by Greg Keyes
“Better, thanks to you,” Tahiri admitted.
“It was simple enough. You responded well to the antitoxin.” Nen Yim shifted her gaze back to the stars. “You must convince the other Jeedai to go to Zonama Sekot. If what you said about your goals is true, you must help me.”
“I can’t,” Tahiri said. “I agree with him. Even if I could trust you, and the Prophet, there is also the priest to consider. Why did he come?”
“I think his reasons are compound. He is a highly placed member of his caste. Heresy is a great danger to that caste, and here he has the opportunity to study not merely two heretics of two varieties, but also the leaders of their respective movements. He would understand his enemy. Yet he is also jealous of the secret of Zonama Sekot, and perhaps truly angry at Shimrra for concealing the knowledge of it. When we know Zonama Sekot’s secrets, however, I cannot say what he will do. Turn on us as well as Shimrra, probably, and reinforce the power of his priesthood. If Zonama Sekot is truly of consequence to our future, castes will battle for control of it, both ideologically and in fact.”
“All that to say you don’t trust him.”
“I think that no matter the outcome of this expedition, he plans our deaths.”
“Then why did you bring him along?” Tahiri exploded.
“To learn what I can from him. There are other factions among our people, you know. Shimrra has detractors in other quarters—the Quorealists, for instance, who supported the predecessor he slew to attain power. It may be Harrar is one. Certainly he knows about them. Also, I want to keep him where I can see him. He is less dangerous to me that way.”
“Well, we agree on that,” Tahiri said. “I don’t trust him, either.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him together, then.”
It was a transparent ploy, but Tahiri felt a sudden, involuntary affinity for the shaper.
That’s stupid. It’s what she wants me to feel.
But they were of the same domain, and domain loyalties ran deep, far deeper than simple like or dislike. Was this why Corran didn’t trust her?
Move on to something else. “Is there any way of knowing if Harrar has a tracer or villip implanted in him?”
“It would have to be a very unusual one to be a danger to us,” Nen Yim replied.
“Why?”
“Because I have released a virus that attacks and swiftly kills all known variants of such organisms. If anyone on this vessel has such an implant, we can expect them to be briefly ill as the waste products flush through their system.”
“I’ll watch for that, then,” Tahiri said, and left the helm, confused. Anger brought certainty, and with it gone, she didn’t know what she felt.
Nen Yim turned her eyes back toward the stars.
Perhaps that will persuade her, she thought. Perhaps now she can convince the older Jeedai to resume the voyage to Zonama Sekot.
After all, it was true. She did not want Shimrra’s minions following her to Zonama Sekot, and she had taken measures to prevent it.
But the older Jedi was suspicious of her, of all of them. Well he should be. The Prophet’s simple belief that Zonama Sekot was the salvation of the Shamed Ones and thus the Yuuzhan Vong was not her own. Zonama Sekot was the greatest single threat her people had ever faced, she was sure of it. If her investigations bore that out, she would take matters into her own hands.
Despite its organic origins, the Sekotan ship was laid out along lines more similar to the metal-and-plasteel ships Tahiri had known than to Yuuzhan Vong vessels. Behind the cockpit was a crew cabin comfortably large enough for six or seven people, and six somewhat more cramped sleeping cells. Behind that was a spacious storage area that looked more Yuuzhan Vong in design—Nen Yim had had room to spare when she took out the old hyperdrive. It was filled with things that Tahiri remembered from the shaper laboratory on Yavin 4. She looked in only once.
Whatever the original crew of the ship had eaten had been replaced by muur, a Yuuzhan Vong yeast-based staple. She and Corran settled down to a meal of it around a table that extruded from the floor, sprouting like a mushroom when a discolored place on the wall was stroked.
None of the Yuuzhan Vong seemed to be in earshot—the Prophet was nowhere to be seen, and Nen Yim was back in her makeshift laboratory, as was Harrar.
“Four days, and no one has shown any symptoms,” Corran said. “Of course, that could mean several things. Either no one had implants, or the implants weren’t affected by the virus, or there never was any virus.”
“Well, that’s what everything boils down to when you don’t trust anyone,” Tahiri pointed out. “We just don’t know.”
“You like this stuff?” Corran grunted, reluctantly taking another mouthful.
“No one likes it,” Tahiri said. “Yuuzhan Vong don’t eat for enjoyment. Unless it’s to make a statement, you know, eating the flesh of the vua’sa you killed in ritual combat or whatever.”
“Still not exactly pleasure. Relish maybe.”
“Right,” she said, taking another bite. She knew he was trying to make a joke, but she didn’t feel like laughing. Corran was hard to read these days, as if he was making an effort not to let her see too much of him in the Force.
They both turned at a soft sound in the doorway. Harrar stood there.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” the priest said.
“Not at all,” Corran said. “Can I help you?”
The priest nodded. “It’s been four days. May I ask when we reach Mon Calamari?”
Tahiri shot Corran a glance. Four days, she sent in the Force. No sign of betrayal.
He didn’t answer in the same way, but pursed his lips and nodded. “Where’s the Prophet?” he asked.
“Locked in his cabin—praying, presumably,” the priest replied.
“Okay,” Corran said. “Let’s get everyone together. I—”
And then the ship screamed.
FOURTEEN
Qelah Kwaad abased herself before the polyp throne as the rumble of Shimrra’s voice washed over her. She cringed and was ashamed.
“Rise, Adept Kwaad,” Shimrra said.
Knees shaking, she did so. “Dread Lord,” she said. “How can I please you?”
“You already have. The mabugat kan were of your shaping, were they not?”
“They were, Lord Shimrra,” she said.
“Master Yim brought them to my attention. She said you were the brightest of her pupils.”
“She did?” Qelah was surprised. She had always thought Master Yim was jealous of her.
“We have used them with great success. The infidels are now largely without long-range communications. It has been an invaluable aid to our war effort.”
“Thank you, Lord. I am pleased to have been of service.”
“Of course you are,” Shimrra growled reproachfully, and his Shamed jester capered gleefully.
She felt like cowering back into a crouch, but the Dread Lord had bid her stand, so she stood her ground.
“The loss of Master Yim was a great blow,” Shimrra went on. “But her work must continue. You will be elevated to master.”
Qelah hoped her fierce exultation did not show.
“I am not worthy of the honor, Great Lord, but I will do my best to excel.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “I have developed a new sort of ship, one that should counter many of the new strategies of the infidels. And as for the Jeedai—”
“What of the Jeedai?” The words came out with such force that her tendrils felt as if they were being swept back, but this time she was not dismayed.
“I believe I have an answer to them,” she said.
“Besides the mabugat kan, I have for some time been developing a powerful new suite of bioforms designed specifically to counter the threat of the Jeedai. I am not far from completion.”
“That has been promised before,” Shimrra said. “But the promise has never been fulfilled. Those who fail me do not find favor.”
She und
erstood that lack of favor also meant lack of breath, but she plunged on. “I am certain you will be pleased, Dread Lord,” she told him.
“Very well. You will ascend to master tomorrow. You will work directly beneath Ahsi Yim.”
Qelah took a deep breath. She had a chance at more. Could she flinch from taking it?
No.
“Yes, Lord,” she said. “A member of Nen Yim’s domain.”
Shimrra’s mqaaq’it eyes flared a brighter red. “What could you mean by that, Qelah Kwaad? Do you imply something?”
“Nothing, Lord,” she said. “I spoke out of turn.”
“I hear something in your words, Qelah Kwaad,” Shimrra said, dangerously. “Shall I rip open your mind and see what I find there?”
“It is only that things have been strange,” she said, in a rush. “Master Yim stayed apart from us, working alone. She was totally absorbed in some new project none of the rest of us knew about. And then the Jeedai came, and took her away, and whatever it was, I know not what, but Ahsi Yim—” She broke off.
“Go on,” Shimrra breathed.
“Ahsi Yim—did not seem surprised. And I heard her tell someone, They took the ship.”
In fact, Ahsi Yim had seemed as surprised as anyone, and she had said no such thing. It was actually a warrior who had told her he’d seen a strange ship fly out from the damutek. By now, everyone knew it.
“You think Ahsi Yim had some part in Nen Yim’s kidnapping.”
She lifted her head and spoke more boldly. “If it was a kidnapping, Lord Shimrra. The damutek’s defenses failed. I do not see how infidels could accomplish this.”
“The Shamed heretics were also involved,” the Supreme Overlord pointed out.
“With respect, Lord—would they know how to disable a damutek’s defenses and leave no trace of how it was done? I could not do so. Was some shaper greater than Nen Yim Shamed, that this knowledge would reside with the rabble?”
Shimrra somehow seemed to tower even higher, filling the room, the world, the universe.
“What do you know?” he thundered, and she suddenly realized she had somehow misstepped. “What do you know of the ship?”
A great invisible claw seemed to clamp about her head, its grip growing swiftly tighter. She felt the joints of her body twitching strangely. Her nerves turned to fire, and she sought something, anything to say, and anything that would turn his gaze away from her. If he had asked her at that moment if she was lying, she would have admitted it, admitted that her words were nothing more than thud bugs cast toward Ahsi Yim, so that Qelah Kwaad might be master shaper.
But he hadn’t asked that. He’d asked about the ship.
“Nothing more than that it exists!” she moaned.
“Nen Yim told you nothing of its origins or nature?”
“Nothing, Dread Lord,” she gasped, swaying. “She stayed to herself! She did not speak of it!”
The pressure suddenly dropped away. The pain recoiled itself back into her brain.
“Your ambition is clear,” Shimrra murmured. “But you raise interesting points. They bear investigation.” He glanced at Onimi. Then he looked off at some unseen thing above her.
“Go,” he commanded. “Return tomorrow and learn your fate.”
She left. When she returned the next day, she was again directed to take up her master’s hand, and she never saw Ahsi Yim again.
FIFTEEN
The ship’s scream was a distant thing somewhere in the back of Corran’s mind. The thudding jolt of sudden hyperdrive decantation was more immediately tactile.
“What the—” He leapt up and stumbled toward the helm.
“Are we under attack?” Harrar asked.
By that time, Corran could see stars through the transparent canopy. “I don’t know,” he said. “But given my luck so far on this trip, I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“This region isn’t charted,” Tahiri said. “Maybe we hit a gravitic anomaly.”
Corran bit back a reprimand for telling that much, but decided to take his own advice and not dress the young woman down in front of the Yuuzhan Vong. “We’re in charted space,” he said, instead. Which was true, barely.
“Then what could it be?”
“Dovin basal interdictor mine, maybe. The Yuuzhan Vong have them set up all along the major routes to pull ships out of hyperspace.”
“Right. Millennium Falcon got pulled out by one on the Corellian Trade Spine.”
“Yep. Let’s hope we have an easier time of—oh, Sith spawn.” He’d been rolling the ship to try to discover the cause of their sudden reversion. Now he saw it.
It wasn’t what he was expecting.
He was staring down the pointy end of a white wedge larger than many planetbound cities, and he suddenly felt much younger, not in a good way.
“That’s an interdictor, all right,” he said. “An Imperial interdictor.”
“I suppose there’s something to be said for not jumping to hasty conclusions,” Harrar put in, a bit sarcastically.
“No apologies,” Corran said. “It was still a good bet. This, on the other hand …”
“But aren’t they our friends now?” Tahiri asked.
Corran snorted. “Friends? No. Allies, yes.” He pushed the engines and went into a series of extemporaneous maneuvers as salvos of coherent green light flashed around them.
“Either way, should they be firing at us?”
“No, and maybe they wouldn’t be if we weren’t in something much more like a Yuuzhan Vong ship than anything else they’ve seen. Or if we could hail them and tell them who we are, but I don’t see a comm in this thing, unless our shaper friend has hidden it like she did the rest of the controls. As it is, we’d better put a little distance between us and that thing.”
“What’s it doing way out here?”
“I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is,” Corran grumbled, “but I’ve got a good idea why they’re here.”
“Why?”
“Can’t say. Top secret.”
Kenth might have told me a bit more about the war plans. I should have figured the push would be in this sector. Bilbringi, maybe? That Interdictor must be part of the Imperial force. But why is it alone? Watching the back door?
Didn’t matter. They couldn’t talk to it and they sure couldn’t fight it, so their only choice was to run like crazy.
“What is wrong?” Nen Yim appeared from aft.
“We’ve just been yanked out of hyperspace by the Imperials.” Such a familiar thing to say, he reflected. Almost comfortable.
What a ridiculous thought. Was he actually nostalgic for the war against the Empire?
“The Imperials?” Nen Yim said. “I’m no tactician, but aren’t they—ah. They think this is a Yuuzhan Vong ship.”
“The lady takes the hand,” Corran said. A laser seared along the vessel’s side, and he fought for control.
“Jump to hyperspace,” Nen Yim said. “I see no nearby planets.”
“I can’t. It’s an interdictor—it’ll pull us right out again and probably fry the engines as well.”
“Not necessarily,” Nen Yim said.
“No, interdictors work just fine on Yuuzhan Vong hyperdrives. It’s simple physics.”
“Yes, but—” She suddenly stopped.
“What?” Corran shouted back over his shoulder. “I seem to remember you were going to jump from the bottom of a gravity well. But if you’ve got something, let me know.”
“You must give me your promise of secrecy,” the shaper said, her spooky hair doing particularly spooky things.
“I can’t do that.” Corran sighed. “Not if you’ve got something that can be used against us.”
“I certainly cannot divulge war secrets to you without your vow of secrecy,” Nen Yim said.
“Why not? Aren’t we trying to end this war? Isn’t that what this mission is about?”
The ship shuddered and bucked as laser fire hammered its hull.
“The war isn’t ov
er yet,” the shaper reminded him.
“Master Yim,” Harrar interjected. “If we die, and our mission fails—”
“What mission?” Nen Yim snapped. “He won’t take us to Zonama Sekot. He’s taking us to Mon Calamari, probably to be imprisoned. I would rather die here, especially if it prevents placing yet another weapon against us in their hands.”
“We are going to Zonama Sekot,” Corran shouted. “We’re on our way there right now. But it’s going to be a mighty short trip if something doesn’t change soon.”
Nen Yim’s brows lowered dangerously. “Is this true?”
Harrar gripped the shaper’s arm. “I do not fear death any more than you do, Nen Yim. But if you would see this planet—”
“It is untested,” she said. “A variant of a shaping one of my apprentices developed. I created it to use against any Yuuzhan Vong ships that might follow us, but now I see it might be used against one of your interdictors.”
“Well, let’s find out!” Corran said. “Because in about ten seconds …”
Nen Yim nodded and slipped on her cognition hood.
A moment later Corran felt something pass through the ship and then—release.
“What did we just do?”
Nen Yim actually smiled. “If this works, the artificial gravitic anomaly should vanish in a moment. I suggest when the moment arrives, you take us into hyperspace.”
“Tahiri, lay in a microjump,” Corran said.
The young woman nodded and bent to the task.
A laser tore through the cabin behind them, a direct hit that pierced both hulls. Air screamed away into vacuum, and Corran felt as if he had a hot wire through his gut. He could only imagine what a pilot truly attuned to the ship would feel.
Then the wound healed, and the air stopped getting thinner. Neat trick, that. But he wondered what the ship’s healing limits were.
