Force Heretic_ Refugee Part 17

"We also have a saying," she responded. " ' The darker the shadow, the brighter the light that casts it.' '' "Very wise," he said, nodding.

"But tell me, Tahiri Veila: when you say 'we,' do you mean the Jedi or the Sand People?" She smiled at the memory of the first time Sliven said those words to her. "The Sand People," she said. "And what about you: Ryn or Bakuran?"

"Ryn." His beak twitched for a moment, then broke into an unusual smile, as though he'd been amused by some profound joke. His hand reached out carefully to touch her shoulder. "I won't be long, Tahiri." She nodded briefly and then he was gone, hurrying up the short corridor and disappearing through the holographic illusion hanging across the entrance. The city murmured through the stone walls, distantly, impersonally. It didn't care about her-who she was, what she wanted, or whether her friends lived or died. Its coldness was, oddly, a remedy for her dour mood, reminding her that in the larger scheme of things, perhaps, it simply didn't matter who she was.

But it did matter. If she gave in to Riina and Anakin's vision became fact, who would stand up against the Yuu-zhan Vong then? Life in the galaxy would vanish under a creeping tide of darkness that no dawn could ever hope to dispel.

She shook her head to clear her mind of the thought and sat cross-legged on the stone floor to wait for Goure's return. With a grim determination, she fell into a Jedi rejuvenation trance. It had been a long time since she'd last slept, and she was going to need her resilience. Her body must be strong, she told herself, her senses sharp; her concentration was a crystal spear, cutting through the layers of deception to the truth beneath...

A worm of doubt burrowed into the trance, however, as something unsettling occurred to her. No matter where she went, she could never again be the same. There would always be Riina at the back of her mind, trying to come forward. There would always be that question niggling at her thoughts: Who am I, really? How could she live a life like that, let alone get through one more day?

I am Tahiri Veila, she told herself again, Jedi Knight and child of the Sand People. I will prevail!

Or I'll die trying...

The audience was not going well.

"Yu'shaa, your word spreads farther with every day, yet still we are reviled. We are beaten and killed as we have always been. How long until we will be free to be as we were?" Nom Anor replied: "We will only be free when the un-Shamed accept us as their equals, as we are in the eyes of the G.o.ds. Our Message-the philosophy of the Jeedai - will persuade them if we spread it far enough. If it doesn't convince them we then will make them accept it, and us with it. Only then will we achieve our goal." He paused significantly. "It is a hard road, I know-but it is one that must be walked."

"But if we do Yun-Yuuzhan's work, then his will must become clear to the enemy, too. Surely they would come to see the truths the Jeedai bring?"

"You can show a blind person something a thousand times and he will never see it; you can speak a message to a deaf person until the universe turns cold and she will never hear it. So, too, it is with our enemies.

Only those who are open to the truth will accept the truth that the Jeedai bring. Moreover, those who do not, those who continue to espouse a perverted philosophy of pain and pointless sacrifice, these are the ones who must in turn be sacrificed. Redemption can only be achieved by those with the capacity to be redeemed." The questioning acolyte nodded slowly, unsurely, as though Nom Anor's answer only partially satisfied her. Nom Anor studied the Shamed One closely, seeking anything that made her stand out from the rest of the congregation. The usual procession of the disabled and the sick was increasingly diluted by numbers of the hale and the higher-ranked, all dissatisfied with the status quo on the surface.

But despite the ma.s.s of scars and failed bio-implants that marked this particular member of the congregation as a Shamed One, Nom Anor couldn't help but feel there was something that set her apart from the others.

Dressed in unadorned robes, she was slender without being skinny. Her eyes were filled with the furious intelligence of one consumed with doubt. She lacked the bent, cowed frame possessed by so many of the usual penitents.

"But, Master," the acolyte went on, "what if one of the enemy was to question the ways he'd been taught? A lifetime of lies is difficult to fight- especially if the truth is hidden from him. The enemy you revile hears only that which he is told, filtered through many ears and mouths along the way. The message is distorted, clouded by those who are indeed your enemy, who will ascribe to you all manner of heresy simply in order to d.a.m.n you. What of the one who wishes to hear the truth, but cannot obtain it? Is ignorance an excuse in Yun-Yuuzhan's eyes?" Nom Anor's eyes narrowed behind his ooglith masquer. "Our mission should be to reach all Yuuzhan Vong, regardless of caste or rank, in order that they may have the chance to see the truth. We start at lower echelons not only because they are easiest to access, but also because they are the most numerous.

We see the greatest need among them."

"The need for freedom is not the same as the need for redemption, though, Master."

"One does not come without the other."

"No, but should you ama.s.s every one of the Shamed Ones and all the disaffected, you would still be fighting those at the top who wield overwhelming power over the instruments of state. It would take years to overthrow them-years I don't believe we have. Even as we speak, plans are put into motion to eradicate your movement and trample your dreams into the dust." The congregation was transfixed, now. Nom Anor, too, was filled with a morbid fascination. This was no ordinary penitent. She spoke too well, had thought the issue through too thoroughly, and she didn't just regurgitate the same vacuous questions that so often spilled from the mouths of those who came to see the Prophet, all looking for the answers that simply didn't exist in the real world. No, this one had seen the problems Nom Anor grappled with, and considered them carefully. And, like Nom Anor, she'd only been able to come up with incomplete solutions-if any at all.

There had been others with minds as keen as this. Kunra and Shoon-mi had taken them aside for training as disciples, taught them the lessons that Nom Anor wanted preached, and then sent them back out into the world to spread the Message further among the ma.s.ses. There were six such disciples now, and Nom Anor knew he would need many more if he were to reach all of those who hungered for redemption. More like the Shamed One before him today.

But the doubt in those eyes...

No, thought Nom Anor again: this was no ordinary penitent.

"We hear rumors of countermeasures," he said, choosing his words with caution. He would have liked to clear the room to end this one's challenging questions, but that would be seen as a sign of doubt. "We have made efforts to ascertain the truth behind them."

"But those efforts have failed."

"Yes."

"They have also been noticed." Nom Anor fixed his stare upon the acolyte for a few lingering seconds before responding. "Of course. But there is nothing else we can do."

"There are always alternatives, Master. Attacking a stronghold is pointless when it is una.s.sailable. It must be weakened from within."

"Easier said than done," Nom Anor returned. "How are we to achieve this when we cannot enter it?" How have you turned this around, he wanted to ask, that you now have me asking the questions?

"You must wait for the opportunity to come to you," the penitent said. "And when it does, you must take that opportunity and use it to your best advantage." There was complete silence in the room. At last, Nom Anor understood.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she responded. "I am here, and I wish to join you. I think-and I am coming to believe-that you hold the answers the Yuuzhan Vong have come to the galaxy in search of. Or if not you, then certainly the Jeedai. The G.o.ds no longer speak through those who claim to speak for them, and I no longer wish to be the enemy of the truth." Nom Anor saw the sincerity in the words, even as he understood their fragility. Here was one who thought like him. This was not the mind of a simple follower, consumed by pa.s.sions little n.o.bler than those of animals. No, this was a higher mind, like Nom Anor's. Those who looked to Yun-Yuuzhan for answers would invariably be disappointed because, even if the G.o.ds did exist, why wouldn't the truths they served be infinitely more complex than those any mere mortal could ever hope to understand?

The penitent's face showed none of this, but that was because the face was as false as Nom Anor's own. She, too, was wearing an ooglith masquer designed to give the appearance of a Shamed One. All was illusion, deception..

Could this be the one? Nom Anor wondered. Could this be the link to s.h.i.+mrra I've been waiting for? He wasn't so naive as to hope for a high-ranking warrior or intendant. They were all thoroughly brainwashed. A simple servant would be enough-someone who had access to the private places he could no longer see; someone who could overhear the meetings at which policies were decided. With a spy right in the heart of the Supreme Overlord's inner circle, he could indeed eat away at his enemy from within, just as the penitent had said, using the knowledge gained from such a source to direct his campaign-and all the while recruiting others to reduce his reliance on that one person.

But how could he trust someone without knowing her name? What if the penitent had been deliberately planted by s.h.i.+mrra to spread false information about his intentions? Did the Supreme Overlord have the capacity for such subtlety?

Doubt flowered in his gut.

"Come closer," he said, motioning the penitent forward. He could feel the weight of the entire audience's stare upon him. They were present during a significant moment, and they knew it. How he handled the next few minutes was vital.

The penitent approached within arm's reach-close enough to kill honorably, Nom Anor thought. He waved her closer still, until their mouths were at each other's ears.

"How do I know I can believe you?" Nom Anor whispered.

"You can believe me." The penitent's voice was little more than an expelled breath. "The G.o.ds have brought me this far, have they not?" Nom Anor pulled back slightly to stab his steely gaze into the penitent's eyes. "We screen for infiltrators, not for piety." Those eyes smiled back at Nom Anor. "I pa.s.s on both counts, then."

"Perhaps," Nom Anor said. "But we are not so foolish as to believe that we will catch every spy that comes our way. They come in all shapes and sizes, and they present many different faces."

"You would know more about that than I, Nom Anor," the penitent whispered. "That was your specialty, after all." Nom Anor went cold, pus.h.i.+ng the penitent away from him. "How-?"

"I recognized you as soon as I saw you-even behind your ooglith masquer." The eyes of the penitent didn't leave his; they were filled with something approximating triumph, as though Nom Anor's reaction had confirmed what had until that moment been only a guess. "It didn't seem possible, at first; we'd been told you were dead. But the more I listened to you speak, the more sure I became that it was you. Audacity and surprise were always your hallmarks, Nom Anor. When s.h.i.+mrra cast you out- ".

"Enough!" Nom Anor pushed her farther away, as he would repel something unclean. "I have heard enough!" He looked around desperately for Kunra and Shoon-mi. They had planned for such an eventuality; there were contingencies. They should have been sealing off the room and preparing for slaughter; there was no way he could allow anyone to leave this room now that his true name had been spoken.

But they weren't moving. They stood at the back by the door, looking puzzled. They hadn't heard the peni-tent's whisper! They didn't know what was going on!

The penitent was determined. "Wait," she said, pus.h.i.+ng forward, one gnarled hand reaching under her robes. "I have something for you." Nom Anor reacted instinctively. There wasn't time to think. Someone who recognized him was threat enough; the slightest suggestion that a weapon might be drawn on him was enough to make him act.

Blood rushed to the muscles around his left eye socket. Pressure peaked where the eyeball had once been. He felt a short, sharp pain as his plaeryin bol exploded, spitting poisoned darts into the face of the penitent.

With a harsh cry, his attacker fell backward onto the ground.

The audience erupted. Nom Anor fell back against his throne, his muscles turned to jelly. He heard screaming, confusion, cries for order.

Inside he felt only emptiness. He had come so close to death. The plaeryin bol where his left eye had once been had saved him, as he had always known it would, one day. But he also knew that the respite was only temporary. An a.s.sa.s.sin had been sent to destroy him, and he had come so close. Others would follow; he would never be safe again!

He forced himself up, to think, to act. Kunra and Shoon-mi were getting the crowd in order, looking to him for instructions. At his feet, the penitent writhed as the paralyzing poison seared through her system.

Nom Anor knelt beside her and pressed his claws on either side of the penitent's nose, looking for the pressure point that would cause the ooglith masquer to release itself. He didn't care if the creature took off half the spy's face. He had to know who it was that s.h.i.+mrra had sent; he had to look at the face of his would-be a.s.sa.s.sin.

The ooglith masquer came away with a grotesque noise, like that of fabric tearing. Underneath was a face more familiar than Nom Anor had expected. It didn't belong to a guard or a nameless servitor. Far from it.

The penitent was Ngaaluh, a priestess of the deception sect. He knew of her from the sect's attempts to infiltrate the infidels in the past. He had seen her in the company of Harrar, another priest rising in s.h.i.+mrra's court.

"You?" Nom Anor frowned deeply. "Why you?"

"I-" Ngaaluh's eyes were wide and frightened, the bluish sacks beneath them almost invisible. The poison was sending fire through her nervous system, making breathing difficult. Soon her heart would stop, and it would all be over. Through the pain, she was trying to say something. She reached up, but Nom Anor flinched away.

Then he looked again as something spilled out of the priestess's failing three-fingered grasp. It wasn't a weapon, as Nom Anor had suspected. It was a living unrik-a chunk of tissue excised from Ngaaluh's body as a votive offering to her G.o.ds. Kept alive by biotechnology, the unrik served as a symbol of Ngaaluh's servitude-and she had been offering it to Nom Anor!

"You fool!" He knelt over Ngaaluh as the priestess's body began to shake. There was an antidote to the plae-ryin bol poison, but he had never expected to use it. The neural pathways were rusty, and he had to concentrate to stir the buried bioconstruct to life. The knuckle of his right thumb snapped straight with a click. He bit down on a gasp as a searing pain burned in the joint. A hair-thin needle extruded from under the claw. He slid it into Ngaaluh's neck where the vein still throbbed.

There was more pain as the antivenin shot into the priestess's bloodstream, but it was nothing compared to that suffered by the female before him. Nom Anor held Ngaaluh down as every muscle went into spasm, burning energy in one final paroxysm of agony. A keening, hissing sound escaped the priestess's clenched jaw, growing louder with each spasm.

Then, suddenly, the priestess went limp. Fearing the worst, Nom Anor bent over her.

"Yu'shaa..." The word was little more than a sigh, and with that, Ngaaluh's eyes closed. Nom Anor pressed his hand to the spot on the priestess's throat where he'd injected the antidote. Despite appearances to the contrary, the faint, lingering pulse was testimony to the priestess's continuing existence in the world.

He looked up. The members of the audience were staring at him in alarm and amazement. How much they understood of what had just taken place he didn't know, but he doubted that any of them would come close to grasping its true import. The G.o.ds had provided the answer to Nom Anor's prayers, in the form of the priestess - and he'd almost killed her!

The unrik rested beside Ngaaluh's unconscious form. Nom Anor picked it up. It was warm and pulsed gently in his grasp. Ngaaluh must have stolen it from the high priest's sanctum sanctorum before coming to offer it to the new G.o.ds. How and why she had come to believe in them, Nom Anor couldn't imagine. Nevertheless, he knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he did not intend to pa.s.s this one up.

He indicated for Shoon-mi to come to him. His servant did so immediately, pus.h.i.+ng his way through the agitated crowd. "Master, is everything well?"

"This acolyte is to be given the best care we can offer." Which wasn't much, given their meager resources, but it was better than nothing at all. "She is important, Shoon-mi. Do you understand? Nothing is to happen to her." Shoon-mi bowed. "It shall be so, Master." The Shamed One scurried away to organize a stretcher.

Nom Anor gestured for Kunra next. The ex-warrior came and knelt down beside him so he could whisper.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Who is this female?"

"She is a priestess, and close to s.h.i.+mrra. I knew her before my fall. She named me, Kunra." The ex-warrior's eyes widened, and Nom Anor knew that he understood the significance of that fact. " But I think we can trust her. She has given me... a.s.surances." The slow throbbing of the unrik matched the pulse visible in the great vein in Ngaaluh's neck.

"She could be just what we need," Kunra said.

"Exactly. But first we have to make sure that no one overheard."

The members of the audience were growing more restless by the second, shuffling aimlessly and muttering among themselves.

"I should take precautions, perhaps?"

"No." Nom Anor knew that Kunra would happily kill all the penitents to ensure their safety, but that wasn't an optimal solution. Ngaaluh would wonder what had happened to them, and so would Shoon-mi. "We can't afford to waste resources, or to provide fuel for rumors. If they all disappear, some will be missed. Belter to find out if my secret is safe and let them go. Who knows? Maybe it will work in our favor."

"Feeding the legend," Kunra mused, then nodded once. "It shall be done." Nom Anor stood to address the crowd. "This is an auspicious day!"

he said dramatically, knowing that the truth was too dangerous to reveal.

"I have survived an attack and am stronger for it. Go, now, and tell everyone! It will take more than this to keep us from the respect we deserve!" The crowd accepted this p.r.o.nouncement with some uncertainty, but accept it they did. He had delivered the bulk of his message before Ngaaluh's interrogation had thrown him off. They had heard everything they needed to hear. Once Kunra had satisfied himself that they hadn't heard anything else, they would be allowed to leave to begin their missionary work.

"Our time draws ever nearer," he said to them as they began to file out. "And with the events of this day, it might come sooner than even I expected... "

"I'm going to melt if it gets any hotter in here," Tahiri said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.

"Adjust the ventilation controls," Goure said, his m.u.f.fled voice coming from within his own hostile environment suit. A super-strong exoskeleton a meter taller than he was, the HE-suit hid his face behind a collection of droid sensors and allowed him to use its superior strength for any manner of distasteful ch.o.r.es. Tahiri's own suit was identical to his-painted a dull, metallic brown with scuffed ident markings on back and chest - and she watched the world through a bewildering array of views and senses. She felt as though she were wearing an ancient suit of armor. "Turn the thermostat down and you should start to feel better."

"It's already down as far as it'll go," she said. They could have communicated by comlink, but Goure had said he didn't want to take the risk of being overheard. The suits had external speakers and microphones and they did the job well enough-unlike her air-conditioning unit.

She jabbed at the controls with her chin, trying to blink away the salty sweat stinging her eyes. Having grown up among the Sand People, she was used to being enclosed in hot environments-but this was ridiculous.

Something thumped her from behind, followed by a distinct click. A flow of icy air instantly rushed through the suit, offering a relief that was so intense that Tahiri could only sigh her thanks.

"Your coolant line was clogged," said Arrizza, the Kurtzen sanitation worker who accompanied them on their long turbolift ride.

Goure had described him as a part-time conspirator, but not part of the Ryn network. He had explored the inner workings of the Bakuran Senate Complex with no interest in taking it further. Having no political agenda, he was quite happy to help Goure get Tahiri in and out of the complex without being noticed.

"I think you just saved my life," Tahiri said only half jokingly, wriggling in her suit to help the cool air reach every centimeter of her sweat-soaked body. Her HE-suit-designed to take minuscule movements of her limbs and magnify them, giving her increased strength and flexibility-made odd half-stepping motions as she did so.

" I once knew someone who died from overheating on the job," was the Kurtzen's reply. "You got to look out for each other down here." She didn't quite know what to say in the face of his gruff pragmatism.

"Thanks," she said after a moment. "I'll try to remember that." The turbolift clanked to a halt and the wide steel cage opened before them.

Arrizza went first, his suit scruffier than Goure's, if that was possible. The only real difference between them was a belt of leather pouches tied around its waist. Tools, Tahiri presumed-although she doubted the suit's stubby fingers could handle anything so small with any precision.

They walked in single file along the sub-bas.e.m.e.nt access corridor.

It was easily high and wide enough for the HE-suits, designed to accommodate all sorts of maintenance machines. None of them droids, of course, she reminded herself-not with Bakura's distaste for automated machinery. If droids couldn't do the dirty work, people had to. Hence the suits they were wearing.

Arrizza was taking them to another turbolift that led directly under the main Senate chambers. There they could enter the complex itself, avoiding the tight security employed by the normal entrances. As part of a waste cleanup crew performing the usual morning rounds, they would be able to move un.o.bserved-or at least unhindered - through the lower levels of the complex. They might not get into the Senate chamber itself, but they should be able to access the internal data networks with relative ease.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" she asked.

"No. Security has been on edge since Cundertol's kidnapping. I haven't worked out who was behind it, but I know it wasn't Malinza Thanas. That's not her style."

"Then who?"

"I'm not sure." After walking awhile in silence, Tahiri switched to a private channel and ventured another question.

"You always get around in these things?" she asked as they trundled along, steel boots clomping heavily on the reinforced floor. "There must be easier ways to travel."

"Unfortunately the security scare has shut down my usual sources,"

he said. "Especially with the arrival of the Keeramak and today's ceremony. It's crude, I know, but it's all I have left for now. I just hope it doesn't result in me getting caught and my activities being discovered." 'What would happen if you were discovered? Would you be replaced? "

"Once word got out, then yes, another of my kind would be sent to replace me."