Star Wars_ Destiny's Way Part 9

Jacen's presence sang in his head.

"I think we've got another brainstorm here," Mara said. Her voice seemed to be coming from a distant place, somewhere outside the universe.

"I thought I had sent you to your death," Luke said. Dimly he was aware of the shock and sudden concern of the others in the room as they reacted to the words he'd spoken out loud-but not to them.

It was Jacen all right-Luke recognized the ingenuousness, the dry earnestness. But Jacen wasn't all that Luke sensed. Hovering remotely in the Force, Luke perceived another presence, one who seemed entirely unfamiliar.

"Is someone else there?" Luke asked.

Vergere. It wasn't a name that floated to him, but a thought, an image, a presence.

Luke took a breath at this direct, surprising confirmation. He had never met the alien personally, but he'd been briefed about her, and had also heard from Han about the defection she'd once staged from the Yuuzhan Vong, along with her redefection in the opposite direction.

He had every reason to be suspicious of Vergere. But on the other hand, Vergere, through her tears, had healed Mara of the disease that had threatened her life. It was Vergere who was responsible for Mara returning from the serious, focused, almost grim person she had become to the laughing, spontaneous woman she had once been, and now was again.

What Luke hadn't known was that Vergere was strong in the Force. He could feel her power, restrained at the moment but perfectly genuine. And it was strangely cloaked-even though they were in telepathic contact, Luke could detect nothing of Vergere's personality or purpose. That bespoke training-Vergere was no mere Force-sensitive with a talent for telepathy; she had been carefully educated.

But where had she received such training? Not at his Jedi academy.

And that left a number of dark alternatives-Palpatine, Vader, the Shadow Academy. But why would a Dark Jedi bring Jacen to Luke?

More impressions came from Jacen. A Yuuzhan Vong craft, with its organic scent and resinous walls. Alarm. New Republic ships moving in swarms.

Luke broke contact and turned to his three friends, all of whom were gazing at him with deep concern.

"The short version," he prefaced. "Jacen Solo just contacted me through the Force. He's in the Mon Cal system in a Yuuzhan Vong escape pod, and we've got to stop the military from blowing him up."

Cal's response was immediate. He turned to his protocol droid and said, "Call Fleet Command-priority urgent and immediate. Place another urgent and immediate call to Supreme Commander Sien Sow."

"Yes, Councilor," the droid said.

Cal turned back to Luke. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll get him back."

But Luke was already reaching into the Force, his mind stretching out into the great void beyond. Alongside him he felt the spirit of his wife, her strength supporting his, striving through the darkness of s.p.a.ce for his lost apprentice.

Chapter 10.

Nom Anor forgot his itch as he filed into the Hall of Confluence behind his superior, High Prefect Yoog Skell. The hall was magnificent, broad at the four palpating doors by which high-ranking members of the four ruling castes entered, then narrowing as it approached the far end.

The room was a trompe l'oeil, designed so that all eyes were drawn toward an artificial vanishing point, at which point was the seat of the Supreme Overlord.

The walls were chitin marbled black and white; pillars of white bone supported the roof, and coral spread pale lace over the arches of the ceiling. Though the planes of the room were flat, the dovin basals that provided the room's artificial gravity were tweaked slightly so as to provide the sense of walking uphill as one approached the Supreme Overlord; it felt as if he sat at a summit, and all others toiled upward toward him.

At the focus of all eyes was the largest Yuuzhan Vong that Nom Anor had ever seen, a giant even among the most ma.s.sive warriors. Shimrra sat in silence on a bloodred throne of yorik coral that thrust spines and spikes from its central ma.s.s, as if warding an enemy from the Overlord's presence. His ceremonial robes were somber, black and gray-the gray was leather, the carefully preserved flesh of Steng, who in the distant past had lost the Cremlevian War to Yo'gand, the first Supreme Overlord of the Yuuzhan Vong. Shimrra's ma.s.sive head was so covered with scars, slashes, tattoos, and the marks of branding that he could barely be said to have a face at all, just a torn collection of barely healed wounds. But fierce, discerning intelligence could be seen behind the glowing mqaaq'it implants in his eye sockets, which shifted through the spectrum as he watched the dignitaries enter.

Crouched at the feet of Shimrra was a lanky figure dressed in rags that hung in shreds on his flabby skin, his lip curled back over his teeth to show one yellow fang. His skull was misshapen, with one lobe swollen. Shimrra's familiar, Onimi.

The dignitaries plodded-"uphill"-toward Shimrra and took their places, each of the four castes equidistant from the throne. Shimrra loomed over them, and for once this was not a trick of the gravity-the Supreme Overlord was enormous. All prostrated themselves, and then in mighty voice chanted their salutation.

"Ai' tanna Shimrra khotte Yun'o!" Long life to Shimrra, beloved of the G.o.ds!

A deep rumble came from the throne. Norn Anor could barely see Shimrra's lips move as he spoke.

"Let the Great Council be seated."

The leading members rose to their feet and took their seats, which had been adjusted so as to compensate for the room's peculiar gravity.

Nom Anor rose and then remained on his feet. He did not rate a chair in the Supreme Overlord's presence.

Standing across the room Nom Anor saw the priest Harrar, with whom he had shared several serious misjudgments.

Harrar gave no sign of knowing him. Good, Nom Anor thought. Let all that be forgotten.

He shifted on his feet, propping himself against the gravity that made him lean to his right. The movement triggered the itching again, and Nom Anor clenched his teeth against the blaze of sensation. The itching had spread across his belly and under one armpit, and it felt as if half his skin were aflame. His ringers twitched with the urge to scratch, and he forced them straight.

The Shamed One, Onimi, rose to his feet. "Great lords all," he began, "-whose plans profound Have put our feet on solid ground. I hope you will not think it crime If for this day I speak in rhyme."

Onimi paused for an answer, mismatched eyes scanning the crowd. As if anyone would object. Shimrra's status as Supreme Overlord was unquestioned, and a reflection of his power was that he had actually adopted a Shamed One as his familiar, a grotesque, twisted being who had been rejected by the G.o.ds. Shimrra permitted his familiar extraordinary liberties, and to all appearances enjoyed the creature's grotesque capers as well as the discomfort they caused among onlookers.

After the pause, Onimi raised his arms and performed a lurching pirouette, spinning to display the rags he wore.

"Permit me to recite an ode To raiment new, this latest mode. For like my lord, I glory in My garments made of foemen's skin."

Surprise flashed through Nom Anor as he realized that Onimi's rags were the remnants of New Republic uniforms taken from those who had fallen at Coruscant.

There were intakes of breath around the chamber as others realized this as well.

Onimi capered on, shambling near High Priest Jakan, who hissed and drew back so that none of the whirling rags could contaminate him. Shamed Ones had been rejected by the G.o.ds themselves, d.a.m.ned to all the contempt and hatred they surely deserved.

"Enough." The single word came from Shimrra, and was sufficient for Onimi to fall silent, a glimmer of fear in his eyes.

"Back to your place, creature," Shimrra growled. "Our meeting will be long enough without having to endure your capers."

The Overlord's familiar cringed in apology, then dragged himself back to the throne and dropped like a sack of bones at his master's feet.

Shimrra's head turned left and right, viewing all the delegates in turn.

Then he turned his ma.s.sive body toward Tsavong Lan. "I should like to discuss the prosecution of the war. What do you have to say, Warmaster?"

Tsavong Lah's hand formed a fist, which he brought down with a crash on the arm of his chair. "I have but one word to say, and that word is Victory!" His delegation growled in agreement. "The enemy capital is ours," the warmaster continued, "and you have taken formal possession of it! We followed the capture of Yuuzhan'tar with our victory at Borleias!

Supreme Commander Nas Choka's fleet does well in Hutt s.p.a.ce. With the exception of the unfortunate Komm Karsh, our forces have been victorious everywhere."

Onimi, at the overlord's feet, gave a little giggle that echoed strangely in the room's cavernous s.p.a.ces.

The warmaster bared his teeth. Shimrra gave a rumble of warning to Onimi at his impudence, and then his gaze settled on Tsavong Lah.

"Onimi may sp.a.w.n wretched doggerel," he said, "but he has a point.

Your attempt to capture Jaina Solo at Hapes was a complete failure."

Having no choice but to acknowledge his defeat, Tsavong Lah bowed his head. "I confess it."

"And the casualties we took for the capture of Yuuzhan'tar were enormous. The first two waves were wiped out, and the third wave, though victorious, was decimated. After that, Borleias was a very expensive victory-more, in my judgment, than the planet was worth. Your own father died. Plus Komm Karsh's defeat was expensive in both lives and materiel.

I am not as lenient as my predecessor."

A fanatic gleam entered Tsavong Lah's eyes. "We would give these lives again, and more!" he said. "Life is less than nothing! What is a warrior's life compared to the glory of the Yuuzhan Vong?"

Shimrra's answer was sharp. "I do not dispute your warriors' glory, or their willingness to die! That is not what is at issue."

"I beg the Supreme Overlord's pardon," Tsavong Lah said. "I did not understand-"

"Do not a.s.sume that I am a fool!" Shimrra barked. He pointed at Tsavong Lah. "You have won your victories by sending your troops over a rampart of our own dead! How do you intend to replace these casualties?"

Nom Anor gloated at the sight of Shimrra taking the warmaster to task for his failings. He and Tsavong Lah had b.u.t.ted heads often enough, and it did his heart good to see the warrior taken down a few steps in front of his rivals.

"My lord-I-" The warmaster was at a loss. "I have fulfilled all our primary objectives-I have given you the capital-"

"We may grow more warships, but warriors must be bred" Shimrra said. "It will take a generation or more before our formations stand again at full strength, and we now have many worlds to defend."

"I will give you more victories!" Tsavong Lah cried. "The infidels are routed! If I follow up our victories, they will break!"

The warmaster was interrupted by yet another giggle from Onimi.

"The warmaster is not listening! He needs a new pair of ears-or perhaps instead the organ that lies between them."

A hiss of fury escaped his throat as Tsavong Lah glowered at Onimi.

"Silence." Again the word came from Shimrra. Though the Overlord's tone was soft, the room's admirable acoustics made the word sing in the air. A hush followed, though Tsavong Lah seemed visibly to be choking on his words as he again bowed before his superior.

The Supreme Overlord spoke on. "You ask to follow the enemy. I have read our strength reports. We do not have sufficient forces both to maintain the offensive and to hold what we have already taken."

"My Lord." Tsavong Lah kept his head bowed. "With all respect-we pursue a broken foe. We may expect nothing but a glorious slaughter that adds great glory to your name."

Shimrra's voice was icy. "The enemy that wiped out Komm Karsh was hardly broken. And may I remind the warmaster that Komm Karsh's fleet was our sole strategic reserve? From this point, moving any warrior to strengthen one force will weaken another."

Tsavong Lah had no answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground.

"Our forces will break off offensive operations for the present,"

Shimrra said. "We may resume the offensive once we conclude a reorganization that brings more warriors into the field."

"As the Supreme One wishes." Tsavong Lah's voice was a barely audible hiss.

"I wish it." Shimrra's glowing gaze rose from the warmaster and swept over the room. "Many of our warriors are tied down in garrison and pacification duties far from the front. I wish to liberate them for combat against the infidels." His eyes sought out the delegation of shapers, who had until this point remained silent.

"I require you to create more warriors," he said.

Ch'Gang Hool, master of Domain Hool, a shaper clan, responded quickly. "The Supreme Overlord refers to surge-coral implants?"

"Yes. Captives will be given implants enabling them to receive the commands of a yammosk. They will then be placed under the command of warriors." Shimrra turned again to Tsavong Lah. "Thus will you have larger forces to bring against the infidels."

"I am grateful, G.o.d-Chosen."

Nom Anor couldn't help but observe that grat.i.tude did not seem foremost in the warmaster's mind.

"If the warriors are not wasted" Shimrra said pointedly, "these measures should serve to correct the problem for the short term. In order to make up our losses in the long term, I command the following: "All warriors will now be ordered to breed at the age of sixteen, if they have not already. If no mate chooses a given warrior, his or her commander will award a suitable mate from the warriors available.

Afterward, awards and incentives will be devised to reward those who produce children."

Tsavong Lah bowed again. "It shall be as you wish, Supreme One."

"Nothing shall be as I wish if we continue to lose battles,"

Shimrra reminded. "The enemy have developed new tactics that enable them to gain victories. I command a full report."

Tsavong Lah at last raised his head. "The infidels have discovered a way to use a ... machine to override the signal sent to our units by the yammosks. Our units arc thus forced to operate on their own, without strategic guidance."

"And the remedy?" Shimrra's question was prompt.

The warmaster hesitated. "We have not developed one as yet, Supreme One. We are-we have discussed the problem-" He hesitated again. "The fact is, Supreme One, that this development is unprecedented in our history, and-"

"You are baffled," Shimrra said.

Again the warmaster bowed. Nom Anor felt a surge of gloating pleasure.

"I confess it," Tsavong Lah said. "My life in payment."

Shimrra turned again to the shapers. "Has the shaper caste any suggestions?"

This time Ch'Gang Hool's answer was not as swift as before. "We could attempt to create yammosks that could function despite these evil machines' influence. But it would be more useful if we had a better understanding of the technical dimensions of the problem. Have any of these-" He hesitated even to speak the foul word, "-these machines been captured?"

"No," Tsavong Lah said. "We do not capture machines, we destroy them."

"And they have another type of new machine, do they not?" the Supreme Overlord asked. "One that causes our vessels to fire on one another?"

"It is the cause of much misfortune," Tsavong Lah said. "The infidels have developed machines that adhere to our ships, like grutchins to a foe, and broadcast a signal identifying them as an enemy. Our own loyal ships, perceiving an enemy, then open fire." His expression grew wooden. "The enemy insults us by placing on these machines the device of Yun-Harla, the Trickster."

"They insult not us, but the G.o.ds!" shouted the high priest, Jakan.

"Blasphemers! Infidels! Let us capture those responsible, and their agony shall be undying!"