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She knew they’d never agree to a diversion that would get her near spacecraft or pilot training, so she’d have to find some other way to get her into other parts of the worldship, places where she could meet other Yuuzhan Vong—or even some of their prisoners.

“I want to learn how coralskippers and buildings and armor are grown. How everything is grown. I suppose I’ll need a skill for when the Yuuzhan Vong have subjugated everything and don’t need an Intelligence division anymore.” Denua Ku didn’t answer, so she added, “Take my request to the warmaster. I suspect he’ll agree to it.”

It was the carrion-eaters’ hour, or so Tsavong Lah thought of it, the hour in which he permitted visitors to come before him on miscellaneous errands, the hour in which he cleaned away his visitors’ petty difficulties so they didn’t accumulate like carrion. He steered his attention away from that customary thought, as it came too close to his problem with his new arm.

The warrior Denua Ku came before him with Viqi Shesh’s request. Tsavong Lah authorized it. The human woman would never abandon her manipulative ways to learn a productive trade.

Next into the small reception chamber was Maal Lah, his kinsman and one of his best military advisers. Maal Lah’s features were surprisingly regular, his jawline unbroken, but his face was meticulously decorated with red and blue swirls.

“Yes, my servant?” the warmaster asked.

“I have learned a curious thing,” Maal Lah said. “The infidel fleet that took Borleias has not yet begun its withdrawal. And the surviving warriors of Domain Kraal report that the tool-users are digging in as if against a siege.”

“That makes little sense from a military viewpoint,” the warmaster said. “They cannot hope to hold it. They cannot hope for relief.” He considered the matter. “Send Wyrpuuk Cha’s fleet to crush them. Domain Kraal despises Domain Cha; having to admit a debt to Cha will be additional punishment for not holding Borleias as they should.”

“Yes, Warmaster.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No, Warmaster.” Maal Lah withdrew.

Next to receive an audience was Takhaff Uul, a priest. Highly placed within the order of Yun-Yuuzhan, the great god of the Yuuzhan Vong, Takhaff Uul was young for his duties; others of his age in the same sect were low-ranking priests, servants and aides to senior priests, while he was already a well-respected interpreter of the god’s will. His tattoos were not geometric designs or exaggerations of deformities; his designs were of eyeballs, small clawed hands, tentacles, all rendered in realistic detail as if to suggest he had had dozens of transplants in his short life. He bowed low before the warmaster.

“Speak,” Tsavong Lah said.

Takhaff Uul straightened. “I speak out of place,” he said, “bypassing the high priest to bring words directly to your ears, so I have come prepared to die if my words displease you.”

“You should always come prepared to die,” Tsavong Lah said. “You should not try to predict when your words will displease me.”

“Yes, Warmaster.”

“Speak your mind.”

“I speak not my mind, but the will of the Creator, Yun-Yuuzhan. My visions of him in last night’s dreams led me to thoughts of you and your … affliction.”

Tsavong Lah lifted the hand of his radank claw and studied its grasping digits. With this limb, he could rend the throat of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior … assuming the limb did not tear free of him with such an exertion. “What did he say of me?”

“Only that your pursuit of this war brings much pleasure to the heart of the slayer Yun-Yammka.”

“I do not see how this relates to my arm.”

“It was what he did not say, Warmaster. I felt—and this was only a priest’s intuition—that the Creator believed himself to be separate from the glory you are achieving. That he is not receiving his due share. That he is displeased.”

“And what did you feel would correct this measure?”

“A dedication, Warmaster. A gift. Something offered to Yun-Yuuzhan alone. An entire world devoted to the Creator and his priests and concerns.”

“But the priests of Yun-Yuuzhan have haven everywhere, among