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Several of the more technically minded of the hoodwinked and now marooned Ruan refugees had succeeded in getting some of the orbital facility’s systems on-line, so anyone who wished was able to watch the fall of Fondor in full color.

Most of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet was still dispersed in a broad arc out past Fondor’s outermost moons, but a dozen or so carriers, heavily reinforced by escort craft, had moved Coreward. Like siege weapons of old, the carriers had flung their coralskippers against any targets that presented themselves, destroying New Republic warships and construction barges alike. But having thrown the First Fleet into disarray, they were now being more systematic about attacking the shipyards and pounding distant Fondor with flaming projectiles and streams of plasma.

Gazing at the chaos through an observation blister, Melisma decided that the Yuuzhan Vong weren’t likely to spare even an empty shipyard, which—at the present rate of destruction—meant that the Ruan group had less than an hour to get their affairs in order. Most of the refugees had already come to grips with this and were off by themselves, crying quietly or praying to whatever gods they worshipped. But others were shrieking in fear and anger, insisting that efforts be made to alert Fondor command to their plight or, failing that, surrendering to the Yuuzhan Vong, even though that would mean sacrifice or captivity.

True to the fatalism they embraced as a creed, the Ryn were singing. The fact that they were capable of going to their deaths with grace and dignity had actually managed to impart a sense of calm to some of the distraught.

Melisma turned from the viewport to listen to the melodious lament R’vanna was leading. “If these folks realized that our forgeries are what got them into this situation, we’d be dead already,” she told Gaph.

Her uncle only shrugged. “Even without the documents we provided, the pirates would have found some way. Remember, child, these people paid to leave Ruan.”

“Is that your way of absolving us of guilt?”

“We’re guilty of getting ourselves into this mess. But that, too, is the Ryn way. If it’s not others abusing us, we’re abusing ourselves.”

Melisma sighed. “Do we deserve this then—for not accepting Ruan’s offer to work in the fields?”

“No one deserves to die this way, no matter what they have done. But listen, child, we’re not dead yet, and until we are, we should enjoy the moment.”

Melisma glanced out the viewport. “I don’t know that I have any song left in me, Uncle.”

He laughed. “Of course you do. There’s song even in a final breath.”

She forced a smile. “You begin.”

Gaph smoothed his mustachios in thought. His right foot began to tap, and he had his mouth open to sing when a Sullustan stationed at one of the data consoles shouted for everyone’s attention.

“The Trevee is returning!”

The singing and crying ceased, and groups of folks began to crowd around the console and into the observation blister. Someone off to Melisma’s left pointed to a sleek shape, weaving its way toward the abandoned facility between missiles and plasma discharges.

“It’s definitely the Trevee!” the Sullustan confirmed.

Hopeful exclamations gushed from all sides.

“Maybe they had a change of heart.”

“Impossible. They got caught up in the battle and are looking for a place to hide.”

“Someone learned what they did to us.”

“That is the probable explanation,” Gaph said in an authoritative voice. He gestured in the direction of the approaching transport. “I can’t imagine where that YT-1300 freighter joined the Trevee, but I’m certain that the other two ships are New Republic starfighters.”

* * *

Anakin’s enabling the Centerpoint Station’s interdiction field and starbuster capabilities was momentarily forgotten in the wake of the devastating news the New Republic colonel brought to the control room.

The Yuuzhan Vong had launched a sneak attack on Fondor.

Real-time images of the battle received over military channels and HoloNet feeds had fomented panic among the Mrlssi, whose home system bordered