Sublevel 10, Dlarit Mine Five Beta
Sector Orenth Four, Aeotheran Jungle, Orian System

Nix was hurled into Dyrra’s back when the underground tram jerked to an abrupt halt. The door slid open automatically and the two teams piled out of the packed conditions into the unknown cavern beyond. It was dark, too dark, the only light coming from the glow of their lightsabers or the small searchlights mounted atop their blaster pistols. The sound of something scuttling echoed out in the darkness, interrupted only by their own footsteps.

‘I don’t like the sound of that . . .’

‘Quiet, Marcus,’ Dyrra hissed as the sergeant stepped deeper inside the dank cavern. If this was where the Vong had been headed, it certainly didn’t look it. Apart from the scuttling, there was no sound of life, not even that anyone had been here. As they moved inside, letters emerged through the dark as Nix’s lightsabers brushed up alongside an aging signpost.

‘Sublevel Ten,’ Nix said, and lifted his saber to illuminate the full sign. ‘Dlarit Mine Five Beta? This is one of ours?’ The Shistavanen made what amounted to a human frown.

In silence, the team moved further inside. ‘Keep alert,’ Dyrra whispered, taking point.

Suddenly, a dark shape rushed across in the dim light.

‘Movement!’ Agrist shouted.

‘I feel . . . something,’ Krandon said slowly. ‘Several somethings. Can’t be Vong.’

Dyrra looked back to one of the Special Ops troopers that had accompanied them.

‘Trooper, you got a light in that getup?’ Dyrra asked.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ one of the privates who’d come along with them replied, then a moment later a bright torchlight flooded the underground chamber in a solid white beam, momentarily blinding a couple of the newer battleteam members. After their eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light, the source of the scuttling became apparent: perched across the uneven cavern walls and ceiling were nearly a dozen excessively oversized bugs. Another second later the creatures all clacked their mandibles together and dived atop the trooper.

‘Bugs!’

Surface Level, Vega Mine
Sector Orenth Four, Aeotheran Jungle, Orian System

Alarms blared in Sylus’s ears as shapes flashed to life across the holographic display of the mine’s layout. Intruders had breached the sublevels. They’d found him.

He keyed the display for the orbital map.

The Special Operations fleet still lay in wait above Sepros. It appeared Admiral Yash’s forces were doing their job discouraging a direct attack on Aeotheran—not that it did Sylus any good that moment. Right then, he didn’t much care if Seng Karash burned to the ground.

Where the frack was Ona Amnan?

Sylus cursed. He knew he should never have trusted the Vong. He’d been hung out just like with the True Brotherhood; kriffing Anaxela; kriffing Varesh. It didn’t matter. If there was one thing he was good at it was surviving. And he was going to survive. That he knew.

He’d kept his last ace hidden; unlike before, this time he had the edge.

‘Ghon, are the charges in the old supply shafts in the lower levels still active?’

The Gungan’s throat clicked before he answered. ‘You want to use the charges? We . . . we do not think that wise,’ Ghon said hesitantly.

Kriffing we all the time. ‘Glad to know,’ he snorted. ‘Just go power them up.’

The bounty hunter’s surviving eye stalk bulged, however he left without another word.

Sylus opened up a comm channel to his Jedi aide; or rather spy—he wasn’t blind to the real reason she was there to watch him. ‘Viq—Fiula. Vega Mine has been breached. The . . . Sseeth are here,’ he put exaggerated stress on the word like the Klatooinian now did. ‘I need you to assemble my men and head down there and hold them off.’

The hologram’s canine muzzle folded into a lustful grin. ‘The Sseeth?’ she mumbled, her eyes widening at the sound. ‘At last! I will show them the Light!’

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s just great . . .’ Sylus was getting really fed up with the religious prattle. ‘Just get my men down there and get rid of them.’

‘I will bring glory to the gods!’ Fiula roared before the line went dead.

The Saraii shook his head. Why had he ever let Yash talk him into having her around?

Sylus had not wanted to use the charges in the lower levels—the mine had been shut down for a good reason—but if they were the safest option, so be it. He keyed on the rest of the mine’s defence systems, activating the droid guards. Even if the Jedi managed to break into the basement—and it was a big if—Vega Mine was still built to be a fortress. If they got too far inside—

—well, they’d not be getting back out again. The explosive charges would see to that.

And with Fiula down there that was two birds with one stone.

Sylus tore open one of the cardboard boxes he was still storing clothes in. Old mayoral gowns, dinner jackets, military uniforms . . . ah, yes, he found it: his enviro-suit. It was built more for zero gravity than subterranean excavation, but it had a breath mask and a good layer of armour—and lightsaber resistant armour at that. Thank you, Anaxela. He dug around through a couple more weapons’ crates for some of the Verpine gear he’d secured for situations like this; not even lightsabers could block a shatter rifle.

After he’d donned the enviro-suit and loaded up on ammunition, he sat back in his chair and leant back to watch the map display. He’d taken every care to ensure Vega Mine was impenetrable—and especially impenetrable by the Sith. He popped open the bottle of Alderaanian brandy on his desk and poured himself a glass. Ahhh, good vintage.

Now all there was to do was wait.

If they got too far, he’d just press the big red button under his desk and goodbye Sith.

It stung to think of the harm it would cause to Vega Mine, but everything had its price.

Being buried alive couldn’t happen to nicer Sith.

Landing Site, Wreckage of Obsidian Station
Northern Polar Region, Tarthos, Orian System

The LAAT pulled away from the buried entrance and sailed blindly through the blizzard as Fremoc and his fellow Raptors searched the snowy plains for any sign of a second entrance to the base Arnet had said was here. The larty shook as its engine fought against the wind currents; Tarthos was a harsh mistress at the best of times, let alone this far into the savage north.

‘See anything?’ Fremoc asked.

Ryuk shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Fremoc glanced at each Raptor in turn, each shaking their heads the same as Ryuk had. The sensor readouts were no better; they were worse than useless with all the interference from the storm. A few twisted durasteel girders jutted out, only half-buried by the snow, but there was little sign of a base. It was no surprise Lord Paladin hadn’t turned up anything when he’d sensed something amiss the year before; if there was a base here, it was buried.

‘Anyone else get the feeling Arnet lied to us?’ Teu muttered.

Fremoc pretended he hadn’t heard. If this was a dead end, then by the time they found the real base the Vong would be sure to have emptied it. His fists began to clench hard enough that his nails were nearly drawing blood. If he’d made a mistake killing Arnet, he was sure to hear it when they got back to Tyren at the other entrance . . .

Suddenly, the red warning lights flared.

‘Incoming!’ the pilot called from the cockpit.

Fremoc swirled back to the window. What looked like meteorites soared outside the transparisteel viewport—that is: soared upwards. His eyes narrowed and he looked down towards the surface: a series of orange nodules had erected from beneath the snow. The nodules’ mouths closed as they sunk back into the snow, then a second later they erupted out again, spitting flaming balls of rock in the ship’s direction.

Hunter’s Grotto, Wreckage of Obsidian Station
Northern Polar Region, Tarthos, Orian System

Bur’lorr’s amphistaff burst open when he clenched his fist.

The blaze bugs flying about the room had suddenly shifted red—hostiles. Some of the blue bugs started attacking the red ones, however the red bugs were stronger and simply bit the heads off a pair of blue which then fell to the floor, lifeless.

He hurled his limp amphistaff at the swarm of insects.

The Hunter should have killed that greed driven slime months ago. Ran Arnet had jeopardised them all by leading the Sseeth right here. This was what Bur’lorr got for relying on cowards. The cluster of villips on the stool in front of him everted into the faces of various squad leaders spread throughout the now fully terraformed wreckage. At least he was no longer living in squalid halls of metal, but a coral nest befitting of the Children of the Gods.

The Hunter was greeted by a chorus of: ‘Do-ro’ik Vong pratte!’

He did not return the welcome. The cries of the imprisoned machine behind him echoed inside his skull—the construct still was not even scratched. He took a moment to clear his head, then studied the faces of each squad leader in turn, ‘My warriors, the Sseeth have discovered us. Go and show them the Light of the Truth and grant them passage to the Lands of the Dead!’

The squad leaders cried in unison and the villips folded back into leathery balls.

Bur’lorr turned back to Khalee Muyel, who was still trying to sever the abomination’s arms with his sword of light. It did nothing but sizzle against the droid’s metal skin.

‘You have need of me?’ the Caamasi asked, noticing the Hunter’s attention.

‘Forget the machine. Report to the entrance with the other squad leaders. The infidels must not be allowed to reactivate the planetary grid.’

‘As you command,’ Khalee said and left.

As the hatch sphincter closed behind the former Jeedai, Bur’lorr sat down and placed the base’s translucent cognition hood over his head. The minds of the numerous biots throughout the base merged with his and he forced his mind’s needs on theirs. The base may not have been equipped with much, but the plasma cannons and dovin basals outside the entrance were enough to slow the Sseeth down.

However, even if they breached the perimeter, the Hunter had no intention of going out without a fight. Once Bur’lorr had issued orders to the yaret-kors outside the main hatchway, he pulled on his cloak and faded into the shadows. The Sseeth would have a difficult time as it was—harder still given the Hunter was all but invisible beneath his cloak. He may not have been a Slayer like Varesh, but aside from Shimrra’s chosen elite the Hunters were second to no other.

He glanced back one last time at the droid which still hung in its chains, then dilated the sphincter and headed for the lower chambers. His life was unimportant. To die in service to the Gods was the greatest victory. He hurried through the now moss coloured halls towards the last remaining infidel terminal still intact at the doomed station’s heart. Even if they did penetrate the grotto, he had no intention of letting them claim their prize.