It didn’t work.
“Have the dovin basals tighten their lock on the planet,” the huge and powerful Prefect Da’Gara told his crew—his crew on the asteroid, which wasn’t an asteroid at all, but rather a huge, ten-kilometer chunk of yorik coral, a living worldship.
“You wish more speed, Prefect?” another of the tattooed warriors asked.
Da’Gara, not used to being questioned, looked at him curiously.
“Belek tiu,” the other said, snapping his fists against opposite shoulders, the reply and signal for both apology and permission to continue.
Da’Gara nodded. This one, Tu Shoolb, had proven resourceful and cunning in their trip across the galaxies.
“A change in speed might alert all those watching,” Tu Shoolb explained. “For natural bodies would not so obviously accelerate.”
“Those watching?” Da’Gara questioned. “Do you doubt that Yomin Carr has performed?”
“No, Prefect,” Tu Shoolb said, and he signaled his respect again and reiterated, “Belek tiu.”
Da’Gara motioned him off on his task to the dovin basals, the organisms that propelled the worldship. Possessed of the ability to lock on to specific gravity fields, to the exclusion of all others, even to gravity fields millions of kilometers away, the adult, three-meter spherical dovin basals worked like perpetual thrusters. And the more they focused their line, the greater the pull. Now they were locked on a planet, the one the inhabitants of this galaxy called Helska 4, as per the instructions of Yomin Carr’s villip beacon, which had been left out at Vector Prime, the breach point of the galactic rim, with specific directions.
Da’Gara almost reconsidered his order to Tu Shoolb then, for the instructions of Yomin Carr had called for a steady run to the fourth planet, but the prefect was anxious, and if Carr had done his job correctly, no one would be the wiser. Of course, the acceleration might force some last-minute course corrections to properly intercept the planet, but so be it. For the prefect wanted to be on with it. He had been back to the main holding compartment to communicate with the great yammosk, the war coordinator; and the gigantic creature, its bulbous head glowing red with eagerness, its many tentacles—some thick and others filament-thin but a hundred kilometers long—coiled and twitching, had clearly revealed to him its desire to begin.
Da’Gara was a prefect, no minor title, and this was his ship to command, but the greater mission was the province of the war coordinator, a creature, a tool, genetically engineered over centuries to serve his people in just this conquering capacity.
The yammosk was eager.
So was Da’Gara.
“A tail,” one of the scientists at ExGal-4 announced, and he stood up and slapped the edge of the console. “I knew it!”
Danni, Bensin, and several others rushed over to the Pod 7 viewer, nodding as they acknowledged the visible tail of the asteroid. “Not much of one,” another remarked, but a trailing line of something was indeed visible.
“A comet, then,” Bensin Tomri mused, and several conversations erupted all at once, mostly concerning the apparent lack of heat beyond the galactic rim, for if there was indeed sunlike heat and energy out there, as many scientists had theorized, then no comet could have come through with any ice intact.
Danni and Bensin exchanged sincere smiles. This had been a day of unexpected discoveries, always a delight to the scientific mind. First, they had noted that the streaking asteroid was significantly accelerating, though they hadn’t yet determined whether that was due to some galactic rim rebound, or some gravitational force they had not yet discerned, and now they learned that it wasn’t an asteroid at all, but a comet, trailing a small, but undeniable, tail.
“Has Garth got that comm system fixed yet?” Danni asked.
“He’s working on it,” Bensin Tomri replied. “Something chewed right through the cables, and he’s got to build a connector big enough to sort them all.”
Across the room, Yomin Carr watched it all with amusement. That was no comet coming in, and no tail behind it. The trailing tendrils of the worldship were huge membranous creatures anchored at the end by piloted coralskippers, smaller, starfighter versions of yorik coral. At times of weak gravitational-pull fields, those membranes would be extended wide as cosmic sails, riding interstellar winds.
Garth Breise entered the room then, lugging a large metal box. “Two days,” he said to Danni.
“Make it tomorrow,” she answered. “We want to give them time to get on the spot.”
Garth sighed, but nodded and hustled away.
Yomin Carr only smiled, knowing the futility of it all. Garth Breise would fix the cables, only to find that the system wouldn’t work anyway. How long would it take them, the Yuuzhan Vong warrior wondered, to find out the next problem: the subtly disconnected cables at the top of the tower?
Yes, these foolish beings were in for many surprises over the next few days, and they’d never get the word out to their fellows, and then their planet would burn down around them.
The sunset that night was thick with green and orange, a clear sign that Yomin Carr’s little dweebits were working their deadly magic.
Da’Gara sat in his multicolored compartment and felt the vibrations and the less-subtle movements about him. It was all in place now, for he had ordered the slowdown to intercept the fourth planet, the place he and the yammosk would make their base of operations.
Out behind the worldship, dozens of single-piloted coralskippers fanned out, carrying with them the huge membranous sail. They inverted that sail into a semicircle, with the worldship at its apex; the dovin basals, at the commands of the helmsmen, released their grip on the planet’s gravity and focused instead on opposing fields, slowing the huge, living vessel.
The coralskippers brought it in, and it contacted with the planet, not with the great explosion those watching from afar had expected, but with a dull splat, the membranes shielding and buffeting the impact like a gigantic mattress.
Da’Gara, like the other five thousand Yuuzhan Vong aboard, moved to his locker and coaxed out a fleshy, membranous creature, a variation of the ooglith masquer called an ooglith cloaker. With help from the prefect, the creature rolled up over his legs and enveloped him, and then began the stinging ecstasy of the joining, its millions of connecting tendrils slipping into Da’Gara’s pores. Unlike the masquer, the cloaker’s facial mask was transparent, showing the glory of its host’s disfigurements. After a short pause to fully experience the connection, Da’Gara scooped a soft star-shaped creature from the water tank beside him and held it up to his face, where it latched on. The prefect gagged a bit as the central tendril of the gnullith snaked down his throat, and he had to put a finger to either side of his nose to keep the pincers there from closing off his air supply.
But then the connection was complete and the creature understood. Now it breathed from the water within Da’Gara’s body, while he pulled in needed oxygen through his nose.
The prefect made his way along the rough-walled corridors to the lowest level, where his many soldiers, and the great yammosk, waited.
The yammosk led the way out of the worldship, its thicker tentacles spreading wide to get a solid grip on the icy surface. Then the creature exposed its huge central tooth and, with the force of an ion cannon, drove it down into the ice, battering repeatedly, digging down, down, and secreting a liquid from that single fang to further erode the crust.
After nearly an hour, the tooth broke through, and the yammosk wasted no time in contorting its huge and boneless body, sliding down, down, into the watery world below.
Da’Gara and his crew went next, fast down the long slide to slip under the water, where the gnullith they had latched upon their faces would do the breathing for them and the ooglith cloakers would protect them from the freezing temperatures.
Soon enough, the yammosk’s secretions wore away, and the ice fast covered the hole. But not before another gigantic creature, a brownish tubular worm, had slipped one end out fr
om the worldship, down the hollowed chute, and into the water. The air inside this tubular creature was too warm for the ice to re-form, making it the lifeline and communications line for Da’Gara and the others back to their vessel.
The pilots of the coralskippers went to work next, carefully overlapping the membrane and then releasing it. They flew to the higher docking bay on the ship, and there they awaited the orders of the war coordinator.
“The gravity of the planet got it anyway!” Bensin Tomri announced excitedly. All fifteen were in the control room then, hoping for just such an event, hoping that the acceleration of the comet would not allow it to get past the fourth planet.
They all watched intently as the small blip approached the planet, and then …
Nothing. Not an explosion, not the vaporization of the ice planet.
Nothing.
“What the heck?” more than one confused scientist asked, and every one of them was scratching his or her head. All the data coming back from this comet had been inconclusive, showing them no signs of anything familiar in its composition, and now this.
“Did you get that communications tower fixed?” Danni asked Garth rather sharply.
“The only thing I haven’t tried yet is climbing up the thing to check the connections on that end,” the man replied in the same frustrated tone.
Danni’s look showed no compromise.
“I’ll do it. I’ll do it,” he said, throwing his hands up in defeat, and he stormed out of the room.
“Does anyone have any idea of what we just saw?” the frustrated Danni asked, turning her attention back to the viewscreen.
No answers came back at her.
“We’ve got to contact ExGal,” Bensin remarked. “Either with the tower, or from space.”
“You want to take the Spacecaster up?” another asked doubtfully.
“That’s just what we’ll do,” Danni interjected. “We’ll take it up and all the way to the planet, and we’ll give a call out to the galactic net on the way.”
There came no arguments, but neither did anyone in the room seem overly thrilled with that prospect. The last time the aging Spacecaster had been used, it had barely made orbit, and the prospect of flying it all the way to the Helska system was more than a bit intimidating.
Except to Yomin Carr, who thought the whole scene of bumbling, undisciplined scientists rather enlightening.
SIX
Take Me Far, Far Away
The Jade Sabre came out of hyperspace for the last leg of its journey to Coruscant. Jaina handled all the plotting, engaging and disengaging the hyperdrive, with Mara watching over her, and now, back at sublight, Mara was so confident in the girl that she gave her the bridge alone.
Leia was surprised when she entered to see her daughter sitting comfortably at the controls, with Mara nowhere in sight. “Where’s your aunt?” she asked.
Jaina turned, her smile wide. “She said she was tired.”
Leia moved to take the seat beside Jaina. “How long to Coruscant?” she asked.
“Two hours,” Jaina replied. “Mara told me to come out of lightspeed early because of the heavy traffic in the region. She wants me to wake her up before the final approach.”
Leia nodded and sat back. She, too, was tired—tired of it all. Over the last years, she kept resigning her posts, and then allowing herself to be dragged back in, often poignantly reminded, or reminding herself, that a million lives could hang in the balance. Leia was considered among the finest diplomats in the New Republic hierarchy, the one person whose heroic reputation, negotiating skills, and true empathy would allow her to intervene in pending crises.
She closed her eyes and gave a self-deprecating chuckle, reminding herself that all those skills and reputation had done absolutely nothing to help the Osarian-Rhommamool situation. The Rhommamoolians had many legitimate complaints against Osarian. The Osarians lived much better than their Rhommamoolian counterparts, relaxing in luxury off the labors of the miners, and it was no secret that the Rhommamoolians were greatly underrepresented in the Osarian government. Now, though, those complaints had been compounded and exploited, turned into something zealous and religious in nature, and what should have been a workers’ arbitration was in danger of becoming a holy war.
In great danger, Leia now understood, for in all her years, she had rarely dealt with anyone as intractable as Nom Anor, or at least, as intractable as Nom Anor given the fact that the man and the people he was supposedly representing were likely going to get annihilated in a war they could not win. After the disastrous meeting, Leia had made many calls to him from her post on the Mediator, and he had answered every one.
Usually just to tell her that he had no time to speak with her.
With those annoying thoughts in mind, Leia drifted off to sleep.
“Wow,” Jaina breathed, and Leia popped open her eyes, thinking there might be trouble.
“What is it?” she asked with obvious alarm.
“Mon Calamari Star Defender,” Jaina answered, pointing toward the upper left quadrant of the screen. With a flick of her other hand, she angled the viewer to bring the beautiful ship into complete view.
And it was spectacular. Like all the Mon Calamari ships, this one was unique, an artwork, sleek and flowing, and ultimately deadly. It was the largest ship ever produced on that watery world, nearly twice the size of the battle cruiser they had left behind between Osarian and Rhommamool, and the first Mon Calamari Star Defender produced for the New Republic fleet.
“The Viscount,” Leia remarked. “Just commissioned two weeks ago. It must be making a flyby for the approval of the council.”
“Wow,” Jaina breathed again, those brown eyes sparkling.
Leia silently laughed at herself. When she had heard Jaina’s gasp, she had immediately assumed there was trouble, and she had worried that Jaina couldn’t handle it. She examined her apparent lack of confidence in her daughter then, and for a moment believed she must be a terrible mother to think so little of the proven girl.
No, not girl, Leia reminded herself. Young woman.
When she had first come in, after finishing the report of the brewing disaster on Rhommamool, and seen Jaina alone, her heart had skipped a beat. Yet Mara, as competent a pilot and responsible an adult as Leia had ever known, had seen fit to leave Jaina on her own.
Why couldn’t Leia hold that same confidence in her own child?
She studied Jaina carefully, the sureness of her movements, the calm expression on her face.
“How close now?” she asked.
Jaina shrugged. “You were asleep for over an hour,” she explained. “We’ve got another half hour, maybe, depending on the course they tell us to follow.”
“I’ll go get Mara,” Leia offered, climbing out of her chair and stretching away the last remnants of sleep.
“You could let her rest,” Jaina suggested. “I can bring the Jade Sabre down.”
Leia thought it over for a moment. Yes, Jaina could land the shuttle with no problems, and Leia was an experienced pilot and could watch over her all the way, and Mara could certainly use all the rest she could find. She almost agreed.
Almost—and again came those nagging doubts about the way she mothered Jaina.
“It’s Mara’s ship,” she said. “To land it without her explicit permission would be a slight against her.”
Glad for the etiquette dodge, Leia smiled and patted Jaina’s shoulder. “I know you’d put it down so softly that Mara wouldn’t even shift in her bed,” she said, and she winked at Jaina when the young woman looked up at her.
That brought a smile to Jaina’s face, and Leia patted her shoulder again and left the bridge, heading for Mara’s room.
She paused outside the door and lifted her hand to knock, but then hesitated, hearing quiet sounds coming from within. Leia put her ear to the door and listened carefully.
She heard only an occasional sniffle, and Leia understood that Mara was crying.
“Mar
a?” she called softly, and knocked on the door.
No reply, and Leia pushed the button and let the door slide away. Mara sat on her bed, her back to Leia, her shoulders hunched slightly, as if she had just gotten control of her emotions.
“Are you all right?” Leia asked. Mara nodded.
Leia moved over and sat on the bed beside her, draping her arm across Mara’s shoulders as soon as she recognized the moistness rimming the woman’s eyes.
“What is it?” she asked softly.
Mara sat up straighter and took a deep breath, ending in a forced smile. “Nothing at all,” she answered.
Leia stared at her skeptically.
“A dream,” Mara clarified. “And when I woke up, I was just being foolish.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Mara shrugged.
Leia waited a moment longer, but the other woman apparently would not offer anything more. “We’re nearing Coruscant,” Leia explained. “Would you like me to help Jaina bring her in?”
“I can do it,” Mara assured her. She rose and started for the door, a step full of stiffness that brought a wince to her face.
Leia was up in an instant, hooking Mara under the arm for support.
“I just slept in a twisted position,” Mara tried to explain, but Leia, not buying that for a moment, didn’t let go. She came around Mara’s side and gently forced her to sit back on the edge of the bed.
“It’s not the way you slept,” she said. “It’s the disease, isn’t it?”
Mara looked up at her, successfully fighting back any trace of tears. “It came on again a little while ago,” she admitted.
Leia sighed and shook her head, wishing there was something, anything, she could do to help her sister-in-law, her dear friend.
“That’s fairly common, you said,” she prompted. “Is there something different about the attack this time?”
Mara looked away.
“You have to tell me,” Leia said, more sternly than she had intended, and the look Mara returned to her, not of anger or violation, but more of incredulity, set Leia back. Why did Mara have to tell her, after all? It wasn’t as if she could do anything to help the woman. All of the others who had come down with this disease had told their doctors and had subsequently been referred to the best physicians in the New Republic. All of them had detailed every twinge, every ache, and had begged for any help at all. They were all dead, or soon would be.
Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Vector Prime Page 8