"Close it!"

"But, sir-"

"Leia, get into the c.o.c.kpit! Raise the ship!"

Captain Solo was still bellying up the ramp when a sudden growth spurt sent the branches through the gap between the starboard docking arm and the ramp, preventing it from elevating entirely. Into the gap grew long, thick thorns.

"They're lethal!" Harrar shouted.

While the priest, the two Noghri, and the two humans began twisting and contorting themselves to avoid the rapidly lengthening thorns, a hail of thud bugs slammed into the Falcon's underside. In the confined s.p.a.ce of the ramp, Princess Leia activated her lightsaber and started hacking at the lengthening branches.

"It's no use! They're growing back faster than I can cut them!"

Deactivating the lightsaber, she scrambled past C-3PO, heading for the c.o.c.kpit.

"Artoo," C-3PO said, "charge the hull again!"

A second crackling jolt pa.s.sed through the ship. The hedge branches retreated, but instead of closing, the ramp tilted down. Two more warriors leapt in, only to be dropped by bolts from Cakhmaim, whose right arm narrowly missed being pierced by a half-meter-long thorn. By the time the ramp started to close, the hedges had returned, stopping it from sealing. C-3PO heard the Falcon's repulsorlift come on-line, but the freighter levitated no more than two meters before the engines began protesting.

"Han, I can't raise her!" Leia shouted.

Another electrical charge shot through the hull. Once again the vines withdrew, and once again the ramp lowered to the paving stones.

"Artoo, no!" C-3PO yelled.

There was no halting the warriors this time-or the branches, which grew back in such profusion that the ramp refused to budge. Cakhmaim and Meewalh did what they could to keep the invaders from entering the ship, but after shooting the first half a dozen, they were overwhelmed, disarmed, and pinned to the deck.

Han shot a few more as they raced into the ring corridor, but reinforcements kept coming, backing him and Leia toward the forward compartment. Some warriors had the foresight to run through the Falcon and enter the main cabin s.p.a.ce from the port side. Pressed against the dejarik table with his blaster in one hand and his other gripping Leia's shoulder, Han dodged lashes and amphistaffs and thrusts from coufees, but he refused to yield until at last one of the warriors managed to press the tip of his serpentine weapon to Leia's throat.

Then, grimacing, he dropped his blaster arm to his side in a gesture of surrender.

"All right, you've got us," he said to the advancing warriors. "I'm sure we can work something out..."

It was unlikely that any of them understood Basic, but they took Han's meaning when he set his blaster down and Leia did the same with her deactivated lightsaber. Moments later a female Yuuzhan Vong with a crest of tentacles and an eight-fingered right hand edged through the tight press of warriors in the forward compartment. On seeing her, R2-D2 loosed a prolonged and mournful whistle. C-3PO nodded his head.

"You're right, Artoo-a shaper!"

The shaper appraised Han and Leia, then turned to one of her warriors. C-3PO understood her to say: "'Gather their weapons, and bring everyone out of the vessel.'"

Cakhmaim, Meewalh, R2-D2, C-3PO, Leia, and Han were marched from the Falcon in single file. Harrar was already outside the ship. As they were being prodded toward the entrance of the yorik coral dome, two Yuuzhan Vong males emerged, both of them finely clothed, and the shorter of the pair wearing a high turban.

"High Prefect Drathul and High Priest Jakan," Harrar whispered to Han and Leia.

The shaper waved her hand in a way that flung droplets of sweat or some other bodily secretion on the thorn hedge, which immediately began to sprout new branches. Within moments the Falcon was fully encased.

"I'm told that this particular ship has been the cause of much unrest, " the shaper told Drathul and Jakan. She gestured to her seven prisoners. "Worthy captives. Including a Jeedai, no less."

Jakan's eyes widened in delight when they fell on Harrar.

"All of us thought you were in the Outer Rim!" He laid his thin hands on the priest's shoulders.

"You're home now, my friend. In fact, you will have the honor of officiating at the sacrifice we will perform in the Well of the World Brain."

Harrar held Jakan's gaze but didn't return his relieved smile.

"You fail to grasp the truth, High Priest," he said in Yuuzhan Vong. "I've come to neutralize the brain."

Near the outer-system world of Muscave the battle was still raging.

Hundreds of coralskippers and fighter craft, and dozens of war vessels had been sacrificed to an engagement that had degenerated into a shameless brawl. Local s.p.a.ce was a constantly shifting web of fire and light, harnessed to ill purpose. Warmaster Nas Choka couldn't have been more pleased. He stood in the most forward area of the command chamber's blister transparency as if a bowsprit figurehead, his folded arms resting on his slightly protruding belly and his finely whiskered jaw raised in defiance.

"The enemy commanders continue to trade blows with us not because they are valorous, but because they believe that by feigning honor they hold us from returning to Yuuzhan'tar. They rely on the fact that we would never be the first to quit a contest of such magnitude." He turned slightly to face his chief tactician. "We will encourage their blunder.

Order our Supreme Commanders to allow their vessels to fall back and begin to disperse. Let the Alliance admirals think they have us on the run."

The command chamber shook as a burst of turbolaser fire evaded the vessel's shielding singularities and blasted pieces of yorik coral from the starboard hull. Thick fluid poured from an already damaged area of bulkhead, and strips of the luminescent lichen died, increasing the gloom.

"How much more can Yammka endure?" Nas Choka asked of the vessel's shaper.

"Six of our princ.i.p.al dovin basals are dead," the shaper was quick to say, "and many of our plasma launchers have been destroyed. Perhaps, Warmaster, if you would consider withdrawing Yammka from the vanguard array-"

"No. I want the attention of the enemy focused on us. We must remain a primary target."

"We could be destroyed, Warmaster," the tactician said carefully.

Nas Choka nodded.

"An acceptable risk. For today we serve our species as no Yuuzhan Vong have. We prove our worth to the G.o.ds who fashioned us. If we are to die, we do so discharging a transcendent obligation."

The command chamber's lock dilated and the vessel's Supreme Commander entered, snapping his fists to his opposite shoulders in salute.

"Warmaster, from our scouts: Ralroost and forty other warships have just reverted from darks.p.a.ce."

Nas Choka faced forward, his gaze directed toward the imperceptible enemy fleet.

"That would be Traest Kre'fey." He grinned faintly. "All this is as it should be. The G.o.ds look out for us."

The Supreme Commander genuflected.

"Warmaster, there isn't a commander who wouldn't gladly subst.i.tute his vessel for yours-or die in your stead."

Nas Choka betrayed no emotion.

"Return to your duties, Supreme Commander."

The warrior rose and saluted again. When he had exited, the tactician moved to Nas Choka's left side.

"You have the unconditional fealty of your warriors, Fearsome One.

They would follow your every order-even those orders that might countermand their faith." Nas Choka's gaze remained fixed on the battle.

"Tell me of Yuuzhan'tar, tactician."

"Enemy fighter craft have broken through our dovin basal shields, and war parties are on the surface. Some one thousand ground warriors battle ours in the sacred precinct. Others have gone to the aid of the heretics. Fortunately, the dhuryam has taken steps to confuse matters."

"How so?"

"With fires, and by loosing some of our beasts. Nevertheless the territory surrounding the Citadel is in great turmoil."

Nas Choka waved his hand in unconcern.

"Structures can be remade. Where is Shimrra?"

"The Supreme Overlord is in his coffer."

"Then that, too, is as it should be."

"He wishes it relayed to you, Warmaster, that you do honor to your elite rank. The Supreme Overlord proclaims that your name will live on as an inspiration to others. You will be the zenith all those who follow you will seek to attain."

"That means little unless we are successful at Zonama Sekot."

The tactician nodded.

"Hapan warships are still arrayed in a blockade, preventing our vessels from escorting the poisoned one to the surface."

Nas Choka frowned.

"I thought the Hapans had settled their score with us at Obroa-skai. But, no matter. It is the nature of vendettas that they continue to escalate, until one or the other party is wiped out." He gave the tactician a sideways glance. "Divert to Zonama Sekot the vessels of Domains Tivvik, Tsun, Karsh, and Vorrik. Caution the commanders not to make their intentions too obvious-even if this requires their taking additional time to reach the living world. We will make the Hapans suffer as they did at Fondor. Then our barb will find its mark, and, with the G.o.ds at our backs, we will rid this galaxy of vendetta and warfare."

Mara heard Tahiri call that she had found Nom Anor. Buried in ferocious tangle of heretics and warriors, and even while dodging amphistaffs and coufees, Mara had had to stand on the crumpled body of a warrior to see him. The look hadn't lasted long-just long enough for her to see the fear in his eye-then he was gone, slithering away through the crowd. Unable to track him through the Force, she did the next best thing, which was to Force-leap to the edge of the embattled crowd, then to the top of a flight of stairs, and there watch for some sign of him.

True to their nature, Shamed Ones and warriors alike were running toward the melee rather than fleeing from it, no matter how bloodied they were or who was winning, as the outcome kept changing hands. But it wasn't long before Mara spied a lone figure slinking away, then scurrying down into a public square that was surrounded on three sides by groundquake-damaged structures. Though the relatively short figure was wearing the robeskin of a Shamed One, he ran with the stealth of an executor. Taking a moment to touch Tahiri and Kenth through the Force, Mara vaulted from the steps to the high platform of a temple, then dropped down to the ground and raced after Nom Anor, her lightsaber close at hand to deal with anyone who might try to stand in her way.

Rushing into the square, she stopped to scan the several exits, and again spotted her quarry disappearing around the toppled end of a high wall. She fairly flew after him, pursuing him up and over piles of rubble and debris, through stands of towering fire-blackened trees, then on a zigzag path down into what once had been the Column Commons-a midlevel area of open s.p.a.ces studded with thick columns that supported the sprawling cityscape overhead.

Hundreds of HoloNet and holodrama publishers had kept offices there, along with all the major media bureaus. During the Galactic Civil War, the commons had crawled with COMPNOR truth officers, who had ensured that everything published was in keeping with the propaganda of the Empire. Mara was certain she was more familiar with the area-even in ruins-than Nom Anor was. But in his guise as the Prophet he had obviously gotten to know Coruscant's canyons and depths as well as any slythmonger or death stick peddler, because he led her on a chase that was as labyrinthine as the tracings of a conduit worm.

The deeper they descended, the darker and danker became the surroundings. But Mara had already decided that she would chase him to the core of the planet if that was what it would take to apprehend him.

The pursuit led ever downward, into darker levels, where fetid water dripped from cracked ceilings, and the only light was that which found its way down through gaps in the crushed buildings and the riotously verdant areas that now roofed them. Closing the gap between them, she saw him grab hold of a fall of vines and swing himself across a wide chasm.

Securing the vines on his side of the abyss, he stopped to smirk at her, confident that his escape was secure. She came to a brief standstill opposite him-just long enough to answer his sneering grin with a glare-then dashed for a narrower place in the chasm and leapt to the far side.

By then Nom Anor had disappeared into the ruins of a news bureau building.

She could hear him stumbling forward, crunching through expanses of transparisteel debris and smashing through wooden doors. There, too, shafts of dismal light dappled the puddled floors, and a stinging odor of rot and decay pervaded the thick air. She second-guessed him when he tried to set a trap for her-making it appear that he had gone through a doorway, on the other side of which there was a half-kilometer plunge into pitch darkness. And she outwitted him again by stopping just in time when he used his uncommon strength to dislodge a girder that supported a fractured slab ceiling.

He remained as steadfast in his desire to escape as she did in her desire to hunt him down. He began to scamper through a warren of rooms in a building where residual power allowed him to seal doorways behind him.

But Mara merely kicked through them, and when she couldn't, she found alternate routes, never surrendering her momentum. Breathing hard and stumbling more often, Nom Anor was beginning to tire. Mara's acute hearing told her that much-and more. As she was kicking down a final door, she heard a hand blaster's safety click off, and entered the room to discover Nom Anor hiding behind the putrid remains of a Twi'lek, still dressed in security guard garb.

Mara used the Force to call her lightsaber to hand, even as Nom Anor was triggering off the first bolts. Her blade deflected one after the next, until he had emptied the blaster of fuel. He had sense enough not to hurl the depleted weapon at her. Instead, he began to scrabble backward on the palms of his hands and feet, his gaze riveted on her as she advanced, calm but coldly fixed on her prey.

A wall brought an abrupt end to his retreat. Growling, he shot to his feet, coufee in hand, and began to slash wildly at her, the lightsaber notwithstanding. She leapt backward, out of reach, then deactivated the blade and encouraged him to charge. Her hands moved in a dexterous blur as she deflected his knife blows and got inside his frantic movements to slap and tap him in the chest or the jaw, never hard enough to stun him, let alone incapacitate him, but driving him backward with each smack.

Ducking his increasingly desperate lunges and crosscuts, she swept his feet out from under him with a circling sidekick, then allowed him to come to his feet only long enough for her to cripple his knee with the toe of her right boot. He flung himself at her, but she sidestepped his headlong rush and sent him hurtling into a wall. She continued to hurt him, telling herself: This is for Monor Two, where she had fallen victim to the coomb spores he had unleashed; and this is for the trouble you stirred up at Rhommamool.

Knocking the coufee from his grip, she thrust her stiffened fingers into his windpipe, then sent him reeling with an uppercut. This is for founding the Peace Brigade; for your part in sending Elan to a.s.sa.s.sinate the Jedi with bo'tous; for your double dealings with the Hutts and Viqi Shesh; and for sabotaging the refugee settlements on Duro. Making the most of her agility, she left deliberate openings in her defense, luring him into striking, only to set up combinations aimed at punishing his bald head; his flat-nosed face; his blue right eye, with its stripe of feline pupil. This is for the false appeals you made to Leia and Han at Bilbringi; for your disdainful appearance before the Senate; for whatever role you played in the deaths of Chewbacca and Anakin; for your attempt to deliver Jacen into the hands of Tsavong Lah; for your sabotage at Zonama Sekot...

Her blows were beginning to do damage. Deftly she moved inside his flailing arms, using her elbows and the backs of her clenched hands to b.l.o.o.d.y his scarred lips and swell his ears, ever mindful of that dangerous left eye of his, which she was certain he was saving as a last resort. She pivoted on her left foot and kicked him hard with her right, forcing the wind from him. He dropped to his knees, his right hand pressed to his chest. He had trouble getting to his feet, but when he did, she sent him down again with a fist to the face.

Dread shone in his real eye. He had spent too long among beings who cherished life, and he had come to cherish it himself. Unlike those fighting to the death in the streets and squares above, Nom Anor wanted desperately to live. Mara could read it in his wretched look; she could smell it coming off of him in waves. He backed away from her until his back was pressed to a wall, then he sank slowly to his knees.

Mara ignited her lightsaber and held it with the tip low and to her right. One upward swing and she could send his head five meters. Nom Anor bent at the waist and pressed his face to the littered floor in a posture of servility.

"You've defeated me, Mara Jade Skywalker," he said without lifting his head. "I beg for mercy."

When she made no immediate reply, he risked raising his face to her, and when he saw that she hadn't moved forward he continued.

"What would killing me accomplish now? Yes, it will satisfy you, but will it put an end to the war?"

"For the moment, I'll content myself with satisfaction," she told him.

He gulped, then found his voice.

"I am a dissembler and a killer. I have brought woe to you and many others. But were you any less when you were in service to the Emperor? To Darth Vader? An executor, you did what you were trained to do. We all serve a master, Mara Skywalker. But I was given to believe that you now served the Force."

As Mara stepped forward, his pleas became more frenzied.

"You're a mother now! What if your son were watching you? Is this what you would want him to learn-the art of murdering in cold blood?"

Mara's nostrils quivered.

"You almost robbed me of any chance of having a child."

"I know that," he said, holding her gaze. "But am I not part of life as your infant is-part of the Force?" He gestured to himself. "I am helpless!"

Mara took another step, raising her lightsaber.

"I can help!" he screamed. "I've changed. You saw me leading the Shamed Ones. Just as you do, I want to see the war ended. I would have been an ally of yours already if Vergere and Jacen had agreed to take me off Coruscant in the coralcraft I had built just for that purpose. You see, Mara Skywalker? I say Coruscant. I know this world is yours. It has always been yours, and it will remain so even if we are victorious. One last chance. Let me prove myself to you."

She brought the glowing blade of the lightsaber close to his neck, then deactivated it and clipped the handle to her belt. The expression on Nom Anor's face was unreadable. Clearly he hadn't expected leniency. He recognized that his words hadn't caused her to stay her hand-they had spilled from his mouth by rote.

Something else had influenced her decision; something beyond his comprehension. For a long moment he regarded her in perplexity.

"A Yuuzhan Vong warrior would have been disgusted by my actions,"

he said at last. "He would have killed me as easily as if I were a droid.