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Han throttled the Falcon toward the intruder, firing steadily, but the escort was too resolved on destroying the shipyard to be bothered by a lone assailant. Just then, though, the X-wing appeared on the scene, succeeding in getting the escort’s attention with two well-placed proton torpedoes that impacted against its blunt nose.

Han banked harder to port, racing the Falcon through a storm of flaming projectiles to come to the fighter’s support, but he failed to arrive in time. Plasma gushed from the escort and caught the X-wing just as it was breaking off from its reckless run. Wingtip lasers and stabilizers melted like candle wax, and the pilot lost control. Trailing gobs of solidifying alloy, the fighter went into a crazed roll, splitting apart before perishing in a fiery explosion.

Han’s eyes narrowed in hatred. “Nobody takes out my wingmate.”

Whipping the Falcon around, he went for the escort with the quad lasers blazing. Chunks of yorik coral exploded outward from the ship, and a thick blade of flame streaked into space. The ship rolled to one side like a wounded beast. At the same time, the comm screen came to life.

“We’re away,” Droma said. “Aiming for clear skies.”

Han powered the Falcon through an ascending loop, then veered off to starboard, glimpsing the Trevee and its fighter companion just as they were accelerating from the threatened facility. The dying escort spotted them, as well. Missiles sought the fleeing vessels, but the escort reserved the bulk of its barrage for the shipyard itself. Punctured throughout by projectiles, the facility began to disintegrate, then it blew apart, unfurling flames that scorched the tail of the accelerating transport. Then the escort, too, disappeared in a flash of blinding light.

“You have my word that I will devote the remainder of my days to repaying the debt I have this day incurred,” Randa bellowed in Basic as he trailed Kyp and Ganner through the clustership, the slapping sounds of his muscular tail loud in the passageway.

“Thank Skidder, Randa,” Kyp said over his shoulder. “If it’d been up to me, I would have left you with your dead toadies.”

“Then I will repay the debt in honor of Skidder,” Randa said, unfazed. “You will see.”

As it happened, the two Jedi didn’t have long to wait. Rounding a corner in the passageway, they found themselves faced with a phalanx of Yuuzhan Vong warriors, into whose midst Randa charged, knocking half a dozen aside before any of those left standing could land blows against the Hutt’s mostly impervious hide. Kyp and Ganner followed up the brash offensive, felling their opponents with precise strikes to susceptible spots in the warriors’ armor.

The three of them fought their way toward an enormous maw in the bulkhead, from beyond which emanated a stench even more pungent than that given off by Randa. Inside the vast chamber, encircled by attendants who clearly had meager familiarity with the coufees they brandished, stood a Yuuzhan Vong commander, a long cloak hanging from his transmogrified shoulders and a villip communicator in his hands. Behind them, raised up on tensed tentacles in a circular tank of foul-smelling liquid, was a maturing yammosk, a large tooth glistening in its rictus of a mouth and its massive black eyes riveted on the intruders.

Again Randa rushed forward, flattening several of the attendants and whipping his tail around to whack the villip out of the commander’s hands. The attendants began what would have been a fruitless defense, but the commander ordered them to lower their weapons.

“I congratulate you on getting this far,” he said after two of the attendants had helped him back to his feet.

Kyp angled his lightsaber to one side, the blade extended in front of him. “Move out of the way and we’ll go the rest of the distance.”

Chine-kal turned slightly to glance at the yammosk. “Of course. The life of a yammosk for that of a Jedi. It strikes me as equitable.”

From off to Kyp’s left, Ganner hurled his ignited lightsaber square into the creature’s left eye. As the