Star Wars The New Jedi Order - The Final Prophecy - Book 19

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."