Chapter Seventeen: The Third Battle

"Those who challenge the gods invite their own destruction."

Nuswattan proverb

538 LE

When Admiral Kadenzi's battle group arrived at Vontor, it found a fight that already smoldering near exhaustion. The point where inbound Supremacy ships decanted from hyper-space was marked by a cloud of snarling debris. Scattered fights sparked constantly, as they had for days. Despite torturous effort and a steady trickle of reinforcements, the Hutts has only pressed a few thousand kilometers closer to Vontor.

The planet itself looked sickly, its silver marble tinted yellow by radiation spreading across its surface. Despite this, heavy barges steadily pushed away while new ones dove inbound. Human pilots medicated against limited radiation delivered robots and mining equipment and brought up raw kiirium.

Xim's Deathknell kept close to the planet, away from the grinding skirmishes that the Third Battle of Vontor had become. The Ascendant was closer to the firing line and Jaminere was directing three polyremes against a pair of tarradas when Captain Qail reported that the Monarch had arrived.

"Pull us back," he said. "Try and get a secure connection with Kadenzi."

Qail complied right away. The Ascendant backed away from the combat zone and Jaminere waited for a full minute until Comms reported a stable line to the Monarch.

"Welcome to the fight," he said into his handset. "Xim was getting impatient."

"I'm sorry for the delay," replied Kadenzi's scratchy voice, "I was getting things in order at Terman."

But he was here at last. Kadenzi had been sending his fleet in piecemeal packets to assist at Vontor. With the Monarch and its support ships, the last Imperial force in the region had joined the fight.

Hopefully it would be enough to withstand the Hutt onslaught. Jaminere said, "If your sensors are calibrated, you'll notice a ship matching the profile of Boonta's Numinous in sector gamma. We think the chelandion in sector theta belongs to a general from another clan."

"Where does Xim want us?"

"He wants pressure on Boonta."

"Understood… We'll deploy shortly."

He heard a waver in Kadenzi's voice. "Is there a problem, Supreme Commander?"

"Yes, Viceroy. It was just… a personal concern." Kadenzi sighed heavily. "Have you ever considered what would have become of us if we hadn't joined Xim?"

Had the admiral gone mad? They'd barely touched this topic in the Deathknell's hallways. It was idiotic to broach it here, in battle, over a long-distance connection that could never be totally secure.

But Kadenzi insisted, "You must have thought about it at some point. After Ranroon, perhaps."

That was a low strike. Of course Jaminere considered it then, and many times since. Because Kadenzi was so madly insistent, he cupped a hand around his mouth and said, "I know exactly would have happened to both of us. You'd have risen in the ranks and become head of Sorasca's Navy—after Edolphus retired on his own. I'd have stayed a Lesser Prince, pushed off on minor or dangerous errands for my father until one of them got me killed, and no one would even pretend to give a damn."

The comm line buzzed. "I suppose you're right."

"No I'm not, because none of that would have happened anyway. Xer and Xim happened. Everything changed. We had the chance to ascend and we took it. It's done."

No reply. Kadenzi must have shown up either mad or drunk, and Jaminere wasn't sure which scared him more. He rasped again, "It's done," and slammed the handset down, too hard. Qail stared. Jaminere ignored her.

Damn Kadenzi for making him doubt. They had to stand with Xim. They'd done it in the beginning, and they'd kept doing it even through Ranroon. On sleepless nights afterward, Jaminere had asked himself if he should have joined Xer and Thane's mutiny (not that they'd given him a chance). He might have turned against Xim (his architect, emperor, friend) but he'd have kept his family. Yes, Erissa had betrayed him, but not Marco. He'd been just a boy, innocent of it all. He hadn't deserved to die on the Victor's Crown. That was, without a doubt, the worst thing Jaminere had ever done.

But he couldn't turn back time, couldn't correct it. He'd killed his son as surely as he'd killed his father, all for Xim, always for Xim, all the way to the end, because by now Jaminere had nothing left to kill or die for except Xim.

He composed himself without looking at his crew and forced his attention to the tactical screen. Kadenzi's ships were push-ing ahead to engage Boonta's.

Then he saw something else. A dozen small ships emerged from hyperspace from Terman Station's vector, then quickly branched into a wide-spaced formation. He didn't need to ask what they were. He'd seen them in plenty of the battles over the past few years, though their appearance now was a surprise.

The Iduxians were back in action. Whether they were a boon or a bane he didn't know, only that the Third Battle of Vontor was about to get more complicated.

-{}-

"The Jedi are here," Vediah said. She felt them reaching out to her, sending confidence.

She was aboard a conical pod latched to the Monarch's hull, provided to them by Kadenzi. It was a small, unarmed, and short-range shuttle; even its comms were too limited to hail the distant Jedi ships. But the Force told her all she needed.

Fasol Indrathi was strapped into the seat beside her, looking out the shuttle's porthole. They kept lights out and power minimal, which meant the view was vivid. Starship thrusters were like shifting constellations as Kadenzi's ships prepared to join the fight.

"The admiral knows our plan," Fasol said. "Kossak will signal Krenn, Krenn will signal your people, and they'll signal Kadenzi. He'll dispatch us with proper clearance to dock at the Ascendant. Once that's done, he'll withdraw."

They'd come aboard the Monarch with Kadenzni's blessing; she didn't expect a warm welcome on Jaminere's ship. "Are you sure we can't broadcast the shut-down signal from the Monarch?"

"This plan has to happen in stages," he insisted. "First Monarch jumps away. Then the Supremacy pushes it advantage. Then Kossak issues his challenge. Then Xim meets him on Vontor. Then we broadcast the signal. Everything has to be in the right order and the Monarch will be halfway to Sorasca by the last stage."

Vediah knew all this already, but she still didn't like it. "You make it sound so mechanical."

"It's your plan."

It was a Jedi plan, but Vediah wasn't sure if it was hers. She could justify handing Xim over to his enemies, but what Erakas wanted to do on Varl was something else entirely. Her instincts revolted but, she'd also stood with him before Kossak, and like him she'd caught a clarifying flash from the Hutt. They'd both known, in that instant, that the worms would destroy the Jedi unless the Jedi destroyed them first.

Just thinking about it made her chest tight. She asked Fasol, "You're positive we can send the shut-down message from the Ascendant?"

"Absolutely."

"You must have allies on board," she reasoned. "I don't suppose we can just beam the code to them."

"Command signals for Xim's robots are sent from a special transmitter separate from the main comm system. It's extremely secure."

"But you can get us there?"

"Yes."

Fasol stared adamantly at the stars. He may not have had Jedi training, but he was good at shielding his thoughts. Silence dragged on until curiosity got the better of her.

She asked, "Why you?"

He turned to her. Starlight was soft on his face. "Excuse me?"

"Why is Krenn sending you to do all this? Did you serve under Kadenzi?"

"Yes, actually."

"I heard about Ranroon. They say he got ousted from his own ship, then tossed out in an escape pod before it was destroyed. Did you do any of that?"

He looked back at the window. "No. I didn't."

"I'm just wondering what you could have said in five minutes to make Xim's most veteran admiral turn deserter."

"It was more than five minutes. And it's not your business."

Vediah didn't get angry often, but being stuck with Fasol, combined with the last meeting on the Star Forge, were pushing her to the brink. "It's been my business ever since you dragged me out of my ship at Moralan."

"I didn't ask for you to be here."

"You asked for a Jedi."

He smiled sourly and he rebounded her question. "Why you?"

Because there was something about this human—young, saddled with responsibility and stifled regret—that reminded her of herself. But she wouldn't tell him that, not now.

"I didn't want to go to Varl," she said. "Plus, none of the other Jedi here speak Tionese. And what do you need a Jedi for, by the way?"

Fasol grimaced. "I may need your… powers of persuasion. You can do that, can't you?"

"I can," she admitted.

He frowned thoughtfully. "I've had you people reach into my mind, you know. At Ranroon. Probably a few other skirmishes, too." He scowled. "Is that how you brainwashed so many people into trusting you?"

"They came to Idux because they needed our help. Just like you." Vediah tried to steer the conversation to a proper track. "What happens after we shut down Xim's robots?"

"Goodbye, Xim. And good riddance."

"What about the ships in orbit?"

"If they know what's best for them, they'll run."

"Even Jaminere?"

Fasol gave a jerky shrug. "Anyone who wants to fight the worms after Xim's gone deserves what they get."

"I thought your 'Free Navy' was supposed to be on the side of all mankind."

A bitter laugh.

Vediah knew she should shut up, but she persisted, "I don't surprise burning Varl bothers you either."

"The worms started this war. They'll deserve what they get too."

"Don't they say Xim started it?"

"They'll all get what they deserve. I'm not going to shed tears for any of them." Fasol pressed lips tight to show he was finished, but he kept watching her.

"What?" she asked.

"You people aren't what I expected."

"Are we supposed to be made of meaner stuff, like you?"

"Honestly, yes." His hard expression softened. "The power you have is… incredible. And power makes people cruel."

Vediah didn't want to believe that, but she thought of Erakas standing before the crowd, his words, the way he'd felt in the Force: like a metal brand, hard and burning and ready to sear. Despite all that, he'd not been wanton. Not cruel.

Not yet.

"Do you really think it's inevitable?" she asked softly.

After thoughtful silence, he said, "Yes."

"Why?"

Fasol thought again. "Power is… like a cancer. Its eats everything you are from the inside-out until all that's left is a husk. You people, you Jedi, are going to find that out, the way you're going. I don't care how noble your intentions are."

His words were like ashes: dry, hot, bitter. She tried to keep the pity from her voice, because she knew he'd hate it. "What are you going to do after all this is over?"

Self-pity washed over him. With a hard smile, he asked, "If we're lucky, you might find out."

Then he looked away, back at shifting starships. She wished she could understand and help him, because that was what Jedi were supposed to do, but she wasn't even sure if the Jedi could help themselves. If Erakas went through with his plan—if Koltatha, Kayn, and the others went along with it—she didn't know if she could remain with them any longer.

Maybe she'd go wander the stars alone. A Jedi Order of one.

Just when her thoughts grew their most bleak, another mind brushed hers. It wasn't Zephian or any of the other Iduxians who'd come to bait Xim's trap. This one was unexpected—and very welcome.

-{}-

Jecca had forgotten how good it was to open herself to other Jedi. As Essan pushed the Ashla's Dream toward Vontor, she allowed herself to feel the warm presence of her kin. They helped loosen the knots that had her twisted since leaving Karsatel.

"There's other Jedi around," Jecca said, "but not Erakas. I don't feel him. And not Gedor either."

"We didn't come here for them," said the third passenger aboard the Dream. "Set course for the Deathknell."

Oziaf was strapped to the oversized seat on Essan's right. It he who'd insisted on coming to Vontor to tell Xim what he'd already told at Karsatel. Ashla's Dream was the quickest and safest way to the embattled world, so the Jedi had agreed to take him along.

As Essan held a steady course for Xim's flagship, she said, "I'd prefer they don't open fire as soon as we're in range."

"Of course. I can take care of that." Oziaf's paws tapped the communications console, hesitantly at first, then with greater ease. "I, of course, have ways of identifying myself."

"Of course," Jecca echoed. "When you're done, I want the comm board. I'm going to try and contact the other Jedi."

"Just a moment." A few more taps, then Oziaf slipped out of his restraints and vacated the seat. "The rest is yours."

The Dream continued its smooth course as Jecca moved to the comm station. Yet as soon as she sat down, the board lit up with an incoming hail.

"Looks like we were noticed," she muttered, and opened the channel. "This is the Ashla's Dream. We have the Emperor's Special Plenipotentiary aboard. Please, do not fire."

"I wasn't planning to." With the words came a soft touch in the Force.

"Zephian, is that you?" Jecca's heart lifted. "We thought you and Vediah were killed at Moralan!"

"It's a long story." She could hear the Mirialan's weary smile.

"Listen, I'd love to hear it, but we've got something to tell Xim. I'll fill you in as much as I can. Just listen and let me talk. This is extremely important."

"I was going to say the same thing to you."

"Zephian, what's happening?" Essan raised her voice. "Where is Erakas? Where is Gedor?"

A sigh rasped over the comm. "Do you want to go first or should I?"

There was no time for this. "Tell us," Essan said.

And he did.

-{}-

When she stepped into the small conference room adjoined to the Deathknell's command center, Essan's mind flashed back six years to the bowels of Ranroon's palace. Indrexu dead on the ground. Xim demanding her allegiance. Oziaf urging them to flee. And flee they had, those three survivors, deeper into the tangled underground. To Essan it had felt like a plunge into perilous unknown.

Now, on Xim's flagship over Vontor, they were together again. Xim was waiting in the small conference room. Essan stepped inside first, then Oziaf leaped from floor to tabletop. The door shut behind them, sealing two war robots outside. Jecca, unhappy but compliant, remained with the Dream at Essan's request.

"I didn't expect to see you again," Xim told Essan. "Especially not with Oziaf."

"Is that because you sent a penteconter to bomb Idux?" she asked. Everything Zephian had told her was rattling around in her head, but she had to get that out first.

Xim, as expected, merely frowned. "I did no such thing. What are you talking about?"

She knew he was honest. For all his many faults, Xim was not a liar. "A warship calling itself the Vigilant came to Idux and attacked Morning Star. It was destroyed by the Star Forge."

"The Vigilant is at Vontor right now. It must have been a Scorned ship."

"No," said Oziaf. "It was something else."

Xim looked at the T'iin T'iin. "You've been gone a long time. I was starting to think you'd deserted me too."

"Never."

"I'm very busy, so explain what you found and how you ended up with the Jedi."

"We know who started the war with the Hutts," Essan said. "Who destroyed Santossa Station and who really triggered the Ranroon mutiny."

"And who's set a trap for you even now," Oziaf said gravely.

Xim looked between them in disbelief. "Well? Out with it, damn you."

Oziaf's jaw hinged open, but he couldn't make himself speak the name. Essan swallowed and said, "It was our Prophet."

"Your Prophet? From Idux?" He stared like they were mad.

"The Hutts call him the Demon," Oziaf added. "Most of us know him as Gedor."

"Us?"

Oziaf looked down. He'd labored to speak his words before Churabba and struggled even more to do so now. It wasn't easy for Essan either, but she found the strength to say it.

"Gedor is very powerful and very ancient. He's been cultivating servants in the Tion and the Supremacy for centuries. He's trying to destroy both you and the Hutts and establish rule of Force-users over everyone."

"This is absurd," Xim scoffed. "Is this a joke? Oziaf?"

"It's true," the T'iin T'iin whimpered. "Every word."

"How can you know that?"

"Because I'm one of them." Oziaf lifted his head. "I'm Gedor's… disciple."

Xim's face went slack. He wavered on his feet. "You..."

"I have the old magic. The Force. My people called it the 'water-sense.'"

Xim placed both hands on the tabletop and, shaking, lowered himself to the nearest chair. Essan had never seen him look so weak. The deaths of his bride and father at Ranroon had filled him with grief and rage; this betrayal left him empty, like his whole world had dissolved in an instant.

But when Xim finally lifted his head, there was wrath in his eyes. "What have you done to me?"

"I tried to serve you both." Oziaf's voice creaked. "I thought I was… clever. But I wasn't more clever than Gedor."

"How long?" Xim demanded.

"I met him before you. But I didn't understand—didn't think I understood—until after you took the throne. I went to Idux to find him. He told me to come back and stay close to you."

"That was thirty years ago. All this time you've been lying to me..." His face tightened. "Santossa?"

"I didn't know what would happen."

"Ranroon?"

"I helped it along. I never planned for her to die."

Xim's hands curled to fists. "I should kill you."

Oziaf made no defense.

"What about this war?" he snarled. "Did you start that too?"

"No."

"You expect me to believe that? You've lied to me for thirty years!"

"It wasn't him," Essan said. She'd talked to Reina and Vaatus and believed their side of the story. "There was another agent in the Supremacy. He worked for Kossak but he also worked for Gedor."

"He was Kossak's me," Oziaf smiled bitterly. "He was so proud of it, too."

Xim wrenched his spiteful glare from Oziaf to Essan. "Why have you come to tell me this now?"

"Because we just found out. None of the Jedi had any idea what Gedor really is. Most still don't."

"Then what are you going to do about your Prophet?"

Now for the even deeper plunge. Essan tried to gather everything Zephian explained in the minutes before docking. It had been another rush of revelation, just as horrifying as Oziaf's confession.

Because time was short, she cut to the bone. "Gedor, Erakas, and the other Jedi are taking the Star Forge to Varl. They're going to destroy the Hutt homeworld."

"Then they're finally doing something useful."

She should have expected that. Essan bent close and stressed, "They've laid a trap for you too."

For the first time, fear clouded his anger. "How?"

"I don't know all of it, but they've convinced Kadenzi to desert. Once he gets the signal, he'll withdraw his forces. The Hutts will rush Vontor and Kossak will challenge you to ritual combat on the surface. As soon as you get down, someone will trigger a command to shut down all your war robots."

"What?" He jerked straight in his chair. "How?"

"I don't know exactly," she admitted. Zephian hadn't known the specifics and she'd been unable to contact Vediah, wherever the younger Jedi was. "But they have a signal that will self-destruct the robots' processing units."

"Impossible," Xim sneered. "Even if they had the right code they'd need a command-level transmitter to contact the robots."

"Perhaps they have agents aboard your ship," Oziaf offered.

Xim glared at the T'iin T'iin, and his hands curled to fists. Before he could response Essan said, "The trap is set. You're already in the snare."

"You think I haven't been in traps before?" He surged to his feet, pushing the chair to the wall. "You think I haven't been betrayed? I survive. I triumph. Every. Single. Time. That is who I am." He turned a snarl on Oziaf. "You know what happens to people who betray me."

"I never meant to," the T'iin T'iin choked. "I gave you every-thing I had for years. Gedor wanted me to. He wanted you to conquer all mankind. Now he wants your empire for himself."

"It's why he wanted Erakas," Essan added gravely. "He needs a human to rule after you're gone."

Xim tried to grasp their words. "And the Supremacy?"

Essan wasn't sure. Oziaf ventured, "Revenge, I think. The Hutts brought him down centuries ago… He's done this once before. Maybe more than that."

"Then I'm just his latest victim?" Xim sneered. "I can't even be unique, can I?"

"You are," Oziaf said weakly. "There's no one like you."

Xim looked at him. For the first time, his voice trembled. "Tell me… Everything I've done, all my conquests, all the wars, all the triumphs… were they mine? Or have I just been a puppet on the Demon's strings?"

He sounded so fragile. One word could break him.

But Oziaf said, "No. You're the only one of us who wasn't. Your triumphs are your own."

Because Xim needed to believe that so badly, he did. Drawing a little straighter, he said, "I've been betrayed before. I always triumph. And I always punish my enemies. You came all this way to tell me about Gedor, so how do I defeat him?" his lips curled to snarl. "How do I make him pay for what he did to me?"

Essan had patched together an idea just before entering this room. She didn't know if it would work. There was no way to measure Gedor's real power, especially if he had the Star Forge at his command. And Xim would likely refuse to help.

But she didn't have the chance to get it out. The chamber's intercom flared and she recognized the voice of Captain Jesson. "Daritha, please come to the bridge right away. Admiral Kadenzi's forces have just withdrawn into hyperspace. They gave no warning whatsoever. The Hutts are advancing."

It was already too late. "I'll be there in a minute," Xim said. Before starting for the door he asked, "How many jumped?"

A short, awful pause. "Seventy-eight total, sir."

Xim paled. The Dream's sensors had marked around two hundred Imperial ships over Vontor. The battle had just shifted seismically.

As was planned all along.

Xim nearly sprinted out the door. With fast strides and a four-legged scamper, Essan and Oziaf followed.

-{}-

Boonta didn't know how Kossak had pulled it off, but he had. Just fifteen minutes ago he'd arrived with his Hierarch at the head of a mixed Inijic, Patarii, Ruminic, and Ugorii fleet. Then, as they merged formation with Boonta's beleaguered warships, nearly half of the human vessels turned and jumped away.

Kossak had boasted of a surprise. Boonta decided never to doubt him again.

After ordering a renewed attack Boonta wriggled over the communications screen, where Kossak's image appeared. Boonta was surprised to see him dressed not in mourning robes, but a fierce and beautiful armored shell of black and silver ceramic plates jointed together like the scales of a dragon. His ultramarine eyes peered out from under a razor-crested helm. It was the kind of raiment Hutt warriors of old had donned to do battle the Demon.

"Do you like my surprise, Denier?" Kossak asked.

"Absolutely," Boonta said. "How did you accomplish it?"

"I'll explain later, for the trap's only set. I haven't sprung it yet. My ships are under your orders from here on. Do every-thing you can to crush Xim's fleet."

"What will you be doing?"

"Making certain he steps into the snare. Trust me, Denier. You'll see our full glory this day."

The image winked out. Boonta turned around and saw the tactical screen, where Supremacy warships fell like hail against Xim's faltering shield. Beyond, defiled but still rich with kiirium, waited Vontor.

A poisoned treasure was a treasure still. Boonta ordered a renewed attack.

-{}-

Essan and Oziaf stood beside Xim on the Deathknell's bridge as Kossak's ultimatum boomed over the speakers. The Hutt's voice was like low thunder, overlaid by a guttural voice translating his words into Tionese.

"This will be the last Battle of Vontor. Xim's servants, repulsed by his wanton cruelty, are abandoning him. In despair and spite, he stains a world with nuclear poison. He has set the stage for a final confrontation, but in his vanity he does not understand it will be his ending, not ours. We are the Hutt Supremacy. We are immortal. The Empire of Mankind is nothing before us."

"But I, Kossak the Mighty, am not unmerciful. I give Xim a choice. I will allow him to gather his battered slaves and flee back to his Empire. I will accept peace between our people, but only if he vacates every world he's seized since the start of this war. If even a single human foot remains on a world we claim, we will turn all mankind to dust. To seal this pact he must produce a tribute of raw kiirium and a hundred thousand slaves every year for the rest of his existence, and prostrate himself before me in recognition of our Supremacy over mankind.

"If this galls the self-named daritha, I offer an invitation to ritual combat on the surface of Vontor. The deserts of its southwest continent are yet unstained by his fallout. I will descend to that world now with one thousand of my best warriors. If Xim and his mechanical minions join me on the field of battle, we will fight honorably until one of us falls. I swear that the war between our races will end there, no matter the outcome.

"Choose, daritha. I give you an hour to signal your intention. I hope to see you on the plain of Vontor."

The transmission ended, but its basso rumble seemed to echo on the cavernous bridge. No one spoke. All eyes were on the center of the room: Xim, his Left Hand, and his Red Witch.

Xim stared at the tactical screen. Hutt warships were surging toward Vontor. The Imperials could barely hold them. Soon the defensive line would collapse. Kossak was right. Xim had two options: flee or make his final stand.

But Xim was Xim, and he wouldn't surrender to fate. He wrenched eyes off the screen and barked, "Comms! Get me Jaminere now!"

He stalked to a small glass-walled comm booth on one corner of the bridge. Essan and Oziaf followed; the eyes of every crew member bored into their backs, even when they retreated into the booth. Once inside, Xim wrenched the handset off its cradle, hesitated, then put it down and switched audio to a speaker. Essan and Oziaf crowded beside him.

"This is the Ascendant," Jaminere's voice scratched. "We just heard Kossak's broadcast. Standing by for orders."

"Fight them, Marco," Xim growled, "to the last gods-damned worm."

"We're outnumbered. They're cutting through our line—"

"Do it! I won't run and I won't crawl on my knees. Not to Kossak, not Gedor, not anyone!"

"You'll throw away all those lives for nothing," Essan insisted. "You've said you're really fighting for all mankind. You can prove that today."

"I won't run."

"If you meet Kossak at Vontor—"

"No!" Xim snapped. "You already said it's a trap!"

"What's going on?" asked Jaminere. "Is the Witch with you?"

"And Oziaf," Xim growled, "My… advisors are telling me to fall on my sword." He looked at them both with contempt.

"Xim… I'll do whatever you decide," Jaminere said, but his voice wavered.

Essan clasped Xim's arm and tugged him closer. "What's the point of being 'lord of all' if all you've got are ashes?"

"You're right, what is the point?" His face twisted in anger, spite, and self-pity. "I'm lord of nothing. Just a pawn to your Prophet and his almighty Force."

"You don't have to be," Oziaf said weakly. "You can strike back."

"How?"

Essan squeezed Xim's arm tighter. "Gedor wants to burn Varl with the Star Forge. The Hutts don't have the ships to stop him. Kossak brought them all here. But your ships can."

He looked at her in disbelief. "I will not send my fleet to save the Hutts. Never. If you want Gedor stopped so badly tell the worms yourself."

Tense silence took the booth. Oziaf clear his throat and said, "Viceroy Jaminere, would you be so kind as to hail Kossak's flagship and inform him that his homeworld is under attack by a resurrected Tyrant war machine commanded by their mythic Demon?"

The comm line buzzed for a full ten seconds. Then he said, "Is that an order, daritha?"

"Do it." Xim rattled a dry laugh. "I'm sure Kossak will believe you. And while you're at it, Viceroy, make sure your communication systems are secure. Apparently the Jedi are trying to hijack the war robots' command signal."

After a short stunned pause, Jaminere said, "Understood. One moment, please."

The buzz disappeared as Jaminere closed the channel. Xim looked at Essan and Oziaf with sullen eyes. "Let the worms save their own world. I will not lift a finger for them."

"It's not about saving the Hutts," Oziaf whispered. "It's about stopping Gedor. And he has to be stopped."

Xim glowered at his Left Hand, then at his Red Witch. "I don't believe anything Oziaf says, not anymore, but I believe you. If I didn't, I'd dismiss your whole story as absurd. Which I'm sure Kossak is doing now."

"If Kossak won't stop Gedor, then it will have to be the Empire."

"Never."

"Only your ships can do it," Oziaf said achingly. "Send them to Varl. Essan can guide them with her Jedi ship. You can deny Gedor his revenge against the Hutts. Deny him everything."

"And get some revenge in turn," Essan said. "That is what you want, isn't it?"

Xim might have sneered again; instead he looked down, brow furrowed, less angry than desperate. He was trapped in a snare, without the strength of his grand self-illusion to sustain him. She felt him so close to breaking; only anger gave him strength to stand.

The comm line hummed anew. Jaminere said, "I've had a… conversation with Kossak via interlocutor. He did not believe my message and accelerated his attack on Vontor."

"As I'd do in his place," Xim said, almost gentle. "And your command transmitter?"

"I've swapped out the Comms crew and brought more security to the bridge."

"Good. We've done the same here." But his voice held no conviction. Xim craned his neck to look through the booth's glass, at the tactical screen. The Hutts had broken through Imperial lines at multiple points. The Deathknell was close to the planet, deep within its gravity well.

"If we're going to Varl, we should push off now, while we still can," Essan said.

Xim did not respond. He stared at the screen, thinking. Oziaf urged, "She's right, sir. Give up Vontor. Get away now."

"Run. Like a coward." Xim took a deep breath. When he spoke next he was more thoughtful than angry. "If I abandon Vontor, Kossak will invade the Tion. Kadenzi's already in retreat and the worms will gobble up planet after planet with nothing to stop them. Terman, Ko Vari, Tialvai, Gywnhes. All the way to the Empire's heart. Imagine one of their planet-killers smashing into Desevro. If I save the worms, mankind burns instead. I'll never make that exchange, never."

"We must stop Gedor," Oziaf whimpered.

Xim's expression hardened. Each passing second his future narrowed and possibilities died. He was on the verge of the most difficult decision of his life, and Essan couldn't tell which way he'd bend.

Yet she knew—in her heart, in the Force—what was required of him. She just didn't know if he was capable of it, for he'd have to surrender spite and pride for something greater.

Essan told him, "There's one way you can save mankind and destroy Gedor. Only one. I can guide Jaminere's fleet to Varl. And you… you'll have to meet Kossak, on his terms."

"You don't know what're asking me to do."

"Yes, I do. If you don't send your fleet to Varl, Gedor wins. If you don't face Kossak, mankind loses."

"And no matter what, I lose everything."

"Remember Indrexu." Xim flinched at the name, but she pressed, "Why do you think she agreed to marry you? It wasn't because she loved you."

"I neither ask nor want to be loved."

It was true. What Xim craved was dominance and respect.

"Do you know why?" she asked again.

"She sacrificed herself to me, so her people would survive."

"And she was an admirable woman, wasn't she?"

"Yes. She was." Xim closed his eyes and sagged against her weight. Essan held him upright with one hand. Sometimes she forgot how frail he was, how mortal. Xim fought the universe not because he had the Force to empower him, but because he did not.

He was just a man, who'd set himself to a war with gods he'd never win.

Xim opened his eyes, straightened, and said, "Viceroy Jaminere. I am going to meet Kossak's challenge. You are to follow the beacon lit by the Red Witch to Varl, where you will do everything possible to destroy Gedor, the so-called Demon, and his Star Forge. Take as many ships as can jump away. When you arrive at the Hutt homeworld… state your intentions. Tell them you mean no harm. Your only goal is to destroy the Forge. Is that clear?"

"Will you… need me to keep any ships here?"

"Take all you can. Good luck, Marco."

Jaminere had to gather himself. "To you as well. Goodbye."

The line clicked off. Essan became aware once more of how silent the command center was, despite the ferocity of the battle outside.

Xim swung eyes to her, and they flashed a dark light. "You are officially discharged from service to the Empire. Take your ship. Guide Jaminere. Give Gedor my vengeance. Make him suffer."

It shouldn't have been this hard to say farewell to someone you'd never liked. All Essan found was, "Thank you."

Xim looked to Oziaf. "I suppose you'd also like to confront your real master," he said coldly.

But the T'iin T'iin shook his head. "I don't think I have it in me. It's strange, you know… all this time Gedor told me I was special and clever and better than everyone else. But I think I was just a coward."

"Then what will you do?"

He told Xim. "I believe that, according to Hutt and Argaian custom, ritual duels require a second."

Even with the Force, Essan couldn't read but passed between them. But Xim said, "Accepted." Then he looked to Essan, one final time. "You've got what you wanted. Now go."

But before she could step back he grabbed her hand, tugged her close, and said, "Make this mean something."

His last, unlikely sacrifice.

"I will," she whispered, and prayed it was true. For the sake of the Jedi, mankind, the Hutts and all of Gedor's victims.

And for Xim's sake too.

-{}-

The Third Battle of Vontor was not over, but fighting above the planet ceased. Jaminere was shocked by how quickly the chaotic brawl dissipated to nothing. Battered tarradas drifted within firing range of limping polyremes but no missiles passed between them. Everything stopped the moment Xim's lander dropped out of the Deathknell and plummeted toward Vontor.

There was so much Jaminere didn't understand. He'd heard the conversation between Xim, Essan, and Oziaf but all the time had felt locked out.

As he watched the eerie quiet over Vontor, he thought on Kadenzi's last message, flung out just before his Monarch disappeared into hyperspace. It had been brief, pre-recorded and cast directly to the Ascendant.

The admiral had said, "When the emperor is gone there will be no use for viceroys, but Sorasca will need a king."

He'd never wanted to be a king. When he'd shot his father through the skull he'd murdered his whole rotten inheritance and claimed new life under Xim. But if the Empire fell, his father's crown might be his own after all.

"Viceroy," Captain Qail said, "Our nav team picked up a fresh beacon from an uncharted telemetry, about fifty light-years away. It seems to be the one you were telling us about."

The Red Witch's beacon, which would lead them to Varl. His orders were to follow, but at that moment Jaminere didn't feel compelled by Xim's command. He thought on Kadenzi's last words, which were also an offer. Not the fate he'd wanted, but an extended hand nonetheless.

"Viceroy," said a new voice from Comms, "We're getting an internal transmission. They're asking for you personally."

He rubbed his temple; nothing made sense today. "Who are they? Where are they calling from?"

"They seem to be calling from, well, your cabin, sir."

He wrenched up the handset and demanded, "Who is this, and what are you doing in my quarters?"

A soft female voice said, "My name is Vediah, sir. I'm a Jedi Knight."

"How did you get on my ship?"

"I'll explain, but I'd like to discuss something with you first. Please, can you come to your cabin?"

He slammed the headset without answering. Fresh fear tingled in the back of his tried mind. A glance at the screen confirmed eerie peace over Vontor. He asked, "Has Xim's ship landed yet?"

"It's almost reached the ground," Tactical reported. "The Hutt troops have already deployed."

"Watch them. Have all ships hold position. No one jumps. I'm going to my cabin but I'll be back soon. Security! Four with me."

Jaminere charged off the bridge, and his young guards nearly ran to keep up.

-{}-

Vontor was a wasted plane. Though Boonta's technicians assured him no active radiation yet reached this continent, the light had a sickly yellow tint that stained the white of the alkali desert. When his lander slammed into the surface it kicked up a cloud of pale dust that swirled on hot winds for ten minutes before the curtains dispersed.

Boonta's warriors disgorged from the drop ship first. Three hundred Iotrans marched in ordered lines, and the head of each column bore the banner of the Hestilic host. Then came the Esteemed: t'landa Til with banners streaming from their proud horns, long-robed Yahk-Tosh, Vippits with bright-painted shells. Last was Boonta himself. He came garbed in a metal combat shell, plated from shoulders to tail-tip in layers of dulled kiirium alloy, with duranium fiber-weave mail beneath.

It was a modern, practical kind of war armor, and while any Hutt who wore it looked impressive, Boonta knew that Kossak put on the greater show.

The landing ship from the Hierarch had set down a half-hour earlier and rested eight hundred meters from Boonta's. It was twice as large and had disgorged three hundred Weequay, two hundred Niktos, one hundred Vodrans, and another hundred Klatooinans. Kossak looked glorious in the lead. The plates of his armor were like mighty scales as he slithered through the alkali dust, and the curves of his razor-crested war helm gleamed in the strange sunlight. Twin banners, each bearing the Inijic crest, rose from his shoulders and snapped in the wind.

As the two Hutts crossed the desert to meet, another ship fell from the sky. For a moment Boonta feared Xim would drop down and crush them, but his lander flared its retro-jets to slow descent. When it slammed into the earth two kilometers away, the cloud of dust was so fierce Boonta had to seal his eyes, nose, and mouth. When he finally opened them, both he and Kossak were caked in white dust.

Kossak did not seem to care, so Boonta decided not to either. He waved one of his Iotrans forward, and the biped extended a stalk with a pair of binoculars attached. Peering through, Boonta saw the mouth of the humans' lander swing open. From that black maw a glinting army marched in mechanical order.

"I see the robots," Boonta said, "but I do not see Xim."

"He will be here," Kossak hummed.

"The robots will be formidable. Even for our army."

"They will not be a problem. Nothing will be a problem. We have Xim exactly where we need him."

Boonta wished Kossak would explain the source of his boundless confidence. He had faith, but the sight of those approaching robots brought to mind the Second Battle, where his forces and Xim's had fought each other to a draw.

"Thank you for being my second, Denier," Kossak said. "It's been an honor to fight with you for the future of our race."

"The honor is mine… Mighty One."

A jealous part of Boonta wished he could lead the battle against Xim himself, for he had much to avenge: the Second Battle, the loss of Ko Vari, the death of Ontagga. But Kossak had constructed this moment piece-by-piece for years. It belonged to him.

The Throne bellowed, "Close the gap! Let us march!"

Their armies did not advance swiftly, for the bipeds weren't allowed to overtake the Hutts themselves, but their boots made the plain quake. As they drew closer to Xim's army, Boonta's slave held up binoculars again (a tricky feat to do while marching) so the Dominion could see his enemy.

The robots were a shining metal wave, but at their fore was a dark patch of living bipeds. A few of them held banners with a death's head emblem. Amongst them, surely, was Xim.

The armies advanced closer. If this were a normal battle they'd have already entered each other's firing range, but this was a ritual combat, held according to the oldest customs of the Supremacy.

During the Second Battle, Xim had called for such a match himself. It had been an act of sheer audacity, for in doing so he proclaimed himself equal to a Hutt, but Boonta had accepted the challenge. He'd have shamed himself otherwise.

Now it was Xim who marched to escape shame. He'd lost half his fleet over Vontor, his last stand was in shambles, but still he'd come to make an end of it. Boonta had never encountered a biped so brazen. In a sick way, he had to respect Xim.

Brass horns sounded, signaling Xim's army to halt. Boonta raised a hand, commanding the Supremacy's soldiers to stop. Two great armies stood in ordered grids and faced one another across a stretch of gleaming white. One was metal, one was flesh. Wind blew hot and harsh between them.

"With me, my second," said Kossak, and he began to crawl across the gap. Boonta followed. As they moved, they saw a single figure walk from the robot army to meet them. Even for a biped it was small, stringy, pathetic to behold. Yet its strides were long and it held its head proudly.

A small object moved alongside Xim, and Boonta did not recognize it until it came to a stop and rose from four legs to two. It was Oziaf the Insignificant, the T'iin T'iin first sent to negotiate with the Supremacy all those years ago. The daritha and his pet drew themselves straight and waited for the Hutts to arrive.

Xim was dressed in a black metal-weave armor strapped over a gray combat jumpsuit: clothes of common infantry. Oziaf wore only a dusty vest and a fez atop his head. They were tiny things before two Hutts encased in war armor. Two snaps of a tail would destroy them both. But that was not how a duel was performed.

Xim could not speak the Holy Tongue, but Oziaf could. The rodent said the ritual words. "By the glory of the Holy Lights, we swear to abide by the outcome of this battle. We place before you our honor, our pride, and our purpose. Through this contest we will discover true supremacy."

It was ludicrous to hear such loftiness from so flimsy a creature, but Kossak repeated them verbatim, tone solemn.

Then the rat doffed his hat and said, "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

-{}-

When he turned the last corridor before his cabin, Jaminere smelled a whiff of smoke. He didn't slow down but barked at his four guards to draw their sidearms. As he got close to the door he saw that the lock had been cut clear away, as though with a torch or molten blade.

He pushed it aside, stepped through, and stopped dead. Two figures were standing in his compact living room. One was an alien Iduxian, small and female, with downy white fur and a long metal sword hooked to her belt. The second figure was tall, lean, male and human.

It was his son.

Jaminere sagged against the doorframe. He looked down then up again and Marco was still there. It was not the son he'd preserved in memory, who'd looked so young despite his uniform. The Marco before him now was a man, with a hard-edged face knit by frown lines.

Marco said, in a hard unhappy voice, "Hello, Father."

The alien's eyes widened in surprise. Jaminere creaked, "Marco… How can this be you?"

"Not everyone died on the Crown."

"But you did. I tried to find you, but you were gone… Just like your mother."

Marco stepped around the alien, came closer. "She urged me to get off that ship before you destroyed it. That's what saved me. Of course, she never wanted me to be there in the first place. Not like you."

"Marco, what happened to you? What did you—"

"I've been with the Scorned all this time."

Jaminere's head swam. He looked over-shoulder, saw his guards pressing behind him, and waved them back. To his son he begged, "Why didn't you come to me?"

"If you have to ask, there's no point in trying to explain."

"Then why are you here, with her?" He pointed at the alien.

"Her name is Vediah, Father, and she's been very helpful. We came here to access the Ascendant's special transmission system. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

He gestured to the wall on Jaminere's right. Right beside the closet was a hidden access node, now exposed, by which the viceroy could enter executive commands. One of those operated the special transmitter that controlled Xim's robots.

"You let me watch you use it once while I was just a cadet." Marco's smile was bitter. "I could tell even then you were showing off."

Pieces were fitting into place. Jaminere rasped, "What are you trying to do to the robots?"

"Trigger their self-destruct. Kill them on their feet."

"You can't. Even I can't. Only Xim knows the proper code."

He gestured to Vediah. "The Iduxians took care of that, actually."

Jaminere lurched into the room, putting himself between Marco and the access node. "You can't! Xim's down there with his robots now! You'll kill him!"

Marco shook his head, pitying. "I'm sorry, father. We sent the signal just before you arrived."

-{}-

On the plain of Vontor, an army died. Though no shot was fired they died all at once. Five hundred soldiers—each a three-meter giant of kiirium skin, duranium skeleton, and mytag cells—sparked, shuddered, and groaned mechanical death in perfect unity. It was the strangest, most frightening sound Boonta had ever heard.

Not one of the dead soldiers fell. Five hundred thin smoke-banners spooled from their chests and unraveled in Vontor's dry wind. The self-destruct order had been perfectly executed to a unit. The soldiers remained on metal feet, solid as statues.

Boonta and Kossak had just returned to their lines and placed themselves at the fore in preparation for the initial charge. But when the robots died, Kossak was not surprised. He was joyous. His great body, though packed inside ancient razor armor, trembled with laughter.

When he looked through his binoculars, Boonta expected to see Xim and his pet frantic. But no: they stood as still as their dead robots and watched the Hutts across the gap, like they'd expected this too.

"Now we end it," Kossak said simply.

He crawled across the plain, Boonta followed five meters behind. He peered through Kossak's dusty wake and saw Xim striding across the desert. His T'iin T'iin scampered a respectful distance behind.

No one else moved.

Xim and Kossak stopped only when they'd closed the gap. Boonta and Oziaf lingered: their role was to witness, not to fight. Xim spoke to Kossak, and Kossak to Xim. Neither knew the other's tongue, and the words from both mouths were dispersed on the wind, never to be heard.

Then, before the empty eyes of dead and shining soldiers, Xim's last battle began.

-{}-

Jaminere had to brace both hands against a wall to keep from falling. His entire life was being upended again and again. His dead son returned. His friend, emperor and architect doomed. It was dream, nightmare, and reality all at once.

Marco's voice cut like a knife. "You can't help Xim now. It's done."

"Why? Why like this? You… you used me to betray him!"

"We need something else from you, Father."

"We?"

"She does." He gestured to Vediah. "Tell him."

The alien said, "We also used your comm node to contact the other Iduxians, right before they jumped away. There's a Jedi ship that's trying to guide you and your fleet to Varl. When you get there—"

Xim's last conversation almost made sense now. "Save the worms," Jaminere growled. "Destroy the Star Forge."

"Yes," Vediah said gravely.

Jaminere pushed off from the wall and stood tall. "That was Xim's final order. Did he know that you'd betray him?"

After a long pause, she said, "I think so."

But Xim had given the order anyway. His architect, emperor and friend defied understanding to the end. Just minutes ago Jaminere had been ready to refuse Xim's command. Now he couldn't bear to.

"Do what she says, Father," Marco said. "You can't do anything for Xim. You might as well take your ships to Varl."

"What do you care for the Hutts?"

"I don't." His scowl softened as he looked at Vediah. "I'm just paying a debt."

Jaminere couldn't take his eyes of his son: so familiar but so strange. "Marco… what's happened to you?"

"I'm what you made me, Father. Will you give the order?"

In an hour the structure of his life had collapsed. In the rubble he found only two certainties. Xim was lost. His son was alive. Both of them urged him to the same end.

Drawing himself tall, until he looked almost like a viceroy or even a king, Jaminere nodded.

-{}-

Watched by armies living and dead, shrouded in veils of alkali dust, bathed in the sun of a murdered world, Xim and Kossak fought. The human was a nimble speck, darting this way and that to avoid the thrash of tail and swirl of spiked mace. The Hutt, encased in black-and-silver scales, looked like a dragon rending the earth apart.

It was never a contest.

Xim was fast but only human and getting old. Boonta could see his reactions lag as he danced. Kossak's blows cleaved the desert, forcing Xim to stumble around craters and gashes. Kossak was still a Hutt in his prime. He did not tire. He did not relent. His colossal body snapped endlessly, never still for an instant. Xim's halberd scraped against the ceramic scales but cut no deeper.

Boonta watched as Xim tripped over a crater, fell, caught himself with both hands and reared up again. Kossak thrashed his tail like a hammer. Xim evaded. His halberd did not. The pike snapped in two and he tossed it aside.

Boonta was granted an image that would last him the rest of his life: Kossak surging like a black dragon out of white dust; Xim standing, legs spread and bare hands open beneath the falling Hutt like he could hold back a storm.

Kossak crashed. White blurred the desert. Boonta squeezed eyes, mouth, and nose shut until the dust stopped swirling. When he opened them, through dissolving veils of white, he saw it all.

The despot lay still, body shattered and face to the ground.

His statue-soldiers watched with dead black eyes.

His rat wept in the dust.

Kossak reared to the sky and thundered triumph at poison clouds.

The Third Battle was done.