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“Harrar!” the warmaster said in surprise. “I thought he was in the Outer Rim.”

“No, Fearsome One. Crossed over to the side of the enemy—at Zonama Sekot, when it was in the Unknown Regions. Prefect Nom Anor, as well, now revealed to be leader of the heretics.”

Nas Choka extended his hand to the bulkhead to steady himself. Harrar, a traitor? Nom Anor, an insurgent … Though painful to endure, those were reversals he could accept. But surely he would know if the Yuuzhan Vong had suddenly lost their conduit to the gods. He glanced around the command chamber at his commander and subaltern, his villip mistress and priest. Not one of them was distracted or apprehensive; all of them were attending to their duties.

“A lie by renegades,” he said to the tactician at last. “A cowardly attempt to throw us into confusion.”

Again, the tactician inclined his head. “Warmaster, my feelings echo yours. I should know—inside—if our Supreme Overlord is dead. And yet the villip reports from other commanders on the surface confirm that warriors and Jeedai have overrun the Citadel, including Shimrra’s coffer.”

“Jeedai,” Nas Choka repeated.

“May I speak my thoughts?”

“Quietly,” the warmaster cautioned.

“Why should Zonama Sekot’s planetary weapons cease unless the living world is fearless? Could Shimrra somehow have been duped into playing into the hands of the gods, when their true aim is to punish him for arrogance—and us, for our faithfulness to him?”

Nas Choka’s slanted forehead furrowed. “I—”

“Warmaster,” Yammka’s Mount’s Supreme Commander interrupted, with a brisk salute. “Lord Shimrra’s personal vessel has launched from the Citadel, and even now emerges from the atmosphere to join us in battle.”

“Show me!” Nas Choka said, whirling to the transparency.

The commander pointed to a section of the blister, which showed an enhanced view of the Supreme Overlord’s projectile-shaped coffer, its powerful dovin basal tugging it swiftly from the gravitational grip of the planet. Alongside the vessel, though not yet engaging it in battle, flew two Alliance starfighters and a battered, saucer-shaped freighter.

Nas Choka showed the tactician a brief nod of acquittal. “You see, a trick by renegades. Not only does the Supreme Overlord live, he seeks to reinvigorate us personally.” He looked at the commander. “We will demonstrate our gratitude to Shimrra by immolating the flagship in his honor. Order all vessels to converge on Ralroost.”

On the bridge of the vessel whose every component answered to him, Onimi sent a blur of objects racing for Jacen, beginning with the carved idols that flanked Jaina: cloaked Yun-Harla, many-armed Yun-Yammka, thousand-eyed Yun-Shuno, and the rest. But Jacen stood firm. Not wanting to risk hurting Jaina inadvertently by deflecting the objects, he pulled everything into a whirling cloud, as if in orbit around him. Beyond the cloud, he was dimly aware that a transparency had formed above the console, and that constellations of stars were winking into existence, smeared in places by the explosive exchanges among the hundreds of warships battling at the edge of Coruscant’s envelope.

Jacen’s steadfast defense infuriated Onimi. Reaching deeper into himself, the Supreme Overlord used his telekinetic powers to create cracks in the bulkheads and ceiling, hoping to add chunks of unrooted yorik coral to his conjured storm. But as fast as the fissures formed, Jacen repaired them, and those chunks that were torn away he ordered the vessel to cement in place.

Mismatched eyes opened wide in disbelief, Onimi charged, his feet moving so rapidly that he might have been gliding across the deck.

Though crippled by the deformations that had resulted from poorly healed enhancement surgeries and the consequences of experimental escalations, the former shaper was still taller than Jacen and pound for pound more powerful. But the struggle had nothing to do with size and less to do with brute strength. Onimi’s true potency lay in his abilities to amplify the electric current that flowed through his body, or—like Vergere—to call