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Pressed among the crowd, Nom Anor readied his venom-spitting eyeball. Drathul was already shouldering his way through the throng, brandishing his baton. Was Nom Anor going to have to kill another high prefect just to save his own neck?

Shimrra would have expected no less of him.

Drathul was almost within arm’s reach of Nom Anor when the Supreme Overlord’s voice rang out above the melee of droning thud bugs, snapping amphistaffs, and sizzling blaster-bolts, his huge head rising above those slayers that made up his living fence.

“High Prefect Drathul! No more of this shall we brook! At this place is our patience and goodwill sundered!” Shimrra stood to his full and imposing height, towering over everyone. “I demand the heart of every Yuuzhan Vong who has aided and abetted the Prophet!”

Everyone in the vicinity was cowering, except for Nom Anor, because of how tightly he was wedged in place. Perhaps that was why he alone happened to be gazing past Shimrra when one of the slayers slipped away into the crowd. Except that the individual wasn’t a slayer. Master of disguise that he was, Nom Anor recognized that the deserter was wearing an ooglith masquer, which not only cloaked his appearance but also reshaped his body.

And from the way the slayer moved—with a somewhat trembling gait—the imposter could only be Onimi.

For the fourth and final microjump that would deliver them at last to Mon Calamari, Han and Leia had sealed off the cockpit and spent the entire time in each other’s arms, Leia on Han’s lap in the pilot’s chair, her arms around his neck. By the time the Falcon reverted to realspace Han was delirious, and Leia felt that, as safe corners went, the cockpit wasn’t too shabby—at least until they happened on the real thing.

Approaching the water world from well beyond its solitary moon, they were greeted by the sight of an enormous, perhaps unprecedented gathering of warships—a unified force of battle groups, flotillas, and fleets from all regions of the galaxy: Bothan, Bakuran, Imperial Remnant, and Chiss; Sullustan, Hapan, Eriaduan, and Hutt; Corellian and Mon Calamarian. In a glance they saw Mediator-class battle cruisers, Belarus-class cruisers, Lancer-class frigates, and Hapan Battle Dragons. They saw ensembles of Nova-class battle cruisers and Corellian gunships; reprovision flotillas of KDY Marlclass heavy freighters; attack groups of Imperial II-class Star Destroyers, Republic-class cruisers, and Immobilizer-class interdictors, their hemispherical gravity-well projectors accented by starlight.

There were Ralroost, Right to Rule, Harbinger, Elegos A ’Kla, Mon Adapyne, and Mon Mothma; the Super Star Destroyer Guardian, and the ancient Dreadnaught Starsider.

“You disappear for a couple of days,” Han said when he was past his initial astonishment, “and the kids turn the house into party central.”

Wordlessly he and Leia maneuvered the Falcon through corridors formed by the massive ships. The confined lanes were thick with starfighters and tenders. Ultimately they were requested to surrender control of the freighter to one of Ralroost’s tractor beams, which carried them gently into the cruiser’s immense starboard docking bay. A large crowd had turned out to welcome the Falcon home, and cheers and applause filled the scrubbed air as Han, Leia, and their roster of very influential people descended the boarding ramp.

Jaina rushed from the sidelines to hug her parents for dear life.

Han was nonplussed. “We’d’ve been here sooner, but we had to spend three days at sublight making repairs to the repairs.”

“I knew you were at Caluula,” she said, refusing to let go of him. “I should have listened to the Force and gone there.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Leia said, taking a moment to gaze at her daughter. “Has there been any further word from the station?”

“A courier arrived from Caluula yesterday,” Jaina said. “The station and the planet fell to the Yuuzhan Vong. Hundreds were taken captive and sent to Coruscant.”

“The sacrifice,” Han said.

Jaina nodded grimly and