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“With all due respect, Admiral,” a Mon Calamari officer said, “Nas Choka is a far more shrewd warmaster than Tsavong Lah was. He won’t be taken in by intelligence disinformation. And at Toong’l and Caluula, he’ll be on the watch for interdictors, or mines of the sort we employed successfully at Ebaq Nine.”

“Precisely,” Kre’fey said. “Which is why we’ll employ none of that. Instead, Alliance infiltration teams will by then have incapacitated the yammosks on both worlds. Deprived of battle coordination, the withdrawing battle groups will be vulnerable to counterattack. The odds are against our inflicting sufficient damage to rout them. But the longer we can keep them from returning to the Core, the greater the chances of our Contruum fleets scoring heavily against Coruscant—and against Shimrra.”

Han made a low sound of puzzlement, and Leia turned to him.

“What?” she said.

“Doesn’t add up. If Caluula had been defended in the first place, the Vong wouldn’t have been able to use it as a staging area now.”

Suddenly Han was on his feet. Leia assumed that he wanted to share his concerns with everyone on the rostrum. Instead, he said, “I want to be counted in on the Caluula mission.”

Admiral Kre’fey swung to him. “Thank you, Captain Solo. Consider it done.”

Leia was still staring at him when he sat down.

“What?” he said.

“You, is what. Selvaris, then back to Selvaris. Caluula, and now back to Caluula? Besides, you just volunteered for something you said didn’t add up.”

“Yeah, but I’d sooner volunteer us for the mission than have anyone else risk it.”

Leia shook her head in wonder. “You’re trying to get us killed, is that it?”

“Just the opposite.” Han grinned. “I can’t have you getting bored with me.”

“Well, this should be good for at least another twenty-five years.”

Han patted her leg, then grew serious. “Here’s the real reason: I want us to do it for everyone who died or was captured at Caluula.”

EIGHTEEN

Casual questioning of some of those who had attended the “cleansing rite”—or slaughter, as many were whispering—had left Nom Anor with the impression that he had been the only one to notice Shimrra’s laughter. Now, two days after the heretics had been put to death, the Supreme Overlord’s unnerving smile was visible for everyone in the Hall of Confluence to see.

Nas Choka knelt before him, the Scepter of Entreaty curled around the arm that normally would have propped the warmaster’s domain tsaisi.

“Most Gracious Lord,” Nas Choka was saying, “I take it upon myself, in the names of the priests, seers, and others of my domain, to implore that additional thought be given to the holy task you have set before your warriors, to proceed with haste to Mon Calamari, and there lay waste to the ships of our enemy’s fleet, so that we might end this struggle at last, and see to the greater duty of bringing the truth to those whose homes we have conquered, lest we be forced to crush them underfoot like so many gricha. I ask this in the name of Yun-Yammka, to whom I am foresworn, and in all respect, since it is you who have Yun-Yammka’s ear, and upon you that the burden of existence rests.”

Shimrra leaned forward, with his pointed chin resting on the palm of his huge hand, and Onimi left the steps below the throne to sit cross-legged by the warmaster, studying him with his lopsided head tilted to the heavy side, but without giving voice to rhyme or insult.

“Pray, just what is it that your priests and seers have been telling you, Warmaster, since your words are the first I’ve heard of such matters?” Shimrra asked. “Surely you harbor no doubts that your mighty armada can prevail.”

“No, Great Lord, of that I have no doubts. It is instinct that compels me to ask: at what cost to us?”

Shimrra motioned to him. “Continue, Warmaster, so that all here gathered might get a glimmer of the inner workings of so strategic a thinker.”

Nas Choka raised his gaze. “Great Lord, I do not counsel against striking Mon Calamari. I question only the timing of the assault.”

Shimrra