Therefore, I ask you all to take every precaution as you spread the Message and recruit for our cause. A whisper will spread, but a shout would most surely be silenced. With patience and perseverance, we will prevail. I ask you to go now in the strength and knowledge that the spirit of freedom is with us!" Nom Anor stood and opened his arms, as though to embrace them all. At the signal, the doors at the back of the cellar opened, allowing the newly recruited acolytes to file out. He smiled beneficently as they left, radiating goodwill and trust. It was very different from how he had once dealt with underlings.

There was a time when he would have sent them off with curses and threats, trusting in fear to keep them loyal. But this wouldn't work on the Shamed Ones; threatening them with punishment would only demonstrate that he was no different from the rest of their masters. If he had learned one thing from his disguise, it was that when fear was a way of life and there was nothing left to lose, the only incentive remaining was reward.

When they were gone, he collapsed back into the throne. Go now, in the knowledge that you are the instruments of my authority, and the means by which I shall attain the glory I deserve...

"A good audience, Yu'shaa?" He looked up. The Shamed warrior Kunra, who acted as his bodyguard and occasional conscience, had entered the room, closely followed by Nom Anor's truest believer, Shoon-mi Esh.

Shoon-mi wore the robes of a priest, though without the insignia of any of the Yuu-zhan Vong deities. Kunra wore no armor, belying the cowardice that had caused his fall from grace. Knowing their true selves, Nom Anor thought them a pathetic entourage for any would-be revolutionary; but he had to admit that the converts responded well to them.

"Nothing special," he said in his usual rough voice. There was no need to soliloquize with these two. "What we are gaining in quant.i.ty, we're losing in quality. A couple of them looked like they were about to die on their feet."

"I apologize, Master." Shoon-mi made fawning motions with his gnarled hands.

"I did not feel it my place to turn anyone with need aside."

"Soon you will have to, Shoon-mi." Beneath his tiredness and irritation, Nom Anor felt an abiding satisfaction at the way the movement was growing. Every day brought more penitents to their door, seeking the truth of the Message spreading around Yuuzhan'tar. "Perhaps it is time to start training the Select. You have the list?" Shoon-mi nodded vigorously, eager to please. "I have identified seventeen who qualify."

"Loyal without being blind," Nom Anor said, going over the prerequisites for those chosen. "Quick thinkers, but not too intelligent, yes?"

"Yes, Master."

"Then call them to me." He glanced around at his surroundings. "The sooner the better, for I grow weary of the stench down here." Shoon-mi inclined his head. "They will stand before you tomorrow, Master," he said, making to leave.

Before he had gone five steps, Nom Anor stopped him. "Shoon-mi," he called. The Shamed One turned to face him. "I could not have done this without you. I want you to know that." The highest of Nom Anor's acolytes beamed with pride as he scurried off to do his duty. The self-styled Prophet buried a flash of irritation. Although part of him wished he had killed the fool when he'd had the chance, he had to acknowledge Shoon-mi's usefulness. He was dedicated and resourceful, and Nom Anor felt he owed it to Shoon-mi's sister, Niiriit, one of the first true believers of the Message, not to kill him. Kunra would be sure to remind him if he tried, he was sure.

That wasn't the most irritating thing, though. Shoon-mi's willingness to work for nothing but praise stuck in Nom Anor's throat like a bone.

The ex-warrior stood in silence by the door, watching him. Nom Anor had come to know Kunra well enough to realize when he had something on his mind.

"What is it?"

"You'd better see for yourself." Kunra turned and walked through the hall's main entrance and into the antechamber. From there, he led Nom Anor along a short corridor to the small cell in which Kunra slept.

There, immobilized by blorash jelly, lay a female dressed in rags. Her cheek was heavily bruised, but her eyes were open and filled with defiance.

"She was carrying this," Kunra said, offering Nom Anor the remains of a small, larva-like creature. Its leathery sh.e.l.l had been crushed and would have been barely recognizable had not Nom Anor seen such things many times before. It was a villip.

The female had obviously intended to bring it into the meeting so that the person on the other end could watch the Prophet in action. That in itself was not necessarily sinister; some of the acolytes had attempted to spread the Message via villips before-or so they had claimed. Nora Anor knew, however, that he couldn't afford to take the chance.

"Does Shoon-mi know?" he asked, keeping his stare fixed on the female.

"No. I make sure to check all acolytes before they reach him. This one came alone and was out of the way before he had a chance to suspect anything." Nom Anor nodded his approval. It made things much simpler.

"I want the name of the person holding her master villip," he said coldly.

"Find out how much she knows about us while you're at it-get the information any way you have to. Then kill her." Kunra didn't argue. "I understand." The female started to struggle, her protests m.u.f.fled by the gag in her mouth.

Nom Anor ignored her. "I shall explain to Shoon-mi that we have to relocate again."

"He won't like it." He faced Kunra. "I'm sure he'd prefer it to dying." Without a further glance at the prisoner, he turned and walked away.

Part Two

Destination

The freighter came out of nowhere from hypers.p.a.ce far too close to Bakura and going into an instant spin. Its drive units stuttered at random, which wasn't helping the freighter's situation, while its subs.p.a.ce was transmitting nothing but static-which to Jag Pel sounded a lot like the buzzing of angry insects.

He had spent a lot of time and effort memorizing the manufacturers and model names of both Republic and Imperial vessels, but he was having difficulty identifying this one. Its distinctive asymmetric design suggested something from the Corellian Engineering Corporation - possibly somewhere between the YT 1300 and the YT 2400-although he couldn't be 100 percent certain. Either way, it was in poor shape, and that wasn't likely to improve in a hurry.

He would have happily ignored it had it not been for the fact that whoever was flying it was coming dangerously close to where Pride of Selonia was stationed. "Flights B and C, stand by." Jag switched to a commercial channel.

"Unidentified freighter, you are infringing upon our s.p.a.ce. Change course immediately or we will be forced to take action." More static was his only reply.

He swung his clawcraft away from Selonia in order to meet the incoming vessel.

His wingmate followed, S-foils opening smoothly on her X-wing.

"Bakura Orbital Control," he commed on local channels, "has anybody given this freighter approval to occupy our orbit?"

"Negative, Twin One," came the instant reply. "This flight is unauthorized.

But we've certainly seen her before."

"You have a registration listed?"

"Oh yeah. She goes by the name of Jaunty Cavalier and is owned by a Wookiee called Rufarr. In fact, I'm surprised to see him return here. He left owing me some credits." Not your usual Wookiee, then, Jag thought as he watched the freighter tumble toward him. And not your usual approach, either.

"I think he's got more to worry about at the moment," Jag sent.

"Requesting permission to nudge her out of harm's way."

"As long as you promise not to be too gentle," Orbital Control quipped.

"Do what you have to, Twin One," added Captain Mayn from Selonia.

"Just make sure she gives us a wide berth."

"Jaunty Cavalier," he tried,again. "You have ten seconds to comply with my instructions or you will be intercepted. Please respond." Still nothing but crackling over the comm.

"Okay, we're going in." He applied power to his thrust-ers and brought his clawcraft alongside the tumbling freighter. "Flight B, come closer and add your shields to mine. We're going to try to give her a little push." Two X- wings and another clawcraft joined him and his wingmate. With half of Twin Suns all working simultaneously, the freighter's heading gradually began to change, but it required a redirection of all available power to both engines and shields from all ships. Jag kept a wary eye on the freighter, just in case she tried anything.

Five degrees would do it, he decided. That would take the freighter well past Selonia and clear of Bakura's atmosphere-He caught a flash out of the corner of his eye. At that exact moment a dozen instruments on his console spiked, and he realized that a spray of neutrinos had just washed over him.

"Did anyone else catch that?"

"Affirmative, Twin One," the leader of Flight B replied. "Look at the drive units." Jag craned to look out the rear of his c.o.c.kpit's transparent canopy. The freighter's engines were stuttering furiously now, thrust ebbing and fading in wildly erratic energy swings.

"I don't like the look of this," he mumbled under his breath.

The words had barely left his lips when the drive units emitted a particularly bright flash, then died completely.

"Break off!" he called over the comm. "All fighters, disengage immediately!" He was already wrenching the controls of his clawcraft up and away from the stricken freighter. "Full power to aft shields! Put everything you've got between us and that thing! She's going to-" There was a blinding white flash from behind him, then something picked up his clawcraft and spun it like a top around all axes. He clutched at the sides of his flight seat, hearing nothing but the scream of tortured matter over the comm.

Then the rough ride was over, and the stars reappeared. Jag damped down his spin and checked on the four other starfighters. He was relieved to find them all present, if a little shaken by the experience. All that remained of Jaunty Cavalier was a jagged chunk of wreckage, possibly a section of the forward structural cha.s.sis. The rest had been blown to atoms by the drive failure.

"Bakura Orbital Control," he said solemnly into his comm. "I think you can kiss your credits good-bye."

"Don't write it off just yet, Twin One," came the voice of Captain Mayn. "We registered a launch from Jaunty Cavalier just before the detonation. It looked like a small pod of some kind." This surprised Jag.

"An escape pod? Are you sure? I didn't see anything."

"I'm positive," Mayn returned. "It was on the opposite side of the ship from you, which was probably why you didn't see it."

"Heading for Bakura, you mean?" Jag was still slightly disoriented from the shock wave, but he knew his up from his down. Every s.p.a.cer did in a gravity well. "Does it have thrusters?"

"They're firing, but it's not enough. Reentry will be too steep.

Want to go fetch it, or should we hand it over to Bakura OC?"

"Negative on that," Orbital Control said over the open line. "We wouldn't be able to get there in time. Sorry, Twin One, but it's going to have to be you or no one at all."

"Understood," Jag said, silently hoping there'd be no more surprises in store for him.

He sent his clawcraft swooping around the growing cloud of wreckage, his engines on maximum burn. The pod appeared on his scope a second later, streaking downward. Its velocity was increasing, but it was no match for a clawcraft at full throttle. He decelerated cautiously alongside as it loomed large in his scopes. There were no obvious b.o.o.by traps or triggers, just the blinking of an emergency beacon, bright and repet.i.tive on the subs.p.a.ce channels.

Jag didn't know exactly what sort of communications capacities the Corellian Engineering Corporation provided its escape capsules, but he didn't imagine they'd be much. Before locking on to the pod, he scanned the sub-s.p.a.ce channels looking for any transmissions from the kind of local comlink the occupant-if there was one - would probably be using. He picked up various low-power transmissions, including just about every navigational beacon for a light-month, before finally lucking onto a faint voice calling stridently: - n emergency! Someone answer me, please!

I'm in need of a.s.sistance. Can anyone hear this? I'm-"

"This is Colonel Jag Fel calling the occupant of'life pod-" He checked the ident number visible on the stubby cylinder as it rotated into view. "-one-one-two-V. Can you hear this?"

"Yes!" The reply was immediate and drenched with relief. "Yes, I can! Thank the Balance you found me! I was beginning to think my escape had all been for nothing!" Jag fine-tuned his trim preparatory to coming in closer. The voice clearly did not belong to the Wookiee captain of the destroyed freighter. "Want to tell me what happened back there?"

"The drive failed in midjump and I didn't know what to do to fix it. The navicomputer died in the energy surge following the engine failure. I was lucky that bucket of bolts made it as far as she did."

"Are there any other survivors there with you?"

"Just me. The crew is dead-and good riddance to them, as far as I'm concerned. Murderous fiends, every one of them!" Jag hesitated. "You killed them?"

"Only in self-defense." The voice took on a more commanding tone.

"Look, are you here to rescue me or ask questions?"

"I'm trying to ascertain whom I'm rescuing, that's all." And what kind of monster you are, he added to himself.

"You want to know who I am? I'm Prime Minister Cundertol, that's who-and I'm ordering you to pull me up this instant! After all I've been through, I'm not going to let some rookie pilot fumble my rescue. You put me through to Orbital Control this instant or so help me I'll have your license faster than you can-"

"I apologize, Prime Minister," Jag cut in, biting down on the reply he would have preferred to give. "Bringing you up now." He pulled his clawcraft in closer to the pod. Magnetic clamps engaged, and he fired his thrusters only slightly more roughly than was necessary to bring the escape pod out of its headlong descent into the atmosphere. The roar of thrusters prevented further communication between Jag and his unlikely pillion rider, let alone Orbital Control. The Prime Minister was forced to ride out the long burn in silence, in whatever pa.s.sed for acceleration straps among Corellian engineers. Although he probably had every reason to be impatient, if his use of words like escape and murderers was any indication of what he'd been through, Jag wasn't going to let him off easily.

Rookie, indeed...

"... seven of them, four humans, two Rodians, and that wretched Wookiee captain of theirs. I resisted, of course, but they took me by surprise. Once they'd smuggled me out of the Bakuran Senate Complex, it was just a matter of getting me to the s.p.a.ceport. No one stopped to question a group of traders carrying a crate of records-and not one person thought to scan the crate to make sure it contained what they said it did." The Prime Minister shook his head gravely. "Someone's head will roll for this, mark my words." Prime Minister Cundertol was a big, solid man witt thinning blond hair and a pink hue to his skin. He held his age well, overpowering any hint of frailty with bl.u.s.ter and exaggerated gestures. Safely recovered from the escape pod, he was sitting on a bench outside Pride of Selonia's medical bay. Jag and Captain Mayn sat with him. Mayn, as tall as Cundertol but half the weight, sat opposite him, her narrow features frozen in concentration. Only Jag, standing to one side, could see the tic pulsing in the skin beneath her shaved scalp.

"Go on, Prime Minister," he encouraged. "What happened next?"

"They took me aboard their ship and knocked me out, that's what happened next!" Despite his outrage, it was obvious that Cundertol was enjoying relating the tale. "When I woke up, we were in hypers.p.a.ce. I had no idea where they were taking me. They'd stuck me away in an aft hold.

Every now and then I would hear them talking, and it quickly became apparent that I wasn't in fact a hostage at all-as I had first suspected.

From the little I could gle. - in from the s.n.a.t.c.hes of their conversations, I was to be taken somewhere and interrogated-then I was to be disposed of. Luckily, though, they hadn't fastened my bindings properly, so with a bit of effort I managed to work my hands free."

"Did your captors say whom they were working for?" Mayn asked.

"Not in so many words. Whenever they referred to him, it was only ever as 'the boss.' Or 'her,' of course," he added darkly.

"Well," Mayn said, "you should be pleased to know that your people made an arrest in your absence. Yesterday, Malinza Thanas was taken into custody and has been charged with conspiracy and disturbing the peace. It looks like your law enforcers could add attempted murder to those charges once we get you home and you can tell them your story."

"Malinza?" For a moment, Cundertol was nonplussed. "Charged? No, I don't believe it."

"It's true," Jag said. "Deputy Harris announced it himself." The Prime Minister retreated into his thoughts, clearly stunned by the news.

"So you freed yourself," Jag prompted after a moment. "What then?"

"Huh?" Cundertol snapped out of his musings with a questioning look in his eyes. Then he said, "Oh, my escape. Well, eventually one of them came back to check on me. I overpowered him and took his blaster. I left him trussed up in the binders they'd failed to secure on me, then I crept forward to confront the others. There were three in the main cabin. They were surprised to see me up and about, as you can imagine. I confined them to a corner as two others arrived from the c.o.c.kpit, leaving just the pilot in control of the vessel. It was five against one-not good odds, even for someone who trained with the Special Bakuran Troops."

Cundertol's chest puffed up in pride at this. "I demanded to be returned, but was told that nothing could be done until the freighter had come out of its jump. I argued that they could cancel the jump and turn back immediately, but they continued to prevaricate with ridiculous excuses.

It was obvious they were playing for time, though there was little I could do about it short of shooting one of them to let them know I was serious. But then that would have made me just as bad as them, right?" He faced both Jag and Captain Mayn in turn, looking for approval. They nodded in response, but neither said anything.

"Anyway," Cundertol continued, "we argued for a few minutes until the Wookiee tried to jump me, and I was forced to fire upon them. I had no choice! If I let them take me, then I was as good as dead. It was either kill or be killed. So I killed them." The Prime Minister looked down at his big hands as if disbelieving what they'd done. "You did what you had to do, sir," Jag said after a moment. "No one can blame you for that." Jag's rea.s.suring words received a vague nod in reply, but it wasn't convincing. "I didn't kill all of them, of course," Cundertol said. "Just the five who attacked me. The one I'd trussed up, he was still in the hold, and the pilot had stayed in the c.o.c.kpit until the fighting was over. I tied him up, too, when he refused to do as I told him. From there it was just a matter of turning the ship around and coming home. All would have gone well had the wreck not developed a raging case of system rot and fallen apart on me. When it came time to ditch it, the life support had failed in the aft holds, killing the two I'd tied up-otherwise I would've brought them with me to stand trir.l.

They got off lightly, in the end. Death was too good for them-far too good." Cundertol ground his teeth as if in frustration. He was clearly bitter, and rightfully so as far as Jag was concerned.

From the entrance to the bay, Selonia's chief meditech was listening closely to the tale. When it became apparent that the Prime Minister had finished, she stepped forward and said, "Are you sure you're not hurt, sir? We really should examine you to see-"

"I'm fine," he interrupted, irritably waving her off. "It takes more than a scuffle to put me down." The meditech backed away with a bony shrug.

"Have you found any evidence in the wreckage?" Cundertol asked Mayn.

"None, I'm afraid. There was very little left of the craft."