Star Wars - [New Jedi Order 04] - [Agents of Chaos 01] - Hero's Trial (by James Luceno)

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Agents of Chaos I Hero's

Trial

James Luceno

[09 mar 2003-scanned for bookz by friendy]

[12 mar 2003-proofed for bookz by friendy]

For my young son Jake,

andThe New Jedi Order

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I want to extend heartfelt thanks to those who kept me on track and loaned a hand along the way Dan

Wallace, who knows the expanded universe better than anyone; Rob Brown, whose suggestions helped

shape chapter 7; and Alex Newborn, who steered me to a new character for chapter 14. Thanks, too, to

Mike Kogge, Matt Olsen, Eelia Goldsmith Henderscheid, Enrique Guerrero, and Kris Boldis for their

keen commentaries; fellow authors Robert Salavtore, Mike Stackpole, and Kathy Tyers for their detail

work; and Shelly Shapiro, Sue Rostoni, and Lucy Autrey Wilson, without whomThe New Jedi Order

would never have taken shape. Finally, infinite gratitude to my late friend and collaborator, Brian Daley.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

Nom Anor; executor (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Malik Carr; commander (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Reck Desh; Peace Brigade mercenary (male human)

Droma; spacer (male Ryn)

Elan; priestess (female Yuuzhan Vong)

Harrar; priest (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Belindi Kalenda; New Republic Intelligence (female human)

Raff; battle tactician (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Roa; captain,Happy Dagger (male human)

Major Showolter; New Republic Intelligence (male human)

Luke Skywalker; Jedi Master (male human)

Mara Jade Skywalker; Jedi Master (female human)

Anakin Solo; Jedi Knight (male human)

Han Solo; captain,Millennium Falcon (male human)

Leia Organa Solo; New Republic ambassador (female human)

Tla; commander (male Yuuzhan Vong)

Vergere; Elan's familiar (female Fosh)

ONE If the system's primary was distressed by the events that had transpired on and about the fourth

closest of its brood, it betrayed nothing to the naked eye. Saturating local space with golden radiance, the

star was as unperturbed now as it was before the battle had begun. Only the conquered world had

suffered, its punished surface revealed in the steady crawl of sunlight. Regions that had once been green,

blue, or white appeared ash-gray or reddish-brown. Below banks of panicked clouds, smoke chimneyed

from immolated cities and billowed from tracts of firestormed evergreen forests. Steam roiled from the

superheated beds of glacier-fed lakes and shallow seas.

Deep within the planet's shroud of cinder and debris moved the warship most responsible for the

devastation. The vessel was a massive ovoid of yorik coral, its scabrous black surface relieved in places

by bands of smoother stuff, lustrous as volcanic glass. In the pits that dimpled the coarse stretches hid

projectile launchers and plasma weapons. Other, more crater-like depressions housed the laser-gobbling

dovin basals that both drove the vessel and shielded it from harm. From fore and aft extended bloodred

and cobalt arms, to which asteroid-like fighters clung like barnacles. Smaller craft buzzed around it, some

effecting repairs to battle-damaged areas, others keen on recharging depleted weapons systems, a few

delivering plunder from the planet's scorched crust.

Farther removed from the battle floated a smaller vessel, black, as well, but faceted and polished smooth

as a gemstone. Light pulsed through the ship at intervals, exciting one facet, then another, as if data were

being conveyed from sector to sector.

From a roost in the underside of its angular snout, a gaunt figure, cross-legged on cushions, scanned the

flotsam and jetsam a quirk of a gravitational drift had borne close to his ship pieces of New Republic

capital ships and starfighters, space-suited bodies in eerie repose, undetonated projectiles, the holed

fuselage of a noncombat craft whose legend identified it as thePenga Rift .

In the near distance hung the blackened skeleton of a defense platform. Off to one side a ruined cruiser

rolled end over end in a decaying orbit, surrendering its contents to vacuum like a burst pod scattering

fine seeds. Elsewhere a fleeing transport, snagged by the spike of a bloated capture vessel, was being

tugged inexorably toward the bowels of the giant warship.

The seated figure beheld these sights without cheer or regret. Necessity had engineered the destruction.

What had been done needed to be done.

An acolyte stood in the rear of the command roost, relaying updates as they were received by a slender,

living device fastened to his right inner forearm by six insectile legs.

"Victory is ours, Eminence. Our air and ground forces have overwhelmed the principal population centers

and a war coordinator has installed itself in the mantle." The acolyte glanced at the receiving villip on his

arm, whose soft bioluminescent glow added appreciably to the roost's scant light. "Commander Tla's

battle tactician is of the opinion that the astrogation charts and historical data stored here will prove

valuable to our campaign."

The priest, Harrar, glanced at the warship. "Has the tactician made his feelings known to Commander

Tla?"

The acolyte's hesitancy was answer enough, but Harrar suffered the verbal reply anyway.

"Our arrival does not please the commander, Eminence. He does not dismiss out of hand the need for

sacrifice, but he asserts that the campaign has been successful thus far without the need for religious

overseers. He fears that our presence will only confound his task."

"Commander Tla fails to grasp that we engage the enemy on different fronts," Harrar said. "Any

opponent can be beaten into submission, but compliance is no guarantee that you have won him over to

your beliefs."

"Shall I relay as much to the commander, Eminence?"

"It is not your place. Leave that to me."

Harrar, a male of middle years, rose and moved to the lip of the roost's polygonal transparency, where

he stood with three-fingered hands clasped at the small of his back - the missing digits having been

offered in dedication ceremonies and ritual sacrifices, as a means of escalating himself. His tall slender

frame was draped in supple fabrics of muted tones. A head cloth, patterned and significantly knotted,

bound his long black tresses. The back of his neck showed vibrant markings etched into skin stretched

taut by prominent vertebrae.

The planet turned beneath him.

"What is this world called?"

"Obroa-skai, Eminence."

"Obroa-skai," Harrar mused aloud. "What does the name signify?"

"The meaning is unknown at present. Though no doubt some explanation can be found among the

captured data."

Harrar's right hand gestured in dismissal. "It's a dead issue."

A flash of weapons drew his eye to Obroa-skai's terminator, where a yorik coral gunship was angling

into the light, spewing rear fire at a quartet of snub-nosed starfighters that had evidently chased it from the

planet's dark side. The little X-wings were closing fast, thrusters ablaze and wingtips lancing energy

beams at the larger ship. Harrar had heard that the New Republic pilots had become adept at foiling the

dovin basals by altering the frequency and intensity of the laser bolts the fighters discharged. These four

pursued the gunship with a single-mindedness born of thorough self-possession. Such fierce confidence

spoke to qualities the Yuuzhan Vong would need to keep solidly in mind as the invasion advanced.

Largely oblivious to nuance, the warrior caste would have to be taught to appreciate that survival figured

as strongly in the enemy's beliefs as death figured in the beliefs of the Yuuzhan Vong.

The gunship had changed vector and was climbing now, seemingly intent on availing itself of the

protection offered by Commander Tla's warship. But the four fighters were determined to have it.

Breaking formation, they accelerated, ensnaring the gunship at the center of their wrath.

The X-wing pilots executed their attack with impressive precision. Laser bolts and brilliant pink

torpedoes rained from them, taxing the abilities of the gunship's dovin basals. For every bolt and torpedo

engulfed by the gravitic collapses the dovin basals fashioned, another penetrated, searing fissures in the

assault craft and sending hunks of reddish-black yorik coral exploding in all directions. Stunned by

relentless strikes, the gunship huddled inside its shields, hoping for a moment's respite, but the starfighters

refused to grant it any quarter. Bursts of livid energy assailed the ship, shaking it off course. The dovin

basals began to falter. With defenses hopelessly compromised, the larger ship diverted power to

weapons and counterattacked.

In a desperate show of force, vengeful golden fire erupted from a dozen gun emplacements. But the

starfighters were simply too quick and agile. They made pass after pass, raking fire across the gunship's

suddenly vulnerable hull. Gouts of slagged flesh fountained from deep wounds and lasered trenches. The

destruction of a plasma launcher sent a chain of explosions marching down the starboard side. Molten

yorik coral streamed from the ship like a vapor trail. Shafts of blinding light began to pour from the core.

The ship rolled over on its belly, shedding velocity. Then, jolted by a final paroxysm, it disappeared in a

short-lived globe of fire.

It looked as if the X-wings might attempt to take the fight to the warship itself, but at the last moment the

pilots turned tail. Salvos from the warship's weapons crisscrossed nearby space, but no missiles found

their mark.

His scarified face a deeply shadowed mask, Harrar glanced over his shoulder at the acolyte. "Suggest to

Commander Tla that his zealous gunners allow the little ones to escape," he said with incongruous

composure. "After all, someone needs to live to speak of what happened here."

"The infidels fought well and died bravely," the acolyte risked remarking.

Harrar pivoted to face him fully, a bemused glint in his deeply set eyes. "Is that respect I hear?"

The acolyte nodded his head in deference. "Nothing more than an observation, Eminence. To earn my

respect, they would have to embrace willingly the truth we bring them."

A herald of lesser station appeared in the roost, offering salute by snapping his fists to opposite

shoulders. "Belek tiu, Eminence. I bring word that the captives have been gathered."

"How many?"

"Several hundred - of diverse aspect. Do you wish to oversee the selection for the sacrifice?"

Harrar squared his shoulders and adjusted the fall of his elegant robes. "I am most eager to do so."

The transport gullet's diaphanous seal opened on an immense hold, packed to the bulkheads with

captives taken on and in the skies above Obroa-skai. Harrar's entourage of personal guards and

attendants moved into the hold, followed by the priest himself, perched atop a levitated cushion, one leg

folded beneath him, the other dangling over the edge, The throbbing heart-shaped dovin basal that kept

the cushion aloft answered to Harrar's quiet prompts, attracting itself to the hold's vaulted ceiling when

the priest called for greater elevation, drawing itself toward one or another distant bulkhead when Harrar

wished to be borne forward, backward, or to either side.

Well illuminated by bioluminescent patches that rashed the walls and ceiling, the hold had been sectioned

off into a score of separate inhibition fields, arranged in two parallel rows and maintained by larger dovin

basals. Pressed shoulder to shoulder in each field stood scholars and researchers from a host of worlds,

humans and others - Bothans, Bith, Quarren, and Caamasi - all jabbering at once in a welter of tongues,

while black-clad wardens armed with amphistaffs supervised the winnowing process. Meant for

coralskipper sustenance rather than living cargo, the immense space reeked of natural secretions, blood,

and sweat.

Mostly, though, fear was in the air.

Harrar hovered on the cushion, surveying the scene with hooded eyes. His retainers fell back so that he

could proceed directly down the center aisle and inspect prisoners to both sides. In order to reach the

first pair of inhibition fields, however, the priest was obliged to circumvent a large access shaft that had

been filled to overflowing with confiscated droids, hundreds of them, heaped together in a mound of

entangled limbs, appendages, and other mechanical parts.

When Harrar ordered a halt alongside the small mountain of machines, those droids that constituted the

summit began to tremble under his scrutiny. With a whirring of strained servomotors, domed, rectangular,

and humaniform heads swiveled, audio sensors perked up, and countless photoreceptors came into sharp

focus.

A momentary avalanche sent several machines screeching and tumbling to the base of the pile, far

belowdecks.

Harrar's intrigued gaze fell on a contorted protocol droid whose upper right arm boasted a band of

colored cloth. He commanded the cushion to bring him within reach of the immobilized machine. "Why

are some of these abominations affecting garments?" he asked his chief attendant.

"They appear to have functioned as research assistants, Eminence," the attendant explained.

"Obroa-skai's libraries could be accessed only by those who had contracted with trained researchers.

The symbol depicted on the machine's armband is that of the so-called Obroan Institute."

Harrar was aghast. "Do you mean to say that serious researchers consorted with these things as equals?"

The attendant nodded once. "Apparently so, Eminence."

Harrar's expression changed to one of contempt. "Allow a machine to think of itself as an equal and it will

soon come to consider itself superior." He reached out, tore the armband from the droid's arm, and

threw it to the deck. "Include a representative sampling of these monstrosities in the sacrifice," he

ordered, "and incinerate the rest."

"We're done for," a muffled synthetic voice whined from deep within the pile.

Living arms of sundry lengths, colors, and textures reached imploringly for Harrar as the cushion carried

him toward the closest inhibition field. Some of the prisoners begged for mercy, but most fell silent in

stark apprehension. Harrar regarded them indifferently, until his eyes happened on a furred humanoid,

from whose bulging brow emerged a pair of ringed, cone-shaped horns. Bare hands and feet were

hardened by physical labor, but the calluses belied a deep intelligence evidenced in the creature's limpid

eyes. The humanoid wore a sleeveless sack-like garment that fell raggedly to the knees and was cinched

at the waist by a braided cord fashioned from natural fiber.

"What species are you?" Harrar asked in flawless Basic.

"I am Gotal."

Harrar indicated the belted sackcloth. "Your attire befits a penitent more than a scholar. Which are you?"

"I am both, and I am neither," the Gotal said with purposeful ambiguity. "I am an H'kig priest."

Harrar twisted spiritedly on the cushion to address his retinue. "Good fortune. We have a holy one in our

midst." His gaze returned to the Gotal. "Tell me something of your religion, H'kig priest."

"What interest could you have in my beliefs?"

"Ah, but I, too, am a performer of rituals. As one priest to another, then."

"We H'kig believe in the value of simple living," the Gotal said plainly.

"Yes, but to what end? To ensure bountiful harvests, to escalate yourself, to secure a place in the

afterlife?"

"Virtue is its own reward."

Harrar adopted a puzzled look. "Your gods have said as much?"

"It is simply our truth - one among many."

"One among many. And what of the truth the Yuuzhan Vong bring you? Aver that you recognize our

gods and I may be inclined to spare your life."

The Gotal stared at him dispassionately. "Only a false god would thirst so for death and destruction."

"Then it's true you fear death."

"I have no fear of a death suffered in the cause of truth, the alleviation of suffering, or the abolishment of

evil."

"Suffering?" Harrar leaned menacingly toward him. "Let me tell you of suffering, priest. Misery is the

mainstay of life. Those who accept this truth understand that death is the release from suffering. That's

why we go willingly to our deaths, for we are the resigned ones." He scanned the captives and raised his

voice. "We ask no more of you than we do ourselves to repay the gods for the sacrifices they endured in

creating the cosmos. We offer flesh and blood so that their work might endure."

"Our god demands no tribute other than good acts," the Gotal rejoined.

"Acts that raise calluses," Harrar said in disdain. "If this is all that is expected of you, it's no wonder your

gods have abandoned you in your time of need."

"We have not been abandoned. We still have the Jedi."

Murmurs of fellowship moved through the throng of captives, reticently at first, then with mounting

conviction.

Harrar regarded the disparate faces below him the labrous and the thin-lipped, the rugose and the

smooth, the hairless and the hirsute, the horned and the furrowed. In their home galaxy, the Yuuzhan

Vong had attempted to eradicate such diversity, prompting wars that had raged for millennia and had

claimed the lives of peoples and worlds too numerous to count. This time, though, the Yuuzhan Vong

planned to be more circumspect, destroying only those peoples and worlds necessary to complete the

cleansing.

"These Jedi are your gods?" Harrar asked at last.

The Gotal took a moment to answer. "The Jedi Knights are the trustees of peace and justice."

"And this 'Force' I have heard about - how would you describe it?"

The Gotal grinned faintly. "It is something you will never touch. Although if I didn't know better, I would

swear you were sprung from its dark side."

Harrar's interest was piqued. "The Force contains both light and dark?"

"As do all things."

"And which are you with regard to us? Are you so sure you embody the light?"

"I know only what my heart teaches."

Harrar deliberated. "Then this struggle is more than some petty war. This is a contest of gods, in which

you and I are but mere instruments."

The Gotal held his head high. "That may be so. But the final judgment is already decided."

Harrar sneered. "May that belief comfort you in your final hour, priest - which, I assure you, is close at

hand." Again he addressed the multitudes. "Up until now your species have faced only Yuuzhan Vong

warriors and politicians. As of today know that the true architects of I your destiny have arrived."

He beckoned his entourage forward. "This Force is a strange, stubborn faith," he said quietly as one of

his attendants came alongside the dovin basal cushion. "If ever we're to rule here, we need to understand

just how it binds these myriad beings together. And we need to vanquish the Jedi Knights, once and for

all."

TWO In a galaxy fraught with wonders, the convergence of columnar tree trunks and forking branches

that supported the Wookiee city of Rwookrrorro enjoyed a place of special honor. Viewed from above

against its backdrop of fathomless forest, the city appeared to have been rescued from the planet's harsh

underworld and submitted to Kashyyyk's scudded sky as an example of nature and technology in

consummate poise.

At the outskirts of the city, distant from the circular buildings that rose from its spongy floor and scaled

the trunks of the giant trees themselves, atop a massive fallen branch that spanned several treetops, a

ceremony was in progress, enacted in observance of nature's timeless cycle of life and death.

The participants, including two dozen Wookiees and humans of both sexes, were arranged in a loose

circle around a wooden table that happened also to be circular. Some stood, others sat on their haunches

or on the ground, but all wore solemn expressions, save for the group's only nonliving members, the

droids C-3PO and R2-D2, whose alloy countenances remained, in all circumstances, essentially neutral.

C-3PO stood with his bulbous head tilted slightly to one side and his arms bent at angles rarely adopted

by the life-form after which he had been modeled. To the droid the rigid posture seemed entirely natural,

a consequence of the way he was put together and the ever-changing demands of the servomotors that

permitted him to gesticulate and move about. Beside him, R2-D2 stood still as a fixture, locomotion struts

planted firmly on the fallen wroshyr tree branch and center tread retracted.

In passing, C-3PO noted that the view from the fallen branch was really quite extraordinary. Fog was

thick in the treetops, concealing the nearest of the Wookiee nursery rings and diffusing the morning light

as might a prism. The view could even be said - though certainly not by him - to bebreathtaking .

[We gather in memory of Chewbacca honorable son, beloved mate, devoted father, loyal friend and

comrade in arms, champion and clan uncle to all of us in spirit, if not in the traditional way.]

The Wookiee speaker was called Ralrracheen, though C-3PO had often heard him referred to simply as

Ralrra. He was tall and aged, even for his arboreal species, but it wasn't the graying muzzle that

distinguished him so much as his curious speech impediment. On any other occasion C-3PO would have

been tasked to serve as translator and interpreter, but none of the humans present had need of his

polyglot faculties that particular morning.

[In Chewbacca, the defiant flame burned brightest,] Ralrra went on, black nose twitching and long arms

dangling at his sides. [On Kashyyyk or farr afield on distant worlds, he was never less than courageous

and incorruptible - a Wookiee with heart enough for ten and eagerr strength enough forr fifty.]

Chewbacca had died six standard months earlier, during an ill-fated rescue attempt on the planet

Sernpidal, after it had been targeted for destruction by the Yuuzhan Vong. The fact that it hadn't been

possible to retrieve his body was a source of sorrow to all, for had Chewbacca been returned to

Kashyyyk a funeral would have been held - though for honor family members only. What Wookiees did

with their dead remained a closely guarded secret. Some experts speculated that the dead were

cremated; others, that they were either buried within tree knots or lowered by kshyy vines into the murky

depths from which the species had risen. Still others claimed that the dead were hacked to pieces with

sacred ryyyk blades and scattered on select wroshyr branches to be carried off by predatory katarns or

kroyie birds.

C-3PO understood that he may not have been allowed to attend the funeral, in any case. Everyone

attending the memorial was a member of Chewbacca's extended family, but it was unlikely that the

affiliation applied to him - much less to his counterpart, R2-D2. For all their espousal to machines,

intelligent and otherwise, flesh and bloods could be extremely proprietary about matters of kinship and

family.

Close to Ralrra squatted Chewbacca's father, Attichitcuk, along with Chewbacca's auburn-furred sister,

Kallabow. Alongside them sat Chewbacca's widow, Mallatobuck, and their son, Lumpawarrump, who

had taken the name Lumpawaroo - Waroo for short - on the successful completion of his rite of passage.

Interspersed among the Wookiee contingent stood assorted friends, kin-brothers, cousins, nieces, and

nephews - Lowbacca among the latter, a Jedi Knight.

The humans numbered only six Master Luke, Mistress Leia, Master Han, and the three Solo offspring,

Anakin, Jacen, and Jaina. Conspicuously absent was Lando Calrissian, who, much to Master Han's

disquiet, had sent word that unexpected - and unspecified - developments would prevent his attending.

Master Luke's wife, Mara, might have attended if a sudden relapse in her mysterious malady hadn't

forced her to remain on Coruscant.

The exquisitely carved table at the center of the circle rested on a carpet of wroshyr tree leaves, its

pedestal base entwined with dark-green kshyy vines and its round top strewn with kolvissh blossoms,

wasaka berries, Orga root, and the glossy yellow petals of the syren plant. The cool air was redolent with

the aroma of smoldering tree-resin incense.

[Here on Kashyyyk, Chewbacca's mettle made itself known at an early age,] Ralrra continued. [With his

late friend Salporin] - he paused to glance at Salporin's widow, Gorrlyn - [Chewbacca left the nursery

ring to venture down along the Rryatt Trail to the Well of the Dead, in the heart of the Shadow Forest.

Armed only with a ryyyk blade, he braved mock shyrr, jaddyyk moss, needlebug, trap-spinnerr, and

shadow-keeperr to harvest strands from the heart of the flesh-eating syren, thus earning the right to wearr

a baldric, carry a weapon, and confirm the name he chose to be known by. Here, too, Chewbacca

ventured into the great Anarrad pit - not once or even twice, but five times, taking down the taloned

katarn on three of those hunts and once receiving a wound from the beast in return.] Ralrra indicated a

spot on his shaggy torso. [Here, on the left side of his chest.

[In preparation for his marriage, which took place atop this very branch, Chewbacca descended to the

fifth level and there with hare hands captured a quillarat and presented it to Malla as an expression of his

love. And when it came time for Waroo's initiation, Chewbacca was steadfast in his support and

encouraging of his son's quest of the scuttle grazerr.]

While some of Chewbacca's accomplishments on his homeworld were familiar to C-3PO, his memory

lacked anything in the way of corroborative data, so he summoned recollections of his own experiences

with the Wookiee and was immediately inundated with a rapid-fire sequence of images, some of them

dating back twenty-five standard years.

His first sight of Chewbacca, standing like a cinnamon-colored tower outside Docking Bay 94 in the

Mos Eisley spaceport on Tatooine ... Chewbacca as a sore loser in dejarik holoboard contests ...

Chewbacca on Bespin's Cloud City, incorrectly reattaching C-3PO's head after it had been used by

Ugnaughts as a plaything in a game of Wookiee in the Middle ... Master Han's assertion that Chewbacca

was always thinking with his stomach ... The many, many times Chewbacca was referred to as

"flea-bitten furball," "overgrown mophead," "walking carpet," or "noisy brute," occasionally by C-3PO

himself - in imitation of humans, of course - and always with affection, given Chewbacca's scrupulous

character and great size.

A sudden flutter gripped C-3PO, and he found that he was unable to summon additional recollections.

An unnatural and most discomfiting heat surged through his circuitry, prompting him to run a diagnostic

program, which ultimately left the source of the glitch unrevealed.

Ralrra woofed, brayed, and barked.

[Natural curiosity compelled Chewbacca to leave Kashyyyk at an early age, but like all of us he was

soon enslaved by the Empire. Fortunately, Chewbacca regained his freedom at the hands of a man of like

strength and honorr - ourr revered brotherr Han Solo. And in the company of Han Solo, to whom he had

pledged his life, Chewbacca was to play a crucial role in the Rebellion, and in the events that led

eventually to the downfall of Emperor Palpatine.]

C-3PO focused his photoreceptors on Master Han, whose eyes were red-rimmed and narrowed, and

whose right hand Mistress Jaina had taken between her own. The dark-blue military-style trousers

Master Han was wearing were similar to the tattered pair he had attempted to preserve for posterity, but

which only the previous day had proved incapable of conforming to Master Han's slightly increased

waistline and had torn irreparably. Present during the incident - the cause of no small measure of vexation

to Master Han - C-3PO had assisted in affixing to the outside seams of the replacement trousers twin

embellishments known as Corellian Bloodstripes.

Across from the father and daughter stood Master Jacen and Mistress Leia, her head resting on her elder

son's shoulder and her cheeks glistening with tears. Near them squatted Master Anakin, brooding and

withdrawn, along with Master Luke, certainly no stranger to death, having lost both his natural and

adoptive parents, as well as Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda, two of his Jedi mentors.

[Chewbacca went on to become a soldierr in the New Republic,] Ralrra boomed and rumbled. [He

aided in Kashyyyk's liberation afterr the Battle of Endorr. But he remained first and foremost devoted to

Han Solo, as friend and indebted protectorr, and as guardian to Han Solo's spouse and three children.]

Ralrra turned to Han. [It was Chewbacca's honorr to have been able to come to his friend's rescue on

several occasions, even as recently as the crisis involving the Yevetha, when he freed Han Solo from

imprisonment aboard a Yevethan warship.]

Once more C-3PO tightened the focus of his photoreceptors on Master Han, who lowered his head in

abject grief, as Jaina stroked his shoulders. Master Han's hip with Chewbacca was similar to C-3PO's

R2-D2, though it seemed at times that the two had been together even longer than had the human and the

Wookiee.

R2-D2 must have been regarding Master Han, as well, for the astromech suddenly rotated his monocular

receptor to C-3PO and warbled tremulously, almost as if he, too, had picked up an enigmatic flutter.

C-3PO changed the cant of his head.

The past several months had afforded ample opportunities to study humans in grief, but for all his

observations he was no closer to understanding the process than he had been before Chewbacca's death

on that dreadful world. All living beings eventually died, when not from the effects of age, then as the

result of accidents or illnesses almost too myriad to catalog. Death was in some ways analogous to

deactivation or memory erasure, but in fact it was something quite different, a total ceasing-to-be - the

end to all adventuring, indeed. In the face of that revelation, C-3PO felt compelled to wonder if he hadn't

been wrong all along about his lot in life. If, as he so often declared, droids were made to suffer, what

then of flesh and bloods?

Perhaps it was better not to know.

As constructed, C-3PO was incapable of shedding tears or enduring heartbreak, as it was called, but his

programming did allow him to experience sorrow of a sort, if not nearly to the depth experienced by

humans and other living beings. And it was suddenly clear that sorrow was the source of the flutter that

continued to plague him. Try as he might, he could not summon a sound thought, and with each glance at

Master Han his dismay increased.

As the one closest to Chewbacca - and perhaps because he was a veryhuman being - Master Han

seemed to be suffering the most, alternating between anguish and rage, despondency and agitation. The

man C-3PO had once dismissed as impossible was now deeply distraught, as unreachable as if he were

encased in carbonite, and there seemed nothing C-3PO could do to put the matter right. Being fluent in

millions of forms of communication did not guarantee an understanding of human behavior, let alone

human emotions. C-3PO was only a droid, after all, and not very knowledgeable about such things.

There had been an incident during Master Han's courtship of then Princess Leia when Master Han had

had occasion to place a hand on C-3PO's arm and say, "You're a good droid, Threepio. There's not

many droids I like as much as I like you." He had gone on to ask C-3PO's advice on matters of the

heart, and C-3PO had gladly provided a poem for Master Han to use as ammunition in his contest with

Prince Isolder for the princess's hand.

But curse my metal body, C-3PO said to himself. Why hadn't his maker equipped him with the necessary

programming to come to Master Han's aid now? Instead, all he could offer was mindless philosophizing!

[Adventure is as alluring and potentially dangerous a thing as the heart of the syren plant,] Ralrra roared

plaintively. [But even Chewbacca's final act was one of sacrifice, giving his life to save someone dearr to

him.] The aged Wookiee looked at young Anakin, then at Master Han and Mistress Leia. [And as everr

he kept his claws retracted in battle. Now, in the same way the branches of the wroshyr seek out and

support one anotherr, Chewbacca's spirit merges with and gives sustenance to ourr own, strengthening us

forr the challenges we have yet to confront.]

Warfare had figured in C-3PO's existence for so long that a new invasion shouldn't have come as a

surprise. But there was something different about the Yuuzhan Vong and the harrowing war they were

waging on a galactic scale. It wasn't merely that they didn't distinguish among species or among worlds -

New Republic, Imperial Remnant, or nonaligned - or even that their biotic warships and weapons

packed such awesome destructive power. What worried C-3PO most was that this most recent conflict

was one in which not even droids were spared. And that meant that, like it or not, he might yet arrive at a

true understanding of grief and death.

The circular table was covered with foodstuffs - bowls of xachibik broth, barbecued trakkrrrn ribs,

forest-honey cakes, salad garnished with rillrrnnn seeds, and flasks of wines, juices, and liquors. Humans

and Wookiees were conversing in groups, recounting tales of Chewbacca's exploits that brought

laughter, tears, or moments of sober reflection. The breeze had picked up, stirring leaves and enlivening

wind chimes.

Han sat dejectedly on a short-legged wooden stool, resting his elbows on his knees. "Y'know, I never

thought I'd hear myself say this, but I think I actually envy Threepio."

Jaina followed her father's gaze to where the droid was standing with his squat counterpart, looking

completely at a loss. "It's better not to have a heart, you mean."

"At times like this, anyway." Han exhaled wearily and ran his right hand down over his face.

Jaina motioned to the table. "Let me get you something to eat, Dad. You must be starved."

He managed a smile. "Thanks, sweetie, but I'm not hungry."

"You should have something anyway," she said in a maternal way.

Han brightened slightly and reached for her hand. "You help yourself, I'm fine."

She frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." He gestured with his chin. "Get going. Eat enough for the both of us."

Reluctantly, Jaina headed for the table. Han watched her for a long moment as she mingled with her

siblings, Luke, and Lowbacca. Observing them, he wondered what he might do if he could use the Force

the way the Jedi did. Would he remain on the light side, or would he avail himself of the sinister powers

of the dark side to teach the Yuuzhan Vong a thing or two about vengeance? Violent and ghastly images

blossomed in his mind like explosions, but he put a quick end to them. He had had months of such

images already, and they had come to nothing. No amount of vengeful thinking was going to bring

Chewie back.

He glanced at his hands and found them balled into fists. While he'd spent the past six months isolated

and incapacitated, often in the dark or secreted inside a tapcaf on Coruscant, the Jedi had at least been

taking the fight to the enemy, and that was exactly what he needed to do.

He berated himself silently, then took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. Loosening his

hands, he slapped his thighs in a gesture of finality and got to his feet. He was starting out for the table

when Mallatobuck and several other members of Chewbacca's family approached him. Malla was

cradling a meter-long wooden box.

[Han Solo,] she said, smiling down at him, [we want you to have this.]

Han's brows knitted. He set the box down on the stool and unlatched its finely wrought metal clasp.

Inside, snug in a bed of cushioning material was a beautifully carved bowcaster, its marked and

blemished skeleton stock polished to a deep brown gleam. An artfully disguised magnetic accelerator, the

weapon propelled explosive quarrels at extremely high speeds. This one was equipped with a sighting

scope and a recocking mechanism few human hands would be capable of operating.

"I recognize this," Han said, nodding. He compressed his lips to trap a moan fighting to escape him. "It's

one of the first I ever saw him make."

Malla hooted. [Chewbacca fashioned it shortly after we married - while you were here. He fashioned

better versions in his time, but this one retains the warmth and power of him.]

Han hefted the weapon. "I feel it." He turned and hugged Malla, his head barely reaching her chin. "I'll

treasure it."

Waroo handed Han a carry pouch made of hide. [This also belonged to my father. I know he would

have wanted you to have it.]

Han placed the curve-bottomed pouch over his shoulder, knowing full well that it would hang down past

his knees. Malla, Waroo, Lowbacca, and the rest boomed their delight in earsplitting yowls. Jaina

returned with a plate of food in time to join in the laughter.

"If Chewie could see you now," she said, grinning for the first time all day.

Han backhanded a tear from his left eye, smiled, and put his arm around his daughter's waist. "The big lug

would bust a gut."

Jowdrrl, Chewbacca's chestnut-colored female cousin, growled something to Malla that Han didn't

catch. Seeing Han's inquisitive expression, Malla explained. [Jowdrrl is wondering when you and your

family will be returning to Coruscant.]

Han and Jaina traded shrugs. "I hadn't thought about it," Han said. "Tomorrow sometime, I Suppose."

Jowdrrl lowed in elaboration. [I ask only because Dryanta and I need a small measure of time to

prepare.]

Han's features mirrored his bewilderment. "Prepare for what? Are you coming to Coruscant with us?"

Chewbacca's father, Attichitcuk, yaupped in a meaningful way. [Jowdrrl and Dryanta are arranging the

feast for Waroo and Lowbacca's farewell.]

"Waroo and Lowbacca," Han said nervously.

[They will be assuming Chewbacca's life debt.]

Han's jaw came unhinged. He glanced from one Wookiee to the next in rising dismay. "But - but you

can't. Chewie's dead. All debts are off."

Attichitcuk issued a sustained, bass-register growl. [Death may have extinguished my son's defiant flame,

but our debt to you continues until yours is extinguished.]

Her lower lip between her teeth, Jaina placed a comforting hand on her father's arm, only to have it

shrugged off. Han was shaking his head back and forth.

"No, no, I can't accept this. Chewie saved my life ten times over. Hedied saving Anakin's life." His

agitation increased as he spoke. "Besides, I'm the one who owes all of you a life debt." He cut his eyes to

the dark-brown son of Dewlannamapia. "Your mother was kinder to me than my own." He searched out

Gorrlyn. "Your husband, Salporin, gave his life protecting Leia from Noghri assassins." He appealed to

Jowdrrl and Dryanta. "Your cousin Shoran died aboard thePride of Yevetha savingme !"

[As you would have died for them,] Attichitcuk rumbled, nearly showing his fangs. [A life debt is just

that.]

Malla, too, was glowering at Han. [You would not defame Chewbacca's memory by refusing to allow his

debt to be honored.]

Jaina swallowed audibly. "Dad doesn't mean any dishonor." She glanced at her father. "Right, Dad?"

Han stared at her, mouth still ajar. Malla's vibrato growl had summoned a memory of a day following the

wedding when Han had tried to persuade Chewie into remaining behind with his bride rather than

accompanying him back to Nar Shaddaa. He thought, too, of Groznik, a Wookiee who had attached

himself to the Rogue Squadron pilot Elscol Loro, wife of a man named Throm to whom Groznik was

life-debted.

"Right, right," he said at last, looking from Jaina to Malla. "I'd cut off my arm before I'd dishonor

Chewie's memory in any way. You know that. It's just that ..."

Everyone waited.

"It's just that I'm not ready." He shook his head as if to clear it, then looked up at Attichitcuk and the

others. "Chewie's still alive for me. I can't just allow him to be ... replaced. You've gotta understand that.

He was more than a protector. He was my closest friend."

The Wookiees exchanged sympathetic looks and indecipherable brays.

[He clings to his memory of my husband,] Malla remarked sadly.

[He needs time,] Attichitcuk growled, somehow without making it sound menacing.

"That's it," Han said, grasping at straws. "I just need time."

After what seemed an eternity, Chewbacca's father nodded his huge head. [Then time we'll grant you.

The life debt involves more than simply providing shelter from bodily harm. It succors the spirit, as well.]

Han saw the truth of it. "I want that to go on."

Malla put her huge paws on his shoulders. [Then it shall.]

THREE Holographic images of star systems and entire galactic sectors pirouetted in a blue-gray shaft of

projected light. Flashing overlays showed hyperspace lanes that linked far-flung regions of space. The

pressure of a fingertip against a touch screen was sufficient to conjure information on individual worlds,

stars, or lightspeed routes. Dots of artificial light expanded to reveal data on native species and cultures,

planetary topography, population statistics, and in some cases defense capabilities.

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