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Page swung to his communications aide. “Inform starfighter control on Right to Rule that Colonel Fel is ground-side and back on his feet.”

“Incoming!” came a distant voice.

Page and others dragged Jag to the ground an instant before a swarm of thud and razor bugs ripped through the gnarled trees, stripping leaves and oval-shaped fruits from the branches, and knocking down entire limbs. Two deafening explosions followed in succession and the storm of projectile biots abated.

A flight of black-striped bright yellow X-wings streaked over the treetops, firing quad bursts at some unseen target. Page, Jag, and the others crouched, then slowly got to their feet. Combat droids armored with laminanium had formed a perimeter at the edge of the trees. Close to what remained of Jag’s clawcraft, two medical droids were field-dressing wounds sustained by a couple of humans and Bothans.

Page stuck out his hand. “I’m Captain—”

“I know who you are,” Jag said. “Thank you for coming to my aid.”

Page shrugged off the gratitude and motioned to the men on either side of him. “Garik Loran,” he said, naming the shaven-skulled one; then, “Kell Tainer,” naming the one with the receding hairline.

“Wraith Squadron,” Jag said, shaking hands with each of them. “I met both of you on Borleias.” He glanced at Page. “Just before my clawcraft was hit, I saw number two transport crash.”

Page nodded grimly. “Grutchins took it down and chewed their way through the hull. We’ve sent a squad to search the canyon for survivors.”

“Captain Page,” a young Bothan interrupted. “We’ve made contact with the indigenous force.”

Jag, Page, and the pair of Wraith Squadron Intelligence operatives turned to see four Yuuzhan Vong males being ushered through the perimeter. The humanoids were scarcely scarred compared to most of the Yuuzhan Vong warriors Jag had seen, but all had pronounced deformities, some of the face, others of the limbs.

Shamed Ones, he thought.

The tallest and most deformed of the four executed a facsimile of an Alliance salute. “Take us to your leaders,” he said in Basic, as if by rote.

Garik Loran and Kell Tainer exchanged skeptical glances. “Who taught you to say that?” Loran asked.

“I did,” someone answered in a clipped Coruscanti accent, as the same Shamed One was pressing his forefinger to his ear, presumably to adjust the fit of a translating tizowyrm.

A tall, lean, dark-haired human appeared from the trees, beaming at the two Wraiths.

“Son of a blaster,” Tainer said, smiling.

Jag was familiar with the name Baljos Arnjak. Also a Wraith, Arnjak had remained behind on Coruscant following the combined Wraith/Jedi infiltration mission almost two years earlier. With him walked a thin but dashing-looking middle-aged man, with reddish hair, bright even teeth, and deeply tanned skin.

Smiling broadly, Page immediately shook hands with the man, then pulled him into a mutually back-slapping embrace. “I always figured you’d survive,” Page said when the two had stepped away from each other.

The handsome man motioned to the four Yuuzhan Vong. “Thanks to them, I did. Their heretic group rescued me and a bunch of others from what would have been some serious bloodletting at one of the temples.”

Page turned to Jag. “Fel, meet Major Pash Cracken.”

Jag nodded in greeting. Coruscant was suddenly starting to feel like the Veterans’ Home.

“How long will it take us to reach Westport from here?” Page was saying.

“It would have taken about an hour, but we’re too late.” Cracken beckoned for everyone to follow him to the perimeter. Once there, he gestured to the northern horizon, which was a solid bank of billowing smoke.

“The entire sacred precinct is up in flames,” Cracken said.

Page pressed a blaster into Jag’s gloved right hand. “Welcome to the commandos, Colonel.”

“The fires are Shimrra’s doing,” Harrar said. “The Supreme Overlord has asked the World Brain to set Yuuzhan’tar ablaze—to prevent anyone from occupying it.” The priest sounded