Star Wars The New Jedi Order - The Final Prophecy - Book 19
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She turned on Harrar almost as if she meant to attack him. "She told me
so herself, before she died," she snapped.
"She'd just made some sort of discovery about Sekot, some-thing
important. She told me she wanted to be alone and think. She was gone for a
long time, so I went looking for her. I found her. He'd done a pretty good job
on her head with a rock. But she managed to tell me that he's planning on
killing Sekot."
"Killing?..." Corran began, then put his hands on her shoulders. "Okay.
Slow down. Tell me everything she told you. And start with this discovery of
hers."
He listened carefully as Tahiri went through the story. Telling it again
did not seem to calm her down.
"But the Prophet believes this planet is the salvation of his followers,"
Corran said. "Why would he want to de-stroy it?"
"Because he isn't the Prophet," Tahiri replied. "He's Nom Anor."
"Nom Anor?" Corran and Harrar repeated in unison. Harrar closed his eyes
and ground his knuckles into his forehead. "Nom Anor," he muttered. "Of
course."
Corran certainly knew who Nom Anor was, and not just by reputation. The
executor had very nearly killed him-and Tahiri and Anakin-in the Yag'Dhul
system.
"What do you mean, of course!" he asked.
"Don't you see?" Harrar said. "Nom Anor is the Prophet."
"I don't see at all," Corran replied. "Nom Anor was the agent behind half
the Yuuzhan Vong invasions in this galaxy. Why would he be a Prophet of the
Shamed Ones?"
"Because he failed too often," Harrar replied. "After the disaster at
Ebaq Nine, Shimrra called for his sacrifice-after which he vanished."
"And became the Prophet of the Shamed Ones, maybe in a bid to take the
throne by revolution," Tahiri guessed.
"What does it matter? We have to find him."
"No, wait," Corran said. "Harrar, you acted as if you should have guessed
his identity."
"I didn't know, if that's what you mean," Harrar replied.
"But-he did not act like a Shamed One. I could tell he had once been an
intendant, and suspected he wore the masquer for fear Nen Yim and I would
recognize him from his former life. And he seemed, at times, familiar. I can't
believe he made such a fool of me."
"He fooled us all," Corran said. "The question is-why would he want to
destroy Sekot?"
"To win back Shimrra's good graces," Harrar snarled.
"But he'll be stuck here, with the rest of us," Corran said, then
immediately felt stupid. "No," he said. "They're coming after him, aren't
they?"
"The lump under his arm," Harrar said. "If that was Nom Anor, it was no
disfigurement. It must have been a villip."
"But Nen Yim released a virus to destroy anything like that," Tahiri
pointed out.
"She did?" Harrar said. "I shouldn't be surprised. She was resourceful,
that one. But if it was sealed in a q'et-a sort of living bag for preserving
other organisms-it may have survived."
"Which means we have to find him fast" Tahiri said. "So what are we
waiting for?"
"For you to calm down, for one thing," Corran said.
"I'm not having an apprentice of mine run into battle in your state."
"I'm okay," Tahiri said, defensively.
"No, you're angry. Remember our deal. Especially the part where you have
to do what I say."
She nodded, then took a deep breath. "I'll try. It's hard."
"The Yuuzhan Vong belief in revenge is very strong," Harrar said.
"I'm aware of that," Tahiri said. "Sometimes it doesn't feel right to
fight it."
"Anger always makes you feel good at the time," Corran said. "Makes you
feel bigger than yourself, makes you feel that everything you do is justified.
But it's a trap."
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she looked calmer. "Thank
you," she said.
"Good." He scratched his beard. It was no longer neatly trimmed, but
sprawling all over his face. "We didn't seethe Prophet or anyone else at the
hyperdrive assembly."
"He might have easily slipped past us," Harrar said.
"While we were searching for a communications device."
"You're right. We'd better go back."
It was beginning to rain as they swept the area around the vanes, and
then entered the repair complex, lightsabers ready. They didn't find anyone at
the entry level. But they did find the turbolifts jammed.
"He's down there," Corran said.
"Well, we can't wait for him to come back up," Tahiri said. "By then,
it'll be too late."
"Do you have any idea what he intends to do?" Corran asked.
"None," Tahiri said.
"Nen Yim once spoke of protocols already in the posses-sion of shapers
that seemed intended for use against the bi-ology of this planet," Harrar
said. "I've no doubt she developed weapons of her own, as well."
"Are you saying Nen Yim planned to destroy Sekot?" Corran asked.
"I think she initially believed, like Shimrra, that Zonama Sekot was a
threat to our people," the priest said. "As did I. But I believe that both of
us came to a different conclusion." He sighed. "I wish I could have spoken to
her about her new discovery."
"She said she had the solution to all our problems," Tahiri said.
Corran noticed her eyes were damp. "Maybe she thought that solution was
killing Sekot," he ventured. Tahiri shook her head. "I don't think so, Master.
"
"Right, well, there's only one way to really find out, isn't there?"
Corran peered down the shaft. "There ought to be a manual way down, in case
the power cuts out, but I don't see anything."
"They probably use some sort of flitter or hoverlift," Tahiri pointed
out. "That's too far down to go by ladder."
"Yes, it is," Corran said, eyes still searching. "But I think I do see a
way. It's just not one I like."
To Nom Anor's delight, the search was not nearly as long as he feared it
would be. In fact, the object of his search was so large and obvious that he
overlooked it at first. In the center of the chamber was a knob about twice as
tall as he was, and about the same in diameter. At first glance, it seemed to
be wrapped in some sort of rough fabric, but a closer inspection showed that
it was heavily i wound in very fine threads. At the base of the thing, the
threads spread out like fine roots and dug into the damp, exposed stone of the
floor.
He'd found it, as easily as that. The threads were pre-cisely like the
filaments of the neural net on the ship. There were just more of them-many
more.
He quickly unpacked the incubator, a wet, fleshy device I about the size
of his hand. He linked it to the qahsa and ac-cessed a protocol that was both
a genetic and develop-1 mental blueprint. A stream of chemical and telepathic
data moved from the qahsa to the incubator. The latter quivered j and began to
vibrate ever so slightly. Nom Anor allowed himself a smile. The incubator was
already transforming genetic blueprints into living organisms. The result
would be a soldier virus that would invade the neural integuments and corrupt
th
eir ability to carry data. The result should bt a feedback explosion in the
core. That would not only render the planet unable to travel, but sear a third
of the biosphere away, as well. If that did not kill Sekot, it should at least
distract it long enough for him to get away. Shimrra could send a small number
of ships to finish the job. He had only to hide the incubator and leave.
He pushed experimentally at the filaments. They wete too tough to break,
but they pushed readily aside, so that he was able to bury the organism deep
within. When he was finished, the filaments slowly returned to their places,
leav-ing no sign of what he had done. Even if the Jedi were fol-lowing him,
they would have to not only know what he had done-and he couldn't imagine how
they could-but also find the incubator, a task that might take hours. By then
it would be too late-the microbes would be leaking out and invading the
strands. Ten hours after that, things would start going very wrong for Zonama
Sekot. But by then, Nom Anor would no longer be on the planet. He removed his
disguise, produced his villip, and stroked it. A moment later, the fierce
visage of a warrior appeared.
"I am Ushk Choka," the villip informed him. "You are the one I have come
for?"
"Yes," Nom Anor replied. "What is your present position?"
"In high orbit around the planet your signal emanates from. We seem to be
undetected."
"Send a lander for me," Nom Anor said. "You may follow the villip's
signal."
"Yes, I have your position," Choka confirmed. "All you have promised
Shimrra is done?" He sounded skeptical.
"Yes, Commander."
"Nothing seems to have changed. The planet is there, and very much
covered in life."
"Things will change soon," Nom Anor said, "but I as-sure you we do not
want to be here when they do."
"I risk much, to send a lander now," Choka grunted. "I have been informed
of the planet's defensive potential. You promised it would be negated."
"And it will be," Nom Anor insisted. "It will not be able to prevent our
escape."
"But it might prevent the landing."
"By the time the lander arrives," Nom Anor said, "the planet will be
thoroughly preoccupied." Or so he hoped.
But he had been unable to concoct another scheme that would both destroy
Zonama Sekot and allow him to escape with his life. The window would be
narrow, but it should be there.
"In any event," he continued, "what is risk to the mighty Ushk Choka?
Only a chance to show your bravery."
The warrior grunted angrily, and Nom Anor knew he had hit the right
nerve.
"Of course," Choka said. "The lander will be there in seven hours."
"You're looking at that superconducting cable, aren't you?" Tahiri asked.
"Yes." The cable was smooth and just small enough that his hands could
fit around it. It looked like it went all the way down, and hung ten
centimeters away from the wall.
"I'm game," Tahiri said.
Corran shook his head. "No. If Anor hears me coming down, he'll just come
back up on a turbolift. You have to be here in case he does that. Harrar
doesn't have any weapons." And maybe Harrar wouldn't stop him if he could. The
two of them might still be in on this together.
Which meant he could be leaving Tahiri in a bad position. There was
nothing he could do about that, though. This was too important.
He took his jacket off. Outside, a steady pounding began as the rain
came. Thunder crashed nearby. He reached out and touched the cable
experimentally, then wrapped the jacket around it, getting a firm grip. He
swung himself over the guardrail and reaffirmed the grip.
"This should be fun," he said.
"It looks like fun," Tahiri said. "Be careful. I'd hate to have to
explain to Mirax what happened to you."
"Just watch those lifts," Corran reminded her.
Then he let his body slide out into the air.
For the first few seconds, he was in true free fall, acceler-ating toward
the bottom of the shaft at the exponential speed of gravity. Then he began to
tighten his grip, creating friction against the cable. His rate of fall
slowed, but his arms complained, and the jacket warmed quickly. He re-laxed
again, clamped down again, alternating.
Above him, the top of the shaft had already diminished to a circle so
small that Tahiri's face was barely visible. Below him, the light strips on
the walls still met together in a point. He had a long way to go, and
proceeding like this he wasn't going to make it. His arms would wear out long
be-fore he reached the bottom, or more likely the jacket would burn through.
He'd known that from the start, but had needed to experiment with the cable
for what he was about to do.
He closed his eyes, feeling the air rush past, feeling the living Force
around him, the great pulsing life of Sekot, the unseen floor, his own body,
all one in the Force...
And relaxed. He kept his hands loosely around the cable, but put no
pressure on it. He was really falling now, his body tending horizontal as the
atmosphere pushed against it. Fear tried to rise up and take him, but he
batted it away. There was nothing to be afraid of-he knew he could do this. Of
course, he'd always had a little trouble with levitation...
He had to get the moment exactly right, and he had to trust the Force to
let him know when it was.
It came. He clamped down on the jacket, and his arms felt like they were
coming out of their sockets. The smell of scorched synthleather filled his
nostrils, and he felt the floor coming up, still too fast. He pushed, pushed
in the Force-and slammed into the ground. He let his knees buckle, released
the jacket, and rolled.
"Ouch," he murmured.
Nom Anor heard something strike the floor, not too far away, and without
even having to look, he knew the Jedi had somehow found a way to come down the
shaft after him. He cursed under his breath and ran for the lift. They
couldn't catch him now-he would either have to help them reverse his sabotage
or die along with them, neither of which figured very prominently in his
plans. He was still unarmed, except for the plaeryin bol.
The lift came in sight, but he heard running footfalls be-hind him. He
lurched to a stop in front of the car, pushed out the crate that was blocking
it, and punched at the ascent control.
Only then did he look up to see how close his pursuer was. Corran Horn
was just rounding a bank of equipment, his lightsaber blazing. He was coming
fast, but not fast enough.
"Nom Anor!" he shouted. "Fight me!"
Nom Anor actually laughed at that. "I wouldn't fight the Solo brat at
Yag'Dhul," he shouted, as the door closed. "Why in the galaxy would I fight
you?"
The lift started up.
Now he had a few seconds to think. Horn would unjama lift and follow him,
but he hadn't seen Tahiri. She was probably still at the top, waiting for the
lift door to open. Maybe Harrar was with her. Could he take them both?
He had to, obviously, or all of this would be for naught. They al
ready
knew his identity. The shaper must not have been as dead as he thought she
was.
He spent the next few seconds marshaling his strength, knowing this would
either be his moment of triumph, or another failure.
The door opened.
THIRTY
Thunder seemed to rumble through Mon Mothma as the ship turned
ponderously broadside to bring her guns to bear on the lead Yuuzhan Vong
destroyer analog. The de-stroyer, already in a position to fire, held its
ground and un-loaded, pounding the deflectors mercilessly. Wedge could almost
hear the Yuuzhan Vong commander's triumphant gloat-by the time the Mothma's
main batteries were in position to strike at him, its shields would have
failed. Which was why it was good that that was not really what Wedge had in
mind, after all.
"Now," he said quietly. "Engage the tractor beam." The entire ship jolted
and hummed as its structure tried to compensate for suddenly being attached to
another mass of even greater size. Both ships suddenly began to pivot in
ponderous slow motion.
"They've broken the lock, sir," Cel informed him.
"That was plenty," Wedge replied, repressing a grin. They had managed to
roll the destroyer right into the path of a Yuuzhan Vong Dreadnaught,
effectively blocking fire from it to either the Mothma or the heavy Mon Cal
cruiser Vortex Wind that was coming up behind. The Yuuzhan Vong ship not only
was serving as a shield for them, but was now exposed to fire from both
Alliance ships, as well. Wedge watched in satisfaction as huge chunks of the
vessel went white, fading through blue to red, then black. A seam of internal
explosions ran down the spiny length of the destroyer, ripping it apart.
Cheers went up from the bridge crew.
That put them ahead of the game, in terms of numbers. "Continue as
planned," Wedge said.
The Vortex Wind nosed over the dying hulk of the destroyer, swinging
broadside as she did so, and caught the next ship hard with its batteries as
it came from behind the eclipse. Wedge took Mon Mothma to starboard and down,
relative to the Vortex Wind, joining Memory of Ithor in a bombardment of a
smaller frigate-sized ship. He'd been working his way through the Yuuzhan Vong
formation with a series of these bait-and-switches, using one ship to draw the
attackers into the line of another. It was almost too easy, but they had