Star Wars The New Jedi Order - The Final Prophecy - Book 19

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Star Wars The New Jedi Order - The Final Prophecy - Book 19 Page 12

by Greg Keyes


  goes into offensive mode. Of course, the lasers are so weak they can't do any

  damage, so most of the power goes to its shields. But with their voids

  gobbling the first few shots, the Yuuzhan Vong pilots would take a while to

  figure that out."

  "Clever," the Prophet said.

  "Thank you," Corran said. "Now I want to see Tahiri."

  Tahiri came to with Nen Yim bending over her.

  "She will be weak," she was telling someone. "Perhaps for some time. The

  arm might be useless. It is too soon to say."

  "Corran?" Tahiri mumbled. She turned to see him. But Nen Yim wasn't

  talking to Corran. She was talking to a Yuuzhan Vong, a thin man with a

  headwrap. A priest! Tahiri reached for her lightsaber, but didn't find it

  there.

  "Corran!" she shouted.

  "I'm here," the familiar voice said. "Calm down. We seem to be among

  friends." He didn't sound convinced.

  "Who are you?" Tahiri asked the priest.

  "lamHarrar."

  "Another of our merry band of pilgrims," Corran grunted.

  "The shapers and the Shamed are not the only ones with curiosity about

  this new world," the priest expla ined. "I arranged to meet Nen Yim at the same

  place as the Prophet."

  "Then you embrace our heresy?" the Prophet asked.

  "I embrace nothing," Harrar replied. "I reject nothing. But Shimrra has

  gone to great lengths to keep this planet from our knowledge. I want to know

  why."

  "Where are we?" Tahiri asked.

  "Hyperspace," Corran replied. "You missed our exciting exit. This really

  is some ship."

  Tahiri was taking in the rest of their surroundings, now. Like a Yuuzhan

  Vong vessel, Nen Yim's vessel looked grown, organic. In no other way did it

  resemble a yorik coral craft.

  "What sort of ship is this? " she asked.

  "The ship is from Zonama Sekot," the Prophet re-plied. "It was badly

  damaged. The shaper healed it. It is good-we arrive at Zonama Sekot returning

  one of its own."

  Tahiri was about to ask more, but Corran spoke up.

  "Oh, yes, that," he said. "We're not going to Zonama Sekot."

  THIRTEEN

  All eyes turned to Corran.

  Yu'shaa was the first to speak. "Blessed One, what can you mean? After

  all we've done? My followers died so that we might make this voyage. They put

  their faith in you." "And I put my faith in your words, Yu'shaa-your promise

  that this voyage would include you and you alone. Now we have a shaper and a

  priest, and I don't know anything about either of them."

  "I explained about the shaper," the prophet said. "I knew nothing about

  the priest."

  "Consider," Harrar interposed. "Nen Yim and I risk far more than this-

  Prophet. He is already hunted, already condemned. He has little to risk on

  this journey and every-thing to gain. I, on the other hand, am a powerful and

  hon-ored priest. Not only have I consorted with Jeedai, but I also seek Zonama

  Sekot, a planet absolutely taboo to us. If Shimrra learns of this, I will be

  dispatched without honor."

  Corran nodded. "Probably. Unless Shimrra himself planned this whole

  fiasco."

  "I assure you, he would never do such a thing," Harrar replied.

  "But I've only your word for that, and we are, you know, on opposite

  sides of a war."

  Not too diplomatic, Corran.

  He started again. "Look, you three aren't the only ones who think Zonama

  Sekot is important. There are already tea Jedi there, negotiating with it.

  Your people have attacked the planet at least once. Bringing one of you there-

  especially one seeking peace-that was one thing. Bringing three of you is

  another matter."

  "Contact these other Jeedai," the Prophet urged. "Discuss it with them.

  Surely they will agree that if peace is to be achieved, the initiative must

  come from both the Jeedai and the Yuuzhan Vong."

  "He's right," Tahiri said.

  Corran shot her a hard look. "I'd like to speak to Tahiri alone," he told

  the others.

  "Of course," Harrar said. The others didn't say anything, but they stayed

  where they were as Corran escorted Tahiri to what was appeared to be some sort

  of common area.

  "Corran..." she began, but he cut her off.

  "No," he snapped. "Listen. We're outnumbered here. I can't have you

  disagreeing with me in front of them."

  "Then maybe you should stop making decisions without consulting me. We're

  a team, remember? "

  "And I'm by far the senior member of the team. If you want to disagree

  with me, fine. But do it in private. We can't have them thinking you and I are

  divided. And in the end, I certainly hold the power of veto, because I'm the

  only one who knows where Zonama Sekot is."

  "Contact Kenth. See what he thinks. Or better yet, talk to Master

  Skywalker."

  "Well, it seems Sekotan ships don't come equipped with HoloNet

  transceivers," Corran replied. "If they did, I would do just that."

  "We could go to Mon Calamari, get a decision from the council."

  Corran lowered his voice. "That's where I'm going to tell them we're

  going."

  "But we aren't? Where are we actually going?"

  "Zonama Sekot."

  "What? But you said..."

  "I lied. I wanted to see what their reaction would be."

  "And?"

  "I can't tell yet. Let's give it a few days, see what shakes out."

  "That's dangerous," she said. "I'm pretty weak. If it comes to a fight...

  "

  "If it comes to that, I'll deal with it," Corran said, grimly.

  "What does that mean?"

  "Sorry. The old man has to have some secrets. But if this goes sour, none

  of us will make it to Zonama Sekot. Orders from headquarters. Do you

  understand what I'm saying?"

  "Yes," Tahiri replied. "I understand you perfectly."

  "Good. Now, did you notice anything a minute ago? Any reaction I might

  have missed?"

  "I doubt it. But I don't like the priest."

  "Why?"

  "Nen Yim and the Prophet are both heretics. I can't imagine a high-

  ranking priest cooperating with either of them."

  "If a high-ranking shaper can be a heretic, why not a priest?"

  "I suppose it's possible," she said. She sounded dubious.

  "If you suspect him, why did you think we ought to continue the mission?"

  "Because it's important. I think Nen Yim and the Prophet are on the

  level. We have the priest outnumbered, and I don't think he'll try anything

  until we reach the planet-whatever else he has planned, he wants to reach

  Zonama Sekot as much as the rest of us."

  "Could he have some sort of tracer on him?"

  "Maybe. That would be bad."

  Corran considered that for a moment.

  "Rest," he said. "Keep your eyes and ears open. We've got time to think

  about this. It's a long trip."

  Tahiri found Nen Yim at the helm of the ship gazing out at the stars. She

  stood there for a moment, trying to control her feelings.

  But she needed to talk to the shaper.

  "Jeedai," the shaper said, without turning.

  "Master Yim." She said it in Yuuzhan Vong.

  "So some of our implants did take."

  Anger
flared again, but Tahiri fought it down. "Yes," she said. "I am no

  longer human and I am not Yuuzhan Vong. Congratulations."

  "Congratulate my late master, not me."

  "So you take no blame for me?" "Blame? What blame is there? Mezhan Kwaad

  was a shaper. She shaped you. Had I been in charge of the project, I would

  feel no remorse for what you've become."

  "Right," Tahiri said. "No remorse. No pain. No passion. There's nothing

  in you, is there, Nen Yim? Except maybe curiosity and duty."

  "Duty?" Nen Yim murmured, still staring out at space.

  "Do you know when the last time I gazed on stars like this was?"

  "Should I care?"

  "It was on the worldship Baanu Miir, one of the older ones. Its brain was

  failing, and an involuntary muscle spasm ripped one of the arms open. I stood

  in the vacuum staring at the naked stars, and I swore that no matter what, I

  would save that worldship and the people on it. I practiced heresy to do so,

  and still I failed. Even yet, the people might have lived, if your infidel

  friends hadn't obliterated the new worldship we were meant to move to."

  Now she did turn to Tahiri, and despite her calm tones, her eyes blazed.

  "I have risked my life, and I have taken life and shaped terrible things for

  my people so that we never have to live in the abyss between galaxies again. I

  have risked even more to see the secrets encoded in this universe around us

  and solve their riddles. Perhaps you do not call this passion. But hatred, I

  think, might fairly be called that. You, Jeedai, slew my mentor. Jeedai

  destroyed the new worldship and doomed thousands to miserable, honorless

  deaths. I have hated Jeedai."

  "And you hate them still?"

  "I have stepped back from my hate. My heresy requires that I see things

  as they are, not as I wish them to be, not as I fear them to be. The riddle of

  Zonama Sekot may well be the central question of Yuuzhan Vong existence, and

  the Jeedai seem to be involved. Since I must place the good of my people

  before my own whimsy, I must remain open to all possibilities, even the

  possibility that the creed of this ridiculous Prophet has salience."

  "And what about me personally?"

  "You?" She shrugged. "Mezhan Kwaad sealed her own doom. She practiced her

  heresy too openly, almost flaunted it. Worse, she ruined a noble warrior

  merely because she feared he would disclose their illicit affair. That brought

  about her downfall. You were the instrument of her death, and that again was

  rooted in her failure-had her shaping of you been competent, you could never

  have turned on her. I hated you for a time. I find now I do not. You hardly

  knew what you were doing."

  "Oh, yes I did," Tahiri said, recalling the crystallized fury of that

  moment. "I remember it very well. I could have dis-abled her instead of

  killing her. But after the pain she put me through, that you helped put me

  through-"

  "And so you hate me?"

  That's a good question,

  Tahiri mused. "In the Jedi view," she told the shaper, "hate is to be

  avoided. If there is hatred in me for you-and there may be yet-I do not want

  it. The Yuuzhan Vong have taken much from me-my childhood, my identity,

  someone I loved. But I am as much a part of you now as I am native to this

  galaxy. I have reconciled my different natures. Now I want to help see that

  reconciliation between my parent peoples."

  "You seek an end to the war?"

  "Of course."

  Nen Yim nodded. "I do not see the same honor in pointless slaughter the

  warriors do, I must admit. Pursuit of it has bred stupidity. We have taken far

  more worlds than we need, and probably more than we can defend. Shimrra, I

  sometimes think, is mad." She cocked her head, and the tendrils of her

  headdress did an odd, squirming da nce and settled in a new arrangement. "How

  are your wounds?"

  "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 con-sider. 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 respec-tive 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 sup-ported 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."

  "Weil, 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, invol-untary

  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

  grea
test 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 sleep-ing 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. Ei-ther 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

 

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