For some time after joining the True Honor movement, Master Shaper Vilath Dal had been uncertain as to whether this was the correct path for him. It was hardly a choice that could be un-made, and he had no intention of slinking back to Zonama Sekot and begging forgiveness (though his fellow Yuuzhan Vong had gone so weak on the forest world they might actually take him back). It was, however, very plain that he was unlike the other True Honor members.

For one, most of them were warriors. It was no surprise that they made up the bulk of a dissident movement aimed at taking the Yuuzhan Vong away from the peaceful, sedentary, agricultural lives imposed on them by the Jedi on Zonama Sekot. There were no Shamed Ones (though they called themselves Extolled now, none of the other castes paid much attention to their pretensions of equality). Some of the intendant caste had joined, yes, but they were surprisingly few priests among them. High Priest Harrar had done a thorough job of filling the religious hierarchy with priests who shared his vision of a peaceful life on their prison-planet, this strange mocking seed of Yuuzhan'tar.

There were a few shapers who had joined the warriors in the True Honor movement, and only one Master Shaper who had actually took part in the way against the Jedi fifteen years ago. That shaper was Vilath Dal.

To be fair, Vilath Dal had not been a Master Shaper then. He had been an apprentice for most of the conflict, and had been elevated to the full rank of Shaper on the heels of his mentor, Qelah Kwaad, during the last stages of the war. As a young scientist, he had been thrilled to assist her in developing the Slayers, the elite bio-engineered warriors who had valiantly defending Yuuzhan'tar against the Jedi invasion. All of his life he had been driven not by the warriors' bloodlust, the priests' fanaticism, or the intendant's ambition. He'd been driven by curiosity, nothing more or nothing less. Master Kwaad had once told him he was the ideal shaper.

In the beginning, after their forced relocation to Zonama Sekot, he had assisted his master in exploring the mysteries of this world, so like Yuuzhan'tar of old yet so utterly different. He'd been thrilled by this discovery, but had grown frustrated as the years went on. They could analyze every plant they found, map every genome, take apart every animal, and they still came no closer to discovering what made Zonama Sekot special. They had been forced to conclude that the mysterious power the Jedi worshiped, which the Yuuzhan Vong were unable to touch, must have been the key. Master Kwaad had despaired and made herself an anchorite in the wilderness. But Vilath Dal was a born shaper, and his curiosity was never sated.

So in the end he'd joined True Honor, this ragged angry movement of brutish, blood-hungry warriors, not for revenge against the Jedi, but because it offered him a chance to do something new.

It was all about the company they kept.

Vilath Dal now stood in the laboratory of the Sith vessel with their scientist Dician, examining the finding of their leader's latest medical evaluation. It was beginning to feel like a second home.

The first time he'd come aboard this Sith vessel (which they called Revenge, much to the warriors' approval), he'd been dazed and fascinated. He had been aboard infidel ships before, and they were nothing like this. Darth Wyyrlok had called it 'Rakatan,' after the ancient race that had grown it thousands of years ago. Its winding hallways, faintly luminous with the pulsing of veins and capillaries beneath its skin, recalled the insides of Yuuzhan Vong ships but were also utterly different. Dician said that this living ship existed in the Dark Side of the Force, and was powered by it in some way.

Vilath Dal had always been skeptical of the Force. He'd seen Jedi do tricks, but otherwise they seemed the same as any other being native to this galaxy. The Jedi he and Master Kwaad had dissected had looked the same inside as all the other humanoids they'd cut apart. Empirically, he could admit that the Jedi, and now these Sith, drew on some ethereal power to perform their tricks, but he was still eminently skeptical of some all-embracing energy that, if channeled properly, could both bring a planet to life and power an ancient warship. Like many shapers, he felt the same skepticism toward the Yuuzhan Vong gods, though it was a belief they rarely voiced aloud, even to each other.

After spending months with Dician aboard Revenge, he'd come to respect her knowledge and even accept some limits to his understanding. The hours spent with her, alone, had justified the decision to join True Honor. Together, they had combined their different scientific lineages and solved problems for mutual benefit. Dician had helped him develop biots that rejuvenated the many old Yuuzhan Vong warships the Sith had scoured from the far corners of the galaxy. He, in turn, worked with her to modify the vonduun crab armor that had been grafted onto her master, Darth Krayt, during his time as a Yuuzhan Vong prisoner fifty years ago.

Working with Krayt had been a revelation. The vonduun crab armor had formed a symbiosis unlike anything he'd ever seen. The living armor and the living human were at once feeding off one another yet also locked in mortal combat. The sheer willpower of Darth Krayt (and perhaps his Force magic too) had kept the armor from completely taking control of his mind and body, while the armor, in grafting itself to his skin and organs, had prolonged his beyond that of a normal human.

It was also helping to heal him from whatever grievous injury he had sustained; Dician had withheld the details. If either Krayt or his armor overpowered the other, both would perish. The difference was that Krayt was a sentient being who understood his limits, whereas the armor sought only to consume.

Now, after filling the void in Krayt's body left by his wound, the armor seemed that it was finally, at last, getting the upper hand.

Dician and Vilath Dal both understood. They'd been trying different treatments for months, but nothing could advance the armor's parasitic advance into Krayt's body. They had explained the situation to Krayt as well, but not to any of the other Sith or Yuuzhan Vong. The three of them had agreed to keep it a secret for now, lest the knowledge get out and sow discord in their fragile alliance.

Working with the Sith was a joy and revelation, but Krayt's illness had also brought him face-to-face with something he'd been in denial of all his life. He may have been a born shaper, but he was not a great shaper. He knew in his heart that Master Kwaad could have done what he could not. She could have restored the equilibrium and saved Krayt.

They reviewed the information from Krayt's most recent examination. Dician was scanning through the data on a holographic projector. If any of the True Honor warriors saw this they'd call Vilath Dal a blasphemer, but he didn't care. Dician's mechanical tools were just as valid as his qahsa and villip, sometimes moreso. What mattered was the ends, not the means to get there.

However, what they saw now was not encouraging, not at all. If this was the end they were heading for, they were doomed.

"How long do you think?" Vilath Dal asked. He had his arms crossed over his chest and the tentacles in his headdress writhed, betraying his agitation though his face was stony and cold.

"A week, perhaps," Dician said as he looked at the readout. "After that he will fall into his last sleep. A healing coma will help him resist the armor's effects, but even though, it should overcome him in about a month."

"The parasite armor is designed to overtake its host," Vilath Dal said. "However, it was designed for Yuuzhan Vong life forms. There is not way your master would survive. It would kill him and the parasite both." He snorted and shook his head. "We should have designed smarter beings, but our shapers followed the orthodoxy laid down by the priests and Shimmra for too long."

"It's not your fault," Dician said sternly. "And there must still be a way to save him. Every problem has a solution. Every disease has a cure."

Vilath Dal bore his teeth in bitter imitation of a human smile. "Many of my people would say disease is an affliction from the gods, from which there can be no appeal."

"A few of my people have whispered that Lord Krayt has offended the Force some how," Dician said with equal disdain.

Vilath Dal tilted his head. "Do you disbelieve in the Force, Dician?"

She shook her head. "Oh, no. I can feel it. Use it, though not as well as the Masters. I do not believe it has a will. I refuse to believe it controls our actions. We control our own. A true Sith doesn't whine about fate, she takes hold of what she wants and wrenches it from the stubborn claws of the universe."

Vilath Dal chuckled. "You would have made a fine Yuuzhan Vong shaper."

"No. Your fashion sense is beyond me." She gestured to his headdress. "Still, this isn't the place for humor. We have to save Lord Krayt and we're running out of time."

"I can return to my ship, run further tests," he said, but that was a lie. He had no hint of anything else he could do for Krayt... except kidnap Qelah Kwaad and bring her here.

He froze. He could do that. Zonama Sekot's engines were down. It had no place to go. Master Kwaad herself was almost certainly secluded on the exact same remote mountain she'd locked herself away on years ago.

"What?" Dician asked. "Do you have an idea?"

"Perhaps," Vilath Dal demurred. "It is too soon to say."

She was obviously unsatisfied, but knew when not to press. "Do you want to return to your ship now?"

"Please," he gave a slight bow.

When they stepped out of the lab they were met with their typical honor guard; a half-dozen Yuuzhan Vong warriors on one side of the hallway, and an equal number of black-robed, tattooed Sith on the other. Even Vilath Dal, who was more or less used to it by now, had to admit they made a truly terrifying combination.

He was marched back to the cofferdam that connected to his shuttle. Darth Wyyrlok was not there this time, so he got a farewell salute from the one with the two tall horns sticking out of his head. Then he entered the umbilical and went back to his ship, six warriors on his heels. He didn't speak to them once the whole way back to his flagship, Honor Regained.

At some three kilometers long, Regained was the largest Yuuzhan Vong vessel recovered by the Sith scouts. They'd found her floating all the way on the Outer Rim, ten parsecs outside the Belkadan system. It had taken great effort, and almost a hundred implanted biots, to pump lifeblood into her systems. She had proven herself in combat several times already, though, and Vilath Dal was confident she would do so again when the time came. He hoped, however, that this would not be soon.

After his shuttle linked to Regained, he boarded the vessel and was greeted by its first officer, Voran Lah. There were more than a few of the deceased Warmaster's Domain here on Regained; it seemed they felt they had something to prove. Voran Lah himself was the picture of the fanatic amateur: at only twenty standard years old he was tall and stringy, too young to have fought in the war, yet his face was a hideous mess of scars and tattoos, most of them inflicted in the past six months. Not one but two amphistaffs writhed around his waist.

When he greeted Vilath Dal he did not bow in deference to his elder, but said simply, "Welcome aboard," with the condescension all too common among the warrior caste too young to have seen actual war.

"Thank you for receiving me," Vilath Dal said, with equal lack of enthusiasm. "Please, take me to Maal Lah. I have something important to discuss with him."

"The Warmaster is on the bridge," Voran Lah said. "He is attending to critical-"

"Nothing is more critical than this!" Vilath Dal snapped.

For a second Voran Lah looked frightened, but then he put on a sneered mask. "If you truly insist, I can speak with him. But if he declines-"

"Do it," Vilath Dal said.

Voran Lah stared at the shaper for just long enough that he didn't appear weak in front of his subordinates. Then he took five steps down the hall, stroked the villip on his shoulder to life, and spoke with it in muffled tones. Vilath Dal waited patiently and did not strain to hear. He trusted in the conversation's outcome. Unlike his lieutenant, Maal Lah was not a fool.

When the conversation was over, Voran Lah walked back and, trying to hide his chagrin, said, "The Warmaster will see you in his command parlor."

"Very good," Vilath Dal nodded, and started down the hall. His six soldiers followed behind him, leaving Voran Lah to watch their backs in consternation.

When he arrived at the command parlor, he found Maal Lah standing before the gemlike lens of the viewport, watching stars and warships drift past slowly outside. The self-proclaimed Warmaster, a distant relative of Tsavong Lah himself, was tall and broad-shouldered, though his face lacked the ritual scarring of so many of his caste. Instead, a myriad of red and blue tattoos writhed across his gray skin, climbing his bare arms, slipping under the black cloak he wore over his shoulders, and slipping up his neck and across his cheeks and forehead.

"Belek tiu, Eminence." Vilath Dal said, snapping his wrists against his shoulders.

"Welcome back." Maal Lah turned around and took a step toward the shaper. He moved with a slight hobble; he had once lost a leg fighting the enemy at Ylesia, and the replacement had never grafted quite right. During the war, Tsavong Lah had lost a leg and nearly been killed by a corrupt replacement, put on by one of Vilath Dal's own Domain. Maal Lah, however, was not one to hold to blood feuds. He had welcomed Vilath Dal into True Honor, as well he should have, because a fleet full of warrior-caste thugs needed every good shaper they could get.

"What have you to report?" Maal Lah asked as he came within arms' length of the shaper.

Vilath Dal said, "Unfortunately, the situation with Darth Krayt is at an impasse. The vonduun armor threatens to consume his body. He will probably slip into a coma within a week, and die thereafter."

Maal Lah scowled. "And what comes of our alliance then?"

"Oh, I think we could slaughter the Sith if we had to, but it would be quite costly. Say, twenty of ours for every Dark Lord."

"Is that a joke?"

"No, it is not," Vilath Dal said gravely. "However, I do have another idea. It is rather unorthodox, but if you agree to it, we must move quickly."

Maal Lah regarded him carefully. "Just say what you wish, shaper."

"I propose a return to Zonama Sekot," he said.

Maal Lah's eyes went wide. "For what purpose?"

"Healing Krayt is beyond my abilities," Vilath Dal admitted. "However, I'm convinced my master could do it."

"Qelah Kwaad? The old witch has been hiding in the mountains for years. Likely she has gone mad."

"Even mad she is the most brilliant member of our race alive. If she can't save Krayt, it cannot be done."

"And how do you propose we get her? Fly into Zonama's orbit and ask politely?"

"It will require a raid," Vilath Dal admitted. "I know where to find her, so I can lead. I suggest we send a wounded ship, begging to surrender, as a feint."

"They are fools, but they are not stupid. They will never accept it."

"They don't have to accept. They only have to hesitate long enough for us to get into orbit." Vilath Dal let his eyes drift over Maal Lah's shoulder, to the drifting stars and warships. "What of the beacon?"

"The beacon still transmits, best we can tell," Maal Lah said. "We have not dislodged the enemy missile from its place inside Heart of Flame."

"Yet they have not attacked."

"They would be fools to. Our combined fleet outnumbers theirs."

This was true, though most of the vessels recovered and resurrected with biots were under-manned, and their crew disproportionately made up of inexperienced young fanatics like Voran Lah.

Moreover, they lacked any of the yammosk war coordinators that had been vital to battles of the last war. He did not know what kind of crew the renegade fleet possessed, but he would bet most of them were actual veterans of the war, not angry youths.

"Perhaps," said Vilath Dal, "We should send Heart of Flame as our damaged ship."

Maal Lah's face showed surprise, then consideration. He said, "We do not know what would happen if the renegades attack Zonama Sekot. The world may yet cling to dreams of peace and refuse to defend itself."

"And what if it does not?"

Maal Lah scowled. Like many in True Honor, he clung to the belief that their military victories would draw more of their people away from Zonama Sekot and out into the galaxy to make war once again.

That was one reason that they had not attacked the living world thus far. There was also a strong reluctance on the part of many Yuuzhan Vong to harm their own kind, even the naïve ones who sided with Harrar. Finally, they knew Sekot was perfectly capable of defeating a whole fleet if it summoned the willpower.

"All right," the shaper shrugged. "If it needs help, we can bring our fleet in and smash the enemy's. We will become saviors of the entire Yuuzhan Vong race and they will all flock to join us and take war to the stars again. Is that to your liking?"

"It is," Maal Lah admitted. "But such a feat would carry... certain risks."

Vilath Dal bore his teeth in another imitation of a humanoid smile. "Come, Warmaster. Surely you know that without risk, there can be no reward?"