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When they finally arrived at the filigree-trimmed membrane to the bunker, the dilating lock recognized Nom Anor’s scent and irised open.

The first thing he saw on entering the circular space was Shimrra’s head, burned clean from his body as only a light-saber could do, the menacing glow gone out of his implanted eyes.

Nom Anor stared in disbelief.

Shimrra was dead.

He kept repeating it to himself, but his mind refused to accept the truth of it. In their long history, the Yuuzhan Vong had never been without a Supreme Overlord, and yet that was now the case, the evidence there on the floor for one and all to see.

Massed on one side of the room by the tilting of the Citadel were a dozen or more dead slayers, and slumped against the wall that contained the guards’ entrance—which also showed the marks of a lightsaber—was Luke Skywalker, wounded, and perhaps near death. A lightsaber dangled in his left hand, and the left side of his chest bore a deep puncture wound. Nearby, Shimrra’s amphistaff lay scattered in uneven segments on the floor.

The Jedi twins were nowhere to be seen.

Clearly staggered by the bloody tableau, Kenth Hamner gazed at Leia. He took his comlink from his belt and headed back for the iris portal. “Can you manage without me? Kre’fey has to be informed that Shimrra’s dead.”

Leia Organa Solo nodded her head wordlessly.

Mara Jade Skywalker was already at her husband’s side, holding his face between her hands and calling his name.

“He’s been envenomated by Shimrra’s amphistaff,” Nom Anor said. “There is no antidote. If the Force can’t heal him, he will die.”

Blood drained from Mara’s face. “We have to get him out of here!”

Just then Luke’s eyes opened, and he smiled weakly.

“Luke,” she said, her voice cracking. She put her arms around him and lifted him into a sitting position.

“I’m slowing the blood flow, Mara.” Skywalker’s gaze found Han Solo, who went down on one knee alongside him. “From the way this place was shaking, Han, I’m assuming you convinced the World Brain to see reason.”

Han traded brief glances with his wife, then mustered a smile. “A bit thorny, but we managed.”

Easing the lightsaber from her brother’s grip, Leia took his left hand between hers. “We’ve won, Luke. Once the word spreads that Shimrra is dead, the armada will deteriorate—if it hasn’t already.”

Nom Anor felt Skywalker’s blue eyes fall on him, with a look that mixed disbelief, anger, pain, and resignation.

“Luke,” Leia said, “where are Jaina and Jacen?”

Skywalker motioned with his chin toward the stairway.

Han’s eyes darted from the stairway to Nom Anor. “What’s up there?”

“The upper decks of this vessel. Command and control chambers. The bridge.”

“Vessel?” Leia repeated in perplexity.

Nom Anor gestured broadly. “This was to have been Shimrra’s escape craft and shelter—similar to the one that would have kept the dhuryam alive, had it decided to flee rather than betray its makers.”

Leia looked at her husband. “Why would Jacen—”

“Shimrra’s minion,” Skywalker answered softly.

Nom Anor’s jaw dropped. He pivoted through a circle, scanning the scattered and heaped bodies once more. Onimi had escaped! Instead of giving his life for Shimrra, the Shamed One had fled!

“Can the minion launch this ship?” Han asked.

Nom Anor considered his response. With Shimrra dead, someone would have to serve as liaison between the Alliance and the Yuuzhan Vong, and that someone might as well be Nom Anor.

“It responds only to the Supreme Overlord.” He glanced around. “Onimi—Shimrra’s familiar—must be in hiding.”

Without warning, the bunker began to vibrate.

“Someone has to tell the dhuryam that enough’s enough,” Han said.

Nom Anor’s heart began to pound. In sudden realization, he placed the palm of his left hand against the outer wall. “The dhuryam isn’t doing this! The vessel is being readied for launch!”

Wide-eyed, Han looked at the three women. “Take Luke out of here. Nom Anor and I will find Jaina and Jacen.” He glanced at Nom Anor. “Right?”

“Of course,” Nom Anor