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Khalee Lah removed the cognition hood and nodded to his secondary pilot. He turned to Harrar and brought himself up at sharp, military attention.

“Eminence. The Ksstarr has been secured.”

The priest rose and followed the warrior to the large bay that filled the entire lower level of the priestship. Warriors ringed the captured ship.

“Open it,” the commander ordered.

Before anyone could respond, the hatch irised open and a small ramp lowered. The heavy tread of a warrior in vonduun crab armor thudded down the ramp.

“What is the meaning of this?” he thundered. His ire faded into slack astonishment as he found himself face-to-face with Khalee Lah.

He did not seem to notice that the commander was equally astonished. The warrior pilot fell to one knee, fists thumping his shoulders. “Command me. My life is yours.”

Harrar moved forward. “You will report to the coralskipper bay. A ship will be given you. This one requires the attention of the shapers.”

The pilot rose, saluted again, and strode away. Harrar dismissed the warriors with a single curt gesture.

The priest turned to Khalee Lah, suppressing an unholy impulse to gloat. “This is not the Ksstarr,” he said with what he thought to be admirable restraint. “Perhaps none of the ships we encountered was.”

“One of them will be,” the warrior snarled. He snapped his gaze up to Harrar’s. “We need more ships. Jaina Solo will be found, and she will be sacrificed. This I swear, by the goddess she blasphemes!”

Jaina adjusted the cognition hood and picked up the standard comm device Lowbacca had installed in the Trickster.

“Get ready,” she warned the pilots flying with her. “I’m sensing a small fleet coming out of hyperspace. They should be within firing range soon.”

“Too vapin’ soon,” another pilot retorted.

A faint, nervous chuckle wafted through the open comm, dying quickly as the Yuuzhan Vong fleet streaked out of the blackness of hyperspace.

Coralskippers veered swiftly away from larger corvette and frigate analogs, scattering into well-disciplined ranks. Behind them were three oddly shaped vessels that defied classification. Starlight gleamed off the polished black facets of a large, gemlike ship.

Jaina’s eyes narrowed. She remembered that ship from Myrkr. It had arrived just as she and the other Jedi escaped. This would be the priestship. Well, it was in for a few surprises.

“Just like in practice,” Kyp’s voice put in.

A metallic beep and whir came over the comm. “More advice from Zero-One?” one of the pilots guessed.

“You might say that. He observed that we can proceed as we did in practice—at least, until the inevitable variables occur.”

“I can live with that,” the pilot shot back. “One droid’s variable is another person’s luck.”

Jaina smiled faintly. In Rogue Squadron, prebattle chatter was strictly discouraged. Kyp maintained that it kept the pilots loose and ready to react. At any rate, it kept them from dwelling too darkly on the battle ahead.

“Why do you call your astromech droid Zero-One?” a low-pitched female voice asked.

The smile fell off Jaina’s face as she recognized Shawnkyr, the Chiss female who flew with Jag. The Chiss woman had maintained her distance, flying every mission and keeping to herself. But her strange red eyes seemed to follow Jaina, echoing and even magnifying Jag Fel’s dubious opinion of the “scruffy Rebel pilot.”

“It’s a bad joke based in old technology,” Kyp explained. “The droid belonged to a Mon Calamari philosopher who was some sort of expert in ancient cultures and technology. Apparently there was a computer system based on binary code, and the Mon Cal was fond of saying, ‘Simplicity can be achieved; life is all just zeros and ones.’ ”

“Binary code. That explains a few things about your droid,” Jaina quipped, and was rewarded with a rude, metallic buzz.

A flare of plasma scorched the sky, falling short of the Hapan fleet.

“First phase is yours, Colonel Fel,” she said.

Jag acknowledged with a double click. The two Chiss clawcraft vectored sharply away, and ten Hapan fighters followed them.