Mara raised her eyebrows in mock alarm. "They'd steal it out from under us?"
"Depending on what it is," Jag shot back.
Luke chuckled. "Well put." He leaned against the transparent display and folded his arms across his stomach. "You're holding yourself very well here, Jagged. It can't be easy, caught between two different cultures like this twice over, if you like a human raised by the Chiss, then sent hack to deal with the Galactic Alliance."
"No," he replied, thinking of Jaina. "Sometimes it isn't easy."
"But it's good, I think. For all of us. We need another example of the Chiss to help us judge their nature, and you are as good as one of them. Thrawn was brilliant, but not the best ambassador a culture could wish for."
Jag stiffened defensively. "The Chiss do not ask to be judged, Master Skywalker. Not by you; not by anyone."
"But you judge us." There was no acrimony in the Jedi Master's tone. "We all do it, Jag. It's only natural. And we know enough of your foreign policy to know your opinion of 'lesser' civilizations. We might be one of them."
Jag could feel himself being led out onto treacherously thin ice. "Neither Grand Admiral Thrawn nor myself was an ambassador, as I'm sure you both realize. He was simply doing what he thought most appropriate in a particular military situation."
"As are you. I understand," said Luke. "Thank you for your help, Jag. I appreciate it."
Jag was surprised that the meeting had taken so little time. He had expected a more determined interrogation. But as Luke guided him to the door, he realized it wasn't quite over yet. A small but strong hand gripped him by the shoulder, and Mara said "Look after my apprentice, won't you?" Jag looked down into the star-tlingly green eyes of the woman beside him. "I know she's a Jedi Knight in her own right, but in some ways she's still very much a childalbeit a precocious one." The green eyes smiled. "I hope you can be a beneficial part of her education." "I intend to be."
"Good," she said, withdrawing her hand and nodding. "I'm glad."
There were many other things Jag still had to organize with his second in command, and he went straight to the barracks she had been given to discuss them with her. Eprill was ready and waiting, in full uniform.
"What did you tell them?" she asked, almost reproachfully. She had known about the meeting with the Sky-walkers and disapproved of their intentions.
"Nothing they didn't already know," he said.
"That alone might be too much." Red eyes blazed at him from a blue face.
He opened his mouth to snap at her, but discipline took over before the words emerged. He couldn't be angry at her for simply doing her job. The Chiss Squadron may have originally come on a fact-finding mission, but now it was hereat his instigationto fight the Yuu-zhan Vong. The negotiations and information bartering should be left to the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet.
But at the same time, he couldn't in good conscience let Jaina's uncle, aunt, and twin brother go blindly into a potentially tricky situation. They meant well, and their goals were admirable. Part of him wanted to give them every assistance he could, even if it did mean violating the oaths of secrecy he had sworn to the Chiss.
He didn't know what his father would think. The Baron was human, too, but he had embraced the Chiss culture as completely as it had embraced him. If his father had been in contact with the Skywalkers, then Jag doubted he would have told them anything of substance. They might simply have been bluffing to see what he would say in response. Jag wished he could ask his father what was going onbut that would have been seen as a sign of weakness. It had been his decision to keep the Chiss Squadron in Galactic Alliance space; he alone had to deal with the consequences of that decision. He hoped his father would be proud of the way he had handled himself.
But there was more to it than that. The military situation was too complex for one person alone to handle. He wanted his government involved, and he hoped that Master Skywalker would manage to achieve this.
Shrugging the problem aside, he sat down with Eprill, his second in command, and attempted to decide on a roster for the coming weeks. She would remain behind to take command of the Chiss Squadron. There would be six pilots left, enough to work as an independent unit alongside new pilots from the training program.
Jag knew that Eprill was as tired as he was. He also knew that she would be offended if he didn't leave her behind to take on the job. This was a big break for her, a chance to demonstrate her ability to command in combat, instead of just following orders. Looking at her nowat her pressed uniform, her perfectly straight posture, her black hair pulled severely back to the nape of her neck as per regulation standards for a Chiss soldierhe knew that she deserved every success. She was the epitome of what a Chiss officer should be.
She reminded him, in fact, of his childhood friend Shawnkyr, who had returned to Chiss space after Ebaq 9. Shawnkyr was almost too perfectas a pilot, as an officer, and as a Chiss. She was exactly the sort of person he should have ended up withnot someone like Jaina, the headstrong, stubborn daughter of parents who openly spurned military authority. He had known Shawnkyr ever since their victory over looters during their academy training; he had known Jaina only a couple of years. Shawnkyr had a perfect understanding and acceptance of the chain of command; Jaina was known as something of a loose blaster, following orders only when they concurred with her own moral code. The contrast couldn't have been more extreme.
What his family would think of Jaina, he had no idea. Given their own background, they might accept her perfectly well. But then again, they might not. And if they didn't, then how would it affect his standing among the Chiss, that he had chosen one from outside? He wasn't certain which he would choose if forced to decide between Jaina and his own people. He envied Luke more than he could say; his heart ached to see the three moons of Csillia again. But would his heart have ached more to leave Jaina behind? He didn't know, and a large part of him didn't particularly want to find out, either.
"Jag?"
"Huh?" He snapped out of his thoughts. "Oh, I'm sorry, Eprill. My mind was elsewhere."
"Obviously." There was a hint of disapproval in her voice. "I asked if you thought Sumichan should go with you, or if you'd like me to keep her here to work on her maneuvers."
He sighed. Jaina occupied almost every thought these days. He doubted he could be rid of her, even if he wanted to be.
"She can come with me," he said. "She just needs time to practiceand where we're going, I'm sure we'll have plenty of spare time on our hands."
Then again, he added to himself, the way the Solos operate, maybe not. ..
In the previous years, much had been learned about the infidels who occupied the galaxy promised by the gods to the Yuuzhan Vong. Nom Anor had played an important part in gathering and interpreting that knowledge. As a result, he felt justified in thinking that he understood the enemy better than anyone else. But even he failed to get his mind around a culture that would allow a planet's natural surface to be buried under lifeless metal and transparisteeland not just once, but thousands of times over, so that it was almost impossible for any living thing larger than a rodent or more persistent than moss to survive beneath it.
Yuuzhan'tar was not a world Nom Anor would have chosen to conquer. Had it not been the center of power in this galaxy, he would have happily left it to choke in its dust and smog while the rest of the galaxy came alive with the glorious Yuuzhan Vong invasion. The hardiness of the vile encrustations smothering the planetthe built things and the obscenities called machines so loved by the enemywas such that the dhuryam responsible for turning it into a more suitable world seemed to be unable to overcome them. Hundreds of thousands of years of habitation had their own momentum, and mere klekkets of Yuuzhan Vong occupation couldn't turn that back overnight. The roots of these built things went deep into the planet, and it would take time to extract them fully.
Nowhere was this more obvious than underground. Buildings had been built upon older buildings, which in turn had been b
uilt upon buildings older still, until a crack in one's basement might open up on what had once been an attic in another. And since construction in this fashion was rarely seamless, there were millions of narrow paths that had never been mapped. It was through such ways that Vuurok I'pan led Nom Anor, descending carefully along steep traverses that appeared to be tiled underfoot, as though they had once been roofs. He took them through areas immensely wide, though barely high enough for them to crouchareas compacted between enormous slabs of ferrocrete and time-flattened piles o f rubble. None of which sat easily with Nom Anor. He was not a coward, but the idea of scuttling through such spaces was distinctly unnerving.
Soon they came to an impossibly large vertical tunnel that plunged into depths of darkness that Nom Anor hadn't imagined possible. They spiraled down the interior of this tunnel for what felt like an eternity, walking upon metal steps that constantly creaked and groaned under their weight. It was so large that it could have easily held an entire transport carrier, except that it was almost totally filled with a mysterious silvery column. The thing stretched up high into the darkness above them, taking up so much of the space that there seemed only enough room for the stairs on which they descended. What purpose the column served, exactly, Nom Anor couldn't tell. Perhaps it was the outside of another pipe built within the old one. It, too, was probably abandoned, like everything else in the empty spacesdead metal left to die, left to rust.
Rust. Now that was a concept the Yuuzhan Vong knew about. The reaction between the elements iron and oxygen was an important one in biology. But the abhorrence with which the process was held by these machine builders had been unexpected. Sometimes Nom Anor thought it a good metaphor for how the Yuuzhan Vong invasion should have been conducted slowly, insidiously, the machine builders could have been eroded from beneath until all their glittering, unnatural towers fell and crumbled to dust. But here, underground, he could see the fallacy of the plan. Rust took time, and the Yuuzhan Vong were not known for their patience. The worldships were dying; their people needed homes. If the basements of Yuuzhan'tar could still stand, even after being so long untended, then invasion by rust would simply be too slow. Still, there was something in the concept, he was sure.
It nagged at him as he followed I'pan farther down into the depths of this abominable planetso deep, in fact, that the coolness of the upper levels eventually became replaced by a stifling heat and smell not dissimilar to a coralskipper backwash.
Is this to be my tomb? he wondered. The bowels of a planet whose very nature is blasphemous?
No! He quickly reined in his thoughts. He would not die here like some worthless vermin, in some hole where even the gods could not find him, if they had ever existed. No matter how deep I'pan went, he would live. He had to. That he currently had no plan and no resources beyond his mind didn't bother him any goal at all was better than just giving inand the power of his mind wasn't to be scoffed at.
He didn't know how long they'd been moving, but eventually they emerged into the huge cavern that he knew instantly to be the refuge of the renegade Shamed Ones. He could smell them, their fear and their desperation. I'pan stopped a few paces ahead of him, facing Nom Anor with a newfound confidenceas well as relief, it seemed. He must have felt that here, at least, he had the support of his companions, and that Nom Anor was less likely to attack him than he had been earlier.
"This is it," I'pan said unnecessarily, his arm sweeping around the dusty area. Even with this newfound confidence, his voice still carried a habitual obsequious tone. "We have arrived, Master."
The area was wide and circular, with a high, domed ceiling arcing overhead. Across the ground were scattered numerous blisterlike structures that Nom Anor recognized as minshals, grown for temporary accommodation. The entire place was lit by bubbling, bioluminescent globes hanging from the ceiling high above.
Off to one side, a slanting airshaft led even farther down into the seemingly endless city basement. Issuing from its wide throat were deep and rhythmic vibrations that made Nom Anor's calves vibrate. Moving over to the shaft he saw a chuk'a waste processor deep inside, its muscular segments busily ingesting rubble as it worked its way downward into the vent, turning it into the walls, ceilings, and floors of the new homes for the Shamed Ones, filling the empty spaces in much the same way that some insects built their nests.
"We found the chuk'a some levels above," I'pan said. "Mislaid for dead, we think, it has since come in handy for our needs."
In the strange, greenish light from the bioluminescent globes, Nom Anor could see I'pan's disfigurement much more clearly. Rejected by coral implants, the Shamed One's face lacked the brutal beauty of a true scarring. His skin was unnaturally smooth, and, apart from his nose, there was a symmetry to his features that offended Nom Anor's refined sense of aesthetic. No wonder I'pan had been outcast. The gods' shaming of him was visible for all to see.
"We?" Nom Anor asked, wasting no energy on sympathy. "I see no one other than yourself here, I'pan. Where are these others of whom you speak, and why do they hide?"
"We hide for the same reasons you do," said I'pan. There was no accusation in his tone, so Nom Anor felt no cause to lash out at him. "We have learned to do it out of necessityfor self-preservation." Then, ringing a bell that dangled from a tripod by the entrance to the shaft, he suddenly called out "Ekma! Sh'roth! Niiriit! We have a visitor."
Muffled voices responded to I'pan's call and the sound of the chuk'a ebbed. Nom Anor straightened as footsteps sounded seemingly from all around him. The fear of capture returned to him. With the minshals and the chuk'a the Shamed Ones no longer seemed so helpless or liable to obey his will. Down here, in their world, he was just one individual among many.
Still, he thought, any number of Shamed Ones should be as nothing to one who defied the Supreme Overlord himself. He held himself as proudly as he could while awaiting his fate, his wounded hand hanging freely, still oozing blood.
A dozen figures appeared from the shadows around them; three more emerged from the entrance to the air-shaft. The Shamed Ones surrounded him, studying him. All were ragged and misshapen, although few as severely as I'pan. Two, in fact, seemed perfectly healthy, tall and ritually scarred like warriors. Nom Anor had never seen warriors so filthy before, however, and their rags were a far cry from vonduun crab armor.
One of these two stepped forward. Her face was narrow and angular; scars traced deep crosshatched lines across her cheeks and temples.
"I know you," she said, barely a pace away from him. She displayed no fear whatsoever, only confidence, for which Nom Anor felt nothing but admiration. For a while he had thought they would all be like I'pan.
"Well, I don't know you," he responded evenly. Underneath his calm, he was tense, readying himself for attack. One dart from his plaeryin bol and she would suffer a quick and painful death.
"Does it matter who I am?" she snapped. "You have failed our warmaster many times, Executor, but I doubt you've ever noticed the ones who fell with you. There are many like me who suffered for your ineptitude. Not all of them found honor in death."
"You still might," Nom Anor said, on the verge of using the plaeryin bol. But he held himself back. Killing her would set the rest against him. Until he was certain he was about to be betrayed, he would exercise restraintuncharacteristic as it was for him.
"True," she said, the blue sacks beneath her eyes pulsing slightly from suppressed emotions that he could only guess at. "I still might."
She turned her back on him, and he bit down on his anger at the deliberately insulting gesture. After a few seconds, with those around silent in anticipation of Nom Anor's response, the female faced him again, her dirty teeth smiling at him.
"I am Niiriit," she said, "former warrior of Domain Esh. And you are the once-great Nom Anor." She looked him up and down briefly with a dismissive snort. "I presume you must have failed the warmaster once again. Why else would you be seen down here among the likes of us?"
She paced around him
, putting on a show of superiority for her compatriots in Shame. Her garb was little more than tattered rags, but her bearing was strong and muscular. Nom Anor couldn't help his admiration for hereven as he contemplated her death.
"I have not failed." He answered the accusation leveled at him by Niiriit, but his good eye was directed at those huddled around him. It was these whom he needed to impress his authority upon.
"You measure success, then, differently from what I would've expected."
He showed her his teeth, then. "If you wish to mock me, do so openly, not as a coward."
"I'm sorry," she said, returning to stand in front of him again. "It wasn't my intention to mock, just to point out the reality of your situation. It must be faced. We have faced it in our own way, and as a result are doing well enough down here. We live, we are safe, and we are building a home for ourselves." She indicated the air-shaft. "Our lacks include reliable food supplies and adequate clothing, but what we cannot steal we will soon be able to grow. Sh'roth here used to be a shaper." Her hand fell upon the shoulder of one of the older ones in the group. "Many of us have worked in the fields in the past. Among us we have the knowledge to create a self-sustaining community that has no need of the dhuryam. What happens on the surface will be irrelevant here. We just want to be aloneto be left in peace to find our own sort of honor."
Niiriit's defiance struck a chord within Nom Anor. She was Shamed, but she was clearly not defeated.
"I'm impressed," he said, his own survival instincts rising to the fore. If they could survive down there, unnoticed by the cleanup crews and occasional security sweep, then it wasn't impossible that he could, too.
"We're not doing it to impress you," Niiriit said. "Nor did we seek your admiration."
"Nonetheless." Once he would have died rather than utter the words he was about to say, but he knew he had little choice in the matter. "I would stay with you a while, given your leave."
Star Wars - The New Jedi Order - Force Heretic I - Remnant - Book 17 Page 9
