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“A few ships against a world.”

Nen Yim smiled thinly. “Tell me—what sort of memory do you think our glorious ancestors are more likely to have purged from the Qang qahsa? A glorious victory or an ignominious defeat?”

Ahsi Yim pursed her lips. “Ah,” she said. “And you think Shimrra knows something we do not.”

“I think he knows many things we do not.”

Ahsi Yim’s tendrils curled in agreement. Then she leveled her liquid gaze directly at Nen Yim. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because,” Nen Yim replied, “I think you know things I do not. Have connections that I do not.”

“What sort of things?” she asked, stiffly.

“For one, I think you have heard of Ekh’m Val before.”

A long silence, this time. “Are you asking something of me?” she said at last.

“If this planet exists, I must see it for myself. The ship alone is not enough. I must know more.”

“Why?”

“Because I think if I do not, our species is doomed.”

Ahsi pursed her lips. Her tendrils knotted and waved. “I can promise nothing,” she said, “but I will see what can be done.”

SIX

From the bridge of Yammka, Nas Choka surveyed the ruins of the occupation forces from Fondor. They weren’t much to look at.

He turned slowly to face Zhat Lah.

“How did this happen?” he asked. His voice was low, pitched only for the commander.

“Duro was attacked, Warmaster, as our intelligence suggested it would be. The executor there requested reinforcements. My men were hungry for battle, and I complied.” His eyes narrowed. “Then they came. I recalled the ships when I understood the ploy, but they were prevented from leaving the Duro system by their interdictors. The infidels kept our forces pinned in the planet’s gravity well and then fled. They are cowards!”

“Are you telling me cowards took the system you were entrusted with from you? You were beaten by cowards?”

“Warmaster, we were outnumbered. We fought until there was no hope.”

“No hope?” Nas Choka asked, in scathing tones. “You were yet alive, and had ships, and say there was no hope? Are you Yuuzhan Vong?”

“I am Yuuzhan Vong,” Zhat Lah growled.

“Then why did you not fight to the last? Might you not have taken a few more of their ships with you to the gods?”

“A few, Warmaster.”

“Then why did you flee? Where is the honor in that?”

Zhat Lah’s split lips twitched. “If the warmaster wishes my life, it is his to give to the gods.”

“Of course. But I asked you for an explanation.”

“I thought our remaining ships might serve better than to be cut to pieces in a battle we could not win.”

“Did you?” Nas Choka asked. “You had no thought for your own life?”

“My life belongs to the gods. They may take it as they will. I do not flinch from death. If the warmaster wishes me to take my personal coralskipper back to Fondor, I will die in battle. But given the numbers, the rest of my ships would have been destroyed with relatively little damage done to the enemy. If this was wrong, the responsibility is mine. My men own none of it.”

Nas Choka looked back out at the wreckage.

“Two frigates, all but undamaged. A battle cruiser with only minimal damage.” He turned to Lah. “You did well,” he said.

The commander’s eyes widened fractionally with surprise.

“We have spread ourselves too much, over too many star systems,” Nas Choka said. “We have lost too many ships because too many commanders have no more sense of strategy than to fight to the death.”

He clasped his hand behind him and regarded Lah. “We have the late leader of your domain to thank for this situation.”

“Warmaster Lah conquered most of this galaxy,” Zhat Lah protested. “He gave us their capital, now our Yuuzhan’tar.”

“Yes, and he spent warriors like so much vlekin doing so, and gave little thought as to how we would hold such vast territories.” He waved his hand. “Things are changing, Zhat Lah. Things must change. The infidels have adapted. They have undermined many of our strengths, but we have undermined ourselves even more. The pride of our warriors weakens us.”

“But the pride of our warriors is what we are,” Zhat Lah protested. “Without our pride,