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Choka’s subordinate commander now rose.

“Subaltern Doshao,” he began, “for his actions at the world called Dantooine. Subaltern Sata’ak, for his actions at the world called Ithor. Subaltern Harmae, for his actions at the world called Obroa-skai. And Subaltern Tugorn, both for his work in sowing the world called Belkadan and his actions at the world called Gyndine.” He paused briefly, then added, “Step forward and be escalated.”

As the four lesser-grade officers were ascending the dais, a quartet of implanters scuttled from recesses in the throne. When the candidates had arranged themselves in a line facing the supreme commander, the implanters took up positions behind each of them.

A variation on the creature responsible for outfitting captives with crippling growths, the implanters were small, gray, and six-legged. Like their cousins they were equipped with botryoidal optical organs and a quartet of appendages efficient for slicing through flesh and tucking surge-coral into open wounds. But where the calcificator made use of bits of itself, the implanter carried whatever enhancements were necessary for the ritual escalation. Each of the four that began slow climbs up the naked backs of the subalterns bore two finger-length horns of coral, whose pointed tips were slightly hooked.

The implanters didn’t begin their work until they had secured themselves to the back of the subalterns’ necks, from where they could reach to both shoulders. Employing the sharper of their appendages, they made deep cuts through the tops of the shoulder muscles, clear down to the bones that formed part of the ball-and-socket joints. When the incisions were complete and acolytes had collected the flowing blood in bowls, the implanters inserted the hooked horns into the cut, employing a resinous exudate they produced to weld the horns to the shoulder bones and to seal the wounds around them. At the same time, a sluglike ngdin wove a helix trail through the candidates’ feet, sopping up whatever blood the acolytes failed to capture.

Though perspiration ran freely and legs trembled, not one of the junior officers cried out in pain or so much as grimaced. Pleased with their sangfroid, Choka gestured to four of his aides, who hurried forward with neatly folded and differently colored command cloaks.

By then the acolytes had conveyed the blood-filled bowls to the high priest, and while he dribbled the contents of the bowls over the idols, Choka’s aides unfolded the cloaks and hung them from the newly implanted hooked protrusions.

The drummers beat out a short tattoo, then stopped.

“You are escalated and remade,” Choka pronounced. “And now that you wear the cloak of command, you will be given your own ships, made sector chiefs, and tasked with overseeing and reeducating the populace of those worlds that constitute your domain.”

“For the glory of the gods!” warriors and officers alike shouted.

Choka watched the promoted warriors step down from the dais, then turned slightly in the direction of Malik Carr. “One more matter before we proceed, Commander.” He looked past Malik Carr to where Nom Anor was seated. “Come forward, Executor.”

More flamboyantly attired than anyone in the hold, Nom Anor rose and walked slowly across the platform. Opposite Nas Choka he inclined his head in a nod. As a member of the intendant caste—though of the lowest rank—he was not obliged to offer salute.

“Since you and I do not hail from the same order, I am not entitled to escalate you. But know this, Executor: Were I so entitled, I would be more inclined to demote than promote you.”

Clearly surprised, Nom Anor did not respond, though his mouth twitched several times in rapid succession.

“Your actions, Executor, have been closely monitored and widely discussed, and it is the opinion of many in Shimrra’s court that you have strayed from your assigned course. First you chose to ally yourself with the Praetorite Vong, who believed they could spearhead an invasion of this magnitude without suffering tragic consequences.”

“I was not allied