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Droma replied to Plaan’s inquisitive look. “We encountered a Yuuzhan Vong patrol. Fortunately, we escaped with nothing more than a damaged power converter and hyperdrive.”

The mechanic pursed his lips, glanced around, and nodded. “Vintage ship, but I think we can fix you up with the parts you need.”

Plaan seemed to relax somewhat. “Would not have to worry about Yuuzhan Vong patrols if you knew the right people,” he said as he followed Droma and Han back to the forward compartment.

Droma glanced at Han before saying, “Knowing the right people is something we’ve never been especially good at.”

The security chief uttered a dour laugh. “Perhaps luck is about to change.” He walked to the entrance to the port ring corridor, then into the adjacent circuitry bay. “How many passengers this crate carry?” he asked without turning around.

“She’s smaller than she looks,” Han answered, taking a few steps toward Plaan. “Belowdecks she’s nothing but crawl space, and even if we packed passengers in like fingerfins, the air scrubbers and oxygen supply couldn’t handle more than fifty or so—and then only for a few hours.”

“Why do you ask?” Droma said.

Plaan turned and walked back into the hold. “Many here at Esau’s Ridge do contract work for employer who has a direct line to Yuuzhan Vong.”

Han watched Plaan. “Yeah, a couple of friends of ours were working for a guy who claimed to have a direct line to the Yuuzhan Vong, but when it came down to cases the guy was no help at all. Ever hear of the Peace Brigade?”

Plaan nodded slowly. “Outfit of Reck Desh.”

“Same employer?”

“Same,” Plaan confirmed. “But in kinds of activities Peace Brigade handled, we steer clear. Many risks. Relocation runs our specialty.”

“Relocation runs,” Han said.

“Private transport for refugees eager to escape New Republic camps.”

Han’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Depending on what you charge for services, you’re either a philanthropist or a predator.”

Plaan laughed. “Because we receive large bonuses on back end, passengers pay only modest amounts.”

“So this nameless contractor is the philanthropist?” Droma said.

“To earn bonuses, contractor requires that we deliver refugees to specific worlds—worlds that end up Yuuzhan Vong targets.”

Han had to force his mouth to work. “You’re recycling them. Refugees pay to leave one camp, find themselves caught up in an invasion, and end up in another camp.” He fought down an urge to tear Plaan limb from limb. “And, of course, the Yuuzhan Vong are happy because you’re making things all the more complicated for the New Republic relief workers.”

Plaan shrugged. “Added burden for New Republic. But steady employment for us. Interested?”

“We might be,” Droma said. “Do you have anything going at the moment?”

Plaan made a regretful sound as he cocked his head to one side. “Too bad you not arrive sooner. Some of our people moving a bunch off Ruan very soon.”

Droma sat unsteadily at the engineering station, determined not to look at Han. “Ruan?”

Han glanced briefly at him and began to pace. “Maybe we’re not too late to join in,” he said, only partially successful at keeping alarm and apprehension from his voice. He turned to Plaan. “How soon can we get the parts we need?”

THIRTEEN

In the dank and underlighted hold that served as both mess hall and dormitory for the privileged captives aboard the yammosk carrier, Wurth Skidder placed his bowl beneath the spout of the nutrient dispenser, waited while his allotted share drizzled out, then carried the bowl to his usual spot of deck space, where he lowered himself into a cross-legged posture and forced himself to eat.

Like all things Yuuzhan Vong, the container had surely been fashioned from some creature—perhaps from the egg of an outsize oviparous animal—and the spoon, though made of an exotic hardwood, bore no traces of carving or machining and appeared to have been grown with handle and bowl provided. Even the thick, tapered spout of the nutrient dispenser gave all evidence of being attached