Star Wars_ Destiny's Way Part 16

"You've . . . destroyed species?" General Farlander asked.

"In the distant past," Kre'fey said. "We did not cease our ar'krai until our enemies were destroyed to the last individual, their names written out of the histories, and their planets reduced to dust floating on the stellar wind." He placed his hands on the tabletop, his white fur reflecting perfectly in its dark polished surface. "So shall we do with the Yuuzhan Vong," he said. "They shall become dust, or we shall become dust ourselves."

Jaina looked at Kre'fey's determined face, and a chill ran up her spine at the quiet certainty that lay behind his words.

Nen Yim couldn't quite suppress a shudder as she reached toward the Shamed One, if only to hand him a bladder-flask. Nor could she suppress her alarm as he opened the flask immediately and began splas.h.i.+ng the balm on his misshapen body. The tendrils on her headdress waved in agitation.

"This is for the Supreme Overlord!" she said.

"I'll save enough for s.h.i.+mrra," Onimi said.

"There must be enough for, for the other shapers," Nen Yim said.

"They must be able to create tons of-"

"I know, master heretic shaper," Onimi said. "I'll leave enough for the shapers."

He slathered the pale green lotion over his grayish, inflamed flesh and sighed. "It works," he said.

"Of course it works!" Nen Yim snapped. Even if Onimi was her only conduit to the Supreme Overlord, his impudence was often more than she could bear.

Onimi seemed oblivious to the shaper's loathing. "Think of all the hours of labor you've saved us," he said. "All that scratching."

The balm had certainly saved Nen Yim's own sanity. Since she had returned from Tsavong Lah's command to work on Yuuzhan'tar directly tinder s.h.i.+mrra, she had been one of the worst affected of the itching plague's victims. She had barely been able to focus her mind to the point that she could puzzle out an antidote.

She and Onimi faced each other in a room screened off by membranous part.i.tions that pulsed with bright oxygenated blood. Phosph.o.r.escent lichen filled the air with a reddish light that was useful when dealing with photosensitive tissues. The tang of the lotion contrasted with the organic odors that normally filled the air, the coppery scent of blood or the loamy scent of undifferentiated protoplasm, the tissue on which Nen Yim performed her grafts, forced mutations, and other experiments.

Performed her heresy. The eighth cortex was known to the Yuuzhan Vong as the ultimate grade of shaper knowledge, the most refined and perfect of the procedures given by the G.o.ds in ancient times, known only to the Supreme Overlord and the few master shapers with whom he shared the knowledge.

Only the handful who had seen the eighth cortex knew that it was a fraud. It was, in fact, practically empty. It contained only a few advanced techniques, most of which s.h.i.+mrra had already given to his people.

Yuuzhan Vong knowledge had reached its end. And so s.h.i.+mrra had found Nen Yim, a shaper already convicted of the heresy of not merely repeating the procedures given the Yuuzhan Vong in ancient times, but actually seeking new knowledge. It was now the task of Nen Yim and her adepts to create the eighth cortex, to provide the new knowledge and new procedures that would enable the Yuuzhan Vong to win the war and exist successfully in their new homeland.

Nen Yim had first call on any Yuuzhan Vong resources. Her research took first priority in any dispute, even over urgent war aims. Her team was housed in its own damutek, isolated and guarded. Her only visitor was Onimi, her direct conduit to the Supreme Overlord.

But the guards, she knew, were not simply to prevent an enemy from interfering-they were to prevent Nen Yim and her own people from escaping to contaminate other Yuuzhan Vong with their heretical ideas. The Yuuzhan Vong chosen for the eighth cortex project were insulated from the rest of their own race-Insulated like a plague.

Nen Yim more than half suspected that after the project's completion, after the eighth cortex was filled with a thousand and one useful shaping protocols, she and her coworkers and Onimi would be quietly liquidated, and all record of their existence erased.

But should that happen, Nen Yim was prepared to accept it. She had accepted death more than once in her life already. All life, after all, was preparation for death, and once the eighth cortex was filled she would have contributed her whole life's adventure to the defeat of the infidels, and the greatness of her people.

Onimi finished applying the lotion and straightened to the full height of his gangling limbs. "This cure is limited, I understand?"

"Yes. It will kill any infection on contact, but you can always be reinfected."

Onimi's unsettling eyes, one lower than the other, focused on her.

"And we will be reinfected, yes?"

"I'm afraid so. The spore is everywhere."

"Can the World Brain be instructed to produce an organism that will kill the spore? Some kind of virus or bacterium that can devour the plague?"

Nen Yim hesitated. "I fear," she dared to say, "that the World Brain may be the problem."

The room's ruddy light shone eerily on Onimi's eyes, now suddenly alert. His tilted slash of a mouth twitched. "How can this be, master shaper?" he asked.

"I have examined the organism that causes the itching plague most carefully. Though further examination would be necessary to confirm this, I believe that the spore and the fungus it causes are of Yuuzhan Vong origin, not native to Yuuzhan'tar."

A hiss escaped Onimi's lips. "Ch'Gang Hool. That imbecile! He has contaminated the World Brain!" He paused for a moment's thought. "Can you instruct the World Brain to cease production of the spore?"

"Perhaps. I'd have to put aside my other work."

"Don't, then. A new clan has been put in charge of the worldshaping project and the World Brain-let the work be theirs." His expression grew thoughtful. "The G.o.ds can speak to s.h.i.+mrra on the matter, and he can then advise the new shapers."

Distaste flooded Nen Yim. She might be a heretic, but even she had more respect for the G.o.ds than to claim her knowledge was of divine origin.

"The Supreme Overlord wants you to concentrate on the yammosk project," Onimi went on. "We must develop a war coordinator that is free from the infidels' attempts to manipulate the gravity spectrum. To this end, the Supreme Overlord has granted you absolution in advance for investigating any of the enemy's machines and weapons."

Nen Yim feigned surprise. "If we knew how the infidels were producing the interference," she said, "the work would be easier."

"It is known that the infidels have gravity-manipulation devices called 'repulsorlifts.' Not as flexible or as useful as our dovin basals, but perhaps operating on the same principles. They might have modified these to interfere with the yammosks."

Nen Yim considered. "Would it be possible to bring me one of these repulsorlifts?"

Onimi gave a mirthless smile. "I shall have one delivered, along with a translation of its specifications."

"Please see they are protected from our metal-destroying bacteria."

"Yes. Of course." His lopsided eyes glimmered. "s.h.i.+mrra prays daily for a solution to this problem. May I say the G.o.ds will provide an answer soon?"

"The G.o.ds should first provide a repulsorlift."

Onimi gave a bow and a cross-armed salute, but his head was tilted at an ironic angle. "May your efforts prosper, master shaper," he said.

"And yours, Onimi."

The deformed figure made his way out of the chamber. Nen Yim watched him leave, her lips twitching with distaste.

"Whatever they may be, creature," she repeated, "whatever they may be."

Chapter 14.

Cal Omas announced his "Jedi plan," and his official candidacy, at midmorning before an army of holojournalists, in the lobby of the building that the Mon Calamari had donated for the Senate's use. Luke stood quietly behind Cal amid a group of friends and supporters, not wanting to attract attention, but when Cal called for questions, at least half were directed to Luke, and Cal finally called Luke to his side.

"Are you and the Jedi supporting Councilor Omas's candidacy?" he was asked.

"I hope to be able to work with any Chief of State," Luke said, "but I'm supporting Councilor Omas's plan for restoring the Jedi Council."

The holojournalist was skeptical. "So you're saying you could work with Fyor Rodan if he wins the election?"

"I will work with Councilor Rodan if he will work with me." Luke smiled. "My impression, though, is that he'd rather not."

Laughter trickled lightly through the crowd.

"Rodan says the Jedi Council is your means of seizing power,"

someone else called.

Cal stepped to the front. "May I answer that one?" he said. "Let me point out that if Luke Skywalker was after power, he wouldn't have needed to work with politicians like me or Fyor Rodan. He wouldn't have needed to destroy the Death Star, or fight Emperor Palpatine hand to hand, or help his sister found the New Republic. All Master Skywalker would have needed to do would have been to join his father, Darth Vader, at the right hand of the Emperor, and in that case his power would be unlimited, and you and I and everyone here would either be dead or enslaved."

Cal scowled at the crowd, and there was a touch of anger in his voice. "This isn't some little jumped-up lobbyist or politician we're talking about, this is Luke Skywalker. There isn't a single person in the New Republic who doesn't owe him a profound debt of grat.i.tude. So if anyone suggests that Luke Skywalker is involved in some kind of shabby power play, I'd suggest that person not only can't read history, but is incapable of reading human character."

There was actually applause at that, and not just from Cal's supporters.

"I'd like to thank you for your words on my behalf," Luke said later, after the meeting had broken up.

Cal grinned. "Did you like the hint of anger? I thought I judged that pretty well."

Luke was surprised. "You were faking that?"

"Oh no, it was real enough," Cal said. "I just let it show enough to get the top spot in tonight's holonews." He rubbed his chin. "The question is, did I let it show enough."

Luke left Cal Omas pondering this and other political questions and shuttled up to the New Republic Fleet Command annex, where Vergere was still undergoing interrogation. Jacen had been released after a few hours' debriefing, but the fleet showed every inclination to keep Vergere indefinitely.

Luke didn't necessarily think that was a bad thing.

"She's given us reams of material," said Intelligence Director Nylykerka. "It'll take us hundreds of hours to process it all. None of it contradicts what we already know-but then, if she were a bogus defector controlled by the enemy, it wouldn't, would it?" Nylykerka seemed amused.

"She's also eaten about twice her weight-I've never seen such an appet.i.te."

"If you had to cat Yuuzhan Vong cooking for fifty years, you'd be hungry for our food, too." Luke asked the Tammarian if he could speak to Vergere himself, and Nylykerka was agreeable. "Any information you can get out of her . . ." he said with a wave of his hand.

He found Vergere in her cell, squatting on a stool and watching a holo transmission from the planet-a news program that featured Luke and Cal Omas. ". . . incapable of reading human character," Cal was saying.

Vergere waved the holo to silence as Luke entered.

"In my time," she said, "a Jedi Master would not have intervened so with tile Senate and an election."

"In your time," Luke said, "it wouldn't have been necessary."

Vergere accepted this with a graceful bob of her unlikely head.

Luke gathered up his robe and sat cross-legged on the chair before her.

He calmed himself. He was trying not to dislike Vergere, though he had very, very good reason to.

Out with it, he thought.

"I've spoken to Jacen about his captivity," he said.

"Your apprentice bore it well," Vergere said. "You are to be congratulated."

Anger swirled in Luke's heart. Exhaling a deliberate slow breath, he banished it.

"Perhaps Jacen didn't have to bear it at all," he said. "He said that you led him into captivity no less than three times."

Vergere's head bobbed. "I did," she confirmed.

"He was tortured," Luke said. "Tortured to the point of death. And you led him to it. You could have escaped with him earlier than you did."

"Yes."

"Why?" he asked.

Vergere held herself still, as if listening intently to a voice that Luke couldn't hear. "It was necessary that your apprentice learn certain lessons," she said.

"Lessons in betrayal?" Luke tried to keep the anger out of his voice. "Torture? Helplessness? Slavery? Degradation? Pain?"

"Those, naturally," Vergere said blandly. "But chiefly he had to be brought to the edge of despair, and then over it." Her tilted eyes gave Luke an intense, searching gaze. "You taught him well, but it was necessary for him to forget every lesson you gave him, by showing that none of the gifts you gave him could help him."

"Necessary?" Luke's outrage finally broke through his reserve.

"Necessary for what? Or for who?"

Vergere tilted her head and looked at him. "Necessary for my plans, of course," she said.

"Who gave you-" Luke suppressed his anger. "Who gave you the right?"

"A right that is given is as useless as a virtue that is given"

Vergere said. "Rights are used, or they have no value, just as virtues must be performed. I took the right to lie to your apprentice, to betray him, to torment him and enslave him." Her piebald feathers fluffed, then smoothed again: a shrug. "I also take upon myself the consequences. If you, as his Master, wish to punish me, so be it."

"Was there a point to this?" Luke gazed at her. "Other than exercising your rights, I mean?"

Vergere nodded. "Of course, young Master," she said. "Jacen Solo had to be bereft of friends, of relatives, of teachers and knowledge and the Force and everything that could help him. He had to be reduced to nothing-or rather, to himself only. And then he had to act-to act purely out of himself, out of his own inner being. In that state of complete disinterest, everything else having failed him, he had no choice but to be himself, to choose and to act."

Her voice turned thoughtful. "I regret the means, of course, but I used what I had at hand. The same inner state could have been reached more gently, given time and opportunity, but neither were at hand. I tricked the Yuuzhan Vong into preserving his life and inflicting the Embrace of Pain. I made the Yuuzhan Vong my instrument." She gave a little dry cough, or perhaps it was a laugh. "Perhaps that was my greatest accomplishment."

Vergere's words resonated in Luke's mind, and as he followed their reasoning he found his anger abating, if only by virtue of his abstraction. "And the point of this?" he asked.

The slanted eyes closed and Vergere's body relaxed, as if she were entering meditation. "Surely you know the answer, young Master, if you know Jacen Solo at all."