Lucrehulk-class Battlesphere Patriot’s Fist
Orian Pipeline, Orian Space, Outer Rim Territories
Day 103, 31 ABY

The Clone Wars had given Yashais enough experience to know when resistance was futile, which was why he had thrown his hand in with the Peace Brigade soon after its formation. That was nearly six years ago. In the time since, the Vong had captured and lost Coruscant, as well as seen their Empire built and then destroyed.

As Yash stared out at the empty void of space, he wondered whether he had made the wrong choice. Not just in this war, but the previous one, and the one before that. He had not surrendered to the Old Republic, or to the Empire that replaced it, nor the New Republic. He had no urge to run to the new Galactic Alliance which now called itself the galaxy’s masters.

Instead he had surrendered to the Warmaster.

That had been exactly it: a surrender. His wounded battlegroup had stood no chance against the Vong armada when they crossed paths above Thalassia. He knew what the Vong did to people who defied them. He knew how they treated their prisoners. He had no wish to end up just another of the trophies adorning the walls of Varesh’s flagship.

In his place, he was instead forced to listen to the screams that echoed from the bowels of the battlesphere, where the Chazrach tortured their captives.

The Chazrach. Slaves like him. Except brought from the Vong’s home galaxy. The alien reptoids resembled dwarf Trandoshans, and had been a ‘gift’ from the Warmaster, a new crew to man the Patriot’s Fist due to the Brigade’s dwindling numbers. Unlike the Vong, the brigaders were not in this for religious glory or a chance to earn a righteous death.

No, the Peace Brigade had never been in it for that.

They were here because nobody else wanted them. Had they been wrong? Yes. It was easy to say that in retrospect. The Vong had lost. But they could no longer go back. They could never go back. He was probably wanted for war crimes. He had no more intention of serving time in a GA jail cell than he did being strung up on an Embrace of Pain—however, given the choice, he’d sooner it be the GA cell.

Unlike that fool Sylus Vega, Yash was under no illusions. Did Vega truly believe Varesh would grant him the Orian system? No. Just like Yash knew the Warmaster would not grant him a chance to build a New Ylesia either.

And that was why he still served Varesh.

Because he had nowhere else to go. They were both outcasts.

The Chazrach behind the helm turned its reptilian head. ‘The Voice of Agony has docked, admiral.’

Yash nodded. Behind his skull mask, his expression stiffened again. Back to business.

‘Let Commander Amnan come aboard.’

The Chazrach turned back to his desk.

The minutes passed as Yash waited, as he continued to stare out into space. Then the turbolift chimed and he turned away, right as the doors slid open, the aging motors grating in his ears. The displeasure of the sound was lost to the sight that greeted him.

Five figures stood in the lift.

Two he recognised: Commander Tolok, and Bur’lorr, their agent inside Orian.

The third Vong was new to him. A deep scar ran diagonally down her face. Like the rest of her people, nothing had been done to heal it—she wore it as a trophy.

The final two caused him to narrow his eyes.

The female Human was covered in tattoos, not Vong but . . . something else.

The Barabel carried a lightsaber.

Yash bowed his head and clapped his fists against opposite shoulders.

‘Welcome back to the Fist, Commander Tolok.’ Yash’s eyes glanced at the female Vong and two other aliens. ‘I see introductions are in order.’ He bent down in front of the Vong. ‘Admiral Yashais dei Izvoshra, at your service.’

Bizarrely, the female Vong did not wait for Tolok to introduce her but instead simply spoke first. ‘Eckla Muyel.’ Her eyes shifted left as she gestured at the Barabel. ‘This is my domain brother, Shok Muyel.’ She turned to her right. ‘And this is my sister, Nen Muyel.’

Yash did not answer for a moment.

Her . . . siblings?

Right then he was thankful his mask shielded most of his expression. He was aware the Vong did things differently. But even so. There were limits. ‘Welcome to my ship,’ he said, forcing aside his doubts. It was six years too late to be worrying.

Tolok glanced at Eckla, who nodded, before he stepped forward. ‘Good news. Bur’lorr and his agents have completed their infiltration of the Dlarit Corporation. After all these long years, finally everything is in place to deliver the True Gods’ sentence to the Sseeth.’

Yash did not bother to note the fact there was a Sith—or at least a Jedi—right there.

‘The Warmaster brings word,’ Tolok continued. ‘The invasion will be launched exactly one klekket from now. Your assistance has been invaluable, admiral.’

The female Vong’s eyes appeared to glint. Without invitation, she stepped forward.

‘We have chosen to bestow you a gift,’ Eckla said, and gestured for the Human to step forward. ‘Nen was once—what I believe you call—a Nightsister. But she has since seen the Light of the True Way and now serves as a Yuuzhan Vong Slayer.’

Yash eyed the Human as she approached. She had no lightsaber like the Barabel, but the shimmering iron blades that crossed behind her back looked no less lethal. He had heard of the Slayers. The elite warriors the Supreme Overlord had created before his supposed demise—at least supposed as far as the Warmaster was concerned. Yash himself was not so confident in Shimrra’s survival.

Regardless, he knew enough to know the Slayers most definitely were not Humans.

Which meant this ‘Nen Muyel’ was something new.

As she approached, he saw of what looked like a spider clutched behind her neck. Looking back at the Barabel, he now noticed legs wrapped around the front of his neck too.

The Nightsister Slayer prostrated before him.

‘I am yours to command, Admiral Izvoshra.’