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A toothy black maw opened in front of him, and a gullet big enough to drive a whole squadron of X-wings inside. Anakin dumped one more proton torpedo, then snap-rolled away. He pushed his throttle forward and dived toward Duro. Two of the surviving coralskippers gave chase.

On his aft screen, he saw one more explosion—and the monster’s head vanished. The rest of it went limp, drifting off of Orr-Om.

Anakin smiled grimly. Now, he only had to deal with two coralskippers. He’d done that before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jacen heard weird, hypnotic music pass his hidden compartment, playing a melody full of death and despair. Several pairs of armored legs tramped up past him. His cheekbone twinged.

He imagined himself as Kyp Durron, blasting out of the compartment with his lightsaber blazing, destroying everyone who got in his way. Utterly rejecting the idea, he tried to imagine himself as his uncle, taking up the lightsaber when necessary, sparing life whenever he could. Then as Anakin, strong in the Force, unafraid to use it, but not yet mature enough to see all facets of each situation. As Jaina, a champion of her squadron, only beginning her own rise to glory.

Who was Jacen?

Again he had the overwhelming sense that the Force was about to shift. Something was ending, something beginning. He could crouch here until they found him, or he could commit himself back to the Force—utterly.

But what do you want? he begged.

Again he saw the galaxy sliding toward darkness, and this time, he realized that standing motionless at its center wouldn’t change the balance. Wouldn’t save anyone, including himself.

What if he’d caught that lightsaber Luke flung in his vision? He would be expected to strike, wouldn’t he?

He could do that—on his own. Without the Force.

Or else he could give himself utterly to something he was too small to understand. As Uncle Luke said, there was no middle ground.

He unhooked his lightsaber. He thought back to the times he’d beaten Anakin, to the old familiar feeling of letting the Force flow through him, so that even a Force-dark Yuuzhan Vong’s actions could be anticipated. It’d been like warm, living water flowing all around him. It was utterly tempting to go back.

No. He would not go back. He must go on.

Heavy footsteps approached. Leia backed away from the door.

Randa moaned, “This is the end. As night follows morning, as decay follows death—”

“Shut up,” she said firmly.

A warrior in black armor appeared in the doorway. He held a snake-headed amphistaff across his body. He pointed out into the room and said something unintelligible.

Maybe they didn’t have enough earworms to go around, not that it surprised her. She didn’t expect them to want real communication.

Another guard emerged from behind the door, holding the clawed, wrist-grabbing creature.

“That’s not necessary,” she said. “You don’t need to do this. I’m not going anywhere else.”

She winced as the claws closed on her hands anyway. The guard turned next to Randa, brandishing a glob of yellow-green slime. He applied it to the Hutt’s small hands, then pushed them against his globular sides and gave a guttural command. Randa wriggled his fingers. His hands stayed where the guard put them.

“Guvvuk,” the guard ordered, shoving Leia’s shoulder.

She obeyed, but she didn’t hurry. He directed her across the circular landing, back to her office, shoving and poking with his amphistaff. More guards followed them.

The warmaster stood in front of her window, looking out toward the research buildings. To one side stood Nom Anor, again wearing his tunic over black armor.

On the warmaster’s other side, a smaller, wrinkle-faced Yuuzhan Vong wore floor-length black robes and a hood that clung to her backswept skull. Flanking her, two lanky attendants held long-limbed crustaceans against their bare chests. Tattoos radiated upward and outward from their chests’ centers, resembling explosions in shades of red and orange. A third attendant cradled an enormous, double-skinned drum against her tunic. As Leia stared at the drum,