The Final Prophecy (17 page)

Wedge clasped his hands behind his back, didn’t like the feel of it, and crossed his arms in front of him instead, staring into the nothing of hyperspace, wondering what would greet them when they decanted.

“You fought at Bilbringi before, didn’t you sir?” Lieutenant Cel asked. “Against Thrawn?”

Wedge gave her a tight grin with little real humor behind it. “Are you a student of ancient history, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir—I was ten during the blockade of Coruscant. I remember it very well.”

“Well, yes, Lieutenant, I did fight here at Bilbringi—as an X-wing pilot. I don’t think I ever got anywhere near Thrawn.”

“No, sir. You divided Thrawn’s fleet by attacking the shipyards, didn’t you?”

Wedge looked at her, puzzled. “Now you’re just sucking up,” he said. “Who would remember that?” he asked.

“They made a big deal of it on the vids,” she said, a little abashed. “It was a great victory.”

“It was nearly a terrible defeat,” Wedge said. “We got decanted early by Imperial interdictors, too far from the shipyards. Thrawn wasn’t even supposed to be there at all—we’d set it up ten different ways to make it look like we were going
to hit Tangrene. But Thrawn was spooky that way. Absolutely brilliant. If he hadn’t been assassinated by his own bodyguard during the battle, there’s no way we would have won.”

“You sound as if you admired him, sir.”

“Admired him? Sure I did. He was a different sort of enemy.”

“Different from the Yuuzhan Vong, you mean, sir?”

“Different from the Vong, the Emperor, any other Grand Admiral—from anyone,” Wedge replied.

Cel nodded as if she knew what he meant. “What do you suppose Thrawn would make of the Yuuzhan Vong, sir?”

“Ground Vong, probably—if he had a few examples of their art.”

“Yes, sir,” Cel said. She paused. “I’ve heard good things about Admiral Pellaeon.”

Wedge nodded briefly. “He was here, too. Of course, he was with Thrawn, fighting for the Empire. I’ll have to ask him how he remembers that whole thing, once this is over.”
It’s like some weird reunion
, he thought.
Pash was here then, as well, a starfighter pilot like me
.

Now he was the general in charge of the flight group, Pash Cracken was the commander of
Memory of Ithor
, and Pellaeon was on their side.

“The best thing about Pellaeon was that he knew his limitations,” Wedge said. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a very good tactician and excellent at command—but when Thrawn died, he didn’t kid himself that he could salvage the battle. That alone set him apart from most Imperial commanders, who more usually had inflated opinions of themselves. It’s why we were able to beat them early on. The Vong are a little like that.”

He said that last more to reassure the obviously nervous lieutenant than because it was the absolute truth. True, a lot of Yuuzhan Vong commanders fought on when they ought to retreat, but it was from a very different sensibility than
what had motivated, say, Grand Moff Tarkin. A more dangerous sensibility.

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said. “Let’s just hope
we
don’t get surprised at Bilbringi.”

“Lieutenant,” he said, as the reversion alarm began belling, “I can promise you that if we are, I’m absolutely never coming to this system again.”

But realspace brought no surprises. They decanted exactly as planned, and in a few moments tactical displays began explaining, in their mechanical way, the situation.

Which was also pretty much what they had expected. Below them, toward Bilbringi’s primary, were what had once been the Bilbringi shipyards. Some of the shipyard structures were still there, though the Golan II Battle Stations that had guarded them were conspicuously absent.

And in the asteroid belt near the shipyards, the Yuuzhan Vong had set up their own shipyards. Of course, the Yuuzhan Vong
grew
their ships, feeding them the raw materials of the asteroids.

Finally, there was a sizable flotilla assembled. He counted two interdictor cruisers—made obvious by their spicular configuration—and twelve additional capital ships ranging in size from about half to nearly twice the size of
Mon Mothma
.

His battle group was less than a third as large, but then again, he was less than a third of what was really in store for the Yuuzhan Vong at Bilbringi.

“Orders, General?” Commander Raech asked.

“Start bringing us in,” Wedge said. “Pellaeon and Kre’fey are under orders not to rendezvous here until we’ve assessed the situation and given the clear, and pinpointed their most strategic positions. Let’s do our job and make sure we don’t lead them into a trap.”

“Very good, sir.”

The battle group began to move in.

“Sir,” the officer at control informed him, “message coming in from
Memory of Ithor
. For you, sir.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant, I’ll take it.”

A moment later, Pash Cracken’s voice came over the comm. “Well, General,” Pash said, “seems like old times.”

“Yes, I was just thinking that, too,” Wedge replied. “At least things are starting smoother this time.”

“You can say that again. Boy, they’ve really redecorated, haven’t they?”

“Yep. Maybe I’ll hire them to do my place on Chandrila,” Wedge quipped.

“Right. Early Vong deco. Whoops—looks like they’re moving,” Pash said. “I’ll let you get back to the general thing. Don’t forget I’m back here, okay?”

“That’s not likely. Good to have you on my wing, Pash.”

“Thanks, Wedge.”

Wedge turned his attention back to the coming battle. The Yuuzhan Vong ships were in motion, all right, forming quickly into two groups. One was about the size of his own, and included one of the interdictors. The other, more massive group began moving away from the shipyards.

“Steady,” he said. “They’re still a long way away. Let’s see if they do what I’m hoping—hah.”

The smaller battle group vanished from sight and screen.

“Microjump, sir,” Cel reported excitedly. “They’re behind us now.”

“Sure. They’re putting us between the two interdictors so we can’t leave. They’ve got all they need to crush us, and they know it.” He studied the chart. “So we’ll have Pellaeon drop in here in sector six, and Kre’fey in twelve.” He looked it over one more time. Was he missing anything?

“Control,” he ordered, “send those coordinates to the respective fleets.” He turned to the commander. “Battle stations, but no hurry. We’ll engage the smaller fleet, try to make it look like we’ve bitten off more than we can chew
and are trying to take out the interdictor so we can run along home. Our reinforcements will be here long before the second group catches us—they won’t be microjumping with those interdictors going.”

The voice of control came back. “General, we seem to have a problem.”

“Yes?”

“We can’t seem to contact either Beta or Gamma.”

“Can’t seem to or can’t?” Wedge asked.

“Can’t, sir.”

“Contact central control and have them relay the coordinates, then.”

“Sir, we can’t reach Mon Cal, either. Or anyplace else. It’s like the entire comm network has gone down.”

Wedge looked back at the shaping battle. If he didn’t call the other commanders, they wouldn’t show up. The battle plan was absolutely clear on that point—better to lose one battle group to some unexpected Vong tactic or invention than three. Without the other two flotillas, this could get pretty nasty, and not for the Yuuzhan Vong.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” he murmured. “I think I’ve just about had it with Bilbringi.”

Han Solo gazed unhappily at one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen.

And he had seen a
lot
of sunsets on a lot of different worlds, but as Mon Calamari’s primary hit the ocean horizon and threw its shadow across the waves, the sky went as subtle and iridescent as mother-of-pearl.

Gaudy sunsets were easy to come by, especially on worlds with dense or dusty atmospheres—understated beauty was more difficult, not only because it was rare, but also because it sometimes took a lifetime to learn to appreciate it.

Which was why it was too bad he couldn’t really enjoy it. The problem wasn’t with the sunset—it was that he was on Mon Calamari to see it.

“We can’t fight every battle in this war,” Leia pointed out.

“What?” Han grumped. “
I
didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You’ve been brooding ever since Twin Suns pulled out. In fact, since Tahiri left.”

“We should’ve gone with her,” he opined.

“Which one? Jaina or Tahiri?”

“Take your pick.”

Leia shook her head. “Jaina’s a starfighter pilot. It’s what she wants to be. It’s where she sees her duty. She’s been flying with the Galactic Alliance forces for months now. If we tried to horn our way into the Bilbringi push somehow, she’d—well, she wouldn’t like it, to say the least. And
Tahiri—Corran can take care of her. I know he can.” She crossed her arms. “But that’s not it, is it?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You’re bored. Two weeks without someone trying to kill us, and you’re bored out of your mind.”

“I’m not
bored
,” Han replied. “I just—there must be
something
we can be doing besides sitting around looking at
sunsets
.”

Leia sighed and settled into one of the divans. She gave him one of
those
looks. “Nothing’s happened in, oh, days that
needs
you, Han. Sure, things are happening, but they’re things almost any competent pilot could deal with. But when something comes along only Han Solo can handle—”

“All right, that’s enough sarcasm for one night,” Han said.

It was a mistake. A glimmer of hurt appeared in her eyes. “I’m only being
slightly
sarcastic, Han,” Leia said. “Maybe not at all. In war, sometimes the most important thing—and the hardest—is to just sit still.”

He made a face. “You really know how to—”

She reached out and took his hand. “Stop right there,” she said, “and I may show you something else I know how to …” She trailed off suggestively.

“I dunno,” Han said. “It’s an awfully nice sunset.”

Leia gestured to the place next to her on the divan and raised her eyebrows.

Han shrugged. “You’ve seen one sunset, you’ve seen ’em all.”

Something pinging interrupted his sleep. Han sat up and muzzily looked around for the source, finally identifying it as the comm unit in their room. Easing out of bed, he stumbled toward it and opened the channel.

“Yeah?” he mumbled. “This
has
to be good.”

“I’m not sure
good
is the right word, Solo,” a distorted voice said.

Han snorted. He wasn’t falling for
that
again.

“Cut it out, Droma, and tell me what’s up. What’s the Ryn network into now?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean, Solo,” the voice replied. “But something is definitely up.”

“Look, it’s late—no, it’s early,” Han said, rubbing his eyes with palm of his hand. “What is it?”

“The Vong have deployed something new,” maybe-Droma said. “They launched them a few days ago. Some kind of unpiloted drones, we think, unless they’ve developed some really small pilots.”

Han was wide awake now. “What kind of drones?”

“We don’t know what they
do
, if that’s what you mean. But it can’t be good. Figured I’d give you a heads-up. You might mention it to the military, too.”

“Yeah, I might,” Han said. “Is that all you can tell me?”

“At this time, yes. We’re trying to track one of them, but they’re slippery.”

“Some kind of weapon?”

“If I knew that I would tell you. But the Vong are excited about them.”

“Thanks,” Han said. Then more heavily: “And Droma, if this
is
you—I don’t appreciate the subterfuge. I mean, security is security, but I thought the two of us—”

But he was talking to a dead comm.

“Who was that?” Leia asked, from behind him. He hadn’t heard her approach, but he wasn’t surprised, either.

“One of our pals in the Ryn network, I think. Maybe Droma. You heard?”

“Yes.”

He reached for the comm. “I’d better pass this on.”

But when he tried to call control, he got put on hold.

ALL CIRCUITS RESERVED FOR MILITARY PURPOSES
.

He frowned at the device, and then started for where he’d left his trousers.

“I’m going down there,” he said.

“I’m right with you.”

They arrived to a tense but relatively quiet situation room. They were greeted briefly by Sien Sovv.

“The first wave is about to go in,” the Sullustan said. “Under Antilles. He should be coming out of hyperspace in five minutes.”

“Mind if we stay?” Han asked. “When you’ve got a spare minute I have something to brief you on.”

“Of course you may stay. Your daughter is with Antilles, isn’t she?”

“Last I heard. But that’s not why I came down.”

“Can it wait, then?”

“I think so,” Han said.

He watched Sovv return to control, feeling itchy. He hadn’t spent much time in situation rooms—he’d always been on the other end of things, mostly ignoring everything he heard from control. Sure, battle computers were great, but they didn’t feel anything. They didn’t have instinct to help them out.

“General Sovv!” someone shouted.

“What is it?”

“Admiral Pellaeon hasn’t reported in, sir. He was supposed to alert us when he had reached position for the Bilbringi jump.”

“What’s the problem?”

“The HoloNet relay in that area seems to be down.”

“Can you boost the signal from the next nearest?”

“I can try.” The comm technician frowned and fiddled with something. “Sir, transmission coming through from HoloNet relay Delta-aught-six!”

“Put it on.”

An excited voice crackled over the comm. “… some kind of ships, very small. They look Vong, but don’t fit any of our
profiles. We can’t get them all. Six of them have—” Loud static replaced the voice.

Small ships
? The drones his unknown caller had warned him about?

“We’ve just lost touch with Gamma,” another communications officer reported. He punched wildly at his controls and then looked up, his face very pale. “Sir, the HoloNet’s down. I can’t find a live relay anywhere.”