by Troy Denning
“And the Qoribu nestz are filled with Chisz Joinerz.”
Saba let the statement hang, leaving it to her listeners to draw their own conclusions. Under normal circumstances, it would have been perfect persuasive technique. But with Raynar, Leia did not want to take any chances. There were too many dangerous turns available to a dissociative mind—especially a dissociative collective mind.
“Remember what Han said about Cilghal’s theory?” Leia asked. “She believes that when a Killik nest absorbs a Force-sensitive being, the nestmates assume a portion of that being’s personality.”
“When the Yoggoy absorbed you,” Han added, “they started to value individual life. When they absorbed Lomi Plo and Welk, they assimilated the desire for secrecy and—”
“We are not responsible for the Dark Nest!” Raynar protested. “Lomi Plo and Welk died in the Crash!”
“That’s right,” Leia said, cringing inwardly. “Welk and Lomi Plo died in the Crash.”
It was growing more apparent that dragging Welk and Lomi Plo out of the burning Flier had been just too much for Raynar to bear; that whenever he remembered it, he also remembered how much he had suffered—and all that he had lost—by doing it.
Leia continued, “But the Yoggoy absorbed your respect for living things, and it wasn’t long before their success led to the creation of the Colony.”
“That is how we remember it,” Raynar agreed. “But we do not see what that has to do with the Dark Nest—”
“Everything!” Saba waved her scaly arm at the nursery again. “Look at how many Chisz Joinerz they had!”
Raynar’s eyes brightened with anger. “The Kind are not cannibals. Our nests do not feed on our own Joiners.”
“Something happened in this nest,” Saba pointed out.
“And the Chiss are bloodthirsty warriors,” Leia added. It was a wild exaggeration, but one that Raynar would be eager to believe. “Really, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened to the other Qoribu nests.”
“This?” Raynar shook his head. “This could not happen to another nest of Kind.”
“It happened here,” Saba pointed out.
“Maybe there’s some sort of balance point,” Han added, feigning contemplation. “When a nest gets too many Chiss Joiners…”
He let the sentence trail off and turned toward Raynar, his expression growing steadily more concerned.
Raynar finished the thought. “It becomes a Dark Nest?” The Unu broke into a distressed drone, and he nodded. “That could explain what happened here.”
“The Chisz are great believerz in secrecy,” Saba offered helpfully.
“Yes.” Raynar spoke with an air of certainty. “The Kind will take no more Chiss into our nests.”
“That’s one solution,” Leia agreed. She caught Han’s eye, and they shared one of those electric moments of connection that made her wonder if he was Force-sensitive after all. “But what are you going to do with all your prisoners?”
A nervous clatter rose among the Unu, and Raynar asked, “Prisoners?”
“Chisz prisonerz,” Saba said. “As the war spreadz, you will have hundredz of thousandz. Millionz.”
“Only one thing to do.” Han shook his head in mock regret. “Of course, that’ll only make the rest of the Chiss fight that much harder.”
Raynar turned to glare at Han. Leia found herself holding her breath, hoping she had not made a mistake reading Raynar’s warped psyche—that he had not grown ruthless enough to accept Han’s suggestion.
At last, Raynar said, “The Colony does not kill its prisoners.”
“No?” Han returned the glare for a moment, then shined his helmet lamp on a half-eaten body. “That’ll change soon enough.”
The Unu entourage erupted into an angry buzz, but Raynar said nothing.
“Maybe it will not be so bad for the Colony,” Saba said. She turned to address the Unu. “Soon, all your nestz will be like the Gorog. The Kind will become great fighterz.”
“We do not wish the Kind to be great fighters,” Raynar said. “We have seen what happens to great fighters. Anakin was a great fighter.”
A pang of grief struck Leia, but she forced herself to continue. “I’m sorry, UnuThul. I don’t see how you can avoid it.”
“Too bad there’s going to be a war,” Han said. “If there wasn’t, the Colony could set up some sort of buffer zone and keep the Chiss away from their nests.”
“That might work,” Leia said. “But Qoribu is too close to Chiss territory. The nests are bound to keep coming into contact with Chiss exploration and mining crews. Sooner or later, they’ll reach the balance point.”
“Qoribu is too close,” Saba agreed. “The Colony would have to move itz nestz.”
“Impossible,” Raynar said. “It cannot be done.”
“That’s very unfortunate.” Leia said this to the Unu entourage. “Because Han and I found this paradise world—”
“Several worlds, probably,” Han added. “All empty, lush with foraging grounds, just waiting for a species to come along and claim them.”
The entourage began to rustle with interest.
“Tell us more,” Raynar said.
“It’s in a subsector on the edge of Colony territory,” Leia explained. “We didn’t have time to do a complete survey, but the world we visited would be perfect for the Taat nest. There were at least two other habitable planets in the same system, with another dozen systems nearby that gave every indication of being just as profuse.”
“We were thinking the Colony would want to have a look,” Han said. “But if you guys aren’t interested, there are still plenty of displaced species in the Galactic Alliance—”
“We are interested,” Raynar said. “We always have need of new territory.”
“Good,” Leia said. “I’m sure the Chiss could be persuaded to stand down long enough for you to organize a relocation.”
The corners of Raynar’s mouth turned down. “I’ve told you, that is impossible. There’s no way to transport the Qoribu nests. They are too large.”
“Really?” Han flashed a smug smile, then asked, “So large they couldn’t be temporarily rebuilt in the hangars and launching bays of, say, a few Hapan Battle Dragons?”
Raynar’s jaw dropped. “The Hapan fleet would help us escape the Chiss?”
“Sure, why not?” Han retorted. “That has to be easier than defending you.”
“And they would let us build nests in their Battle Dragons?”
“This one thinkz they would.” Saba sissed in amusement. “In fact, she is sure of it.”
The Unu thrummed their chests and tapped their mandibles for a long time, then Raynar finally said, “We understand what you are doing. You’re just as bad as Jaina was.”
“Was?” Han scowled and looked back toward the other room—the one he had departed without even greeting his daughter. “If you’ve—”
“Relax, Han.” Leia touched Jaina through the Force, then said, “She’s fine. She’s still with Luke and Mara.”
“Of course she is,” Raynar said indignantly. “We meant that Jaina is no longer welcome in her nest.”
Han raised his brow. “I’ve been kicked out of a few saloons in my time, but a nest? What’d she do?”
“She’s too much like you,” Raynar said. “She is stubborn and tricky, and she cared about nothing but preventing a war.”
“You don’t say.” Han smiled proudly, then asked, “Does this mean she’ll stop being a bughugger?”
Raynar’s eyes flashed in anger, and Leia began to have visions of her carefully crafted peace initiative falling apart.
“Han,” she said. “Remember, UnuThul hasn’t agreed to our proposal yet.”
“Well, he hasn’t disagreed, either.” Han turned to Raynar. “What’s it going to be, kid? A nasty war and a Colony full of Dark Nests, or a free ride to a free world?”
The Unu erupted into a riot of chest drumming and antenna waving, but Han ignored them and kept his eye
fixed on Raynar. The entourage kept the racket up for a few moments longer, then abruptly fell silent and began to stream out of the vault.
Leia frowned. “Are we to take that as a yes?”
“Of course,” Raynar said. He rubbed his arm down the antennae of a small, red-eyed Killik about half the size of an Ewok, then turned and started after his nest. “Wasn’t it our idea?”
By Troy Denning
WATERDEEP
DRAGONWALL
THE PARCHED SEA
THE VERDANT PASSAGE
THE CRIMSON LEGION
THE AMBER ENCHANTRESS
THE OBSIDIAN ORACLE
THE CERULEAN STORM
THE OGRE’S PACT
THE GIANT AMONG US
THE TITAN OF TWILIGHT
THE VEILED DRAGON
PAGES OF PAIN
CRUCIBLE: THE TRIAL OF CYRIC THE MAD
THE OATH OF STONEKEEP
FACES OF DECEPTION
BEYOND THE HIGH ROAD
DEATH OF THE DRAGON (with Ed Greenwood)
THE SUMMONING
THE SIEGE
THE SORCERER
STAR WARS: THE NEW JEDI ORDER: STAR BY STAR
STAR WARS: TATOOINE GHOST
STAR WARS: DARK NEST I: THE JOINER KING
Nom Anor suppressed a shiver at the sight of the Shamed One Onimi leering from the doorway. Something in him shrank at the appearance of the lank creature with his misshapen head and knowing smile.
Onimi’s grin widened.
Nom Anor, distaste prickling, pushed past the Shamed One and entered. The rounded resinous walls of the chamber shone with a faint luminescence, and the air bore the metallic scent of blood. In the dim light Nom Anor made out the magnificently scarred and mutilated form of Supreme Overlord Shimrra, reclining on a dais of pulsing red hau polyps. Onimi, the Supreme One’s familiar, sank into the shadows at Shimrra’s feet. Nom Anor prostrated himself, all too aware of the scrutiny of Shimrra’s rainbow eyes.
The Supreme Overlord’s deep voice rolled out of the darkness. “You have news of the infidels?”
“I have, Supreme One.”
“Stand, Executor, and enlighten me.”
Nom Anor repressed a shiver of fear as he rose to his feet. This was Shimrra’s private audience chamber, not the great reception hall, and Nom Anor was absolutely alone here. He would much rather be able to hide behind his superior Yoog Skell and a whole deputation of intendants.
Never think to lie to the Supreme One, Yoog Skell had warned.
Nom Anor would not. He probably could not. Fortunately he was well prepared with the latest news of the infidels’ efforts against the Yuuzhan Vong.
“The enemy continue their series of raids against our territory. They dare not confront our might directly, and confine themselves to picking off isolated detachments or raiding our lines of communication. If a substantial fleet opposes them, they flee without fighting.”
The Supreme Overlord’s head, the sum of its features barely discernable as a face with all its scars and tattoos and slashings, loomed forward in the shadowy light. “Have your agents been able to inform you which of our conquests are being targeted?”
Nom Anor felt a cold hand run up his spine. He had seen what happened to some of those who disappointed the great Overlord Shimrra, and he knew his answer would be a disappointment.
“Unfortunately, Supreme One, it appears that the new administration is giving the local commanders a great deal of latitude. They’re choosing their own targets. Our agents on Mon Calamari have no way of knowing what objectives the individual commanders may select.”
There was a moment of silence. “The new head of state, this infidel Cal Omas, permits his subordinates such freedom?”
Nom Anor bowed. “So it appears, Supreme One.”
“Then he has no true concept of subordination. His rule will not trouble us much longer.”
Nom Anor, who thought otherwise, chose not to dispute this analysis. “The Supreme One is wise,” he said instead.
“You must redouble your efforts to infiltrate the military and provide us with their objectives.”
“I shall obey, Supreme One.”
“What news of the Peace Brigade?”
“The news is mixed.” The collaborationist Peace Brigade government had been established on Ylesia, and had grown sufficiently large and diverse to have divided into squabbling factions, all of which competed ferociously in groveling to the Yuuzhan Vong. None of this cringing actually aided the creation of the Peace Brigade army and fleet, which, when built up to strength and trained, were to act as auxiliaries to the Yuuzhan Vong.
“Perhaps it should be admitted that infidels so disposed as to join an organization called the ‘Peace Brigade’ may not be temperamentally inclined toward war,” Nom Anor said.
“They need a leader to exact obedience,” Shimrra concluded.
“That role was to be assigned to the infidel Viqi Shesh, Supreme One,” Nom Anor said.
“Another leader shall be assigned,” Shimrra said. His eyes shimmered from blue to green to yellow. “We should choose someone who has nothing to do with these factions. Someone from outside, who can impose discipline.”
Nom Anor agreed, but when he searched his mind for candidates, no names occurred to him. “We are having better luck with infidel mercenaries,” he said. “They have made no true submission and possess no loyalty, but they are convinced they have joined the winning side, and are content to obey so long as we pay them.”
“Contemptible creatures. No wonder a galaxy that spawned such as these was given by the gods to us.”
“Indeed, Supreme One.”
Shimrra shifted his huge form on his dais, and one of the polyps beneath him burst under the pressure, spraying the wall with its insides. An acid reek filled the room. The other polyps at once turned on the injured creature and began to divide and devour it.
Shimrra ignored the clacking and slurping. “Speak of our visitor from Corellia.”
Nom Anor bowed. “He is called Thrackan Sal-Solo.”
“Solo? He is related to the twin Jeedai?”
“The two branches of the family are estranged, Supreme One.”
A thoughtful rumble came from the dais. “A pity. If otherwise, we could hold him hostage and demand the twins in exchange.”
“That is indeed a pity, Lord.”
Shimrra waved one huge hand. “Continue, Executor.”
“Sal-Solo is the leader of a large political faction on Corellia, and has been elected governor-general of the Corellian sector. He says that, with our support, he can assure that the Corellian system—five planets—is detached from the infidel government. Once this is done, he can assure its neutrality, including the neutrality of the Centerpoint weapon that so devastated our force at Fondor. Then, as diktat, he will sign a treaty of friendship with us.”
Shimrra shifted thoughtfully on the pulsing bed. The dismembered polyp twitched and fluttered as its siblings consumed it.
“Is this infidel trustworthy, Executor?”
“Of course not, Supreme One.” Nom Anor made a deprecatory gesture. “But he may be useful. He gave us the location of the Jedi academy, and that information was correct, and led to our colonization of the Yavin system. Corellia is a major industrial center, where many weapons and enemy ships are built, and its neutrality is desirable.”
“What is our information on the Centerpoint weapon?”
“Sal-Solo did not come alone. He brought with him a supporter and companion, a human female called Darjeelai Swan. While I interviewed Sal-Solo, we took his companion and interrogated her. According to this person, the Centerpoint weapon is not functional, though efforts are being made by New Republic military forces to rehabilitate it.”
“So this Sal-Solo offers to trade us what he does not have.”
“True. And—also according to Darjeelai Swan—it was Sal-Solo himself who fired the Centerpoint weapon at our fleet at Fondor.”
Shimrr
a’s hands—giant black taloned things, each implanted from a different carnivore—made massive fists. “And this creature has the effrontery to bargain with me?”
“Indeed, Supreme One.”
Onimi piped up,
“Fetch him to our presence, Lord,
And bring us all into concord.
I wish it known and made a rule
That I am not the only fool.”
Shimrra’s vast frame heaved with what might have been laughter.
“Yes,” he said. “By all means. Let us meet the master of Corellia.”
Nom Anor bowed in response, then hesitated. “Shall I bring his guards, as well?”
Contempt rang in Shimrra’s answer. “I am capable of defending myself against anything this infidel should attempt.”
“As you desire, Supreme One.”
Like most humans Thrackan Sal-Solo was a thin, ill-muscled creature, with hair and beard growing white with age. His eyes widened as he entered the chamber and perceived, in the darkness, Shimrra’s burning rainbow eyes. Nevertheless he summoned a degree of swagger, and approached the Supreme Overlord on the pulsing polyp bed.
“Lord Shimrra,” he said, crossed his arms, and gave an alltoo-brief bow.
Nom Anor reacted without thought. One sweep of his booted foot knocked the human’s legs out from under him, and a precise shove dropped the startled Corellian onto his face.
Onimi giggled.
“Grovel before your lord!” Nom Anor shouted. “Grovel for your life!”
“I come in peace, Lord Shimrra!” Sal-Solo protested.
Nom Anor drove a boot into Sal-Solo’s ribs. “Silence! You will wait for instruction!” He turned to Shimrra and translated the human’s words.
“The infidel says that he comes in peace, Supreme One.”
“That is well.” Shimrra contemplated the splayed human figure for a moment. “Tell the infidel that I have considered his proposals and have decided to accept.”
Nom Anor translated the overlord’s words into Basic. Sal-Solo’s face, pressed against the floor, displayed what might have been a trace of a smile.
“Tell the Supreme Overlord that he is wise,” he said.