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“Can we withstand?” Ushk Choka asked.

“Possibly,” the subaltern said dubiously.

“Maneuver evasively, then.”

Nom Anor was still watching the planet, feeling oddly calm, despite the danger he was in. He could still see where the hyperwave guides were by the boiling cloud, and as he watched, a brilliant blue cone suddenly appeared, then just as quickly vanished.

Something was wrong. The core was supposed to explode, not fire the engines. Had he failed? Was there something about Nen Yim’s protocol he hadn’t understood, or had he underestimated Sekot? Perhaps Skywalker and the other Jedi had managed to somehow reverse the damage he had caused.

The view swung away from the planet and was replaced by the night of space and a white wedge of abomination. It seemed Choka meant to run right into the warship’s forward batteries.

“Keep our present course,” Choka said. “Secure for bombardment.”

“Entering range,” the subaltern muttered.

The ship began rocking from the frigate’s guns, but Nom Anor ignored them and stumbled his way back to the micalike rear viewport analog, where Zonama Sekot was still visible.

Behind him, Choka and the pilot snarled at each other. Something exploded, and a haze of acrid smoke filled the air. Nom Anor dug his fingers into the spongy edge of the bulkhead, still unable to look away from the planet below.

The planet of his prophecy.

Not one, but three blue cones stabbed up through the atmosphere. It was a beautiful sight.

An earsplitting detonation snapped his face against the mica. He tumbled to the deck, black spots swimming before his eyes, but with grim persistence he dragged himself back up, noticing as he did that everything had gone eerily silent, though the ship still shivered beneath the Imperial frigate’s attack. For a foolish instant he thought perhaps the ship had lost its atmosphere and he was in vacuum, but then he would be dead, wouldn’t he?

He wiped blood from his eyes, realizing his forehead was cut, and gazed back out the viewport, just in time to see that they had made their run past the Imperial ship. Its drive section was just coming into view. It eclipsed his view of the planet as it began a ponderous turn, trying to come after them. It was still firing at them from its rear tower. Nom Anor noticed that Red Qurang was trailing a cloud of vaporized coral.

“We can stand no more of this,” the subaltern said. “Another strike, and—”

Suddenly all the stars fell toward Zonama Sekot. The frigate quivered and twisted, stretched into a streak of light, and vanished with the stars. Nom Anor snarled, braced himself—

And the stars were back. In the distance, the orange gas giant rotated as always. Where Zonama Sekot had been was only empty space.

Not what I expected, Nom Anor thought as his body went light from relief. Not what I expected, but it will serve.

Still, for long moments he gazed at where the planet had been, blinking away the blood even though there was nothing to see.

He willed his muscles to relax. The truly dangerous part of his journey was yet to come. Ushk Choka and his men were surely doomed. Shimrra would probably execute them the instant they landed. Nom Anor would live longer, at least until he had told the Supreme Overlord everything he knew. Then the true test of his gamble would come. Would he join Choka and his crew in feeding the gods, or would he be forgiven and perhaps even elevated?

Only time would tell. But the risk was worth it. One way or another, he was at last going back where he belonged.

THIRTY-FOUR

The hull-breach claxon blared as Mon Mothma closed with the pursuing Yuuzhan Vong fleet.

“Deck Twenty-four, sir,” Cel reported. “Contained. The damage is minimal.”

“Get those deflectors back up,” Wedge ordered. “Divert power from starboard, if necessary.”

Mon Mothma ran port broadside to the approaching vessels, lasers and ion cannons thrumming in a steady rhythm, missiles and mines ejecting as rapidly as the ship’s weapons systems allowed. Wedge knew he couldn’t keep that up for long, but he wasn