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Tinged with sadness and misgiving, Kre’fey’s gold-flecked eyes took everything in as the speeder rounded the mounds of debris and whizzed across the temporary bridges that spanned Coruscant’s abysmal canyons.

This is the prize we’re going to present to the Alliance members as a sign that life can now begin to return to normal?

The strangest sight he had seen—stranger than the groves of alien trees, the ngdins sopping spilled blood from the streets, the AT-ATs standing shoulder to shoulder with six-legged Yuuzhan Vong beasts—was Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon and six of his Imperial officers touring the area where the Imperial Palace had once stood.

Onetime enemies, now unequivocal allies.

Thousands of prisoners were being held at what the Yuuzhan Vong had called the Place of Bones, but thousands more had escaped into the wilderness the planet had become. On the other side of Coruscant, entire battalions were dug in. The commanders of those units were said to have vowed that they would fight to the last, and Kre’fey saw no reason to doubt them.

Questions and concerns tormented him. What was to be done with the heretics and the Shamed Ones; the noncom-batants and the children; the World Brain, the roving beasts, and the other biots? Several chief commanders were already advocating that Coruscant be defoliated entirely. Others wanted to preserve some of the planet’s new look. And still others wished to see the former galactic capital transformed into a kind of memorial, joining the ranks of Ithor, Barab I, New Plympto, and other worlds.

So despite the cheers and welcoming waves, Kre’fey didn’t feel like a liberator, much less a hero—at least not yet. The Bothan declaration of ar’krai—total war—meant just that, and his species was going to expect him to take the lead in pushing for extermination of the Yuuzhan Vong. But the Alliance’s chief commanders were hardly in accord on that matter. And now that a cease-fire seemed to be in effect, the politicians were eager to wrest control of the situation from the military. Kre’fey had long thought of Chief of State Cal Omas as an honest and honorable human. But as well meaning as Omas was, he didn’t always see reason. It scarcely helped that his very influential Advisory Council included six Jedi, a Caamasi, and a Wookiee. With everyone weighing in, it could take months or even years to reach a consensus regarding a final solution to the long war …

The skimmer came to a rest in front of Alliance headquarters—an example of Old Republic–classic architecture that had been partly released from its mantle of vegetation by lasers and missles; trees were still rooted in the roof and vines dangled over the ornate columns and shattered window openings.

Kre’fey strode briskly past logistics officers and communications specialists, analysts and slicers, protocol and mouse droids. Ultimately his aides escorted him into a debris-filled room that was being readied for General Farlander. A holo-projector occupied the center of the cleared space, and in the blue cone emanating from the table stood half-sized holograms of Sien Sovv and Cal Omas. For much of the battle for Coruscant, elected officials had been on the move, in and out of hyperspace. But for the past four days, Omas and the others had taken refuge on Contruum.

“Congratulations, Admiral Kre’fey,” Omas said. “Thanks to you we have reclaimed our capital.”

“Such as it is,” Kre’fey said.

Sovv made a sound of agreement, then said: “Nevertheless, your efforts are appreciated by one and all. What is the situation there, Traest?”

“We’re on the verge of turning a hopeless situation into an impossible one.”

“Any change in the disposition of the enemy vessels?”

“None.”

“Any overtures by Nas Choka?”

Kre’fey forced an exhale. “Much of the fight has been bled from the spaceborne warriors, but we’ve received no word from Nas Choka. He recalled the dregs of his Muscave and Zonama Sekot flotillas, but has neither advanced on Coruscant nor withdrawn.”

“What do you suppose they’re waiting for, Traest?”

“They’ve never suffered