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“I have heard of pirates,” Harrar broke in. “You waylay ships and steal their cargo.”

“And sometimes their passengers,” the man said meaningfully. “You might say the job you want done is preprogrammed into our computers.”

“You are a fool,” Khalee Lah said, snarling, “and your ship is a blasphemous bug. Our quarry, pathetic though it is, would splatter you with a single swat.”

The human jerked his hairy red head toward the docking bay at the priestship’s stern. “The wasp ship is a scouting vessel, no more. Once we find the frigate, we’ll attack in force.”

“And who would command this attack?”

Benwick’s chin came up. “I would.”

Khalee Lah threw up his hands and stalked away. The human pursued him. “Don’t think I can’t. I spent the last fifteen years in the Hapan navy, six of them as a squadron commander.”

The warrior spun, bringing the man up short. “Why then do you not resist our invasion?”

“Tried that,” he said shortly. “It didn’t work.”

Harrar was beginning to see the light. “You were at Fondor.”

“My squadron was destroyed—thanks to the witch queen and her meddling Jedi friend. So we returned to our ancestral profession.”

“You deserted,” Khalee Lah specified.

Harrar noted the storm brewing on the young warrior’s face and instinctively took a step forward.

Not fast enough.

The warrior snapped his left arm up, elbow back and fist cocked by his ear, two fingers stiffened into a living weapon. He lashed out and drove his fingers into the big man’s throat. The red-bearded man’s head snapped back. He staggered several paces and then fell, clutching at his strangely blocked throat and gasping for air. Khalee advanced, and his eyes promised death.

A subtle nod from Harrar brought the female warrior darting forward. Khalee Lah thrust out one hand as if to brush her aside. She seized the big warrior’s wrist and twisted, breaking both his concentration and his balance. Deftly she dropped to the floor and rolled, pulling the warrior down with her. She was back on her feet more quickly than Harrar would have believed possible.

Immediately she sank to her knees. Tipping back her head, she offered Khalee Lah her throat. The warrior fisted his hand as he rose, and the spikes on his knuckles formed a short, serrated knife.

“No,” Harrar said firmly, stepping between the combatants. “This warrior will not be punished for following orders.”

“I command the warriors!” Khalee Lah protested.

“And you, in turn, report to me,” the priest pointed out. “Is it not my right to command you both?”

“You ordered her to attack me?”

“To stop you. The human was at Fondor. He may possess useful information.”

Khalee Lah inclined his head, but his eyes still burned.

“Neeka Sot is not a true warrior, but a member of an assassin sect shaped from birth for quick attack and close fighting. She did not best you in battle. Had I not stopped you, you would have killed her easily. She is also my personal bodyguard,” Harrar continued. “Surely you don’t think that the military are the only ones who employ checks and safeguards?”

He left the dumbfounded warrior to work his way through this revelation and turned to the human called Vonce. The man’s face had turned a sickly white, and he stared at his choking comrade with horrified fascination. The twitch in his eye had accelerated until that portion of his face resembled a small animal thrashing about in death throes.

“We will have the red-bearded man revived,” Harrar assured him. “Tell me what you know of Jaina Solo.”

A bit of color returned to Vonce’s face, and the frantic twitching slowed to a rhythmic, involuntary wink. “We’d just finished a raid and were heading to Coruscant to unload our cargo. The lot of us got caught up in the retreat. We heard a broadcast sent by Leia Organa Solo, insisting that her daughter Jaina was piloting a Yuuzhan Vong frigate.”

“That is consistent with what we know,” Harrar agreed. “This Solo female is also Jeedai?”

The man scratched his big nose thoughtfully,