Sometimes, just sometimes, Natasi Daala thought she could get used to retirement.

It had happened before, a long time ago. She'd been utterly humiliated at Yavin 4, when her attempt to destroy the new Jedi Order in its infancy had been met with disaster. After the destruction of the Knight Hammer, she had set down her rank and authority, left the Empire in the capable hands of Gilad Pellaeon, and tried to find a new life for herself somewhere in the galaxy. And to her own amazement, she'd actually found one, on a dismal hellhole of a world called Nam Chorios. Liegeus had aged much since she'd last seen him, been through some terrible experiences, but then, so had she. Together with Liegeus, she'd retired from a life of warfare and duty and surrendered herself to simple pleasures. It had been a strange experience, unsettling at first. She'd wake up in the middle of the night after dreams of standing on a burning vessel's bridge, or hearing the phantom sounds of emergency klaxons. It had been Liegeus, calm wise Liegeus, who had soothed her nerves and taught her, slowly but surely, that a peaceful life was a fine one to live.

Liegeus was long dead now. Gil Pellaeon, right before his death, had called on her again, and when she mus-tered her fleet for attack at Fondor, she'd been shocked to feel the adrenaline rush that made her feel a decade younger. She'd been wary to accept commands of the Galactic Alliance at first for dozens of reasons, not the least her earlier battles with the Rebel Alliance from which it had grown. But it had been plain to her that some strong hand was needed to hold the galaxy's largest political union together. The Jedi were running amok, declaring themselves dictators and squashing anything that disagreed with their narrow, self-righteous vision of how the galaxy could be won. The Corellians, Bothans, and other independent-minded worlds had wanted their own special privileges, demanding favors from the Alliance without paying their fare due. It hadn't taken long for Daala to loathe having taken the job in the first place. Yet somehow, she didn't regret it. Then, as ever, she had done what was necessary to restore order to a chaotic galaxy, and the reign in the Jedi fanatics who could never stop fighting each other over petty religious differences.

But now she was retired again. After her abortive attempt to unseat Jagged Fel as head of the Empire, Vitor Reige had graciously allowed her to retire quietly to a private estate on Orinda. She had acres of land for her own, and a home set halfway into the side of a mountain. At dawn the system's rosy sunlight would stretch across the plain below, making the wheat-fields glimmer like a million precious jewels. It was the most wonderful view in the Empire. She could almost get used to it, but not quite.

She had no Liegeus now, no one to calm her, no one to convince her that peace was the normal state of a being's life. She still dreamed of fiery battleships, and this time when she woke up she felt disappointed.

She lived alone on Orinda, though she had several droids to help with maintaining the estate. She'd taken them apart, examined the pieces, and put them together again one-by-one. She'd examined every wall, nook, and crevice of her estate. She'd found no proof of surveillance devices, but she knew they were there somewhere. Vitor Reige wouldn't turn his back on her entirely. If he did, he was a fool.

One night Daala's dreams were more vivid than usual. She was onboard a Star Destroyer again. Its bridge was burning. A massive craft loomed ahead of her: long and daggerlike, but jagged and organic looking, like a lumpy Mon Calamari cruiser, only moreso. A Yuuzhan Vong ship, perhaps? Somehow, she couldn't be sure.

Her ship was burning, and the enemy ship loomed ahead. She shouted to her crew to abandon ship. Everyone but a skeleton crew to the escape pods. In a dream-instant, they were all gone except for a handful at weapons and engine stations. She stabbed a finger at the Vong ship and gave the order: Ramming speed. Her crew was a good crew. They obeyed without hesitation. Her crippled star destroyed lurched as navigation brought the engines back on line, almost knocking her off her feet. She braced herself against the forward viewport, pressing both palms flat against the cool trans-paristeel. She stared at the Vong ship as it grew closer and closer. It brought its weapons to bear, firing volcanic death at her, but nothing could stop her. Debris slammed into the viewport, and hairline cracks slithered through the transparisteel, tickling her palm, but she didn't let go. She leaned in closer. She saw the prow of her vessel stab into the heart of the Vong ship, shearing away yorik coral and steel in equal measure. The ship groaned, buckled again, but it stabbed deeper and deeper into the enemy craft. The hairline fractures snapped and cracked under her hands. The viewport shattered, opening the bridge to fire and space. Daala felt herself swept off her feet, plunging even faster than her dying vessel, closer and closer to the Vong ship, into its beautiful blossom of flame.

And then she woke up.

An alarm was blaring. She stared around her empty bedroom, wondering if she was still dreaming. But it wailed and wailed. In her sleepy confusion, it took her almost a minute to realize she was being messaged.

She scrambled for the secret communications array in her bedroom. This was something she'd installed herself, but she'd only used it once or twice for fear of Reige finding out. Only a handful of beings knew how to reach her. Before switching on the holo she looked down at her disheveled hair and nightgown. She shrugged and flicked it on anyway. She was far too old to be vain.

The blurred, blue face of Drikl Lecersen looked back at her. It wasn't a face she'd been especially eager to see; Even by Imperial Moff standards, Lecersen was as slimy as a greased eel. He'd plotted first against the Hapans, then against Jacen Solo, then against Jagged Fel, then against Daala herself, though she'd later been able to wrangle an alliance out of him. The fact that he hadn't been killed a half-dozen times already was credit to his cleverness, if nothing else. Like Daala herself, he'd been stripped of all rank after their failed attempt to wrest control from Jagged Fel.

If he just wanted to complain about retirement, she wasn't in the mood.

"I'm so sorry," Lecersen said, "I forgot what time it was for you."

Daala doubted that. "What do you want, Drikl? Make it quick. I'm not sure how secure this line is."

"Well, Natasi, there's no need to be snappy. I assure you I've taken all precautions to encrypt this message."

"Out with it. Now."

"All right. I still have some contacts on Yaga Minor, and they've been feeding me some very interesting rumors."

"Rumors?" Daala frowned. "Is that what you called me in the middle of the night for? Canteen gossip?"

"Hardly. First it was gossip, but now I've got something more substantial."

"Such as?"

His lips spread to reveal white teeth. "The Yuuzhan Vong. They're back."

Daala jerked to attention. "What? How do you know?"

Lecersen seemed more amused than nervous. "All in good time. The question is, Admiral Daala, do you think you have one more war left in you?"

She stared at Lecersen's blurry, blue smile for what seemed like forever. Eventually, she found herself nodding.

-{}-

Healing was not a Sith skill, but Vestara Khai had picked up many useful things during her sojourn with the Skywalkers. They'd taught her how to retreat within herself, to focus on the strength and warmth within her and to merge it with the Force to mend the parts of her body that were cold and broken. She spent a long time lying on the deck of Ship, existing in a strange mid-point between sleep and waking as she tried to mend the damage Jaina and Tenel Ka had dealt her during the fight on Yavin 4.

But like most Jedi tricks, it only did so much. No amount of Force-enhanced meditation was going to replace her lost arm. It certainly couldn't heal the damage to Vestara's soul. There had been too many betrayals, by her and against her, for that.

When she felt she had enough strength, she pushed herself off the floor. She tried it the first time, failed, and remembered that she only had one arm. All that was left of the other was a cauterized stump, the parting gift of Jaina Solo's lightsaber, buried beneath several layers of bacta bandages she had not administered herself.

She had enough strength to push herself upright with her remaining arm. She straightened her back and flexed her aching shoulders; they felt strangely light with only one arm to support.

Then she saw the figure sitting a meter across the floor. He sat with his legs crossed, back straight. He was covered in black robes except for his hands and face, both of which were an ominous, artful sprawl of red and black patterns. The Devaronian's two long horns and needle-like teeth, visible through lightly pursed lips, completed the image of ancient malice. She expected to see predatory hunger in his eyes, red-orange with black pupils, but instead she saw... patience.

"I'll live," Vestara grunted, though he hadn't expressed any concern and she hadn't sensed any in the Force. His presence was dark, determined, angry, much like that of her father and the other members of the Lost Tribe of the Sith she had spent most of her life with. Like her own, she supposed. However, unlike the other Dark Side auras she'd known, this one also seemed calm and confident.

"Did we get them?" Vestara asked. "Did we get what we came for?"

"The Holocrons of Naga Sadow are in our possession," Darth Vidious said. "Darth Wyyrlok should be very pleased."

Even when she'd agreed to go with him to Yavin 4, she'd half-expected this mysterious man to kill her once she helped him get his precious artifacts. It would be the typical Sith thing to do, after all. She'd been at his mercy, wounded and helpless, for hours if not days, and best she could tell, all he'd done was dress her wound.

Vestara didn't trust kindness. She almost had, once, and regretted it. She'd been born a Sith, made a Sith, and she'd die one too whether she liked it or not.

"Where are we going?" she asked, not bothering to veil the suspicion on her voice.

For some reason, Vidious chuckled. It didn't befit his demonic image. He said, "We are going deep into the Unknown Regions, Vestara Khai."

"Is that where we deliver those holocrons?"

"Among other things."

Vestara blew out a long breath. "You know, I thought we'd be going to Korriban. I sensed your peoples' presence there when I was there, a few years ago. That was you, wasn't it? Or is there a third faction of Sith floating around?"

"We have since abandoned Korriban," Vidious said. "The Jedi were becoming too alert to our presence. Besides, we had other business"

"Have you met any others... like me?" she had to ask. She hadn't seen or heard anything about the Lost Tribe since the battle at Coruscant two years ago, when she'd betrayed Jedi and Lost Tribe alike and turned both into her enemies. They would never take her back, and she'd never want to go back... but she was still curious as to the fate of the people she'd spent most of her life with. The tribe she'd lost.

"We have encountered several," Vidious said.

"And?" Vestara's breath caught in her chest.

"They were not worthy," the Devaronian said darkly.

She might have felt sadness, knowing members of the Lost Tribe had fallen to... whatever this second Sith clan was. Instead she felt a dull emptiness, like the last remnants of her youth had finally disappeared.

"And I was worthy?" she asked.

"You were willing to make a sacrifice." He made a small gesture to the stump of her arm.

She wanted to ask if she could get a replacement arm, but was afraid of looking weak. Vidious must have sensed this. He shook his head and said, "Our leader is not averse to prosthetics. However, some of our allies are, so you'll have to make due for now."

"Your leader? Are we going to meet him?"

Vidious shook his head. "Perhaps. That is not for me to know. But do not fear. All will be explained soon enough, Vestara Khai."

"Well, that's a relief," she muttered. "I hate being stuck in the dark."

Vidious chuckled, like she'd said something funny. "I believe you have much potential."

As do I, Lady Khai, said a voice in her head.

Ship! Her mouth slacked open. The sentient machine in whose belly those rode hadn't touched her thoughts since the battle on Yavin 4. Despite its constant presence in her thoughts for many years, she'd almost forgotten it was there.

Rest assured, Lady Khai, it said, This man will take us somewhere very powerful. I can feel it. Thisis what I've been waiting for my many centuries in exile.

Vestara glanced at Vidious wondering if he, too, could hear Ship. His face was blank, betraying nothing.

"What do you want?" Vestara asked both aloud. "What's your goal in all this?"

I wish to become a more perfect vessel of the Dark, said Ship.

"The Jedi are weak," Vidious said. "The Alliance from which they have broken is weaker. The time is perfect to destroy both and re-establish the dominance of the Sith."

"And the holocrons will help you do that?"

"The holocrons will help to heal our Master. And when he is ready..." For the first time, dark hunger blazed in his eyes. "Finally, the time will come to reveal ourselves to the Jedi. Then, we shall have our revenge."

And you, Lady Khai, will become a perfect vessel too.

To both their declarations, she could only nod. Then and there, in the belly of the ancient Sith ship with a new Sith warrior seated before her, she believed everything they said.

-{}-

She woke up.

At first there was only light. Soft colors floated past in a formless haze: whites, pastel blues, and rosy pinks. Sometimes strands would seem to hover in front of her, waving gently: dark browns and vivid reds. She felt weightless, and empty.

Slowly, her vision sharpened. The soft colors became a bubbles drifting through a translucent fluid. The strands were trails of long dyed hair. She felt sensations, too. Bubbles tickled her bare skin, while the medical wrappings around her chest and bottom shifted ever so slightly.

She slept, and she woke up. She didn't know how long she floated in the haze, but when they pulled her out of the bacta tank she didn't want to go.

The medical droid was an old 2-1B. His faceplace was chipped in a few places, but he was as polite and efficient as any other medical droid she'd known. He escorted her to a small white room with a soft white bed. He lay her down and pulled the covers over her. She slept. She waited. By now she had already realized that she was a prisoner.

She didn't know how much time passed before her visitor came. She was lying in the bed, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, listening to the barely-audible hum of the ship's engines, when the door hissed open. She turned her head. A Bothan, wearing the white uniform of a Galactic Alliance admiral, stepped into her room. He had his paws clasped in front of him. Small golden eyes stared at her from a face of smooth silver fur. After the door slid shut behind him, he said, "I'm glad you're awake. They weren't sure you were going to make it at first."

Myri struggled to sit upright. She still felt dizzy, and had to prop herself up against the wall. She said, "Who are you?" Her throat was dry, and the words cracked.

"Take some water," the Bothan said. He gestured to a bottle on her bedstand.

Myri took it, drank, and said, "Am I a prisoner?"

The Bothan shook his head. "Why do you think that?"

"I was hit... I ejected. You're the fleet we were following."

"Apparently so, but I'm very interested to know who this 'we' is," the Bothan said. "We did notice some unusual activity during the battle, some unregistered ships on the edge of the combat zone, but we had bigger concerns, as I'm sure you noticed." He pulled up a stool and sat down next to her bed. "Tell me, are you Alliance Intelligence?"

Myri regarded those gold eyes, trying to find his intentions. He didn't look threatening, but looks could be very deceptive, especially where Bothans were concerned.

"All right, I'll go first," he said. "My name is Bren Aref'ja. You are aboard my flagship, Phoenix. I attended the New Republic military academy, fought for the Alliance during the Yuuzhan Vong War, and fought for the confederacy during the Civil War. I'm currently wearing an Alliance uniform again and calling myself an Admiral, but those are not government-sanctioned. In fact, I was never more than a Commodore. I'm putting them on as a show of military order and discipline in this fleet we've put together."

Myri stared at those gold eyes for a long time. Then she said, "My name is Myri Antilles. I was sent by Alliance authorities to track you down."

"You and your team," Aref'ja nodded. "I would ask more about them, but I have a feeling you're not in the mood to tell me now." He scratched his neck fur with one claw, then asked, "Tell me, are you the daughter of Wedge Antilles?"

Myri blinked. Getting that question was shockingly, well, normal. "Do you know my father?"

"Not closely, but I met him several times in official capacities. I'm not sure if he'd remember me. Still, when I was at the academy I admired him greatly. We all did. I spent most of the Vong War as a deck officer, serving under Admiral Kre'fey on the Ralroost, though I gained my own command during the last stages of the conflict."

"Admiral Kre'fey," Myri thought for a moment. The Bothan admiral who had ended the Vong War as Supreme Commander of the entire Alliance military, vaunted as the hero who retook Coruscant, only to retire abruptly a year later, purportedly over political pressure from Bothan hardliners who wanted to continue ar'krai, the total war against the Yuuzhan Vong their species declared after the death of Borsk Fey'lya.

"The Admiral and I fought together again during the recent Civil War," Aref'ja said, "Though he knows nothing about this current operation. If he did, I'm sure he'd try to stop me."

"What do you mean?" Myri asked. "Was he your... mentor?"

Aref'ja's fur rippled. "I suppose you could say that. But that isn't what I mean."

"What do you mean?" Myri sensed danger behind his soft voice.

Aref'ja reached into his uniform and drew out a long, thick metal cylinder. It was only when he shifted his grip on it that Myri recognized it as a lightsaber.

"Where did you get that?" she gaped. "You're not a..."

"Of course not," Aref'ja shook his head. "No, one of our agents recently acquired this. Didn't get what she came for, but at least she got this. This is a warning, Miss Antilles. It's not just your Alliance intelligence band that's after us, the Jedi are too."

Aref'ja's long ears flattened against his skull. "The good Admiral Kre'fey was a strong believer in the Jedi. From the start of the war, he supported Jedi involvement even when the government, including his cousin, distrusted Luke Skywalker's knights. He admired their bravery, their selflessness. And he was right. If we'd worked with the Jedi billions of lives could have been saved, maybe even Coruscant itself.

"When the war ended, though, he was put to the test. The Jedi said they could end the war peacefully, and somehow convince an entire species of fanatic, death-loving warriors to lay down arms and go into voluntary exile on some magic planet called Zonoma Sekot. Any military man knows that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. But Kre'fey agreed anyway, because he trusted the Jedi, and because he wanted to avoid a mop-up action that could be as long and bloody as the whole war that came up to it. If I were in his place, I might have even made the same choice."

Aref'ja's lips pulled back to reveal sharp canines. "But he was wrong. One act of kindness can't civilize an entire race of savages."

Myri felt chilled. "That Vong fleet, where did they come from? What happened to Zonama Sekot? Did you..." She couldn't even finish her sentence.

Aref'ja shook his head. "We have no idea where Zonama Sekot is. Believe me, we've been looking. Right now, our concern is that fleet."

"How did you find it? Were they... attacking people?"

Aref'ja snorted. "Yes, and even if the Alliance weren't a mess right now, they'd never muster a fleet to stop them. But I have. I have spent the better part of a decade finding allies from all parts of the galaxy, people who will help me finish what we should have started fifteen years ago."

Myri felt herself shiver. "And what happens to me in all this? I'm your prisoner, right?"

"Prisoner?" Aref'ja shook his head. "You'll be kept under observation, but no, you're not our prisoner. You'll be staying here with us, to fight if you so choose."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you can still remain, because live or die, we will need witnesses to tell the rest of the galaxy what we did here in the uncharted depths of space."

He leaned in close, and laid a silver paw on Myri's hand. His gold eyes blazed as he said, "Myri Antilles, you are going to witness history. We are going to eradicate the Yuuzhan Vong, once and for all."