Rebel Dream: Enemy Lines I (17 page)

“Good,” Wedge said.

Corran continued, “But if the Yuuzhan Vong
aren’t
using gravitic tracker creatures, we still have to figure out where the holes are in the security of the refugee network. We’ll have to root out the problem the old-fashioned way.”

“Well, it looks like we have some tactics to employ,” Wedge said. “I think we’ll need a volunteer to coordinate this effort, and that volunteer can work with me and Tycho to assemble a mission. Anyone?”

Lando’s hand was, to the surprise of the others, first in the air. “I think it’s about time I made a lot of Vong look bad,” he said. “In my own inimitable way, of course.”

“Of course.” Wedge grinned at him.

“I’ll need communications access to Talon Karrde, Danni’s device, a starfighter squadron, maybe a Jedi or
two, and a lot of brandy. I can’t stress the brandy part enough.”

Wedge gave him a dubious look. “I think we’ve accomplished what we needed to here. Does anyone have anything else?”

“I do.” Luke gave Mara an apologetic look. “I’m going to Coruscant. Something’s happening there, something outside the activities of the Yuuzhan Vong, and I have to look into it. I suspect that once I’m there, I can find a way to get offworld, but what I don’t know is how I’d get to the planet’s surface.”

“Intelligence can get you there,” Iella said. “We’ve been thinking about putting a team on the ground there—we need to set up Resistance cells on Coruscant. We can combine the two missions.” She gave him a wicked smile. “I’ll give you that extremely annoying mechanic.”

“Thank you so much,” Luke said, deadpan.

He was a warrior of the Yuuzhan Vong, his face so thoroughly scarred and tattooed that the decorations all but hid his wrinkles of age, his augmented vonduun crab armor concealing the leanness of active venerability. In his hands, coiled like a long rope, was an amphistaff of unusual type—far longer, much more slender than the standard Yuuzhan Vong weapon.

One did not often see a Yuuzhan Vong warrior this old. Most had gone to a noble death long before achieving this age.

He walked behind the black coral benches of his teaching chamber, behind the rows of his students, warrior-officers clad only in loincloths. At the head of the chamber, blaze bugs took on the form of a planet, of its
defensive platforms and screens, of attacking Yuuzhan Vong forces.

“See there,” he said. “The upper right quadrant of the world Coruscant. The stream of ships against the visible screen, how it flares into incandescence and disappears. These ships held our enemies’ refugees, and they disappeared because we ordered them into a region of space protected by the enemy’s passive defenses. When they could no longer bear the notion that their innocent relatives were being consumed by their own defenses, they lowered those defenses, and we entered their world-sanctuary.” The blaze bugs altered their configuration so that the stream of ships passed through the shield, now accompanied by colors suggesting Yuuzhan Vong attack craft. “Now, what was the most important piece of information we needed to implement this plan?”

For a moment there was silence. Then a young warrior, his body scarcely graced by scars or tattoos, stood. He remained rigid, his back to the elderly instructor. “We needed to know where their passive defenses were.”

The elderly Yuuzhan Vong drew back his coil of amphistaff and then snapped it forward. The pointed tail cracked out and stabbed into that warrior’s back, punching a hole into the flesh over his shoulder blade. As the elderly one yanked his living whip back, the hole bled.

“Sit,” said the old one. “What you have just received is a Czulkang Lah pit. Everyone who studies with me receives several. They become badges of honor, a sign that you have survived instruction with Czulkang Lah. But the more hopeless among you receive many pits, countless pits, and rather than it being a badge of honor, such scars tell other officers that you were an idiot. I recommend you not gather unto yourself too many. Now, who will answer the question I asked?”

No one stood or spoke.

The old warrior sighed. “All stand, all but the one who had the courage to venture an answer.”

All the students, except the one still bleeding, rose. Czulkang Lah lashed out at them, methodically and rhythmically cutting two pits in each back. The warriors he struck did not cry out; none offered any sound more dismayed than a grunt. But they would remember this day and how their fear of offering a wrong answer had earned them their teacher’s ire.

When he was halfway through the group of thirty students, one who had not yet been struck spoke up, saying, “We had to know that the enemy would sacrifice all to save a few. We had to know how they thought.”

“You, sit.” Czulkang Lah continued his whip-cracking, sparing the one who had last spoken. When all but that one had bloody backs, he said, “All sit.

“Now, all
think
. Tudrath Dyn is correct. We had to understand their weaknesses … and their strengths. Their ability to train great warriors despite their daintiness concerning death and pain. Their hateful love of machinery … and their correct evaluation of that machinery’s effectiveness. We had to
know
. Else we would not have beaten them on Coruscant. Else we would not beat them elsewhere.”

A warrior with a bloody back stood. “May I ask a question, Warmaster?”

“I am not Warmaster,” Czulkang Lah said. “Not for a lifetime. Yes, you may ask. I punish wrong conclusions … not curiosity.”

The warrior asked, “How can one understand the ways of the enemy without learning to think like the enemy? And if one learns to think like the enemy, is that one not infected with his thoughts, and a danger to the Yuuzhan Vong?”

“A good question. Sit.” Czulkang Lah walked around
to stand before his students. “The answer is as you suspect. For our theoretical tactician to think like the enemy is to be infected with his wrongness. If the infection is not too great, the tactician can cure himself by reimmersion in our ways. If the infection is too great, he can find a way to die honorably, knowing that his sacrifice has enriched us. So his infection is not a problem unless he passes it on to others. Remember—and this is the lesson that the enemy on Coruscant did not understand—individual survival is not important. As soon as you dispassionately place yourselves among those whom you are willing to send to certain death, you take another step toward strategic wisdom.” He glanced past the ranks of his students at the figure, a distant silhouette, who had just entered the coral-lined chamber. “We are finished for now. Go.”

They rose and marched, nearly silent on bare feet, from the chamber, glancing but not staring at the visitor, who remained at the rear, in the shadows, wrapped in a voluminous cloak.

When they were gone, Czulkang Lah moved forward. “Is it you?”

Tsavong Lah unwrapped himself from his cloak.

“Father.”

Czulkang Lah offered a nod of acknowledgment. “Son. Or is your visit as warmaster?”

Tsavong Lah moved to stand beside his father. “As warmaster
and
son. As son I ask, how do you fare?”

Czulkang Lah bared his teeth; their irregular and broken lines had been glimpsed through his slitted lips previously, but were now clearly revealed. “How do you think? I am old. But for my augmented armor, I could barely move. Aches befall me that have nothing to do with the marks I have put on myself over the years. And I
am little but an honored prisoner here, unable to lead, and begged by my son not to die.”

“This has changed.”

“You no longer wish me to teach?”

“I wish you to lead.”

Czulkang Lah did not bother to conceal his surprise. He leaned away from his son as if the few centimeters of additional distance would give him a better view. “Tell me.”

“We have been somewhat embarrassed by a garrison defending a world at a hyperspace crossroads. Borleias, I am sure you know her.”

“Pyria system. Staging point for the assault on Coruscant.”

“Correct. The garrison defends the world with savagery and tactical brilliance. We are not sure why. Examination of one of their technical facilities in the system we captured indicates that they are developing something there, some new weapon to use against us, but unfortunately their scientists were able to destroy most of the evidence before they fled. The resources they bring to bear, tactics I cannot explain, all suggest that something is afoot there. I need someone to go there, root out the mystery, and
then
destroy the garrison … and to do so in such a way that our embarrassment is forgotten and theirs is legendary.”

“No. Find someone else.”

“Why?”

“When I succeed, it will have been just a bittersweet taste of what I once knew. I will not do this unless, once all is done, I retain a command, return to what I know best.”

Tsavong Lah hesitated, and Czulkang Lah continued. “You fear that I will bind the loyalties of officers, of whole domains, to me, and take from you the rank you once took
from me. But I will not. I opposed you years ago because I opposed coming to this galaxy, attacking these infidels.
But we are here now
. I have no reason to oppose you, plot against you. All I demand is that you give me a reason to continue living.”

His son hesitated a moment longer, then nodded. “When Borleias has fallen, you will retain command, and the stories of new exploits will be added to your legend, as they should be. For now, I wish you to take Domain Hul and all her resources to the Pyria system and do what I have described.”

“It will be done.” After a moment, Czulkang Lah added, “I am pleased that you came in person to ask.”

“No matter what our disagreements, you remain a hero to the Yuuzhan Vong, and to your son. I owe you no less.”

The Gallofree personnel transport
Jeolocas
dropped out of hyperspace exactly where she was supposed to, so far from any star system and from any widely known hyperspace route that the only thing her occupants should have seen was the surrounding expanse of stars and nebulae in all their color and purity.

Instead, as the whirling lines of hyperspace travel straightened and then foreshortened and
Jeolocas
dropped into realspace, clearly visible from the bridge was a Yuuzhan Vong frigate analog, an oblong mass of glistening red-and-black yorik coral, less than twenty kilometers away, easy firing distance.

Jeolocas
’s captain, a young man from Corellia who had grown up on the exploits of famed Corellian pilots like Han Solo and Wedge Antilles, suddenly felt the kinship he’d always known with those heroes fade away to a cold recognition of his own mortality. For the first time in his life, he felt no ambition to see an enemy spacecraft in his targeting reticle, to dogfight with enemy pilots in the thick of battle. In fact, the merchant corps he served suddenly seemed more dangerous than he could endure. “We’re dead,” he said, his voice a croak.

The officer next to him, a Twi’lek female with pale blue skin, merely smiled. “Not unless you want to be.”

“What?” He stared at her, looking for any sign that she was distressed, confused, surprised in the least. He saw none. He didn’t know her well—hadn’t known her prior to a day ago, when she’d been assigned to this mission on the direct recommendation of the Talon Karrde organization—and now he understood that everything he
had
known about her, her name, her service record, all had to be a lie. He looked around the interior of the command pod and realized that she’d sent the other five ship’s officers off on various duties just prior to arrival, leaving the two of them alone here. “You knew they’d be here.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re Peace Brigade, you sold us out—”

“It doesn’t matter who I am. It only matters that you do as you’re told.”

He drew his service blaster. He’d practiced his draw for years until it was as smooth as shimmersilk and faster than the eye could follow. He’d practiced it until Han Solo himself, had he ever met the man, would have been impressed with his speed and deadliness.

As he brought the weapon up, he felt a sharp pain in his wrist.

He looked down. His hand was empty, bent back at a bad angle. His blaster was in the Twi’lek woman’s hand and tucked barrel-first under his chin. She looked slightly more serious now, as if deciding whether to forgive him for the minor transgression of trying to kill her. The pain from his wrist jolted up to his elbow, then made more leisurely progress up to his shoulder while he stared, uncomprehending. He cradled his injured hand.

“Do you want to live?” the woman asked.

He nodded.

She smiled again. She reached up with her free hand and took the captain’s cap from him, settling it down on her own head. “Then go hide. Don’t come out until I call for you.”

He turned and marched, his legs stiff, from the bridge. From the corner of his eye, he could see, through the viewport, the Yuuzhan Vong frigate launching a shuttle of some sort.

Suddenly, the thought of being less dashing than Han Solo didn’t bother him as much as it used to. He could happily be less dashing than Han Solo for the rest of his life … so long as the rest of his life was measured in years rather than minutes.

The air lock opened and the armored warrior led his unit of Yuuzhan Vong into the hateful metal corridors of the transport.

Waiting for him was a single ship’s officer, a female of a species he had seen before, a species whose name he could not recall; her skin was a pleasing blue two shades lighter than the bags under his eyes, and her hairless head separated in back into two fleshy tails. She wore a blue uniform jumpsuit and cap, both decorated in gold trim. A blaster pistol lay at her feet.

“I am Bastori Rak,” he said. “Who is captain here?”

“I am.” The female offered him a respectful nod but did not meet his eyes. Nor did she exhibit fear.

Bastori Rak hesitated for a moment. His usual tactic during such boardings was to instill pain and fear into the ship’s officers to eliminate any possibility of defiance, but no defiance was being offered. It was obvious that the female already knew she was a subject of the Yuuzhan Vong. He briefly considered striking her anyway, but decided to test the extent of her willing obedience instead.