by Greg Keyes
“Unh-unh,” Corran said. “Not buying the sophomoric philosophy. Part of you was once a real person. Part of you was created, like a computer program.”
“You think Threepio isn’t real?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” Tahiri said. She’d pretty much had enough of this, because she didn’t know whether to cry or hit him. “And I’ll bet I’ve thought about it a lot more than you have. What I don’t know is why you’re pushing this, here, now. I thought we covered this before leaving Mon Calamari.”
Corran stopped, regarded her in the light of their lamps.
“No, we didn’t. Or, rather, none of my worries were really resolved. You asked if I trusted you. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Tahiri—I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what might be sleeping in you, waiting to wake up when the right stimulus comes along. And I can’t believe that you can be sure about that either.”
That was a tu’q, a solid hit. “No, of course I can’t,” she finally managed. “But I’m not part Tahiri and part Riina. There aren’t two voices in my head. Those two fought, and joined, and I was born. They were sort of like my parents. Nothing about either one of them is perfect in me. Even if I inherited something nasty from Riina, it will be flawed. I’ll be able to fight it.”
“Unless you don’t want to. Unless it’s something that would have appealed to both Tahiri and Riina.”
She conceded that with a nod. “You’ve already taken the risk, Corran. Why didn’t we have this conversation days ago?”
“Because I wanted to see something of who you’ve become.”
“And who have I become?”
“You’re bright and talented and far too confident. I’m not sure you’re afraid of anything, and that’s bad.”
“I’m afraid,” she said.
“Of what?”
“Fear. Anger.”
“The dark side.”
“Anakin saw me as a Dark Jedi with Yuuzhan Vong markings. He was strong in the Force.” She shook her head. “It’s not some hidden Yuuzhan Vong part of me that should worry you, Corran. It’s the Jedi part. Tahiri was trained as a Jedi from childhood. I—the person I’ve become—was not.”
His eyebrows beetled up. “That’s an interesting thing to say. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Most people haven’t.”
“Okay,” Corran said. “We’ll take this up later, when we aren’t skulking.”
“Are we skulking now?”
“Yes, because we’re almost at our destination. If there’s anyone waiting for us, I’d rather they didn’t interrupt an interesting conversation.”
A few moments later they passed an immense shaft of some sort. Faint daylight illuminated it, so she could guess that it was perhaps two kilometers in diameter. Looking up, she could see a faint circle of rose-colored light.
“How deep is this shaft?” she wondered aloud.
“About three klicks.”
“What in the galaxy was this?”
“A garbage pit,” he said. “They used to shoot dangerous garbage into orbit from here, with magnetic accelerators.”
“That’s a lot of garbage,” Tahiri said. “This is where we’re meeting him?”
“Yes. In about fifteen minutes, if he’s on time.”
While they waited, Tahiri looked around a bit. A lot of Yuuzhan Vong life had crept into the pit.
“What are those called?” Corran asked her. He was pointing at a plant with thick, reedlike stalks that glowed a vivid blue color.
“I’ve no idea,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen one before. There are a lot of things like that down here—things from the homeworld that weren’t needed or wanted on the worldships. Or maybe they’re new, engineered to live on metal.”
She touched the glowing cylinders. They were cool, and the fine hairs on the back of her hand stood up.
Ten minutes later, they heard the faint echoes of footsteps. Tahiri put her hand on the grip of her lightsaber. It might be the Prophet, but it might be anything.
A faint green luminescence appeared, carried by a tall, well-formed warrior.
“It’s a trick!” Tahiri whispered. She ignited her lightsaber. Corran’s blazed on an instant later.
The warrior stopped, now fully illuminated.
“Jeedai!”
“Look at him,” Tahiri said. “He’s not malformed. He’s not Shamed!”
But the warrior had dropped to his knees. “Jeedai,” he said in Basic. “Welcome. But you are not correct. I am indeed Shamed.”
After the initial shock, Tahiri had begun to notice other details—like the fact that the warrior wore no armor, and that some of his scars and tattoos were incomplete.
“You speak Basic,” Corran noticed.
“For your convenience I am equipped with a tizowyrm.”
“Are you the Prophet?” Corran asked.
“I am not. I arrive before him, to make certain all is safe. My name is Kunra.”
“And is it?” Corran asked. “Safe?”
“You are Jeedai. I have no choice but to trust you. My fear was that our communications had somehow been intercepted, and that I would find warriors here.”
Tahiri switched to Yuuzhan Vong. “Why were you Shamed?” she asked.
The warrior’s eyes widened. “One-who-was-shaped!” Then his eyes switched back to Corran, and he returned to Basic. “The slayer of Shedao Shai! We expected Jeedai, but not the most august of them.”
“Ah, there are still a few higher on the ladder than us,” Corran said. “Luke Skywalker, for instance.”
“But he does not figure in our sacred tales!”
Tahiri was in no mood to let the warrior become distracted. “I asked you a question,” she snapped.
The warrior bowed his head. “I was a coward,” he said.
A cowardly warrior? Tahiri thought. No wonder.
“You seem to have some courage,” Corran said. “You came down here, not knowing if you would find us or an ambush.”
“I serve the Truth now. It gives me courage, though I am still unworthy.”
“And yet the most worthy of my disciples,” a new voice said.
Tahiri glanced up. A tall figure had just come into the chamber. His face was a mass of unhealed scars and festering sores, his right ear missing. The sacks below his eyes were distended, yellow, and—
No, something was wrong. She looked more closely.
It’s not real, she realized. He’s wearing a masquer.
“You’re Yu’shaa?” Corran asked.
“I am. It is my honor to meet the great Tahiri Veila and Corran Horn.”
Tahiri acknowledged that greeting with a curt nod.
The Prophet bowed. “This is truly a blessed day,” he said.
“Right,” Corran said. “Though for a blessed day, we’ve had some fairly unblessed setbacks. Including the fact that our ship was destroyed in coming here.”
“You were discovered?” the Prophet asked, a bit sharply.
“No. At least I don’t think so.” Tahiri watched him carefully while Corran described what had happened.
The Prophet nodded when he finished. “You are correct, Blessed One—it is unlikely that you were discovered. I suspect your firing of the plasma weapon caused some sort of malfunction in the maw luur’s reflexes. There are hundreds, if not thousands of such malfunctions every day, and I doubt this one will be closely scrutinized. As to the other, once more we see that the universe favors our cause. The final member of our party claims to have a ship at her disposal.”
“Final member of the party?” Corran made it sound like, You want me to kiss a gundark?
“Yes. A shaper who holds the secret to our redemption.”
“I thought you—”
“I am the Prophet. I speak the truth and foretell what is to come. I am not myself the key to redemption—I merely see it.”
Corran glanced at Tahiri. “That’s interesting,” he said
, “but our mission, as I understood it, was to come here and get you and take you to Zonama Sekot. Now you want us to change the mission to include someone else. In my experience, changes in the mission can lead to unpleasant results.”
“I am sorry,” the Prophet said. “But as you said, your mission has changed already—now we must have a ship. As to the shaper—I could not speak of her on the qahsa. She is placed very close to Shimrra—it is how she discovered Zonama Sekot in the first place.”
Corran sighed. “Explain.”
“A commander named Ekh’m Val went to Zonama Sekot,” Yu’shaa said. “He fought there and was defeated. But he returned with something of the planet, which this shaper has studied. She discovered a certain inexplicable kinship between the biology of Sekot and our own biotechnology.”
“Again, interesting, but—”
“We are from another galaxy, Jedi Horn. We crossed the starless night for age upon age. Our legends go deep, and yet nowhere is such a thing hinted at, at least not in anything I ever heard. And yet here, in this time of darkness, two things are given us. To me, a vision of Zonama Sekot as a sign of our redemption. To the shaper, the revelation that we have some prior relationship to this planet—a relationship that Shimrra fears. I do not know what these things mean, but they can hardly be coincidence. But like me, this shaper must see the world of salvation with her own eyes, to know the truth—to know exactly what it all means.”
“And how do you know she isn’t betraying you?” Corran asked. “You say she’s part of Shimrra’s inner circle? I’m sure he would like to get his hands on you at least as much as on the two of us.”
“No doubt. But I believe her. Ekh’m Val was murdered upon his return from Zonama Sekot, along with all his surviving warriors. Shimrra fears even the rumor of this planet. The shaper is already as good as dead, merely for knowing what she knows. Shimrra would never allow her to leave his compound, much less travel freely to the very planet he fears.”
“So you’re saying we have to break her out of Shimrra’s compound?” Tahiri blurted, incredulous.
“Yes. I’m afraid it’s the only way.”
“Yu’shaa,” Tahiri said, “why are you wearing a masquer?”
She felt Corran’s reaction in the Force—a sudden heightening of suspicion. But he didn’t say anything, and she was watching the Prophet for his reaction.
But the Prophet showed no surprise, nor should he have—any Yuuzhan Vong would see the masquer for what it was: an organism that presented a false face to the world. “You know our ways,” he said. “I wear this masquer for my people. I have sworn not to remove it until our redemption has come. For you, I might take it off, but I have adhered it with dhur qirit. The removal process is very lengthy.”
So it was basically sutured to his face. That made sense, sort of—several Yuuzhan Vong sects in the past had habitually worn masquers as a matter of daily ritual. They had, in fact, originally been developed for that rather than as a means of disguise.
But here, in this context, Tahiri didn’t like it.
Corran obviously didn’t, either. “No offense, Yu’shaa,” he said, “but Tahiri and I need a moment to discuss this alone.”
“Of course.”
They walked a comfortable distance.
“How does this smell to you?” Corran asked.
“I don’t really like it,” Tahiri said. “But part of that might be a reflexive dislike of Shamed Ones.”
“You think that affects your read of the situation?”
“I hope not. I’m trying to fight it. But there’s something about him I don’t like, that’s for sure.”
“Well, that makes two of us. But the question isn’t whether we like him, or even whether we trust him. The question is, Is he telling us the truth at this moment, as he knows it?”
“I can’t say for sure,” Tahiri said. “But this all seems pretty elaborate for a trap.”
“My thought exactly. It doesn’t make any sense—if they were going to do something, why not here? No, this has the feel of a real plan, albeit a pretty shoddy one. In fact, it’s sort of reassuring.” He smiled. “Are you still game?”
“Of course. I thought you would be the one to object.”
“We’re in pretty deep already. You’ve shown me you can handle yourself. And Kenth was right to send you along—I couldn’t have made the call about the masquer. Let’s at least see what the plan is.”
“There are hidden ways into Shimrra’s palace,” Yu’shaa told them. “Some have been discovered, but there is one I am still certain of. I have been reluctant to use it, for once I do so I cannot do so again. Once within, we must make our way to the shaper compound.”
“If she has a ship, why can’t she just fly it out?” Tahiri asked.
“I don’t know,” the Prophet replied. “I know only that she requires defense of a substantial sort, or the escape will be impossible.”
“That’s not all there is to it,” Corran grunted. “She wants it to look like a kidnapping, doesn’t she? So she can have deniability later.”
“That seems possible,” Yu’shaa agreed.
“Hmm. Do you have a diagram of this compound?”
“Yes.”
“How many warriors will we have to face?”
“My followers will help, of course,” Yu’shaa said. “They will create a nearby disturbance, which should draw warriors to another part of the palace compound. And you have friends inside the damutek, of course.”
“That’s all well and good,” Corran said, “but how many warriors will we have to face?”
“My guess is all I can give you, but I suspect no less than ten.”
“And as many as?”
“If things go wrong? A few hundred.”
“Ah,” Corran said. “Then your people, the ones creating the distraction—”
“Will likely be killed, yes. But they are willing to die.”
“But I’m not willing to let them die,” Corran said. “Not for me.”
“They die for their own redemption, Jedi Horn, not for you. It is only if our mission fails that they will have died in vain.”
“Still, I—hang on.”
Tahiri felt something in the Force, then, a flash of insight from Corran. He was staring at the glowing plants they’d been discussing a moment ago.
“I think I have an idea,” he said. Tahiri thought he sounded reluctant. “It might buy us the edge we need, and get fewer of your people hurt in the process.”
“The Jedi shall lead the way,” the Prophet said. “Tell me your plan.”
“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying things like that,” Corran said, “but here’s what I’m thinking …”
TWELVE
When they emerged from the darkened tunnels and into the light of Supreme Overlord Shimrra’s palace, Tahiri’s knees went momentarily weak at the sight. His command ship, an enormous winged sphere, was nested at the top of it, as if the whole palace were a scepter, a symbol of might.
“Pretty impressive,” even Corran admitted. “Now what?”
Yu’shaa pointed a finger toward a much more modest, star-shaped complex. “That is the shaper damutek,” he said. “Wait here for a few moments. When our ruse begins, it will be there.” He pointed to a large, hexagonal building rather low to the ground, with a roof of gabled mica. “It is an amphistaff breeding gla. The guards will think my people are raiding for weapons.”
Corran counted at least fifty warriors patrolling the vast plaza.
“Your people will be slaughtered.”
“They will not fight for long. They will flee, and your brilliant plan will make certain that most of them are not followed.”
Corran sighed. “I’m not so sure it’s brilliant.”
“They may escape,” Yu’shaa said. “You have given them a better chance than they had. If they do not, they will die with honor, something more than Shimrra would ever allow them. They will die knowing they have blazed the trail to redemption.”
Corran looked back at the damutek. “And we just go in the front door?”
Tahiri was staring at the damutek as well. The momentary reflex to worship she’d had at the sight of Shimrra’s palace was gone, replaced by a cold feeling that lay on the borderlands of anger and fear. Bad things had happened to her in such a place.
“Yes,” she said. “We just go in through the front door.”
“And where will we meet you?” Corran asked the Prophet.
“There is a shrine to Yun-Harla nearby. The shaper will know where it is. If I survive, I will see you there.”
“You haven’t seen whether you survive or not?” Corran asked.
The Prophet smiled. “I am confident that I will.”
“Well, good luck anyway,” Corran said.
“Yes. May the Force be with you.”
As the sounds of the Prophet’s footsteps faded, Corran opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped. He looked at Tahiri.
“Yes,” Tahiri assured him. “That was weird for me, too.”
Nom Anor continued grinning as he left the two Jedi. While nothing was certain, he did expect to survive the coming battle, because he did not intend to be in it. His followers would fight, and they would die, and he would leave by the way he had come in and make his way to the shrine. If the Jedi and the shaper died as well, then he would vanish back underground and try to think of something new.
He wasn’t particularly happy that Corran Horn had been chosen to come. While it looked good to his followers, for him it would be a continual danger. Horn was not the sort to be lulled easily out of suspicion. If he discovered the “Prophet’s” true identity, Nom Anor suspected that the appearance of present good intentions would not overshadow his actions against the Jedi in the past.
Of course, Tahiri was a problem, too. Her knowledge of Yuuzhan Vong ways made her another potential threat. She’d seemed less than entirely convinced by his explanation for the masquer.
He paused in the darkened tunnel, considering. Perhaps he shouldn’t go through with this, after all.