"Inform starfighter control on Right to Rule that Colonel Fel is groundside and back on his feet."

"Incoming!" came a distant voice.

Page and others dragged Jag to the ground an instant before a swarm of thud and razor bugs ripped through the gnarled trees, stripping leaves and oval-shaped fruits from the branches, and knocking down entire limbs.

Two deafening explosions followed in succession and the storm of projectile biots abated. A flight of black-striped bright yellow X-wings streaked over the treetops, firing quad bursts at some unseen target.

Page, Jag, and the others crouched, then slowly got to their feet. Combat droids armored with laminanium had formed a perimeter at the edge of the trees. Close to what remained of Jag's clawcraft, two medical droids were field-dressing wounds sustained by a couple of humans and Bothans. Page stuck out his hand.

"I'm Captain-"

"I know who you are," Jag said. "Thank you for coming to my aid."

Page shrugged off the grat.i.tude and motioned to the men on either side of him.

"Garik Loran," he said, naming the shaven-skulled one; then, "Kell Tainer," naming the one with the receding hairline.

"Wraith Squadron," Jag said, shaking hands with each of them. "I met both of you on Borleias." He glanced at Page. "Just before my clawcraft was. .h.i.t, I saw number two transport crash."

Page nodded grimly.

"Grutchins took it down and chewed their way through the hull.

We've sent a squad to search the canyon for survivors."

"Captain Page," a young Bothan interrupted. "We've made contact with the indigenous force."

Jag, Page, and the pair of Wraith Squadron Intelligence operatives turned to see four Yuuzhan Vong males being ushered through the perimeter. The humanoids were scarcely scarred compared to most of the Yuuzhan Vong warriors Jag had seen, but all had p.r.o.nounced deformities, some of the face, others of the limbs.

Shamed Ones, he thought. The tallest and most deformed of the four executed a facsimile of an Alliance salute.

"Take us to your leaders," he said in Basic, as if by rote.

Garik Loran and Kell Tainer exchanged skeptical glances.

"Who taught you to say that?" Loran asked.

"I did," someone answered in a clipped Coruscanti accent, as the same Shamed One was pressing his forefinger to his ear, presumably to adjust the fit of a translating tizowyrm. A tall, lean, dark-haired human appeared from the trees, beaming at the two Wraiths.

"Son of a blaster," Tainer said, smiling.

Jag was familiar with the name Baljos Arnjak. Also a Wraith, Arnjak had remained behind on Coruscant following the combined Wraith/Jedi infiltration mission almost two years earlier. With him walked a thin but dashing-looking middle-aged man, with reddish hair, bright even teeth, and deeply tanned skin. Smiling broadly, Page immediately shook hands with the man, then pulled him into a mutually back-slapping embrace.

"I always figured you'd survive," Page said when the two had stepped away from each other.

The handsome man motioned to the four Yuuzhan Vong.

"Thanks to them, I did. Their heretic group rescued me and a bunch of others from what would have been some serious bloodletting at one of the temples."

Page turned to Jag.

"Fel, meet Major Pash Cracken."

Jag nodded in greeting. Coruscant was suddenly starting to feel like the Veterans' Home.

"How long will it take us to reach Westport from here?" Page was saying.

"It would have taken about an hour, but we're too late."

Cracken beckoned for everyone to follow him to the perimeter. Once there, he gestured to the northern horizon, which was a solid bank of billowing smoke.

"The entire sacred precinct is up in flames," Cracken said.

Page pressed a blaster into Jag's gloved right hand.

"Welcome to the commandos, Colonel."

"The fires are Shimrra's doing," Harrar said. "The Supreme Overlord has asked the World Brain to set Yuuzhan'tar ablaze-to prevent anyone from occupying it."

The priest sounded despondent.

"Shimrra wouldn't have done this unless he fears defeat. Either that or the proximity of Zonama Sekot has deranged him."

"Whether he's desperate or mad, we have him on the run," Han said, elated.

Harrar gazed at those around him. Judging by the nods of agreement, the always entertaining and sometimes perplexing Han Solo was expressing the sentiment of everyone gathered at the landing platform-his wife, Leia; Master Luke Skywalker and his wife, Mara; the twins Jacen and Jaina; Yuuzhan Vong-marked Tahiri; the military-minded Jedi Kenth Hamner; Zonama Sekot's Magister Jabitha; the two numerically named machine intelligences-droids-who sometimes seemed as alive as their makers and owners; and the pair of Noghri, who appeared at once to be bodyguards, familiars, and friends. The rest of the Jedi had taken to the skies in the Sekotan ships, or had been lofted by shuttle to their orbiting warcraft.

Han Solo had ridden up the gravity well with the Wild Knights, but only to retrieve his battered freighter, Millennium Falcon, which, with Sekot's permission, was now parked on its landing disks and warming alongside Mara Skywalker's Jade Shadow. Word of the conflagrations spreading across Yuuzhan'tar had come from Booster Terrik, the penultimate link in a communications chain that began with the commando team that had penetrated Yuuzhan'tar's defenses, and had apparently included the giant warships Right to Rule and Mon Mothma.

"How could even Shimrra convince the dhuryam to do something harmful to Yuuzhan'tar?" Jacen asked.

"All things Yuuzhan Vong answer to Shimrra," Harrar said. "The dhuryam is responsible for integrating the activities of all our planetshaping biots. It is not a servant, but a partner-fully intelligent, fully aware, capable of making decisions based on information it receives from telepathically linked creatures, and from the Supreme Overlord himself. But Shimrra may have convinced the dhuryam that intense fires were needed to open latent seedpods, so that trees could grow to replace those lost during the recent landquakes. He may have suggested to the dhuryam that it fashion clearings in the forests, so that saplings might glean additional light, as well as nourishment from trees felled and reduced to ash by the fires."

"All the more reason for us to get to Shimrra now," Han said, pacing at the foot of the Millennium Falcon's landing ramp. "If Page got his transports past the dovin basals, I know I can get the Falcon through."

Harrar shook his head.

"What now?"

Han asked, planting his hands on his hips in a posture of impatience.

"Capturing or killing Shimrra may not be enough to save the planet.

Actions taken by the World Brain are incontrovertible. Once asked, it cannot be swayed to alter its plan-even by Shimrra."

Harrar glanced at the Skywalkers.

"If you are to save your capital world, the brain, too, will have to be destroyed."

"You can't do that, Harrar," Jacen snapped.

Harrar looked at the young Jedi.

"Then go to it, and persuade it otherwise."

"That's our job," Han said suddenly, reaching for Leia's right hand. With the other Jedi, Magister Jabitha, and the pair of droids gazing at him in sudden alarm, he added: "D'you think we were just going to give the rest of you a ride there?" He jerked his thumb at the Millennium Falcon. "This ship ain't no air taxi." He snorted ruefully, then grew solemn. "Besides, we started this together in the Outer Rim, and we're going to end it together."

"Or his name isn't Han Solo," Leia said, in a way that mixed amus.e.m.e.nt and resignation.

Han grinned in a lopsided fashion.

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

THIRTY-SIX.

Three hundred armored warriors borrowed from the Citadel garrison and on loan to Prefect Nom Anor raced through the squares and byways of the sacred precinct like an avenging army, putting coufee and amphistaff to every heretic and Shamed One who hadn't had sense enough to go into hiding-which turned out to be many. Hundreds. Thousands. Enraptured by the prophesied arrival of Zonama Sekot, certain that thousand-eyed Yun-Shuno would guarantee their pa.s.sage to a beatific afterlife, exulting in their newfound freedom-however short-lived-confident that Shimrra and the elite would be overthrown, the heretics were fervent to martyr themselves. Ostracized because of physiological defects rather than committed sins, forced to live in the shadow of the un-Shamed and under the scrutiny of merciless G.o.ds, guilty of trespa.s.ses they couldn't begin to imagine and would spend the rest of their miserable lives attempting to understand, they had at last embraced their peculiarities and cast their lot with the Jedi.

There was simply no holding them back. Carried along by sheer exuberance, proclaiming their long-due equality and salvation for all to hear, they poured from their hidey-holes like ngdins at a sacrifice-and indeed thousands of the meter-long blood soakers followed them out into rapidly darkening daylight, a.s.sured of more than the usual share of glossy black nutrient.

Yuuzhan'tar had become a feeding frenzy for warriors who should have known better, and for biots that were doing only what they had been bred to do. Gazing down on the Place of Hierarchy, Nom Anor was struck dumb by the butchery for which he was responsible-thanks to Shimrra-and yet was powerless to thwart. He could no more command the warriors to desist than he could convince the Shamed Ones to flee. He was, as ever, caught in the middle, though placed there by his own schemes, lies, and masquerades.

The realization made him desperate. The insatiable warrior pack had worked its way south from the Citadel, through Vistu and Numesh, across bridges and down alleyways, slaughtering wherever they fared, until they had entered the public place that of late had become the heretics'

hallowed ground, owing to the many who already died there during demonstrations and riots. It was immediately clear that the warriors had merely been practicing up until this point. For now, trapped in the Place of Hierarchy was a crowd into which they could wade like thrashing biots.

Before them stood those responsible for keeping the Yuuzhan Vong from total victory at Zonama Sekot.

These were the ones who would pay, against whom the warriors could exorcise their fear and confusion-even if those they put to death were as innocent as they were Shameless. But the horror had scarcely commenced-with war cries answered by agonized screams-when fires began to break out in many of the quake-damaged structures that walled the place, including the prefectory and the Temple of the Lovers, Yun-Txiin and Yun-Q'aah.

For a moment Nom Anor was certain that the sudden blazes were the result of firebomb strafings by Alliance starfighters that had punched through Coruscant's dovin basal voids. From his vantage at the top of the flight of yorik coral stairs that fronted the prefectory he could see that similar conflagrations were raging in all precincts of the city, and beyond.

Flaring from the vegetation that cloaked the b.u.t.tes that were the tops of buildings and towers, the flames were being carried by the wind to all quarters. But the hot swirling wind also brought the foul odor of marsh gas to Nom Anor's flattened nostrils, and he swung around in disbelief to see a cavalcade of fire-breathing Yuuzhan Vong beasts bobbing over the cityscape. Quickly he lifted his gaze.

There were too few starfighters in the sky to account for so many fires, and no evidence of orbital bombardment, turbolaser bolts, or proton torpedoes. Then he understood, and his heart filled with such anguish that he dropped to his knees and remained there until he had caught his breath and regained his senses.

Shimrra was responsible! Beyond reason, beyond madness, the Supreme Overlord had struck a deal with the dhuryam to destroy Coruscant-Nom Anor's Coruscant!

With the same ruthlessness that had allowed him to dispatch Warmaster Nas Choka's armada on a suicide mission to poison Zonama Sekot, Shimrra had decided to eradicate all things Yuuzhan Vong. He had become the Yuuzhan Vong-specific poison he had fabricated for the elite-if only to spite G.o.ds he had once professed not to believe in!

Nom Anor railed and shook his fists at the smoke - and ember-filled sky.

I should have killed you when I had the chance!

He struggled to his feet, his expression growing more grave with every centimeter of elevation. His fists were balled, and his one eye blazed. His near-lipless mouth was drawn back, and his muscles were bunched under his thin garments. His sloped forehead was as inflamed as the city itself.

He stiffened his arm, catching in the windpipe a warrior too distracted by blood l.u.s.t to see the blow coming. The warrior fell to the steps gurgling, clutching his throat, eyes squeezed tight in pain. Nom Anor summoned the warrior's amphistaff to come to him, and with one strike put the choking soldier out of his misery. He descended the broad staircase in a stupor, shucking out of the green robe and turban that identified him as an intendant.

At the foot of the broad stairs he grabbed the tattered robeskin of a slain Shamed One and, donning it, began to shoulder his way into the Place of Hierarchy, ignoring the bloodshed occurring on all sides and aiming for a tall rubble pile at the center of the square. Short of the pile, a warrior rushed him, forcing him to step back and fight, amphistaff against amphistaff.

Parrying two blows, Nom Anor ducked down and slashed his opponent across the knees; then rose, bringing the sharp end of the serpentine weapon diagonally across the warrior's face. The warrior screamed and raised his hands, and Nom Anor speared him through the neck. With bodies falling all around him, he scrambled up the pile. There, alone at the summit, he loosed a bloodcurdling scream and raised the arm around which the living weapon was curled.

"I am Yu'shaa, the Prophet!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Our hour is at hand! I will lead you to victory!"

A long moment of stunned silence fell over the Place of Hierarchy.

Then a roar went up from the oppressed, and they surged against the warriors, crude weapons cleaving, black blood streaming and misting into the air, fiery embers cycloning about them like a sacrament from the G.o.ds!

From one hundred thousand kilometers out, Coruscant was a vortex of destruction, lanced from all directions by turbolaser bolts, mottled by yawning dovin basal singularities, lit from within by flaring explosions.

"This party's just the way we left it," Han said as the Falcon streaked for the embattled galactic center.

"I missed that one, Dad," Jaina said flatly from the copilot's chair.

"Me, too," Jacen said from behind her.

Peripherally, Han saw his son glance at the Yuuzhan Vong priest in the adjacent chair.

"Harrar and I were on a worldship over Myrkr."

Regretting his facile statement, Han went back to attending to the Falcon's instruments. The fall of Coruscant had been among the worst days of his life-almost as horrible as when Chewbacca had died at Sernpidal.

The images of the evacuation were burned into his memory: Yuuzhan Vong hurling themselves and hostages against the planetary shields, a steady rain of flaming s.p.a.cecraft, he and Leia trying to flee Eastport with baby Ben, C- 3PO, a YVH droid, and a potted ladalum...

Their escape sabotaged at the Falcon's docking bay by a disguised Senator Viqi Shesh and an innocent twelve-year-old kid named Dab Hantaq-Tarc-who happened to bear a likeness to young Anakin. The death of Adarakh, Leia's bodyguard, at Shesh's hand. The sky dazzled by plasma b.a.l.l.s. Towers crumbling, people stampeding for the few starliners and government yachts that remained on the surface...

And light-years away at the Inner Rim world of Myrkr, Anakin dying, Jaina fleeing in a stolen enemy ship, Jacen in the clutches of Vergere-captured or rescued, depending on how you looked at it. Han squeezed his eyes shut in recalled despair.

"Party," Harrar said abruptly. "Many of our warriors use that term to describe combat engagements. You have the makings of a Supreme Commander, Han Solo."

Han laughed shortly, recalling that Jacen had said that the priest was fascinated with him.

"Thanks for thinking of me, Harrar, but no matter what anyone says about it, I happen to like my face just the way it is."

Jacen and an uneasy Harrar had taken the c.o.c.kpit's rear chairs after Leia and Luke had climbed into the quad laser turrets. Mara, Kenth, Tahiri, Cakhmaim, Meewalh, and the droids were in the forward compartment. At the cost of some discretionary power, Han planned to keep the Falcon's artificial gravity enabled for as long as possible, if only to prevent everyone from being bounced all over the ship.

Alliance capital vessels were concentrating fire along the transitor and well into Coruscant's bright side, but the battle was raging planetwide. Star Destroyers, cruisers, and frigates were still vectoring in from hypers.p.a.ce routes rarely used since the days of the Old Republic, enemy forces were blasting up the gravity well to reinforce the defense flotilla. The Yuuzhan Vong were widely dispersed but consolidated over the equator, above what had been Imperial/New Republic City, in the western hemisphere.

The Alliance had yet to press any capital ships through the blockade of kilometer-long, weapons-studded vessels, but hundreds of starfighters had penetrated enemy lines and were attacking the arrays of dovin basals in orbit at the edge of Coruscant's atmosphere. Now it was the Falcon's turn to try to slip past. It was the opposite of what Han had had to do to get the freighter safely off Zonama Sekot. There the upper reaches of the envelope had been a dizzying clash of coralskippers and Sekotan fighters.

From what Luke had been able to gather from Kyp and the other Jedi pilots, the sight of living ships had thrown the skips into disarray. But the Jedi had also discovered that Magister Jabitha hadn't been understating anything when she had said that the Sekotan ships were for defense only. As often as not, the fleet fighters wouldn't fire unless fired upon, and for all their astounding alacrity, they weren't flying circles around the coralskippers so much as matching them maneuver for maneuver.