He tried another tactic, as well: to use the Force to get a better feel of his opponent, an understanding of the alien’s tactics and intentions.
He might as well have been trying to read the intentions of empty deep space.
But still, even without that intuitive advantage, Miko found that he could anticipate the movements enough to keep up with the attacks, blocking, slapping, occasionally trying to grab or twist. He kept his foot movements minimal at first, trying to conserve energy, trying to lure his opponent into a state of advantaged complacency.
But the warrior he had chopped was regaining his footing, and Miko was out of time.
In came the staff, a straight thrust for his belly, an attack Miko had slapped out and dodged with a subtle hip twist three times already. This time, though, he knifed his hand down under the weapon and backhanded it up over his shoulder as he stepped forward and to the side of his enemy, leaving him an open punch for the Yuuzhan Vong’s masked face.
He chose instead to insinuate his free hand between the warrior’s arms, rolling over and grabbing onto the staff, while his other hand, up high from the parry, rolled over the staff the other way and grabbed on. Miko pulled down with that upper hand, yanked up with the lower, but at exactly the moment his opponent tried to apply counterpressure, the Jedi suddenly and viciously reversed his momentum, shoving down with his low hand and rolling his upper hand back under the staff and forcing it up and over, to slam hard against the alien’s forehead.
A sudden and vicious yank tore the staff free of the warrior’s grasp, and Miko quickly thrust its butt end into the Yuuzhan Vong’s face, closing one eye and sending him staggering backward.
Up came Danni, right behind the stubborn warrior, and even as Miko turned his attention to the remaining enemy, the one still clutching its chopped throat, Danni brought her staff down hard on the back of that one’s head. The warrior dropped like a stone.
The remaining Yuuzhan Vong broke for the hole in the floor, thinking to dive into the water, but Miko came alongside in a rush and kicked out the warrior’s trailing foot, tripping him headlong.
Danni caught him in midfall, looping her staff about his throat and turning brutally, bending his head to the side and putting him in a helpless choke. He grabbed at the staff and tried to punch at her, but his air supply was gone and he went limp in a matter of a few seconds.
“Get their cloaking creatures,” she instructed, but Miko was already trying to find some way to extract the creature from its host.
The first Yuuzhan Vong Danni had clobbered started to get back up. She walked over and slammed him in the back of the head, dropping him to the floor.
Finally finding the pressure point beside the nose, they managed to strip two of the aliens of their ooglith cloakers, but it took them a long while—and several more smacks to the heads of waking warriors—to figure out how to lure the creatures onto their own bodies. When they did, they shivered with the intense pain, the little flickers of exquisite agony, as the creatures enwrapped them.
Then they turned their attention to the star-shaped breathers, but it took time to muster the courage to actually put the things on. Danni gagged repeatedly, fighting revulsion, as the creature sent its joining tendril down her throat and to her lungs.
When she was done, she saw that Miko was already wearing his.
“Are you all right?” Miko asked, his voice watery.
Danni nodded. “They won’t recognize us easily with these on,” she replied. “We’ve got to find some pattern to this place.”
“Where they keep their ships,” Miko agreed. He didn’t finish the obvious thought—once they found the ships, how would they possibly fly them?—but he didn’t have to.
Danni knew the score, and she led the way, diving headlong into the frigid water. As soon as they got under, the two could see the distant lighting of the core area of the main Yuuzhan Vong base. Within that glow resided the main bulbous portion of the long-tentacled yammosk, they knew, and so, neither wanting to be anywhere near the horrid thing, they gave the lights a wide berth, picking their way to a point above it along the ice, walking their hands on the rough surface rather than swimming, until they came in sight of the tubular creature holding open the pathway to the surface ship.
Surprisingly, the bottom end of that tube did not appear guarded, and so they worked their way down its side. They paused at the lip and stared at each other, sharing their trepidation. Danni started to go under, but Miko grabbed her shoulder and held up his hand. He closed his eyes, finding his center, then rushed down and around the bottom, into the tube, leading with the staff he had taken from one of the soldiers.
Danni held her breath, and just as she started to follow, Miko poked his head around and motioned that the way was clear.
They inched their way up perhaps twenty meters before they cleared the water. Then they climbed, appreciating how well the tubular creature was designed, with riblike bones, easy stairs, encircling it. And the path was clear, all the way up; both thought this, too, remarkable, but neither voiced the fear openly.
Up they climbed; and then above, Miko, who was still leading, noted the wider opening and the multicolored hues of the alien worldship. Again the Jedi led the way, but this time without hesitation, for Danni was right behind, pressing on. They came into a large chamber and spent a long moment letting their vision adjust to the change in light. At first, they thought they were alone, but then Danni’s eyes widened and she pointed to a small alcove to the left, where a single, tattooed figure stood quietly.
“You need not your gnullith here,” Prefect Da’Gara told them, turning about. He was not wearing one of the star-shaped creatures—and his lips curled into a smile. “The worldship produces its own atmosphere.”
Danni glanced at Miko, and then all around, looking for other guards.
“It took you longer than I had anticipated,” Da’Gara calmly stated.
Miko broke into motion, leaping forward, staff twirling above his head.
But Da’Gara, too, moved quickly, extending both his arms, throwing with one hand a pie of goo that hit the floor before Miko, and merely opening his other hand, from which flew a small, ball-like creature, its wings humming fiercely.
Miko skipped aside, dived into a roll to recover his balance, and came up to his feet in a rush, thinking to close the last few steps to Da’Gara. But the goo had moved with him, had somehow expanded, widening like a stream-fed puddle, its surface rippling with waves. The Jedi moved again, a step back, then skittered back the other way, and then, the gooey substance pacing, even gaining on him, he took a step forward and leapt into a somersault, trying to clear it.
No such luck. The goo reared up and caught Miko’s feet as he came around, and though the Jedi moved with such agility that he was able to land standing, he was caught. He retracted his arm to throw the staff like a spear, but the goo reacted with frightening suddenness, a portion of it flowing right up Miko’s legs and torso, enveloping his arm, even reaching out to catch and hold the missile as it left his grasp.
Danni cried out for him, but her call was cut short, a gasp of air blasted from lungs, as for the third time she tried to dodge the ball-like creature that had flown from the prefect’s hand. The buzzing thing had come back at her each time. This time, the living missile seemed to anticipate her movement, altering its course accordingly and slamming her right in the chest with such force that she was knocked back onto the floor. For a long moment, she lay stunned and very still, staring at the multicolored chamber ceiling. Then she heard Da’Gara’s mocking laughter.
She knew she had to get up now, to help Miko, and she rolled to the side, pushing up on one elbow.
And then she was standing, suddenly, hoisted to her feet by two other Yuuzhan Vong barbarians. Before she could begin to try to fight back, she felt something wet and sticky on her wrist, and then that arm was wrenched back behind her and slammed into her back, sticking fast. A similar movement from the other warrior h
ad her other arm pinned, as well, and they jerked her about to face Da’Gara, and to see Miko stuck firmly in place.
“Did you believe that you had a chance?” Da’Gara calmly asked Miko. He advanced to stand right before the trapped Jedi. “I told you honestly that you were not worthy. You cannot begin to resist us.”
A growl escaped Miko’s lips, and he struggled futilely against the goo’s hold. Da’Gara, his smile wider than ever, leaned closer, pulling free Miko’s gnullith with one hand and using the other to flick a finger up under the Jedi’s nose, hitting the exact spot to send a wave of pain through the man. “Too easy,” Da’Gara whispered into Miko’s ear.
He motioned to his warriors then, and they hauled Danni behind him as he moved back toward the alcove on the left. “It is good that you have come,” he explained to her as they turned the corner. Around that bend, the wall was translucent, offering a superb view of the frozen surface and the multitude of stars beyond.
And one of those “stars” was approaching, growing larger and larger.
Danni’s eyes widened as she realized what she was seeing: the huge coral ship extending its membranous parachute, the ice below it beginning to vaporize and fog and fly away.
“Oh, there will be more, Danni Quee,” Da’Gara whispered into her ear. “Do you see the truth now? Do you understand the futility?”
Danni didn’t respond, didn’t blink.
“There are ways for you to join with us,” Da’Gara remarked.
Again, she stubbornly held her ground.
“You will learn,” Da’Gara promised. “You will learn the glory of the Praetorite Vong. You will learn your place.” He turned to the two warrior escorts. “Bid Prefect Ma’Shraid to join us. She will enjoy watching the yammosk devour the unworthy one.”
Danni fought hard to hold steady her breathing, to not betray her horror. She said nothing and offered no resistance—how could she?—as she was dragged back through the main chamber, where other warriors had come in and were working on Miko and the gooey chains.
It all came as a rush to Danni, a blurring of reality and what she could only think of as a dreamscape. She was tossed back into the tube, went sliding and bouncing and falling back into the water, its iciness biting at her in those few places where the ooglith cloaker was not properly shielding her. Down they went, and her bonds were removed, and weights were applied. Down they went, deeper into the sea, toward the glow that marked the main base. Once again Danni came to appreciate the marvel of the ooglith cloaker, for she did not feel much of a pressure buildup as they descended, as if the living suit was somehow warding the weight of the depths.
The immense tentacles of the yammosk, the coordinator and central brain of the Praetorite Vong, hung in the water all about her, like banners strewn to mark the spot of celebration. Rocky reefs, covered with brightly glowing simple creatures, served as bleachers, and upon these, Da’Gara’s warriors stood in force, at quiet attention, the intensity of their steeled gazes diminished not at all by the gnullith, which almost hid the variety of scarring and tattoos on their faces. Danni was brought to a place at the rear of the line, far from the core of the yammosk.
But through the crystalline clear water, she could see that horrid face, the two bulbous black eyes, the puckered maw, and the great central tooth.
No one seemed concerned with her; the warriors all stood quietly, eyes locked ahead, though the two flanking Danni kept a firm grip on her arms.
The great yammosk belched forth a huge bubble then, which rolled out, expanding, expanding, to encompass Danni and all the gathered Yuuzhan Vong, and to her amazement, that air pocket stayed in place about the grounds, holding back the waters. She saw the gathered aliens remove their gnullith, and then one of the guards holding her pulled the breather from her face, as well.
Prefect Da’Gara appeared sometime later, in ceremonial red robes that Danni had not seen before. He ascended a platform before the yammosk and held his hands out to his people.
No sound came from him, and yet Danni knew that he was communicating with his minions, and as she let herself fall deeper into that thought, and as she closed her eyes and concentrated, she, too, could begin to comprehend the prefect’s thoughts. The call wasn’t coming directly from Da’Gara, she came to realize, but was being relayed from him and to his people through the mental power of the gigantic yammosk. The creature was a telepath, obviously, its power great enough to facilitate communication throughout the gathering.
The title Da’Gara had given to the yammosk, war coordinator, suddenly resonated more deeply to Danni.
With the telepathic call for order, the communal bonding facilitated by the yammosk, completed, Da’Gara walked to the front of the platform and began speaking aloud. Danni didn’t understand the language, of course, but by concentrating on the continuing waves of energy from the yammosk, she found that she could comprehend the basics of his speech. He was talking about glory, about the Praetorite Vong and this grand conquest they had been assigned. He spoke enthusiastically about Prefect Ma’Shraid and the second worldship, and about a third that would soon land. He talked about the skirmish with the starfighters, and the ultimate victory.
Then he went back to exalting Ma’Shraid, and Danni understood the purpose of that focus a moment later when a low humming reverberated through her body and all heads snapped to the side, looking back, away from Da’Gara and the yammosk. A great tube, like the one that led from the first worldship under the ice pack, slid down toward the yammosk’s air bubble and then breached the shield at the rear of the gathering.
In came the warriors of the second worldship, rank upon rank, hundreds upon hundreds, a force larger than that Da’Gara had assembled. In they marched, male and female, all tattooed and mutilated, with athletic builds and finely toned muscles, and all with that same intense, fanatical gaze. A woman wearing red robes akin to Da’Gara’s came last, borne on a litter by four strong warriors. While their comrades formed ranks intertwined with Da’Gara’s soldiers, a show of common purpose and obedience that was not lost on Danni, the litter moved to the front platform, and the woman, Ma’Shraid, took her place beside Da’Gara.
He offered her the floor, and she immediately offered prayers to many gods. Then she fell into a similar discourse of glory and duty, speaking of the honor to have been chosen to serve with the Praetorite Vong, and of the glory they would all soon know, particularly those who would die in the conquest.
It went on for hours and hours, and Danni saw not one head nod with boredom. The level of energy alone nearly overwhelmed her, a devotion so rare among her own people.
Finally the speeches ended, with Da’Gara’s call to the yammosk, and then Danni felt a vibration ripple through her body, a power so intense that she feared she would simply explode.
As if in response to that wave of energy, a second litter appeared, not from the tunnel, but from around the bleachers. This one was curtained above so that Danni could not see the one being borne.
She knew, though.
Four warriors marched to the point at the end of the twin ranks of warriors, the farthest point from the yammosk’s bulk, perhaps a hundred meters from Da’Gara and Ma’Shraid.
The curtains came down; there stood Miko Reglia, stuck fast to a post.
Again came the vibration, rippling through Danni. She could just sense the despair and helplessness that emanated from the yammosk; but those emotions were created for and aimed at Miko, she could tell, for his expression fell and his shoulders drooped. She could only watch in horror as two thin tendrils snaked out from either side of the yammosk’s puckered maw, soaring out before the lines of warriors and to the litter. They grasped Miko and, with frightening power, yanked him free of his bonds and began dragging him in.
At first the Jedi struggled, but he apparently recognized the futility of that attempt and so he closed his eyes—he was again finding his point of meditation, Danni knew.
But again came the waves of the yammosk’s though
t-energy, rippling through them, pulling at Miko’s heart and chipping at his willpower.
Danni understood. The creature wanted him to show his fear, wanted him to break into a tirade of despair and hopelessness.
“Fight it, Miko,” she whispered, and she wished that she, too, was a Jedi, so that she could somehow communicate to the man, lend him her strength that he might die honorably.
Miko tried to look away, or down, tried to close his eyes and muster his internal strength. He was determined to meet his doom with courage and calm, but he could not keep his eyes closed. The yammosk would not let him. He knew then that this was the end, a horrible, painful death. He saw the maw, growing larger and larger, saw the rows and rows of smaller teeth behind that dominant fang, then saw, as he inched even closer, the fleshy interior of the creature’s mouth.
He had never been afraid of death—he was a Jedi Knight—but something was different here than he had ever foreseen, some darker sense of dread and emptiness that questioned his very faith. Logically he knew the source to be the yammosk, a trick of the telepathic creature, but logic could not hold against the waves of despair and horror, against the certain knowledge that this was the very end of existence!
Closer, closer. The mouth opened and closed, chewing before the meal had arrived.
Closer, closer.
FIFTEEN
Awaiting the Goddess’s Arrival
“Anybody here care to lend a hand?” Han asked sarcastically, ending with a frustrated sigh. Anakin had just put the Millennium Falcon down on Sernpidal—no easy feat, as the planet did not boast much in the way of landing docks. Basically they had come down within a walled field, on the ground, in the middle of the low, sprawling city. While there was plenty of activity around them, people of various species rushing to and fro, there seemed to be little or no organization to it all, and certainly not a one had made any movements to help with the unloading of the Falcon.
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