The ankkox stopped. The beak-curve of the crown armor on its landspeeder-sized skull lowered to the ground at Mace’s feet. The beast’s eyes were orange and gold and as large as Mace’s head, and they peered up from under the curve of armor with melancholy saurian patience.

Vastor vaulted to the ground. Make your good-byes. Then you are leaving.

“Nice doggy …” Nick said with a sickly forced smile. He gave a weak laugh. “Nice—”

Vastor’s immense left arm flashed at Nick in a blinding palm slap that would have taken his head right off before he could even blink—but that massive arm was intercepted by the heel of Mace’s open hand.

Mace’s fingers locked momentarily around Vastor’s wrist. “He’s with me,” he said, and before the lor pelek could react, he released Vastor and backhanded Nick off his feet.

Nick lay crumpled on the leaf mold, stunned, staring up at Mace in astonishment. Through their Force-link, Mace sent a pulse of private reassurance: an invisible deadpan wink.

Nick played along. “What was that for?”


- Shatterpoint, Chapter 11