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“Not a warship,” Corran muttered. “Anakin?”

“Something’s wrong with the transponder,” Anakin said.

“Well, fix it!”

“I’m trying.”

“Tahiri, can you take evasive action?”

“I’m evading as much as I can. But this is a really big ship, and they’re really fast.”

Another staggered series of blasts ripped along the side of the Stalking Moon, and now Corran could see their antagonists, flitting about in admirably swift craft. He didn’t recognize the design, but the Givin were known for quality if not quantity in shipbuilding. A good quarter of the racing yachts in the galaxy were built in the Yag’Dhul system.

Corran glanced at Anakin. The boy—no, the young man—was working calmly at the cobbled-together communications device, one lock of hair falling in his face. He didn’t look like someone who feared death in the slightest. Probably he didn’t. Taan, the Shamed One, was as impassive and quiet as she had been since her conversation with the distant Yuuzhan Vong commander.

The ship jerked and shuddered, and somewhere near, Corran heard the sound of air screaming out into vacuum. A smell like vaporized rancor swirled into the chamber.

“We’re dying,” Tahiri said dully. “Let me shoot back. Please.”

“No.”

“Got it!” Anakin said.

“Give me that!” Corran grunted. “Make sure the visual is on, this time.”

The Givin who appeared on the tiny screen didn’t waste any time with polite mathematical greetings. “Yuuzhan Vong ship, this is Dodecian Illiet. You will stand down and surrender or be destroyed.”

“Dodecian Illiet,” Corran replied, “this is the captain of the Yuuzhan Vong vessel Stalking Moon. We surrender.”

The Givin didn’t blink—he couldn’t—nor could his exo-skeletal face register any other emotion Corran recognized. But he still gave the impression of vast surprise.

“You are not Yuuzhan Vong,” the Givin said.

“It’s a long story,” Corran replied. “We did not intend to attack you, only to get your attention.”

The Givin paused, listening to someone off-screen, then turned his empty eyes back to Corran.

“Our attention you have, Corran Horn. Prepare to be boarded.”

THIRTY-ONE

“Shalo was smarter than I thought,” Han snarled as he drew his blaster. “He had backup for his backup.”

Jacen tried to pick apart the action. Karrde had placed people strategically within the cantina—both in the balcony and on the floor—to disarm Shalo’s men, and then set up a cordon outside. That outer ring of protection was now under attack by a third group. A very numerous third group. Karrde’s people outside were already down or had retreated within the building.

“Help me with this table,” Han said.

Jacen grabbed one edge and helped his father drag it to one of the windows. Several bolts seared by their heads as they barricaded the opening, bringing with them plumes of ubiquitous Tatooine dust.

“This planet always was bad luck,” the elder Solo grumbled. He lifted his blaster and fired a couple of shots over the edge of the table without looking.

“Good thing you have the situation completely in control,” Jacen remarked.

“Hey, no plan is perfect. Did you get a look at who they were?”

“Peace Brigade, I’m pretty sure.”

“I’m getting tired of those guys. Shalo set us up.”

“Imagine that, one of your old buddies setting you up.”

“Well, there’s been worse,” Han said. “You ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“I give it about six seconds before they start lobbing grenades in here. We do not want to stay here. On three?”

“Three it is.”

“Karrde?” Han sang out.

“Busy,” Karrde replied, firing through the doorway.

“Give us some cover.”

“You got it.”

“One, two—hey!”

On two Jacen ignited his lightsaber and bounded to his feet. He was immediately forced to deflect three blaster bolts in quick succession. His father popped up behind him, nailing one of his assailants with the first shot.

“That building across the street,” Han said. “Go!”

Fire rained down from the rooftops as they raced across the sunburned ground. Jacen deflected the more accurate shots while his father blazed