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Shortly, Roa and Fasgo joined him on the floor, as had become their habit. Both of them, along with almost everyone else in the hold, looked bedraggled and waterlogged from having had to endure long sessions in the tank with the yammosk. Four captives had died as a consequence of the creature’s attempts at mind probing, and more than twice that number had been rendered catatonic. Skidder had survived only by drawing gently on the Force, just deeply enough to maintain sanity without revealing his Jedihood.

He was down to his last spoonful of nutrient when Roa said, “Well, look who’s returned.”

Following Roa’s delighted gaze, Skidder turned and saw Sapha and her five fellow Ryn entering the hold. Instantly he got to his feet and waved them over, appraising them as they approached. None of the six had been seen since Commander Chine-kal had ordered them away—what must have been standard days earlier. Everyone had wondered about their mysterious disappearance, and Skidder was eager to learn where they had been taken.

“To the Hutt,” Sapha said in reply to his question as she lowered herself to the floor.

Roa’s mouth fell open. “A Hutt? On board this ship?”

Sapha nodded. “Randa Besadii Diori. The son of a Hutt named Borga.”

Skidder waited to speak until three of Sapha’s companions had moved off to join the food line. “Why is Randa here?” he asked quietly but forcefully.

Sapha regarded him for a moment. “It seemed to us that the Yuuzhan Vong are grooming him to take charge of transporting prisoners of war. For sacrifices, perhaps, or some other purposes.”

“So that’s the deal they cut for themselves,” Skidder said through locked teeth. “But why were you brought to Randa?”

She laughed without mirth. “To tell his fortune. Using Ryn as diviners was once a pastime of the Hutts—amusing to them, frequently fatal to us. When forecasts failed to come true, the diviners were killed in various but always gruesome ways. I grew up hearing tales of such things.”

Skidder considered it. “So Randa asked you to predict his future,” he said at last. “What did you tell him?”

Sapha shrugged. “Innocuous things, open to interpretation.”

“For instance?” Roa asked.

“The near future will be a sometimes puzzling mix of pleasures and challenges. He has much on his mind as a result of monumental events that have recently come to pass. The future hinges on his ability to think clearly and see all sides …”

Fasgo laughed with his mouth full. “I’ve been told the same things by you people.”

“And Randa accepted that?” Skidder said.

“He seemed to.” Sapha gestured broadly to the hold. “We’re here, and not to the best of my knowledge slated for imminent execution.”

Skidder’s eyes narrowed with intent. “Did he ask to see you again?”

Sapha nodded. “After his beauty sleep. Probably to evaluate our accuracy.”

“Was Chine-kal present?”

“The first time. The commander took some interest in our reading of Randa’s body markings and palm lines. On the second occasion, he grew bored. I doubt he’ll be there next time.”

“He’s just accommodating the Hutt,” Roa suggested. “I suspect that the Yuuzhan Vong consider themselves shapers of the future, not destined for one outcome or another.”

Skidder was deep in thought.

One of the Ryn returned with a bowl of nutrient for Sapha, but she pushed it away in disgust.

“The same stuff for every meal, for every species.”

Fasgo nodded. “One gruel fits all.” He eyed the untouched bowl Sapha had set aside. “You going to eat that?” he asked finally.

“Help yourself,” she told him.

He did, ravenously, only ceasing his spooning to remark, “You’ll learn to tolerate it. Besides, it’s the only way to keep up your strength.”

“Answer me this,” Sapha said. “The Yuuzhan Vong employ organic technology where we use machines, correct?”

“Thus far,” Roa said.

“Then they don’t use machines or droids to prepare this stuff.”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“And yet I haven’t seen any chefs, or any kitchen staff. So who prepares it?”

Fasgo