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The Gallofree personnel transport Jeolocas dropped out of hyperspace exactly where she was supposed to, so far from any star system and from any widely known hyperspace route that the only thing her occupants should have seen was the surrounding expanse of stars and nebulae in all their color and purity.

Instead, as the whirling lines of hyperspace travel straightened and then foreshortened and Jeolocas dropped into realspace, clearly visible from the bridge was a Yuuzhan Vong frigate analog, an oblong mass of glistening red-and-black yorik coral, less than twenty kilometers away, easy firing distance.

Jeolocas’s captain, a young man from Corellia who had grown up on the exploits of famed Corellian pilots like Han Solo and Wedge Antilles, suddenly felt the kinship he’d always known with those heroes fade away to a cold recognition of his own mortality. For the first time in his life, he felt no ambition to see an enemy spacecraft in his targeting reticle, to dogfight with enemy pilots in the thick of battle. In fact, the merchant corps he served suddenly seemed more dangerous than he could endure. “We’re dead,” he said, his voice a croak.

The officer next to him, a Twi’lek female with pale blue skin, merely smiled. “Not unless you want to be.”

“What?” He stared at her, looking for any sign that she was distressed, confused, surprised in the least. He saw none. He didn’t know her well—hadn’t known her prior to a day ago, when she’d been assigned to this mission on the direct recommendation of the Talon Karrde organization—and now he understood that everything he had known about her, her name, her service record, all had to be a lie. He looked around the interior of the command pod and realized that she’d sent the other five ship’s officers off on various duties just prior to arrival, leaving the two of them alone here. “You knew they’d be here.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re Peace Brigade, you sold us out—”

“It doesn’t matter who I am. It only matters that you do as you’re told.”

He drew his service blaster. He’d practiced his draw for years until it was as smooth as shimmersilk and faster than the eye could follow. He’d practiced it until Han Solo himself, had he ever met the man, would have been impressed with his speed and deadliness.

As he brought the weapon up, he felt a sharp pain in his wrist.

He looked down. His hand was empty, bent back at a bad angle. His blaster was in the Twi’lek woman’s hand and tucked barrel-first under his chin. She looked slightly more serious now, as if deciding whether to forgive him for the minor transgression of trying to kill her. The pain from his wrist jolted up to his elbow, then made more leisurely progress up to his shoulder while he stared, uncomprehending. He cradled his injured hand.

“Do you want to live?” the woman asked.

He nodded.

She smiled again. She reached up with her free hand and took the captain’s cap from him, settling it down on her own head. “Then go hide. Don’t come out until I call for you.”

He turned and marched, his legs stiff, from the bridge. From the corner of his eye, he could see, through the viewport, the Yuuzhan Vong frigate launching a shuttle of some sort.

Suddenly, the thought of being less dashing than Han Solo didn’t bother him as much as it used to. He could happily be less dashing than Han Solo for the rest of his life … so long as the rest of his life was measured in years rather than minutes.

The air lock opened and the armored warrior led his unit of Yuuzhan Vong into the hateful metal corridors of the transport.

Waiting for him was a single ship’s officer, a female of a species he had seen before, a species whose name he could not recall; her skin was a pleasing blue two shades lighter than the bags under his eyes, and her hairless head separated in back into two fleshy tails. She wore a blue uniform jumpsuit and cap, both decorated in gold trim. A blaster pistol lay at her feet.

“I am Bastori Rak,” he said. “Who is captain here?”

“I am.” The female offered him a respectful nod but did not meet his eyes. Nor did she exhibit