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Harrar raised his hands to shoulder height and held them palms outward. “In praise of the Creator, Yun-Yuuzhan, and in humble gratitude for his actions in our behalf, accept these lives unworthy of life. May we find continued support for the challenge you have set before us, of bringing your light to this dark realm and of ridding it of ignorance and evil. We open ourselves to you …”

“May you find sustenance in our offerings,” the others in the hold murmured.

“We lift up our hearts …”

“That you might prosper.”

“We give ourselves freely …”

“Through you will we conquer.”

Caught in the embrace of nuclear fire, the signal villip that had been tailing the transport was incinerated. As the visual field destabilized and faded, Harrar’s attendants gradually resumed their duties.

“I will arrange for the images to be analyzed for portents,” the tactician promised.

Harrar nodded. “See that the results are sent to Commander Tla. He may not place much stock in such things, but where omens are ignored and failure ensues, we have the makings of a convert.”

The tactician bowed. “So be it.”

Abruptly Harrar’s cushion rose from the command platform and carried him out over the steps. “We will now speak to the matter at hand,” he announced.

Elan made her eyes alert with interest and squeezed Vergere’s hand.

“Thus far our campaign has been blessed with easy victories,” the priest began. “Worlds crumble and populations fall at our feet. But while I’ve no doubt that we will someday rule these species, I fear we’ll encounter great difficulties in altering the way they think. Something other than superior weaponry will be required to accomplish that.”

He gazed at Elan. “Our chief impediment is a group that calls itself the Jedi. Think of them as a kind of moral police force—small in number but very influential.”

Elan glanced briefly at Vergere and once more squeezed her hand. “What sort of gods do these Jedi worship?” she asked.

“None to speak of. Rather, they draw spiritual strength from a pervasive reservoir of energy known as the Force.”

“And you have some strategy for subverting or nullifying this Force?”

“At the moment, no. However, there may be something we can do about the Jedi.”

Harrar indicated the stranger at the foot of the stairs. “Elan, this is one of our field agents, Executor Nom Anor. Aside from being instrumental in helping secure a foothold in the Outer Rim, Nom Anor has managed to recruit agents from among the native populations and carry out many acts of sabotage and subversion. He is taking time out from his usual duties to oversee a project he and I have planned.”

Elan leveled an appraising gaze at Nom Anor as he climbed the stairs to stand before her. Slender and of medium height, he was ordinary-looking, even with the facial markings and broken facial bones that attested to more than the usual sacrifices. Somewhere along the way, he had either lost or purposely surrendered an eye. Though the socket was a black aperture just now, Elan could discern that the bones had been reconfigured to house a plaeryin bol—the venom-spitting organ that resembled an eyeball.

“Dressed in an ooglith masquer, this one could easily pass for a human,” she whispered to Vergere.

“He’s an ambitious one, Mistress,” Vergere whispered back. “Take care.”

Nom Anor bowed to Harrar, though not as deeply as he might have.

“Before the invasion commenced, and as a means of testing what we were up against,” Nom Anor said, “I seeded several worlds with a variety of illness-producing spores of my own design. One class of spores—a coomb variant—met with success, causing some one hundred individuals to fall ill and die, save for one—a human female Jedi Knight. Neither self-propagating nor contagious, the malady has not spread to the other Jedi.”

Nom Anor scrutinized Elan. “By all accounts the human remains gravely ill, but she has thus far managed to survive, I assume by drawing on the Force. Her resistance, however, is a blessing in disguise, for I feel certain that we can make use of it to get close to the Jedi.”

“Infiltrate