The warrior’s impolitic words sent a twinge of annoyance through Harrar. He banished it at once, for the warrior’s candor, not to mention his keen piety, suggested a tactic likely to twist matters around to Harrar’s benefit.
“You command my escort. Mine,” the priest emphasized. “You support the task given to me by no less an authority than Tsavong Lah. If the warmaster is not highly placed enough to suit you, consider this: what Yuuzhan Vong warrior is not subject to the gods? And who better to interpret the will of the gods than a high priest?”
Khalee Lah genuflected. “I am fairly rebuked. Command me.”
“You seem certain of the Ksstarr’s destination. Tell me why.”
“We have heavily mined the areas under our control with do vin basals,” he said slowly. “These have the ability to disrupt the flight of infidel vessels, sometimes even to pull them from darkspace flight.”
“I know this,” the priest said impatiently.
“These dovin basals also communicate with passing Yuuzhan Vong ships. The passage of every ship is recorded, and the information passed to the yammosk in scouting ships. Potentially important information is passed to the commanders, perhaps up to the warmaster himself.”
The priest’s eyes widened. “So the military is monitoring all Yuuzhan Vong ships.”
“It was deemed prudent, Eminence. No disrespect was intended to the priestly caste or to our shapers.”
Harrar kept his opinions on this matter to himself. “This policy makes our task considerably lighter. We will proceed to Hapes.”
The scent in the chamber changed subtly, indicating an imminent emergence from darkspace. The priest and the warrior settled down in secured seats for the transition.
As the priestship shuddered and slowed, a host of still-unfamiliar planets and stars streaked into existence, then settled into fixed points of light. Khalee Lah nodded in satisfaction as he noticed several bright green pinpricks in the distance. The lights traced a half circle and began to move steadily toward the priestship.
“Peace Brigade,” he said, his voice edged with disdain. “Years among the infidels, and this is the sort of alliance Nom Anor secures!”
“At least they are prompt, and capable enough to meet us at the indicated place. You should take care in suggesting that the executor’s decisions might prove to be mistakes.”
“There are those who believe they already have,” the warrior said bluntly.
Harrar suppressed a sly smile. Once the ice broke, waters flowed freely. “You seem well informed of events near Myrkr.”
“Naturally the military has informants on that worldship. The shapers on Yavin Four failed to meet their objectives, and we can ill afford additional failures. Much rested upon the success of the voxyn cloning.”
This was important information, things that Harrar had not known, things that it might be dangerous to know.
“I see,” he murmured.
“This precaution was deemed prudent,” Khalee Lah went on. “Nom Anor has fallen short more than once. Members of his crew report to me, and I, in turn, inform the warmaster.”
The priest decided to test the boundaries of the young warrior’s candor—and his judgment. “Name these agents.”
Khalee Lah did so, without question or hesitation.
“Did it never occur to you that your unguarded response might have purchased the death of these informants?” the priest said sternly.
“There is no one in this chamber but you and me,” Khalee Lah said, his scarred brow furrowed in puzzlement.
“Two or twenty, it matters not. Tsavong Lah is in an extremely precarious position. His implants have not yet healed. There are powerful shapers and more than a few priests on the verge of declaring this to be a sign of the gods’ disfavor. Information is like plasma; it can bind or it can burn. The fool who dispenses it too freely makes himself a weapon that anyone—warrior, shaper, priest, Shamed One, even infidel—can use at will.”
The warrior’s scarred face darkened with wrath. He rose slowly, ominously, to tower over the slender priest.
“Oh, sit down!” Harrar said irritably. “I was advising you to learn discretion, not admitting to treachery!”
Khalee Lah looked uncertain. “Your devotion to the warmaster?”
“Unchanged since our shared youth,” he responded.
“You evoked the gods in order to extract military information!”
“I am a priest of Yun-Harla,” Harrar said with exaggerated precision. “My words were shaped to suit a desired end. That is what we do. Put your mind at ease, and pray attempt to develop some subtlety.”
The warrior inclined his head respectfully, then turned toward the viewport and things more closely aligned with his understanding. Together they watched the approach of the strange ship.
Harrar observed the infidel vessel with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. Although obviously mechanical, it was built to resemble a gigantic insect. Thin metallic wings angled up from a curved, segmented body. Two pairs of limbs coiled at either side of the body like reverse-articulated legs. The rounded cockpit resembled a head, and when viewed from the side, the glossy black viewport looked like an insect’s huge multiple eyes.
“I underestimated these infidels. Who would have thought them capable of such blatant insult to the gods?” Khalee Lah muttered. He lifted his voice to the priest’s guards. “Secure the infidel ship and bring all those aboard to me.”
A green-and-yellow-tattooed female came at his call. Like Khalee Lah, she was sheathed in living armor. Hers was a mottled green, a good match for one of the verdant worlds so plentiful in this galaxy. One day Harrar hoped to claim such a world as his own, and the armor for his personal guard was shaped with scouting in mind. Now that he knew his travels were tracked and reported, however, he would have to exercise more discretion.
Harrar’s attention snapped back to the two creatures who trailed the guard. His lip curled. These were two of the most disreputable excuses for human males Harrar had yet encountered.
Both were tall and might once have been considered well formed. One had grown too thin for health, and his prominent nose was framed by fever-bright black eyes. A persistent tic of one eye and a nervous twitching of that prodigious snout lent him a remarkable similarity to a hairless rodent. The other man had an abundance of bright reddish hair that rioted in a curly mass down to his shoulders and sprouted in an equally undisciplined fashion from his cheeks and chin. His lack of discipline knew no bounds: his massive arms had gone soft, and a slack roll of belly hung over his weapons belt.
Khalee Lah made no effort to hide his disdain. “Name yourselves.”
Both men performed jerky, graceless bows. “Benwick Chell,” the hairy one announced. “My copilot, Vonce.”
“You are members of the Peace Brigade?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
The humans blinked in unison and exchanged wary glances. “Why?” the one called Benwick echoed.
“The question is simple enough,” Khalee Lah said. “What do you hope to gain from this alliance?”
“Our lives,” the man said bluntly.
Khalee Lah sniffed. “A paltry reward.”
“That may be,” the bearded man retorted, showing the first hint of spine since his arrival, “but it’s hard for a dead man to spend reward credits.”
“An interesting philosophy,” Harrar broke in, “but a discussion best suited to other circumstances. We require more agents in this sector. Tell us what would prompt Hapans to join forces with the Yuuzhan Vong.”
“There’s not much to do. Most of it’s already done. You have to know a bit of our history,” the man began, warming to his subject as he spoke. “Hundreds of years ago, Hapes was settled by pirates.”
Khalee Lah tapped at his ear, urging the tizowyrm embedded there to produce a translation he could understand.
“I have heard of pirates,” Harrar broke in. “You waylay ships and steal their
cargo.”
“And sometimes their passengers,” the man said meaningfully. “You might say the job you want done is preprogrammed into our computers.”
“You are a fool,” Khalee Lah said, snarling, “and your ship is a blasphemous bug. Our quarry, pathetic though it is, would splatter you with a single swat.”
The human jerked his hairy red head toward the docking bay at the priestship’s stern. “The wasp ship is a scouting vessel, no more. Once we find the frigate, we’ll attack in force.”
“And who would command this attack?”
Benwick’s chin came up. “I would.”
Khalee Lah threw up his hands and stalked away. The human pursued him. “Don’t think I can’t. I spent the last fifteen years in the Hapan navy, six of them as a squadron commander.”
The warrior spun, bringing the man up short. “Why then do you not resist our invasion?”
“Tried that,” he said shortly. “It didn’t work.”
Harrar was beginning to see the light. “You were at Fondor.”
“My squadron was destroyed—thanks to the witch queen and her meddling Jedi friend. So we returned to our ancestral profession.”
“You deserted,” Khalee Lah specified.
Harrar noted the storm brewing on the young warrior’s face and instinctively took a step forward.
Not fast enough.
The warrior snapped his left arm up, elbow back and fist cocked by his ear, two fingers stiffened into a living weapon. He lashed out and drove his fingers into the big man’s throat. The red-bearded man’s head snapped back. He staggered several paces and then fell, clutching at his strangely blocked throat and gasping for air. Khalee advanced, and his eyes promised death.
A subtle nod from Harrar brought the female warrior darting forward. Khalee Lah thrust out one hand as if to brush her aside. She seized the big warrior’s wrist and twisted, breaking both his concentration and his balance. Deftly she dropped to the floor and rolled, pulling the warrior down with her. She was back on her feet more quickly than Harrar would have believed possible.
Immediately she sank to her knees. Tipping back her head, she offered Khalee Lah her throat. The warrior fisted his hand as he rose, and the spikes on his knuckles formed a short, serrated knife.
“No,” Harrar said firmly, stepping between the combatants. “This warrior will not be punished for following orders.”
“I command the warriors!” Khalee Lah protested.
“And you, in turn, report to me,” the priest pointed out. “Is it not my right to command you both?”
“You ordered her to attack me?”
“To stop you. The human was at Fondor. He may possess useful information.”
Khalee Lah inclined his head, but his eyes still burned.
“Neeka Sot is not a true warrior, but a member of an assassin sect shaped from birth for quick attack and close fighting. She did not best you in battle. Had I not stopped you, you would have killed her easily. She is also my personal bodyguard,” Harrar continued. “Surely you don’t think that the military are the only ones who employ checks and safeguards?”
He left the dumbfounded warrior to work his way through this revelation and turned to the human called Vonce. The man’s face had turned a sickly white, and he stared at his choking comrade with horrified fascination. The twitch in his eye had accelerated until that portion of his face resembled a small animal thrashing about in death throes.
“We will have the red-bearded man revived,” Harrar assured him. “Tell me what you know of Jaina Solo.”
A bit of color returned to Vonce’s face, and the frantic twitching slowed to a rhythmic, involuntary wink. “We’d just finished a raid and were heading to Coruscant to unload our cargo. The lot of us got caught up in the retreat. We heard a broadcast sent by Leia Organa Solo, insisting that her daughter Jaina was piloting a Yuuzhan Vong frigate.”
“That is consistent with what we know,” Harrar agreed. “This Solo female is also Jeedai?”
The man scratched his big nose thoughtfully, then shrugged. “I’ve heard it told. Luke Skywalker is her twin brother, so I guess maybe that’s true.”
“Another twin,” Khalee Lah said with a snarl as he came closer to listen. “So this new Solo female can speak with Jaina Solo through Jeedai sorcery?”
“I couldn’t tell you about that, but I saw something else that might explain how the Solo kid got her message through. The frigate flew right into the flight path of the Falcon like it was daring Han Solo to fire at it.”
“Is every third human in this galaxy named Solo?” Khalee Lah demanded.
Vonce responded with a fleeting grin. “Seems that way sometimes. Anyway, old Han fired and the frigate rolled away like it was expecting the shot, leaving the coralskipper right behind it in the fire path. Thing of beauty,” he marveled, shaking his head. “Shame about the skip, o’ course,” he added hastily.
“And you believe this Han Solo recognized the maneuver?”
“Looks to me like they’d rehearsed it a time or two,” Vonce agreed. “And right after that, the Solo woman got on the comm and warned everyone off the frigate. Right after that, we got a message through the villip choir describing the frigate and demanding that all those in the immediate area help the Yuuzhan Vong capture it. So I figure that Leia Solo was telling the truth.”
“And what did you do then?”
“We fired a few shots at the frigate, at the underside like they told us. The ship dodged every vaping shot,” he said wonderingly. “I’ve seen better pilots than the Solo girl, but not many.”
Harrar glanced at Khalee Lah. As he expected, the warrior looked deeply disturbed by this testimony to the Jeedai twin’s skills and cunning.
“You will be suitably rewarded,” the priest told him.
He sent a meaningful look toward Neeka Sot. The warrior darted forward and leapt into the air. She landed on Vonce’s shoulders, her armored thighs clamped tightly against his neck.
The weight of her bore him down to his knees. Neeka Sot rode him to the floor. Her left boot touched down lightly, and she pivoted hard to that side. Vonce’s neck broke with an audible crackle as he fell. The warrior kept going, moving smoothly, not missing a step as she stalked toward the choking man.
By now Benwick’s face was taking on a purple hue. Neeka Sot kicked his hands away from his throat and pressed her boot against the side of his neck. When she stepped back, the man dragged in air in a long, ragged gasp.
The female stooped and seized a handful of Benwick’s curly red hair. She dragged him up onto his knees and held him upright by his hair.
Still holding her grip, Neeka Sot circled around to face the human. She jerked his head to one side, and then nodded to the priest.
Harrar took a tiny box from the folds of his head cloth. In it was a bright green creature. He tipped the box and spilled the small servant into the human’s ear.
For several moments Benwick’s shrieks of protest filled the chamber. Harrar held his patience with difficulty. Humans were ridiculously reticent to join with helpful creatures, regarding the sovereignty of their pitifully inadequate bodies as a higher good than greater strength and efficiency.
Benwick struggled and protested as if his opinions might actually make some difference. Finally the process was complete, and the human struggled to his feet.
He clutched his ear and glared at his comrade’s body. “This is your idea of a reward?”
“We will be able to communicate with you more directly and efficiently,” Harrar said. “With this advantage, you will be more likely to capture Jaina Solo than any of your fellow pirates. Now go. Neeka Sot would be most displeased if she thought that my gift was unappreciated.”
The red-haired man sent a look of pure venom at the female warrior, but his bow to Harrar and Khalee Lah was acceptably respectful. He turned and strode down the corridor.
Neeka Sot bowed to Harrar and then dropped to one knee before Khalee Lah. Somewhat mollified by
this show of respect, he gestured for her to rise and depart.
The priest turned to study the young warrior. “Your convictions are as strong as the armor you wear, but not nearly as flexible. You are troubled when your notions are disrupted,” he noted. “But mark well what we have learned here. Jaina Solo may prove a more formidable adversary than we expected.”
“She is an infidel!”
“And we are not,” the priest said pointedly. “Because of our devotion, we should understand how powerful and potent a trickster can be.”
The warrior’s gaze snapped to Harrar’s face. “Surely you do not equate this human with Yun-Harla!”
“That would be blasphemy,” the priest agreed. “I am merely reminding you that Yun-Harla teaches us that all is never quite as it seems. As befits a Trickster, the goddess sends her lessons when they are least expected, and in the most unlikely of circumstances.”
As Harrar spoke, a shiver of premonition tingled through him. Fortunately the warrior seemed not to notice his unease.
“Unlikely indeed!” Khalee Lah agreed. “Nevertheless, only fools underestimate their enemies.”
He bowed and strode from the chamber, leaving Harrar to contemplate the heresy he had just denied.
It was whispered that the Jeedai had more in common with the Yuuzhan Vong gods than the warrior caste wished to admit. Rumors spoke softly of a heresy that originated on Yavin 4, where some of the Shamed Ones looked to the Jeedai for deliverance.
Harrar wandered over to the viewport and gazed with unseeing eyes at the stars beyond, at the countless worlds awaiting shape and purity. He considered his words to Khalee Lah, and measured his own devotion to the goddess against the warrior’s unwavering faith. And he wondered, as he often did, how one could worship without reservation a goddess who could never be trusted.
A lifetime of travel had spawned in him the longing for a homeworld. Perhaps a little heresy would bring another note of constancy to his life. And after all these many years as a priest, it might be a great relief to be able to believe in something.
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