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The smaller battle group vanished from sight and screen.

“Microjump, sir,” Cel reported excitedly. “They’re behind us now.”

“Sure. They’re putting us between the two interdictors so we can’t leave. They’ve got all they need to crush us, and they know it.” He studied the chart. “So we’ll have Pellaeon drop in here in sector six, and Kre’fey in twelve.” He looked it over one more time. Was he missing anything?

“Control,” he ordered, “send those coordinates to the respective fleets.” He turned to the commander. “Battle stations, but no hurry. We’ll engage the smaller fleet, try to make it look like we’ve bitten off more than we can chew and are trying to take out the interdictor so we can run along home. Our reinforcements will be here long before the second group catches us—they won’t be microjumping with those interdictors going.”

The voice of control came back. “General, we seem to have a problem.”

“Yes?”

“We can’t seem to contact either Beta or Gamma.”

“Can’t seem to or can’t?” Wedge asked.

“Can’t, sir.”

“Contact central control and have them relay the coordinates, then.”

“Sir, we can’t reach Mon Cal, either. Or anyplace else. It’s like the entire comm network has gone down.”

Wedge looked back at the shaping battle. If he didn’t call the other commanders, they wouldn’t show up. The battle plan was absolutely clear on that point—better to lose one battle group to some unexpected Vong tactic or invention than three. Without the other two flotillas, this could get pretty nasty, and not for the Yuuzhan Vong.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” he murmured. “I think I’ve just about had it with Bilbringi.”

SEVENTEEN

Han Solo gazed unhappily at one of the most beautiful sunsets he had ever seen.

And he had seen a lot of sunsets on a lot of different worlds, but as Mon Calamari’s primary hit the ocean horizon and threw its shadow across the waves, the sky went as subtle and iridescent as mother-of-pearl.

Gaudy sunsets were easy to come by, especially on worlds with dense or dusty atmospheres—understated beauty was more difficult, not only because it was rare, but also because it sometimes took a lifetime to learn to appreciate it.

Which was why it was too bad he couldn’t really enjoy it. The problem wasn’t with the sunset—it was that he was on Mon Calamari to see it.

“We can’t fight every battle in this war,” Leia pointed out.

“What?” Han grumped. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You’ve been brooding ever since Twin Suns pulled out. In fact, since Tahiri left.”

“We should’ve gone with her,” he opined.

“Which one? Jaina or Tahiri?”

“Take your pick.”

Leia shook her head. “Jaina’s a starfighter pilot. It’s what she wants to be. It’s where she sees her duty. She’s been flying with the Galactic Alliance forces for months now. If we tried to horn our way into the Bilbringi push somehow, she’d—well, she wouldn’t like it, to say the least. And Tahiri—Corran can take care of her. I know he can.” She crossed her arms. “But that’s not it, is it?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“You’re bored. Two weeks without someone trying to kill us, and you’re bored out of your mind.”

“I’m not bored,” Han replied. “I just—there must be something we can be doing besides sitting around looking at sunsets.”

Leia sighed and settled into one of the divans. She gave him one of those looks. “Nothing’s happened in, oh, days that needs you, Han. Sure, things are happening, but they’re things almost any competent pilot could deal with. But when something comes along only Han Solo can handle—”

“All right, that’s enough sarcasm for one night,” Han said.

It was a mistake. A glimmer of hurt appeared in her eyes. “I’m only being slightly sarcastic, Han,” Leia said. “Maybe not at all. In war, sometimes the most important thing—and the hardest—is to just sit still.”

He made a face. “You really know how to—”

She reached out and took his hand. “Stop right there,” she said, “and I may show you something else I know how to …” She trailed off suggestively.

“I dunno,” Han said. “It’s an awfully nice sunset.”

Leia gestured to the place next to her