Star Wars - New Jedi Order 07 - Edge of Victory I - Conquest

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THE NEW JEDI ORDER

EDGE OF VICTORY I

CONQUEST

GREG KEYES

PROLOGUE

Dorsk 82 ducked behind the stone steps of the quay, just in

time to dodge a blaster bolt from across the water.

"Hurry on board my ship," he told his charges. "They've

found us again."

That was an understatement. Approaching along the tide

embankment was a mob of around fifty Aqualish, jostling

each other and shouting hoarsely. Most carried makeshift

weapons—clubs, knives, rocks—but a few had force pikes

and at least one had a blaster, as the smoking score on the

quay testified.

"Join us, Master Dorsk," The 3D-4 protocol droid close

behind him pleaded.

Dorsk nodded his bald yellow — and — green mottled

head. "Soon. I have to slow their progress across the

causeway, to give everyone time to board."

"You can't hold them off yourself, sir."

"I think I can. Besides, I need to try to talk to them. This is

senseless."

"They've gone mad," the droid said. "They're destroying

droids all over the city!"

"They aren't mad," Dorsk averred. "They're just frightened.

The Yuuzhan Vong are on Ando, and may well conquer the

planet."

"But why destroy droids, Master Dorsk?"

"Because the Yuuzhan Vong hate machines," the

Khommite clone answered. "They consider them to be

abominations."

"How can that be? Why would they believe that?"

"I don't know," Dorsk replied. "But it is a fact. Go, please.

Help the others board. My pilot is already at the controls

with the flight instructions, so even if something happens to

me, you'll be okay."

Still the droid hesitated. "Why are you helping us, sir?"

"Because I am a Jedi and I can. You don't deserve

destruction."

"Neither do you, sir."

"Thank you. I do not intend to be destroyed."

He raised his head up again as the droid finally followed its

clattering, whirring comrades to the waiting ship.

The crowd had reached the ancient stone causeway

connecting the atoll-city of Imthitill to the abandoned

fishing platform Dorsk now crouched on. It seemed they

were all on foot, which meant all he had to do was prevent

them from crossing the causeway.

With a single bound, Dorsk propelled his thin body up onto

the causeway, forsaking the cover of the step down to the

fishing platform. Lightsaber held at his side, he watched the

mob approach.

/ am a Jedi, he thought to himself. A Jedi knows no fear.

Almost surprisingly, he didn't. His training with Master

Skywalker had been fretted with attacks of panic. Dorsk

was the eighty-second clone of the first Khommite to bear

his name. He'd grown up on a world well satisfied with its

own peculiar kind of perfection, and that hadn't prepared

him for danger, or fear, or even the unexpected. There were

times when he believed he could never be as brave as the

other Jedi students or live up to the standard set by his

celebrated predecessor, Dorsk 81.

But watching the large, dark eyes of the crowd that was

drawing close, he felt nothing but a gentle sadness that they

had been driven to this. They must fear the Yuuzhan Vong

terribly.

The destruction of droids had begun small, but in a

few days had become a planetwide epidemic. The gov-

ernment of Ando—such as it was—neither condoned nor

condemned the brutality, so long as no non-droids were

killed or injured in the mess. Without help from the police,

Dorsk 82 was the only chance the droids had, and he didn't

plan to fail them. He had already failed too many.

He ignited his lightsaber and for an instant saw everything

around him at once. The setting sun had spilled a glorious

slick of orange fire into the ocean and lit the high-piled

clouds on the horizon into castles of flame. Higher, the sky

faded to gold-laced jade and aquamarine and then the pale

of night. The lights in the cylindrical white towers of

Imthitill were winking on, one by one, and so, too, were the

lights of the fishing platforms floating in the deeps,

spangling the ocean with lonely constellations.

His own planet hadn't any such untamed spectacles.

Khomm's weather was as predictable and homogenous as

its people. Likely he, Dorsk 82, was the only person of his

entire species who could appreciate this sky, or the iron-

dressed waves of the sea.

Salt air buffeted around him. He lifted his chin. Somehow,

after all of these years, he felt he was doing the thing he had

dreamed about at last.

One of the Aqualish stepped before the rest. He was smaller

than many, his tusks incised in the local style. He wore the

dappled slicksuit of a tug worker.

"Move, Jedi," he commanded. "These droids are none of

your business."

"These droids are under my protection," Dorsk replied

calmly.

"They are not yours to protect, Jedi," the Aqualish shouted

back. "If their owners do not object, you have no say in the

matter."

"I must disagree," Dorsk replied. "I also plead with you to

see reason. Destroying the droids will not appease the

Yuuzhan Vong. They are beyond appeasing."

"That's our business," the self-appointed spokesman of the

group shouted. "This isn't your planet, Jedi. It's ours. Didn't

you hear? The Yuuzhan Vong just took Duro."

"I had not heard," Dorsk replied. "Nor does it matter. Go

back to your homes in peace. I don't want to hurt any of

you. I'm taking these droids with me. You will not see them

on Ando again. I swear it."

This time he saw the blaster lift—held by an Aqualish deep

in the crowd. Dorsk grasped it with the Force and whisked

it through the air until it came to rest in his left hand.

"Please, "he said.

For a long moment, neither side moved. Dorsk felt them

wavering, but the Aqualish were a stubborn and violent lot.

It was easier to stop a nova once it had started than to calm

a whole mob of Aqualish.

He heard a sudden hum and saw a security speeder ap-

proaching. He stepped back and allowed it to settle between

him and the crowd. He did not relax his guard, even when

eight Aqualish troopers in bright yellow body armor piled

out and started motioning the crowd back.

The officer stepped forward. "What's going on here?" he

asked.

Dorsk motioned slightly with his head. "These people are

intent on destroying a group of droids. I am protecting

them."

"I see," the officer said. "That's your ship?"

"Yes."

"Are there any other Jedi on board?"

"No."

"Very well." The officer spoke into a small comlink, too

low for Dorsk to hear, but the clone suddenly sensed what

was about to happen.

"No!" he shouted. He spun on his heel and ran toward the

ship, but even as he did so, several flares of light too bright

to look upon struck it. A column of white flame

leapt toward the sky, carrying with it the fragments and

ions that had once been his ship, his pilot Hhen, and thirty-

eight droids.

Dorsk was still watching, mouth working soundlessly at the

pointless destruction, when the stun baton hit him.

He fell, turning that same uncomprehending stare on his

attackers. The officer he'd been speaking to stood there,

holding the baton.

"Stay down, Jedi, and you'll live."

"What? Why?..."

"I suppose you haven't heard. The Yuuzhan Vong have

proposed a peace. They will stop their conquest with Duro,

and leave Ando, so long as we turn you Jedi over to them.

They will take you dead, but they would rather have you

alive."

Dorsk 82 summoned the Force, washed away the pain and

paralysis of the blast, and stood.

"Drop your lightsaber, Jedi," the officer said.

Dorsk straightened himself and looked into the muzzles of

the blasters. He dropped the one he had taken from the

crowd. He hooked his lightsaber onto his belt.

"I will not fight you," he said.

"Fine. Then you won't mind surrendering your weapon."

"The Yuuzhan Vong will not keep their word. Their only

desire is that you rid them of their worst enemies for them.

With the Jedi out of the way, they will come for you. If you

betray me, you betray yourselves."

"We'll take that chance," the officer said.

"I'm walking away from here," Dorsk said with a slight

wave of his hand. "You will not stop me."

"No," the officer said. "I won't stop you."

"Nor will any of the rest of you."

Dorsk 82 started forward. One of the troopers, more strong

willed than the others, lifted his blaster in a shaking hand.

"Don't," Dorsk pleaded. He held out his hand.

The blaster bolt grazed Dorsk in the palm, and he stepped

back, but the action shook the other troopers from the

suggestion he had placed in their minds. The next shot

seared a hole through his thigh. He dropped to his knees.

"Stop," the officer said. "No more mind tricks."

Dorsk torturously pushed himself back to his feet. He took

another step forward.

I am a Jedi. A Jedi knows no fear.

The dusk lit with blasterfire.

Help.

The automated signal was weak but faint.

"Got 'em," Uldir said. "I told you, didn't I?"

Dacholder, his copilot, clapped him on the back. "No doubt

about it, lad. You're the best rescue flier in the unit."

"I have good hunches, that's all," Uldir replied. "See if you

can contact them."

"Sure thing." Dacholder activated the comm unit. "Pride

ofThela to injured vessel. Injured vessel, can you hear me?"

The answer was static—but modulated static.

"They're trying to answer," Uldir said. "Their comm unit

must be damaged. Maybe when we get closer. Hey, there

they are now."

Long-range sensors showed a craft dead in space, medium

transport-sized. It ought to be the Winning Hand, a pleasure

craft that had made a jump from the Corellian sector and

vanished somewhere en route. The Hand's jump had taken

her dangerously near Obroa-skai, which was now in

Yuuzhan Vong space. Though they hadn't moved overtly

on any planets since the fall of Duro, the Yuuzhan Vong

had been setting up occasional dovin basal interdictors near

their space, yanking from hyperspace ships bold or careless

enough to approach their somewhat fuzzy borders. Most

were never found again, but

the Winning Hand had managed to get off a garbled

transmission placing them along the Perlemian Trade Route

not far from the Meridian sector. That was still a lot of

space, but search and rescue had been Uldir's business for

the past six years. At the ripe old age of twenty-two, he was

one of the best fliers in the corps.

"Dead-on," Dacholder said. "Congratulations. Again."

"Thanks, Doc."

Dacholder was a little older than Uldir, his hair prematurely

shot with gray and receding from his forehead so fast Uldir

could almost see it redshifting. He wasn't a great pilot, but

he was competent enough, and Uldir liked him.

"Say, Uldir," Dacholder began, in an inquisitive tone, "I

never asked you—when the Vong came along, why didn't

you request transfer to a military unit? The way you fly,

you could be an ace."

"Too hot for me," Uldir replied.

"Carbon flush. Rescue is twice the danger with a tenth of

the firepower. During the fall of Duro I heard you picked

up three stranded pilots under fire from four coral-skippers

with no backup at all."

"I was pretty lucky," Uldir demurred.

"You sure it's not something else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I heard you attended that Jedi academy of

Skywalker's."

Uldir could only laugh at that. "Attended isn't the right

word. I was there, caused a systemful of trouble in a real

short time, and had no talent for the Jedi thing at all. Still,

maybe you're right. I guess I figured if I couldn't be a Jedi, I

could at least emulate 'em. Search and rescue seemed like

the best way. And we're needed in wartime just as much as

the flyboys."

"And you don't have to kill."

Uldir shrugged. "That sounds about right. When did you

start thinking about me so much, Doc?" He flipped

the magnification up on the visual. "Look there," he said, as

the derelict ship came on-screen. "She doesn't look half

bad. Maybe they didn't have any casualties."

"We can only hope," Dacholder said.

"See anything else out there?"

"Not a thing," Dacholder replied.

"That's good. We're outside of Yuuzhan Vong space, but

not that far outside. Even with all the tinkering I've done on

this baby, I don't want to run up against one of their

interdictors."

"I noticed you coaxed another twenty percent from the

inertial dampeners. Good work."

"Shows what you can do when you've got no life but the

service, I guess," Uldir replied. He adjusted their trajectory

a bit. "Looks like they're limping, but life support seems to

be okay."

"Yeah."

Uldir gave his copilot a sidewise glance. Doc seemed a

little nervous, which was odd. Not that he had the steadiest

nerves in the unit, but he was no coward. Maybe it was

because they were out so far without backup. The war had

forced everyone to spread resources thin.

"Uldir," Dacholder asked suddenly.

"Uh-huh?"

"Do you think we can beat them? The Vong?"

"That's a crazy question," Uldir replied. "Of course we can.

They just got a jump on us, that's all. You'll see. Once the

military gets its act together and brings the Jedi into the

equation, the Yuuzhan Vong will be on the run soon

enough."

Dacholder was silent for a moment, watching the ship grow

larger.

"I don't think we can beat them," he said softly. "I don't

think we ought to be fighting them in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, they've kicked our butts right from the start. If

they make another push, they'll have Coruscant before you

can blink."

"That's pretty defeatist."

"It's pretty realistic."

" Then what?" Uldir asked, a little heatedly. " You think we

ought to surrender?"

"We don't have to do that, either. Look, there aren't that

many Vong. They already have as many planets as they

need, they've said so themselves. They haven't made a

move since Duro, and they won't—"

The console got Uldir's attention, so he didn't hear the rest

of what Dacholder was saying. "Hold that thought," he

snapped, "and hail that ship."

"Why?"

" Because she's playing dead, that's why. All her systems

just came on, and she's trying for a tractor lock." He quickly

began evasive maneuvers.

"Let her have us, Uldir," Dacholder said. "Don't make me

use this."

To Uldir's astonishment, this was a blaster his copilot had

pointed at his head.

"Doc? What are you doing?"

"Sorry, lad. I like you, I really do. I hate doing this like

drinking acid, but it has to be done."

" What has to be done?"

"The Yuuzhan Vong warmaster was very specific. He

wants all of the Jedi."

"Doc, you fool, I'm not a Jedi."

"There's a list, Uldir, and you're on it."

" List? What list? Whose list? Not a Yuuzhan Vong list,

because they couldn't possibly know who went to the

academy and who didn't."

"That's right. Some of us are in high places."

Uldir narrowed his eyes. "Us? You're Peace Brigade, Doc?"

"Yes."

"Of all the—" Uldir stopped. "And that ship. That's what's

going to take me to the Yuuzhan Vong, isn't it?"

"It wasn't my idea, lad. I'm just following orders. Now,

slow her down like a good boy, and let them have their

lock."

"I'm not a Jedi," Uldir repeated.

"No? I always thought your hunches were a little too good.

You seem to see things before they come."

"Right. Like this, you mean?"

"Doesn't matter anyway. What matters is they think you're

Jedi. And I'll bet you know things they would be interested

in."

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@THENEWJEDIORDEREDGEOFVICTORYICONQUESTGREGKEYES2PROLOGUEDorsk82duckedbehindthestonestepsofthequay,justintimetododgeablasterboltfromacrossthewater."Hurryonboardmyship,"hetoldhischarges."They'vefoundusagain."Thatwasanunderstatement.ApproachingalongthetideembankmentwasamobofaroundfiftyAqualish,jostling...

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Star Wars - New Jedi Order 07 - Edge of Victory I - Conquest

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