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Han and Droma exchanged puzzled looks. “To work for Salliche?” Han said. “Doing what?”

“Why, field work, sir. Thanks to Ruan’s climate-control station, labor is a pleasurable enterprise for many folks.”

Han uttered a laugh. “That’s crazy. Salliche has an army of droids at its disposal.”

“They do, sir, it’s true. But Salliche Ag has recently developed a preference for living workers.”

Again, Han glanced at Droma, who shrugged. “I just got here, remember?” the Ryn said.

Han might have pursued the topic with Baffle, but just then the refugee camp came into view around a wide turn.

“Facility 17, good sirs.”

The droid conveyed them right to the gate, where access to the camp was by way of a turretlike security booth. Han tapped his knuckles against the booth’s transparisteel window to draw the attention of a thickset guard inside. The uniformed man stuck his scarred face outside the window, got an eyeful of Han and Droma, and scowled.

“Get a load of this,” he said to someone else in the booth.

Shortly, a woman joined him at the window, giving Han and Droma the same once-over. “What’s your business here?”

“We’re looking for a couple of friends,” Han told them.

“Aren’t we all,” the man said in self-amusement.

“A group of Ryn,” Han went on. “They would have arrived maybe two standard weeks ago.”

“A group of Ryn, you say.” The guard jerked a thumb at Droma. “Like this one.”

Han rolled his tongue around in his cheek. “That’s right, like this one. If you’ve got a problem with him, maybe you should step outside so we can all discuss it.”

The guard grinned down at him. “I don’t have a problem, big guy, but your little pal here does.”

Han heard the whirring of charging blasters and spun around to find half a dozen uniformed guards moving in on the booth from three sides. Cautiously he raised his hands to the back of his head, and Droma did the same.

“We didn’t come looking for trouble,” Han said. “It’s like I told the welcome committee, we’re just looking for a couple of friends.”

The lead guard ignored him and waved his blaster at Droma. “Step to one side.” When Droma did, the guard added, “You’re under arrest.”

Han did a double take. “Arrest? On what charge? We haven’t even been here long enough to litter!”

With four blasters trained on Droma and two on Han, the lead guard snapped a pair of cylindrical stun cuffs around Droma’s wrists.

“The charge is forgery of official documents,” he said to Han. “And if you’ve any sense, you’ll get off Ruan before we haul you in as an accessory after the fact.”

NINETEEN

In imperious repose on her cushioned and pillowed pallet, Borga Besadii Diori fixed her gaze on Nas Choka, as Leenik escorted the black-haired Yuuzhan Vong supreme commander and his minions into the palace court. Though rarely known to exercise restraint, Borga refrained from elevating her couch, in the interest of getting off to a better start with Choka than she had with Commander Malik Carr on his first visit to Nal Hutta.

Trailing Choka, and similarly attired in attenuating helmet and swishing command cloak, stepped Malik Carr, and behind him the New Republic traitor, Pedric Cuf, sporting pegged trousers, low black boots, and stiff-collared jacket. Advisers and armed guards dispersed to both sides of Choka’s retinue, assuming positions that encouraged confrontation with the members of Borga’s own security contingent.

“I welcome you to Nal Hutta,” Borga said in Yuuzhan Vong while Choka assessed the trappings of the court from the chair to which the Rodian Leenik had shown him. “We are at your disposal.”

Choka smiled in surprise. “Excellent, Borga. I didn’t realize that you were acquainted with our language.”

“A few simple phrases,” Borga said in Basic. “Courtesy of the tutorial supplied by Pedric Cuf.”

Choka glanced at Nom Anor, then his closely set eyes came back to Borga. “I’m told that you have already been exceedingly accommodating.”

Borga smiled pleasantly. “We are renowned for our hospitality—especially of the sort we render to revered guests.”

Choka’s tone of voice changed. “Guests.