Rebirth: Edge of Victory II

by Greg Keyes

  In person, the prefect was not particularly intimidating. Younger even than Nen Yim, she had been born with a slight stoop to her spine. Another degree of angle, and she would have been sent back to the gods at birth. She was habitually excitable and ill controlled, as was evident now.

  “Adept,” Ona said.

  “Prefect.”

  For a moment the prefect stood there blankly, as if she had forgotten why she came. She passed a hand across her face, and her eyes wandered. She seemed almost in shock.

  “Something has happened,” she said at last. “It requires your attention.”

  “What, Prefect? What has occurred?”

  “One-fourth of the population of the Baanu Miir is dead,” the prefect said.

  As Nen Yim stepped through the emergency membrane, she felt the vacuum-hardened ooglith cloaker tighten against her body, maintaining the pressure that kept her blood from boiling away into the airless chamber beyond.

  The frozen bodies piled three and four deep on the floor hadn’t been wearing cloakers. Nen Yim felt a tightness in her throat that had nothing to do with the hard-shelled variety of gnullith she had inserted there to pass the air from the lungworm coiled on her back.

  They had time, she thought. The air went out slowly, at first. They had time to reach this place, where the ship finally thought to seal itself off. Here they died, beating against a membrane they did not have the authority to permeate.

  “This is no way to die,” she heard the prefect murmur over the tiny villips that pressed at their throats and ears.

  “Death is always to be embraced,” Sakanga, the warrior who completed their triad, reminded her. He was an ancient, almost mummylike man. Like the prefect, he was of the disgraced Domain Shai.

  “Of course that is true,” Ona said. “Of course.”

  “What happened here, Shaper?” the warrior asked, turning his attention to Nen Yim. “Meteor impact? Infidel attack?” He paused. “Sabotage?”

  “It was not possible to tell,” Nen Yim answered. “The rikyam’s understanding was hazy. It is why I wished to come here, to seek evidence. The breach is at the end of this arm, that is all I know. Perhaps when I see it, I can say more.”

  “We should have a master on this ship,” the prefect grumbled. “I do not demean you, Adept, but a worldship should have a master shaper on board.”

  “I quite agree,” Nen Yim said. “A master is needed.” A master like my own, Mezhan Kwaad, not one of the mumbling dodderers who pass for them, she finished silently.

  They moved soundlessly through the carnage. Most of the bodies were slaves and Shamed Ones; in death, vacuum had mutilated them as they could not have been in life. Perhaps the gods would accept their final sacrifice, perhaps not. They were, at least, beyond caring.

  The capillary platforms that would normally have taken them down the arm were as dead and frozen as the people who had once used them. The three were forced to descend by the bony spine with its intentionally runglike vertebrae. As they descended, their bodies grew gradually heavier with the illusion of gravity created by the ship’s spin. Coming back up would be more onerous than descending. She wondered if the decrepit warrior would be able to manage it at all.

  The chambers were jeweled with ice crystals, frozen in the act of boiling from and rupturing the soft inner walls. The once-pliant floor was as rigid as the yorik coral on the exterior of the ship, but much more dead.

  They continued down, through progressively smaller chambers. They saw fewer dead down here, too, reinforcing Nen Yim’s guess. The rupture had ended catastrophically, emptying the arm of air and life in a few tens of heartbeats, but it must have begun small.

  Why had the rikyam given no alarm? Why hadn’t the seals between each and every layer closed and hardened?

  Eventually, they came to stars.

  The arm curved toward the end, and “down” followed the anterior edge. Here objects weighed the most; the area had been reserved for the training of warriors originally, but since most able-bodied warriors had moved ahead of the slower worldships to the glory of battle, the tip had been transformed into a crèche, so that the children of the next generation would mature with thicker bones and more powerful muscles.

  A futile hope for these children. Those who hadn’t been hurled out into space regarded the stars they might have conquered with frozen eyes through a fifty-meter-long tear in the fabric of the hull.

  Nen Yim shivered. The stars were decidedly down. If she were to fall, the spin of the ship would sling her irrevocably into trackless parsecs of nothing.

  And yet it was glorious. As she watched, the disk of the galaxy spun into view, too enormous for even such a large gash to fully frame. The Core blazed, a white mass tinged blue, spreading into arms that gradually faded toward cooler stars. Technically, the Baanu Miir was already within the boundaries of that great lens, but even the nearest world was unreachably far from the Baanu Miir.

  That became even more apparent as she examined the rupture. The edges of it were curled outward, revealing the tripartite nature of the hull. The outer shell was yorik coral, rigid metal-bearing nacelles wrapped around the hardy, energetic organisms that created and tended them. Below that were the sheared and frozen capillaries that carried nutrients and oxygen out to the arms and pumped waste products back for the maw luur to cycle and recycle, supplemented by the hydrogen atoms that the dovin basals pulled from surrounding space. There also were the muscles and tendons that could flex the great arm, contract it if need be, and here something had failed. When the rift occurred, the medial hull should have drawn together and been sealed by its own freezing. The outer hull would have replicated and closed the gap, and over time the dead, frozen cells should have been replaced by vibrant new ones. The soft, pliable inner hull would have healed as well, eventually leaving nothing more than a faint scar to remind of the disaster.

  “What happened?” the warrior asked. “I don’t understand this.”

  Nen Yim pointed to the rent mass of striated muscle.

  “It tore itself,” she said.

  “What do you mean, it tore itself?” the prefect asked. “How can that be?”

  “The muscles spasmed, as the muscles of your leg might after much exertion. They contracted and split the hull, then kept contracting, tearing it wider.”

  “That’s impossible,” the warrior grunted.

  “No, only undesirable,” Nen Yim replied. “The rikyam is supposed to monitor such fluctuations and moderate them.”

  “Then why didn’t it?”

  “My deduction? Because the rikyam’s senses in this arm are dead. It is unaware that anything here exists. Very likely the impulse that ripped the hull was one of the few random impulses to enter here from the brain in many cycles.”

  “You’re saying the rikyam itself did this?” Ona asked.

  “Only indirectly. What you behold is the result of a ship-brain so far gone in senility that it is losing control of its motor functions.”

  “Then there is no hope,” the prefect murmured.

  The warrior glanced at the prefect in irritation. “What is this babble of hope? The Yuuzhan Vong were born to conquer and die. This is an obstacle, nothing more.”

  “Can you heal it?” Ona Shai asked Nen Yim.

  “We can seal the rupture. The damage is crippling; the entire inner hull is dead. The medial hull will take many cycles to regenerate, assuming the maw luur still nourishes it. We can perhaps grow a ganglion to control the functions of this arm, but it will remain disconnected from the brain. Furthermore, it is probable that the rikyam is losing control of the other arms as well, if it hasn’t already.”

  “You’re saying we must abandon Baanu Miir.” The prefect’s voice was flat.

  “Unless the rikyam can be regenerated. I am giving this all of my attention.”

  “See that you do. Meanwhile, a new worldship is being grown. I will petition that our people be transferred there. Yet many of the ships are failing; our chance
s are slim.”

  “Whatever our fate, we will meet it as befits the children of Yun-Yuuzhan.” Sakanga gestured at the rim of the galaxy slipping from view. “Already we have warriors poised near that bright center. All of those worlds beneath us will be ours. Our sacrifices here will not be forgotten. It is not our place to complain.”

  “No,” Nen Yim agreed. “But we will do what we must to ensure Baanu Miir provides another generation for that conquest. I will do what I must.” Though it will only earn me dishonor and death, I will do what I must.

  ELEVEN

  Luke watched the blockade grow larger.

  “Oh, boy,” Mara said.

  “No,” Luke murmured, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you see? They’re no danger to us.”

  Jaina’s voice crackled over the comm. “That’s Rogue Squadron! I can’t believe they would—”

  She was interrupted by a hail that came simultaneously to the Jade Shadow.

  Gavin Darklighter’s image appeared on the Shadow’s display.

  “Jade Shadow—it looks like you could use some help.”

  “This is unwise, Gavin,” Luke responded carefully. “Those are Coruscant security forces pursuing us.”

  “I’ve explained their mistake to them,” Gavin replied. “They won’t trouble you again.”

  “They’ll just send for more ships. This could really develop into a situation.”

  “Maybe the sort of situation the New Republic needs,” Gavin replied. “First Corran, now you? Enough is enough. Fey’lya is selling us off to the Yuuzhan Vong a piece at a time.”

  “No, he’s not. I have my disagreements with him, obviously, but he’s trying to save the New Republic, in his own way. A civil war can only make us weaker.”

  “Not if we make it quick and painless. Not if we have real leadership when it’s over, rather than the fractured, squabbling crowd that’s got us sitting on our thumbs.”

  “You’re referring to democracy,” Luke replied. “Something we all fought very hard for. We can’t throw it away simply because it becomes inconvenient. Gavin, we aren’t having this conversation.”

  “Okay. I just wanted you to know you have support.”

  “And I appreciate it. But now is the time for you to flame out of this situation. If we go right now, we’ll get a clear jump. Then you start talking your way out of this mess.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want an escort?”

  “Positive.”

  Gavin nodded. “Understood. Take care. Mara, you too.”

  His face vanished from the screen, and Luke suddenly felt his fingers trembling.

  “Luke?” Mara said, concern in her voice.

  “That was too close,” he said. “Too close. I won’t be the excuse for a coup. Am I doing the right thing?”

  “Absolutely. Let them arrest you, and you think this resistance won’t come back up?”

  “Did you know the squadron would do this?”

  “I’d guessed it.”

  “And you think if we give up …”

  “An attempted coup within a week, my guess. At the very least an extremely volatile situation. Skywalker, you were seeing clearly earlier. We have to go. For the New Republic’s sake, for the Jedi’s sake—and not least by a long shot, for the sake of ourselves and our son.”

  Jaina answered the private hail from Gavin Darklighter, trying to keep composed.

  “Yes, Colonel,” she said. “How may I help you?”

  “Watch after Master Skywalker, Jaina. He needs you.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir. Is that all?”

  “No.” Gavin’s voice crackled. “I made a mistake not putting you back on duty once your vision was recovered. I let you down, and I’m sorry for that. I’d like you to consider yourself still a part of the Squadron.”

  “I appreciate that, Rogue Leader,” she said quietly. “You understand that right now—”

  “As I said. Master Skywalker needs you now. You’re still on leave, as far as I’m concerned. Go, and may the Force be with you.”

  * * *

  “Jaina, I need you to do something,” Luke said. Coruscant was light-years behind them. There was room for an X-wing on the Shadow, but that space was already occupied by Luke’s starfighter. Thus, they chatted over the comm. Mara and Luke had filled her in on the details of their flight from Coruscant, and Jaina in turn had explained her continued detachment from Rogue Squadron.

  “Yes, Uncle Luke?”

  “I need you to find Kyp Durron for me. I need to talk to him.”

  “He didn’t have much good to say at the last meeting. Why should things be any different now?”

  “Because things are different now,” Luke replied. “Now I may have some things to say he might want to hear.”

  “Unless you’re going to join him in guerrilla warfare against the Yuuzhan Vong, I doubt that,” she replied.

  “Be that as it may. It’s imperative that the Jedi start drawing ourselves back together.”

  “If you ask me to find him, I’ll find him,” Jaina said. “I found Booster Terrik, didn’t I?”

  “This will be a lot easier than that, I should think,” Luke replied. “I know exactly where Kyp is.”

  “How?”

  “Kyp worries me. I took the liberty of placing a tracer on his ship.”

  “What? If the Yuuzhan Vong pick that up—”

  “I didn’t endanger Kyp. It’s something new one of Karrde’s people came up with to help us find each other without leaking our positions to the Yuuzhan Vong or their collaborators. Booster has one, too, so we’ll be able to find the Errant Venture with relative ease. It’s a fixed-signature signal, passed through relays and the HoloNet, and gives an off-read within a range from ten to fifty light-years. No one without the encryption key can use it to track him, in other words. At short range it sounds like engine noise, and if Kyp cuts his power to hide from sensors, it’ll go off, too.”

  “Wow. Have I been fitted with one of those?”

  “No, but the Shadow has, and I’ll give you that encryption, too, along with Booster’s.”

  “Sounds good. Where’s Kyp now?”

  “That’s the disturbing thing. He’s near Sernpidal.”

  A shiver feathered along Jaina’s neck.

  Sernpidal. Where Chewie had died. Sernpidal was as deep in Yuuzhan Vong territory as one could go.

  This wouldn’t be another little fetching mission. This could get very nasty indeed.

  “That’s a long way,” she said. “I hope you have some extra juice over there for me.”

  “Plenty. We’ll hook you up, and I’ll transfer some supplies as well.”

  He grimaced, and she could tell that sending her off like this wasn’t something he did without reservations.

  “Thanks, Jaina,” he said. “And may the Force be with you.”

  PART TWO

  PASSAGE

  TWELVE

  “Oh!” Tahiri exclaimed, wrinkling her nose. “It stinks.”

  “Yep,” Corran agreed. “Welcome to Eriadu.”

  Anakin agreed, as well, albeit silently. But it was a complex stink. If he imagined this stuff Eriaduans sucked in every day as a painting, an oily, bitter, hydrocarbon stench would be the canvas. Sulfury burnt yellow swirled over it, interspersed with starbursts of white ozone spangles and green chloride stars, all under a gray wash of something vaguely organic and ammoniac.

  A light rain was falling. Anakin hoped it wouldn’t burn his skin.

  “Is Coruscant like this?” Tahiri asked. She had already forgotten the smell and was tracing with eager eyes the clunky but sky-reaching industrial buildings on all sides of the spaceport. Low leaden clouds dragged over the tallest structures, though the canopy opened in places to a more distant, pastel yellow sky.

  “Not really,” Anakin said. “For one thing, the buildings on Coruscant aren’t this ugly.”

  “It’s not ugly,” Tahiri said. She sounded defensive. “It’s different. I’v
e never been on a world with this much … stuff.”

  “Well, Coruscant’s got more ‘stuff,’ and now that I think about it, the lower levels make this look like a cloud city. But at least the air is clean. They don’t muck it up like this.”

  “You mean this isn’t natural, this smell?” Tahiri asked.

  “Nope,” Corran said. “They make things cheap and dirty here. The perfume you’ve noticed is one of the byproducts. If they don’t watch it, Eriadu will become another Duro. Well, what Duro was before the Yuuzhan Vong got hold of it, anyway.”

  “I don’t think you ought to go barefoot here, Tahiri,” Anakin remarked.

  Tahiri looked down at the grimy duracrete landing field and grimaced. “Maybe you’re right.”

  Off to their right, a bulk freighter cut its underjets and settled on repulsorlifts.

  “Okay,” Corran said. “I’m going to arrange for the supplies we need. You two—”

  “Stay and guard the ship, I bet,” Anakin muttered.

  “Right.”

  Tahiri’s brow ruffled. “You mean I came all this way and don’t even get to see the place?”

  “No,” Corran said. “When I get back, we’ll go into town and find someplace to eat. We’ll do a little exploring. But I don’t want to stay long; there’s no reason for anyone to double-check our transponder code, but if they do, we could run into a little trouble.”

  “Well … okay,” Tahiri assented. She sat on the landing ramp, legs folded underneath her. Together she and Anakin watched Corran flag a ground transport and enter it. A few moments later, the blocky vehicle vanished from sight.

  “Do you think people from here think clean worlds smell weird?” Tahiri asked.

  “Probably. What did you think of Yavin Four, after all those years on Tatooine?”

  “I thought it smelled weird,” she concluded, after a bit of thought. “But in a good way. Mostly in a good way. I mean, part of it smelled like a kitchen midden or a ’fresher sump. But the blueleaf, and the flowers …” She trailed off, and her expression changed. “What do you think the Yuuzhan Vong did to Yavin Four after we left? Do you think they changed it, you know, like they did some of the other planets they captured?”