by Greg Keyes
the reports. The attack looked like a feint to draw his net tight in one place
while they hit it in another. But where?
The battle computers searched for the answer. By Wedge's reckoning,
unless the Yuuzhan Vong pulled off something amazing, he would be able to hold
them off for five or six hours without significant losses. That should be
enough. He studied the on-spec chart their sensors were building of the
system-after all, the Yuuzhan Vong had occupied it for more than two standard
years now, which meant his in-telligence of it was probably a bit behind, to
say the least. At this point, an unfortunate surprise was the last thing that
interested him.
When the surprise came, it came not from some hidden Yuuzhan Vong trap,
but from within his own ranks.
"Sir," control reported, "Dpso, Redheart, and Coriolis have broken
formation, as has all of Duro Squadron."
"Have they." Wedge took a deep breath. "Get me Yurf Col again,
immediately."
A few moments later, the Duros's hologram reappeared.
"Commander," Wedge said, trying to keep his tone even, "there must be a
glitch in our communications. You seem to be forming an assault wedge when you
were ordered to hold position."
"I have removed myself from your command, General Antilles," Col replied.
"I will not have my people sit idle in their own system, not without a good
explanation. You have refused to give me one. If you will not sustain the re-
conquest of Duro, I am forced to do it myself."
"You're committing suicide and placing this entire mission in jeopardy."
"Not if you join me."
"I won't."
"Then our deaths will be on your head."
"I'm not bluffing, Commander Col."
"You laid this course, Antilles."
" Commander..."
"You cut me off earlier. I return the favor. Join us or not."
The connection ended, and Wedge watched helplessly as the Duros ships
dropped out of the perimeter, formed up, and drove straight for the largest
concentration of enemy ships.
"Sir," Cel said, "the Duros ships are taking heavy fire."
"I can see that," Wedge told her.
"Sir, what are they doing?"
"They're trying to make me attack," Wedge said.
"Then it's a bluff, sir?"
A lightning storm was raging between the Duros ships and the Yuuzhan Vong
vanguard. "No," he said, "it's not a bluff."
He turned to control. "No one else breaks formation," he said. "No one."
"Sir, they'll be slaughtered."
"Yes," Wedge said, gruffly, "they will."
One by one, over the course of the next few hours, the Duros ships
vanished in bursts of plasma. Three hours after the last was gone, another
message came over the comm board. Wedge gave the order to cease interdiction,
and the Galactic Alliance ships jumped, leaving Duro once again to the Yuuzhan
Vong.
THREE
A distorted grin sliced Onimi's crooked head in a sign of mock regard.
"Sweet Nen Yim," he croaked. "How de-lightful your presence."
How disgusting yours, Nen Yim thought. She did not say it, and she did
not need to. The tendrils of her headdress writhed and curled in revulsion,
and her multifingered master's hand spasmed into a knot.
If the Supreme Overlord's jester noticed any of this, he made no sign,
but stood there grinning at her as if they were close creche-mates sharing a
joke. They weren't; she was the most important of all shapers, and he was an
appalling example of a Shamed One, a being upon whom the gods had placed a
permanent stamp of unreserved disapproval. Why Shimrra, the chosen of the
gods-the Supreme Over-lord of her entire species-should choose him as emissary
was utterly beyond her comprehension. It was more than an affront, it was a
misery to even be in his presence, especially when she remembered-and she
could hardly forget-that those fingers had once touched her, when he had
disguised himself as a master shaper.
For that alone, he deserved the most ignominious death imaginable. She
had plotted his murder even when she be-lieved him to be her superior, and
blessed by the gods. Now, when she had the means at her disposal and knew what
he really was, she did not dare.
But she could still dream.
Onimi simpered and smiled. "Your thoughts croon toward me," he said.
"Your tendrils ache for my touch. So much I can see of you, Nen Yim."
Well, he had noticed something, she reflected. He merely mistook her
passion.
"Have you come on some errand, Onimi, or merely to waste my time in
foolish conversation?"
"Conversation is not foolish that begs the fool," Onimi said, winking, as
if that actually meant something.
"Yes, as you wish," she said, sighing. "Do you bring word from the
Supreme Overlord?"
"I bring a dainty," Onimi said. "A glistering pustule from the gods, a
gift for my sweet little..."
"Address me as master," Nen Yim said, stiffly. "I am no 'little' anything
of yours. And come to the point. Whatever else the Supreme Overlord wants of
me, I doubt he wants much of my time taken up, not with so much that needs
doing."
From the corner of her eye she caught one of her assis-tants suppressing
a smile, and reminded herself to repri-mand her later.
Onimi's eyes went wide, and then he set a finger to his lips, leaned
near, and whispered, " Fleeting time laps hours, devours days, months and
years, passes them like gas." She said nothing. What other response was there?
But Onimi gestured, and with a great deal of reluctance she fol-lowed him down
the mycoluminescent corridor of her central damutek, through the laboratories
where she worked her heretical science to produce the miracles the Yuuzhan
Vong needed to take their rightful place in a galaxy of infidels. When they
passed into a corridor secured even from her, she began to grow intrigued, and
more easily ignored the off-key singing of the jester, who was blasphemously
describing in ancient octameter certain activities of the goddess Yun-Harla of
which Nen Yim-thankfully-had never heard.
Of course that was spoiled now.
At last they arrived in a dim space. Something irregular and large bulked
ahead. Light was in it, a faint shifting radi-ance so delicate it could almost
be the colors of the dark be-hind her eyes.
She walked nearer, her shaping fingers outstretched to feel and taste the
surface. It was smooth, almost slick. It tasted of long carbon chains, and
water, and silicates. It tasted quick and familiar.
"This is alive," she whispered. "What is this?" She ges-tured
impatiently. "I need more light."
"Eyes are the senses' gluttons," Onimi chortled. "They always want more,
but they often tell us less."
But brighter lights came up, revealing the thing. Sleek, that was the
first impression. The glasslike surface curved into four long lozenges that
sharpened almost to needles on one end and ended rounded on the other. The
lobes were joined around a central axis, though she could not see how. She was
reminded of the taaphur, a sea crea-ture that existed now only as a genetic
blueprint in the memory qahsa of the shapers and in its biotechnological
derivatives.
Damaged, that was the second impression. The life that hummed beneath her
fingers flickered in some places and was absent in others, where the hull-yes,
hull-had gone dark.
"This is a ship," Nen Yim murmured, more to herself than to the useless
Onimi. "A living ship, but not Yuuzhan Vong. This came from one of the infidel
peoples?"
"Folds the mystery, and folds again to crumple, our chart is all torn."
" You mean you don't know?" Nen Yim asked, impatiently. For answer, Onimi
reached for her. Her tendrils prickled, bumps rose on her flesh, and her
nostrils flared. But he did not touch her. He handed her something instead-a
small, portable qahsa.
"Secrets are like knives," he said softly. "Of your tongue a secret make,
and your mouth is cut."
He left, then, and she watched him go with disdain. Idiotic, to warn her
of secrets. She was a heretic, a heretic secretly kept by the Supreme
Overlord. Everything she did was done in obscurity.
"Master Nen Yim?"
Nen Yim looked up from the qahsa. Her junior assistant Qelah Kwaad stood
a few feet away, a look of great concern on her face.
"Adept," Nen Yim acknowledged softly.
"I hope it is not too impertinent, but my project..."
"I will examine your progress in due time," Nen Yim said. "My time."
Qelah Kwaad's tendrils retracted a bit. "Yes, Master Yim," she replied.
"And, Adept?"
"Yes, Master Yim?"
"I understand you are not used to the presence of Onimi and the effect he
can have. But I will not have my subordinates laughing behind my back. Is that
understood?"
The adept's eyes grew round with consternation.
"Master Yim, you cannot believe..."
"Do not use the word can in reference to me, Adept, in either the
affirmative or negative form. What I can and cannot do is entirely beyond your
control."
"Yes, Master."
Nen Yim sighed. "It is bad enough, Adept, that we have to bear the
presence of such an abomination. It is worse to let him know he has caused
amusement."
"I understand, Master Yim. But-why? Why must we bear his presence at all?
He is a Shamed One, cursed by the gods."
"He is Supreme Overlord Shimrra's jester, and, when it pleases him, his
emissary."
"I don't understand. How can such a thing be? A jester, yes, but to
entrust him with secret information..."
"What secret information might that be, Adept?" Nen Yim asked sharply.
"Your pardon, Master Yim, but the jester came, took you to the restricted
area, and you returned with a portable qahsa. It seems obvious that he
revealed something to you." Nen Yim studied the adept appraisingly.
"Just so," she said. "You are correct. But perhaps you ought to
concentrate more on your work and less on my activities."
Again, the adept looked abashed.
"You have great promise, Qelah Kwaad," Nen Yim said.
"But in this place, we must all take care. We live outside the world of
our people, and this place has rules of its own."
The adept straightened. "I am proud of my service here, Master. The
Supreme Overlord has vindicated what the other shapers see as heresy."
"He has not," Nen Yim said. "Not publicly. Nor will he. Have you not
noticed the guards?"
"Of course we are guarded. Our work is of great impor-tance. If the
infidels learn of us, they will surely try to de-stroy us."
"That is true," Nen Yim told her. "But a wall that keeps something out
can also keep something in. No warrior, no priest, no outside shaper will ever
learn what we do here.
Shimrra values our heresy, yes-we produce new weapons and technology
badly needed for the war effort. But he will never allow anyone beyond these
to know how that technology comes into being."
"But why?"
"You are intelligent, Adept. Figure it out for yourself-and then never,
never speak it aloud. Do you understand me?"
"I... I think so."
"Good. Now leave me."
Qelah Kwaad made the sign of obeisance and did as she was told. Nen Yim
spared her a single glance.
Because, Adept, Shimrra must maintain the fiction that our inventions are
gifts from the gods, and that he is the intermediary through whom these things
flow. If the truth is discovered, and the Supreme Overlord shown to be a
fraud...
Well, suffice to say, Adept, none of us will leave this ser-vice alive.
Which was fine with Nen Yim. It was her pride and her duty to serve the
Yuuzhan Vong, and to die honorably for her people when the time came.
Putting the whole matter from her mind, she settled the qahsa before her
and interfaced with it.
As she began to understand, her excitement grew-and her trepidation.
No wonder Shimrra had sent her his thing. It could change everything.
It could be their doom.
FOUR
"Can't say much for the atmosphere," Raf Othrem said, taking a sip of his
Rylothan yurp and running his green-eyed gaze around the mostly bare metal
walls of the place that called itself a tapcaf.
"What were you expecting, a casino from the Galsol strip?" Jaina Solo
asked. "Yesterday this was just a piece of space junk the Yuuzhan Vong hadn't
got around to pulverizing."
"And now they won't, thanks to us!" Raf said, raising his glass. "To Twin
Suns Squadron, and our illustrious leader, Jaina Solo."
Jaina nodded wearily as they raised their drinks. Raf had all of the
enthusiasm that came from having flown only one mission, and that a successful
one. Not only had the battle been won, but her squadron hadn't lost a single
pilot.
In time, Raf would lose that youthful exuberance. She double-checked that
thought and almost smiled when she remembered that Raf was actually a year her
senior. Let's not take our vast age and experience too seriously, Jaina
thought.
She raised her own glass. "To the good fight," she toasted, and this time
she did smile as her wingmates cheered.
Putting on a cheerful appearance was good for the team.
"A brilliant fight," Jag said. "We have the best flight commander in the
galaxy."
Jaina actually felt a blush coming on-not from the words, but from the
depths of Jag's blue-eyed gaze.
"No argument there," Raf said. "But I'd say one more toast is in order."
"Just one?" Mynor Dae said. "I can't imagine you shut-ting up for the
rest of the night."
"No doubt," Alema Rar drily seconded. Raf sent the Twi'lek a mock-glare,
then raised his glass.
"To General Wedge Antilles, and the plan that gave us back Fondor."
"I'll drink to that," Jaina said.
But before the glass reached her lips, something fell onto the table. A
Rogue Squadron patch. She looked up into the round-eyed gaze of a young Duros.
A very unhappy-looking Duros.
"Lensi?"
"Colonel," he acknowledged, his voice flat and clipped.
"Join the celebration, Lensi," Raf said. "Not that we normally mingle
wi
th disreputable Rogues, but-"
"I have nothing to celebrate," Lensi said, his gaze still focused on
Jaina. "And I will no longer fly with Rogue Squadron. My people were betrayed
today. Betrayed by General Antilles. Betrayed by Jaina Solo."
Jag came to his feet at that, followed closely by a growl-ing, towering
Lowbacca. Jag stared at Lensi with deadly calm. If Lensi was troubled by
either Jag or the Wookiee, he didn't show it.
"Lowbacca, sit down," Jaina said. "Jag-please. Let him talk."
The Wookiee reluctantly followed orders, but Jag stood squared off with
the Duros for several long seconds.
"Be careful what you say, Duros," he finally said. "Where I come from,
there are penalties for slander."
"What's on your mind, Lensi?" Jaina asked.
"Many of my people died in the attack on Duro."
"They didn't have to," Jaina said. "The attack on Duro was a feint,
designed to draw reinforcements from here. The Duros commander of the mission
broke with the plan. He jeopardized both missions."
"He was not told the attack was a feint," Lensi said.
"No one was!" Raf exploded. "We were all in the dark."
"That's why it worked, Lensi," Jaina said. "Yuuzhan Vong intelligence is
good. Wedge had to make the buildup look like it was aimed at Duro, and he had
to make the at-tack there look convincing."
"Duro was the more lightly occupied," Lensi said. "We could have taken
Duro. We were promised this." His face tightened into an even flatter mask.
"We were used."
"Such is war," Jag said. "Fondor was considered the more strategic
target. The liberation of Duro may come next, it may not." He nodded his head
around the crowded room. "Many of the pilots here have lost a homeworld to the
Vong. You think you're alone? You think every one of them wouldn't prioritize
the liberation of their homeworld over every other, if they were given the
choice? War isn't fought on the basis of sentiment and desire. Battles must
ac-complish tactical goals."
"Your 'tactical goals' see many of my people dead today."
"Because they disobeyed orders," Jag snapped. "They signed on under
General Antilles. If they had paid attention to him, most if not all of them
would still be alive. If you want to know who betrayed your people to death,
look to the commander who broke ranks."
"We aren't children," Lensi persisted. "We should have been told."
