Refugee: Force Heretic II (26 page)

Jaina told me what Jag found
.

She reached into the pocket of her robe and felt the pendant, its bumps and edges worn by Yuuzhan Vong claws. The Peace Brigade had left it on Galantos, probably by accident. It had fallen under a bed in the diplomatic wing, where the Brigaders had been staying. Something about the pendant had called to her, triggering her instincts. They told her that something was up; there was more to Galantos than met the eye. Searching, she’d been drawn to the pendant’s dusty hiding place and—

She’s hiding something—from herself as well as everyone else …

Then she had blacked out. When she had woken, the pendant had gone. Jag must have found it and passed it on to Jaina, who had aired her suspicions to her mother. All the while, the pendant had nagged at Tahiri like an unscratchable itch, preoccupying her mind, calling out to her …

No. Not her. It was calling out to Riina of Domain Kwaad—the monster the Yuuzhan Vong had tried to turn her into!

Somehow, the Riina personality is still inside you
.

A deep darkness rose up in her mind, threatening to consume her—just as it had so many times before. She fought it now as she had then, fighting down the persona that kept trying to take her over.

I am not Riina! I am Tahiri Veila!
Despite her determination, her mental voice sounded feeble.
I am a
Jedi!

The darkness receded and she sagged back into the chair with a sob. What was she going to do? If the slightest hint of Yuuzhan Vong was going to destabilize her so deeply, how could she possibly hope to be of use in the war against the enemy? And what if Riina took over completely? What then would become of her and the people around her?

“Tahiri?”

Despite the softness of the voice, it cut sharply into her thoughts, startling her. So relieved was she to hear her own name that she suddenly burst into tears.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Tahiri. Are you okay?”

Lost in her thoughts, she had forgotten all about Goure, the Ryn. He was crouched down before her now, his powerful scent filling her nostrils, thrusting deep into the old places of her mind, forcing itself into the spaces buried beneath her thoughts. It seemed to sweep out the cobwebs as it went, working its way through the tangled corridors of her mind like a powerful cleansing wind.

Jaina couldn’t be blamed for the position Tahiri was in. Nor could Jag, or Anakin’s parents. There was only one person responsible, and that was herself. She had to be the one to prove to everyone that she could be trusted, that she was the one in control and
not
Riina.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said to the anxious Ryn. She wiped the tears from her face and quashed down the darkness still threatening to rise to the surface. The pendant was in her hand, and she pushed it back into the inner pocket of her robes where she didn’t have to look at it. “Just help me rescue my friend.”

“That I will,” the Ryn said, his tail snapping like a whip. “The first thing we have to do, though, is find out if they’ve caught her. The warrant only mentioned Jaina,
so Han and Leia might be in the clear for now. But I can’t be certain. We’ll need to be closer to things in order to keep an eye on them.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said determinedly. “I just want to put things right.”

“And the best way to do that is with my help, if you’re willing to stick with me awhile longer.”

She met his gaze with all the strength she could muster. Part of her wanted to go straight back to Han and Leia, to try to repair the damage, but another part of her was nervous of doing that just yet. Not until she was certain of where she stood. And besides, she told herself, if she could find more about what the Ryn were up to, that would stand her in good stead when she did go back. It was important who was helping them, and why.

Goure nodded as though in approval.

“Very well, Tahiri Veila.” He rose to his feet. “The first thing I need you to do is to wait here. You can’t go wandering around looking like that.”

She looked down at her robe and frowned. “Like what?”

“Like
you
. Even if they weren’t already watching you, they certainly wouldn’t let you walk freely into where we need to go. The trick to being like us, you see, is to make sure you’re not noticed.”

“I need a disguise, right?”

He nodded, smiling. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

“How
long?” she asked quickly, standing. The emptiness of the room was already crowding in around her. There would be nothing to do while he was gone, no distractions from her thoughts. The idea of being on her own in an unfamiliar city put her even more on edge. What if the security guards came for her? What if Goure didn’t come back?

“Try not to be scared, Tahiri. You’ll be all right.”

She could tell from the hesitant movements of his
hands that he would like to reach out and reassure her physically, but was reluctant to do so. Probably, she figured, because he was worried she might have another panic episode and threaten him with her lightsaber again.

“I-I’m just worried about being alone, that’s all.” She looked down, embarrassed by the admission. It was a weakness, and did not become the Jedi Knight she was supposed to be. “I feel very lost right now.”

“We have a saying,” Goure said.” ‘In the darkest hole you can always find some light. You just have to open your eyes to see it.’ ”

“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 Yuuzhan 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 gods. 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 mass of scars and failed bioimplants 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 damn 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 amass 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 masses. 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 unassailable. 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,
so 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 gods 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 passions little nobler 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 gods did exist, why wouldn’t the truths they served be infinitely more complex than those any mere mortal could ever hope to understand?