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“Knockout harpoon,” Twin Suns Four said. “Like a giant hypodermic syringe filled with coma-gas. By the time our people board, the Brigaders’ll be out cold.”

NINE

Transparent respirators clamped over their faces and C-3PO shuffling behind them, Han and Leia emerged from the crippled freighter’s docking bay into the large cargo hold beyond. Everywhere they looked, Peace Brigaders of various species were passed out on the deck or slumped unmoving against bulkheads. The cargo area was already filled with three squads of Alliance strike troops, whose ship had harpooned the freighter and who’d been the first to board.

The strike troops wore mimetic enviro-suits and black helmets with tinted face bowls. Each was laden with blaster rifles, bandoliers of flash grenades, thermal detonators, half-meter-long vibroblades, and survival gear. Specialists in rapid deployment and infiltration, strike troops were a relatively new addition to the war, and most of the ones in the cargo hold had participated in months of familiarization drills aboard captured Yuuzhan Vong vessels. Han was certain that other squads had already penetrated deep into the ship. Three troopers were slapping manacles on the unconscious Brigaders.

He and Leia scarcely had time to take stock of the situation when a hatch in the forward bulkhead pocketed itself, and a Klatooinian stepped into the hold. Twenty blaster rifles swung to the green-complected, scrunch-faced humanoid before he could so much as raise his taloned hands in surrender.

“I’m Hobyo,” he said. A breather mask dangled around his thick neck. “The one who sabotaged the hyperdrive! Surprise Party!” he added. “Surprise Party!”

A human colonel signaled everyone to lower their weapons. “Next time give the code words first, before you come barging into a secured area,” he snapped. “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.”

Hobyo relaxed somewhat. “You won’t find any prisoners aboard the freighter. They were transferred to the Yuuzhan Vong carrier.”

“Which way?” the colonel demanded.

The Klatooinian pointed to port. “The umbilical is attached to the cargo hold adjacent to this one.”

Leaving several soldiers behind to tend to the stirring Brigaders, the colonel motioned the rest into the broad passageway that separated the holds.

Satisfied that it was safe to do so, Han pulled off his respirator and almost gagged. “What the heck are they transporting?” he asked through the hand he clasped to his mouth. “Rotten eggs?”

Leia took a quick whiff and snugged her mask back in place. “Is that the coma-gas?”

Hobyo shook his head. “The stench comes from the Vong cofferdam. Air circulators carry the smell throughout the ship. But you get used to it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Han said. He motioned with his chin to the passageway. “You coming?”

“As soon as I provide identities of the Peace Brigaders.”

Han nodded, and waved to C-3PO. “Let’s go, Goldenrod.”

The droid started. “Sir, wouldn’t it be best if I remained aboard Millennium Falcon?”

“Cakhmaim and Meewalh can take care of the Falcon. We might need you to translate.”

“Translate? But, Captain Solo, I’m far from fluent in Yuuzhan Vong. In fact, I’m still trying to comprehend the conditional subjunctive tense!”

Han made a face. “You’ve never had trouble making yourself understood, Threepio. Now get going.”

He and Leia led the way into the port-side cargo hold. Han spied the cofferdam entrance and ran for it, only to stop short at the mouth, then half turn and flatten his back against the bulkhead.

“You really don’t want to see this,” he said as Leia approached.

She studied him in puzzlement. Han was a bit wide-eyed and shaking his head back and forth. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Remember that time on Dantooine when I got the Balmorra flu? Well, this thing—” He jerked his thumb toward the cofferdam opening. “—is what I figure the inside of my nose must have looked like.”

Leia smiled dubiously and stepped around him. “It can’t be that ba—”

She froze.

“Why it’s an … oqa,”