Triak Kraal watched the sun touch the horizon on its long, slow death. Around him smoldered the ruins Ifof the infidel city; its cloying odor was unpleasant in his nostrils. He took deep breaths and tried to snort the ugly scent away.

The sun was setting on Domain Kraal, he knew. Twilight was falling around them. The treachery of the infidel ambush had wiped away chances of honorable victory, and now only death remained.

Not just death, he amended. Either we must die as warriors, the children of the gods, or be Shamed into oblivion. There is no other path.

Ret Kraal limped up beside him on the pile of rubble. “Supreme One,” he said with a slow, deep bow.

“We have lost, have we not, tactician?” Triak said low and slow. “Even should I defeat the Jeedai, there is no way for us to achieve victory.”

“The infidels have trapped us,” Ret acknowledged. “But how do we define victory, Supreme One?”

“Tactician?”

“If you’ll permit me, Commander.” Ret bowed his head deeper. “If you intend for us to conquer this world, as we did infidel strongholds like Ithor, Duro, and Coruscant, it is no longer possible. Our forces are too few. Yet with the help of the gods, we may yet bring about conquest here.”

Triak smiled. “You trifle with me, tactician.”

“No, Supreme One. Without a strong leader, these infidels will fall apart. If we shatter their coordination, we can use our fleet to raze their cities and wipe out their treacherous race.” Ret bowed so low he nearly tumbled over. “Yet all depends upon you.”

“Upon me, tactician?”

“Such victory can only be brought about by the will of the gods,” Ret explained. “Our only chance of victory is for your own triumph over the Jeedai. With such a victory, all of Domain Kraal will know we are children of the gods without Shame; but if you should fall in the battle, the domain itself will cry out from the abandonment of the gods and no victory can be found.”

Triak thought about Ret’s words for long moments. “Then the solution is clear—Domain Kraal shall fight one more battle, either for victory or honor, regardless of the outcome of this duel with the Jeedai. Am I correct, tactician?”

Ret nodded.

“Then spread the word to all our remaining warriors, and relay instructions to the fleet. Upon conclusion of the duel, either way, strike with all remaining strength. Wipe out these Iridonians. Leave none alive! Let no abomination escape our wrath!” Triak trembled. “Even should we be Shamed, we still remain true to the tenants of the True Faith! Should we be shamed, let us find redemption in the blood of our enemies!”

“As you command,” Ret groveled, then limped away to follow his orders.

Triak pondered the slowly dying sun, possibly the last such sight he would ever see. I will destroy this Jeedai, he told himself. I wish only for the opportunity to avenge myself upon my true enemy, the infidels’ warmaster. I would trade everything for a chance at his head.

As the sun nearly dipped completely below the horizon, Ret Kraal cleared his throat. “Your foe approaches, Supreme One.”

Triak turned away from the last remnant of sunlight in time to see his enemy advancing.

In the dying light, he was shocked to see the identity of his foe was not the Jeedai woman.

It was the infidel warmaster, Halyn Sanshir.

 

 

Halyn Lance wished he felt a fraction of the strength and energy he remembered from his previous fights with the Yuuzhan Vong. Instead, he felt exhausted, at the very edge of collapse. Kelta’s healing had taken him from the edge of death, but he knew her efforts hadn’t healed him entirely—his torn muscles, bruised ribs, cracked bones all cursed him for his foolishness. His own movements seemed impossibly slow, like he was walking through syrup.

The zhaboka on his back and the sword at his hip were heavier than he remembered; even his duster seemed to weigh thirty extra kilos. The fast march through the Rak’Edalin ruins had sapped him further of his strength, though his impossible exertions had left his body in surprisingly good physical condition outside of his multiple injuries. He knew, in spite of it all, he would be capable of fighting this duel. I hope.

Neither Halyn nor Anishor had seen Kativie and Ceikeh during their attempts to reach the site of the duel. Halyn had worried that the other pair would reach the location first, but his fears had proven unfounded. Now to convince this Vong to fight me instead of Kativie.

He didn’t have much experience reading the expressions of Vong warriors—they never showed fear, and he had an accurate grasp on surprise from cutting them down in combat, but nearly any other emotion was beyond him. Though I’m going to go with shock, he decided.

“You,” the Yuuzhan Vong warrior hissed. “It’s you. The infidel warmaster.”

“Then you must be Triak Kraal, the Vong commander,” Halyn said, deliberately insulting his opponent with the abbreviated Vong. “Or are you his second, because he was too cowardly to show up?”

The warrior growled at him. “Foolish little Zabrak. I shall snap your neck after I destroy the Jeedai.”

“Such a coward, even now,” Halyn commented. “You Vong and your ‘honor.’ All you want is a big death, and you know a Jedi will give you that. You’re hiding behind that, hoping she’ll kill you, because if you die to me, just a normal heretic, then you’re dishonored, right?” He laughed aloud at the warrior. “Keep hiding from me, Commander, just like you have this entire war. That’s why you’ve been throwing your troops at me, isn’t it? You wouldn’t dare fight me yourself.”

The Vong growled, deep in his throat. “I look forward to gutting you,” he snarled. “I shall feast upon your entrails when you die, insignificant little nothing.”

“This little insignificant nothing spits on your whole domain,” Halyn said succinctly. “Must be irritating not to crush a bug, isn’t it?”

Triak continued to stare him down, but Halyn didn’t budge a centimeter. Keep it up. “Yeah, it’s a pity you’ll never get a chance to kill the Zabrak who proved your whole domain is a bunch of godless cowards, isn’t it? The one who showed the galaxy that your gods are a bunch of fakes, and you don’t have the strength to stand up to a single race on a single world?”

“I shall crush every bone in your body,” the Vong commander snarled.

“Then fight me!” Halyn shouted. “Fight me, and prove you’re not the coward the whole galaxy knows you to be!”

“I accept,” the Vong spat.

Halyn smirked. Got him. This is all mine.

The Zabrak turned his back deliberately and walked back to Anishor while Triak Kraal returned to his second. “Okay,” Halyn said quietly to the big Wookiee. “This is all going according to plan.”

<According to plan?> Anishor asked. <You’ve gotten yourself into a one on one fight against the meanest Yuuzhan Vong on the planet. Honor brother, I don’t know if you can win this battle.>

“Of course I can,” Halyn said confidently. “I’ve beaten other Vong, haven’t I?”

<Yes, you have, when you could feel no pain or exhaustion. Now I see both in your eyes—this war has taken as much out of you as it has any of us, but you did not know it until now. If you were rested a week’s time, you could stand and face him as he is now. But I do not believe you have the strength to face him currently.>

“Well, I don’t think either he or Kativie are going to wait a week now, are they?” Halyn said with a small smile.

<This is not a joking matter, coatrack.>

“No time to joke like the present. Especially since I might be dead later.” Halyn smiled just a bit to his friend.

<Halyn, you can’t beat him.> Anishor was deadly serious. <He’s far more prepared for this fight, and he’s committed to killing you even at the cost of his own life. He’s a born killer—not because he fights to protect, as we do, but solely because he chooses to kill.>

“It’ll be okay. I have a plan.”

<Plan? What plan?>

“You’ll see.” Halyn freed his zhaboka from his back and spun it around in his hand. Its motions seemed slower than they should have been, but he didn’t let his discomfort show. Instead, he jammed the weapon blade-first into the dirt and turned back to face Triak Kraal.

The Yuuzhan Vong commander was now marching toward him, a hissing amphistaff in hand. Around his left bracer was a coiled baton of command, a much shorter but no less deadly living weapon.

This is going to get interesting, Halyn decided. He’s well-equipped and apparently came through the turbolaser raking a lot better than I’d hoped. Damn.

The Yuuzhan Vong commander stopped and glared at his opponent. “You insult the Yuuzhan Vong and Domain Kraal. You rely on treacherous ambushes and fight without the honor of a warrior. For your affronts against the chosen race of the gods, I shall strike you down.”

“You led an invasion of the home of my ancestors,” Halyn said acidly in return. “The very dust of this world is in the bones of all Zabraks everywhere. I fight for the world of my birth and the birthplace of my race. Your gods will never have sway here.”

“Let us waste no more time with words,” Triak growled. “We both have known this moment would come. We each wanted it from the very beginning.”

“This is the way it always had to be,” Halyn acknowledged. “Just you and me, Vong. Iridonia against your gods.”

Halyn dipped his head into a bow—the only sign of respect he had given Triak Kraal the entire time. Triak hesitated before mirroring his gesture, returning a small token of respect—perhaps mocking.

The Zabrak struck.

He lashed out with the zhaboka, putting all his strength and speed behind the blow. The blades flashed in the dim light, arrow-straight for Triak’s head.

It was the same trap Jram Lusp had tried to spring on him in the Council chamber during their duel for the title of Ul’akhoi. Halyn had survived the attack by luck and poor judgement on Jram’s part. While many had declared the attack treacherous and dishonorable, Halyn had always played fast and loose with the rules. To some degree, he considered such concern for “honor” to be archaic and foolish, and had carefully committed the details of the ambush to memory for later use.

A one-on-one duel with a Yuuzhan Vong warrior seemed like a great opportunity to try his hand at it.

Impossibly the Vong was already moving, and the blade did no more than slice through skin across the back of his head. Triak Kraal dove away, shoulder-rolling awkwardly before coming up with his amphistaff in hand.

Well, so much for that plan, Halyn thought glumly as he brought his zhaboka up into a defensive guard. Let’s see what happens now.

Triak seemed determined to give him no time or space to plan. The warrior charged at him, twirling the amphistaff over his head in a flourish before leaping toward the Zabrak, swinging the amphistaff down in an overhead two-handed power blow.

Halyn barely had time to bring his zhaboka up to block. The blow brought white-hot flares of pain to his wrists from the impact, and he nearly dropped his weapon. The Vong continued to press down hard, as though trying to force the zhaboka into Halyn’s skull.

The Zabrak finally twisted out from under the Yuuzhan Vong, pushing the strike away. Triak stumbled for a moment, giving Halyn just enough time to turn and plant his feet before the Vong threw a pair of lightning-fast strikes at him, left-right.

The first slapped harmlessly against his leather duster—he suspected neither Yuuzhan Vong nor amphistaff had expected the strike to land—and he caught the second on the zhaboka. He counterattacked with a spinning kick aimed at Triak’s head, but the Vong withdrew a half-step and let the foot flash past. Halyn was still recovering when the Vong’s foot swept through his ankle, sending him sprawling to the ashes and the zhaboka flying.

Halyn immediately rolled away; an instant later Triak’s amphistaff buried itself head-first into the ash less than two centimeters from his shoulder. The force of the blow buried the living weapon’s head beneath the rubble, and the Zabrak gave him no time to respond. The simple forged sword swept out from under the cloak and flashed with its own internal light, striking the blinded weapon and severing it into two pieces.

Triak snarled as his baton of command slithered into his hand and extended out into a blade, a mirror image of Halyn and his sword. Halyn pulled himself to his feet, doing his best to ignore the flares of pain from both knees as he leveled his sword at Triak.

The two stood facing each other. The sunlight was gone now, but the stars provided dim illumination. More light seemed to emit from Halyn’s blade, casting him in a blue-white glow.

For the hope of Iridonia, Anishor had engraved in the blade over twenty years ago. He couldn’t have known then, Halyn thought. He doesn’t have visions. But it’s still like he knew, somehow.

Vong and Zabrak continued to wait, mirror-posed, each waiting for the other to slip, to make a mistake, to be distracted.

Triak finally tired of the waiting game and charged, sweeping high-low with his blade. Halyn barely dodged the first strike, caught the second on his sword just enough to keep the Vong’s attack from disemboweling him, but not enough to prevent injury. The blade traced a line of bloody fire across his belly.

He hopped back and hissed. I’m not fast enough, he realized. Now that Kelta healed me, I can’t keep up with this pace. There’s only one sane thing left to do.

Halyn charged.

He swung the sword as hard as he could, over and over, aiming for the Vong’s head, his throat, his chest. Triak seemed to stumble backward at the ferocity of the assault, his living blade frantically swinging to block and parry the blows.

Halyn continued to press hard. He’s not used to fighting with a shorter-bladed weapon. He’s too used to the amphistaff. You can beat him. Push, push, push!

Triak hopped backward and Halyn rushed him one last time. Then his foot caught the hole Triak had leapt over, sending him to his knees.

His sword went tumbling from his grasp; intense pain flared from his twisted ankle, and his palms and wrists cried out in protest as he landed heavily on them. He immediately tried to straighten, but before he could so much as lean back to pull himself to his feet, he felt the Yuuzhan Vong’s weapon lay against his shoulder.

Slowly, he looked up. Triak Kraal stood over him, a smirk of triumph twisting his face into an ugly death mask. “Did you believe you could defeat me?” the Yuuzhan Vong warrior snarled. “A twist of my wrist, and your head will fall to the cursed dirt of this world. First you, then the Jeedai, and finally your world.”

“You’re a fool if you think you’ve won,” Halyn said bluntly. “Your forces are devastated. You don’t have the numbers you’d need to conquer my world.”

“I shall burn every living thing on this world,” Triak snarled. “A burnt offering of life to the gods.”

“Halyn!” a very female voice screamed.

Katie. It has to be Kativie.

It was—the Jedi Knight’s lightsaber was in hand and lit, an emerald beacon in the falling darkness. Ceikeh Alari was dimly visible in the light of her weapon. “Halyn!” she screamed again.

Triak looked at the Jedi and gave her the same death-head smile he had already given his fallen opponent.

It was the opportunity Halyn had looked for the entire fight.

Triak Kraal stared down with uncomprehending eyes as purple fire chewed through his belly. “You…you’re no Jeedai,” he said dumbly.

“Doesn’t take a Jedi to push a button, scarhead,” Halyn snarled, then yanked back violently on the hilt of the lightsaber, forcing the brilliant blade to burn through his chest. The Zabrak stood up as the Yuuzhan Vong fell backward to the ashes.

When the Vong had completely crumpled, Halyn shut down Kelta’s lightsaber and returned it to the hook inside the sleeve of his duster.

<That was Kelta’s token?> Anishor growled from the sudden darkness.

“Yeah. She can be pretty sneaky for a Jedi. Don’t know if she had some Force-hunch or what, but that worked out better than expected.” Halyn allowed himself a small, weary smile. The only thing I want right now is to fall into bed for a month, he thought.

Arms wrapped tightly around him, squeezing him so hard he struggled to breathe. “You’re alive!” Kativie shouted in his ear, half-deafening him and bringing fresh pain to his ribs as she continued to cling to him fiercely. “How? How?”

“Kelta,” Halyn croaked. “She found a way.”

The arms loosened, and he could breathe again. “Welcome back, boss,” Ceikeh Alari drawled slowly. “I never doubted you.”

Halyn snorted. “Yeah, right.”

Then a terrifying, soul-ripping cry filled the air. It went up singly, first, from Triak Kraal’s second; then it was echoed, again and again, in the darkness surrounding them. It was a simple cry that had been heard across every world the Yuuzhan Vong had conquered; untranslated it was unnerving, but knowledge of the meaning made it a nightmare for the defenders of the New Republic.

“Do-ro’ik vong pratte!” And woe to our enemies.

It was the cry of every warrior of the Yuuzhan Vong race, a blood-boiling call to glory, war, and victory.

Now, it was the cry of an entire domain of Shamed warriors—warriors who would rather fight to their deaths then admit defeat, warriors who could not live with disgrace or Shame.

From the darkness, every Yuuzhan Vong left alive on Rak’Edalin echoed the battle cry.

And then attacked.

Kelta Rose sat in the command chair on the Cathleen’s bridge. Compiled tactical data from the orbital situation, as well as the Rak’Edalin ground forces, slowly rotated in and out of view around her. There was too much data for her to process, too much to see and comprehend for her to gather into a cohesive whole.

Instead of trying, she closed her eyes and relaxed into the Force, allowing it to carry her all the information she needed.

She could sense Halyn and Anishor and Kativie and Ceikeh, locked in mortal combat against the Yuuzhan Vong. She could also feel the arrival of the Rak’Edalin ground forces as they attempted to reach the trapped leaders, fighting hand-to-hand against the last remnants of the invading army. She could even sense their victories, their losses, their bursts of pain and joy when wounded or striking down a foe.

She marveled at the feelings, because they were clear yet separated from her own. Even with an army fighting, she was not disabled by the feelings; she could sense it all, far more efficiently than she could see the tactical data with her eyes.

The Yuuzhan Vong were, as always, invisible to her senses; even her newfound clarity could not touch them.  But she could sense their ferocity tangentially, by the exertions of the Zabrak defenders.

She could feel the starfighter squadrons launching now. Most of the launch tubes around Rak’Edalin had been cleared, and the fighter wings were gathering in force to engage the Yuuzhan Vong fleet which had finally broken its blockade formation. No one on the Cathleen seriously believed the Vong were doing anything but preparing to destroy Iridonia as they had Ithor, several years prior. Though analysis had shown their bio-weapon wouldn’t work due to Iridonia’s terrain and harsher ecologies, there was nothing to stop the Vong capital ships from descending and burning the planet with their plasma weapons.

She could sense the Rak’Edalin fight, and had no doubt the Zabraks would prevail—the Force whispered the truth in her ear—but the fleet battle with Rak’Edalin’s squadrons would no doubt determine Iridonia’s fate.

Kelta considered her options for a moment. Her oldest friends were fighting for their lives against the Yuuzhan Vong on the ground, and there was little she could do to affect the outcome of that battle. Similarly, the squadrons in the air were under the command of Kryi Rinnet and were already moving to intercept the Yuuzhan Vong before they could descend.

Where can I make a difference? she asked herself.

The answer was so simple she nearly laughed aloud, but that would have been a disservice to the Zabraks fighting and dying now on the ground and in the air.

She settled deeper into the flow of the Force, stretching out into it. She felt it all from every mind she could touch—the hope, the fear, the adrenaline, the pain, the loss. Into all that, she fed back what every warrior needed: confidence, speed, strength. The Force worked through her as well, offering coordination and cohesion even in the frantic, barely-organized brawl being fought in the rubble of the capital city.

This was battle meditation: the power of the Force offered to thousands of warriors who could not directly feel its flow, but were aided and boosted by it nonetheless.

The squadrons above formed up with a speed and precision usually impossible for such a diverse group of fighters, buying them precious minutes to prevent the Yuuzhan Vong from descending.

As the squadrons began to climb, at the edge of her perceptions, she felt something new: hundreds, then thousands of new minds.

Who are they? Kelta wondered. Is it…?

Then she felt one mind, familiar and powerful in the Force, and her heart leapt in joy.

 

 

 

The Dauntless’s bridge was a madhouse of alarms and shouts and orders. Ryian Coron stood like the calm center of a hurricane in the middle of it all, his hands held at the small of his back. He allowed no trace of fear or uncertainty to creep into his expression.

“Captain,” he heard the young woman say from behind him.

He turned and acknowledged her with a small nod.

“The Dauntless reverted as expected,” the red-headed girl said soberly. “We are in position between the Yuuzhan Vong and the planet.”

He eyed her. Among the uniformed, seasoned military crew on the bridge, the simple rough brown-and-white Jedi robes stood out. “Any problem?” he asked.

She shook her head. “The Force is with us,” she said with a smile.

The Dauntless shuddered as plasma balls and magma missiles—each large enough to entirely vaporize a starfighter—smashed into the shields. Ryian could sense as much as feel the tell-tale deck vibrations as the proton torpedo launcher clusters spewed waves of baradium warheads in return, could hear the faint thump-thump-thump of turbolaser fire.

“Give me visual on the ground situation in Rak’Edalin,” Ryian ordered to no one in particular.

A moment later, holograms materialized in the tactical well. Immediately Ryian thought the officer responsible had brought a holocam to bear on the wrong place, because there were no standing buildings. Then he spotted the wreckage of the Cathleen amidst the rubble, and his heart began to sink. “We were too late,” he murmured.

The Jedi girl frowned. “I don’t think so.” She closed her eyes. “I can sense life there, even in the rubble. Thousands—more.”

“Anyone familiar?” Ryian asked, trying to hide his discomfort.

“I can sense Aunt Kativie, my mother…the Wookiee Anishor…so many I don’t know.” Adreia Varo opened her eyes. “They’re fighting down there.”

“We’re fighting up here, too,” Ryian grunted. As if to punctuate his words, the Dauntless shuddered as a salvo of magma missiles penetrated the shields and impacted against the hull armor.

“They’ve launched fighters already to intercept the Yuuzhan Vong,” Adreia commented, pointed at the clusters of contacts ascending rapidly through the atmosphere.

Ryian turned and shouted to his fighter coordinator, “Are our squadrons launched?”

“Yes, sir,” the coordinator reported. “They’re being overwhelmed by the Vong coralskippers.”

“Not for long,” Ryian said grimly. “I’d say we have their attention, wouldn’t you?” he asked Adreia.

The Jedi nodded. “I would say that’s a fair assessment.”

Ryian turned to his comm officer. “Signal the Vysht’akhoi. A grand entrance would not go amiss.”

 

 

Kryi Rinnet bore a predator’s grin as she led the squadrons of Rak’Edalin in their full-throttle climb toward the enemy.

The entire war against the Yuuzhan Vong had put her on the sidelines. She had worked for the New Republic early on as a starfighter coordinator, serving with task forces from Ithor to Duro, until she had been asked to serve as a consultant for her old commanding officer Halyn Lance. When Argus Sanshir had died and Halyn had taken his place, she had been promoted to starfighter coordinator for the Iridonian fleet.

She didn’t mind the role—she was very good at it, and she had a far better grasp on the capabilities and tactics of her pilots and ships than most officers in the same role. Kryi had served without complaint, doing what needed to be done to save and preserve lives.

During the Civil War, however, she had been a pilot, not an officer, and she often missed it. During her prime, she had been very, very good—her simulation scores put her above Halyn himself, and her kill count on missions they had flown together was comparable. She understood now that while she might have been better, he had been more mature and capable of leading; if pilots had been under her command, they likely would’ve died in a blaze of glory.

Kryi was a mature officer now, but she had wanted from the beginning to match her skills against a Vong and his coralskipper. Today had finally given her the opportunity to slip out of the chains of the Cathleen command center and seat herself in a starfighter cockpit.

The X-wing reminded her greatly of the T-65 she had flown during much of the Civil War. When she’d slipped on the orange flightsuit and pulled the helmet over her head, she’d felt ten years younger; strapping into the cockpit made it twenty.

The astromech behind her warbled an alert. Kryi frowned. “Put it on my primary monitor,” she said.

The image of a SoroSuub star liner, a pleasure vessel repurposed for war, lit up her screen. Turbolasers and proton torpedoes flashed continually as coralskippers and larger coral craft assaulted it, its shields sparkling from hit after hit.

“That’s the Dauntless,” Kryi murmured. “What’s he doing here without the rest of our fleet?”

There wasn’t time to ponder the question, she knew, and the Dauntless’s presence might turn an impossible battle into a highly improbably one. There was no question what the Zabrak squadrons needed to do.

She flipped her comm to widecast to ensure all her pilots would hear her. “This is Rinnet. Lock s-foils in attack position. It looks like the Dauntless is drawing the brunt of the Vong attack since they put themselves into harm’s way, so let’s pull their asses out of the fire.”

She heard acknowledgements from wing and squadron leaders. A moment later, a private channel request lit up on her comm board. She sighed and punched it up.

“This is Li Coden,” the other pilot identified himself. “Any sign of the rest of the Zabrak fleet?”

“You’ve got as much information as I do,” Kryi replied shortly.

Abruptly, more contacts began to blizzard onto her display. “I’ll be damned,” she breathed. “It’s our fleet…and more!”

 

 

The Vysht’akhoi of Iridonia smiled tightly as the Maria dropped out of hyperspace. To port and starboard was Allanna’s Cyclone and Garm Bel Iblis’s Harbinger. The latter vessel dwarfed both the smaller vessels, and other warships were strung out around them in a cloud—the frigates and corvettes of the Zabrak fleet, interspersed with a pair of Victory II-class Star Destroyers and another MC80 Star Cruiser as old as the Maria.

I wish I could say this was how I left it, but it’s not, he told himself.  The Yuuzhan Vong have made a mark here, but Iridonia is still fighting.

Images of Rak’Edalin flashed across his private screen mounted in the Maria’s command chair. They burned the city down. He frowned. That, or Halyn burned the city down. I never could leave him in charge of anything.

The fleet began to disperse, individual ships moving to their assigned formations and positions as they bled starfighters into space.

“Vysht’akhoi, the Yuuzhan Vong are trying to press to Iridonia,” his tactical advisor said. “Captain Coron’s Dauntless has been holding them, but there’s nothing to prevent them from bypassing his warship and entering atmosphere.”

“Then we had best give them no time to do so,” he said with a tight smile. “Hail Admiral Bel Iblis and inform him we’re pressing our attack.”

Even as Argus spoke, the Harbinger and the other heavy warships under the Corellian Admiral’s command surged forward. The lighter Zabrak vessels followed, falling into the shadow of the larger craft’s more powerful defenses.

The Yuuzhan Vong fleet seemed to hesitate, unsure of whether to turn and engage the larger New Republic/Zabrak combined fleet, or press the attack on Iridonia. The delay cost them; even as coral vessels began to bypass the battered Dauntless, the heavy turbolasers on the largest warships began to fire, quickly putting down several corvette analogs.

As the Vysht’akhoi watched, the Yuuzhan Vong fleet began to split; their lighter warships began to descend towards atmosphere, while the largest surviving craft threw themselves at the oncoming fleet.

They’re trying to delay us, the Vysht’akhoi realized. They know they can’t win, so they’re trying to hold our fleet long enough to inflict whatever damage they can on Iridonia.

Time to make them pay for that choice.

 

 

 

Kryi tagged warships frantically. “Arfive,” she said to her astromech, “designate each target I’m tagging to a unique wing. One per wing. Got it?”

The R5 beeped irritably.

“Yes, yes, I know you can follow orders,” she said with a touch of venom. “Just do it. And give me the widecast again.”

When the comm light flashed readiness, she cleared her throat. “All wings, this is Rinnet. You should be receiving your orders now. The Vong are trapped between the hammer of the fleet and the anvil of Iridonia. They’re throwing everything they can at Iridonia. They know they’ve lost, so they’re going to try and kill as many of our friends and brothers and sisters as they can.

“We’re not going to let them! Each wing has been assigned a target warship. Destroy it utterly! Let no Vong make it through our lines intact. We’ve already won this war—don’t allow them to inflict a single casualty more. All of those down on Iridonia’s surface, not just those in Rak’Edalin, are counting on us to finish this. Don’t give the Vong any taste of victory now!”

Entire wings of starfighters began to break out of the formation, preparing to assault their targets. Were the fighters all fresh and fully-armed, Kryi had no doubt they could tear apart the Vong warships with their light escorts of coralskippers. The long siege of Iridonia, however, had reduced fuel and munition supplies to nearly nothing.  Without full loads of proton torpedoes, the wings would struggle to take down the powerful capital ships; it was baradium that leveled the playing field and allowed starfighters to punch out of their weight class.

We’re Iridonians. We’ll get it done.

 

 

Halyn stood with his back to his close friends. Anishor’s roar seemed to vibrate his very bones as the Wookiee cut down yet another Yuuzhan Vong with his shining rykk blades. Kativie was eerily silent as her lightsaber hummed ominously, striking down the invaders without seeming effort. Ceikeh grunted with effort as he blocked and parried and struck with his zhaboka, clearly exhausted but still keeping up.

And the Ul’akhoi himself felt the pain and weariness of months of warfare washing over him. Some part of him wanted to give up and let the Vong cut him down; he’d fought the good fight for so long that it seemed endless. But love kept him on his feet—love for his sister and her family, love for his friends and allies.

Love for a Jedi Knight aboard the Cathleen, and the prospect of actually spending the rest of his life with her—and a tinge of regret for having wasted so much time they could have been together.

He hadn’t expected the Vong’s treachery. He had fully expected the Vong to renew their attack even if he succeeded in killing Triak, but he had also expected he’d be allowed to return to his lines before they would begin aggressions anew.

He wielded the old sword with ferocity now, riding a new wave of energy. He fought and struck and killed as more Yuuzhan Vong attacked, seemingly as endless as an ocean. Okay, so this part wasn’t part of the plan.

 

 

Ryian Coron tried to smile and not cough as the smoke polluting the Dauntless’s bridge tried to choke him, but he only succeeded at the first. “Status?” he asked hoarsely.

“The Vong are starting to ignore us,” one of his officers called. “Their fleet’s either bypassing us to head to the surface, or turning away to engage our fleet.”

“We’ve taken a pounding,” an engineering officer reported. “Half our weaponry is shot, and our shields are gone. We’ve barely got enough power left in the engines to keep us in orbit.”

“What’s left on the guns?” Ryian asked.

“Half a dozen turbolasers and two proton torpedo clusters,” came the report.

“Concentrate everything we have on the ships descending toward Iridonia,” Ryian ordered. “And tell the Vysht’akhoi he owes me for repairs.” He looked over at Adreia, who seemed to be unaffected by the smoke. “Anything else I need to know?”

The Jedi looked thoughtful. “I’ve been studying the ground situation in Rak’Edalin. I believe Aunt Kativie is trapped behind the Yuuzhan Vong lines.”

“Not much we can do about that right now,” Ryian grunted. Then he paused to reconsider. “Actually, maybe there is.”

 

 

The Vysht’akhoi gripped the armrests of his command chair tightly as the Maria shuddered with hit after hit. The old Star Cruiser was tough, and her redundant systems kept her going even with the battle damage she was accumulating.

Even as he watched, coral warships broke apart under the combined fire of the heavy turbolasers of the Maria, the Harbinger, and the Cyclone. Kilometers away, he could distantly see the two Victory II-class Star Destroyers and the other Mon Cal cruiser pursuing and vaporizing a cluster of Vong vessels attempting to escape the trap.

“Keep up pursuit,” he ordered. “The Vong are already moving into atmosphere. If we have to, we’ll follow them all the way down.”

“Sir, the Maria can’t handle atmosphere,” the helm officer reminded him.

“Our turbolasers will reach, won’t they?” he snarled.

“Yes, sir!”

“Then keep it up!”

There was little he could do, though, besides watch as the smaller Yuuzhan Vong craft began to descend like meteorites to the planet below.

We won’t reach them in time to stop them, but we’ll make sure none escape, he told himself. We’ll extract Vong blood for the blood of every Zabrak dying down there right now.

Then, to his utter astonishment, the descending Vong craft began to break apart. First one, then a second, then two more almost simultaneously. “What’s going on with their descent group?” he barked.

There was a brief delay before one of the sensor officers reported, “There are squadrons rising from Iridonia. It appears they’re attacking the Yuuzhan Vong ships as they reach atmosphere.”

The Vysht’akhoi offered a predator’s grin. “Let’s finish this!”

 

 

Ahead, Kryi could see the battle-damaged Dauntless, its weapons still firing vaguely in her direction. It was an uneasy feeling. Can her turbolaser crews even see us at this range? she wondered uneasily.

Around her were the battle-weary craft of the fighter wing she had assigned herself to. She allowed herself a small smile. She had engaged and vaporized two coralskippers during the brief skirmish, proving she was still the fighter pilot she used to be. I’ve still got it, she told herself as she glanced over her shoulder. Her R5 astromech was missing its flowerpot dome, victim of a glancing hit from a magma missile. Oh well, I’m not jumping to hyperspace anytime soon, she justified as she checked her aft sensors.

Somehow, two Vong warships had slipped through the net of starfighters and the support fire from the Dauntless. Even now, they were descending toward Rak’Edalin. “Not going to let that happen,” she gritted as she slapped her button for widecast. “All free fighters, we have two Vong warships dropping down on the city. Let’s finish this.” She tugged her stick straight back, bringing the fighter around from a climb to a dive in two seconds.

She grimaced as her fighter picked up speed. We’ll never reach them in time to stop them. A red-white turbolaser blast flashed by her, so bright it nearly blinded her. “Will someone tell the Dauntless to quit firing?” she griped.

More turbolaser fire flashed past, so close the superheated air rocked her X-wing. She continued her power dive recklessly, even as the turbolasers were followed by a salvo of proton torpedoes. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

Far below her, she could see the Dauntless’s fire narrowly miss the descending coral warships and impact in Rak’Edalin, sending up plumes of ash and smoke.

“As if Halyn didn’t do a good enough job himself,” she muttered. She flipped her comm back on. “Someone get us a lock on the trailing warship and broadcast it,” she ordered to the now-descending starfighters. “As soon as we’ve got tone, everyone with ordinance left is free to fire.” She glanced back at her vaporized astromech, the reason she couldn’t provide the necessary targeting data herself. “Thanks for nothing.”

Her targeting reticule lit up with a positive lock, but Kryi had no missiles left to fire. Around her a handful of proton torpedoes and concussion missiles ripped through the skies, lancing down at the Vong warships only to be intercepted by defensive voids. If only we had more firepower! Kryi griped.

As if bidden by her thought, turbolaser fire lanced up from the wrecked Cathleen and burned into the unprotected bellies of both Vong warships. The coral craft came to pieces even as late-fired missiles flashed in and impacted against now-unprotected hulls.

“Goodbye,” Kryi crowed. “And thanks for stopping by!”

 

 

Kativie parried another blow, then the arm that wielded the staff, sending a Vong warrior falling away while clutching his stricken limb. Her danger sense tingled, a silent warning from the Force, and she brought her lightsaber up defensively.

No blow came.

The Vong attack was slowing at last, and she suspected a relief fleet had finally arrived. She could distantly sense another Jedi—Kelta’s daughter Adreia. A single starfighter was streaking through the air over the battlefield, followed by turbolaser blasts which, judging by angle, could only be fired from orbit. While she did not know him well, she could sense the pilot was Li Coden. She puzzled over that for a second before looking up.

Chunks of coral, roughly the size of starfighters, were dropping toward the small group like guided missiles.

“Oh, crap,” was all she could manage before she reached inside for every bit of strength the Force could give her.

It wasn’t enough, she knew. The fall from the New Horizon Designs tower had required every bit of strength she could muster, and that had just been herself. Now she was trying to protect three other lives after fighting against waves of Yuuzhan Vong warriors.

She felt as though she were stretching herself as she demanded more of the Force. She projected it all above her, as though forming an invisible dome of protection, a projection of raw telekinetic power. Distantly, she could feel both Kelta and Adreia reaching out to her, offering her threads of their own strength. She grasped it, wove it with her own, but it still wasn’t enough.

The first chunk of coral impacted a hundred meters away; the shockwave nearly threw her from her feet. She felt Halyn and Ceikeh both fall, and Anishor’s alarm as he was rudely informed of the danger. It’s not enough, she heard her own thought distantly, as though it were someone else’s. You don’t have enough strength.

Then the Wookiee berserker added his strength to hers.

He was not a Jedi Knight; by comparison, his powers were limited, half-trained. He could not levitate an object nor sense the future, and he could not distantly sense the thoughts of others. He could not project illusions or directly affect the mind.

But his connection to the Force was, like many things related to Wookiees, primeval and untrained—and powerful. It was the raw power of the Force, unshaped by the tight discipline of a Jedi Knight or even a Sith Lord.

She was tired—oh so tired—and the burst of power she felt was like grabbing a live wire and holding on.

Coral was smashing into the rubble all around them, but Kativie stood and held her hands aloft, and let the Force flow through her. I have not fought the war this long nor gone through so much to die now, at the end, and leave my children without their mother.

This was the conclusion of the siege of Iridonia; it was not the climax, which had arguably been the Cathleen’s razing of Rak’Edalin and the utter devastation of the Yuuzhan Vong army. The damaged, badly undercrewed Yuuzhan Vong fleet was savaged by the combined New Republic-Zabrak fleet, commanded by the legendary Garm Bel Iblis; the remains of their ground army were wiped out mercilessly by Zabrak warriors who had lost everything in the months-long war.

The vengeful Zabraks did not offer their foes an opportunity to surrender; the disgraced Yuuzhan Vong, believing themselves Shamed, fought to the death to the last warrior, unwilling to live with their failure. The final battle was fought with savagery and cold-bloodedness. Zabrak and Yuuzhan Vong fell, but as the dust began to settle, it rapidly became clear that only one side had survived.

 

 

 

With the allied fleet in a defensive orbit, and the remains of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet no more dangerous than any other orbiting asteroids, a single battered old YT-1300 descended from orbit. Its owner would have rejected the vessel’s description as “battered”—it had been his home for years during the Civil War, before he had become captain of a proper warship for the Rebel Alliance and later New Republic.

Ryian Coron looked out of the cockpit of the Spinning Cloud as the vessel dropped toward the Iridonian capital, Rak’Edalin. He had seen holo footage aboard the Dauntless, of course, but it hadn’t really prepared him for the sights he now saw with his own eyes out the freighter’s cockpit.

His passenger grunted from the copilot seat, but said nothing.

Ryian ignored him, as he had since he began the flight down from the fleet.

Clouds of smoke and dust from the downed Yuuzhan Vong warships reduced Ryian’s view to glimpses, but they were ugly scenes that grew nightmarish as he neared. Fires did not burn so much as smolder, smoke billowing skyward. As the Spinning Cloud dropped to below a hundred meters in altitude, he realized why there was a lack of open flame.

There was nothing left to burn.

When the Dauntless had first arrived at Iridonia and volunteered to join the defensive fleet, Rak’Edalin had been a bustling city—quiet by the standards of Coruscant or Corellia, but as busy a starport as could be found on any Zabrak-colonized world. Now there was virtually nothing left. Small buildings had literally been razed to their foundations; larger structures had been toppled and left a more significant footprint, but the subsequent fires had left little behind but twisted durasteel.

At less than fifty meters, he finally dropped below the most persistent haze. With a start, he realized what most of the smoldering fires were fueled by.

Corpses.

Ryian shuddered at the thought. This war is hell. It wasn’t this bad when we were fighting the Empire, was it? I mean, a lot of people died fighting that, but it wasn’t like this. His memory replayed the horrors of Alderaan, of Toprawa, of Restuss. Okay, it was that bad then, too. Ryian swallowed hard. Sandarie had better be alive down there.

He guided the freighter toward a slow descent to the location an exhausted Kelta, aboard the wrecked Cathleen, had relayed to him. This was where Halyn last was, along with Anishor. No one knows if they’re still alive.

The freighter had not yet settled onto its struts when an imposing figure appeared through the haze, his hand raised in greeting. Ryian slapped the boarding lamp’s release as he frowned at the figure. It took him a moment to recognize the newcomer as Anishor. So that’s how he would look with black fur, Ryian observed distantly as he watched the soot-streaked Wookiee approach.

Ryian’s passenger was already walking down the Spinning Cloud’s ramp by the time Ryian rose from the pilot’s chair. He glanced over the controls one last time to ensure the freighter’s engines were in standby but ready to go within a few seconds before he turned and headed aft to descend himself.

His hand trailed along the wall as he walked back to the ramp. Halyn really is crazy. I must be crazy, too, considering I keep coming back whenever he asks me. I should have retired years ago on Corellia with Sandi. I shouldn’t still be out here fighting against whatever new enemies pop up. Let the young pick up this battle; we’ve already done our share.

Ryian descended the Spinning Cloud’s boarding ramp just in time for Anishor to ambush him, lifting him up in a giant Wookiee hug, squeezing him hard enough to restrict his breathing. “Hey,” he managed to grunt out.

<Ryian!> Anishor bellowed, loud enough to deafen him at such close proximity.

“I still need to breathe,” Ryian gasped.

<Silly furless,> Anishor chuckled as he released the Corellian.

“Where’s Sandi?” he asked.

The Wookiee uncharacteristically froze. <I think you’d better ask Halyn about that,> he said reluctantly.

Ryian’s heart stopped in his chest. No. No, this can’t have cost me Sandi. She’s not a fighter. She wouldn’t be on the front lines. “She’s not dead,” Ryian said flatly.

His heart started to beat again when Anishor shook his head and answered, <No, she hasn’t been killed. But you’ll need to talk to Halyn.>

Ryian looked past the Wookiee in time to see three more figures approaching through the haze, Zabraks all: two males and a female.

The passenger Ryian had brought down from orbit marched out to meet them.

 

 

 

Kativie felt utterly drained as she limped through the debris between Halyn and Ceikeh. Even with the power Anishor had lent her, keeping the four of them alive when the coral vessels had come to pieces overhead had taken every bit of strength she could muster. I don’t know if I could use the Force right now if all our lives depended on it, she thought tiredly. I never, ever want to do that again. She allowed herself a tiny smile. Though with what I felt during all that, I’m pretty sure we won. Our fleet returned and eliminated the Vong, I think, and there’s no more tension from our army, so they must have wiped out whatever is left.

She looked from left to right. Senator Ceikeh Alari seemed to have more spring to his step than she felt; he was clearly exhausted from the battle, but buoyed by survival and, as insane as it sounded, victory. We won, Kativie told herself giddily. We won, we won, we won. The costs of the victory weighed heavily on her, though she tried not to consider them—the price paid by Iridonia and by herself, personally, were high—too high. We won, but at what cost?

Halyn looked even more exhausted than she felt. If she would have had the strength to spare, she would have looped his arm over her shoulders, but she knew doing so would topple them both to the ground. Whatever this took out of me, it’s been worse for him. He’s been fighting all this time and has worn himself out. I just hope he can recover with enough time.

Distantly she heard the whine of repulsorlifts and looked up; barely visible through the haze was the shape of an old YT-1300 freighter descending to land not too far away. Ahead of them, staying on point in case of any Yuuzhan Vong ambushes, she could barely see Anishor as he altered course to intercept the descending ship.

Well, at least we won’t have to walk back to the Cathleen, Kativie managed to think. Unless the Vong started using YT-1300s. She giggled at the thought. Yes, we killed so many of their living ships they have to use abominations. The fact that she was finding amusement in the situation meant, to the rational part of her mind, that she needed something to eat and about sixteen hours of sleep.

“So,” Ceikeh said aloud, very slowly, “we finally won.”

“Yeah,” Halyn said hoarsely. “Something like that. If this is victory.”

“We’re still alive,” Ceikeh reminded him. “So is all of Iridonia, aside from those who fell here at Rak’Edalin.”

Halyn spat before he spoke again. “It cost us a lot. Half the people I asked to come here and fight either died or were badly wounded. We lost a large part of our fleet, and thousands of Zabraks died fighting the Vong. We won, but if the Vong would strike again now, nothing would stop them from overrunning Iridonia.”

Kativie spoke up, “You sound like you don’t think the Vong will attack us again.”

The Ul’akhoi shook his head. “We fought a months-long war against the Vong here. From the moment their forces landed on Iridonia, they never received reinforcements from the outside. The Vong never sent more ships, never sent more supplies, never sent anything. I’d guess there’s some politics at work that we’ll never know about, but I’d bet the Vong won’t attack here again anytime soon.”

“If they really wanted to take the planet, they would’ve sent more forces while they had a foothold,” Ceikeh concluded.

“Exactly.” Halyn nodded. “Besides, I’m going to choose to believe that because there’s no way we can win another war against them right now.”

The dust and smoke billowed back toward them, prompting Kativie to raise her arm to cover her eyes. When she lowered her arm again, she could see the outline of the YT-1300 as it dropped onto its landing struts.

“Nice ride,” Ceikeh commented.

“Corellian garbage,” Halyn mumbled. “Survive the war only to step into a deathtrap and get killed flying home. They should’ve sent one of our Muurians to pick us up.”

“Quit complaining or we’ll make you walk,” Kativie giggled.

“I’d definitely be safer,” the Ul’akhoi grumbled.

A Zabrak figure cut through the haze, heading straight toward them. “Our pilot,” Kativie said. “Odd that he left his ship.”

A gust of wind cleared the air between them, and Kativie stumbled as she recognized the figure. She fell to her hands and knees, felt Halyn stop without needing to look.

It can’t be. Not even by the Force. It can’t be.

Impossibly, it was.

Argus Sanshir, the eldest of the three Sanshir siblings, walked toward them through the haze, alive and in the flesh.

 

 

 

Halyn stared in utter shock and disbelief as his elder brother walked toward him. It can’t be. Even the Jedi can’t conjure the dead back to life. Kelta bringing me back is as close as they come.

“You never could stand being second-best, could you?” Argus called as he approached.

“Huh?” Halyn said brilliantly.

“The Council made me Vysht’akhoi, but you had to go make yourself Ul’akhoi.”

Halyn laughed at the joke. “You didn’t push yourself to succeed. You, too, could have been dictator.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, I’m retired.”

“Retired?” Argus asked, close enough now that Halyn could see his dark-skinned brother.

“Yeah. I was Ul’akhoi until the Vong were removed from Iridonia.” He looked around theatrically. “Seen any Vong lately?”

It was Argus’s turn to laugh. “No, I can’t say I have.”

Kativie finally found her voice. “What are you doing here? Where have you been?”

Argus’s mirth faded away to nothingness. “The attack on Reecee reduced the Maria to a shell with a tenth of her crew surviving. After the Errant Venture escaped, we managed to get the hyperdrive online and risked a jump with no backup. We spent weeks in the void, lightyears from any star system, while we got the Maria back in condition to make a sustained hyperspace jump. We limped her to Tallaan and persuaded Garm Bel Iblis—freshly arrived after the fall of Coruscant—to patch us up and get us spaceworthy. He even lended us enough crew to make the Maria battleworthy so we could risk voyaging to Iridonia.”

“Why didn’t you get us word?” Kativie asked. “We thought you were dead.”

“I tried. The HoloNet hasn’t exactly been reliable on the other side of the Core, and by the time Allanna arrived with the fleet I had given up on it,” Argus explained. “With the Zabrak fleet at my back and with a recent report of the situation on Iridonia, I was able to persuade Bel Iblis to lend us some heavy firepower to come back and break the blockade.”

“We thought you were dead,” Kativie repeated.

Argus shrugged. “When Allanna laid out the situation here, I thought you all might be dead by the time we got back. Instead, I find that my little brother threw a party that trashed the entire city—that’s way worse than what happened to the house when we were kids,” he finished jokingly.

Halyn shook his head. “Glad you’re back. Now you can take over and I can go back to irresponsibility.”

The eldest Sanshir frowned and peered closer at Halyn. “I’m a bit surprised to find you’re still alive.”

“Neat Jedi trick,” Halyn said dryly. “Kelta figured out a way to heal me.”

“She’s here?”

Before Halyn could reply, Kativie leapt from the ground up at Argus, half-tackling him. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. “I’m glad you’re alive,” she whispered, loud enough for Halyn to hear. “Welcome home, big brother.”

Argus embraced her tightly for a few moments, finally releasing her only reluctantly. “I’m glad you’re still alive, too,” he said.

Halyn waited until the moment had passed and both were firmly on their feet before answering. “Yes, Kelta is here.”

“So are you going to run off again?” Argus asked, his voice hinting at just a bit of irritation.

“I won’t be running anywhere for a long time,” Halyn said dryly. “C’mon. I don’t want to stand around here all day.”

The other Zabraks fell in around Halyn as he limped toward the YT-1300. Maybe, Halyn concluded to himself, we haven’t lost everything in this war. We’re still a family.

 

 

When Halyn walked onto the bridge of the Cathleen, he was not expecting anything.

Instead of a place of war and officers conducting a battle with careful, ugly precision, he found a room of celebration.

Normally reserved military officers were exchanging drinks—many of them Kashyyykian in origin, their alcohol a popular import to the Zabrak homeworld. Uniforms were loosened and lacked precision; chatter was loud and unstructured. Formality was rumor among the buzz, and the air was filled with a sense of celebration.

Kryi Rinnet was the first to spot Halyn, backed by Kativie, Argus, and Ceikeh. “Ul’akhoi on deck!” she hollered at the top of her lungs, fighting to make herself heard over the din.

Officers snapped to attention in spite of their disheveled appearances; drinks were slapped down on nearby flat surfaces. Within three seconds, the bridge was utterly silent, with every Zabrak present standing at attention.

Halyn hid his smile as he limped forward. “Thank you, Coordinator Rinnet,” he said quietly as he limped forward. “And thank you all.” He finally allowed his mask to slip. “As you were.”

Raucous cheers broke out, deafening in the cramped starship’s bridge. Halyn bore it all as he walked forward to the command chair in the center of the bridge, the only place where someone was still sitting.

Kelta Rose, Jedi Knight, rotated in the chair to face him. Her violet eyes burned with life and power and vitality, though her body seemed to droop with exhaustion. “General,” she said cheerfully.

“I’m not a general anymore,” Halyn said dryly.

“Ul’akhoi, then.”

“Vong are gone. I’m not Ul’akhoi any more,” the Zabrak smirked.

“You’re still the General,” Kelta said with a warm smile. “You always will be, to everyone who fought with you during the Civil War.”

Halyn pulled his battered duster back far enough to unhook Kelta’s lightsaber from his belt. He offered it to her pommel-first. “Figured you’d want this back.”

Kelta accepted the blade gracefully. “Did you find it useful?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story some time, but yes, I did.”

Kelta smiled as she leaned back in the command chair and closed her eyes. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” Her smile turned to a frown. “Is that…Argus?”

“Yeah. Turns out he wasn’t quite as dead as we thought.”

“You love being mysterious, don’t you?”

“It’s the whole officer thing,” Halyn explained with a straight face. “You learn to keep information from your officers…and enjoy doing it.”

Kelta opened her eyes. “Is that what I am? One of your officers?”

“No, you Jedi types don’t follow orders well enough to be in a military.” Halyn leaned in then and kissed her, just lightly brushing her lips. “Which is good for us, because then we’d be breaking all sorts of conduct rules.”

“Can’t have that,” Kelta grinned and returned the kiss. When she pulled back for air, her eyes seemed to take in his entire face. “You took a nasty hit from some Vong, didn’t you?”

Halyn couldn’t manage to hide his blush. “Um, actually, no.”

Kelta frowned. “No? That looks like a pretty bad hit.”

“No, it wasn’t a Vong.” Halyn turned a bit pink in spite of himself. “Ryian wasn’t very happy when he found out I had Sandi frozen in carbonite. I don’t think explaining that she had been poisoned by an amphistaff and we couldn’t save her ourselves helped me any, either.”

Kelta chuckled and shook her head. “No, I can’t imagine it did. You always did have a way with your officers. You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you.”

“Something like that,” Halyn said dryly.

“So now what?” Kelta asked.

The Zabrak hesitated. “I’m not sure. I mean, I’m no longer Ul’akhoi—the Vong are wiped out. The proper Vysht’akhoi has returned, so he can take over the military side. The Council, or whatever’s left of it, will take up the reins of power now that the siege is over. I’m pretty much free of my responsibilities.” He hesitated even longer before adding, “Well, once we’ve confirmed the Vong are wiped out and I’ve transited all the responsibilities over to Argus, anyway.”

“I’m sure Argus will want you to stay here and help rebuild.”

Halyn smiled a bit. “I doubt it. Besides, I do have something else to do.”

Kelta frowned. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Halyn fumbled in his pocket for a moment before withdrawing his hand. “Kelta Rose, I screwed this up once, and I don’t want to do it again.” He offered her his palm, a ring shining silver in the dim bridge lighting. “Will you marry me?”

The Sanshir clan gathered in Halyn’s quarters aboard the Cathleen a week and a half after the conclusion of the war on Iridonia.

Kativie Lusp smiled as arms wrapped around her. She leaned back into her husband Hakk’s embrace, allowing him to take her weight. It was a small comfort for the Jedi Knight—resting in the strength of another, rather than always being the warrior, the pillar, the rock for everyone around her. Even Jedi Knights can’t be strong all the time, she told herself. I bet even Master Skywalker has moments where he allows Mara Jade to offer him strength. She was grateful Hakk had arrived mere hours after the orbital battle had concluded; he had told her that he had been waiting outside the system in a freighter, watching for a moment he could slip through.

The surviving children were playful but somber. It tugged at her heartstrings to see them so subdued, but she knew they were mourning the losses of their own. The pain opened her wounds afresh, threatening to overwhelm her. Instead of fighting it, she leaned even harder into her husband and allowed the familiar, deep pain to wash over her. Her eyes closed as she reached out to the Force and leaned heavily on it, too, for strength.

Argus and Allanna were sitting hand-in-hand at a small table, conversing deeply with their eldest son. Kativie had been delighted to learn that her second-oldest nephew, stationed on the Maria, had survived alongside his father in the disastrous Reecee battle.

Halyn sat alone in a corner. Kativie stretched out toward him with the Force, trying to gauge his feelings in the Force.  She was not as sensitive as others, like Kelta, and in spite of their familial bond, she could sense only the dark cloud that had seemed to hang over Halyn since the siege on Iridonia had lifted. Why has he been so distant since the Vong were destroyed? she wondered, not for the first time. He should be celebrating the danger passing and the weight being lifted from his shoulders.

“Are your parents going to make it?” Hakk whispered in Kativie’s ear.

She started for a moment, then settled back into his embrace. “No,” she said aloud. “They’re still out on the Zabrak colony on Talus.”

“I’m sorry about what happened with my family while I was gone,” Hakk murmured. “If I would have been here, I could have at least smacked my father around for you and Halyn.”

Kativie shook her head. “It’s not your fault, and your father was just being himself.”

“So, I’ve been thinking about that pretty much since you told me what happened,” Hakk continued. “And I was wondering if you wanted to change your last name back to Sanshir.”

“Back to Sanshir?” Kativie repeated in confusion. “What are you talking about?” Her hearts twisted in her chest. “You’re not talking about leaving me, are you?”

Hakk chuckled. “Never. Not for all the wealth in the galaxy, Kat.”

“Then what?”

Hakk breathed in her ear, a warm feeling that sent shivers down her spine. “I want to disown the Lusp clan. If the Sanshirs will have me, I would like to be a part of your family’s clan, not mine.”

Kativie was so shocked it took her a few moments to gather her thoughts. “How much thought have you put into this?” she asked.

“Some,” Hakk replied quietly. “I can’t stand to stay with my clan after what they did. Their arrogance nearly destroyed Iridonia—there’s no way Jram would have been ready to lead, and my father does not have the experience in warfare that your clan accumulated in the Civil War.”

“And what does joining the Sanshirs accomplish?” Kativie asked quietly.

“It will show the surviving Lusps that their actions weren’t acceptable,” Hakk said. “If I leave them, it will be unprecedented—no son born in the Lusp clan has left for the last thousand years. It would be a huge event that would force them to reconsider.”

Kativie didn’t reply immediately; instead, she reached out to the Force for guidance. Her thoughts settled calmly into place, and when she spoke her words came with the absolute certainty she almost never felt. When the words emerged, they were the Force’s, not her own. “You should not leave the Lusps, Hakk. If it’s what you want, yes, we can formally leave the Lusps and join the Sanshirs, but it will not affect the Lusp’s course.”

“What?” Hakk whispered, a little taken aback. “How can you know?”

“Think about it,” Kat said. “The Lusps and the Sanshirs alike have gone through the most severe warfare in our space since the Civil War. If you leave now, it will be written off as a consequence of the war—in open conflict, even Zabraks respond in odd ways to the stress.”

She could feel Hakk’s disagreeing frown, but she pressed on. “Now, clan Lusp’s leader is gone, dead in a conflict that ravaged Rak’Edalin. If you stay, there’s a chance you can press for some real change. You may not end up as the head of your clan, but you don’t need to if you want to make things better and prevent this from ever happening again. Imagine, you might even be the first Zabrak to finally settle this feud between the Lusps and the Sanshirs in millennia!”

“I hate it when you make sense,” Hakk muttered. “I come up with some grand gesture, and you tell me I’m being stupid. And then you explain why I’m being stupid. And you’re right.”

“After being married to me this long, I thought you’d be used to it,” Kativie teased as she wiggled against him.

He chuckled and squeezed her tighter for a moment. Kativie smiled and closed her eyes, reveling in the feelings. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed it while fighting the Yuuzhan Vong.

In the Force, she felt Halyn’s dark mood lighten a little. At the same time, she felt another presence—one far calmer and more powerful than she had felt before.

Kat opened her eyes and spotted Kelta Rose slipping into the room. The other Jedi Knight unobtrusively walked along the wall, heading over to the corner where Halyn was sitting. He was watching her, his brilliant green eyes nearly glowing with delight.

She reached out again and marveled in Kelta’s presence in the Force. The red-maned Jedi Knight felt completely at peace for the first time she could recall—ever. It wasn’t just her serenity, but Kat could feel a new wellspring of power in her friend. She feels like a master, Kat observed. The power and the peace. Only Jedi Masters have both, and she has them in abundance. She didn’t just heal Halyn; I think she healed herself, too, of whatever was haunting her.

There was a faint tink-tink-tink-tink sound that drew Kat’s attention. She turned her head and saw Argus was on his feet, a glass in one hand and a small vibroblade in the other, tapping the inert blade against the glass to draw the attention of everyone in the room. He continued to tap persistently, waiting until even the children had quieted and turned to look.

“Thank you,” Argus said with a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad we could all be together tonight, for the first time since the siege ended.”

Kativie wondered briefly what her eldest brother was going to say.

“More than thirty years ago, none of us had any idea what we would become. I was a security force member for the Iridonian government, my younger bratty brother ran off to see the galaxy, and my baby sister was just a child. Ten years after that, we three had led the efforts to liberate Iridonia from the Empire—me with the Zabrak resistance, Halyn as a Rebel General, and Kativie as a renegade who forced both of us to work together,” he added with a smile.

“I think we’ve made Iridonia a better place. We’ve done our best to protect it from threats both outside and inside our space. We’ve sacrificed time and again to ensure our world survives. “ He swallowed. “We’ve lost cousins, sons, and daughters as we’ve tried to safeguard everything that means anything to our race. As warriors, we’ve bled and died on the battlefield; as supporters, we’ve sacrificed our time and energy to rebuild what has been lost and destroyed; as leaders, we’ve made the hard calls to ensure the wars are won.”

Kativie felt something through the Force at the last statement. There’s more than he’s letting on, she thought to herself. But now was not the time to speak up, not in front of the children.

“And now we’ve won yet another war, this time against a race desiring to utterly destroy us and every bit of our history and culture. Halyn was the key to that,” he said, nodding at his younger brother, “but each of us has fought and sacrificed and, yes, lost much in this war. And while we won the war here, I don’t doubt we’ll need to sacrifice more to ensure the galaxy at large is safe from the Yuuzhan Vong.”

Argus raised his glass. “So, this is a celebration of Clan Sanshir and what we have accomplished. To all of us, whether you are born as a Sanshir,” he said, locking gazes with Halyn and Kativie in turn, then smiling at the children, “or whether you joined us afterward,” he continued, smiling down at Allanna, then up at Hakk, and finally to the only human in the room, Kelta Rose, “I raise a glass in salute. You are my family, and you are the reasons I continue to fight. With all of you as Sanshirs, our clan has grown greatly, and we may yet continue to guide Iridonia on a path of freedom from tyranny.”

Kativie picked up her glass with her fingertips and raised it into the air. “To Clan Sanshir, and Iridonia!” she called.

Others repeated the toast, and drank. Kativie sipped at her drink, hid her grimace as the alcohol burned all the way down. Drinking is not for the Jedi, she thought wryly.

For the first time in months, her family felt at ease—the tension of months had drained away, taking with it the toxins and pain of loss. They were comfortable, relaxed, reveling in the bonds of family.

With the exception of Halyn. She could still feel something dark eating at his peace. If we beat the Yuuzhan Vong, we can beat whatever is still troubling him, Kativie thought. He won the war for Iridonia—that’s not too much to ask.

 

 

 

Abi Ocopaqui was upright for the first time in two weeks. She still felt as though a part of herself was gone, and in some ways it was—her severed head-tail was home to deep-seated memories, cultural memories passed down to her even though she hadn’t ever lived on Ryloth.

“Are you okay?” Li Coden asked her for the umpteenth time.

“I’m fine,” the Twi’lek snarled reflexively.

Her head seemed to be pulled just a bit to one side, putting perpetual pressure on her neck. She knew it was a result of the now oddly-weighted lekku. Either I’m going to get used to this or I’m going to need a neck brace, she thought to herself. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

In spite of the discomfort and the sense of loss, she knew she had been very, very lucky. The Yuuzhan Vong amphistaff strike had only nicked the very edge of her brain—enough to cause some damage, but not enough to lose her identity. It may take me years to figure out just what exactly I’ve lost, she told herself. And maybe it’s not anything I’ll ever miss.

“I’m going to need to get a prosthetic,” she muttered as she rolled her head back and forth, cracking her neck. “This is going to kill me if I don’t figure something out.”

The door to the medcenter hissed open, and Halyn Lance slipped through, trailed by the red-maned Kelta Rose.

Halyn was silent as he approached. Abi stroked her severed lekku unconsciously. This really is going to bother me, she told herself as she waited for Halyn to speak.

The Zabrak settled onto a medical cot across from Abi before he finally spoke. “How are you feeling, Abi?”

“How do you think?” the Twi’lek growled. “A big part of me was destroyed. Thanks to you.”

Halyn accepted the blame without protest. “I’m sorry I brought you into this,” he said.

The Twi’lek raised an eyebrow. That’s not what I was expecting. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Halyn said. “This war was between the Zabraks and the Yuuzhan Vong. I shouldn’t have asked you to fight, and I put you in the position where you were wounded. Kativie may have sent you after the scarhead commander, but I placed you on the battlefield with the opportunity to do so.”

“So, I heard we won?” Abi half-asked.

The Zabrak nodded. “We did. We wiped out the Vong to the last man and blew up every ship in orbit.”

“With what fleet?” the Twi’lek asked sardonically.

“Garm Bel Iblis sent some warships with our fleet on the way back,” Halyn said shortly. “Few extra big warships made the difference in wiping out their blockade.”

“So, what now?” Abi asked.

Halyn shrugged. “We beat the Vong off, and I don’t think they’ll be sending another invasion force anytime soon. Now that we’ve got our HoloNet relay back up and running, I’m hearing rumors that the New Republic has setup a government-in-exile on Mon Calamari, so we’ll need to get a representative there to ensure Iridonia has a say in what happens next.” He smiled just a bit. “After all, we’ve proved the Vong can be beaten.”

“That’s all well and good,” Abi said, waving her hand, “but I’m still waiting to hear how you’re going to replace my Y-wing.”

Halyn froze, and Abi chuckled silently to herself. You weren’t expecting that, were you? Everyone thinks you’re so damned good, but I can always prove that you don’t anticipate everything.

“Oh, that’s all?” Halyn asked casually. He dug in his pocket and produced a datacard, showing it to the Twi’lek before tossing it across to her.

Abi caught it. “What’s this?”

“Well, I did some checking, and it turns out Bel Iblis had a few recon Y-wings on the Harbinger. He was more than happy to sign one over to the Maria in return for all the tactical data we acquired during the siege.”

“A recon Y-wing?” Abi asked skeptically. “You’re going to toss me some unarmed piece of junk and call it square? I don’t think so.”

“I said it was signed over to the Maria, not you. That was three days ago, which means the mechanics have had time to arm it with the latest laser and ion cannons we had in-stock from New Horizon Designs before their skyscraper was reduced to a pile of ash. In fact, there’s even a full load of proton torpedoes in the racks—or there should be, if they followed my orders.”

“I guess we’ll call that even, then,” Abi agreed grudgingly. Dammit. He did anticipate me this time.

“Anything else?” Halyn asked.

“Guess not,” the Twi’lek said.

“So where are you going, then?” the Zabrak asked.

“Check up on my daughter, then head off to link up with New Republic Intelligence,” she said after a moment of hesitation. “What about you? Just going to rest on your laurels as the Hero of Iridonia?”

Halyn snorted. “Hardly.” He shrugged, then added, “I don’t really know what I’m going to do yet. Not sure if I…just not sure,” he amended. He looked past Abi. “What about you, Li?”

The too-thin man smiled. “Well, I’m going to have a long report to write up for my superiors,” Li said. “They’ll want a full analysis of what happened here, especially in light of the fact that you won. After that, well, I’d forgotten how much I enjoy flying. Maybe I can persuade someone to put me in a cockpit again—after all, all those rookies will need a real squadron leader to show them the ropes if we don’t want to see them all get killed.”

“I’m glad you were both here,” Halyn said with a small smile. “Thank you both for everything. I appreciate it. What you two did, well,” he took a deep breath, “it went well beyond the bonds of friendship. So thank you.” He shook both their hands, then walked out without looking back.

Abi watched him go. I don’t think I’ll ever understand that Zabrak.

 

 

Halyn smiled at Kelta as they walked down one of the abandoned corridors of the Cathleen. Since the conclusion of the siege, the upper decks of the destroyed warship, which had primarily been occupied by officers and warriors, were now largely emptied of life. “I just can’t get rid of you, can I?” Halyn asked.

“Not as long as I’ve got this,” Kelta teased him, holding up the silver band.

“See, that’s why I tried to avoid that for two decades,” Halyn smirked. “Soon as I give you any trace of commitment, I just can’t shake you off. You hang on tighter than a piranha beetle on a dead carcass.”

Kelta made a face. “That’s really an image I wanted. You always did know how to flatter a woman, coatrack.”

“Everyone knows how damned charming I am,” Halyn said with a smirk. “It’s all the silver tongue.”

“Where are we going?” Kelta asked, changing the subject.

“My personal armory,” the other explained. “Eventually someone will tear this ship down or clean it out and turn it into a museum or memorial. I’d rather not leave all my personal gear there for someone to poke their nose into.”

“Okay, that sounds like you,” Kelta teased him.

Halyn stopped before the correct door, tapping in his key code. Kelta just stood back and watched. He’s probably got the equivalent of a proton torpedo in there and doesn’t want anyone to know, she told herself while she tried to hide a grin. There’s just no way he can’t play things close to his chest. It’s in his blood or something.

When the door slid open, Kelta was surprised to see the room was occupied.

The big Wookiee growled a greeting. <Hello, coatrack,> he said. <And you, Kelta.>

“Good to see you, too,” Halyn said. “Now what are you doing in my armory?”

<I thought I would ensure nothing important is left behind,> Anishor said. <I saw some of your weaponry in here previously and decided discretion was called for.>

“Yeah, the baradium is a bit illegal for private ownership here and, uh, everywhere,” Halyn said with a straight face.

“Not just baradium,” Kelta said with a smile. “Aren’t those antimatter charges?”

“Shush, you,” Halyn said as he picked up several of the palm-sided explosives and slipped them in his pocket. “Besides, I’d hate for people to find out what’s in my duster.”

<What kind of leather is that?> Anishor asked.

Halyn smiled with secret knowledge. “You’ll never know,” he said as he unhooked the floor-length duster from its place and slipped it on.

<So what are your plans now?> the berserker inquired.

“I don’t know,” Halyn shrugged. “A few people have asked, but I’m playing it by ear for now.”

Anishor nodded.

Kelta felt the grimness radiate from both of them and knew she reflected it as well. It’s not fair, she told herself. Not after all this.

“What about you?” Halyn asked the Wookiee. “Are you going back to Kashyyyk to have another bunch of whelps?”

Anishor chuckled. <I think my skills will be needed elsewhere. My berserkers proved themselves very capable in fighting your war here. While I would rather be fighting, I will likely be training more Wookiees in the art of the rykk blade. We will need far more warriors than my few berserkers if we ever hope to take back Coruscant or any other heavily-occupied world.>

“So, nursemaiding young Wookiees for you,” Halyn teased.

<I thought I would train my berserkers the way you trained your bomber pilots during the Civil War,> Anishor replied. <By throwing them into combat and seeing who comes back alive.>

“I didn’t do that,” Halyn denied. “Much.”

Anishor chuffed with laughter. <Well, if you need somewhere to go, you will always be welcome on Kashyyyk,> the Wookiee said at last. <We could use a commander who has fought the Yuuzhan Vong, as well as a pilot who has trained combat pilots.>

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Halyn said. “It’s better than a lot of alternatives.”

Anishor stepped over in one giant stride and picked up both Halyn and Kelta, squeezing them in a massive Wookiee hug. <I am happy for both of you, you know. It took you two furless far too long to come to this.>

Kelta smiled and wrapped her free arm around the Wookiee’s back. “We don’t all mate by clubbing someone over the head and dragging her off to our tree,” she joked.

<You have clearly spent too much time with the coatrack,> Anishor declared. <You’re starting to adopt his views of Wookiees, as wrong as they are.>

“Yeah, he doesn’t have a club,” Halyn grunted. “He has to use the flat side of a rykk blade.”

Anishor squeezed Halyn a bit tighter, and Kelta felt as much as heard the breath go out of him. “I know he has that effect on people, but you have to let him breathe,” the Jedi said, hiding her smirk.

<I know, but it’s good for him to remember on occasion that he’s not always on the top of the food chain,> the Wookiee said as he set them both down.

Halyn and Anishor both turned back to picking up the more illegal bits of the Zabrak’s personal arsenal. Kelta watched them both in amusement. You would think they’re smugglers, not officers and warriors, let alone heroes.

<Do you have regrets?> Anishor asked after a long but not uncomfortable silence.

“Regrets? Of course I do,” Halyn said with a small, sad smile. “A lot of Zabraks died following my orders. We held Iridonia by sacrificing lives. I ordered Rak’Edalin razed and burned it to the ground. It may have been the only way to win this war, but it still doesn’t feel good. I ordered friends to their deaths, and there wasn’t anything else I could do.”

<I have heard speculation that those are the reasons the Jedi were destroyed by the Clone Wars,> Anishor said.

“I thought the Jedi were destroyed by Palpatine after the Clone Wars,” Halyn commented.

“Yes, and no,” Kelta said. “The Clone Wars rotted away the strength of the Jedi Order and left it vulnerable. Years of warfare left the Jedi unprepared for the actions of the Sith.”

<The Jedi were appointed commanders and generals of the army of the Republic,> Anishor continued. <They were forced into positions where people—both troops and civilians—died regardless of the decisions they made. It undermined their certainty and eroded their connection to the Force. When the Sith acted, they were utterly destroyed.>

“What does that have to do with me?” Halyn asked dryly. “Last I checked, I’m no Jedi.”

<It’s not just Jedi,> Anishor pointed out. <You have sacrificed much of yourself in this war. If you’re going to continue to fight, you will need time to recover.>

Halyn shrugged. “Maybe.” He lifted the last of his weapons from the rack, a small disruptor pistol, and holstered it inside his duster. He turned back to the Wookiee and hugged his old friend. “Thank you, Anishor, for coming to Iridonia and fighting. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

<I know, coatrack,> he joked. <I know.>

Ceikeh Alari wasn’t surprised when the door to his quarters chimed. That would be my wife. The system stopped recognizing her code after the crash, and I never did get it fixed. “Come in!” he called at the portal.

Instead of the Twi’lek, however, he was surprised to see Halyn Sanshir walk into his quarters. Ceikeh caught just a glimpse of the red-maned Kelta out in the corridor before the door hissed shut again. “Senator,” Halyn greeted.

“Ul’akhoi,” Ceikeh returned.

Halyn smiled. “Not anymore. The conditions of my release have been met. The Vong aren’t here anymore.”

“So what do I call you now? Vysht’akhoi?”

“Doubtful,” the other said, shaking his head. “The Council hasn’t convened yet—that will be happening later today—but as far as I’m concerned, Argus is the Vysht’akhoi, not me.”

“Guess I’ll have to settle for General, then,” Ceikeh said.

“You could try calling me Halyn.”

“I never could get my mind quite wrapped around that. You were always the commander, the Zabrak in charge—you never seemed like the sort I could socialize with.”

Halyn chuckled. “I wasn’t much for socializing, pretty much ever. Not my thing.”

“So, this isn’t a social call?” Ceikeh asked.

The other man shook his head. “Not really, no.”

“What can I do for you?”

Halyn hesitated before speaking. “First, I’d like to know what your plans are now that we’ve won the battle here.”

“Well, I’ve already spoken to the surviving Councilors. Assuming I retain my position as Senator of Zabrak space, I’ll be heading out to Mon Calamari to meet with the New Republic government-in-exile. We’ll still need representation, after all, and maybe I can help push the Senate to do what will be necessary to beat the Vong. We proved here it can be done, but we need to stop running and learn to stand our ground and fight.” He smiled faintly. “I’m speaking about the New Republic, of course, not the Zabraks—we already know how to stand and fight.”

“So back to high politics for you, huh?”

Ceikeh nodded. “I figure I can take all kinds of bribes when I get to Mon Calamari and send the money back here to rebuild Rak’Edalin.”

Halyn laughed aloud. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that. Somehow I doubt your constituents will find that nearly as funny as I do.”

“So, what can I do for you?” Ceikeh asked. “Looking for some bribe money, or maybe a nice juicy military contract?”

The other sobered quickly. “I wanted to get your promise on something.”

“Which is…?”

“Some things are probably going to erupt in the first Council meeting. I want you to promise me you won’t interfere.”

Ceikeh frowned. What is he afraid of? “I’m the Senator to the New Republic, not a Councilor. I don’t get a vote or a voice in the Council.”

“Don’t try that line on me, Ceikeh,” Halyn chided him. “I’ve been around long enough to know you’re highly respected, and your voice holds a lot of power in the Council, even if you don’t officially have a voice. So promise me you won’t interfere.”

I don’t like this. Is he trying some last-minute power play to eliminate members of the Council he sees as a threat to our future? “I’m not sure I can do that,” Ceikeh said slowly.

“Let’s make it conditional, then, so you know I’m not up to something underhanded. In return for your word, I promise I won’t act in any way to undermine the Council or any member of the Council,” Halyn said. “I have no desire to seek more power—being Ul’akhoi temporarily was bad enough.”

Ceikeh turned it over in his mind. “What about proxies?” he asked. “You’re leaving a big hole for one of your friends to do something underhanded.”

“I’m here in good faith,” Halyn said gently. “I have no conspiracies in place, no one I’ve asked to act on my behalf.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “You’re not the only one who knows Councilors—they’re just a lot more comfortable with you.”

If he breaks his word in some way, I can step up, Ceikeh told himself. “You have a deal.”

“Thank you, Senator.” Halyn turned and started to leave.

“General,” Ceikeh said. The word brought Halyn to a halt and his head back around to meet Ceikeh’s eyes. “Thank you,” the Senator said, “for doing this. For doing everything. If you hadn’t been willing to take the role and make the hard decisions, we would have lost everything.”

“Possibly,” Halyn allowed with a small smile. “And you’re welcome.”

Ceikeh watched his old friend depart, trying to ignore the sick worry gnawing at his heart. We won the war, but why do I feel like something else is still going to happen?

 

 

Ryian Coron stood amidst the crowd of Iridonian officers and politicians, intermixed with offworld soldiers and pilots who had helped fight the long siege. He could see a handful of others in the crowd wearing New Republic dress uniforms—a smattering of officers from Garm Bel Iblis’s fleet that had chosen to attend the celebration.

And a celebration it was. The Zabrak race had stood at the doorstep of annihilation, the same portal that had swallowed other species whole, and had come face-to-face with that fate. And, as Zabraks, they had chosen to collectively spit in the eye of that fate and fought an impossible battle—and won.

The Corellian captain wasn’t sure he had seen a sober Iridonian since the battle ended.

“How long until it starts?” Sandarie said from beside him, her arm looped through his.

He glanced down at the beautiful Twi’lek. Aboard the Dauntless, she had been released from her carbonite prison and treated with antivenom, which successfully saved her from the painful death of an amphistaff’s bite. Her long hibernation and the poison had both sapped her strength, and while she was growing in energy each day, she still leaned heavily on her husband for support.

“Soon, I would think,” Ryian answered. “Hal won’t want his audience too drunk before he gives his speech.”

“You’re acting like they ever sobered up,” Sandi replied dryly.

“That is a…very good point, actually.”

Ryian continued looking around the crowd. He saw several of his old friends in attendance—Anishor and most of his Wookiee berserkers were conspicuous by both size and hair among a crowd of Zabraks that, for the most part, lacked any hair whatsoever. Li Coden and Abi Ocopaqui were exchanging drinks and conversation with Kativie and her husband, whom Ryian had only met that morning. Kryi Rinnet and Allanna Saret were laughing about some shared memory. More faces Ryian knew he should recognize were also in the crowd, maddeningly familiar even though names slipped his mind.

Then the captain saw the crowd begin to part. Through the crowd, he saw two Zabraks walking side-by-side, everyone offering them room to advance. It took Ryian a moment to catch a clear glimpse and confirm it was Halyn Lance and his brother, Argus Sanshir.

He frowned as he replayed his memory of the glimpse. Argus is wearing a military uniform, as is proper, but Halyn was dressed in that damned duster Sandi told me about.

A small stage had been setup at the foot of the wreckage of the Star Cruiser—just a meter high, enough to ensure that anyone standing there could be seen by the crowd. A sound amplification system was also setup, with large speakers on poles placed a dozen meters to either side of the stage.

Halyn and Argus reached the stage without incident. The two conversed for a moment before Halyn stepped to the back of the stage and allowed Argus to take the podium.

The sound system squealed for a fraction of a second before the auto-correction system kicked in and suppressed the noise. Argus picked up a comlink from the podium and clipped it to his lapel.

Argus’s voice was a bit deeper than even Halyn’s low voice. “Thank you,” the Zabrak said, “for joining us here as we celebrate the freedom of our world.” He paused as spontaneous cheers, mostly from Zabrak warriors, rose up and threatened to overwhelm his words. “Every sentient in our space, whether Zabrak or not, owes their continued lives and freedom to your efforts, your skills, and your sacrifices.”

More cheers rose up. Ryian smiled a little at the celebration. This really is Coruscant for Zabraks, he thought. To anyone else, Iridonia is a hell and would hardly be considered livable. To them, it’s the crown jewel of their territory.

“You didn’t come here to listen to me speak, however,” Argus said. “I don’t need to sing your praises. So, instead of boring you all, it is my honor to introduce to you the Zabrak you already know—the warrior who led Iridonia through hell and proved the Yuuzhan Vong can be beaten. My brother, Halyn Sanshir.”

There was applause as Argus stepped back and Halyn stepped forward. He looked uncharacteristically awkward as he fumbled for a moment with the comlink Argus handed him. Rather than clip it to his duster, he chose to hold the device and forwent the podium, standing in front of it at the edge of the stage.

“I’m not a speaker,” Halyn said slowly. “I’m not a politician. I’ve found I need to be good at words, because they can and do inspire men of action. With the right words before a battle, I’ve saved lives. But this battle is already won.”

The crowd was utterly silent as they waited for Halyn’s next words. Ryian himself remained silent in respect for his old friend.

“Twenty-three years ago, Iridonia chose to declare its freedom and independence from the tyranny of an Empire. We founded a new government dedicated to the unity and freedom of all Zabraks on here and our colonies, believing we could not be oppressed if we stood together.

“The Yuuzhan Vong have challenged that belief, both here and in the wider galaxy. We have engaged in the great test to see if we can endure, if such bonds can remain firm throughout such terrible warfare. It is fitting, then, that we meet here upon the battleground of this conflict.

“Politicians would try to commit this ground to the memory of the dead heroes who fought to ensure our survival. But no words anyone could speak, including myself, can make this battlefield any more or less important. It has been consecrated by the blood of the warriors who died committed to the cause of our people, far beyond our small ability to affect it. Decades or centuries from now, my words will be forgotten, but the blood of Zabraks will be remembered.

“It falls on us, then, not to just preserve the memory of this battle. Instead, we must be committed to the task that lies before us: we must resolve not to let these warriors to have died in vain, but instead commit to finishing the war they fought, that the worlds they sacrificed for will not vanish from the history of the galaxy.”

Ryian swallowed hard as Halyn stepped off the edge of the stage, vanishing from sight into the crowd.

“That was a good speech,” Sandi murmured from his side.

“Yeah,” Ryian said. He’s right, you know. So many people have fought and died in this war, but if we don’t finish it all their sacrifices will be in vain.

“Are we going to get a chance to talk to him?” Sandi asked.

“I can’t imagine we won’t,” Ryian replied. “He knows the Dauntless is scheduled to leave orbit this afternoon, and there’s no way he’ll not talk to us before we leave.”

A figure materialized out of the crowd, but it wasn’t Halyn; the imposing figure of Garm Bel Iblis, dressed in his general’s uniform, offered a salute and then a handshake to Ryian. “Captain,” the famous New Republic officer greeted him.

“General,” Ryian said, returning the salute before accepting the handshake.

“Your friend knows how to give a speech,” Bel Iblis remarked. “We could’ve used him to help rally the fleet at Coruscant.”

“You did that well enough,” Ryian said. “After all, you took most of Kre’fey’s fleet on the power of words alone.”

“Yes, but it would’ve taken everything to hold the Vong at bay—and maybe more than that.” The General shrugged. “But the battle was likely lost no matter what we had done.”

“Maybe,” Ryian allowed. “But we can’t refight that battle—it’s better to prepare for the coming conflicts instead.”

Bel Iblis nodded agreeably. “You’re right, of course.” He took a drink from a flask before asking, “Are you returning with us to Tallaan?”

Ryian shook his head. “I’d rather put the Dauntless under the command of a Corellian rather than a Bothan or the Sullustan who lost us Coruscant, but since the HoloNet relay came up I’ve been contacted by High Command. Wedge Antilles and his fleet have rallied at Mon Calamari, and latest word is that Admiral Ackbar himself is coming out of retirement to command the Fleet. I’ve already been ordered to rejoin the Defense Force there until they’re prepared to engage in offensive operations.”

“If they’re capable of offensive operations,” Bel Iblis said grimly. “They fought defensively all the way to Coruscant.”

“Yes, but they have to see the folly of that now,” a new voice said. “Their defensive stance cost them the capital. If Ackbar’s coming out of retirement, they’ll be launching offensives soon.”

Ryian turned in time to see Halyn break through the nearby edge of the crowd. “General,” he said with a smile.

Halyn nodded. “Glad to see you returned with the fleet.” He turned and offered Garm Bel Iblis his hand. “And thank you, General. Without your heavy warships, our fleet couldn’t have broken the blockade and we’d all be bearing coral implants about now.”

Bel Iblis shook the smaller man’s hand. “I doubt that—your people fight with a ferocity that rivals the Wookiees.”

“Regardless, thank you,” Halyn said. “Iridionia owes you everything.”

Bel Iblis smiled warmly. “It would have been worth it just to learn what happened here. Your people did something no one else has managed—they went toe-to-toe with the Yuuzhan Vong and defeated them. You’ve proven the Vong can be beaten, here and everywhere.”

Halyn shrugged. “I did one thing no one else has been willing to do. I refused to allow our people to retreat.” He hesitated. “I once had an old friend tell me that humans could never understand the link we Zabraks have with this world. Our blood goes back further than recorded history on this world—it’s a part of who every one of us are. The Iridonians may have needed to be reminded, but ultimately they knew. Without them, we wouldn’t have been able to win this war.”

“So, what’s the plan for the newest Hero of Iridonia?” Bel Iblis asked.

The Zabrak shrugged. “That depends on the Council.”

Ryian spoke up, “By the way, I need to complement you on officer loyalty. I tried to recruit Kryi Rinnet to join my bridge crew, but she turned me down flat and said Iridonia needed her more than I did.”

Halyn smiled. “She’s a colonial Zabrak, but she’s as loyal a daughter of Iridonia as anyone.” His gaze shifted from Ryian to the Twi’lek on his arm. “And how are you feeling, Sandi?”

She smiled up at him, the warmth of her eyes giving no ground to the weakness in her body. “Better, and getting better all the time,” she said slowly. “Thank you for saving me.”

Halyn snorted. “I didn’t save you, I turned you into a Twi’cicle.”

“Yes, you did,” Ryian growled. “I haven’t forgotten that.”

Halyn shrugged. “It wasn’t what I planned, but the alternative wasn’t better.”

Ryian nodded grudgingly. Yes, you put her in danger, but you also did everything you could to save her, and I appreciate that. I won’t ever tell you that, though.

“So, what happens to Iridonia now?” Bel Iblis asked.

“Again, it depends on the Council. Given how little I want to be in command, I’d guess Argus will be appointed back into the role of Vysht’akhoi with instructions to rebuild our defenses. The Council will try to focus everything internal so we’re prepared to repulse another attack, but Argus will push to reinforce the New Republic—especially if they’re willing to undertake attacks on the Vong.” Halyn shrugged. “Zabrak space will stay united, though. If the Vong had managed to take Iridonia, it could’ve shattered the coalition, but we averted that.”

“You averted that,” Sandi pointed out.

“Hardly. It wasn’t like I was standing alone on the front line holding a hundred thousand Vong at bay with a zhaboka.” He snorted. “No, every Zabrak who fought and died here is responsible for beating the Vong.”

“Such humility,” Bel Iblis said dryly. “At any rate, I would love to bring Iridonia under the protection of my fleet, but you’re too far outside my territory to manage it. In fact, I was surprised we made it here without running into any Vong interference. Of course, the course Allanna Saret plotted was rather…unique.” He eyed Halyn. “I wasn’t aware the Zabrak were hyperspace explorers.”

“Trade secret,” the Zabrak said. “You can interrogate me all you want, but there are some things too important to give away.”

Ryian shook his head. Some day I’ll find out where he gets these hyperspace routes. He’s been doing that since the Civil War.

Before he could say anything further, another Zabrak breached the crowd and joined them. “Ul’akhoi,” he said breathlessly.

“I’m not Ul’akhoi anymore,” Halyn said irritably to the newcomer.

It took Ryian to recognize the newcomer as the Zabrak senator, Ceikeh Alari.

“I just came from the Council,” Ceikeh said between gasping breaths. “They were holding a meeting about disposition of the military, and you.”

“They’re not here?” Bel Iblis asked with a raised eyebrow. “That seems kind of…odd.”

“They’re Zabraks,” Ryian grumbled. “They’re always odd.”

“They were paying respect by staying out of the public view while I was speaking,” Halyn said. “And it has the advantage of being able to talk about me while my back is turned.”

“That’s what I wanted to tell you. Ul’akhoi, they decided to turn the military back over to Argus,” Ceikeh said.

“As expected,” Halyn said.

“Then they decided to banish you from Iridonia.

 

 

 

That stung. Halyn closed his eyes for a moment as he processed Ceikeh’s words. “As expected,” he repeated.

Ryian, Sandarie, Garm Bel Iblis, and Ceikeh all turned to him with varying degrees of shock on their faces. “What?” they chorused.

Halyn nodded. “Yes, I was expecting this.”

“Why?” Sandarie asked, apparently overcoming the shock first.

“Because of what I did.”

“You won the war,” Garm Bel Iblis pointed out.

“By disregarding pretty much everything the Council would’ve had me do. I refused to let anyone retreat. I forced my people to fight and risked everything. I allowed the Yuuzhan Vong to land on Iridonia and invade our capital, and I chose to raze it to kill the invaders. I’m responsible for everything that’s happened here, for better or for worse.” Halyn took a deep breath. “I made myself into a divisive figure when Zabrak space needs someone to rally around. Whether I’m the hero or villain of Iridonia depends on your point of view. If we’re going to unite and be ready for another war with the Vong, they need Argus as their leader, not me.”

Ryian shook his head. “That’s insane. You risked everything—you were out on the front line—you were responsible for winning—you can’t just…”

“Yes, I can.” Halyn nodded. “I knew this was coming, and I already made my peace with it.”

Suspicion dawned on Ryian’s face. “If you knew it, then you planned on this.”

The Zabrak smiled. “Of course I did. I made sure Argus was ready to take up the mantle of leader again. He has Kativie as his second, and a solid staff with Allanna, Kryi, and you, Ceikeh.”

Ceikeh barely managed a smile.

Halyn took a deep breath again before continuing. “I knew, even if we won, that I might become the villain. I knew just how bad the war might get, and I was prepared to make that sacrifice.”

An arm slipped through his, and he looked over to see Kelta Rose smiling radiantly at him.

“Exile won’t be so bad,” he said, looking into her shining violet eyes. “I still have places to go, and I somehow doubt life with a Jedi will be more boring than fighting the war here was.” He looked back up and around at the small group.

“So when do you have to leave?” Ryian asked.

“Two days,” Ceikeh said.

Halyn shook his head. “Now.”

It drew another round of stares.

“I told you, I was expecting this,” Halyn justified. “I already told Kelta this was likely the outcome.”

“So where will you go?” Bel Iblis asked.

“Mon Calamari, at least at first,” Halyn said. “Kelta wants to meet up with the Jedi, and I suspect there’ll be a few officers there who will want to talk to me after what has happened here.”

“You need a ride on the Dauntless?” Ryian asked.

Halyn shook his head and pointed out past the small cluster of ships, mostly shuttles from the fleet, clustered together well beyond the crowd. “I finished rebuilding the Starwind a few weeks back, and she’s fueled and ready to fly.” He turned back to the group. “This isn’t goodbye—I will see all of you again, I promise. But it’s time to part ways for now.”

He smiled at each of his friends, returned Sandarie’s tight hug, and then stepped through the crowd arm-in-arm with Kelta.

The crowd parted around them. Halyn nodded at well-wishers, mostly warriors who would hear about his banishment in minutes or hours or days.

The Starwind rested with its landing ramp extended, prepared to take its passengers aboard and leave its home port. Unexpectedly, two figures were waiting at the foot of the ramp—something Halyn hadn’t planned for.

Adreia Varo, her hair a mirror of her mother’s, smiled at the pair as they approached. She maintained proper Jedi composure until they were an arm-length away before leaping into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around Kelta. She stayed that way for several moments before finally releasing her mother, pulling back. “The last time I let you go off by yourself, Mom, you got yourself mixed up in a war on some Outer Rim rock. I figured I’d better not let you out of my sight again.”

Kelta smiled at her daughter. “You’re welcome to come with us.”

The second figure detached himself from the boarding ramp and walked over to Halyn.

“Uncle,” Edlin Sanshir said. “Or…Father.” He swallowed hard. “I’ve done a lot of thinking since I found out. I was mad at first that you never told me, but after I thought about it I understand why. But,” he said, his voice turning into the same durasteel Halyn exercised when disciplining subordinate officers, “I want to come with you. I think it’s time we get to know each other. So no running off without me.”

Halyn smiled. “Somehow I doubt I’d be able to manage. You’re a Sanshir, after all.”

“And I want to know about my mother,” Edlin finished.

Halyn paused for a moment to compose himself. “That’s fair. That’s more than fair.” He smiled, a little sadly, before looking over at Kelta. “Is that…?”

Kelta smiled reassuringly at him. “It’s okay.”

“Then let’s get aboard and hit the sky,” Halyn said, gesturing at the Starwind.

The two children boarded first—no, not children, Halyn corrected himself, they’re adults. Just young adults. That shouldn’t be fighting a war.

He pushed aside his doubts and started up the Starwind’s boarding ramp, pausing for just a moment to look back on Iridonia. This may be the last time I see my homeworld, he told himself. If Kelta’s with me, it’s worth it.

Five minutes later, the Starwind climbed up through atmosphere—away from Iridonia, from the horror of a war fought to the utter destruction of half its combatants.

And toward a greater galaxy still at war.

Warmaster Tsavong Lah stared down on the infidel world of Coruscant; even now, the Shapers were remaking it into Yuuzhan’tar, the long-lost homeworld.

Word had long since reached his ears about the disaster at Iridonia. Domain Kraal’s utter annihilation at the hands of the Zabrak defenders and their allies in the remains of the New Republic were ill tidings.

In spite of the best efforts of the priesthood, rumors were spreading throughout the warrior caste. Officially, Domain Kraal had been Shamed by their inability to hold Borleias against the New Republic fleet; their destruction at Iridonia had merely proven that they truly were no longer part of the Yuuzhan Vong. Rumors persisted, though, that it wasn’t merely Domain Kraal that had lost the favor of the gods, but all the Yuuzhan Vong everywhere—that the sacking of Coruscant had been a mistake.

Tsavong Lah officially ignored such rumors, of course; but the loss of his father, the great warmaster Czulkang Lah, had long since shaken his faith.

If these Iridonians have the power to resist us where the rest of the infidels have not, will they not teach their tricks to their allies? Have we been undone?

This galaxy is a dark place indeed. In spite of himself, the warmaster shivered—the only outward sign of the uncertainty he felt.

 

 

Halyn sat with his feet up on the console, a rather reckless posture given the number of sensitive controls that could possibly lead to disaster. He watched the blue-white mottled blur of hyperspace shimmer around the Starwind as the light freighter glided towards Mon Calamari.

Another entered the cockpit module; the door hissed shut behind her. “How long until we reach Mon Calamari?”

Halyn glanced past his booted foot to a timer clicking down. “Twelve hours, give or take.”

Kelta Rose seated herself in his lap and wrapped her arms around him. “Good, then we have plenty of time for just the two of us.”

The Zabrak’s smile was a satisfied predator’s. “Tired of spending time with the kids?”

The red-headed Jedi shook her head. “They’re too busy trying to get Deuce to tell them stories of the old days. To them, the Civil War was some great period of romance and heroism—and somehow I don’t think the stories of a droid will shake them from that.”

Halyn closed his eyes contentedly. “Do those two remind you of anyone?”

“I was hoping it was just me,” she said with a shudder. “I hope it doesn’t take them twenty years to figure it out.”

“Me, too.”

They rested in contented silence for several minutes before Kelta asked, “Halyn, can I ask you a question?”

“You just did, but I’ll let you ask another.”

She straightened enough to punch his shoulder, but smiled. “Thanks. No, what I wanted to ask was…” she hesitated, “well, what’s your last name?”

Halyn laughed aloud. “That’s probably the silliest question you’ve ever asked me.”

“No, I’m serious,” Kelta said. “When I first met you, you were Halyn Lance, the Rebel general and hero. You’ve also been Jessik the pirate, and Sanshir the Iridonian loyalist. Which one are you?”

He didn’t answer with an immediate wisecrack; instead, he was silent for a few reflective moments. “I’m just Halyn,” he said at last. “I’m not the Rebel general—I haven’t been for a long time, and in some ways I never was. Jessik was someone I became for a while, but it was never really me—not really. And Halyn Sanshir, to me, is the kid who ran away from home and joined a freighter crew way too young.” He shrugged. “That just leaves Halyn.”

“Well, if we do get married, you’re going to have to figure this out,” Kelta joked. “I’m not changing my first name to match yours.”

Halyn sighed. “Get involved with a woman and the first thing she thinks of is marriage.”

Kelta leaned back and punched him again. “After twenty years, I’m allowed.”

“And she gets all abusive,” he continued on, “thinks she can tell you what to do and everything. It’s even worse when she’s a Jedi, of course, because then she uses Jedi mind tricks to get her way.”

Kelta smirked and waved her hand in front of his face. “You want to take off all your clothes.”

“That’s true,” Halyn said with a smile. “After all, we have twelve hours to Mon Calamari.”

“And twenty years of time to make up for,” Kelta concluded with a nod.

The Starwind continued on its course through the blur of hyperspace, toward distant Mon Calamari. Halyn and Kelta found a long-lost contentment in each other’s arms, though they knew it would be short-lived, lasting only until they were thrust into battle again. The war would not turn on their efforts, and they were comfortable with the role of warriors and soldiers rather than leaders and heroes.

They had spent their time as heroes, and were content to pass off the role to the hope of the next generation—a young Zabrak warrior and Jedi girl laughing and conversing in the forward hold.