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Informationen zum Autor James Luceno Klappentext A string of smashing victories by the forces of the sinister aliens known as the Yuuzhan Vong has left New Republic resources and morale stretched to the breaking point. Leia Organa Solo, estranged from her husband, Han, oversees the evacuation of refugees on planets in the path of the merciless invaders. Luke Skywalker struggles to hold the fractious Jedi Knights together, even while one of them undertakes a bold but reckless undercover mission. Manipulating their alliance with the amoral Hutts, the Yuuzhan Vong leave a cunning trail of vital information where New Republic agents are sure to find it--information the desperate defenders cannot afford to ignore: the location of the aliens' next target. Then Han Solo stumbles into the dark heart of raging battle, thus beginning a furious race against time that will require every skill and trick in his arsenal to win... Leseprobe "Punch it, Droma!" Han yelled as he veered the Falcon into an abrupt bank. Muttering nervously to himself, Droma boosted power to the sublight drives and maxed the throttle. "We'll be fine venturing into Hutt space, you said. You used to do a lot of contract work up and down the Sisar Run and Sriluur was like a second home, you said. Nothing to worry about, you--" "Quit griping and give me an update on those ships!" Droma swung to the display screen of the ship's friend-or-foe authenticator, which showed seven bevel-shaped icons closing fast on the Falcon's aft. "Yuuzhan Vong, all right." Han glanced at the display. The scanners limned images of what might have been asteroids save for the distinctive bulges that were cockpits and the pitted noses characteristic of weapons emplacements and dovin basal housings. "Coralskippers." "Coordinates for the jump to Nar Shaddaa coming in." "Belay that," Han countered, throwing switched on the console. "There's no shaking those skips. Route power to the rear deflector shields and lock in a course back to Sriluur. I'd rather deal with them in an atmosphere than out here." Droma quickly applied himself to the task. "At least we won't have as far to fall." "Thanks for the encouragement." The Falcon whipped through a half-twisting loop, and the curve of the dun-and-ecru-colored world ballooned into view. Terrain-following data said they were traveling northward, looking out at a slice of the northern hemisphere just east of the planetary date line. "Skips don't perform well in gravity," Han assured. "Have to rely on the anti-grav capabilities of the dovin basals." As if they had heard him, the enemy pilots began firing at extreme range, molten-gold comets streaming from the projectile and plasma launchers in the bows of their small craft. Two of the missiles connected and, even though weakened by distance, were powerful enough to rock the larger ship. The Falcon's sensor suite began screaming. "Rear shields holding," Droma reported while he activated countermeasures and distortion systems. "For now." Han took a steadying breath, vised his right hand on the throttle lever, and rammed it home. The light freighter surged into Sriluur's upper atmosphere, trembling as it continued its oblique dive. With arrant scorn for the planet's protective wrapping, the Yuuzhan Vong crafts plunged after. "See what I told you?" Han exclaimed. "They stick like epoxy!" The ship's indicators railed in protest as the Falcon plummeted into denser air, rolling and corkscrewing to evade the deadly fire that sought her. All caution forgotten, Han sharpened the angle of descent, sloughing control in exchange for added speed. "You've got the bridge!" he told Droma. Droma threw him a panicked glance. "What?" Unfastening the straps that secured him to the pilot's chair, Han stood, spun on his heel, and started for the main ladderwell...
