Star Wars - Edge of Victory - Book 1: Conquest

by Greg Keyes

  So Anakin waited, quietly, and found himself gradu-

  ally mesmerized by the gentle flow of the stream. He stretched out tentatively to the life around him, feeling again the shadow of the pain and death he had caused.

  I'm sorry, he told the forest.

  How close was he to the dark side? Was Rapuung right?

  He'd argued with Jacen that the Force was a tool that was neither good nor evil, but that could be used, like any tool, to do good or evil with. Could evil be as simple as not thinking? He supposed so. Corran Horn had once told him that selfishness was evil and selflessness good. In that light, selfishly causing death to save himself was evil, regardless of the fact that he simply hadn't consid­ered the consequences of his actions at the time. And yet he wasn't just fighting for himself, was he? Tahiri's life was at stake. Maybe more than her life, because if the Tahiri of his vision ever came to be, it could mean the end of a great many people.

  If he was honest, he had to admit he hadn't been think­ing about those larger consequences, either. He'd had a problem to solve, and he'd solved it, the same as he might solve a mathematical equation or a problem with the hyperdrive motivator in his X-wing. He just hadn't thought about the problems his solution might cause, which seemed pretty typical of him lately.

  Mara Jade had pointed out this tendency of his ages ago, when they were camping together on Dantooine. Apparently he hadn't learned anything. Maybe it was time he started to.

  Which brought him back to Vua Rapuung. The man was self-admittedly out for revenge, and if there was one thing that had been drilled solidly into Anakin, it was that revenge was of the dark side. If he continued work­ing with Rapuung, would he be implicated in that re­venge? What tragedy was he helping to bring about by cooperating with this half-crazed Yuuzhan Vong?

  Something stirred the life of the forest. A thousand

  voices changed slightly as they smelled and heard some­thing unfamiliar, something not included in their limited vocabulary of predator and prey, hunger and danger.

  Something new to Yavin 4 was approaching, on the river.

  "Are you expecting someone?" Anakin asked.

  "Yes."

  Anakin didn't ask who. He was tired of asking ques­tions that he knew wouldn't be answered. Instead he sharpened his senses and watched.

  Soon something appeared on the river, coming upstream.

  At first he thought it was a boat, but reminded himself that if it was a Yuuzhan Vong boat, it was something or­ganic, as well. Studying it, he picked out the details that proved him right.

  The major visible portion was a broad, flat dome poking up from the water, banded with scutes or plates. Whatever moved it was below the surface of the water, but it did move. Now and then something that might be the top of a head broke the water in front of it. If it was a head, it was a big one, nearly as wide as the visible por­tion of the shell, and scaled and dull olive in color.

  Sitting on top of it was a male Anakin could not feel in the Force, but the closer he came, the less he looked like a Yuuzhan Vong. At first Anakin didn't understand why he got that impression; he had the same sharply slop­ing forehead, and his nostrils were set nearly flat into his face just like every other person of that species Anakin had seen.

  But he had no scars. Not one. Not a single tattoo that Anakin could detect, and he could see most of the fellow because he wore only a sort of loincloth.

  Now and then he touched something on the surface of the carapace, and the boat creature altered course slightly.

  "Stay hidden," Rapuung said, and stood.

  "Qe'u!" he called.

  Through the concealing roots, Anakin saw the other man's head snap around in surprise. He uttered a string of words Anakin didn't understand, and Vua Rapuung replied in kind. The floater began turning in their direc­tion, and Anakin dug himself lower.

  The two Yuuzhan Vong continued their conversation as the floater drew nearer to shore.

  Anakin took several deep, steadying breaths. He'd been thinking about Vua Rapuung's prudence; it was time to start thinking of his own. When would the Yuu­zhan Vong stop needing him? Now? When they reached the shaper base? When he'd exacted whatever revenge he was after? It could be anytime. He remembered what he had told Valin about the Yuuzhan Vong and their prom­ises. Was there any reason to believe Rapuung would keep his?

  Anakin suddenly noticed that the two had stopped talking. Just as he was thinking about taking a look, he heard a loud splash.

  "You may come out from cover now, infidel," Ra­puung said in Basic.

  Anakin rose warily from his hiding place. Rapuung stood on the floater. Alone.

  "Where did he go?" Anakin asked.

  Rapuung gestured toward the water on the other side of the floater. "In the river."

  "You threw him in? Will he drown?"

  "No. He is already dead."

  "You killed him?"

  "A broken neck killed him. Mount the vangaak and let us depart."

  Anakin stood there for a moment, trying to master his anger.

  "Why did you kill him?"

  "Because to leave him alive was an unacceptable risk."

  Anakin almost retched. Instead, he climbed up onto

  the floater, trying not to look at the corpse floating beyond.

  That was one innocent, unarmed sapient being dead because Anakin had saved Rapuung's life. How many more would there be?

  Rapuung began manipulating several knobby projec­tions on the carapace. Anakin assumed they were nerve clusters or something of the sort.

  "Who was he?" he asked, as the floater turned slug­gishly downstream.

  "A Shamed One. A person of no consequence."

  "No one is of no consequence," Anakin said, trying to keep his voice steady.

  Rapuung laughed. "The gods cursed him at birth. Every breath he drew was borrowed."

  "But you knew him."

  "Yes."

  They continued down the river at a leisurely pace. "How did you know him?" Anakin persisted. "What was he doing up here?"

  "Trawling the stream. It was his usual route. It used to be mine."

  "You're an angler?" Anakin said incredulously.

  "Among other things. Why so many questions?"

  "I'm just trying to understand what happened."

  The warrior grunted and held his silence for five min­utes. Then, almost reluctantly, he turned to Anakin.

  "To find you, I had to disappear, I faked my death out here, on the water. I made it appear as if some water beast had eaten me. They gave Qe'u my route. I will re­turn and tell a story of how I survived, lost on this strange world, until I came across the vangaak, pilotless. I will not know what happened to Qe'u. Perhaps a Jeedai killed him, perhaps he met the same water beast I did."

  "Oh. And they'll let us through the security on the river. But why should they believe that story?"

  "They will not care. He was a Shamed One. His death

  will be of no concern. Even if they suspect I killed him for some reason, no one will question my story."

  "And how will you explain me?"

  Rapuung grinned nastily. "I won't. They won't see you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Nen Yim found her master staring into the waters of the succession pool—the heart, lungs, and liver of the damu­tek. It rippled slightly as the native food fish of the moon investigated her shadow. It smelled faintly of sulfur, iodine, and something oily and burnt, almost like singed hair.

  Master Mezhan Kwaad's headdress was woven into an expression of deep contemplation, so Nen Yim stood behind her, waiting for her attention.

  A drop of something plunked into the succession pool, just below the master's feet. Another followed, and another.

  When Mezhan Kwaad finally turned, Nen Yim saw it was blood, drizzling from her nostrils.

  "Greetings, Adept," the master said. "Have you come in search of me, or of the succession pool?"

  "Of you, Master. But if you would speak at an
other time..."

  "There will be no better time until my cycle of sacrifice is complete and my Vaa-tumor is removed. You had your first implanted yesterday, did you not?"

  "I did, Master. I cannot feel it yet."

  "Bear it well. It is one of the oldest mysteries." She cocked her head, focusing her regard on Nen Yim's face. "You wish to know what it does, the Vaa-tumor?"

  "I am content in the knowledge that the gods desire this sacrifice of our caste," Nen Yim replied dutifully.

  "Once passing to adepthood, you enter the mystery,"

  Mezhan Kwaad said, as if speaking in a dream. "As war­riors take on the outward aspects of Yun-Yammka, so we take on the inner qualities of Yun-Ne'Shel, she-who-shapes. The Vaa-tumor is her most ancient gift to us. Yun-Ne'Shel plucked a fragment of her own brain to make it. As it grows, it models our cells, changes our very thoughts, takes us nearer the mind and essence of Yun-Ne'Shel." She sighed. "The journey is painful. It is glo­rious. And, regrettably, we must return from it, excise her gift from our bodies. But though we return to a sem­blance of who we were, each time that we are vessels for that pain and glory we are forever changed. Something of it remains with us. Until ..." Her words seemed to fail her.

  "You shall see," Mezhan Kwaad finally said. "And now—what have you come to tell me?"

  Nen Yim glanced around, making certain no one was within hearing.

  "It is quite safe here, Adept," Mezhan Kwaad assured her. "Speak freely."

  "I believe I have finished mapping the Jeedai's nervous system and brain structure."

  "That is good news. Very commendable. And how would you proceed now?"

  "It depends on what results we want. If we wish her obedience, then we should use restraint implants."

  "Why, then, have we mapped her nervous system?"

  Nen Yim felt her headdress fidgeting and tried to calm it. "I don't know, Master. It was your command."

  Mezhan Kwaad tilted her head and smiled faintly. "I am not trying to trick you, Adept. I chose you for very par­ticular reasons. I have told you some of them; about others I have remained silent, but I suspect you are bright enough to know what they are. Suppose, just for a mo­ment, that there are no protocols to be followed. In the ab­sence of direction, what would you do? Hypothetically."

  "Hypothetically," Nen Yim said. She felt as if she were

  poised over the digestive villi of a maw luur. She could al­most smell the sour scent of the acid. If she answered this question truthfully, she might be revealed as a heretic. If what she had come to suspect about her master was wrong, this conversation would be her last as a shaper, and one of the last in her life.

  But she could not surrender to fear.

  "I would modify the provoker spineray to fit our expectations of her nervous system, to give us very fine control."

  "Why?"

  Nen Yim did not hesitate this time. It was already too late, whichever way it went.

  "Despite the assurances of the protocol we followed, what we have now is only an educated guess concerning how her nervous system functions. All we have done is to map unknowns onto knowns. But the 'knowns' are Yuu­zhan Vong norms, not human ones, and we know al­ready that she lacks analogs to some of our structures and has others that have no comparable configuration in ourselves."

  "Are you saying, then, the ancient protocol is meaningless?"

  "No, Master Mezhan Kwaad. I am saying it is a start­ing point. It asserts certain things about how the Jeedai's brain works. I suggest that we now test those assertions."

  "In other words, you would question the protocols given us by the gods."

  "Yes, Master."

  "And you understand this is heresy of the first order?"

  "I do."

  Mezhan Kwaad's eyes were oily pools, utterly unread­able. Nen Yim met her gaze steadily, without flinching, for a very long time.

  "I have searched for an apprentice like you," the master shaper finally said. "I have asked the gods to send you to me. If you are not what you appear to be, you will

  not be forgiven. You will not profit from any betrayal of me, I promise you that."

  That gave Nen Yim a start. The thought that the mas­ter might be afraid of her had never crossed her mind.

  "I am your apprentice," Nen Yim said. "I would not betray you. I have put my life and my position in your thirteen fingers."

  "They are well placed, Adept," Mezhan Kwaad said softly. "Proceed as you have just suggested. Do not speak to anyone but me about this. If our results are to the liking of our leaders, I assure you they will not look closely at our methods. But we must be discreet. We must move with caution." She glanced once more at the pool and touched her head.

  "When the pain of the Vaa-tumor reaches its peak, :here are colors to be seen that have never been seen be-rore, thoughts to be had, strange and mighty . . . Well, you will see. At times I am almost ashamed to have it re­moved, to retreat from the final embrace of it. I should like to know where it would take me." She gave Nen Yim a rare genuine smile. "One day the gods shall ordain it. Until then, I have much work to do for them." She draped her eight slender fingers on Nen Yim's shoulder.

  "Let us go see our young Jeedai, shall we?"

  The Jeedai watched them come in. Only her green eyes moved, following them closely, like one beast seeking the soft throat of another.

  "I would advise you not to attack us with your Jeedai tricks," Mezhan Kwaad told her. "The provoker has been told to stimulate you to great agony if we are af-flicted in any way. Though in time you will come to understand agony, at the moment you seem to dislike it, and it clearly disrupts your concentration. There are worse things we could do to you."

  The Jeedai's eyes widened. "I can understand you,"

  she said. Then she stopped, looking even more confused. "I'm not speaking Basic. This is—"

  "You speak our language now, yes," the master shaper said. "If you are to be one of us, you must speak the sa­cred tongue."

  "Be one of you?" The Jeedai sneered. "Thanks, but I'd much rather be the slime under a Hutt."

  "That's because you perceive yourself an infidel," Mezhan Kwaad said reasonably. "You do not under­stand us, and there are things that confound us about you and the other Jeedai. But we will understand you, and you will understand us. You will become a tissue connecting the Yuuzhan Vong and the Jeedai, nurturing both. You will make it possible for understanding to flow both ways."

  "That's what you want from me?"

  "You are the path to peace," Mezhan Kwaad as­sured her.

  "Kidnapping me won't get you peace!" the Jeedai shouted.

  "We did not kidnap you," Mezhan Kwaad said. "We rescued you from the other infidels, remember?"

  "You're twisting things," the Jeedai returned. "The whole reason they captured me was to give me to you."

  The master's headdress rearranged itself into an ex­pression of mild anger.

  "Memory is a most malleable commodity," Mezhan Kwaad said. "It is mostly chemical. For instance, you now know our language. You did not learn it."

  "You put it there," the Jeedai said.

  "Yes. Your memory of the words, the grammar, the syntax. All introduced to you."

  "So you can implant memories. Big deal. We Jedi can do that, as well."

  "Indeed. I have no doubt those Jeedai abilities could do much to confuse one as young as yourself. How many

  of your memories are real? How many manufactured? How could you tell the difference?"

  "What's your point?"

  "My point is this. Right now you think you are—what is it,Taher'ai?"

  "My name is Tahiri."

  "Yes. Tahiri, a young Jeedai candidate, raised by a tribe strange to her—"

  "Sand People."

  "Of course. But soon enough, you will remember. After we've stripped away the false memories and undone the disgusting modifications made to your body, you will re­member who you are."

  "What are you talking about?" the Jeedai exploded.r />
  "You are Riina of Domain Kwaad. You are one of us. You always have been."

  " No! I know who my parents were!"

  "You know the lies you were told, the memories you were given. Fear not. We will bring you back."

  Mezhan Kwaad signaled, and Nen Yim bowed and fol­lowed her from the room. Behind them, the young Jeedai wailed in the first sign of true despair that Nen Yim had heard from her.

  "Do not wait for tomorrow," Mezhan Kwaad said. "Make your modifications and begin your trials. We must show results, soon."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Anakin rode in the belly of the beast.

  Literally. And it stank. The Yuuzhan Vong equivalent of an organic gill, the gnullith Anakin wore did nothing to buffer the confused and odious smells of river crawl­fish, silman eel, rotting wetweed, the viscous mucus that coated the inside of the vangaak like jelly—or of the breather itself, which insisted on reminding him, by slowly and constantly writhing, that he had a live animal shov­ing its tentacles down his throat and nostrils.

  The only bright spot was that he hadn't eaten anything for a day and a half.

  It had been better, earlier, when the trawling-boat crea­ture was still making its catch, swimming with its mouth expanded into a flattened funnel ten meters across. The water passed through and out the filtering membranes in its posterior, acting as the underwater equivalent of a fresh breeze. Now that the belly was bloated, the lips had sucked in on themselves, and water flow was cut to the minimum necessary to sustain the live catch squirming all around him.

  He was reminded of the story of how his mother and father had met, on the Death Star, a story he'd heard far too many times. Seconds after seeing each other for the first time, they'd ended up fleeing stormtroopers into a garbage hold.

  "What an incredible smell you've discovered," his fa-

  ther had sarcastically told his future wife. He hadn't been very happy with her at the time.

  I've found a better smell than you did, Mom, he thought.

  The thought of Rapuung above, in the warm breezes of Yavin 4 and no doubt delighted over the discomfort of his infidel ally, did nothing to improve Anakin's mood. If he'd had a working lightsaber, he would have long ago slashed his way through the vangaak even if it meant facing a hundred Yuuzhan Vong warriors. Some things made death seem pretty.