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“The basic layout hasn’t changed that much,” Corran said. “We’re headed down toward the berths.”

“Yes. Going to the berths,” the Givin said helpfully.

They reached an axis a few moments later and piled into the turbolift, which, at the Givin’s command, whirred them down toward the anterior berths. Power flickered, and the lift jarred to a halt, only to start again a moment later when the lights came back on, albeit dimmed.

“I’ll be sorry to see this place go,” Corran murmured.

Anakin caught a thread of wistfulness in that, something like he got from his father now and then. Almost … almost as if Corran wished he were younger again.

Which was ridiculous. The older you got, the more people took you seriously. Anakin was very much sick of being treated like a kid, especially by people who knew less than him.

Mara … Mara had treated him more like an adult. And Mara was dying, and there was nothing he could do. He almost wished the turbolift would open to a bunch of Yuuzhan Vong, so he’d at least have someone to …

That’s not a wish, he realized. That’s the lambent.

“Guys,” he said quietly, “you’d better activate your lightsabers.”

At least Corran didn’t ask questions, this time. He just did it.

The door whisked open, and there they were. Six Yuuzhan Vong with amphistaffs.

“Me first,” Corran said, leaping out, lightsaber blazing. Tahiri was a blur, and Anakin right behind her when he realized he only counted five Yuuzhan Vong warriors outside.

But the lambent said six.

He spun—almost in time. The Givin struck him across the bridge of the nose with a tightly balled fist, propelling him from the turbolift into the enemy-filled room beyond. His body struck Corran in the back of the knees. Surprised, the ex-CorSec Jedi still managed a shoulder roll, though Anakin caught a bright glimpse of pain from him as an amphistaff struck a glancing blow. Head ringing, Anakin brought his radiant weapon up in a high parry he knew he had to make, felt the sharp thwack of a staff across it. Still aware of the danger at his back, he then threw himself to the side. He rolled up to see Tahiri doing a high, Force-aided flip to land in a protective stance beside Corran. Anakin rose and threw the most powerful telekinetic blast he could at the group of Yuuzhan Vong.

If they had been any other species, it would have pasted them to the wall. Instead, two fell and the other three staggered as if in a high wind. Tahiri, unable to affect them at all, found another solution; a stack of cylinders in the corner suddenly flew into the already off-balance warriors, sending the rest of them down. Only the Givin, who had stepped back from the action, kept his feet, and he was laughing, a harsh, very un-Givinlike laugh.

From side corridors, eight more Yuuzhan Vong filed into the far side of the room from where the Jedi now stood against a bulkhead, lightsabers bristling out like quills.

The Givin reached up, touched the side of his nose, and something oozed off, revealing the Yuuzhan Vong beneath.

“A good effort, for infidels,” he said, taking an amphistaff proffered by one of the newcomers. He looked squarely at Anakin. “Not the Solo the warmaster wishes most, though after Yavin Four your worth has risen immeasurably.”

“I don’t know you,” Anakin said.

“No. But your mother and I have met. I am Nom Anor, and you may consider yourself my captive.”

“We’d rather not jump to that conclusion, if you don’t mind,” Corran said.

“The odds are against you.”

“You must not know much about Corellians,” Corran said.

“Don’t be tiresome. You three have earned respect. If you were not infidels, I might even call you warriors.”

“I can’t say the same for you,” Corran said. “What about it, Nom Anor? Me and you, man to man.”

“Duel you as you dueled Shedao Shai? And if I win, the rest of you would surrender?”

“No. But you could prove you aren’t afraid to face me.”

“Sadly, my duty to my people forces me to decline your offer,” Nom Anor said.

Tahiri suddenly began shouting in Yuuzhan Vong. The warriors looked at her, first