The Final Prophecy (15 page)

“Could he have some sort of tracer on him?”

“Maybe. That would be bad.”

Corran considered that for a moment.

“Rest,” he said. “Keep your eyes and ears open. We’ve got time to think about this. It’s a long trip.”

* * *

Tahiri found Nen Yim at the helm of the ship gazing out at the stars. She stood there for a moment, trying to control her feelings.

But she needed to talk to the shaper.

“Jeedai,”
the shaper said, without turning.

“Master Yim.” She said it in Yuuzhan Vong.

“So some of our implants
did
take.”

Anger flared again, but Tahiri fought it down. “Yes,” she said. “I am no longer human and I am not Yuuzhan Vong. Congratulations.”

“Congratulate my late master, not me.”

“So you take no blame for me?”

“Blame? What blame is there? Mezhan Kwaad was a shaper. She shaped you. Had I been in charge of the project, I would feel no remorse for what you’ve become.”

“Right,” Tahiri said. “No remorse. No pain. No passion. There’s nothing in you, is there, Nen Yim? Except maybe curiosity and duty.”

“Duty?” Nen Yim murmured, still staring out at space. “Do you know when the last time I gazed on stars like this was?”

“Should I care?”

“It was on the worldship
Baanu Miir
, one of the older ones. Its brain was failing, and an involuntary muscle spasm ripped one of the arms open. I stood in the vacuum staring at the naked stars, and I swore that no matter what, I would save that worldship and the people on it. I practiced heresy to do so, and still I failed. Even yet, the people might have lived, if your infidel friends hadn’t obliterated the new worldship we were meant to move to.”

Now she did turn to Tahiri, and despite her calm tones, her eyes blazed. “I have risked my life, and I have taken life and shaped terrible things for my people so that we never have to live in the abyss between galaxies again. I have
risked even more to see the secrets encoded in this universe around us and solve their riddles. Perhaps you do not call this passion. But hatred, I think, might fairly be called that. You,
Jeedai
, slew my mentor.
Jeedai
destroyed the new worldship and doomed thousands to miserable, honorless deaths. I have hated
Jeedai
.”

“And you hate them still?”

“I have stepped back from my hate. My heresy requires that I see things as they are, not as I wish them to be, not as I fear them to be. The riddle of Zonama Sekot may well be the central question of Yuuzhan Vong existence, and the
Jeedai
seem to be involved. Since I must place the good of my people before my own whimsy, I must remain open to all possibilities, even the possibility that the creed of this ridiculous Prophet has salience.”

“And what about me personally?”

“You?” She shrugged. “Mezhan Kwaad sealed her own doom. She practiced her heresy too openly, almost flaunted it. Worse, she ruined a noble warrior merely because she feared he would disclose their illicit affair. That brought about her downfall. You were the instrument of her death, and that again was rooted in her failure—had her shaping of you been competent, you could never have turned on her. I hated you for a time. I find now I do not. You hardly knew what you were doing.”

“Oh, yes I did,” Tahiri said, recalling the crystallized fury of that moment. “I remember it very well. I could have disabled her instead of killing her. But after the pain she put me through, that you helped put me through—”

“And so you hate me?”

That’s a good question
, Tahiri mused. “In the Jedi view,” she told the shaper, “hate is to be avoided. If there is hatred in me for you—and there may be yet—I do not want it. The Yuuzhan Vong have taken much from me—my childhood, my identity, someone I loved. But I am as much a part of
you now as I am native to this galaxy. I have reconciled my different natures. Now I want to help see that reconciliation between my parent peoples.”

“You seek an end to the war?”

“Of course.”

Nen Yim nodded. “I do not see the same honor in pointless slaughter the warriors do, I must admit. Pursuit of it has bred stupidity. We have taken far more worlds than we need, and probably more than we can defend. Shimrra, I sometimes think, is mad.” She cocked her head, and the tendrils of her headdress did an odd, squirming dance and settled in a new arrangement. “How are your wounds?”

“Better, thanks to you,” Tahiri admitted.

“It was simple enough. You responded well to the antitoxin.” Nen Yim shifted her gaze back to the stars. “You must convince the other
Jeedai
to go to Zonama Sekot. If what you said about your goals is true, you must help me.”

“I can’t,” Tahiri said. “I agree with him. Even if I could trust you, and the Prophet, there is also the priest to consider. Why did he come?”

“I think his reasons are compound. He is a highly placed member of his caste. Heresy is a great danger to that caste, and here he has the opportunity to study not merely two heretics of two varieties, but also the leaders of their respective movements. He would understand his enemy. Yet he is also jealous of the secret of Zonama Sekot, and perhaps truly angry at Shimrra for concealing the knowledge of it. When we know Zonama Sekot’s secrets, however, I cannot say what he will do. Turn on us as well as Shimrra, probably, and reinforce the power of his priesthood. If Zonama Sekot is truly of consequence to our future, castes will battle for control of it, both ideologically and in fact.”

“All that to say you don’t trust him.”

“I think that no matter the outcome of this expedition, he plans our deaths.”

“Then why did you bring him along?” Tahiri exploded.

“To learn what I can from him. There are other factions among our people, you know. Shimrra has detractors in other quarters—the Quorealists, for instance, who supported the predecessor he slew to attain power. It may be Harrar is one. Certainly he knows about them. Also, I want to keep him where I can see him. He is less dangerous to me that way.”

“Well, we agree on that,” Tahiri said. “I don’t trust him, either.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him together, then.”

It was a transparent ploy, but Tahiri felt a sudden, involuntary affinity for the shaper.

That’s stupid. It’s what she wants me to feel
.

But they were of the same domain, and domain loyalties ran deep, far deeper than simple like or dislike. Was this why Corran didn’t trust her?

Move on to something else
. “Is there any way of knowing if Harrar has a tracer or villip implanted in him?”

“It would have to be a very unusual one to be a danger to us,” Nen Yim replied.

“Why?”

“Because I have released a virus that attacks and swiftly kills all known variants of such organisms. If anyone on this vessel has such an implant, we can expect them to be briefly ill as the waste products flush through their system.”

“I’ll watch for that, then,” Tahiri said, and left the helm, confused. Anger brought certainty, and with it gone, she didn’t know what she felt.

Nen Yim turned her eyes back toward the stars.

Perhaps that will persuade her
, she thought.
Perhaps now she can convince the older
Jeedai
to resume the voyage to Zonama Sekot
.

After all, it was true. She did not want Shimrra’s minions
following her to Zonama Sekot, and she had taken measures to prevent it.

But the older Jedi was suspicious of her, of all of them. Well he should be. The Prophet’s simple belief that Zonama Sekot was the salvation of the Shamed Ones and thus the Yuuzhan Vong was not her own. Zonama Sekot was the greatest single threat her people had ever faced, she was sure of it. If her investigations bore that out, she would take matters into her own hands.

Despite its organic origins, the Sekotan ship was laid out along lines more similar to the metal-and-plasteel ships Tahiri had known than to Yuuzhan Vong vessels. Behind the cockpit was a crew cabin comfortably large enough for six or seven people, and six somewhat more cramped sleeping cells. Behind that was a spacious storage area that looked more Yuuzhan Vong in design—Nen Yim had had room to spare when she took out the old hyperdrive. It was filled with things that Tahiri remembered from the shaper laboratory on Yavin 4. She looked in only once.

Whatever the original crew of the ship had eaten had been replaced by muur, a Yuuzhan Vong yeast-based staple. She and Corran settled down to a meal of it around a table that extruded from the floor, sprouting like a mushroom when a discolored place on the wall was stroked.

None of the Yuuzhan Vong seemed to be in earshot—the Prophet was nowhere to be seen, and Nen Yim was back in her makeshift laboratory, as was Harrar.

“Four days, and no one has shown any symptoms,” Corran said. “Of course, that could mean several things. Either no one had implants, or the implants weren’t affected by the virus, or there never was any virus.”

“Well, that’s what everything boils down to when you don’t trust anyone,” Tahiri pointed out. “We just don’t know.”

“You like this stuff?” Corran grunted, reluctantly taking another mouthful.

“No one likes it,” Tahiri said. “Yuuzhan Vong don’t eat for enjoyment. Unless it’s to make a statement, you know, eating the flesh of the vua’sa you killed in ritual combat or whatever.”

“Still not exactly pleasure. Relish maybe.”

“Right,” she said, taking another bite. She knew he was trying to make a joke, but she didn’t feel like laughing. Corran was hard to read these days, as if he was making an effort not to let her see too much of him in the Force.

They both turned at a soft sound in the doorway. Harrar stood there.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” the priest said.

“Not at all,” Corran said. “Can I help you?”

The priest nodded. “It’s been four days. May I ask when we reach Mon Calamari?”

Tahiri shot Corran a glance.
Four days
, she sent in the Force.
No sign of betrayal
.

He didn’t answer in the same way, but pursed his lips and nodded. “Where’s the Prophet?” he asked.

“Locked in his cabin—praying, presumably,” the priest replied.

“Okay,” Corran said. “Let’s get everyone together. I—”

And then the ship screamed.

Qelah Kwaad abased herself before the polyp throne as the rumble of Shimrra’s voice washed over her. She cringed and was ashamed.

“Rise, Adept Kwaad,” Shimrra said.

Knees shaking, she did so. “Dread Lord,” she said. “How can I please you?”

“You already have. The mabugat kan were of your shaping, were they not?”

“They were, Lord Shimrra,” she said.

“Master Yim brought them to my attention. She said you were the brightest of her pupils.”

“She did?” Qelah was surprised. She had always thought Master Yim was jealous of her.

“We have used them with great success. The infidels are now largely without long-range communications. It has been an invaluable aid to our war effort.”

“Thank you, Lord. I am pleased to have been of service.”

“Of course you are,” Shimrra growled reproachfully, and his Shamed jester capered gleefully.

She felt like cowering back into a crouch, but the Dread Lord had bid her stand, so she stood her ground.

“The loss of Master Yim was a great blow,” Shimrra went on. “But her work must continue. You will be elevated to master.”

Qelah hoped her fierce exultation did not show.

“I am not worthy of the honor, Great Lord, but I will do my best to excel.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop. “I have developed a new sort of ship, one that should counter many of the new strategies of the infidels. And as for the
Jeedai—
”

“What of the
Jeedai
?” The words came out with such force that her tendrils felt as if they were being swept back, but this time she was not dismayed.

“I believe I have an answer to them,” she said.

“Besides the mabugat kan, I have for some time been developing a powerful new suite of bioforms designed specifically to counter the threat of the
Jeedai
. I am not far from completion.”

“That has been promised before,” Shimrra said. “But the promise has never been fulfilled. Those who fail me do not find favor.”

She understood that lack of favor also meant lack of breath, but she plunged on. “I am certain you will be pleased, Dread Lord,” she told him.

“Very well. You will ascend to master tomorrow. You will work directly beneath Ahsi Yim.”

Qelah took a deep breath. She had a chance at more. Could she flinch from taking it?

No.

“Yes, Lord,” she said. “A member of Nen Yim’s domain.”

Shimrra’s mqaaq’it eyes flared a brighter red. “What could you mean by that, Qelah Kwaad? Do you imply something?”

“Nothing, Lord,” she said. “I spoke out of turn.”

“I hear something in your words, Qelah Kwaad,” Shimrra said, dangerously. “Shall I rip open your mind and see what I find there?”

“It is only that things have been strange,” she said, in a rush. “Master Yim stayed apart from us, working alone. She was totally absorbed in some new project none of the rest of us knew about. And then the
Jeedai
came, and took
her away, and whatever it was, I know not what, but Ahsi Yim—” She broke off.

“Go on,” Shimrra breathed.

“Ahsi Yim—did not seem surprised. And I heard her tell someone,
They took the ship
.”

In fact, Ahsi Yim had seemed as surprised as anyone, and she had said no such thing. It was actually a warrior who had told her he’d seen a strange ship fly out from the damutek. By now, everyone knew it.

“You think Ahsi Yim had some part in Nen Yim’s kidnapping.”

She lifted her head and spoke more boldly. “If it
was
a kidnapping, Lord Shimrra. The damutek’s defenses failed. I do not see how infidels could accomplish this.”

“The Shamed heretics were also involved,” the Supreme Overlord pointed out.

“With respect, Lord—would they know how to disable a damutek’s defenses and leave no trace of how it was done? I could not do so. Was some shaper greater than Nen Yim Shamed, that this knowledge would reside with the rabble?”