Star Wars - Edge of Victory - Book 1: Conquest

by Greg Keyes

  The female did, however. "Would think what? That I wouldn't refuse a warrior?"

  "No, that's not it," Anakin said. "I suppose I thought they—the rest of the Yuuzhan Vong, I mean—were . . . well, that they didn't think Shamed Ones were, you know, desirable."

  "We aren't, not by normal people. Not even by each other. But Vasi is not normal. He likes sick things. He can command a Shamed One to do things that no true caste would ever do, or want to do, or want done."

  "But he commanded you and you didn't?"

  "He knows if he commands me, I will make him kill

  me. So he didn't command me. He wants me to come to him." She stopped and dropped her eyeridges angrily. "And this is not your business. Never forget—what I am to them, you are to me. One day Yun-Shuno will grant me redemption, and my body will take the scars and im­plants. I will become true caste, while you will forever be nothing."

  "Do you really believe that?" Anakin asked. "I don't think you do."

  She slapped him then, hard. When he did not react to the pain, she nodded thoughtfully. "Stronger than I thought. Maybe we can meet my quota," she said. "If you help me do it, I will find some reward for you."

  " I would do it for no other reason than to disappoint Vasi," Anakin replied. "Though I may feel differently if you keep slapping me."

  "You say filthy things, and don't expect to be punished?"

  "I didn't know it was filthy."

  "I have heard you slaves are infidels, but even infidels must know the gods and their truths."

  " I would think that not knowing that is exactly what makes me an infidel," Anakin said.

  " I suppose. It makes no sense, and I've never spoken to an infidel before, not like this." She hesitated. "It is ... interesting. Perhaps as we work, we can pass the time. You can tell me of your planet. But restrain yourself— Shamed I may be, but I have not abandoned myself to shame."

  "It's a deal," Anakin said. "Will you tell me your name?"

  "My name is Uunu." She pointed ahead, to a low coral wall. "We're nearly to the lambent field now. They are just past there."

  "What is a lambent?"

  "Another moment, and you shall see. Or, rather, you shall hear them."

  "Hear?"

  But suddenly he did, a faint, buzzing rattle, like the voices of small animals.

  And yet this didn't come from the Force, not exactly. It didn't have the familiar touch, the depth. It was more like having a staticky comlink in his head.

  They rounded the wall. Beyond was a field tilled into concentric circular ridges. On them, spaced perhaps a meter apart, grew plants that resembled a nest of short, thick, green knives. From the central clump two, three, or four short stalks grew, and at the end of each of these was a sort of hairy, bloodred bloom. The blooms were roughly the size of his fist, and it was from these that the telepathic murmur seemed to come.

  "What are they?"

  "Start working now. I'll explain what they are later, if it looks as if we are approaching our quota."

  "What do I do?"

  "You will follow me. I will stroke the down from the blossoms—like so." Almost tenderly she rubbed away the red, hairlike petals until all that remained was a yel­lowish bulb. "This attunes it. Once that is done, you must harvest it. That is more difficult. Hold still, please." She withdrew something curved and black from a pouch in her garment.

  "Place it on your thumb."

  He looked at it. It resembled a spur, about eight cen­timeters long. It looked very sharp. It was hollow, and when he slipped his thumb into the hollow he winced as what felt like many small teeth bit into him.

  "It's alive," he muttered.

  "Of course it is. Who would use a dead—" Then her eyes narrowed. "I told you not to talk like that, didn't I?"

  "I didn't say anything wrong," Anakin objected.

  "No. You just implied it and let my mind do the dirty work. Stop that."

  Anakin held up his newly spurred thumb and looked at it.

  "Don't get airs," she said. "It's not a real implant. Even I can wear one for a little while before the reaction sets in. It's not permanent. And in case you're getting any unslave-like ideas ..." She took his wrist in a surprisingly strong grip and jabbed her palm at the sharp tip of the spur.

  It immediately went flaccid.

  "You might cut another slave with it," she said softly. "I've heard of such things, done for the amusement of the guards. But you will not cut a Yuuzhan Vong with such a tool."

  "I would have taken your word for it."

  "Good. You're learning. So, you take your spur and split the lambent casing at the top. Go ahead."

  He knelt by the plants and pressed the sharp tip into the yellow bulb. It split, and a pale milky substance oozed out.

  "Now cut down the side. It will be difficult."

  It was. The husk was tough. When he had scored three sides, he managed to peel the skin away. The entire time he did this, he was acutely aware of the thing's telepathic voice, a quiet peeping somehow different from its com­panions, probably because of Uunu's "attunement" of it.

  The big surprise was the inside. When he had cut it free, Anakin held it up, fascinated.

  It looked very much like a gem of some sort.

  "What is it?" he asked again.

  "Later. Go, now. You will be slower at cutting them than I am at attuning them. You must work to keep up with me. Normally two or three huskers come after the attuner. When you have a rhythm, and I am certain you are not losing ground, then we will try talking. Not before."

  It didn't happen that day. While Anakin eventually caught the rhythm of the work, it was only after he was far behind Uunu. The lambents distracted him. They could tickle his mind and he could touch them, but not

  through the Force, not in the conventional sense. He was told that Wurth Skidder had had a similar experience with a Yuuzhan Vong yammosk, the creatures that co­ordinated the actions of Yuuzhan Vong warcraft. Yam­mosks bonded telepathically with their daughter ships and with the crews of its fleet. It then protected them as it would its own offspring, directing their battles to mini­mize loss. Skidder had apparently achieved some sort of metalinkage between the Force and yammosk telepathy, at least according to his surviving companions.

  Were these lambents yammosk relatives? Uunu was doing something to them; they changed as she stroked them, became more distant to Anakin. Because she was bonding them to herself? Could Anakin bond with one? Maybe if he did, he would find out what their function was. Were they what they looked like and felt like? They couldn't be exactly, of course, because they were alive, but still!

  He hadn't realized how much hope he had lost until he started to get some of it back.

  He slept in a dormitory for slaves, a low-roofed, creep­ing building with four sleeping areas carpeted in a spongy, mosslike growth. A total of eighteen slaves occupied the building, sleeping as thick as Stintarils. It was nearly im­possible to sleep without being in contact with someone.

  To Anakin's relief, they weren't all Peace Brigade. In fact, Anakin gathered that while most of the Brigaders in the system had indeed been captured, most of those had been sacrificed to the Yuuzhan Vong gods. The slaves he shared his quarters with were from various points along the route of conquest and seemed to represent members of some sort of slave core population, one that the mal­contents and firebrands had been largely eliminated from. None of them had the old style of slave implants like those Anakin had seen on Dantooine.

  "They use those mostly for the ones they send into

  battle," a Twi'lek named Poy told him, when he asked about it. "The thing is, if they fit you with the stuff, it takes a lot out of you. Makes you dumb. The shapers don't want dumb slaves that keep forgetting directions. The warriors just need bodies to absorb blasterfire, so it doesn't really matter there." His lekku twitched pen­sively. " But act up, or act stupid, and they'll fit you with it and send you to the front."

  The most comforting thing about the slaves
was that Anakin could feel them in the Force, but other than that, he didn't see much hope for help in them, and indeed, enormous potential for betrayal if they had any hint of who or what he might be. He gave it out that he had been captured on Duro and suggested to the more inquisitive that they didn't need to know the details.

  Uunu collected him for the second morning, while it was still dark. He'd slept sporadically, trying to locate Tahiri in the Force. She was still withdrawn, difficult to find, but he was pretty sure he knew which damutek she was in.

  He was a little groggy as he fell into step with the Shamed One.

  "Here," she said a bit gruffly, holding out something in her hand.

  "What?"

  "Just watch, infidel."

  A wisp of phosphorescence appeared in her palm and quickly sharpened into a substantial light. As it fleshed out, Anakin could see that it was a lambent crystal, like the ones he had been harvesting the day before.

  It grew brighter until it was almost hard to look at, then faded away.

  "You control the brightness with your mind," Anakin guessed.

  She nodded. "Yes. We use these as portable light sources. They can also be configured with photosensitive biots to

  form the controls of various superorganisms, especially of the spacegoing sort." She closed her hand on the gem-like organism. "Come."

  "It's still alive, though, right?" Anakin asked, as they continued toward the fields.

  "Yes, of course."

  "What does it eat?"

  "A lambent's substance is mostly silicon and metal fixed from the soil. They transpire when gas is available, but most of their sustenance comes from the bioelectrical fields of the life around them." She stopped, staring at him. "What is that expression on your face?"

  Anakin realized suddenly that he was grinning from ear to ear.

  "Nothing," he said. "It's just amazing, I suppose."

  "As are all gifts of the gods," Uunu replied. Anakin thought he still heard suspicion in her voice.

  They worked for six hours without stopping, but Anakin had his rhythm now. He told Uunu he'd been on a freighter crew, and described Coruscant and Corellia. She was mostly disgusted by this, since it was impossible to talk about such high-tech worlds without multiple mentions of abominations. He changed the subject to lost Ithor and the moon of Endor, which were less touchy subjects.

  After six hours of work, they took a short break for water and to suck a pasty pap from something Anakin knew was an organism but preferred to think of as a warm, distended bag.

  "It's difficult to imagine all of those worlds, each as big or bigger than this one," Uunu said between sips. "I grew up on one of the poorest worldships. There was little room. We lived very close together. Here, there is nothing but space."

  "There are plenty of uninhabited worlds," Anakin agreed. "The New Republic would have been happy to make room for you."

  Uunu gave him the puzzled expression he had come to expect in their conversations. "Why should Yuuzhan Vong beg for what the gods have ordained we may have? Why should we tolerate abominations in the galaxy Yun-Yuuzhan has decreed shall be the end of our wanderings?"

  "How do you know the gods have decreed this, Uunu?" Anakin asked, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

  Her lips tightened. "Your mouth will be the death of you, Bail Lars. I have come to understand you are ig­norant rather than stupid, but others will not be so forgiving."

  "I just want to understand. From what I can tell, the Yuuzhan Vong spent centuries if not millennia in space. Why now, why our galaxy? How did the gods make their will known?"

  A slight frown creased Uunu's face, but she did not be­rate him again. "The signs were many," she said. "The worldships began to die, and there was much unrest. Caste fought caste and domain fought domain. It was a time of testing, and many thought the gods had abandoned us. Then Lord Shimrra had a vision of a new home, of a gal­axy corrupted by heresy, of a cleansing. The priests first saw his vision was true, then the shapers, then the war­riors. The time of testing gave way to the time of con­quest." She looked up at him. "That is all. It is how it must be. Ask no more about it, for there is nothing else to say. The people of this galaxy will accept the will of the gods, or they will die."

  Anakin nodded. "And the Shamed Ones? You didn't mention them. How do they fit into this?"

  Her gaze wandered away again. "We have our own prophecies. In this new galaxy, Yun-Shuno has promised us redemption."

  "In what form?"

  She did not answer but instead looked off at the hori­zon. "Look how far it goes," she said. "On and on."

  Anakin thought the conversation was over, but after a long pause Uunu suddenly caught his gaze and held it. Her voice dropped almost below the range of his hearing.

  "Bail Lars," she said. "Are you Jeedai?"

  CHAPTER TWEIXITY-FIVE

  "What?" Anakin sputtered around the yellowish paste he was already having trouble swallowing.

  "Are you Jeedai?" Uunu repeated. "The question is simple."

  " But what makes you ask it?" Anakin said. "If I were Jedi, would I be a captive?"

  "The shapers have one captive Jeedai. Rumor has it others are on this moon. And you—no one seems to re­member you being brought here. As well, you do not act like a slave, somehow. You seem too unbent." She eyed him speculatively. "Rumor also says that Jeedai some­times allow themselves to be captured."

  "Well, I didn't allow myself to be captured," Anakin said. He figured that wasn't a lie, since he hadn't been captured at all.

  He wouldn't be captured now, either. He was alone with Uunu, and she was no warrior. He readied him­self, trying to keep his breathing normal. He didn't want to hurt Uunu. She'd treated him like more of a person than she had to. That wasn't much, but he couldn't dis­count it.

  Then he noticed something about the set of her eyes. "You wanted me to be Jedi, didn't you? I've disappointed you."

  Uunu sighed and touched her gaze back to the dis­tance. "If you were Jeedai, you would have attacked me by now," she said.

  "You believed that and you still asked me anyway? Why would you take such a risk?"

  "There is no risk. Warriors are hidden near here. I voiced my fears to them." Her expression crumpled into chagrin.

  The hairs on Anakin's neck prickled up. Where were the watchers? He couldn't see anyone. "Would turning in a Jedi have earned you out of the Shamed Ones?"

  "Not in and of itself," she said a little wistfully. "Only the gods can change my condition. But I should like to meet one of these Jeedai. And the discovery of a Jee­dai might give Yun-Shuno much leverage to intercede for me."

  "You've mentioned her before. She's your superior?"

  "She's a goddess, infidel. The goddess of the Shamed Ones. The only one who can make me a true Yuuzhan Vong."

  "Oh."

  "Return to your work."

  They started again, she stroking the blossoms bald and he cutting out the lambents.

  "How does one become Shamed?" Anakin asked.

  "Another impolite question," Uunu said, but her tone was light, belying the chiding. "Some of us are born so. Others are cursed for misdeeds or sins."

  "I've heard that some Shamed Ones do not think they deserve their status," Anakin said as casually as possible.

  She barked a harsh laugh. "Deserve? What is deserve? We merely are." She looked back at him, her expression suddenly knowing. "Ah. You speak of Vua Rapuung, the one who brought you to the prefect of clearing fields."

  "That might be his name. I'm not sure. But he mut­tered some things. Not to me—he hardly seemed to know I was there."

  "He is insane, Vua Rapuung," Uunu said. "Once he was a great warrior. Now he is nothing. He cannot bear it, so he invents lies. Perhaps he even believes them."

  "Lies?"

  "He claims a shaper infected him with something to produce the marks of Shame, from spite."

  "Why? "Anakin asked.

  "Because she loved him," Uunu said, "
and he spurned her."

  "Love?" Somehow it had never occurred to Anakin that Yuuzhan Vong fell in love.

  "Yes. But his story is impossible."

  "How so?"

  "More ignorance! Because the gods who govern such things—the Lovers Yun-Txiin and Yun-Q'aah—would never weave passions between a warrior and a shaper. Yun-Yuuzhan eternally punishes the twin gods for their own transgressions; they would never dare his wrath again. It is not possible, and so Rapuung's ravings are those of insanity. He is merely cursed, like the rest of us. Of late he has become even more erratic. I think the intendants will destroy him soon, if they have not already."

  "Destroy him?"

  "Shamed Ones must show usefulness and humility. We do the work no true caste Yuuzhan Vong may dirty their hands with. If we do not do these things, we are not worth feeding." Her head came up. "You have concern for Vua Rapuung?"

  "I have concern for all living beings," Anakin said.

  "And now you sound like a Jeedai again," she said.

  How do you know so much about the Jedi philoso­phy? Anakin wondered. Where would a Shamed One get such information? Why would she be interested?

  "Tell me," Uunu went on. "Would a Jeedai be con­cerned about the fate of a Shamed One? As concerned as he would be for a person of high caste?"

  "Yes. I have known Jedi. They protect all life."

  "Not Yuuzhan Vong. Jeedai kill Yuuzhan Vong."

  "Only when they must," Anakin replied. "Jedi do not like to kill."

  "They are not warriors, then?"

  "Not exactly, not from what I know. They are protectors."

  "Protectors. And they protect everyone?"

  "Everyone they can."

  She chuckled again, a bit uneasily. "An amusing lie. The sort of lie that gives hope to those who do not de­serve it. A destructive lie. Some Shamed Ones even—" She broke off again, this time angrily. "How is it you make me talk so, infidel? Work, and do not speak. Ask me no more questions."

  That night Anakin crept from the slave quarters. It was no great task. For most slaves, there was no escape from the camp itself. If they wanted to waste the precious hours of sleep they were allotted, the Yuuzhan Vong didn't prevent it.

  Reaching the fields was more difficult, but Anakin had plenty of experience with stealth. In a few moments, by the light of the orange gas giant, he knelt in the lambent field. The plants lisped softly, like a nighttime breeze through dark treetops. Beyond the perimeter of the camp, across the river, he faintly felt the life of the jungle. Somewhere inside of it, in a bed of aches and misery, he knew Tahiri's fading touch.