed a
buried Vong craft that has since taken off. We cannot know for
sure, the sensors on the General's AT-ST were making a visual
recording of their progress, but the assailants entered the General's
AT-ST after the assault and destroyed the recordings. We have
also obtained an alien artifact from the time my flight group spent
here. A native artifact, not Yuuzhan Vong. It is loaded and ready
for transport, pending investigation by Imperial scientists to
determine its safety."

"Thank you, Commander," Raine reached for the controls,
"I will look forward to reading a more detailed report from you
later." The image vanished and Stent breathed a sigh of relief,
only then realizing he had actually been (intimidated) by a female.

He shook his head, things had changed indeed.

*******************************************************
"Thank you for the use of your comm system," Raine said
as Stent's image was replaced by a piece of holographic art. She
frowned, "This Stent seems an able enough individual, but his
attitude might need adjusting."

Sitting at apparent ease in his command chair, Thrawn
barely heard her. So Beyin was dead. He and Taesk both. It
seemed hard to believe; in spite of everything his intellect could
provide about the dangers Beyin exposed himself to in combat, or
of Taesk's advanced age, in his heart he had believed they would
live forever, those two constants in his life.

He could recall the many evening they had spent together
on Homeworld before his exile, that was Thrawn's gift: to
remember everything with perfect clarity. Beyin had been one of
Taesk's pupils, as Thrawn had been one of Beyin's, and Thrawn's
House had always been close friends with Taesk's, it was natural
those three should gravitate together.

They had spent hours discussing battle strategies, history,
art, literature and politics. Away from the disapproving stares of
the Syndics, the three of them had expressed their disgust at the
backward policies of the High Families. Their inward-looking
nature, their favoritism of lineage over ability, their refusal to look
at anything beyond their boarders and their prejudice against
anything not Chiss.

Truthfully, young Thrawn was often frustrated with Beyin
and Taesk as well, for they seemed convinced that nothing could
change things. He was convinced he knew better: Taesk and Beyin
were intelligent and open-minded, yes, but they were (old).
Thrawn grimaced as he recalled himself in those days: young and
full of passion, brilliant and knowing it, ready to go out and
conquer the universe.

He had learned some hard truths since then, change was
rarely easy or without opposition for one. He'd experienced that in
the Grand Council, when all the Families had turned on him.
Thrawn had leaned of something of his own limitations as well,
when he'd first come into the Emperor's service. He had looked
into those yellow eyes and seen wisdom, and hunger, millennia
older than the ancient, hooded frame they sat in. A terrible
wisdom that perceived all the hidden places in a being's mind, a
hunger for lives to dominate and other wills to crush. In the
Emperor's gaze Thrawn had seen a power as old as life itself. The
power of the dark side.

And look how far he had come since then: Homeworld was
gone, his people committed to a war that would destroy them, his
family was gone, and Taesk and Beyin were dead.

(I'm the last one left), he thought, (the last of our little
club).

"-I'll require a ship or the funds to purchase one," Raine
was saying. "I trust you still have those recommendations I made
for my successor?"

"So you are still intent on leaving?" Thrawn folded his
hands.

"As I've said before, I will remain in your service long
enough to see the aliens defeated and Homeworld avenged. That
done, I will go my own way."

"Indeed," suspecting what he did, Thrawn had to appreciate
her courage and will, "there is no need to hurry, though. If any of
this haste is due to your present condition you may unburden that
worry. I would be happy to make a medic available to you if you
wish, by the way."

"For what purpose?" She asked calmly, her face and voice
gave no hint of anxiety.

"For your child," Thrawn replied. "I imagine you have been
examined by a physician on Homeworld, a very discreet one, but
my medical resources are at your disposal."

Thrawn never saw the charric leave its holster, but in the
space of a breath she had drawn the weapon and was aiming it at
his heart. Her expression hadn't altered a hair.

"Contact one of the phalanx ships," she ordered in a calm,
level voice, "the (Dutiful Servant), and tell the captain to dispatch
a shuttle to the (Imperator). You will then order Captain Parck to
take it aboard and to allow it to leave at my discretion."

Thrawn nodded in approval but didn't otherwise move.
"The (Dutiful) was one of Taesk's ships, there is no way I could
have a homing beacon installed on one of its shuttles. Very sound
thinking, Commander, but drawing a weapon on your Syndic is not
appropriate behavior."

"The charric is on a nonlethal setting," she replied. "Are
there guards outside? I would prefer to stun you and leave but I
will take you hostage if necessary."

"No, there are no guards, no one will prevent you from
departing if that is your choice," he was more impressed with her
with every passing moment. "I don't wish to harm you."

Raine smiled a little at that. "Of course you don't," her
voice had a slight edge to it now, "I'm carrying a valuable
commodity."

"'Commodity?'" Thrawn echoed. "A vulgar term."

"An honest one, for that is all offspring are to Chiss nobles.
If I bear a male you will raise him to be a perfect copy of you, and
ruin him as you ruined Vraet if he fails to meet your expectations."
Her eyes burned with anger. "If a female then you'll see her
wedded and bedded as soon as possible so that you can obtain a
male of your bloodline to mold as you wish."

"And you could do better?"

"I don't feel a need to justify myself to you, but yes, I would
do better. My child will know its own worth. I'll teach it to be
strong and honorable, but I will love it as well, and I will never let
anyone harm it."

Thrawn smiled. "I believe you, and I can think of no one
better suited to raise Vraet's child than its mother."

Raine blinked, but the charric remained level. "What are
you saying."

"That I would be honored if you would enter into the
Kolm'riizh Pact with me."

(This) clearly startled her. "The Blood Bond? You want to
(adopt) me?"

"With all rights, privileges and responsibilities being a
member of my House entails," Thrawn affirmed. "You would
retain your position as phalanx commander, rule as regent over the
Chiss under my protection while I am away on the Emperor's
business, and your child will be my legitimate heir, and yours to
raise as you see fit."

Raine slowly shook her head. "You're lying, trying to lull
me into dropping my guard."

"I can have the ceremony performed now, this very
moment via hologram as soon as I can contact a Chiss priest, and
I'll do better than summon witnesses: I'll broadcast the Bonding to
every world under my protection," he tilted his head to one side.
"You'll have the protection of my House and phalanx, for I could
never put you aside then: my Chiss followers would never stand
for such a breach of honor."

Raine narrowed her eyes. "Your reputation for
unpredictability is well-deserved, Syndic. What do you get in
return?"

"A family," Thrawn replied, "a chance to experience what I
turned my back on when I left Homeworld, and the knowledge that
my followers will be well and fairly ruled. I am not of the same ilk
as those Syndics you knew on Homeworld. If I was then why do
they despise me so?" The Admiral leaned forward. "You must
trust someone, Raine. I ask that it be me."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you may leave. I will provide you with a ship of
your own, money, and all the supplies you wish. You will be free
to go wherever you like, alone." (To bear and raise your child
alone), he did not need to add, (to wander the stars as vagabonds.
To abandon your duty and your people).

Not even Thrawn could read the thoughts behind her
expressionless face. She gave no hint of indecisiveness or
hesitation: this was someone, he knew, who would (never) show
weakness to an enemy. It was entirely possible she would reject his
offer and choose to depart. "I trusted Vraet," she finally said, "if
you loved him as you claim, then I will trust you as well," she
holstered her charric, but her glowing eyes never left Thrawn's.
"But if you do betray me you'd best not leave me alive afterward,"
she warned.

*******************************************************
When the 'mouth' of the escape pod sealed around the
coralskipper cockpit Drash was able to open the hatch and climb
into the coral pod. The interior was lit by a lambent crystal held
by a familiar robed and feathered shape.

"Hello there, Vergere," Drash glanced at her companion
and tried to recall his name from their time together in the
swamps, "Oin, is it?" The Nesz nodded an affirmation.

"Drash," Vergere regarded him as if she'd never seen the
human before, "I thought it was you I felt, but I wasn't sure," she
stirred and Drash saw her leg had been broken and reset, but the
limb needed a splint. "You've changed."

"Yeah, I suppose; I've traded up on fighters and I'm not
flying the Imp flag anymore, so you don't need to worry about me
turning you over to the Empire," he jerked his head back in the
direction of the cockpit. "Come on, it'll be a tight fit but you're
both small enough to squeeze in with me. I'll drop you off
wherever you want."

"The Force is bountiful," Vergere said, "it's given me just
what I needed." Drash wondered if she was going into shock. If
so, he would have to carry her into the skip. "You have changed in
a more fundamental way, Drash. You're a Jedi."

Drash stared at the Fosh, then barked a laugh. "You're
crazy or you're kidding, and right now I don't care which: we've
gotta be gone before my old friends or yours come looking for us."

"I'm serious," Vergere watched him with steady eyes, "and
I'm not going anywhere." Oin looked at her, startled.

"Look, I (can't) be a festering Jedi," Drash protested. "I
don't have a robe, I don't know any of your little rules and mantras,
I can't even swing a lightsaber." He ticked off the reasons on one
hand.

"Being a Jedi isn't about the training or the tools," Vergere
countered, "those are just...window dressing...being a Jedi is a state
of (being), it comes from here," she tapped her temple, "and here,"
she touched her chest, hand resting over her heart. "It's about
recognizing your powers and controlling them. It's about a
decision to become a servant of the Force.

"When we first met the dark side had a powerful hold on
you. You were self-centered and self-destructive; you rejected life
and sought your own death in an environment of conflict."

"Well I don't feel that way anymore, I admit that," Drash
crossed his arms, then stretched his legs: kneeling in the cramped
escape pod was tough on human-sized beings. "But you'll excuse
me if I say this sounds like the sort of pitch Frae and Krelt used."

"But I'm not finished," Vergere smiled, "you've already
achieved your moment of transcendence," Drash's eyes widened,
"yes, when you knew death was imminent and surrendered yourself
to it. That moment of peace was your great sacrifice: your old life
died and the dark side lost its power over you."

"So I?m not in the dark side anymore, that doesn't make me
a Jedi."

"You chose to help us when you could have gone your own
way," Vergere pointed out. "That wasn't what you would have
done before."

"But that wasn't any big decision, it was just...a small step."

"And you'll keep making those small steps," the Fosh Jedi
smiled, "those decisions to help instead of harm or ignore. You're
a servant, and a warrior, for all life everywhere."

"This is crazy," Drash leaned against the pod wall. "So I'm
a Jedi, now what?"

"And what's this about you staying here?" Oin demanded
in Basic. "The Nesz need you! I can't find a suitable planet
myself, I can't even read a navicomputer."

Vergere watched them both with sympathetic eyes. "Oin, if
I could I would continue with you to the end of your journey," she
turned to Drash, "and I would take you on as my apprentice and
give you the guidance you need," she shook her head, "but I can't."
She looked to Drash, "and I was never worried that you would
give me to the Empire: the Emperor is dead, I felt it."

Drash shrugged, "I wont shed any tears for him."

"None will," Vergere nodded, "Palpatine was the greatest
evil we have known in centuries, perhaps millennia, and for
decades he was the dominant power in the galaxy. Through him
the dark side became stronger than it was ever meant to be. The
Force became imbalanced even in the worlds outside of Palpatine's
direct control. Beings were more inclined toward greed, more
willing to solve their difficulties with conflict and war, which in
turn helped strengthen the dark side." Vergere shuddered.

"In the end, the Emperor was no longer truly human; the
being called 'Palpatine' was consumed by the dark side, even he
would have shuddered at the creature he'd become. What
remained was a (force), a cold intelligence that only knew the
desire to dominate (everything) around it. The Emperor had
become the epitome of the Sith Order."

"So you're saying evil's been destroyed, that's nice, but
what's it have to do with Oin and me?"

"I'm getting to that, first off 'evil' hasn't been destroyed: the
dark side still exists, as it must for the universe to function, but the
(greatest) evil has fallen, as has the dominant force in the galaxy.
Many lesser evils remain, and they will now fight to fill the
vacuum made by the Emperor's defeat.

"When the Eternals showed me the future I saw more than
they intended. I saw futures so dark and terrible they threatened to
drive me mad. I saw the Empire reborn and stronger than ever. I
saw slavery and destruction stretching across worlds, entire solar
systems evaporated by the will of a single, mad being. I saw the
Death Seed loosed across the galaxy and all the stars coming under
its shadow. I saw war and turmoil engulf civilization.

"But I saw other paths as well, difficult and more unlikely,
but still there: the Jedi Order restored, though not the Jedi Order I
knew, and a New Republic born from the Empire's ashes." She
sighed. "So many futures, so many clashing fates, Master Yoda
was brave indeed to study that tangled web, and strong as well, to
keep it from driving away his sanity."

"And you're mission is to stop these bad futures from
happening?" Oin asked.

"No Oin," she rested a hand on his shoulder, "no, that is not
my fight, others must see to it," that family she had glimpsed in her
vision, together they could do it. The journey would be difficult,
but they were a focus for the power of the Force, and they could
counter the dark side. "Remember, even if the galaxy is made into
a semblance of what it was before the Emperor came into his
power, the Yuuzhan Vong jihad is still coming."

"So you're going to return to them," Oin concluded, "try
and beat them from within."

"Not precisely," Vergere replied, remembering the path
Thracia had shown her so long ago. Through the Eternals she had
seen that path through to the very end, to her own death. She knew
what things must come toe pass, and what must at all costs be
avoided.

"The Yuuzhan Vong are a force that (will) reshape this
galaxy, and not in an entirely negative way. The Force requires
that they win some victories before the end. "I must learn all there
is to know of them, even think like them when I must, and try to
ensure that they win when the must, and lose when they must."

Drash was watching her with something between wonder
and fear warring within him. She was going back to the Yuuzhan
Vong, knowing what they would probably do to her, just because
the Force said she must? She might as well be contemplating a
trip to hell!

Yet there was no fear in her eyes. He looked at her and
saw strength, but not the kind of strength that Frae and Krelt had,
the strength that came from dominating and tormenting those
weaker than themselves. Was this what it is to be a Jedi?

Drash suddenly wished there had been more of these
strange and wonderful beings called 'Jedi' when he was growing
up. They would never have let Frae do whatever he wished with
children?s lives. They would have saved Drash, they would have
taught him to be...someone he could be happy being.

The pilot felt his throat thickening, his eyes were going
blurry, was he...was he (crying)?

No, he turned and bowed his head, as if intent on
examining his still-bare foot for infected cuts while he slowly
brought himself under control.

"Then," Oin swallowed, and there was fear in his eyes she
hadn't seen before, even when he'd known his people wouldn't
survive: the fear of going on alone. "Who will see me to the Nesz's
new world?"

In answer, Vergere looked from him to Drash, Oin
followed her eyes, incredulous.

Not more so than Drash himself. "What new world?" He
asked. "Am I missing something here?" Vergere smiled; Drash
hadn?t refused to help outright, another sign of how much his
nature had changed. For all his hardened exterior, in the Force
Drash was like an infant, ready to begin his life.

"Oin can fill you in on the details. Basically we want you
to find a planet similar to Sevac III in both environment and
obscurity, and see him there unharmed."

"What about you?" Oin asked.

"You have to leave me here, in this pod, just drag me to a
spot where the Vong rescue ship will be sure to come across it,"
she removed her robe and belt, "take these with you, I have a plan
for when they take me aboard." She handed the Jedi vestments to
Oin, then turned to Drash. "You'll need this," she was offering him
something. Drash took it and held it up to the lambant's light. It
was her lightsaber.

"The Yuuzhan Vong would just destroy it," Vergere said, "I
think you'll need this more than I, until you can make your own."

"I," he licked his lips, "I don't know how to use this thing."

"You'll learn. Examine it and you'll learn how it
functions."

"But...after I take care of Oin, where do I go? What will I
do? How do I (be) a Jedi?"

"Just listen," she said, "the Force will guide you to where
you need to be. It wont be easy though," she rested a comforting
hand on his arm.

"Goodbye Oin," they embraced and the Nesz climbed past
Drash into the coralskipper.

"Feel free to use my weapon's focusing crystal when you
build a lightsaber of your own. I doubt I'll ever see it again."

"No," Drash said quietly, "I'll keep it for you. Something
tells me we'll meet again."

"Perhaps," Vergere nodded, "I hope so."

Drash climbed into the cockpit and settled the cognition
hood over his head.

"May the Force be with you both," she said as the pod hatch
sealed.