by James Luceno
he was able to keep up with his nephew and Harrar on the undulating nath, but his physiology had been altered by the venom, and he was compelled to draw subtly on the Force to sustain himself. Perhaps it would just be a matter of time until his body dealt with the vestiges of the venom, but he suspected that the damage had been done in the first instance of his being pierced by the serpentlike weapon. As had been the case with Mara, healing tears could only do so much. He realized that the battle in Shimrra's bunker had brought him very close to the dark side, whose venom was every bit as potent as that of the royal amphistafF. But he had no regrets about having skirted that razor's edge, and knew in his heart that he would have walked even closer to the edge to safeguard Jacen or Jaina.
What troubled him was that they, too, appeared to have suffered as a result of their confrontation with Onimi—Supreme Overlord Onimi. Several of the Jedi and the Ferroans had already remarked to Luke in private that Jacen looked older, and just that morning Luke had heard whispered exchanges regarding Jaina's sudden and uncharacteristic gravity. Neither Leia nor Han had said anything to Luke, though their concern was evident. But then, who hadn't been affected in some fashion by the events that had unfolded on Coruscant and
Zonama Sekot?
The planet itself had been damaged, chiefly in the Middle Distance, where the Ferroans were doing what they could to rebuild their homes and nurse the boras back to health, the frosty conditions notwithstanding. Most of the several dozen Yuuzhan Vong warriors who had been hauled to the surface were traumatized. After some effort, Harrar had talked them into leaving the place where their coral-skippers had been set down, but they remained confused as to whether they were prisoners or guests. The presence of the Jedi had confirmed their worst fear—the one the heretics had embraced—that the gods had allied with the Jedi to obliterate the Yuuzhan Vong. And yet a few of the warriors had undergone what amounted to conversion experiences, espousing to their humbled comrades that they could feel the gods in the sweet taste of Zonama's water, in the soil under their feet, on the wind, and inhabiting the giant boras. To them, the living world was a paradise regained, and they had urged Luke to recount
that to the Yuuzhan Vong elite, should he decide to agree to medi ating the surrender, as the leaders of the Alliance wished.
"We're here," Jacen announced suddenly.
He led Luke and Harrar onto an intersecting trail that descended a short but steep slope, ending at a tranquil pool fringed with ice and surrounded by towering boras. Luke had expected to meet only with a thought projection of Sekot—perhaps Anakin or Vergere—but instead Jabitha was there, having somehow arrived first by some other path from the canyon.
"Some of what I wish to say you must have guessed by now " Sekot said through Jabitha, as Luke, Jacen, and Harrar were approaching the edge of the pool. "Especially regarding the Yuuzhan Vong."
"You told Danni that you wanted to welcome them home," Luke said. "Were you suggesting that Zonama is actually their primordial homeworld?"
"Much as I evolved from the consciousness that presided there— the consciousness of my parent—Zonama is a seed of Yuuzhan'tar, the world that birthed the Yuuzhan Vong and became the template for their gods."
"I wanted to believe," Harrar said in astonishment, "but I didn't dare ..."
"Where is Yuuzhan'tar now?" Jacen asked.
"I hope in time to be able to answer that question. I suspect, though, that it was destroyed by its symbionts—by the species that became the Yuuzhan Vong, in retribution for what my parent did to them: casting them out, severing its connection to them—stripping them of the Force. All as a consequence of their hunger for violence and conquest, which had been awakened by a single confrontation with a warfaring race. I further suspect that without my parent they were unable to move beyond the biotechnology they were given—or stole. In need of a guiding consciousness, they created a pantheon or gods, to whom they ascribed the powers that were once the province of the living world of Yuuzhan'tar."
"The empty eighth cortex," Harrar mumbled. "The shapers
accepted that they shouldn't create new biots, when in fact they
couldn^"
Jabitha-Sekot continued. "Evidently, before my parent died, it
Dispatched the seed of the world that would come to be called Zonama Sekot, and the seed drifted to this galaxy, took root, and grew . • • For untold generations I lay dormant in Zonama while the Yuuzhan Vong plundered the home galaxy, and were forced at last to embark on the search for a new home, carried on the same currents that brought Zonama Sekot here.
"Then those I originally knew as the Far Outsiders appeared—not by coincidence, but drawn genetically to Zonama Sekot, much as a creature finds its way home, as occurred a second time in the Unknown Regions." Jabitha looked at Harrar. "It's possible, too, that
/called out to you."
"Welcoming us home," Harrar said, "only to be attacked again." Jabitha nodded. "The unprovoked attack by the Far Outsiders stirred something in me. Counter to the teachings of the leaders of the Potentium, I became aware of the existence of evil. In a sense, evil helped give birth to my awareness. Now I understand that the acts of the Far Outsiders may have been nothing more than a reawakening of the evil my parent experienced when its symbionts used its creations not merely to defend Yuuzhan'tar, but to launch an era of bloodshed that resulted in the death of countless worlds—along with many latent planetary consciousnesses.
"But I did not pursue those stirrings, those suspicions, until Zonama became lost in the Unknown Regions, and, through Nen Yim and Harrar, I comprehended that the Yuuzhan Vong had been stripped of the Force. My most grave misgivings were confirmed when I learned of the bioweapon that was being hurled at Zonama.
"I understood that a cycle of violence was being perpetuated, and that I had to make a critical decision. There was no right or wrong way to decide. There was only my choice, and its consequences. I could have accepted the Alpha Red, ending my participation in the cycle, or I could have sent it back at the Yuuzhan Vong, ending their participation. In the end I elected to sue for peace."
"On Coruscant," Jacen said, "when I reached out for you with m Vongsense, I sensed your conflict."
"What are the consequences of your choice?" Luke asked. Jabitha's gaze fell on him. "I will tell you ..."
Nas Choka sat stoically on the acceleration couch of the Alliance shuttle that was conveying him and five of his Supreme Commanders toward the gaping docking bay of Ralroost. He wore an unadorned tunic, trousers, headcloth, and pectoral. Only the command cloak that hung from his shoulder horns distinguished him from his subordinates; and, like them, his frame was thinner after long days of fasting and his cheeks, lips, and arms bore fresh bloodletting cuts.
The world again known as Coruscant dominated the view through the shuttle's starboard transparency, and between the planet and Ralroost floated hundreds of warships, dispersed to protect Coruscant against a surprise attack by the warriors who had once taken and occupied it. Nas Choka considered how easy it might have been to launch a final onslaught and perish in the blaze of glory the Alliance certainly expected. But what glory could be derived from a battle the gods had no interest in supporting?
No, while the reason for the gods' abrupt abandonment of the Yuuzhan Vong was unknown, it was clear that they desired something other than sacrificial blood. Unless it was the blood of the Yuuzhan Vong they craved. Did the fault lie with Shimrra for having usurped the throne from Quoreal, or perhaps for having failed to heed the prophecies regarding the living world of Zonama Sekot? And yet, if all Yuuzhan Vong were to be punished for Shimrra's pride, why hadn't the gods allowed them to be wiped out by the Alliance or killed by the very bioweapon Shimrra had sent against Zonama Sekot?
It was because these questions remained unanswered that Nas Choka and his commanders had submitted without protest or anger to personal searches by teams of distrustful Alliance warriors, and why they sat impassively now. The only item Nas Choka had be
en allowed to retain was his tsaisi—his baton of rank—which he would present t< the Alliance's chief commanders before requesting that he be allowed to end his own life.
Ralroost's tractor beam conducted the shuttle through an invisible field and allowed it to berth. Released from their harnesses, the captives were escorted down the ship's ramp and toward an area of the vast hold where no less than five hundred Alliance officers and officials stood at attention behind a semicircular arrangement of tables and chairs. The sterility of the huge space chilled Nas Choka to the bone. The scrubbed air had an unpleasant tang; the intense yellow-white light gave every object a sharp aspect; the smooth deck was uncompromising; the ceiling was a chaos of girders and ducts. Hundreds of starfighters rested on their hardstands, and droids shuffled about like
slaves.
A mixed-species orchestra assaulted the captives with martial music, and an artificial breeze tugged at flags representative of some of the galaxy's species—several of which had been vanquished by Nas Choka himself. Humans and others documented the occasion with holocams and other recording devices. Though much of the meaning was lost on him, Nas Choka recognized the display as pageant and ritual, pomp and circumstance.
Sow and Kre'fey were determined to put on a grand show.
The open end of the half circle of tables faced a row of six chairs, atop which Nas Choka and his commanders were obviously meant to sit. Interpreters—Alliance species and Yuuzhan Vong heretics, by the look of them—were standing by to make certain that everyone understood one another.
When the fanfare ended, the officers and officials seated themselves. At the semicircle's apex sat white-furred Kre'fey and big-eared Sow, along with several human commanders Nas Choka recognized from intelligence reports—Pellaeon, Brand, Bel Iblis, Farlander, Antilles, Rieekan, Celchu, Davip, and the Hapan queen, Tenel Ka, who was a Jedi, as well. Alliance intendants were scattered, but close to the military commanders sat Cal Omas and his principal advisers: the Wookiee named Triebakk, the Gotal named Ta'laam Ranth, the lank human director of Intelligence, Dif Scaur, and the golden-furred Caamasi named Releqy, whose intendant father had been ritually killed at Dubrillion by Commander Shedao Shai.
The Jedi—in cloaks so homespun they might have been made by
Shamed Ones—had an arc of the half circle to themselves. Conspicuous among the three human males was Luke Skywalker, the killer of Shimrra. The two seated next to him had the look of warriors. The only other human was a dark-haired female, who struck Nas Choka as more intendant than warrior. The remaining pair of Jedi were nonhu-manoid females: a Barabel who might have been at home among the Chazrach, and a Mon Calamari, whose long head brought to mind that of a Yuuzhan Vong beast of burden.
Occupying the distal end of the arc's left curve sat Jakan, Harrar Qelah Kwaad, and several lesser priests, shapers, and intendants.
When the captives had been positioned in front of their rigid chairs, Nas Choka waved for his commanders to be seated and stepped forward. The dread moment had arrived. Proffering his baton of rank he dropped to one knee.
"In surrendering this," he said in Basic, "we surrender ourselves."
It was a historic utterance, and every Yuuzhan Vong in the docking bay—loyal and heretic alike—inhaled sharply and with purpose.
"I ask only that I be allowed to be the first to die—by my own coufee."
"Rise, Warmaster," Sow said. "We understand that honor attends such actions, but that cannot be permitted here."
Still kneeling, Nas Choka regarded him in confusion. "Then appoint any warrior you see fit to kill me."
Sow shook his tiny head. "There will no executions, Warmaster."
Nas Choka gritted his teeth and came to his feet. "So you mean to enslave us, as we did the Chazrach. In place of coral seeds, you will implant us with devices that will control—
"Warmaster," Jakan cut him off. "Hold your reply until all has been laid before you."
"Great things are still expected of you," Harrar added.
Nas Choka glared at the priest. "This from a defector."
Harrar made no effort to parry the accusation. "What I did, Warmaster, I did for all of us."
Nas Choka made a chopping motion with his right hand. "I n° longer wear that title, priest. If we are neither to be executed nor enslaved, what would the Alliance do with us? This bold new order
holds no place for the warrior caste." He turned to Skywalker. "The dai are warriors. What will you do without war?"
Skywalker rose from his chair. "From the start you've mistaken us for warriors, when we are nothing more than the guardians of peace and justice. You could be that, as well, Nas Choka. Though it would require that you adapt your battle traditions to a new form." He held up his lightsaber and ignited the blade. "This was once a weapon."
Nas Choka laughed ruefully. "Thousands of my warriors would willingly attest to the fact that it is a weapon still."
Skywalker acknowledged the remark with a nod. "In peaceful times it is only a symbol of the fight we wage with ourselves—to keep us from taking the wrong path."
Nas Choka lifted his chin. "We have always acted in accord with
the warrior decree."
"We accept that," Skywalker said. "But you're going to have to learn to do without many of the biots that defined you as warriors."
"Name them, Jeedai."
"Your amphistaffs and coufees, your blorash and firejelly, your thud bugs, razor bugs, and plasma eels, your vessels and war
coordinators . . ."
"In exchange for what—digging implements and plows?" "That remains to be decided by your custodian." Nas Choka scanned the officers and officials. "Who is that to be?" "Zonama Sekot," Skywalker said.
Nas Choka stared at him in alarm. "You would surrender us to our true enemy! The living world we tried to poison! The world where our amphistaffs slither away, our thud bugs take flight, our villips and dovin basals turn to fruit. . . And yet you deny that we will be executed! Send us instead back to the intergalactic void, where we can at least die with dignity!"
"Perhaps our biots have something to teach us," Harrar said. "If they can overcome their conditioning, perhaps the warriors can."
"Words!" Nas Choka snapped. "Because the priests, shapers, and intendants have nothing to lose by imprisonment on the living
world."
"We lose more than you know, Nas Choka," Harrar said sadly.
"We honor a tradition that cannot be altered!" Harrar stepped from behind the table to approach. "You honor a much older tradition, Warmaster. One that began on the planet that was parent to Zonama Sekot." "Parent?"
"Zonama Sekot is our world, Warmaster. It is Yuuzhan'tar." Nas Choka threw his head back and bellowed at the ceiling "Then we are truly defeated!" He looked at Harrar again. "Was all this due to Shimrra, priest? Were our wanderings nothing more than a ruse to return us to the world from which we were cast?" "Only the gods can answer that."
Nas Choka narrowed his eyes. "Do the gods reside there?" "In the sense that Zonama Sekot incorporates all aspects of Yun-Yuuzhan, Yun-Ne'Shel, Yun-Shuno . . ."
"You make no mention of Yun-Yammka."
"That one we concocted," Harrar said, "when we turned to war." Nas Choka snorted in disdain. "I thought as much. You've been deceived, priest. The Shamed Ones proclaimed that the Jeedai incorporated all aspects of the gods, and clearly they are not gods." He allowed his words to trail off, then said in a more controlled voice, "On these matters, I speak only for myself. We are the defeated. Do with us what you will. But tell me, Jeedai, is our imprisonment to endure in the shadow of your Coruscant, as a constant reminder of our failure?"
Skywalker shook his head. "Zonama Sekot has no desire to remain in known space, risking reverence, exploitation, or both. Zonama Sekot will return to the Unknown Regions, where it has knowledge of a star system that, over time, could be colonized by the Yuuzhan Vong—that is, once Zonama Sekot and the Yuuzhan Vong have become reacquainted."
"
What of our childbearers and offspring?" "They will also find a new home on Zonama Sekot." "And the Shamed Ones? The heretics?"
"They will need little persuading," Harrar answered. "O° Zonama Sekot our society will be able to redefine itself, without the need to abandon completely its core beliefs."
Nas Choka's broad forehead wrinkled. His gaze lingered on Sow and Kre'fey, on Cal Omas and Luke Skywalker. "This seems a curious
leniency."
"We haven't yet stated all our terms," Kre'fey said sharply.
Nas Choka folded his arms across his chest. "Then do so."
"Villips have been relaying the news of Shimrra's death to occupied worlds throughout the invasion corridor. Some of your commanders have left; others remain entrenched. We don't want to have to liberate each and every one of them at the cost of additional lives."
Nas Choka nodded. "I will summon them to Coruscant. Those who refuse, we will help you hunt down and kill." He held Kre'fey's baleful stare. "State the rest of your terms, Admiral."
"We demand that your shapers assist in the reconstruction of Coruscant, by persuading the World Brain to reverse some of the changes
it wrought."
Nas Choka almost smiled. "Will it not trouble you, Admiral, to know that a Yuuzhan Vong dhuryam rests at the center of your
galaxy?"
Kre'fey sniffed. "Consider it, Warmaster, the foundation for an
enduring compromise."
mm n tl
'n the weeks that followed the summit on Ralmost, Luke spent endless hours walking through the boras forests, sometimes with Mara when she and Lowbacca weren't effecting repairs to Jade Shadow, but more often on his own, roaming and reflecting, the hood of his cloak raised against the cold, and his hands thrust deeply into the opposite sleeves. His body seemed to have struck a compromise with the traces of venom that were still circulating through his bloodstream, but his mind was still struggling to find a similar balance. Sometimes he would confront voids in the Force where there shouldn't have been any, and at other times the Force would seem to expand infinitely around him, heightening his perceptions beyond all expectation, or surprising him with prolonged visions of possible futures. For a brief time during the summit on Ralroost he had been able to perceive Nas Choka and Harrar with the same clarity Jacen described when he spoke of his Vongsense.
