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Skidder and the hundreds of unclothed others in the ship’s cavernous, organic hold were literally fixed in place by dollops of binding blorash jelly and fettered by the pincers of living creatures. To his right stood an elderly man—clearly a captive of some earlier campaign—made to appear younger than his years by cosmetic treatments; to his left, two of the half-dozen Ryn who had also been selected for “singular service” aboard the Yuuzhan Vong ship, which, from space, had resembled a bunch of grapes. Elsewhere were other veteran captives, some left haggard, some strengthened by whatever ordeals they had been put through.

“You have no doubt heard rumors of what occurred on the worlds you know as Dantooine, Ithor, and Obroa-skai,” Chine-kal said, back in motion, “and you have no doubt heard rumors about how the Yuuzhan Vong treat their prisoners. I can assure you that all you have heard are lies and exaggerations.

“We are only trying to bring you a truth you sadly overlooked in your climb from the primal muck. Met with resistance, we have been left with no option but to force that truth on you; met with acceptance, we have been far more charitable than your New Republic overseers would have been to us.

“Because of political affiliations and other alliances, worlds don’t often have a choice in whether to accept or decline our offer of enlightenment; the voice of a few decide the destiny of the many. But on this vessel you are individuals first, and each of you has an opportunity to decide for yourself whether to resist or to accept. You have a hand in determining your destiny—in governing your fate.”

Flanked by well-armed guards and still trailed by the priest, Chine-kal came to a halt alongside a tall statue of a creature that could only have sprung from some Yuuzhan Vong bestiary. Its convoluted body might have been modeled on a human brain, and yet the body possessed two large eyes and what appeared to be a mouth or wrinkled maw. Arms or tentacles extended from its base, some stumpy, others gracile.

“I don’t want you to think of yourselves as captives or slaves, but rather as collaborators in a grand enterprise,” the commander continued. “Serve me well, put your hearts into your work, and you will be rewarded with your lives. Fail me out of weakness, and I may be willing to forgive; but fail me with design, and punishment will be meted out swiftly and without mercy. In either case, I will be rewarded by the gods, though I’ll be forced to look elsewhere for collaborators.”

Skidder cut his eyes to the man beside him. “How long have you been aboard?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Losing track,” the captive answered in a low voice. “A couple of standard months.” With subtle movement of his chin he indicated the emaciated man to his right. “My friend and I were captured on the Jubilee Wheel at Ord Mantell. Got sucked out of the facility by some kind of space worm. First we were taken aboard a slave galley. Thought for a while we were going to be launched into a star and sacrificed. Then we were transferred to this vessel.” The man shot Skidder a glance. “You?”

“Captured on Gyndine.”

“Soldier?”

“Indigenous ground force.”

The man turned ever so slightly in Skidder’s direction. “But you’re not native to Gyndine. From the Core, I’d say.”

“On what basis?”

“Hairstyle, for one thing. The way you carry yourself. Intrusion specialist? Intelligence officer?”

“Neither.”

The man glanced downward. “Those aren’t the feet of an infantry soldier.”

“I didn’t say I was. Operated an AT-ST scout.”

The man nodded. “Okay, have it your way.”

“What’s your name?” Skidder asked.

“Roa. My friend is Fasgo. You?”

“Keyn. Any idea where we’re headed, Roa?”

“None.”

“What about this ‘singular service’?”

Roa snorted softly. “You’ll see soon enough, Keyn.”

Chine-kal’s preamble had resumed. “It’s time you had a look at the centerpiece of our endeavor,” he was saying. “Think of it for the moment as a work in