Balance Point (36 page)

They weren’t Jedi. They had to follow orders.

So did he, supposedly—but he was out here, and they weren’t. He had the Force and seven proton torpedoes. If he could neutralize the skips’ dovin basals, he might be able to hit the monster.

On his scanners, he spotted the wrecked hulk of that refugee hauler, dipping down into atmosphere. That gave him an idea.

Gingerly, he pushed his throttle forward. “Fiver, give me a readout on that freighter’s structural integrity.”

Studying the visual display that appeared, he saw that the line of blast scars had elongated, leaving a slash along one side. Barely big enough to fly inside.

“Any life-forms on board?”

Fiver hesitated less than a second.

NEGATIVE.

Anakin’s hands tightened. That was terrible news, but it gave him an enormous bulk to work with, without fear of harming any living bystander.

“How ’bout its main reactor? Did it melt down yet?”

NEGATIVE. REACTOR LIVE.

Even better! Flying by scanner and Solo luck and instinct, he closed down his S-foils and maneuvered through the breach into a cavernous central hold. Something had detonated inside, melting through decks and bulkheads.

“Fiver, set up a slingshot pass. I’m going to put our
nose up against an inner bulkhead and try to steer this thing.”

His droid pasted a string of question marks on the visual screen.

“I want to pull g’s around Duro and launch toward Orr-Om.”

More question marks.

“Just do it,” Anakin ordered. Even an R7 could be incredibly dense sometimes.

It took longer than he anticipated, first to calculate his course, then to pull down toward the roiling gas clouds and add every bit of acceleration Fiver could coax out of the X-wing’s engines. He dialed his inertial compensator down to 95 percent, getting the best possible feel for his awkward hauler-shell.

His heads-up chrono finally started ticking off seconds. By this time, the freighter had picked up substantial momentum.

“All right,” he said. “On my mark, decelerate.”

The seconds melted down to zero.

“Now,” he shouted.

He slipped down into the Force, letting it guide his hands on the control yoke, his feet on the etheric rudder. The X-wing’s blunt aft end bumped only once as it slipped out the horrible tear in the freighter’s side.

Obviously, the freighter didn’t have enough momentum to hit Orr-Om in high geosync. Anakin had allowed for that. He armed one of his precious torpedoes, got a lock on the freighter’s still-live reactor, and squeezed his right hand.

The torpedo arced away. Anakin waited for exactly the right moment, then maxed his shields. Facing directly into the inferno, his canopy went black for an instant. The Force guided his hand on the yoke, jinking back and forth, avoiding debris even while he accelerated, chasing
a wave of destruction toward the doomed habitat’s coralskipper escorts.

He charged them, still accelerating. Cued by the Force, he dumped a torpedo as his targeting reticle bracketed one skip—then a second. White-hot debris had overloaded their dovin basal shields. Each of them exploded into thousands of coral shards.

He caught a third skip with blasts from his lasers. A fourth with torpedoes. Time blurred. Vision no longer registered.

A toothy black maw opened in front of him, and a gullet big enough to drive a whole squadron of X-wings inside. Anakin dumped one more proton torpedo, then snap-rolled away. He pushed his throttle forward and dived toward Duro. Two of the surviving coralskippers gave chase.

On his aft screen, he saw one more explosion—and the monster’s head vanished. The rest of it went limp, drifting off of Orr-Om.

Anakin smiled grimly. Now, he only had to deal with two coralskippers. He’d done that before.

Jacen heard weird, hypnotic music pass his hidden compartment, playing a melody full of death and despair. Several pairs of armored legs tramped up past him. His cheekbone twinged.

He imagined himself as Kyp Durron, blasting out of the compartment with his lightsaber blazing, destroying everyone who got in his way. Utterly rejecting the idea, he tried to imagine himself as his uncle, taking up the lightsaber when necessary, sparing life whenever he could. Then as Anakin, strong in the Force, unafraid to use it, but not yet mature enough to see all facets of each situation. As Jaina, a champion of her squadron, only beginning her own rise to glory.

Who was
Jacen?

Again he had the overwhelming sense that the Force was about to shift. Something was ending, something beginning. He could crouch here until they found him, or he could commit himself back to the Force—utterly.

But what do you want?
he begged.

Again he saw the galaxy sliding toward darkness, and this time, he realized that standing motionless at its center wouldn’t change the balance. Wouldn’t save anyone, including himself.

What if he’d caught that lightsaber Luke flung in his vision? He would be expected to strike, wouldn’t he?

He could do that—on his own. Without the Force.

Or else he could give himself utterly to something he was too small to understand. As Uncle Luke said, there was no middle ground.

He unhooked his lightsaber. He thought back to the times he’d beaten Anakin, to the old familiar feeling of letting the Force flow through him, so that even a Force-dark Yuuzhan Vong’s actions could be anticipated. It’d been like warm, living water flowing all around him. It was utterly tempting to go back.

No. He would not go back. He must go on.

Heavy footsteps approached. Leia backed away from the door.

Randa moaned, “This is the end. As night follows morning, as decay follows death—”

“Shut up,” she said firmly.

A warrior in black armor appeared in the doorway. He held a snake-headed amphistaff across his body. He pointed out into the room and said something unintelligible.

Maybe they didn’t have enough earworms to go around, not that it surprised her. She didn’t expect them to want real communication.

Another guard emerged from behind the door, holding the clawed, wrist-grabbing creature.

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “You don’t need to do this. I’m not going anywhere else.”

She winced as the claws closed on her hands anyway. The guard turned next to Randa, brandishing a glob of yellow-green slime. He applied it to the Hutt’s small hands, then pushed them against his globular sides and gave a guttural command. Randa wriggled his fingers. His hands stayed where the guard put them.

“Guvvuk,”
the guard ordered, shoving Leia’s shoulder.

She obeyed, but she didn’t hurry. He directed her across the circular landing, back to her office, shoving and poking with his amphistaff. More guards followed them.

The warmaster stood in front of her window, looking out toward the research buildings. To one side stood Nom Anor, again wearing his tunic over black armor.

On the warmaster’s other side, a smaller, wrinkle-faced Yuuzhan Vong wore floor-length black robes and a hood that clung to her backswept skull. Flanking her, two lanky attendants held long-limbed crustaceans against their bare chests. Tattoos radiated upward and outward from their chests’ centers, resembling explosions in shades of red and orange. A third attendant cradled an enormous, double-skinned drum against her tunic. As Leia stared at the drum, two protrusions near its top opened momentarily, revealing a pair of green eyes.

Leia’s guards stopped at the door. Ignoring Randa, she resolutely walked forward.

“Good morning,” she said.

The warmaster turned slightly, showing half his disfigured face. Leia thought she saw a smile on the fringed lips.

“Come here,” he said.

She walked to the window. Between the research building and the construction barns, the new pit had been dug deeper. Down inside lay a jumble of machinery and construction droids.

“The gods give good portents today,” the warmaster said, nodding toward the black-robed female. “It is a good day to burn sacrifices.”

Leia gripped the window ledge with four fingers. “Wait! This is an enclosed dome. Open fires will deplete your own oxygen. You must—”

“Your expectations are false. The creatures who
cleanse our shipboard air will purify it inside your built monstrosity, as well. When waste gases increase, they simply multiply faster. Again, you see that technology is no match for life itself.”

“I agree,” she said firmly. “Life is vital. Living creatures are complex, matchless, and blessed with intelligence. So you must not—”

“All living creatures serve the Yuuzhan Vong,” he said. “And we serve the gods.” He nodded to the elderly priestess.

The priestess inclined her head, keeping her hands laced in front of her, both arms covered by long, full sleeves.

The warmaster turned back to the window. “Watch,” he said. “You must begin to understand the destiny that approaches you all, star by star, breath by breath.”

Several more warriors approached the pit, dragging another travois. Leia’s priceless mining laser, already smashed beyond usefulness, lay on top of it. The warriors maneuvered the travois into place, raised its end, and pitched the laser into the pit.

Then another black-robed priest led a procession toward the pit, including a second travois. Something that looked like a large tank was balanced on this. As the second travois tipped, a bulbous creature with six stubby legs scrambled out to the pit’s side. Leia had seen these fire breathers before. Big ones, at Gyndine.

This youngster trained its proboscis down into the pit and gushed out a stream of gelid flame. Leia glanced up and saw that the dome’s synthplas underside glistened with spots and splotches of red and white. As smoke rose toward the splotches, the white ones slowly reddened.

“Your biotechnology is marvelous,” she said dully.

“Do not call our servants
technology,”
he growled. “We serve the gods, and other living things serve us. This
morning, we will return great honor to Yun-Yammka.” He stretched out one arm, pointing his clawed forefinger toward the pit. “Witness this.”

A line of Yuuzhan Vong guards circled around behind the refugees. At a signal given by one standing at a corner, each one let down an arm. Out of their sleeves slithered long black ropes. In a single, coordinated motion, they bent down for the ropes and brought up stiff, snake-headed amphistaffs. Then they drove refugees toward the fire pit.

“No.” As helpless as she’d been on the Death Star orbiting Alderaan, Leia turned to the warmaster. “No, you can’t do this. This is wrong.”

“This,” he answered, “will happen on all worlds. The worthy ones were removed from the group while you slept, Leia Organa Solo. Many agreed to serve us. In other settlements on this world, they will
all
serve us.”

Leia stared as the first line of refugees tumbled over the brink, clawing at the dirt and each other. Grieving, she looked away. She didn’t have to watch them die. She felt it through the Force, like blows hammering her gut. She backed away from the window.

The warmaster raised both clawed hands, made fists, and exclaimed something she couldn’t understand. Then he dropped his arms and turned toward her.

“Now, Leia Organa Solo,” he said, “you, too, will speak to the gods.”

The black-robed priestess raised both arms. Her attendants swept out their red-limbed crustaceans. The creatures’ long legs locked in an extended position, joined to the bodies by tendons that now stretched taut, like translucent harp strings.

The third attendant flicked her huge drum in a slow, inexorable beat. The other two raised clawless hands
and plucked their creatures’ taut tendons. An eerie, atonal music filled the room.

The priestess lowered her arms. Out of one sleeve slithered a black amphistaff. From the other sleeve, one of the furry, red coil creatures rolled down her other arm. It tightened around her wrist.

Leia had seen something exactly like it, looped like a garrote around Abbela Oldsong’s throat. She pulled a deep breath, using the Force to stay calm.

“I would be glad to serve you as an interpreter,” she insisted. “You need a translator for more than just language and words. Someone who understands idiom. Your earworms obviously can’t—”

“Silence,” he ordered. “You mistake my intention.”

The priestess glanced at him sharply.

The warmaster stepped toward Leia. “My watchers tell us that someone is trying to enter this built-thing. One of your kind, a
Jeedai.”

Jaina?
Leia thought frantically.
Jacen? Get out of here, get to the
Falcon!

Or could it possibly be Luke?

He nodded curtly toward the priestess. “We have seen how your people flock to the injured like carrion flies, hoping to feed your dreams of immortality by rescuing each other. You will be honored to serve the gods by suffering. Your screams should lure the other one to me.”

“Stop,” she said, backing away, refusing to understand. “Think about this. If you kill me, I can’t help you any longer.”

He stood between her and the window, but there was just a chance she could get past him. And jump. And use the Force to land softly. And lead them away from whoever else had gotten into the building.
It’s a trap, Jaina!
She flung that thought out into the Force.
Get away!

The warmaster stepped away from the window.

A massive tan object lashed at him. Randa’s powerful tail, unrestrained by the guards or their creatures, whipped the amphistaffs out of two guards’ hands, then lashed again toward the warmaster.

“Run, Ambassador!” he thundered. “I have my wish, after all!”

The gaunt priestess plucked the ropy red creature off her wrist and swung it over her head. Leia rushed Nom Anor, scrabbling with her fingertips for her lightsaber, still tucked in his belt. She wouldn’t get far without that.

The priestess launched her rope. In flight, it stretched out to twice its former length. It struck the Hutt’s neck and wrapped around like a whip. Randa lashed at the warmaster’s guards with his mighty tail. They ducked out of range.