The Unifying Force (45 page)

“Who and how many of us?” Kyp asked.

Luke thought for a moment. “Not more than six of us. And no one who is waiting for a Sekotan ship.”

Kyp nodded, and Han and Leia traded uncertain glances.

“Where’s that leave the rest of us?” Han asked.

Before Luke could answer the question, Kenth, Cilghal, and Lowbacca entered the cliff dwelling—the Wookiee ducking low enough to keep from banging his furry head into the crude beams that spanned the high ceiling.

“Someone commed
Jade Shadow,”
Luke said.

Kenth nodded. “The Alliance has reclaimed Corulag. Wedge’s battle group has been ordered to Muscave, to lure the armada away from Coruscant, so the major offensive can begin.”

“Then the war is coming to us,” Jabitha said softly.

“Errant Venture
is on the way here,” Cilghal added, “in
case you’re thinking of evacuating the Ferroans—or anyone else.”

Jaina shot to her feet. “I should be with my squadron.”

Mara looked at her. “You are, Jaina.”

“How’s that?” she asked harshly “I’m not in line for a living ship, and my X-wing is still in stationary orbit.”

“I mean that you’re needed here,” Mara said calmly.

While Jaina stared at her aunt in indecision, Han put his arm around Jaina’s waist. “Let’s just see how things develop, okay?”

Jaina nodded mutely.

“Should Sekot be warned?” Danni asked.

“I’m sure Sekot already knows,” Luke said. “I think that’s the reason Sekot agreed to provide us with ships.”

“I must caution all of you that the Sekotan ships are for defense only,” Jabitha interjected. “Zonama has other defensive weapons, but Sekot has not spoken of those in some time.”

Mara looked at Luke. “Presumably the same ones that repelled the original Far Outsiders, and annihilated Commander Val’s forces at Klasse Ephemora,” Luke said.

“Luke, we’re talking about an
armada,”
Han thought to point out. “Sekot might want to at least think about warming up the hyperspace drives.”

Jabitha shook her head. “Flight would be a demonstration of fear. Zonama Sekot will not flee a second time. Especially now, with so much at stake.”

Danni glanced around in puzzlement. “It’s irrelevant, isn’t it? If Zonama Sekot is an evil omen for the Yuuzhan Vong, then Shimrra would want his forces to give it the widest berth.”

Everyone turned to Harrar.

“It depends on who knows what, and, if anything, how much.” The priest stroked his chin with his three-fingered hand. “Assuming that they have some limited understanding of Zonama Sekot, the warriors would first have to be convinced that they weren’t defying the gods by attacking the planet.” He raised his head in sudden apprehension. “Unless Shimrra has managed to convince them that Zonama Sekot
is some sort of
Jeedai
weapon or fabrication that
must
be destroyed.”

“How soon before the living ships are flight-ready?” Kyp asked Jabitha in a rush.

“In time,” the Magister said. “Sekot will make certain of it.”

Warmaster Nas Choka gave Yuuzhan’tar a final glance as
Yammka’s Mount
’s powerful dovin basals prepared to tug the vessel into darkspace for the short journey to the outersystem world known as Muscave. Aswirl with clouds, the green hemisphere that was Yuuzhan’tar had changed dramatically in the short time since the armada had launched for Mon Calamari. Smoke was chimneying from volcanic vents, it was absent one of its moons, and the bridge of the gods had collapsed—all but force-fed rock by rock to the orbiting dovin basals tasked with shielding the world from attack. And no grand ceremony on this occasion. No farewell blessings from Shimrra; no fresh coats of sacrificial blood for warriors and war vessels.

Yuuzhan’tar appeared exposed, ill prepared to defend itself. But Nas Choka trusted that Supreme Overlord Shimrra would attend to that. More important, Yuuzhan’tar would fall to the enemy only if the armada failed in its mission to destroy Zonama Sekot. In that case, Nas Choka wouldn’t be alive to see the planet reclaimed. Judged unworthy by the gods, the Yuuzhan Vong would die, individually and as a species, and the gods would be forced once more to fashion beings worthy of nurture, as they had done three times before the Yuuzhan Vong had been brought into being.

Nas Choka had accepted Shimrra’s wisdom on the matter of Zonama Sekot. Again the Supreme Overlord had demonstrated his brilliance, and that had reinforced Nas Choka’s belief that he had made the correct choice in siding with Shimrra when it had come to toppling Quoreal from the polyp throne.

But Nas Choka nursed a secret distrust for the Trickster goddess, Yun-Harla. The feathered traitor, Vergere, had been the familiar of priestesses of Yun-Harla. Too, Eminence Harrar had been devoted to her, and he had apparently vanished off the face of Yuuzhan’tar. Worse, the Trickster, without intervention, had for a time allowed her guise to be adopted by one of the Jedi. So what was to stop her from betraying the Yuuzhan Vong now? Weary of being patronized by Yun-Yuuzhan and Yun-Yammka, perhaps she wished to bring about the destruction of Yun-Yuuzhan’s creation, by tricking Shimrra into trusting to a false revelation.

To shore up his own faith and that of his warriors, Nas Choka had commanded a coven of Yun-Yammka priests to accompany the armada. Having drawn blood from the tongues and earlobes of each and every Supreme Commander, the priests had pumped the bloated ngdins that had absorbed the sacrificial offerings into a coralskipper and dispatched it into the void, in advance of the armada.

Hands clasped behind his back, the warmaster spun away from the view of Yuuzhan’tar. Several strides across the coarse deck took him to the villip-choir, where the mistress in charge of the array bowed her head in subordination.

“I would speak with the shaper aboard the failing vessel,” Nas Choka said.

The mistress stroked the appropriate villip, which inverted and assumed the sickly likeness of the shaper who had been poisoned at Caluula.

“My only surviving villip is dying, Warmaster,” the ashen shaper reported. “It lacks the vigor to portray your visage, but I suspect it is capable of relaying your words.”

“Speak to the health of yourself and your crew, shaper,” Nas Choka said. “Do
you
have the vigor to carry out what has been commanded of you?”

The villip’s thick lips formed words. “Four slayers have died; six remain—a sufficient number to pilot this ailing vessel. I am alive only by dint of chemical compounds I managed to mix and ingest at the onset of my paralysis, but my time is short, Warmaster.”

“If need be I will send hale warriors and youthful villips to assist you, shaper. But only you can keep the vessel itself
alive. If it dies before we reach Zonama Sekot, then all is lost.”

“I fear it is incapable of going to darkspace, Warmaster.”

Nas Choka ground his filed teeth and swung to his chief tactician. “Advise me of our options.”

“Allow it to be ingested by a larger vessel, Warmaster,” the tactician said. “A sacrifice of yet another vessel and its crew, but essential to our task.”

Nas Choka nodded and turned back to the transmitting villip. “Shaper, command the vessel’s dovin basals, villips, and weapons to rest. I will dispatch a vessel of sufficient size to engulf yours and carry it through darkspace to Zonama Sekot. Once there, the slayers will pilot your vessel from its carapace. Then, under whatever escort I deem necessary, you will consign yourself and your vessel to the living world.”

“An honor that finds me undeserving, Warmaster.”

“Succeed, and undreamed-of rewards await you, shaper. Fail, and suffer the disgrace of having sentenced our entire species to oblivion.”

When the shaper’s villip had resumed its familiar shape, Nas Choka gestured for the tactician to follow him into the command chamber’s blister transparency.

“What have you learned of our enemy’s plan?”

“Muscave has become the gathering place for the Alliance battle group that struck Corulag, and an even larger force of capital ships sent from Contruum. The enemy is now poised between us and our target.”

“Part of our trial,” Nas Choka said evenly. “Before we can even engage the planet the gods have placed in their hands, we must break through the enemy’s line.”

“At the same time, the enemy entices us away from Yuuzhan’tar.”

Nas Choka grunted. “They have devised a clever assault.”

“Though ignorant of the fact, they have the complicity of the gods.”

Nas Choka clenched his right hand. “We will do the same at Muscave, by offering ourselves as an enticement, so that our poisoned barb can fly true to its mark. We will present ourselves as a warrior would, brandishing his amphistaff in
challenge on the battlefield!” He nodded in self-assurance. “When will the infidels arrive at Yuuzhan’tar?”

“The Alliance commanders have already sundered the fleet they assembled at Contruum,” the tactician said. “We suspect that the vanished battle groups have jumped to darkspace and will emerge in our absence, to all sides of Yuuzhan’tar, and from unfamiliar vectors. A study of villip memories of the battle at Ebaq Nine has revealed worthwhile comparisons. There, too, the enemy made use of darkspace corridors of which we had no knowledge. But the comparison ends there. After our spear has been thrust into Zonama Sekot’s flesh, there will be no need for a ground assault, or an ill-conceived hunt for
Jeedai
. Satisfied that we have overcome the trial, the gods will add their might to our armada and we will be able to wipe the
Jeedai
from existence.”

Nas Choka smiled lightly. “It is a rare occasion when well-matched warriors have an opportunity to face each other a second time, in a different arena.” He paused for a moment, then said: “As yet no communication from Domains Muyel and Lacap?”

“No,” the tactician said. “Their war vessels remain in the star systems awarded to them by Supreme Overlord Shimrra.”

Nas Choka’s tattooed upper lip curled in anger. “Their punishment, too, will be swift and lethal.”

One didn’t have to be a native of Coruscant to know that the planet had seen better days. Holos displayed at the premission briefings didn’t do justice to the extent to which the Yuuzhan Vong had transformed the world and Zonama Sekot had wounded it. Once as green as the Chiss capital of Csilla was white, vast areas were now blackened by fire and fractured by sinuous flows of lava.

Jag absorbed the desolation in a glance as his clawcraft swooped from the open belly of the Star Destroyer
Right to Rule
. Twin Suns’ complement of clawcraft and X-wings streaked behind him in a trailing wedge. Off to Jag’s port side, and slightly to stern, flew Rogue Squadron; to starboard, the Wraiths and Taanab Yellow Aces. Centered and shielded by the near wing of starfighters were three lightly armed troop transports. Two were of the same vintage as the
170-meter-long bulbous-lobed
Record Time
, which had been sacrificed at Coruscant shortly after the planet’s capture. The third was a pre-Empire vessel, almost four hundred meters long, and might have been a precursor of
Right to Rule
herself.

The main body of the Yuuzhan Vong armada had made the jump to lightspeed only an hour earlier, but Warmaster Nas Choka had left enough vessels in orbit to test the mettle of the Alliance. Even with Star Destroyers, Mon Cal cruisers, and Corellian gunships arriving from unguarded insertion points, the Yuuzhan Vong were capable of engaging each separate battle group.

The enemy flotilla that rushed to meet the Fourth Fleet was made up of light cruiser and assault cruiser analogs, from whose hull panels jutted forked arms housing plasma cannon emplacements and clusters of coralskippers. Simultaneous with the emergence of the starfighters, the skips had dropped from their barnaclelike perches and were now racing outward from the edge of Coruscant’s envelope, eager for contest.

“Shield trios,” Jag commanded his group over the tactical net. “Stick close to the transports, and stay alert for course corrections. Don’t allow yourselves to be drawn into individual conflicts.”

The group was split evenly between Chiss and Alliance pilots, but for the first time since Twin Suns’ inception at the Jedi base known as Eclipse, there wasn’t a Force-user among them. Jag had originally flown with Twin Suns at Borleias, when the squadron had been handed over to Jaina, and he had flown with her for most of the past year at Galantos, Bakura, and in other campaigns. Their training, coupled with his deep affection for her, sometimes made him wonder if he hadn’t become sensitized to the Force—or at least to Jaina’s use of the Force. At Hapes, and as recently as Mon Calamari, where Jaina’s X-wing had been crippled, he seemed to be able to intuit her needs or requests. Incapable of communicating with her squadron, she had reached out through the Force and Jag had heard her—clear enough, at any rate, to have anticipated and relayed Jaina’s orders to her wingmates. With Jaina absent—on Zonama Sekot, according to Gavin
Darklighter—the starfighter group felt less responsive, though Jag maintained a strong combat bond with the Chiss pilots, especially Shawnkyr and Eprill.

“Twin Sun Leader,” said the voice of
Right to Rule
control. “Bring your group to Sector Sabacc, zero-six-six. We’re getting ready to light things up.”

Jag had flown with Grand Admiral Pellaeon’s vessel at Esfandia, and the voice was reassuring.

“Copy,
Right to Rule
. Coming about to zero-six-six.”

The broad bank sunward placed the trio of transports and their starfighter escorts over daybreak Coruscant. No sooner was the task force clear of
Right to Rule
than all its starboard quad laser batteries belched fire. Not far from the Star Destroyer, and similarly aligned to the planet, two Mon Cal MC80Bs and the cruiser
Dauntless
added their blinding salvos to the light storm. Half the amassed firepower was directed at the onrushing coralskippers, dozens of which were instantly vaporized. The other half was aimed at what remained of Coruscant’s short-lived planetary ring. Hammered by massive packets of coherent light and high-yield proton torpedoes, the largest pieces of what had once been a moon broke into thousands of even smaller fragments, creating a meteor storm the likes of which Coruscant probably hadn’t confronted since it had coalesced into a planet.