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Informationen zum Autor Sean Williams and Shane Dix Klappentext Swift and deadly, the Yuuzhan Vong have blasted their way across the galaxy—and now stand on the threshold of total victory. Yet a courageous few still dare to oppose them. . . . Rife with hostile cultures and outright enemies, the Unknown Regions holds many perils for Luke Skywalker and the Jedi, searching for Zonama Sekot, the living planet that may hold the key to dealing once and for all with the Yuuzhan Vong. Meanwhile, on the edge of the galaxy and in the heart of a trusted ally, old enemies are stirring. The Yuuzhan Vong have inflamed long-forgotten vendettas that are even now building up to crisis point. And as Han and Leia journey on their quest to knit the unraveling galaxy back together, betrayal and deception await them. . . .It was a huge pit: easily thirty meters deep and almost a kilometer across. Mighty columns stretched up into the sky, reaching for the planet that hung in the blackness like an overripe fruit about to fall. Around her on the ground were a number of ships, some secured in their birthing bays by restraining carapaces, others just lying on the ground in various stages of disrepair and decay. She knew the place to be an old spaceport—one that was both comfortingly familiar and disconcertingly alien. She wanted to climb into one of the derelict spaceships and fly off to the planet up above—for she knew that here, at least, she might be safe—but the dilapidated condition of the ships told her that this simply wasn’t an option. The spaceport and all its craft had lain unused for many years. It was abandoned, just like the world beneath her feet—as abandoned as she felt herself to be. Someone was standing behind her. She turned, startled, and found herself staring at a distant reflection of herself. Only it wasn’t her at all. This person had scars across her forehead. Reaching up, she realized she didn’t carry any such scars. The only scars she carried were the ones on her arms, and they felt completely different. Her reflection’s scars stood out boldly, proudly, and had been carved into the flesh with purpose . Hers, on the other hand, were a product of anger and an intense desire to remove something she’d thought she had seen lurking beneath her skin . . . “There’s nowhere left to run,” the ghostly reflection said. In the distance came the howl of the lizard beast. “Not for you, either,” she pointed out. Despite obvious effort to hide it, there was fear behind the reflection’s gaze. “Why do you want to hurt me?” she asked it. “Because you want to hurt me.” “I want to be left alone! I want only to be free!” “As do I.” “But I belong here!” The reflection surveyed their surroundings, then faced her again. “As do I.” The howl of the creature sounded again, louder this time, and closer. “It can smell us,” the reflection said. “It can smell my fear, and it can smell your guilt.” “I have nothing to feel guilty for.” “No, you don’t. And yet there it is, nonetheless.” She looked into herself, then, and saw the guilt of which the reflection spoke. It had always been there, she knew; she just hadn’t wanted to see it. But now the amorphous and neglected emotion took shape, forming into words that rose in her thoughts, in her throat, finally demanding release: Why am I alive when the one I love is dead? And with this came a deafening roar from the lizard creature. It was a roar of anger, of remorse, and of regret; it was a bellow whose echo called back to her out of the dark over and over again, fading each time until it be-came little more than a far-off whisper, a distant speck in the dark . . . Tahiri . . . Tahiri . . . “Tahiri?”
