THE NEW JEDI ORDER
Ylesia
Walter Jon Williams
BALLANTINE BOOKS
NEW YORK
Contents
Title Page
The Star Wars Novels Timeline
Star Wars: The New Jedi Order Ylesia
An Interview with Walter Jon Williams
Excerpt from Destiny’s Way
For More Information
Copyright Page
Nom Anor suppressed a shiver at the sight of the Shamed One Onimi leering from the doorway. Something in him shrank at the ppearance of the lank creature with his misshapen head and knowing smile.
Onimi’s grin widened.
Nom Anor, distaste prickling, pushed past the Shamed One and entered. The rounded resinous walls of the chamber shone with a faint luminescence, and the air bore the metallic scent of blood. In the dim light Nom Anor made out the magnificently scarred and mutilated form of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, reclining on a dais of pulsing red hau polyps. Onimi, the Supreme One’s familiar, sank into the shadows at Shimrra’s feet. Nom Anor prostrated himself, all too aware of the scrutiny of Shimrra’s rainbow eyes.
The Supreme Overlord’s deep voice rolled out of the darkness. “You have news of the infidels?”
“I have, Supreme One.”
“Stand, Executor, and enlighten me.”
Nom Anor repressed a shiver of fear as he rose to his feet. This was Shimrra’s private audience chamber, not the great reception hall, and Nom Anor was absolutely alone here. He would much rather be able to hide behind his superior Yoog Skell and a whole deputation of intendants.
Never think to lie to the Supreme One, Yoog Skell had warned.
Nom Anor would not. He probably could not. Fortunately he was well prepared with the latest news of the infidels’ efforts against the Yuuzhan Vong.
“The enemy continue their series of raids against our territory. They dare not confront our might directly, and confine themselves to picking off isolated detachments or raiding our lines of communication. If a substantial fleet opposes them, they flee without fighting.”
The Supreme Overlord’s head, the sum of its features barely discernable as a face with all its scars and tattoos and slashings, loomed forward in the shadowy light. “Have your agents been able to inform you which of our conquests are being targeted?”
Nom Anor felt a cold hand run up his spine. He had seen what happened to some of those who disappointed the great Overlord Shimrra, and he knew his answer would be a disappointment.
“Unfortunately, Supreme One, it appears that the new administration is giving the local commanders a great deal of latitude. They’re choosing their own targets. Our agents on Mon Calamari have no way of knowing what objectives the individual commanders may select.”
There was a moment of silence. “The new head of state, this infidel Cal Omas, permits his subordinates such freedom?”
Nom Anor bowed. “So it appears, Supreme One.”
“Then he has no true concept of leadership. His rule will not trouble us much longer.”
Nom Anor, who thought otherwise, chose not to dispute this analysis. “The Supreme One is wise,” he said instead.
“You must redouble your efforts to infiltrate the military and provide us with their objectives.”
“I shall obey, Supreme One.”
“What news of the Peace Brigade?”
“The news is mixed.” The collaborationist Peace Brigade government had been established on Ylesia, and had grown sufficiently large and diverse to have divided into squabbling factions, all of which competed ferociously in groveling to the Yuuzhan Vong. None of this cringing actually aided the creation of the Peace Brigade army and fleet, which, when built up to strength and trained, were to act as auxiliaries to the Yuuzhan Vong.
“Perhaps it should be admitted that infidels so disposed as to join an organization called the ‘Peace Brigade’ may not be temperamentally inclined toward war,” Nom Anor said.
“They need a leader to exact obedience,” Shimrra concluded.
“That role was to be assigned to the infidel Viqi Shesh, Supreme One,” Nom Anor said.
“Another leader shall be assigned,” Shimrra said. His eyes shimmered from blue to green to yellow. “We should choose someone who has nothing to do with these factions. Someone from outside, who can impose discipline.”
Nom Anor agreed, but when he searched his mind for candidates, no names occurred to him. “We are having better luck with infidel mercenaries,” he said. “They have made no true submission and possess no loyalty, but they are convinced they have joined the winning side, and are content to obey so long as we pay them.”
“Contemptible creatures. No wonder a galaxy that spawned such as these was given by the gods to us.”
“Indeed, Supreme One.”
Shimrra shifted his huge form on his dais, and one of the polyps beneath him burst under the pressure, spraying the wall with its insides. An acid reek filled the room. The other polyps at once turned on the injured creature and began to divide and devour it.
Shimrra ignored the clacking and slurping. “Speak of our visitor from Corellia.”
Nom Anor bowed. “He is called Thrackan Sal-Solo.”
“Solo? He is related to the twin Jeedai?”
“The two branches of the family are estranged, Supreme One.”
A thoughtful rumble came from the dais. “A pity. If otherwise, we could hold him hostage and demand the twins in exchange.”
“That is indeed a pity, Lord.”
Shimrra waved one huge hand. “Continue, Executor.”
“Sal-Solo is the leader of a large political faction on Corellia, and has been elected governor-general of the Corellian sector. He says that, with our support, he can assure that the Corellian system—five planets—is detached from the infidel government. Once this is done, he can assure its neutrality, including the neutrality of the Centerpoint weapon that so devastated our force at Fondor. Then, as diktat, he will sign a treaty of friendship with us.”
Shimrra shifted thoughtfully on the pulsing bed. The dismembered polyp twitched and fluttered as its siblings consumed it.
“Is this infidel trustworthy, Executor?”
“Of course not, Supreme One.” Nom Anor made a deprecatory gesture. “But he may be useful. He gave us the location of the Jedi academy, and that information was correct, and led to our colonization of the Yavin system. Corellia is a major industrial center, where many weapons and enemy ships are built, and its neutrality is desirable.”
“What is our information on the Centerpoint weapon?”
“Sal-Solo did not come alone. He brought with him a supporter and companion, a human female called Darjeelai Swan. While I interviewed Sal-Solo, we took his companion and interrogated her. According to this person, the Centerpoint weapon is not functional, though efforts are being made by New Republic military forces to rehabilitate it.”
“So this Sal-Solo offers to trade us what he does not have.”
“True. And—also according to Darjeelai Swan—it was Sal-Solo himself who fired the Centerpoint weapon at our fleet at Fondor.”
Shimrra’s hands—giant black taloned things, each implanted from a different carnivore—made massive fists. “And this creature has the effrontery to bargain with me?”
“Indeed, Supreme One.”
Onimi piped up,
“Fetch him to our presence, Lord,
And bring us all into concord.
I wish it known and made a rule
That I am not the only fool.”
Shimrra’s vast frame heaved with what might have been laughter.
“Yes,” he sai
d. “By all means. Let us meet the master of Corellia.”
Nom Anor bowed in response, then hesitated. “Shall I bring his guards, as well?”
Contempt rang in Shimrra’s answer. “I am capable of defending myself against anything this infidel should attempt.”
“As you desire, Supreme One.”
Like most humans Thrackan Sal-Solo was a thin, ill-muscled creature, with hair and beard growing white with age. His eyes widened as he entered the chamber and perceived, in the darkness, Shimrra’s burning rainbow eyes. Nevertheless he summoned a degree of swagger, and approached the Supreme Overlord on the pulsing polyp bed.
“Lord Shimrra,” he said, crossed his arms, and gave an all-too-brief bow.
Nom Anor reacted without thought. One sweep of his booted foot knocked the human’s legs out from under him, and a precise shove dropped the startled Corellian onto his face.
Onimi giggled.
“Grovel before your lord!” Nom Anor shouted. “Grovel for your life!”
“I come in peace, Lord Shimrra!” Sal-Solo protested.
Nom Anor drove a boot into Sal-Solo’s ribs. “Silence! You will wait for instruction!” He turned to Shimrra and translated the human’s words.
“The infidel says that he comes in peace, Supreme One.”
“That is well.” Shimrra contemplated the splayed human figure for a moment. “Tell the infidel that I have considered his proposals and have decided to accept.”
Nom Anor translated the overlord’s words into Basic. Sal-Solo’s face, pressed against the floor, displayed what might have been a trace of a smile.
“Tell the Supreme Overlord that he is wise,” he said.
Nom Anor didn’t bother to translate. “Your opinions are of no interest to the Supreme Overlord.”
Sal-Solo licked his lips nervously. “The only way I can guarantee the success of the plan is to be given a free hand in Corellia,” he said.
Nom Anor translated this.
“Tell the infidel he misunderstands,” Shimrra said. “Tell him that the only way the plan will succeed is if I am given a free hand in Corellia.”
Sal-Solo looked startled as this was translated, and his lips began to frame a protest, but Shimrra continued.
“Tell the infidel that we will give his associates in the Centerpoint Party all assistance necessary to gain control of the Corellian system. He will direct them to cooperate with us. Once Centerpoint Station is taken by his people and surrendered to our forces, the Centerpoint Party will rule Corellia in a state of peace with the Yuuzhan Vong.”
Sal-Solo’s eyes widened as he listened to Nom Anor’s lengthy translation. The executor did not bother to state the fact that, in the Yuuzhan Vong language, peace was the same word as submission.
Sal-Solo would find that out in time.
Sal-Solo licked his lips again, and said, “May I stand, Executor?”
Nom Anor considered this. “Very well,” he said. “But you must show complete submission to the Supreme Overlord.”
Sal-Solo rose to his feet but didn’t straighten, instead maintaining a sort of half bow toward Shimrra. His eyes ticked back and forth, as if he were mentally reading a speech before giving it, and then he said, “Supreme One, I beg permission to explain the situation on Corellia in more detail.”
Permission was given. Sal-Solo spoke about the complex political relations at Corellia, the Centerpoint Party’s desire to cast off the New Republic. As he spoke he seemed to grow in confidence, and he paced back and forth, occasionally raising his eyes to Shimrra to see if the Supreme Overlord was following his argument.
Nom Anor translated as well as he could. Onimi, from his posture at Shimrra’s feet, watched with his upper lip curled back and one misshapen fang exposed.
“I shall have to return to Corellia immediately in order to undertake the Supreme One’s plan,” Sal-Solo said. “And regretfully I must warn that it will be difficult to gain cooperation once it is known that the Yuuzhan Vong plan to seize the Centerpoint weapon after we evict the New Republic military.”
“The answer to that difficulty is a simple one,” Shimrra said through Nom Anor. “Do not tell your associates that the Yuuzhan Vong are destined to control the weapon.”
Sal-Solo hesitated only a fraction of a second before he bowed. “It shall be as the Supreme Overlord desires,” he said.
Shimrra gave an appreciative growl, then turned to Nom Anor. “Is the infidel lying?” he said.
“Of course, Supreme One,” Nom Anor said. “He will never voluntarily relinquish a weapon as powerful as the Centerpoint device.”
“Then tell the infidel this,” Shimrra said. “It will not be necessary for him to return to Corellia—he will simply inform us which of his Centerpoint Party associates we should contact in order to deliver his orders and our assistance. Tell the infidel that I have a much more important duty for him to perform. Tell him that I have just appointed him President of Ylesia and Commander in Chief of the Peace Brigade.”
Nom Anor was struck with admiration. Now that is truly inventive vengeance, he thought. Thrackan Sal-Solo had destroyed thousands of Yuuzhan Vong warriors at Fondor, and now he would be publicly linked with a Yuuzhan Vong–allied government. His reputation would be destroyed; he would be at the mercy of those whose warriors he had killed.
Sal-Solo listened to the translation in horrified silence. His eyes ticked back and forth again, and then he said, “Please tell the Supreme Overlord that I am deeply honored by an appointment to this position of trust, but because this would make it impossible for his plans for Corellia to be realized, I regret that I must decline the appointment. Perhaps the Supreme Overlord doesn’t realize that the Peace Brigade is not admired by all Corellians, and that anyone identified as Peace Brigade wouldn’t be able to command the respect necessary to win power in Corellia. It is, furthermore, absolutely necessary that I be in Corellia to coordinate the Centerpoint Party, and . . .”
Sal-Solo went on at some length, long enough so that Nom Anor began to feel toward him a thorough contempt. Sal-Solo, convinced of his powers to charm others, thought that once he could get in the same room with Shimrra, he could talk to him, one politician to another, and convince him of the rightness of his schemes. As if he could lobby the Supreme Overlord of the Yuuzhan Vong the same way as he might lobby some miserable Senator from his homeworld!
“Executor,” Shimrra said conversationally, as Sal-Solo continued to speak, “is there a place where one might strike a human in order to cause immobilizing pain?”
Nom Anor considered the request. “There are organs known as ‘kidneys,’ Lord. One on either side of the lower back, just above the hips. A strike there causes considerable anguish, often so severe that the victim is unable to cry out. Or so I am given to understand.”
“Let us find out,” Shimrra said. He made a slight gesture, and Onimi rose from his place at the foot of Shimrra’s dais. In the dim light Nom Anor saw, coiled in the Shamed One’s hand, a baton of rank, the officers’ version of the amphistaff. He was shocked to discover that Shimrra permitted his familiar to carry weapons.
But who else would be more trustworthy? Nom Anor thought. Onimi must know that if Shimrra is killed, his own death will surely follow.
Onimi stepped behind Sal-Solo and flung out his lank arm. The whiplike baton froze into its solid form, now a lean staff, and Onimi with a single efficient swing slashed the weapon into Sal-Solo’s left kidney.
The human opened his mouth in a silent scream and fell like a bundle of sticks, hands scrabbling at the floor. Nom Anor stepped to the helpless man, bent, and seized him by the hair.
“Your resignation is declined, infidel,” he said. “We shall see you are transported immediately to Ylesia, where you may take your place as head of the government. In the meantime, you will give us the names of your associates on Corellia, so they, too, may be given their instructions.”
Sal-Solo’s face was still distorted by an unvoiced shriek, and Nom Ano
r decided that his information regarding a human’s vulnerable kidneys was true.
“Nod your head if you understand, infidel,” Nom Anor said.
Sal-Solo nodded.
Nom Anor turned to Shimrra. “Does the Supreme One have any further instructions for his servants?” he asked.
“Yes,” Shimrra said. “Instruct that human’s guards well.”
“I shall, Lord.”
Nom Anor prostrated himself beside Sal-Solo’s shuddering body, and then he and Onimi carried Thrackan Sal-Solo to his guards, who managed to stand the man upright.
“I believe I address you as ‘President’ from this point,” Nom Anor said.
Sal-Solo’s lips moved, but again he seemed unable to utter a sound.
“By the way, Your Excellency,” Nom Anor continued, “I regret to say that your companion Darjeelai Swan died while furnishing the Yuuzhan Vong information. Is there anything you wish done with the body?”
Sal-Solo again voiced no opinion, so Nom Anor ordered the body destroyed and went about his business.
The pale form of the cruiser Ralroost floated in brilliant contrast to the green jungles of Kashyyyk below, the immaculate white paint of its hull a proof that the assault cruiser served as the flagship of a fleet admiral and was maintained to the standard that befitted his rank. Around the cruiser were grouped the elements of an entire fleet—frigates, cruisers, Star Destroyers, tenders, hospital ships, support vessels, and flights of starfighters on patrol—all formed and ready for their next excursion into Yuuzhan Vong–controlled space.
Jacen Solo watched the swarming fleet elements through the shuttle’s forward viewport. The outlines of the warships seemed too hard somehow, too defined, a little alien, lacking the softer outlines of the organic life-forms he had grown accustomed to while a prisoner of the Yuuzhan Vong.
“Bets, anyone?” came his sister’s voice. “Where’s the next raid? Hutt space? Duro? Yavin?”
“I’d like to see Yavin again,” Jacen said.
“Not once you see what the Vong have done to it.”
He turned at the bitter tone in Jaina’s voice. She stood slightly behind him, her intent gaze directed toward Ralroost. A major’s insignia was pinned to the collar of her dress uniform, and a lightsaber hung from her belt.
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