Star Wars®: Dark Nest I: The Joiner King

by Troy Denning

  “Of course,” Jaina said. “We’ll be entering hyperspace soon ourselves. May the Force be with you.”

  “And with you.” Jag shifted his gaze to Zekk. “Both of you.”

  The holocomm blinked out, then Jaina and Zekk turned away, the same crestfallen expression on both their faces. A shudder ran down Han’s spine, but he did his best to hide it.

  “Kind of sticks in the ol’ throat, doesn’t it?” he asked, flashing his best crooked, fatherly smile.

  “Like we’re going to choke on it,” Jaina answered.

  “But we’ll survive.” Zekk rubbed his forearm along Jaina’s, and she began to make low clicking sounds in her throat. “We have each other.”

  Han had to look away.

  Qoribu was a tiny, oblong circle of light now, glinting in the light of its blue sun, and the Taat’s song was growing more forlorn and haunting by the minute. It seemed to him that he could actually feel their sadness himself, and he wondered if this was what it was like to sense something in the Force: to know a thing more clearly in one’s heart than in one’s head.

  Zekk and Lowbacca stepped through the hatch into the temporary nest and began to rub their arms along Taat antennae.

  Jaina lingered behind. “We think it will be better to say goodbye now,” she explained. “It will only be harder if we wait until they make the new nest.”

  “Go on,” Han said. “I don’t have to watch.”

  Jaina smiled and kissed him on the cheek, then followed Zekk into the hold.

  Dukat Gray irritated Han by coming to stand behind him and Leia. For a few moments, the Hapan seemed content to simply watch the two Jedi saying good-bye to their nest, but then he finally decided to ruin the moment completely.

  “Aristocra Formbi may have been right about one thing, Princess.”

  “I find that hard to believe, Dukat,” Leia said. “But perhaps I’m mistaken.”

  “If you will forgive me for saying so, I think you are,” Gray said. “It is a pity you’re not serving in the Galactic Alliance government. A diplomat of the talent and skill you displayed here could be of great service to the new government.”

  “Thank you, Dukat,” Leia said. “Coming from you, that’s a very informative suggestion.”

  Gray beamed, and Han’s heart fell. The time had finally come for him to stop being selfish, to suggest that Leia return to her first love.

  “Listen,” he said. “I know you’ve missed being in the middle of things. Maybe it’s—”

  “Yes, it’s time for a change,” Leia said, cutting him off. “But not that way, Han. The last thing I want to do now is join a government—the Galactic Alliance’s or anyone else’s.”

  Han began to grow confused. “No?”

  “No,” Leia said. “I’m sick to death of compromising, of finding the workable solution instead of the right one.”

  “Okay,” Han said cautiously. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Following my heart—for a change,” Leia said. She turned to Luke. “I’ve seen many changes in my life—”

  “And brought about most of them,” Luke said.

  “Perhaps,” Leia said. “And I’ve worn some very high titles.”

  “You deserved ’em,” Han said, wondering where this was going.

  “That wasn’t what I was getting at. After all that, after all that I’ve seen and done, it always comes down to this.” She pulled the lightsaber off her belt and hefted it in her palm. “To one Jedi, to one blade, standing against the darkness.” She turned to Han. “I think it’s time that I chose a new path.”

  “New path?” Han asked, growing worried now. “What do you mean, new path?”

  “I’ve loved being your copilot, really,” Leia said. “But the galaxy has changed. I need to change.”

  “Define change,” Han said. “Because if this is about the snoring—”

  “Don’t you dare stop that now—I wouldn’t be able to sleep!” Leia laughed, then turned to Luke. “I’m beginning to understand the Jedi’s place in the galaxy—and to see my place in the Jedi.”

  Luke smiled. “You want to assume your place in the order.”

  Leia shook her head. “No—I want to earn my place in the order.” She turned to Saba Sebatyne, who had been standing at the back of the group in typical reptilian silence. “I want to dedicate myself to becoming a proper Jedi.”

  “You are a proper Jedi,” Saba said. “You have done more for the galaxy than any ten Jedi.”

  “You’re not listening,” Leia said. “Diplomacy didn’t stop this war. Jedi did. I want to complete my training—and I want you to be my guide.”

  Saba’s scaly brow rose almost as high as Han’s, and Luke’s, and Mara’s.

  “You want this one to guide you?” Saba asked carefully.

  Leia nodded. “If you would consider it.”

  “This one?” Saba repeated.

  “Yes,” Leia repeated. “I want someone who will challenge me in unexpected ways. I want someone who will teach me what I don’t know.”

  Saba’s diamond-shaped pupils grew narrow as slits, and her forked tongue began to flick between her pebbly lips. She studied Leia for several moments more, then began to siss so hard that she had to grab her sides.

  “That is a good one, Princesz. You really had this one—”

  “I’m not joking,” Leia interrupted.

  Saba’s hissing stopped. “Truly?”

  Leia nodded. “Truly.”

  “Well, then.” Saba glanced at Han. “It seemz this one has no choice.”

  “Not really,” Han said. “And it’s a lot better than the alternative.”

  “What alternative?” Saba asked.

  Before Han could answer, the jump alarms chimed. A shudder ran through Kendall’s decks, then Qoribu’s distant pinpoint of light winked out of existence. The Taat’s mournful song came to an abrupt end, and the velvet light outside the observation bubble paled to the colorless blur of hyperspace.

  By Troy Denning

  WATERDEEP

  DRAGONWALL

  THE PARCHED SEA

  THE VERDANT PASSAGE

  THE CRIMSON LEGION

  THE AMBER ENCHANTRESS

  THE OBSIDIAN ORACLE

  THE CERULEAN STORM

  THE OGRE’S PACT

  THE GIANT AMONG US

  THE TITAN OF TWILIGHT

  THE VEILED DRAGON

  PAGES OF PAIN

  CRUCIBLE: THE TRIAL OF CYRIC THE MAD

  THE OATH OF STONEKEEP

  FACES OF DECEPTION

  BEYOND THE HIGH ROAD

  DEATH OF THE DRAGON (with Ed Greenwood)

  THE SUMMONING

  THE SIEGE

  THE SORCERER

  STAR WARS: THE NEW JEDI ORDER: STAR BY STAR

  STAR WARS: TATOOINE GHOST

  STAR WARS: DARK NEST I: THE JOINER KING

  Nom Anor suppressed a shiver at the sight of the Shamed One Onimi leering from the doorway. Something in him shrank at the appearance of the lank creature with his misshapen head and knowing smile.

  Onimi’s grin widened.

  Nom Anor, distaste prickling, pushed past the Shamed One and entered. The rounded resinous walls of the chamber shone with a faint luminescence, and the air bore the metallic scent of blood. In the dim light Nom Anor made out the magnificently scarred and mutilated form of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, reclining on a dais of pulsing red hau polyps. Onimi, the Supreme One’s familiar, sank into the shadows at Shimrra’s feet. Nom Anor prostrated himself, all too aware of the scrutiny of Shimrra’s rainbow eyes.

  The Supreme Overlord’s deep voice rolled out of the darkness. “You have news of the infidels?”

  “I have, Supreme One.”

  “Stand, Executor, and enlighten me.”

  Nom Anor repressed a shiver of fear as he rose to his feet. This was Shimrra’s private audience chamber, not the great reception hall, and Nom Anor was absolutely alone here. He would much rather be able to hide behind his sup
erior Yoog Skell and a whole deputation of intendants.

  Never think to lie to the Supreme One, Yoog Skell had warned.

  Nom Anor would not. He probably could not. Fortunately he was well prepared with the latest news of the infidels’ efforts against the Yuuzhan Vong.

  “The enemy continue their series of raids against our territory. They dare not confront our might directly, and confine themselves to picking off isolated detachments or raiding our lines of communication. If a substantial fleet opposes them, they flee without fighting.”

  The Supreme Overlord’s head, the sum of its features barely discernable as a face with all its scars and tattoos and slashings, loomed forward in the shadowy light. “Have your agents been able to inform you which of our conquests are being targeted?”

  Nom Anor felt a cold hand run up his spine. He had seen what happened to some of those who disappointed the great Overlord Shimrra, and he knew his answer would be a disappointment.

  “Unfortunately, Supreme One, it appears that the new administration is giving the local commanders a great deal of latitude. They’re choosing their own targets. Our agents on Mon Calamari have no way of knowing what objectives the individual commanders may select.”

  There was a moment of silence. “The new head of state, this infidel Cal Omas, permits his subordinates such freedom?”

  Nom Anor bowed. “So it appears, Supreme One.”

  “Then he has no true concept of subordination. His rule will not trouble us much longer.”

  Nom Anor, who thought otherwise, chose not to dispute this analysis. “The Supreme One is wise,” he said instead.

  “You must redouble your efforts to infiltrate the military and provide us with their objectives.”

  “I shall obey, Supreme One.”

  “What news of the Peace Brigade?”

  “The news is mixed.” The collaborationist Peace Brigade government had been established on Ylesia, and had grown sufficiently large and diverse to have divided into squabbling factions, all of which competed ferociously in groveling to the Yuuzhan Vong. None of this cringing actually aided the creation of the Peace Brigade army and fleet, which, when built up to strength and trained, were to act as auxiliaries to the Yuuzhan Vong.

  “Perhaps it should be admitted that infidels so disposed as to join an organization called the ‘Peace Brigade’ may not be temperamentally inclined toward war,” Nom Anor said.

  “They need a leader to exact obedience,” Shimrra concluded.

  “That role was to be assigned to the infidel Viqi Shesh, Supreme One,” Nom Anor said.

  “Another leader shall be assigned,” Shimrra said. His eyes shimmered from blue to green to yellow. “We should choose someone who has nothing to do with these factions. Someone from outside, who can impose discipline.”

  Nom Anor agreed, but when he searched his mind for candidates, no names occurred to him. “We are having better luck with infidel mercenaries,” he said. “They have made no true submission and possess no loyalty, but they are convinced they have joined the winning side, and are content to obey so long as we pay them.”

  “Contemptible creatures. No wonder a galaxy that spawned such as these was given by the gods to us.”

  “Indeed, Supreme One.”

  Shimrra shifted his huge form on his dais, and one of the polyps beneath him burst under the pressure, spraying the wall with its insides. An acid reek filled the room. The other polyps at once turned on the injured creature and began to divide and devour it.

  Shimrra ignored the clacking and slurping. “Speak of our visitor from Corellia.”

  Nom Anor bowed. “He is called Thrackan Sal-Solo.”

  “Solo? He is related to the twin Jeedai?”

  “The two branches of the family are estranged, Supreme One.”

  A thoughtful rumble came from the dais. “A pity. If otherwise, we could hold him hostage and demand the twins in exchange.”

  “That is indeed a pity, Lord.”

  Shimrra waved one huge hand. “Continue, Executor.”

  “Sal-Solo is the leader of a large political faction on Corellia, and has been elected governor-general of the Corellian sector. He says that, with our support, he can assure that the Corellian system—five planets—is detached from the infidel government. Once this is done, he can assure its neutrality, including the neutrality of the Centerpoint weapon that so devastated our force at Fondor. Then, as diktat, he will sign a treaty of friendship with us.”

  Shimrra shifted thoughtfully on the pulsing bed. The dismembered polyp twitched and fluttered as its siblings consumed it.

  “Is this infidel trustworthy, Executor?”

  “Of course not, Supreme One.” Nom Anor made a deprecatory gesture. “But he may be useful. He gave us the location of the Jedi academy, and that information was correct, and led to our colonization of the Yavin system. Corellia is a major industrial center, where many weapons and enemy ships are built, and its neutrality is desirable.”

  “What is our information on the Centerpoint weapon?”

  “Sal-Solo did not come alone. He brought with him a supporter and companion, a human female called Darjeelai Swan. While I interviewed Sal-Solo, we took his companion and interrogated her. According to this person, the Centerpoint weapon is not functional, though efforts are being made by New Republic military forces to rehabilitate it.”

  “So this Sal-Solo offers to trade us what he does not have.”

  “True. And—also according to Darjeelai Swan—it was Sal-Solo himself who fired the Centerpoint weapon at our fleet at Fondor.”

  Shimrra’s hands—giant black taloned things, each implanted from a different carnivore—made massive fists. “And this creature has the effrontery to bargain with me?”

  “Indeed, Supreme One.”

  Onimi piped up,

  “Fetch him to our presence, Lord,

  And bring us all into concord.

  I wish it known and made a rule

  That I am not the only fool.”

  Shimrra’s vast frame heaved with what might have been laughter.

  “Yes,” he said. “By all means. Let us meet the master of Corellia.”

  Nom Anor bowed in response, then hesitated. “Shall I bring his guards, as well?”

  Contempt rang in Shimrra’s answer. “I am capable of defending myself against anything this infidel should attempt.”

  “As you desire, Supreme One.”

  Like most humans Thrackan Sal-Solo was a thin, ill-muscled creature, with hair and beard growing white with age. His eyes widened as he entered the chamber and perceived, in the darkness, Shimrra’s burning rainbow eyes. Nevertheless he summoned a degree of swagger, and approached the Supreme Overlord on the pulsing polyp bed.

  “Lord Shimrra,” he said, crossed his arms, and gave an alltoo-brief bow.

  Nom Anor reacted without thought. One sweep of his booted foot knocked the human’s legs out from under him, and a precise shove dropped the startled Corellian onto his face.

  Onimi giggled.

  “Grovel before your lord!” Nom Anor shouted. “Grovel for your life!”

  “I come in peace, Lord Shimrra!” Sal-Solo protested.

  Nom Anor drove a boot into Sal-Solo’s ribs. “Silence! You will wait for instruction!” He turned to Shimrra and translated the human’s words.

  “The infidel says that he comes in peace, Supreme One.”

  “That is well.” Shimrra contemplated the splayed human figure for a moment. “Tell the infidel that I have considered his proposals and have decided to accept.”

  Nom Anor translated the overlord’s words into Basic. Sal-Solo’s face, pressed against the floor, displayed what might have been a trace of a smile.

  “Tell the Supreme Overlord that he is wise,” he said.

  Nom Anor didn’t bother to translate. “Your opinions are of no interest to the Supreme Overlord.”

  Sal-Solo licked his lips nervously. “The only way I can guarantee the success of the plan
is to be given a free hand in Corellia,” he said.

  Nom Anor translated this.

  “Tell the infidel he misunderstands,” Shimrra said. “Tell him that the only way the plan will succeed is if I am given a free hand in Corellia.”

  Sal-Solo looked startled as this was translated, and his lips began to frame a protest, but Shimrra continued.

  “Tell the infidel that we will give his associates in the Centerpoint Party all assistance necessary to gain control of the Corellian system. He will direct them to cooperate with us. Once Centerpoint Station is taken by his people and surrendered to our forces, the Centerpoint Party will rule Corellia in a state of peace with the Yuuzhan Vong.”

  Sal-Solo’s eyes widened as he listened to Nom Anor’s lengthy translation. The executor did not bother to state the fact that, in the Yuuzhan Vong language, peace was the same word as submission.

  Sal-Solo would find that out in time.

  Sal-Solo licked his lips again, and said, “May I stand, Executor?”

  Nom Anor considered this. “Very well,” he said. “But you must show complete submission to the Supreme Overlord.”

  Sal-Solo rose to his feet but didn’t straighten, instead maintaining a sort of half bow toward Shimrra. His eyes ticked back and forth, as if he were mentally reading a speech before giving it, and then he said, “Supreme One, I beg permission to explain the situation on Corellia in more detail.”

  Permission was given. Sal-Solo spoke about the complex political relations at Corellia, the Centerpoint Party’s desire to cast off the New Republic. As he spoke he seemed to grow in confidence, and he paced back and forth, occasionally raising his eyes to Shimrra to see if the Supreme Overlord was following his argument.

  Nom Anor translated as well as he could. Onimi, from his posture at Shimrra’s feet, watched with his upper lip curled back and one misshapen fang exposed.

  “I shall have to return to Corellia immediately in order to undertake the Supreme One’s plan,” Sal-Solo said. “And regretfully I must warn that it will be difficult to gain cooperation once it is known that the Yuuzhan Vong plan to seize the Centerpoint weapon after we evict the New Republic military.”