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Saychel led him through a retinal-print-secured door to a large, one-way transparisteel window in the rear wall of the lab. Dressed in hospital robes, the two alleged defectors were seated on separate cots in the room behind the window, quietly conversing in what Showolter assumed was their own language. The room also contained a table, chairs, and a portable refresher unit.

Falling on the Yuuzhan Vong female, Showolter’s brown eyes widened with interest. “I didn’t think the enemy was capable of producing anything so attractive.”

“Yes,” Saychel agreed, peering through the transparisteel, “she is a handsome specimen.”

“And the other is, what—pet or partner?”

“A little of both, I think. They’re inseparable, in any case. And the ‘pet,’ for lack of a better word, seems every bit as intelligent as her mistress.”

“Her?”

“Indisputably. Perhaps of a species indigenous to the Yuuzhan Vong’s home galaxy or vat grown—genetically engineered.”

“Any problems with the transfer?”

Saychel shook his head. “Don’t ask me where they got it, but the team from the Soothfast brought them down the well in an energy cage. We moved them in here after we completed our initial scans and tests.”

“I read the reports. Any surprises?”

“None to speak of.”

“What about with the escape pod?”

“Similar to the Yuuzhan Vong fighters, though lacking weaponry. Composed of a type of black coral and propelled by a dovin basal—which unfortunately was dead on arrival.” Saychel indicated a nearby countertop, where a meter-wide, blue-spiked, heart-shaped mass floated in a large flask of preservative.

“More interesting than your standard repulsor engine.”

“Quite,” Saychel said humorlessly.

Showolter switched his gaze to a second, smaller flask, which held a brownish pod, about the size of a human head and crowned by a nubby ridge. “What’s that thing?”

Saychel moved to the flask. “It fits the description of a villip—an organic communicator.”

“Is it alive?”

“It seems to be.”

“Has it … said anything?”

“No. But then I didn’t think to pose it any questions.”

Showolter frowned, unconsciously massaging his right biceps, then turned to regard the captives. “Have they been fed?”

“Routinely. In fact, the little one has quite an appetite for our foodstuffs.”

“Maybe that’s the way we win this war: with food.”

“I’ve heard crazier suggestions.”

“Have you been able to talk to them?”

“The Yuuzhan Vong female—her name is Elan, by the way—speaks Basic. She says she learned it as part of her training.”

“As what?”

Saychel grinned. “Are you ready for this? A priestess.”

Showolter’s thick brows beetled. “You’re kidding.” He glanced at Elan. “I wonder if they’re celibate.”

“I didn’t think to ask,” Saychel said. “But she sounds sincere about wanting political asylum. I ran a voice-stress analysis just for fun, and the test results back me up.”

“Have they asked for anything else?”

“To meet with the Jedi. Elan claims to have information about a spore-borne illness the Yuuzhan Vong let loose before they launched their invasion.”

Showolter scratched his head. “The pet likes our food; the priestess speaks Basic, knows about the Jedi, and wants sanctuary … Next thing you’ll tell me they have a bet down on the smashball finals.” He sighed with purpose. “Director Scaur wants them transported to Wayland for a preliminary debriefing. Discreetly, of course. Our Noghri agents there have already been apprised.”

“You’ll be handling the relocation?”

Showolter nodded.

“It’s obviously a trap,” Saychel said. “These two, I mean.”

“Of course it is. But this could be our only chance to interrogate one of them, and we’re in no position to pass that up. Even if we do have to arrange a meeting with the Jedi.”

“Welcome aboard,” Roa said as he and Han reached the top of the SoroSuub 3000’s carpeted passenger ramp.

A quick look around, and it was Han’s turn to whistle. Even stock models of the sleek, arrowhead-shaped craft were considered luxury yachts, but the Happy Dagger raised the ante. From walkways to bulkheads, what wasn’t furniture-grade