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Undaunted, Randa picked up the leathery creature and sank onto his rumpled mat. His plan, to lure key Yuuzhan Vong personnel here where the New Republic could trap them, still seemed ill-formed—but he had promised Borga he’d try to bargain. One Jedi for the world of Tatooine? The idea created an inner sensation he didn’t quite understand, since he’d never experienced it before: a twinge of vague pain, as if this might not be an appropriate use of someone who wouldn’t do this to him. Maybe this was what humans called guilt.

He dismissed it. His loyalty was to Borga. Even if Jacen wasn’t using the Force, he wouldn’t be taken easily.

Randa stroked the villip, then set it down, wondering who would answer. While he waited, he sealed his door flaps. Gateway was too bright for his taste. Thinking of Nal Hutta, and the painstaking planetary development that the Yuuzhan Vong were even now destroying, made his eyes feel thick and pleasantly moist.

Features appeared on the villip—a prominent brow ridge, splayed nubs of nose, cheeks with deep sacs under the eyes. “Randa Besadii Diori,” it said. “Finally, you report.”

Randa didn’t recognize the face’s fiercely chiseled features or the imperious baritone voice. He tipped his head respectfully toward the villip. “You have an advantage of knowledge on me, my lord.”

“I am Warmaster Tsavong Lah. Can you truly offer a Jedi?”

“I can,” he answered. Warmaster? His feelers had brought in a prize catch! Now, to lure him to Duro, for the New Republic to snatch. “His name is—”

“Useless Hutt,” the warmaster said, “your parent told me what you want in return. Know this. The Hutts betrayed us. Only exemplary service will win back our trust.”

“I know and respect your caution, Warmaster. I remember, though, your kinsman’s fascination with Wurth Skidder, on board the slave ship with which I traveled too briefly. I would be pleased to deliver this Jedi to you—to you personally, Warmaster. As for my request … what use to you is Tatooine? A forsaken world, barely able to sustain life—”

The villip’s rendition of the warmaster’s eyes looked like unfathomable black holes. “Why,” he demanded, “should I value your sense of honor enough to come personally to Duro?”

This, Randa admitted, was the gaping hole in his net. “You would honor me deeply,” he began, “and be honored in return—”

“You,” the warmaster said, “are not worthy of honor. Nevertheless, I will take this Jedi. Arrange to deliver him, and I will consider your request. Fail to deliver, or offer the slightest deceit, and I shall flay the hide from your body with my coufee.”

The villip softened, its features retracted, and Randa was left to wonder what he had done. The aliens’ agent here in Gateway could grab Jacen—or stab Randa in his sleep. Had he just made a terrible mistake?

Was there really any way he could hand Jacen over? Surely the young Jedi would come to his senses, sweep out his lightsaber, and fight back.

What Randa really needed, then, was an extra layer of defense. Duro was protected by one cruiser, a few snub-fighters, and the orbital cities’ planetary shields, which also protected whatever was immediately below them on the surface. If the New Republic brought an additional battle group closer to Duro, Randa would be defended—the bargain would have to be canceled—

He burst out of his shelter, headed back to the admin building. There, he found two communication techs—a human and a small, toothy Tynnan—talking to a half-size holo of a magnificent, dark-haired woman.

Elated by his good fortune, he muscled the furry Tynnan aside. “Senator Shesh,” he gasped, “I have discovered a traitor on Duro! The Yuuzhan Vong have planted an agent here, surely a scout for a future invasion. You must double our defenses, or all these refugees surely will die. You are in a position to send help from the military. Send it quickly!”

Senator Viqi Shesh turned her head slightly away. “Haven’t we spoken once before, sir?”

He bowed deeply. “I am Randa Besadii Diori, and—”

“You say you have unmasked a Yuuzhan Vong agent inside the Gateway