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“How deep is this shaft?” she wondered aloud.

“About three klicks.”

“What in the galaxy was this?”

“A garbage pit,” he said. “They used to shoot dangerous garbage into orbit from here, with magnetic accelerators.”

“That’s a lot of garbage,” Tahiri said. “This is where we’re meeting him?”

“Yes. In about fifteen minutes, if he’s on time.”

While they waited, Tahiri looked around a bit. A lot of Yuuzhan Vong life had crept into the pit.

“What are those called?” Corran asked her. He was pointing at a plant with thick, reedlike stalks that glowed a vivid blue color.

“I’ve no idea,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen one before. There are a lot of things like that down here—things from the homeworld that weren’t needed or wanted on the worldships. Or maybe they’re new, engineered to live on metal.”

She touched the glowing cylinders. They were cool, and the fine hairs on the back of her hand stood up.

Ten minutes later, they heard the faint echoes of footsteps. Tahiri put her hand on the grip of her lightsaber. It might be the Prophet, but it might be anything.

A faint green luminescence appeared, carried by a tall, well-formed warrior.

“It’s a trick!” Tahiri whispered. She ignited her lightsaber. Corran’s blazed on an instant later.

The warrior stopped, now fully illuminated.

“Jeedai!”

“Look at him,” Tahiri said. “He’s not malformed. He’s not Shamed!”

But the warrior had dropped to his knees. “Jeedai,” he said in Basic. “Welcome. But you are not correct. I am indeed Shamed.”

After the initial shock, Tahiri had begun to notice other details—like the fact that the warrior wore no armor, and that some of his scars and tattoos were incomplete.

“You speak Basic,” Corran noticed.

“For your convenience I am equipped with a tizowyrm.”

“Are you the Prophet?” Corran asked.

“I am not. I arrive before him, to make certain all is safe. My name is Kunra.”

“And is it?” Corran asked. “Safe?”

“You are Jeedai. I have no choice but to trust you. My fear was that our communications had somehow been intercepted, and that I would find warriors here.”

Tahiri switched to Yuuzhan Vong. “Why were you Shamed?” she asked.

The warrior’s eyes widened. “One-who-was-shaped!” Then his eyes switched back to Corran, and he returned to Basic. “The slayer of Shedao Shai! We expected Jeedai, but not the most august of them.”

“Ah, there are still a few higher on the ladder than us,” Corran said. “Luke Skywalker, for instance.”

“But he does not figure in our sacred tales!”

Tahiri was in no mood to let the warrior become distracted. “I asked you a question,” she snapped.

The warrior bowed his head. “I was a coward,” he said.

A cowardly warrior? Tahiri thought. No wonder.

“You seem to have some courage,” Corran said. “You came down here, not knowing if you would find us or an ambush.”

“I serve the Truth now. It gives me courage, though I am still unworthy.”

“And yet the most worthy of my disciples,” a new voice said.

Tahiri glanced up. A tall figure had just come into the chamber. His face was a mass of unhealed scars and festering sores, his right ear missing. The sacks below his eyes were distended, yellow, and—

No, something was wrong. She looked more closely.

It’s not real, she realized. He’s wearing a masquer.

“You’re Yu’shaa?” Corran asked.

“I am. It is my honor to meet the great Tahiri Veila and Corran Horn.”

Tahiri acknowledged that greeting with a curt nod.

The Prophet bowed. “This is truly a blessed day,” he said.

“Right,” Corran said. “Though for a blessed day, we’ve had some fairly unblessed setbacks. Including the fact that our ship was destroyed in coming here.”

“You were discovered?” the Prophet asked, a bit sharply.

“No. At least I don’t think so.” Tahiri watched him carefully while Corran described what had happened.

The Prophet nodded when he finished. “You are correct, Blessed One—it is unlikely that you were discovered. I suspect your firing of the plasma weapon caused some sort of malfunction in the maw luur’s reflexes. There are hundreds, if not thousands of such malfunctions