The Kurtzen native opened one of the pouches at his side. Reaching inside, he removed a small, wooden totem, its carved surface worn back by time. “We Kurtzen focus aspects of our lives’ energies in items such as these. When our inner self lacks a particular aspect, we use these objects to bring ourselves into balance. Goure says that Tahiri had such an object in her possession. A silver totem that she produced at a time of crisis.”
Leia reached into her robe and produced the pendant that Tahiri had taken from her and Han’s bedroom that night, just before she’d fled.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” She placed the silver pendant in Arrizza’s callused hand. The tiny representation of Yun-Yammka glared up at her, as though vowing vengeance. “Tahiri blacked out when she found this on Galantos. She blacked out again when I confronted her with it the other night in our room. She was also holding it when they brought her in to the infirmary.”
“This is it,” Arrizza said. He folded the pendant in one hand and closed his eyes.
He seemed to collapse into himself for a moment then—his impression in the Force changing in a way Leia had never seen before. She couldn’t help wonder just what he was doing, or what he was sensing. The pendant belonged to the Yuuzhan Vong and they were invisible to the Force, so there was no way they could have left any impression on the tiny statue.
Unless, of course, the “power of life” the Kurtzen had referred to was something else entirely.
With the attention of the room upon him, Arrizza stood silently as if in a trance. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and clutched the pendant tightly in his grasp. In her life, Leia had experienced many strange traditions on many worlds. The Kurtzen’s actions weren’t surprising or outlandish, and they were meant well, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him that they weren’t likely to help.
Clearly, though, Jaina wasn’t so willing to accept the gift in the spirit it was offered. She kept staring at Tahiri, shaking her head. As if reading her thoughts, Goure stepped up and placed a reassuring hand on Jaina’s shoulder.
“I know how you must feel about this,” he said. “But remember, while the personality of Riina is undeniably Yuuzhan Vong, she doesn’t represent all that the Yuuzhan Vong have done these past years. If she can be accused of anything, it can only be of trying to survive.”
“I don’t care,” Jaina said. “She’s still Yuuzhan Vong.”
“But she’s a victim in all of this,” Goure said. “Just as Tahiri is.”
Jaina looked as if she was about to argue this, but the Ryn cut her off. “Tell me, was Tahiri herself when the bomb went off?”
“What? No, Riina had taken her over by then. Why?”
“So it was in fact Riina who created the Force bubble. Riina who saved the lives of those in the stands above by staying close in to the bomb where she knew she would have the greatest effect.” The Ryn’s stare was piercing, and beneath it Leia saw Jaina’s stubbornness flag slightly. “Is that the work of someone who deserves our contempt? Someone who deserves to be put down?”
Jaina looked away from Goure, back to Tahiri’s motionless body. “So what are we supposed to do? Sit back and let Riina take her over?”
“We have a choice to make. We can either help both of them, or we can watch them both die.”
Leia felt the responsibility Goure was giving them like a heavy weight around her neck. He was asking them to do something potentially very dangerous. She knew about Anakin’s vision of Riina as a dark force sweeping across the galaxy; and she also knew that the vision could well come to pass if Riina was released, with all Tahiri’s knowledge of the Jedi to back her up. Cilghal had once described one of the Yuuzhan Vong’s other hybrid creations—the voxyn—as “part of this galaxy and part of the Yuuzhan Vong’s.” If Goure was right, Tahiri would have to achieve the same state in order to survive, and there was no guarantee that she wouldn’t end up as murderous and vicious as those creatures.
But in the end, Leia had to have faith in Tahiri’s strength and resolve not to allow Anakin’s vision to come to fruition.
Arrizza’s silent mumbling ceased, and he opened his eyes. Goure stepped aside as the Kurtzen approached Tahiri’s bed. No one spoke as Arrizza held the silver pendant with one hand and rested the other on Tahiri’s forehead. His lips moved soundlessly. There was no response from Tahiri as the Kurtzen gently placed the pendant on her chest.
“Are you sure we should leave that there?” Jaina asked a little anxiously.
Arrizza nodded. “It is traditional. It will help cleanse her spiritually.”
With that, Arrizza bowed reverently over her, holding the moment with an indrawn breath, then finally exhaling and backing away.
The sound of boots clomping along the corridor outside broke the sudden quiet of the room. Leia turned to see Han walk into the room, a look of some urgency on his face.
“We’ve just received word from Luke,” he said, stepping up to Leia without acknowledging the others in the room. “He says …”
Han stopped, looking around the room, noting for the first time the people gathered by Tahiri’s bed. “What’s going on?”
Leia was about to explain the healing ceremony that Arrizza was trying to perform, but decided against it before she started. She didn’t particularly feel like listening to her husband’s cynical sounds-like-mumbo-jumbo-to-me speech.
“I’ll explain later,” she said instead, taking his hand in hers.
Han accepted this with a nod. “I heard the Ryn was here. Where’d he go?”
“He’s right—” It was her turn to leave a sentence unfinished. “Well, he was.”
“My friend had no intention of staying any longer than he was needed,” Arrizza said, stepping forward. “Before we arrived, however, he did ask that I give you this.”
The Kurtzen handed a sheet of flimsiplast to Leia. She unfolded it and read, with her husband reading it also over her shoulder.
My apologies for leaving so abruptly. I received word this morning that I am required elsewhere. Part of my instructions was to advise you to travel to Onadax at your earliest convenience. You will be met there.
When she awakens, please extend my heartfelt thanks to Tahiri for all she has done here.
With gratitude, Goure
“I am sorry,” the Kurtzen said.
“Don’t be,” Han said. “It’s not your fault. I was just hoping to ask him about Droma.” He took the note from Leia and scanned it again. “We’ll be met there,” he paraphrased. “Does he mean by another Ryn, by the head of the family, or by someone else altogether?”
“It’s not really made clear,” Leia said. Despite—or because of—that, her interest was definitely piqued.
“Isn’t Onadax in the Minos Cluster?” Jaina asked.
Leia nodded. “It’s not all that far from Bakura.”
Han looked concerned.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Well, it’s not exactly the best of places to be visiting. It’s a tough place, filled with all manner of lowlifes. I just don’t want anyone getting their expectations up that this trip will be some sort of romantic holiday or something.”
“Han, we had our first kiss in the belly of a space slug,” Leia said. “Believe me when I say that my expectations of doing anything remotely romantic with you have never been particularly high.”
She smiled at her husband, and was glad to see him lose his somberness and smile back. Then, placing an arm about her shoulder, he made to leave with her. “Come on, Your Worshipfulness,” he said wryly. “You need to talk to Luke before he goes off to call Ben.”
“Wait.” She turned to Arrizza. “What about Tahiri?”
The Kurtzen shrugged again. “I do not know how long it will take for her to heal. It might be one hour; it might be a year. She might never heal at all. I’m sorry that I cannot give you a definite answer. All you can do is wait and see.”
Leia looked at the girl on the bed once more. She h
adn’t moved the entire time they’d been in the room. No, wait—that wasn’t quite true, Leia realized. She had changed: the young Jedi’s eyes were now closed, as though she was sleeping. What that meant, exactly, Leia didn’t know, but she hoped that it was a positive sign, at least.
Dream well, Tahiri, she sent into the quiet dark that was Tahiri’s mind. Dream well and come back strong.
The small shuttle rattled out of hyperspace just on the border of the Ssi-ruuvi Imperium. Its holds were almost empty, as was its flight deck. In total, it carried eight passengers. Only one of them was alive.
Cundertol watched from the commander’s station as the shuttle performed a cursory sweep of the space around it. He had changed its original settings shortly after leaving Bakura, immediately upon assuming control of the ship. This was a destination he had visited just once before. The event that had quite literally changed his life had taken place not far away, in a small research base left behind by the New Republic during its extended offensive against the Imperium. Abandoned for many years, it had been easy pickings for someone looking for a secret operations center.
The shuttle’s scan picked up the station and a modified Fw’Sen-class picket ship parked nearby. He set the shuttle on an intercept vector for the latter, broadcasting a preplanned signal.
A response came within seconds. The picket ship extended docking grapnels and, once they were near enough, mated the two vessels together. A booming clang resounded through the ship around him, announcing contact.
Grunting in satisfaction, Cundertol climbed from the commander’s chair and headed for the air lock, stepping over the bodies of the P’w’eck crew as he went. The stump of his severed arm had healed over perfectly, leaving a smooth patch of skin that was barely tender to the touch.
“I have been waiting,” said the Ssi-ruuvi general whom Cundertol knew only as E’thinaa. His words came in the Ssi-ruuvi language, which the makers of Cundertol’s body had preprogrammed him to understand.
“I came as soon as I could.” Cundertol executed the smallest bow he could deliver without seriously offending the general. There were no guards in the bare stateroom, but he didn’t doubt that he was being watched. “There were … complications.”
The thick black ridge that was E’thinaa’s eyebrows lifted in disapproval. “The Keeramak?”
“Is dead,” Cundertol reported instantly and without emotion. “I have its body onboard the shuttle as proof.” He didn’t mention that the shuttle had originally been intended to deliver the body to Lwhekk as a placatory gesture, or that he’d been forced to stow away on the craft in order to redirect it—and to survive.
The general nodded his approval, his scent-tongues tasting the air. “As long as this objective has been achieved, then everything else is unimportant.”
“I must admit that I don’t understand why you wanted this, above all else,” Cundertol said. “Your people regard the Keeramak as some sort of god. Surely killing it will cause chaos and civil war—more disruption than the Imperium can possibly withstand. You’ve spent so long rebuilding things. Why destroy them now?”
The general’s massive tail thumped the ground once, as if demanding silence. “You are not required to understand anything, human. You stink of lies.”
Cundertol nodded, averting his gaze from the general’s stare. He’d heard too many stories about the persuasive powers of the Ssi-ruuk to risk being caught now. His HRD body might be physically strong, but it couldn’t protect him against the many traps that might befall his mind.
But …
His mind tripped on the general’s words. How could E’thinaa have detected the scent of deception when the tissue comprising the outer layers of his new body had been specifically designed to release scents identical to a natural, nonstressed human, no matter what his state of mind or what lay beneath the facade? The general had to be bluffing, he told himself dismissively.
It wasn’t, however, so easy to shake himself free of his sudden suspicions. The Ssi-ruuk didn’t often bluff, after all. They were usually more direct in their approaches to and manipulations of what they regarded to be “lesser” species.
And now that he thought about it, the superior olfactory senses of his new body were picking up something odd about the Ssi-ruu …
He suddenly felt distinctly uncomfortable, wanting to leave there as soon as possible. Something wasn’t quite right, and he didn’t like it one bit.
“I’ve met my side of the bargain,” he said, glad that he had retained his sabacc face, after the transfer. “Now, how about you?”
“You have your new body. What more do you want?”
“You know what I want. You said you’d refund half the money I paid for this body if I delivered you Bakura. I’ve done that, so now I’d like what you promised me.”
The general began to pace the room with clicking strides, his tail sweeping menacingly. “It is my understanding that Xwhee is no longer part of the Imperium.”
“It has been consecrated—”
“And the P’w’eck traitors have taken it for their own, no?”
“Yes, and you can fight for it now. You can send troops without fearing for their souls—”
The general cut him off with a chopping gesture of one mighty arm. “You have not delivered your side of the bargain, yet you expect me to keep mine!” he roared close to Cundertol’s face, spraying him with spittle. Cundertol flinched, and the general straightened. “I am disappointed, but I can’t say that I’m surprised. Your species is not known for its honor.”
Cundertol could feel his control over the situation quickly slipping away. “Listen, we’re both doing a job here, and as you know, sometimes it’s not possible to meet every expectation. I’ve taken you halfway there—”
“As we have taken you halfway,” the general interrupted. “You have your new body; you have your bottled soul. Surely that is enough.”
And maybe it was, Cundertol thought. With his mind safely ensconced in its new HRD home, he was free from aging and disease. He really could live forever, if he was careful. With the right contacts, he could get his arm fixed, establish a new power base somewhere else, begin building himself up to where he had been. There were thousands of opportunities in a galaxy this large. All he had to do was—
Cundertol stopped the thought in its tracks. What was the point of dreams without money to bring them into reality? Without money, he would never be able to replace his missing limb or buy new contacts; he wouldn’t even be able to refuel the shuttle after its next stop. There was no point being immortal if you couldn’t do anything—or worse, if you ended up drifting through space, heading nowhere.
“I’m not leaving here without the payment I deserve,” he said slowly and firmly, staring the big lizard right in the eyes.
“No?” The general squared off and flexed his powerful muscles. “Would you combat me for it?”
Cundertol felt the strength coursing through his artificial body. What were flesh and blood against poly-alloy bones and enhanced biofiber muscles? If he could outfight a Jedi, then a Ssi-ruu should be no trouble whatsoever.
Cundertol nodded. “I will,” he said, “and I will crush you as I would an insect.”
The general laughed. “The hatchmate returns to destroy his mother!”
“I’m serious.” Cundertol clenched and unclenched his fists with a mix of anger and nervousness. “Give me my money.”
The general took up the challenge unflinchingly as he stepped forward, pinning Cundertol with his stare. With lethal deliberation, he said: “The only thing you shall get from me is death.”
Cundertol braced himself for the fight, and suddenly found that he was unable to move. He was rooted to the spot, every muscle of his body rigid as though he were nothing more than a statue. He couldn’t move his eyes, his mouth—he couldn’t even breathe! And then, in mid-stroke, the beating of his heart stopped.
The general’s leering visage came so close that he could feel the alien’s
breath on his face. Twin scent-tongues tasted him, licking at the fear surely emanating from his synthflesh.
“You are a fool, human,” E’thinaa said. The general’s breath stank, but Cundertol couldn’t turn away from it. “Did you honestly think that we wouldn’t be ready for you? Do you believe us to be so stupid? We have learned much of your vile machines since coming to your galaxy. We know how to encourage your filthy technologists to perform for us, to build restraining bolts that activate on hearing a particular phrase. We are perfectly capable of stealing that which we require to reach our goals—goals you helped us attain. You sowed chaos; now we shall reap the rewards.”
Cundertol yearned to pull away …
Since coming to your galaxy …
Panic flooded through him.
The alien’s hideous face seemed to melt and peel away. The long snout folded back and rolled down the long neck, taking the triple-lidded eyes and scent-tongues with them.
Beneath lay a face more horrible than any Cundertol had ever imagined. A long, sloping forehead swept down to two gaunt, tattooed cheeks. Purple sacks bulged under cold, black eyes. Deep scars carved the gray flesh like the cracks of an ice moon, and sharp teeth grinned at him as he realized his mistake.
“You are nothing to me,” hissed the voice of the impersonator. “Perhaps, had you remained alive, we might have taken you as a slave or a sacrifice; but as you are, you are worthless, unliving filth. We have destroyed the machine that made you and purified the hands that touched it with the blood of a thousand captives. We would never deign to deal with dead stuff such as you are now made of. Life is tissue; it is soil; it is blood.” The creature paused, then, and smiled. “It is death.”
The face that would be the last thing Cundertol ever saw pulled back out of range. So profoundly was he frozen by the restraining bolt, he couldn’t even focus his eyes. Everything beyond a meter remained a blur—a blur that filled with dark shadows as more of the vile creatures entered the room. They swarmed around him, twisting and writhing in impossible shapes.
Refugee: Force Heretic II Page 37
