by Greg Keyes
Harrar pursed his lips. “You’re saying that this planet has something like a dhuryam, some intelligence that links all these organisms together and prompts them to perform harmoniously.”
“I can think of no other explanation.”
Yu’shaa, who had remained absolutely silent, suddenly spoke up. “As I prophesied,” he said, “and as the Jeedai said. This is a living planet, one large organism, more than the sum of its parts. Like a worldship that made itself. Don’t you see what this planet can teach us? Harrar, you were just decrying the competition that destroys us. It is that blind fight to ascend that leads us to treat so many of our people as Shamed.”
“Can this be?” Harrar asked Nen Yim. He seemed to be ignoring the Prophet.
“We are seeing it,” Nen Yim replied. “However, I can find no clues as to the mechanism that binds the individual life-forms to one another. There are no chemical exchanges that might explain it. The flora and fauna here are not equipped with communications organs like our villip, or anything even remotely similar.”
“It’s the Force,” Tahiri interrupted. “I can feel the ties, feel a sort of constant chatter among—well, everything.”
Nen Yim focused on the young Jedi. “I have heard that you Jeedai possess telepathy like our villips,” she said. “But the ones I’ve taken ap—examined showed no signs of specialized organs, either.”
“No, of course not,” Tahiri said, her voice suddenly dark. “The Force binds everything together. Some creatures communicate through it. I can feel what Corran is thinking, sometimes. With Anakin it was even stronger, like …” She trailed off. “Never mind. You’ll have to take my word for it.”
“And—using this Force—you can impress your will upon others, yes?” Yu’shaa said.
“Yes, on the weak-minded,” Tahiri replied. “But I get no sense that anything here on Zonama Sekot is being coerced into anything. It’s like every living thing just agrees to do things this way.”
“I cannot see this Force, measure it, or test it,” Nen Yim said. “I cannot credit it with the effect you assert.”
A stone suddenly rose from the ground, floated toward Nen Yim, and fell near her feet.
“You may not know what it is,” Tahiri said, “you might not be able to see it or feel it, but you can see the results.”
Nen Yim conceded that with a small nod. Then a thought struck her with the force of a baton. “Assuming you are correct,” she said, “you are connected to this Force—as no Yuuzhan Vong is. And yet, in part, you are Yuuzhan Vong. What does your Force tell you this place is? To us?”
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot,” the young woman replied. “I’ve never been able to quite put it into words until just now.”
“And?” Harrar asked.
Tahiri took a deep breath. “This is where we are from,” she replied.
That got even Nom Anor’s attention. While the three were absorbed in the conversation, he’d been exploring Nen Yim’s qahsa, and had run across some very interesting things. He’d made his little speech so as not to break character, not because he was interested. But now he stared at the young Jedi just as Harrar and Nen Yim did.
“That’s not possible,” Nen Yim said.
“You asked me what I felt,” the girl said. “That’s it. But didn’t you say that only a few thousand years at most separate the life of this planet from Yuuzhan Vong life?”
“In the case of one plant only,” Nen Yim replied. “And several thousand years ago we were very far from here. Moreover, the Qang qahsa contains abundant data regarding the homeworld, and this is not it.”
“Was the homeworld like this one? Living, like an organism?”
“There are some legends—” Harrar began.
“Whatever the legends may say,” Nen Yim pronounced, “the facts are that the homeworld was an ecosystem of unchecked competition and predation. Would a creature like the vua’sa have evolved on a world were all of nature was in cooperation? No. The vua’sa was a vicious predator that at times multiplied so quickly, it left deserts behind it. This competition among ourselves you speak of is the legacy of the homeworld.”
“But perhaps that was after we lost the grace of the gods,” Harrar said.
Nen Yim blinked at him, and Nom Anor saw what he was certain was barely concealed disgust in the shaper’s expression.
“In any event,” the shaper said, apparently dismissing Harrar’s suggestion, “this conversation will not bear the fruit that further work will. We speak of things we do not have the data to support.”
“You asked the question,” Tahiri said.
“Yes, and now I’m sorry that I did. If you will all please allow me to go back to my work …”
Nom Anor expected Harrar to snap back, but instead the priest nodded and looked thoughtful.
What in the world was going on here? Were they actually starting to believe his prophecy? Was he?
No, because he knew the source, and the source was a lie. Yes, the planet was a curiosity, but many planets in this galaxy were curiosities. And everything the others saw here was informed by his crèche-tale of a planet of redemption. That filter was causing them to see things in a very strange light.
Would they turn against Shimrra? They might. If Harrar did, he might be able to muster a great deal of support from the priesthood, and with this shaper …
But no. If Harrar turned against Shimrra, it would be to put not the Prophet of the Shamed Ones on the polyp throne, but himself. And he was in a better position to do it than Yu’shaa.
Especially if Yu’shaa never left Zonama Sekot.
And there was also the chance that Harrar already knew Nom Anor’s true identity. He had caught more than one suspicious look from the priest.
“Yu’shaa?” Nen Yim said. “What are you doing?”
“I am sorry, Master,” he said. “It is just that today’s revelations—I must ponder them.”
“You’ve been of enough help today,” Nen Yim told him. “In fact, I would rather be alone for a time.”
“In that case, I will meditate in the splendor of this world.”
He left the clearing and began wandering vaguely uphill.
There were other things to consider. From what he had seen in her qahsa, Nen Yim had come here in fear of Zonama Sekot, prepared to destroy it if necessary. She had protocols that might be useful in that, though they were obviously untried. They were in the shorthand and symbolism of the shapers, so she probably thought he couldn’t understand them.
What she didn’t know was that he had done quite a bit of shaping himself. As she was no ordinary shaper, he was no ordinary executor. He was certain he could understand and use the information if he had to. Though why he would want to destroy the planet, he couldn’t say, except that it would please Shimrra.
That stopped him in his tracks.
It would please Shimrra a lot.
If into that bargain was included the deaths of Corran Horn, who had so embarrassed the Yuuzhan Vong at Ithor, and Tahiri Veila, who had used her dual nature to betray them more than once, and a rogue priest and master shaper even now plotting against not only Shimrra but the very nature of everything Yuuzhan Vong …
Shimrra might be so pleased he wouldn’t have the one who delivered him these things executed, no matter what he was wanted for. So pleased that such a one might actually be elevated to a higher station than he had held before his disgrace.
Musing on that, he continued up the hill. Harrar had mentioned something strange on the horizon.
He stopped when he reached the summit, staring at the enormous made-objects climbing into the sky, and was suddenly shaken to his very core.
Harrar had not spent enough time with the infidels, unlike Nom Anor, who had flown on their lifeless ships and lived in their lifeless stations. Harrar would naturally not understand what he was seeing.
But Nom Anor knew hyperdrive field guides when he saw them, even if they were a thousand times larger than they shou
ld be.
But then, they would have to be, to move a planet.
Something clicked into place for Nom Anor. He sat on a stone, listening to the sounds of the strange world for a moment. He was alone, for the first time since they had crashed. With a sigh, he released his face from the grotesque masquer that hid it. His contention that it was difficult to remove had been, of course, a lie.
He reached into the living pouch beneath his arm and removed the thing he had brought with him. He must have known, somehow, in the back of his mind, that it must always come to this.
He stared at it, turning it over in his hands. It was a dedicated villip, linked to one other, far away. He had not used it in a very long time, since before the disaster that had led to his exile.
He stroked it to life.
After a moment, the face of an intendant appeared on its surface, one of his former subordinates.
Even through the medium of the villip, Nom Anor could see the surprise.
“You were assumed dead,” the man said.
“I greet you as well, Phaa Anor,” he told his crèche cousin.
“You might as well be dead,” Phaa Anor told him. “Shimrra has called for your skin. I will have to report this conversation, of course.”
“Of course. I want you to. In fact, I want you to see that your villip comes before Shimrra himself.”
“Before Shimrra?” Phaa sounded incredulous.
“Yes. Send him the message that you have heard from me. Tell him I am on Zonama Sekot, and that I have found his missing shaper. He will listen to you then. When you gain an audience, present him with your villip.”
“Why should I do this for you?” Phaa asked.
“Consider. I have information so important that I believe I can redeem myself in the Supreme Overlord’s eyes. Not only that, I believe I will be elevated for my efforts. Do you not think you will benefit as well, he who brings these tidings?”
Phaa Anor seemed to consider that for a moment.
“I will do it,” he said at last.
“Do it quickly, and tell no one anything I have said save those whom you must convince to grant you an audience with Shimrra.”
“Yes, yes,” Phaa replied. Then the villip returned to its natural state.
He had probably just doomed Phaa Anor, he knew. Shimrra would have him killed simply for knowing the planet existed and was in this galaxy.
Sacrifices had to be made, however, for the good of all. And for the good of Nom Anor.
He sealed the villip back into dormancy and its airtight container, returned it to its resting place beneath his arm, and went back down the hill.
TWENTY-FOUR
Jaina throttled down and made another run on Mon Mothma, dropping to within a meter of the Star Destroyer’s skin. Suddenly she seemed to be skimming above a vast, white, slightly curving plane. An irregular dark lump appeared ahead, and she angled toward it. At the last instant she hit her repulsors and nosed up, washing her exhaust over the grutchin, which released its hold. Its charred body drifted off to join the other twenty or so she had flashed.
“This is actually kind of fun,” she said. She would have to ask Uncle Luke if going after womp rats was anything like this.
“Speak for yourself,” Twin Two said. “I just banged a stabilizer.”
“Just watch yourself. If you plow into the hull, you’ll do more damage than any grutchin.”
“Don’t make me weepy with your concern for my welfare,” Two replied.
“Hey, I’ve got a big heart … Okay, I think we’re almost through here.”
“Just in time for the real fun,” Rar said.
“I see that.”
The big ships were closing again, and space was alive with light as they pummeled each other. And now the rest of the skips were arriving, not coming in as fast as the advance guard, but twice as hot. Jaina checked the new orders.
“All right,” she said. “Let’s vape some skips.”
* * *
“They really don’t want us to get away,” Wedge muttered. He’d thought about making a hard push for one of the interdictors so they could clear out, but the Yuuzhan Vong were keeping them far away and under heavy watch. That was good, in a way—it gave him near parity in the actual combat. Even though they had ships behind him, they weren’t using them for anything but to prevent him running that way. Nor did they have enough ships to try an encirclement.
Still, slugging things out nose to nose was an iffy proposition when numbers were this even. He hadn’t come here for a fair fight—the Alliance couldn’t grow new ships like the Yuuzhan Vong could.
But a run for one of the interdictors would be suicide at this point.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Cel said. “I think I’ve found one of the Golans.”
Wedge raised his eyebrows in surprise. He’d asked her to hunt for any of the battle stations the Empire had once stationed here—or anything else that was operational—but he hadn’t really expected her to find anything. The shipyards were virtually gone, food for a growing Yuuzhan Vong fleet, and the stations had all been around the shipyards.
“Where is it?”
“Way off its orbit, if it’s one of the ones we had on the charts. And its present orbit is eccentric.”
Wedge glanced at the display. “That is out there,” he said. “It may have been drifting all this time, or maybe the shipyards put it there for some reason. Still, it’s odd the Vong missed something that size.”
“I don’t know, but we missed it on the first pass, too. As you said, sir, it’s way out there.”
“Is the power core still active?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then it might still have guns. We’d better check it out—we might need it.”
“Are we taking the fight out there, sir?”
“Not unless I know it’s working. Are the Twin Suns done with their clean-up duty?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. They’re on their way to cruiser-designate Olemp.”
“Get me Colonel Solo.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jaina’s comm chirped. Much to her surprise, it was General Antilles, on a closed and heavily coded channel.
“Sir?”
“I’ve got a task you might find a little more exciting than bug burning,” Wedge said.
“I’m about to have my hands full, General. What do you need?”
“I need you to find Admiral Kre’fey for me.”
“Admiral Kre’fey, General?” What was Wedge talking about?
“Something’s wrong with the HoloNet,” he explained. “We were the advance for two more fleets. We can’t contact them, so they haven’t shown. I need you to find him, fast, and bring him here. Have him send someone to find Pellaeon.”
“Sir, won’t they come when they realize it’s the HoloNet and not something gone wrong here?” Jaina asked.
“They’re not supposed to. For all they know—for all i know—the downing of the HoloNet is cover for an attack on Mon Cal or the Imps, and this battle group is already starfood. I need you to let him know we’re still kicking.”
“General, you want me to leave the battle?” What was her squadron turning into, an odd-job unit? There was real fighting to do.
“A few starfighters can get out of the interdiction cones. Our capital ships can’t. Still, I doubt they’re going to make it easy for you, so I wouldn’t worry about lack of action. Anyway, there’s another part to this deal, if you really don’t fancy leaving the Bilbringi system. Our long-range sensors indicate that one of the Golan Two Battle Stations may still be operational. If things go badly here, we might be able to use it as a rally point, but I need it working. If it’s not, and can’t be made to, I need to know that as well. Send one of your flights to find Kre’fey and secure the station with the other two.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re all counting on you, Colonel.”
Are you sure you aren’t just trying to get me out of the action? she wondered. The numb
ers looked pretty even to her, since the mass jump a few minutes before. What was Wedge so worried about?
That wasn’t her concern, she decided. She had her orders. It wasn’t the first time she hadn’t liked them; it wouldn’t be the last.
She changed frequencies. “Twins, we just got new orders. Scimitars, you’re on your own. Good luck.”
“Copy, Twin One.”
“Twins, follow my lead.” She led the squadron straight up from the plane of the ecliptic and then made a hard break for open space.
“We’re running, Colonel?” Jag asked, the surprise more than evident in his usually reserved voice.
“Not exactly,” she said, though it felt that way.
“We’ve got a head start,” Eight reported. “We’ve got pursuers, but they’re pretty far behind.”
He should have sent Scimitar, she thought. A-wings are faster.
“They’ll catch up, Eight,” she said. “Before they do, I want some distance from the fleets. We’re splitting up. Jag, as soon as we’re out of range of that interdictor, you’re taking Five and Six to the coordinates I’m sending you. We’ll cover you until you’ve made the jump.”
“Jump, Colonel?”
“Yes. I don’t know how secure this channel is, and I’m sure somebody’s paying a lot of attention to us just now. Make the jump and contact your superior there. Tell him it’s all go. Do you understand?”
“Copy. What about you?”
“We’ve got another job to do.”
“Understood,” Jag said.
They were nearly clear to jump when the first of the skips closed to firing distance.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s give them the distance to jump. Good luck, Four.”
“Copy.” Jag didn’t sound happy. She sighed and switched to a private channel.
“Jag, I need someone I can rely on, someone with command experience. Can you do this, or not?”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like leaving you behind.”
“Then go do your job and hurry back, okay?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Plasma bursts started whipping past her. “No more time to talk,” she said. “Go.”
