Chapter Six: Strangers in a Strange Land

"The Hutts have a well-developed hierarchy of beings with themselves (of course) at the peak. Beneath them are sentients with whom they share physical characteristics and arguably common ancestry. The four-legged t'landa Til act as priests and interpreters, while the gastropodal Yahk-Tosh and Vippits serve are scientists and bureaucrats. These Esteemed races enjoy special privileges compared to less durable species, though slavish enough bipeds may become Anointed in the Hutt's service."

Special Plenipotentiary Oziaf's report to Xim, 532 LE

537 LE

Xim could be theatric when he chose to. Essan and Erakas met the daritha in the Deathknell's forward observation deck, the same one from which Essan usually surveyed battles. Its reinforced glass panes made the largest window on the dreadnought, stretching two meters across and one tall. Hardly panoramic compared to the viewports of Tythan ships, but enough to see a breadth of stars.

At this moment, however, the Deathknell was tunneling through hyperspace, en route from Barancar to Ko Vari. The specter-show flashed and twisted through the glass, filling the unlit chamber with ghostly light. Xim was a thin silhouette against strobing unreality. Two war robots stood on either side of the window, black sentinels with glowing eyes.

"I want to make it clear," Xim said. "This campaign is vital to the survival of mankind. If we fail, we lay ourselves open to being despoiled and enslaved by the Hutts. Hundreds of worlds and billions of lives. You, as well as I, have a moral duty to prevent that."

"We have a duty," Erakas said, "but it's not to you."

Xim smiled tolerantly. "Essan and I have discussed this in full. Your duty is to the Force, which means the preservation of life. And life is very much at stake."

"Your enemies are living creatures too." Erakas cast eyes to the silent war robots. "More living, even."

"Don't play pacifist with me. I've seen you kill with my own eyes." He gestured to the Sith woman. "Essan has proven helpful in the past. She breaks the will of my enemies and lifts the spirits of my men. I'm only asking for more of the same."

"We'll never accept wanton slaughter."

"Slaughter isn't my aim. Defending mankind is."

"Then why are you waging an offensive into Supremacy space?"

"Because cliché as it is, offense is the best defense." Xim glanced at Essan, who'd been quiet all the while. "I thought you would have hacked out your moral qualms earlier."

He was trying to wedge discord between her and Erakas. She wouldn't let him. "Morality is always relevant to Jedi."

"Then debate on your own time. This is a war. You will be fighting it, in your own way. Do you pledge that your Jedi will not actively hinder my campaign, nor give aide or comfort to the enemy?"

"Is an oath really an oath when it's sworn at gunpoint?" scowled Erakas.

"I'm a man of my word. I removed the Termagant from over Idux, as promised."

"You can't apologize for a threat after you've made it."

"I am the daritha of all mankind." Xim lifted his chin. "I have nothing to apologize for."

Essan hadn't expected Erakas to put his lingering spite, his grief for his lost son, behind him, but she'd hoped he'd be a little more… diplomatic. She said, "We will protect the lives of your soldiers and allies. That is our first priority."

Xim's head tilted toward Erakas.

With a grudging hiss the Jedi said, "We will protect the lives of your people."

"I suppose," Xim said, "I'll be satisfied with that… for now."

"However," Essan added, "We have a few conditions. I think you'll be amenable."

"Go ahead," Xim humored her.

"You saw what we brought from Idux. Three of our Tythan starships, plus eighteen Tionese ones, mostly with non-Jedi crew. We want to decide how they're distributed in your fleet."

"You can suggest a distribution. I will approve it." He added, "You'll find I'm reasonable. I expect you'll want to shore up your presence on Moralan."

"Yes."

"Done. But I also want a guarantee that you, my Red Witch, will stay on the Deathknell."

She'd expected that. "I agree."

"And you, Erakas, will join Admiral Kadenzi."

Neither accepting nor refusing, Erakas asked, "What kind of attack do you have planned?"

"Simultaneous and two-pronged." Xim held up twin fingers. "I will be leading an assault on Terman Station. It's the transit hub of the Si'Klaata cluster. Take it and we defang the Hutts there. Kadenzi will be attacking a shipyard at Nar Kreeta."

Essan frowned. "You've never targeted that world before."

"Exactly. My intelligence tells me they've quite a build-up there. The worms think it safe. Kadenzi won't be capturing Nar Kreeta, just destroying what he can. This is about removing the worms' offensive ability and securing the worlds we've already claimed." He asked Erakas, "Have I trampled your morals yet?"

He considered for a pregnant moment, then said, "Not yet."

"Then we're off to a good start. Do you have any other conditions for me?"

"I have one," Erakas said darkly. "Do not dare threaten Idux again. The Jedi have left that world. All that remains are civilians. If you bring another warship there—"

"Then I will have enemies with magic powers seeded throughout my fleet," Xim finished. "Hardly ideal. You have my word that I won't harass your remaining cultists."

"Good."

"I have one more condition," Essan said.

Xim gestured to go ahead.

"I want to be furnished with your complete material—research, data, conclusions—on the colony ship recovered over Endregaad twelve years ago."

She couldn't see his face, but she could feel his surprise. "Why?" Xim asked.

"Some among us believes it warrants further investigation."

"Director Loreac compiled hundreds of hours of reading material. I'm willing to provide them, but I ask again, why?"

Essan wished she knew. Was it really the Force Talyak followed, or just an excuse to avoid this campaign?

"We crossed half the galaxy in search of that ship," she said. "It was our original mission. Some believe there's unfinished business there."

"Unfinished and unimportant," Xim scoffed. "But I'll humor your whims. Though I'll say this. We've determined most of the ark's route through what is now the Supremacy. Are you looking to retrace that journey?"

"Not us personally."

"Attempting it would be suicide. We've only been able to map out beacons for part of Hutt territory. Most of it's still impassable for us. The deeper you try to go, the more likely you'll be caught by the worms."

"Only if we rely on the beacon network."

Xim said nothing. He knew what Tythan ships could do.

"You'll share the material?" she prodded.

"I'll arrange it." Xim looked between them. "Are there any other requests?"

Essan waited until Erakas replied, "None at this time."

"Good. I won't pretend we've made the foundation of an enduring partnership," Xim told them, "But I believe we can stand against our common enemy."

Erakas remained silent beside her, but Essan could feel him in the Force. She sensed his resolve to see this partnership through, and a conviction that it wouldn't end well. Vaguely, she felt the same from Xim himself.

At least here, they were in accord.

-{}-

Koltatha had not fought physically, life dependent on blade and fang, since Two-Claw's pirate den at Corellia. He'd been a wreck then, out-of-tune with the Force and aching for his lost hand. In the years since he'd recovered his warrior's poise and found inner peace

So he hoped. Now he was going to find out.

The ship his Noghri and the Morgukai had boarded was called the Nemesis. It was a Hutt dromon, five hundred meters long and thickly armored, but not made for combat. The Nemesis had a more insidious purpose. The Hutts (so Koltatha learned from Sakaaf, a Tionese-fluent Esral'sa'Nikto) were using the ship to transport so-called 'heretics' who defied their masters. Once delivered to their destination, the prisoners would be forced to labor in smoking factories and produce war materiel until they literally dropped dead of exhaustion.

The Nemesis contained two and a half thousand heretics en route to Sleheyron. It was Morguk's aim to free them.

A noble goal, but it could fall so easily into darkness. Koltatha could feel the anger bristling through the Morgukai as they boarded the Nemesis during its refueling stop at Ulmatra Prime. They were let aboard a maintenance hatch by another ruddy-faced Nikto, who was identified as Vreshan.

The plan, as Sakaaf had explained, was simple. Wait until the Nemesis was in hyperspace, then overpower its guards, kill the captain, and take command. As a prison ship, the dromon had layers of security to prevent an insurrection, but Vreshan had disabled most of those from the inside.

They didn't lower the gates right away. A full-blown prison riot was too chaotic, too unpredictable. The strike would be surgical; Morguk assured this. Koltatha wanted to believe him.

His Noghri were good at the beginning. Leading six of his trained warriors, Koltatha slunk through the shadows, located key security watchpoints, and took out the guards. They didn't kill and didn't have to. The Noghri, small and stealthy and trained like Jedi, were able to sneak up on the guards and render them unconscious, one by one.

After that the Morgukai had their turn. And theirs was a very different fighting.

They brooked no quarter, taking out Weequay and Vodran guards with killing blows. To find the Morgukai, Koltatha only had to follow the trail they left: bodies dropped, echoing clashes of sabers and halberds, most of all their line of vicious, lethal intent. The dromon was becoming a cauldron of Bogan. Koltatha struggled to push it away as he caught up with them.

He joined them just as they reached the bridge. He'd expected the slave ship to commanded by a Hutt, or at least one of their Esteemed. Instead, standing in the center of the pit, encased in thick armor and lifting head defiantly, was a ruddy-skinned Nikto.

Morguk's decision to take this ship—and his boiling anger—made even more sense.

The Nikto captain pointed at the intruders and shouted an order in Huttese. Six Vodrans, also armored with crescent-blade axes, marched past crew cowering at their stations. In a second, the battle was joined.

Blades clashed and crashed, bodies fell, blood spilled. In the Force Koltatha could feel Morguk, Vreshan, and Pellak nearly bursting with spite. All were trying to push through the Vodran barricade and attack the Nikto captain.

Before he unleashed his blades, Morguk looked over-shoulder at Koltatha and shouted: "Fight!"

There was no choice. Koltatha urged Vekhmak and Naskrahn to join the fray. The Noghri came in fast and low, aiming for weak points in the Vodran's armor, but those were hard to reach. Morguk was able to batter one to his knees through over-whelming strength, and took his head off with a horizontal saber-strike.

The other Vodrans were undaunted. They fell close, forming a barricade before the Nikto captain.

Koltatha knew there was something only he could do. He spared one deep breath to push away the hate that filled this chamber like a fog; then he ignited his lightsaber and charged.

The Vodran's armor couldn't stand against a blade of light. Koltatha used his short stature to his advantage; he ducked beneath one swipe and easy cut through the Vodran's knees, causing him to collapse. Another blade swung at him and Koltatha barely caught it with the Force's grip, inches from his face. One stomach-thrust, and that Vodran also fell.

The battle was turning, but it wasn't over. Vreshan thrust his sword between armored plates, into another Vodran's side, but not before the warrior buried his axe-blade in Pellak's neck. The Nikto let out a horrible scream as he dropped to his knees, dark blood splashing Vreshan.

Death, pain, agony, hatred. Koltatha was drowning in Bogan.

Vreshan stabbed the Vodran again, avenging Pellak. Morguk slammed another to the floor. The last fell after Naskrahn neatly cut through the back of his knees.

And then it was just the captain.

Morguk, dripping in blood—others' and his own—bellowed at the Nikto who cowered at the back of the cabin. Koltatha did not need to understand their tongue. It was an accusation: Traitor.

He noticed that Pellak was holding back, as though to save this fight for Morguk. Was this a personal battle? Did the two know each other? Or was it enough that the captain had sold his allegiance to the worms?

Naskrahn and Vekhmak looked at Koltatha uncertainly. He shook his head, warding them off. Even a Jedi didn't dare intervene here.

Morguk attacked with two swords. The captain drew one of his own.

Thirty seconds later, it was over. Morguk stood over the body, blood dripping from both blades. He stared at the hacked corpse with contempt and, finally, dropped the swords atop it. His work was done.

Vreshan stepped forward and began shouting orders to the simpering crew. They complied without a word. Morguk turned from the dead captain, surveyed the scene, let his eyes rest on Koltatha for a moment. And then he walked out.

Koltatha learned more later, as the Nemesis echoed with joyous cacophony of freed slaves. Sakaaf explained to him, "The captain was named Ren'falm. He was a traitor who sold his soul to the worms. He received what he deserved."

"Did Morguk know him?"

Sakaaf shook his head. "No."

"It seemed... almost personal."

"Ren'falm knew Morguk, I am sure. Most Nikto do. He is an avatar of vengeance against our oppressors."

Vengeance was darkness. Koltatha had done his best to keep Bogan from overwhelming him during the awful fight, and he believed his Noghri had too. The Nikto, Morguk especially, had given into their dangerous urges.

From that, the noisy cheering reminded, two and a half thousand slaves had been liberated. And, he was sure, many would be eager to take the fight to the worms.

"I am surprised," Koltatha said. "I thought the captain would be a Hutt or a priest."

"They are too few to command every ship in the Supremacy. Some who sell themselves completely to the Hutts become 'Anointed.' The worms trust them with ships and other tasks." Sakaaf sniffed. "Ren'falm killed hundreds of his own during a riot on Kintan. As I said, he got what he deserved."

"Vengeance," Koltatha whispered.

Sakaaf looked at him defiantly. "Vengeance is the backbone of justice."

He turned and walked away, ending the conversation. Koltatha knew he was wrong—his belief in the Force denied it—but he could not explain why. For all today's butchery, a great thing had been done. Was it possible that Ashla might triumph even through Bogan's means? A disturbing thought, one he would meditate on when he could.

He'd never claimed to know everything about the Force, and he was open to lessons. Even difficult ones.

When Koltatha returned to the bridge he was glad the bodies had been cleared away. However, a gloom had settled over the room, in total contrast to the jubilation in the rest of the ship. Vreshan, Morguk, and Sakaaf were all there, huddled around what look to be a comm station. Koltatha joined them.

"Victory, snatched from our fingers," Morguk growled in Tionese, but said nothing more.

To Koltatha's questioning look, Sakaaf explained, "We tried to contact the base at Ulmatra and received no reply. Then we tried Dirha… and nothing. Even the Kintan redoubt. Nothing."

"You think all of them were hit?"

"What other explanation?" growled Morguk.

Koltatha had no hope to offer. He asked, "Where can you go?"

The Nikto looked amongst each other, said nothing. The Hutts may have cracked their entire network. Nowhere was safe.

Except, of course, the Empire's aegis. Koltatha said, "You can take this ship to Moralan. You will be sheltered there."

"But what then?" Morguk made a mighty fist.

The Nikto's eyes beamed hate, but Koltatha knew it wasn't directed at him. "I don't know. Rebuild, perhaps."

Vreshan said something in Nikto. Koltatha only marked the word Moralan. Reluctantly, Morguk nodded.

"It seems," Sakaaf whispered, "Xim is our refuge."

It was, Koltatha thought, an uncomfortably common occurrence.

-{}-

"Is it bad luck if I say that went well?" Ashar asked as they walked through the halls of the Moralan flagship. He and Jecca were fresh from their own ships—his Guardian, her Ranger—and had converged from separate airlock portals.

Jecca gave him a sideways look. "Jedi aren't supposed to believe in luck."

"Luck, the Force, interchangeable really," he shrugged. "When stuff goes right it gets the credit, when stuff goes wrong it gets the blame. And only a fool thinks he can control it."

She pouted thoughtfully. "We did a pretty good job control-ling it out there."

"We weren't controlling the Force, we were controlling our-selves." He added a weary smile. "But you're right, we were pretty good."

Working with Jecca again lifted Ashar's spirits automatically, but they were buoyed further by the exercise they'd just run in Moralan's upper orbit. A dozen Iduxian ships had spread out, safely clear of both Moralans and Imperials, to perform combat exercise unlike any other. Leaving non-Jedi to take the yokes of their starships, the Jedi themselves had taken backseats and practiced the communion of minds.

Most of them needed it. Aside from Ashar, Jecca and Vediah, they were all newcomers to the Tion. Some showed a natural bent for merging thought and intention—the foundation of battle meditation—while others struggled. That was all right; they were making progress. By intuiting each other's actions, the Jedi had pulled off series of complex maneuvers and live-fire exercises.

Ashar and Jecca converged with their comrades inside the Moralan flagship. A middle-aged human and gray-furred Cathar walked with Vediah; they hung on the diminutive Devaronian's every word and she looked embarrassed by their respect. Kell Olander led a small herd of Tionese, and Jecca exchanged a wave with Halla Zohn, a dusky human Jedi she'd trained with on Kalimahr. They were becoming a real community, united in goals and purpose.

At the moment, however, Ashar had something else on his mind. He joined Jecca at the mess hall, where Jedi and Iduxians muddled through mostly-palatable Moralan food, but hardly listened to her conversation with Halla. The mess had a certain cliquishness to it; Jedi all gathered at one table, non-Jedi at the others, the latter always eyeing at the former. The only Jedi who sat apart was Mal-Oba Talyak, who was at an empty table with an emptied tray, alone with his thoughts.

As soon as they'd finished their meals Ashar tugged Jecca from the table, all the way back to the Guardian. The Moralan vessel—really a stolen Hutt tarrada—couldn't extend gravity to the coupled gunship so they halted outside the airlock to talk.

"You were giddy an hour ago," Jecca said. "What's wrong?"

"I've been thinking."

"See? I knew you could do it."

He wasn't in the mood for teasing. "Master Talyak sat out the exercises today. He plans to leave tomorrow morning on the Dawnchaser."

"I know, he's tracing the path of some ghost ship deep into Hutt territory." Jecca crossed her arms. "It sounds crazy to me. He's going to get himself killed."

"You don't know Master Talyak."

It was true; she'd barely met him. Ashar was different. Talyak and Shen had plucked him from his doom in a Tepasi alley, and for two years they'd travelled the stars. Talyak had taught him the value of patience and cooperation with the Force, plus a dose of humility. Put simply, he'd made Ashar a better Jedi.

Which meant Ashar owed a debt.

Jecca knew him well enough to see where this was going. "Oh, with, we need you here. I need you."

"You want me here," he smiled weakly, "and I want to stay. But think. Vediah can help with the new Jedi. Keep her confidence up and she'll do great. But Talyak's taking the Dawnchaser into uncharted, dangerous territory. Totally alone. Even a Master might not be up for that."

"We can send other Jedi. He's been travelling with them too."

"How much good can they really do him? Do any of them know Huttese?"

"You don't know Huttese either."

"Chess ko, I know more than anyone else around, meeshku"

She didn't laugh, didn't smirk. "You really want to do this."

"Not want to. But I should."

"And I'm not going to talk you out of it, am I?"

"I don't think so. Sorry."

She heaved a sigh and put hands on her hips. "If you want to do something lethally stupid, why not run around in a cape and mask again?"

She'd never let that go. "Because this is important."

"To protect Master Talyak."

"And to find what he's after."

"You really believe it's worth risking your life over of some ten-thousand-year-old ghost ship?"

The way Talyak told it, they were doing that already. Every one of them. "That's how all this started. He believes it has something to do with how it ends. And I believe him."

Jecca gave another sigh, stepped close, and touched his face. "Ashar Gell, you're a fool," she said, with rueful affection.

"At least I have good intentions."

"That you do." She rose up, kissed his cheek and then his lip. "You'll leave tomorrow, morning-cycle?"

He put hands on her back. "Until then, I'm all yours."

"Then I guess I'll have to take what I can get."

-{}-

Essan could sense, like a whisper just beyond earshot, the fight Erakas was waging at Nar Kreeta, but she couldn't risk straining to hear. She had a battle of her own to attend to.

The Inijic and Hestilic had warships over Terman Station and they'd not give up the deep-space hub without a fight. From her place at the Deathknell's observation deck, she could see a garland of explosions around the station as its defenders pumped out screens of flak to ignite incoming Imperial missiles.

Essan felt the hesitation of the Jedi deployed in other ships, the uncertainty. This was the first battle they'd faced and they didn't understand what their role was to be. She tried to lead by example, opening herself in the Force, showing them how she raised some spirits and lowered others.

It was a long nasty battle, but it turned in the Empire's favor. Xim wanted Terman Station—its nav beacon, its supplies, its repair facilities—as intact as possible. Thus, when the Death-knell and its polyremes drew close, they launched boarding craft like oversized bullets. The compact shuttles slipped through holes in the Hutt fleet, buffeted past flak and barely decelerated before they hit the station exterior.

The battle was far from over, but it was already decided.

Essan knew what it felt like when armies clashed. She'd been there for Xim's triumphal landing at Ko Vari. Desevran janissaries, Cronese infantry, and Duinarbulon Lancers had thrown themselves against dwindling Iotran and Moralan slaves. Vengeful rage had crested over huddled despair, exterminating everything, leaving black victory in its wake.

The capture of Terman was not like that. When boarding ships slammed into its outer hull, cutting through armor or blowing out airlocks, the massive station was not rushed by flesh-and-blood killers. After four years of nonstop war, Xim barely had any left. Instead, kiirium-plated goliaths marched down Terman's corridors.

The Hutts' minions had no defense against the mechanical onslaught. Beam-tubes were pointless against kiirium, as were most bullets. High-yield explosives were too dangerous to use aboard a space station. Jedi encouraged them to flee, but they had nowhere to run to.

The fall of Terman Station did not feel like a flood of wrath in the Force. It was an erasure. A wave of lifeless destruction—Xim's war robots—coursed through the corridors, extinguish-ing everything in its path, leaving only emptiness.

With growing sickness, the Jedi felt the number of living beings on that station shrank to dwindling pockets. Terman's last defenders were cornered, helpless against automatons that knew only how to kill.

As the other Jedi urged the survivors to surrender, Essan hailed Xim on the bridge. As soon as the line opened she snapped, "Stop the assault. You have the station. Take the survivors prisoner."

"The worms see no value in captives," Xim replied coldly. "Neither do I."

"You've got your victory, you can afford to spare their lives. Some might even switch sides!"

She knew it was a long shot, and Xim didn't take it. "My robots are pacifying the station, as they were ordered to. What have the Jedi accomplished?"

"We're doing what we can on the Hutt fleet. You've seen some ships retreat. We can make more follow." Appealing to Xim's morals was pointless; she had to be transactional. "End the fight on the station, and we'll end it in space."

A longer pause. Then, to her surprise, he said, "I will command the war robots to cease lethal force and corral survivors. Drive off those warships or I'll revise orders again."

"Thank you," she panted, but he'd already closed the channel.

She knew better to think that a moral act. The longer the fight in space went on, the more valuable warships he'd lose. Essan passed fresh orders to the Jedi. Best they could, they obeyed.

With the Force to tip scales, the battle shifted again. The station was lost, and when the Hutt ships realized it they began to break away. Xim's ships sent parting volleys but didn't take risks by pursuing.

Before the last Supremacy ships departed, a broadcast went out across all comm channels, including those inside the Deathknell. It was Xim, and he proclaimed:

"This day marks the beginning of the end for the Supremacy war machine. Terman Station has been seized liberated, and I am proud to announce that their shipyards at Nar Kreeta had been ravaged. Our renewed offensive will break them in ways they've never been broken before. Since the fall of the Tyrants they have ruled this range of space unchallenged. Now they are paying for their arrogance. We show them what stuff mankind is made of.

"To the worms I say this: You will not defeat me and you will never enslave the human race. But I am merciful when I choose to be. If you do not wish to lose more worlds, come squirming to me and I will listen to your pleas. We might yet chart a future for our peoples in which both survive."

Xim usually led by willpower and cruelty, not charisma, but he was learning. All at once he'd played to his soldiers, to the fleeing Hutts, and in a small way to the Jedi. Most of all, he claimed a position of dominance from which to negotiate the end of a war he had to win soon, or not at all.

For her people, Essan had briefer words. Once the last Hutt ship jumped away, she commed all Iduxian ships and said, "Hold position and run post-combat checks. You all did well. The Force was with us today."

She'd never liked depending on others, even Jedi, but Gedor was right. They were stronger together. And today, together, they'd had a small victory. The best they could hope for.

-{}-

Dual disasters flooded the Numinous's comm system like metaphorical broadsides pounding either flank. Boonta heard of the assault on Terman Station first, and from his position at Cyborrea sent High Power Golgad to help. Then reports rushed in from Nar Kreeta, further away and harder to reinforce. After a moment's awful stewing, Boonta ordered his own task force to set sail.

It was a diabolical double-thrust. Was this all down to Xim's cunning, or were the Rebel Angels somehow at play?

By the time Boonta reached Nar Kreeta, the humans were gone and the orbital facilities ravaged. The command deck's viewscreen relayed exterior images of batils crumpled as though by giant fist, torn shreds of once-elegant solar sails, the broken stern of a dead chelandion. Even worse, the stations and shipyards had become a chain of ragged debris settling around Nar Kreeta like a planetary ring.

The attack was stunning, and not just for its ferocity. Nar Kreeta belonged to neither the Inijic nor Hestilic but to the Patarii, that old and wealthy host which had heretofore sat out the war. Now their stations were ravaged, and Boonta learned that two of their Powers had been killed. Not just chattel slaves or even Esteemed, but divine Hutts had been slain.

Did the bipeds understand what they had done? A Hutt might be slow to anger, but once awakened its wrath was unmatched.

He expected a Patarii ship to be the next to come, perhaps carrying Mava the Blue. Instead, a chelandion decanted and was instantly marked as the Hierarch. Kossak had arrived.

Boonta snaked to the communications suite and was there when Kossak's brown face and piercing blue eyes appeared onscreen. "Denier," he said, "I didn't realize you'd come."

"I wanted to help, but the battle was over before I arrived. The humans struck hard, then fled."

"Have you heard from Terman Station?"

"Lost," Boonta moaned. "I sent Golgad to reinforce, but he was too late also."

"They took the station," Kossak said. "They might strike Sriluur next, Klatooine, or Kintan! Those are my worlds and I will not lose them to the bipeds. We must strike back!"

"I agree. If I rendezvous with Golgad, we can move again on Terman—"

"No," Kossak said with finality. "My spawn Dojundo will arrange a counter-strike."

Boonta's tail twitched in confusion. "I only wish to help—"

"Then strike Xim where he is vulnerable. He has extended too far and left prizes unguarded." Kossak's tongue swept across his mouth. "The Inijic have prepared two planechanga. I will place them at your disposal."

Their hosts had collaborated before, but planet-killers were not given away lightly. "Throne… after Moralan, do you think that's wise?"

"Very. We cannot be cowed by fear of Rebel Angels—which might not even exist. Go to Moralan. Redouble your attack. Don't bother to retake the planet this time. The Moralans must be exterminated for their heresy."

"And the Rebel Angels?"

"If they exist, they can be overwhelmed. Our sires defeated the Demon. This is our war and we'll win it just as they did."

Kossak thundered righteous enthusiasm. Boonta felt buoyed by the other Hutt but he persisted, "What if we're betrayed by our own subjects once more?"

The blue-eyed Hutt gave a heavier sigh. "I haven't forgotten. Fortunately, we've hunted down the Nikto saboteurs within our fleet. We tortured information from them and have launched strikes on seven of their bases."

At least something was going right. "Very well," Boonta said, "I will move again on Moralan. But what of you, Throne?"

"I will stay here. I've received word that Mava the Blue is inbound. So is Dolog the Esteemed."

Mava was the Patarii's Virtue, Dolog its Throne. Xim really had wakened a beast. "You will bring them into the war?"

"I will do everything in my power," Kossak said gravely. "With every host aligned we could exterminate these bipeds completely. But Ardustagg will not declare a Holy War, so we build alliances where we can."

Boonta was ready to do his part. The humans threatened the entire Hutt race. If the Blazing One, sick and ancient, could not see that, at least the Patarii would. Three hosts together could mount a mighty counter-offensive.

But one thing might stand in their way. Boonta asked, "Throne, has your aunt made progress in her research?"

A pregnant pause. Kossak said, "She reports nothing yet."

A good sign? A bad one? Nothing was certain with these Rebel Angels. Boonta and Kossak savored war as the chance for glory. But if they fought the enemy they feared, glory could be fatal.

-{}-

The long journey to the Dirha system had gone shockingly well. The Gravity Scorned reached Far Barseg without incident, exchanged its store of lithium batteries for eighty febrillium warheads, then began a careful intrusion into the Supremacy. The Imperial intelligence agent at Far Barseg was more cooperative than the first, and his navigation data guided them through a series of Hutt-controlled beacons, deeper and deeper into their territory.

Reina was actually starting to feel good about things when they reached Dirha, transmitted the ping their target should have responded to, and received nothing.

Her father stayed calm at first. "I'm going to fly to another section of the belt," he said. "Maybe we're in bad position."

She tried not to panic. She'd just allowed herself to feel hopeful about seeing Vaatus again; now she was worried for his life. Her own death didn't bother her that much. It was surviving to see another loved one die that made her want to scream.

Kroller navigated them another position across the belt. Reina sent her ping. No response.

"I'm not picking up any other ships in this system." Worry started to gnaw in Kroller's voice. "No thrust-trails, anyway."

"Go back to where we came in." Reina tried to keep herself steady. "We've got data on where the base is supposed to be, right?"

"Yeah, but you know how it is with asteroid belts."

Formations shifted, changed, dissolved. Complex gravitic tides strewed chunks of primordial rock, hard-packed ice, and—sometimes—lifeless wreckage.

Reina began scouring sensors as Kroller flew them in an arc, skimming above the section of the belt where the Morgukai base was supposed to be. She looked for anything: unusual metals, flashes of reflected light, residual heat signatures. She didn't know whether finding or not finding something would be worse.

It was her father who said, in a dead even voice, "Got some-thing. I'm taking us closer."

As he steered the Gravity through the asteroids, Reina tried to steady her breathing. Her best hope was that Vaatus hadn't been here. In fact, they'd never gotten guarantee he would be. All they had was the word of that incompetent agent on Estaria that they were making a delivery to the Morgukai, and they (so Vaatus hinted) had many scattered hideaways. Odds were, her brother was safe and light-years away.

Reina told herself that, but when she saw the scorched-black scar gouged into one large asteroid, she nearly lost herself. Her mother, her son, now her brother too. She couldn't take that. She couldn't live with it.

"I've picking up wreckage here." Kroller was hoarse. "Nothing in the way of heat signatures, but the debris's still pretty close together. Guess this place got hit… maybe a couple day ago. I'm gonna take us close to the base."

Reina didn't respond. Couldn't. She sat strapped to her seat, hands clenched in her lap so hard her palms hurt. Teeth sliced her lower lip near to breaking.

"They gouged this place out pretty good. Multiple missile strikes," her father narrated. "Looks like a big cargo ship got split open… probably what was gonna take the warheads. Keep your eyes open for anything smaller, might've drifted away from the base."

She compelled herself to watch her screens. Rocks, rocks, the twisted skeleton of a blown-open mining facility. How many people inside, she wondered. Where had Vaatus been when the missile hit. Had he gotten any warning? More than Sohren?

The Gravity Scorned banked and the ruined base swept out of view. Then she saw more rocks, countless rocks, large and tiny all drifting through dead space. A few flecks were identifiable as wreckage blown from the base. An entire scene, dead, dead, dead.

Then she found something. "Hold," she rasped, and her father held. She bent closer to look at the pixelated screen. Not a rock but a small capsule of a ship, no more than forty meters long. It spun slowly as it drifted, and she saw a black indentation on its side, like it had received a powerful punch, but there was no clear hull breach.

"You see that?" Reina said, throat dry. "Dad, you see that ship? It's… a hundred-ninety degrees off the bow. Do you see it?"

"I see something," he replied, still cool.

"Take us close."

"Doing it now," he said, but added, "Stay steady, Reina. Don't..."

Get your hopes up. But they were. More, she felt an irrational certainty that her brother was inside the capsule. This wasn't grief-driven hysteria, she knew it. It was like the damned thing was calling out to her, begging to be opened.

Kroller pulled alongside it. The Gravity's exterior cams scoured the slow-turning hull. He reported, "No obvious breaches… but I'm not getting heat signatures either. No way to tell if there's oh-two inside."

"What about the airlock?"

"I… I've got it. With all the warping to the hull, it looks bent."

"Throw up a cofferdam. I'll torch it open."

"Reina, listen—"

"Do it!"

She actually yelled at him. She'd apologize later, if this was a bust, but it wasn't. She was certain. Reina unlatched her crash webbing, pushed off her seat, then kicked over to the cockpit rear, past the empty chair that had once been her brother's. She grabbed the ladder running down the Gravity's spinal shaft and pulled herself along, rung after rung, until she reached the branch to the airlock vestibule. Her father had extended the collapsible tube from the outer hull. She watched from the porthole window as the cofferdam touched the other ship.

She touched the wall-mounted comm control and asked, "Do you have a lock?"

"Magnetic seal's good," Kroller said. "Be careful, damn it."

She didn't reply. Instead she opened the supply cabinet, pulled out the welding torch, and began to cycle the airlock door open. For this kind of operation you were supposed to put on a vac suit, just in case, but she didn't care.

The door opened. Air rushed out from behind her, filling the passageway now sealed against the other ship's hull. She floated the short distance to the other airlock, activated the torch, and began cutting. She bent close, feeling the heat of the torch and the radiating vacuum-cold of the hull. The ship had been drifting for days, damaged, probably with breaches. How much air could a little thing hold?

Reina couldn't afford to wonder. She cut as fast as she could, wishing she had one of her husband's damned lightsabers. But she didn't have to use the torch the whole way; once she melted through the lock, the hatch trembled. Air began to seep through cracks.

She shoved the torch back toward the Gravity's vestibule, grabbed a wrench, and began twisting the hatch's exterior handle. At the same time she planted both boots on the cold hull, using arms and legs and back, every muscle she had to get the damned thing open.

The hatch jerked. Somebody was pushing from the other side. She grunted and gasped tried harder to wrench the twisted door clear.

Then it burst. Knocked hard from the inside, it swung outward and shoved her into the coffederam's flimsy skin. Reina released the wrench and tried to steady herself.

He came through. Vaatus came through. That green-scaled, horn-rimmed face emerged in the cofferdam. It was pale from oxygen loss; his eyes blinked in hazy disbelief before lighting up in a Nikto smile.

"Reina?" he slurred. "You… you're here?"

"I'm here," she said, and realized she was weeping. Little pearly drops spilled free in the air.

As he emerged from the wrecked ship he received an extra push, one that sent him colliding with Reina.

She had so many questions for him, and he for her, but over his shoulder she saw another body emerge from the broken craft. It was less than half her brother's size, covered in cinnamon-colored fur, and trailed a crooking tail behind it. Black eyes found hers, eyes she remembered from another desperate mission at Ranroon.

"Miss Kroller, you have my undying gratitude," wheezed Oziaf, the daritha's Special Plenipotentiary. "Now please, I'd like to speak to your father because I'm very behind schedule."