by James Luceno
Supreme Commander Choka, along with his commanders and foremost subalterns, moved on levitated dovin basal cushions in tiered heights abov e the deck. In advance of them floated four smaller cushions, their diminutive riders screened by flutters-living creatures that resembled squares of patterned cloth. Arrayed on either side of the arriving group stood five thousand warriors dressed in battle tunics and armed with amphistaffs and coufees.
Confined to a small space among the starboard-side group cowered two hundred prisoners taken from Gyn-dine and already purified for sacrifice. Bony growths affixed to voice boxes and jaws prevented them from giving voice to their fear.
Behind Choka marched troops of his own command, their precision footfalls crushing an ankle-deep carpet of maroon flowers, whose aroma-wafted about by the rhythmic beating of wings-had aroused the insects to song. Their stridulations intensifying and diminishing, the insects sustained notes lifted from an otherworldly scale. One moment the march was fiery and inspiring; the next it was a somber dirge.
Opposite the arrival bay, at the far end of the cloyingly perfumed parade corridor, waited Commander Malik Carr and his chief-subalterns, a coven of priests, and off to one side, Executor Nom Anor, all revealed in tattooed and modified splendor.
As the train of elite warriors neared the dais, the drumbeats and insect voices ceased and Malik Carr stepped to the lip of the raised platform.
"Welcome, Supreme Commander Choka," he crowed, his augmented voice resounding from the arching ceiling and tympanic bulkheads. "The Yamntka and all here gathered are yours to command."
A wrathful droning filled the hold. Simultaneously, ten thousand fists snapped crisply to their opposite shoulders in salute.
Supreme Commander Choka, military commander of the recently arrived spiral-arm worldship, transferred himself from the dovin basal cushion to an elevated seat at the center of the dais. While the four trailing hover
cushions lined up behind him, priests, shapers, and others arranged themselves on the floor to both sides. Only when they were seated did Malik Carr and his contingent follow suit. On the deck the warriors bade their amphistaffs to coil around their bare right arms and dropped ceremoniously to one knee, heads bowed in deference.
The drumming and stridulations resumed, playing to the body as well as the ear. With five loud fanfares, some of the insects rested; but heroic bursts were immediately loosed by other insects, as if in reply. The counterpoint continued for some moments. Then, as Choka raised an ophidiform baton of command, the hold fell preternatu-rally silent.
"I bring salutations from Warmaster Tsavong Lah," he intoned. "He commends you on the work you have done in preparing the way, and he looks forward to the time when he may join you in battle."
Choka's modest stature did not lessen his power. Narrow-hipped but braced by thick, muscular legs, he sat rigidly on the provided chair of carved and polished coral like a statue himself, while black-feathered avians cooled the air around him with their great wings. Facial tattoos, flattened nose, and decurved eyes-above large bluish sacs-afforded him a regal demeanor. His unadorned tunic was offset by a bloodred command cloak that fell from the tops of his shoulders, and rings of gaudy variety grew from his fingers and banded his wrists and upper arms. Black throughout, his long, fine hair was combed straight back from a sloping forehead and reached nearly to his waist.
"I, too, congratulate you on your successful harvest," he went on after a moment. "You have acquitted yourselves well. Your captives from Obroa-skai, Ord Man-tell, and Gyndine will bloody your nomination. But before we enact the sacrifice of the captives or learn from Commander Malik Carr the status of the invasion, we will use this moment to reward some of you for the measure of your commitment."
The high priest who accompanied Choka rose to his feet and spoke.
"We thank the gods for delivering us into this promised domain. May the blood you shed purify and cleanse it for the coming of Supreme Overlord Shimrra. We honor the gods with the nurturing sap that flows within us, so that they might thrive and grant that we might continue to caretake their creations. All we do, we do in emulation and in veneration of them."
The priest turned to the cushions that hovered behind Choka and motioned with his hand. The flutters lifted off, exposing four meter-high religious statues. The first represented Yun-Yuuzhan, the Cosmic Lord, absent those parts of himself he had sacrificed to create the lesser gods and the Yuuzhan Vong. The second and third statues represented Yun-Yammka, the Slayer, and Yun-Harla, the Cloaked Goddess. The fourth, and undeniably the most grotesque, was Yun-Shuno, the many-eyed patron deity of the "shamed ones"-those whose bodies had rejected the living implants, due either to a lack of preparation or to ambitious overreaching on the part of the candidate.
Choka's subordinate commander now rose.
"Subaltern Doshao," he began, "for his actions at the world called Dantooine. Subaltern Sata'ak, for his actions at the world called Ithor. Subaltern Harmae, for his actions at the world called Obroa-skai. And Subaltern Tugorn, both for his work in sowing the world called Belkadan and his actions at the world called Gyndine." He paused briefly, then added, "Step forward and be escalated."
As the four lesser-grade officers were ascending the dais, a quartet of implanters scuttled from recesses in the throne. When the candidates had arranged themselves in a line facing the supreme commander, the implanters took up positions behind each of them.
A variation on the creature responsible for outfitting captives with crippling growths, the implanters were small, gray, and six-legged. Like their cousins they were equipped with botryoidal optical organs and a quartet of appendages efficient for slicing through flesh and tucking surge-coral into open wounds. But where the calcificator made use of bits of itself, the implanter carried whatever enhancements were necessary for the ritual escalation. Each of the four that began slow climbs up the naked backs of the subalterns bore two finger-length horns of coral, whose pointed tips were slightly hooked.
The implanters didn't begin their work until they had secured themselves to the back of the subalterns' necks, from where they could reach to both shoulders. Employing the sharper of their appendages, they made deep cuts through the tops of the shoulder muscles, clear down to the bones that formed part of the ball-and-socket joints. When the incisions were complete and acolytes had collected the flowing blood in bowls, the implanters inserted the hooked horns into the cut, employing a resinous exudate they produced to weld the horns to the shoulder bones and to seal the wounds around them. At the same time, a sluglike ngdin wove a helix trail through the candidates' feet, sopping up whatever blood the acolytes failed to capture.
Though perspiration ran freely and legs trembled, not one of the junior officers cried out in pain or so much as grimaced. Pleased with their sangfroid, Choka gestured to four of his aides, who hurried forward with neatly folded and differently colored command cloaks.
By then the acolytes had conveyed the blood-filled bowls to the high priest, and while he dribbled the contents of the bowls over the idols, Choka's aides unfolded the cloaks and hung them from the newly implanted hooked protrusions.
The drummers beat out a short tattoo, then stopped.
"You are escalated and remade," Choka pronounced. "And now that you wear the cloak of command, you will be given your own ships, made sector chiefs, and tasked with overseeing and reeducating the populace of those worlds that constitute your domain."
"For the glory of the gods!" warriors and officers alike shouted.
Choka watched the promoted warriors step down from the dais, then turned slightly in the direction of Malik Carr. "One more matter before we proceed, Commander." He looked past Malik Carr to where Nom Anor was seated. "Come forward, Executor."
More flamboyantly attired than anyone in the hold, Nom Anor rose and walked slowly across the platform. Opposite Nas Choka he inclined his head in a nod. As a member of the intendant caste-though of the lowest rank-he was not obliged to offer salute.
"Since you and I do not hail from the same order, I am not entitled to escalate you. But know this, Executor Were I so entitled, I would be more inclined to demote than promote you."
Clearly surprised, Nom Anor did not respond, though his mouth twitched several times in rapid succession.
"Your actions, Executor, have been closely monitored and widely discussed, and it is the opinion of many in Shimrra's court that you have strayed from your assigned course. First you chose to ally yourself with the Praetorite Vong, who believed they could spearhead an invasion of this magnitude without suffering tragic consequences."
"I was not allied with them," Nom Anor said when he could. "My assignment was to destabilize the New Republic in ways I saw fit. That is what I did among the Imperial Moffs, as well as in the Osarian system, and have since done-under different guises-in a half-dozen other systems."
Choka shot him a gimlet stare. "Who helped the Praetorite Vong obtain a yammosk-and an imperfect one at that?"
Nom Anor swallowed hard. "I may have mentioned something-"
"You facilitated them."
"Only from a certain point of view."
"Don't try your doublespeak on me, Executor. You may have managed to distance yourself from Prefect Da'Gara and the rest by escaping the price they paid for their miscalculation, but you cannot deny engineering the plan that ended in the death of the priestess Elan, daughter of high priest Jakan-who, I might add, is most displeased with you."
"There is no proof that Elan or her mascot Vergere are dead. Even so, I can scarcely be held accountable for what happened to them."
"You tak e no blame for employing agents who act without orders from their handler?"
Nom Anor added force to his voice. "My agents were endeavoring to please me-us-by returning Elan. I had no knowledge of their designs until it was too late."
"Is it true that Elan was to have assassinated a number of Jeedai Knights?"
"It is."
Choka tempered his voice with curiosity. "Why this fascination with the jeedai, Executor? I, for one, am not convinced they pose a serious threat to our conquest."
"It is not the Jedi who pose a threat, so much as the Force-the mystical power they embody."
"The Force is nothing more than an idea," Choka said loudly, "and the best way to extinguish an idea is by replacing it with a better one, such as we bring."
Nom Anor risked a patronizing sniff. "As you say, Supreme Commander."
Choka glowered. "Now I learn from Commander Malik Carr that you were instrumental in gaining the allegiance of the creatures that occupy this space-these Hutts."
Nom Anor's genuine eye narrowed. "The Hutts are critical to a plan devised by Commander Malik Carr and myself to force a significant defeat on the New Republic. In fact"-he tilted his head to one side-"you arrive at an auspicious moment, because part of that plan is shortly to be put into effect. If you would care to accompany us into battle, you could observe firsthand our strategy for conquering the Core Worlds in advance of the arrival of Warmaster Tsavong Lah."
Choka took a moment to weigh the consequences of such an action, then grunted an affirmative. "I will go. But let me caution you, Executor, about the perils of ambition. It's obvious that you are hungry for escalation, but there are no shortcuts to the rank of consul, to say nothing of prefect." He gestured over his shoulder. "Look to Yun-Shuno for counsel, Executor. Escalation is awarded only to those who have discharged their obligations in service to the gods. You appear to act in your own behalf, as if possessed of a personal stake in the results." He leaned slightly forward. "Or is it this galaxy, Executor, and the heathen beliefs of those who populate it that have corrupted you?"
Nom Anor held his gaze, wishing he had filled his empty eye socket with a venom-spitting plaeryin bol. "I care only for what this galaxy is capable of providing the Yuuzhan Vong." He cast a glance at Malik Carr. "With all due respect, Commander, our target awaits." Malik Carr nodded to Choka. "He speaks the truth." The supreme commander folded his arms. "Let us enact the sacrifices and see what Commander Malik Carr and Executor Nom Anor have masterminded." He pointed to the knot of prisoners. "Bring the captives forward. In sacrificing them, perhaps we can help ensure Executor Nom Anor a much-needed victory."
SIXTEEN
On a purely objective level, battles in space had a savage beauty, an incendiary splendor. Any veteran warship commander or fighter jock ordered to speak the truth would have said so. The more candid among them might even have confessed to moments of exhilaration or, at the very least, moments of hypnotic fascination, when ranging laser bursts or the stroboscopic dazzle of short-lived explosions were enough to carry a pilot completely out of him- or herself. Add distance to the view and the enchantment increased a hundredfold, for along with fiery and coherent light there was the black velvet tableau of stars, planets, moons. . . and ships-thrusters flaring, burnished by starlight, reduced to fleeting comets, twirling and pirouetting in a slow, pyrotechnic ballet of death.
The Battle of Tynna was no exception.
Being seven hundred thousand kilometers removed from the cloud-wreathed, cool-blue and dark-green gem was like having an upper-tier balcony seat at the Corus-cant Opera, but the lofty vantage compensated for the lack of details. And as at the opera, technological assists were available for any who wished to bring the action into extreme close-up.
Major Showolter might have expressed as much to fellow intelligence officer Belindi Kalenda, but he feared being misunderstood. Consequently, he kept his thoughts to himself as the two women at the helm of the KDY LightStealth-18 reconnaissance leaned to either side to afford him and Kalenda an unobstructed view of Tynna's ruination.
A carbon-black six-passenger craft with a needlelike body and disproportionate, downsloping stabilizers, the LightStealth recon was the closest anyone had come to producing a starship capable of hiding itself even while it scanned. Unlike the wide assortment of vessels designed by Raith Sienar, Imperial Section 19, or Warthan's Wizards during the days of the Empire, the LSR wasn't cloaked, but was instead built for silent running and remarkable speed. Bristling with low-profile rectennae and packed with signal-augmented sensor jammers, blind-band hypercomm transmitters, crystal gravfield trap scanners, and a power core more suitable to a ship of the line, the LSR could all but see around the universe to its own aft and could outrun nearly anything that got wind of it.
The craft's pilots, on temporary duty from the Intelligence division's own Black Force Squadron, had assured Showolter that the LSR could be moved to within visual range of the Yuuzhan Vong flotilla and still evade detection. But Showolter had no desire to be any closer to the rout than necessary. They were only there as observers, in any case.
"It's horrible," Kalenda said abjectly, turning away from the narrow viewports. "I can't stand just sitting here, doing nothing."
"Showing ourselves will allow the Yuuzhan Vong to know we've found a flaw in their strategy," Showolter pointed out. Even so, the realization that they really could do nothing brought an end to his ruminations about the beauty of battle and pulled down the corners of his mouth. "But I agree it's horrible."
Kalenda was slight, dark-skinned, and a touch glassy-eyed, where Showolter was thickset, pale, and a bit more conspicuous than Intelligence liked its officers to be. Recently they had worked closely together in overseeing the Yuuzhan Vong defector case, which had not only turned into a political debacle of major proportions, but had also landed both of them in bacta tanks.
In private moments Showolter still chided himself for having been so easily manipulated by Elan-the Yuuzhan Vong priestess and faux defector who had very nearly done in Han Solo, as well. Showolter had never trusted her, and yet despite his suspicions he had relaxed his guard and ultimately failed to deliver her to Corus-cant. He often wondered what might have happened had he succeeded. Would he have been a victim of her poison breath, as Solo had come close to being? Would she have accomplished her goal of assassinating Luke Skywalker and other Jedi
Knights? He wondered, too, about the fate of the strange being that had accompanied Elan, the one called Vergere, who had fled in one of the Millennium Falcon's escape pods, perhaps back into enemy hands, perhaps not.
Kalenda had also borne the brunt of the fallout from the affair, as it was thought that she had unwittingly divulged vital details to an informer who sat-even now- in the senate or on the Security and Intelligence Council.
Showolter's and Kalenda's tarnished reputations were clearly what had prompted Talon Karrde to seek them out. Karrde, and the Jedi apparently, had uncovered evidence linking the spice trade to New Republic worlds in imminent danger of attack by the Yuuzhan Vong. The nature of that link was so tenuous, however, that few
would have paid it any heed-save for two defamed officers intent on clearing their names at any cost.
Knowing that high-ranking members of the military would be disinclined to hear them out, Showolter and Kalenda had shared Karrde's data only with select members of the intelligence community. One such member had kept them apprised of Yuuzhan Vong fleet movements in Hutt space, and another of HoloNet S-thread disturbances in the hyperspace routes linking Hutt space to the Tynnani system. The jump of several warships from Hutt space had been enough to prompt Showolter and Kalenda to take a gamble on the flotilla's destination. Already en route to Tynna when confirmation of the HoloNet disruptions had been received, they had arrived almost simultaneously with the Yuuzhan Vong ships.
Arms wrapped tightly around herself, Kalenda was staring as if mesmerized by the distant flashes of light. "What were we thinking, Showolter? We should have at least tried to bring the Defense Force into this."
"We've been through that," he reflected sourly. "They wouldn't have listened. And even if they had, they would have dismissed the evidence as unsubstantiated or at best coincidental-especially considering the source." He glanced over his shoulder at the LSR's fifth and only civilian passenger. "No offense, Karrde."
"None taken," Karrde assured from one of the seats. He glanced at Kalenda, then added, "Remind her, Major, of the most important reason for not going to the military."