Shadows of the Empire by Steve Perry Page A

Rogue Two returning to base. Good luck, guys! I’ll put the kettle on for tea.”
    Two more TIEs came at Luke, and he moved instinctively, pulled the stick and soared away from the attackers at almost ninety degrees, then looped at the top and dropped back toward the attackers in a power dive, lasers blinking.
    One of the TIEs exploded; the other’s engine flamed and went out, and the wounded TIE coasted out of the fight without main power.
    “Here comes another wave,” Wedge said. “Twelve blips at three-zero-three and closing fast.”
    The odds were getting worse, the dangers increasing by the second, and Rogue Squadron was down one member. Things didn’t look good.
    Despite that, Luke was having a great time. He might not be much of a Jedi, but he could fly.
    He hoped Lando and Leia and Chewie were doing okay.
    Acceleration pulled at his body as he swung the X-wing into a hard power turn.
    The battle continued.

8
    L ate afternoon shaded into evening as Xizor left the house of his mistress, an almost palatial dwelling he had bestowed upon her as a going-away gift, though she did not yet know the affair was over. Xizor never spent more than a few months with any female. Because of his hormonal makeup, his ability to produce overwhelmingly powerful pheromones, he never had any trouble attracting new companions. But because it was so easy, he quickly tired of them, no matter how beautiful, no matter how clever. He had never found a companion he could consider his equal, and if he ever did, well, how would he be able to trust someone that adept? An interesting conundrum.
    Moreover, once a meal was eaten, no matter how delicious, he preferred to dine on a different delicacy the next time …
    A warm rain drizzled down from a condensation cloud hanging low over this section of the city. Such microweather cells were quite common at this season; ashort distance away the skies might be crystal clear. As the darkness thickened and where clouds did not interfere, one could view the colorful discharge auroras and the red and blue running lights of the constant stream of ship traffic going to and coming from orbit, even here in the center of the cityglow.
    The two bodyguards waiting at the exit accompanied Xizor to his armored luxury coach, where two more guards and the droid chauffeur waited. Xizor entered the vehicle and leaned back on the cloned-leather seat. His mistress would receive a call from Guri shortly, a generous severance payment and good wishes for her future. She would also be told never to attempt to contact Xizor again. Should she do so, the consequences would be … dire.
    Thus far, only one of his ex-companions had tried to see him after their arrangement had been terminated. That unfortunate woman, he was told, had become part of a tall commercial plex on the Southern Enclave, courtesy of a giant factorylike construction droid that had somehow, alas, accidentally mixed her in with a vat of duracrete.
    Life was full of dangers, even here.
    “We’ll have dinner at the Menarai,” Xizor told the droid.
    The coach lifted and swung smoothly up into the traffic pattern, bracketed front and back by bodyguards in their own airspeeders. The trio of vehicles reached cruising altitude and headed for Monument Park, where the planet’s single uncovered mountain peak jutted above the surface’s otherwise all-encompassing building complex. There was a restaurant that catered to the wealthy and powerful on a spire near the park, and from the shelter of the building one could view the mountain, even see through the restaurant’s transparisteel walls the religious fanatics who maintained vigil over the peak to prevent tourists from stealing the bare rock for souvenirs. One bookedreservations for the Menarai months in advance and then only if one’s name was on the approved list. It was the most exclusive restaurant on the planet.
    Exclusive, but even so, no matter how crowded the Menarai, no matter how it might upset a