Reunion (42 page)

“Hyperspace signatures, sir—dozens of them!”

Pellaeon let out the breath he’d been holding as ships of all shapes and sizes appeared around Esfandia, a ragtag fleet armed with patchwork cannons and out-of-date missiles. What they lacked in top-of-the-line hardware, though, they more than made up for with surprise and guts. They threw themselves against the warship and its attendant craft, pounding dovin basals and cutting great swaths out of yorik coral. For a minute, it looked as though the alien behemoth might recover its poise, and its control of the situation with it, but with atmosphere and bodies venting in more than a dozen places, and dovin basals failing in great ripples along one flank, the tide quickly turned. A gunboat with unfamiliar markings stitched a line of fiery death down the giant living vessel’s spine. Two very unsteady-looking corvettes, working in tandem, took out a yammosk-bearing support ship. A heavily shielded drone freighter spun out of control into
Kur-hashan
’s midsection and blew up as though it had been loaded from stem to stern with high explosives.

“Incoming transmission!” his comm officer announced. “It’s from the enemy.”

Pellaeon smiled.

Vorrik’s hideous visage appeared before him. The commander’s bridge was shaking behind him, and the image was fuzzy, as though the room was filling with smoke.

Pellaeon made a gesture to his aide, out of Vorrik’s sight.

“I take it you wish to surrender, Vorrik?”

The warrior snarled. “You cannot defeat us, infidel.”

“Five minutes ago I would have said the same thing,” Pellaeon said. “But now …”

“You may kill us, but you will not defeat us! You will
never
defeat us!”

With a roar from the commander, the communication ended. Pellaeon knew what was about to happen. “Full shields immediately!” he commanded. “He’s going to blow his drives!”

The order spread among the Imperial and other ships harassing the giant destroyer. Just as
Kur-hashan
’s surviving engines surged forward and something deep in its belly began to erupt, every ship within range shunted all power away from attack to defense. The commander’s final gesture was wasted. For all the fury of the dying warship, all the energy expended in one wild rush and all the Yuuzhan Vong lives lost, it did little more than nudge
Right to Rule
slightly off course.

And when the titanic fireball had dwindled to embers, the odds were better than even.

“Transmission from
Pride of Selonia.
”

“Put it through,” Pellaeon ordered. “My station only.”

He turned as a holo image of Captain Mayn appeared behind him.

“Congratulations, Grand Admiral,” she said. “I presume you knew all along what was going to happen.”

“That Vorrik would self-destruct rather than surrender? No, but it was a good bet he’d prefer to go out kicking. I may not have as much experience with the Yuuzhan Vong as you, but I know their type; I know the way they think. They never bend; all they can do is break, with an eye to the spectacular.”

Mayn smiled. “Actually, I was referring to the other ships. Where did they come from? Who are they?”

“Friends of yours, I believe. They told me about Esfandia after Generis. They suggested I come here to avoid another catastrophe. They also said reinforcements wouldn’t be far behind, if I needed them. I could summon them by transmitting a code phrase on a particular frequency. When Vorrik attacked rather than giving up the game, I figured the time had come.”

“That was quite a gamble, sir.”

“You have a problem with the way it turned out, Captain?”

Mayn smiled briefly. “Not at all, Admiral. I might have done the same thing myself, given the circumstances. I’m just trying to work out who these ‘friends’ of ours are, though.”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Pellaeon said. “All I know is that they’re calling themselves the Ryn network.”

Understanding and puzzlement collided on Mayn’s face. “Really? Well, I suppose they could’ve called in some favors, here and there, but I never suspected they’d have
this
sort of influence.”

“So you do know something about them?”

Mayn nodded. “A little. But you might want to talk to Princess Leia and Captain Solo to find out the full story.”

With that, Mayn saluted, and the transmission eneded. Pellaeon turned back to his duties, nodding thoughtfully to himself.

“Believe me,” he muttered, “I intend to.”

“Yes.”

Stunned silence fell about the rain-soaked pit in the wake of Jacen’s answer to Sekot. He could feel Saba and Danni looking at him, uncomprehending. How could he have said that? their eyes asked. How could he have damned countless millions to unspeakable misery?

He turned away from them both, not wanting their silent accusations. Deep in his heart he knew he’d made the right decision, and two voices in his mind reassured him of that. The first belonged to Wynssa Fel, who had said to him on Csilla:
The weapon at your side seems out of place on a man who professes to hate violence
. The second voice belonged to his uncle:
How do we fight a brutal, evil enemy without becoming brutal and evil ourselves
?

Somewhere between those two statements lurked the justification for his decision. It was the most difficult decision he’d ever had to make, and one he could not explain in a few words to either Danni or Saba. It pained him to think of what the ramifications of his decision might be for the rest of the galaxy, but he wasn’t about to back down from the stand he was making. Saying yes to Zonama Sekot had been a show of strength, not an act of weakness.

“After traveling as far as you have to beseech my help,” Sekot said, “you reject my offer. Are you sure?”

“I stand by my decision,” he answered soberly.

“Jacen …” Danni’s objection petered out with a bewildered shake of her head.

“Military might is not what we need,” he tried to explain. “I cannot countenance destruction as a solution to the threat of destruction. In the long run, such a victory would only bring about our own downfall.” He faced Sekot once again. “I’m sorry, but I cannot accept your offer.”

The image of his former teacher smiled. “Nevertheless, I have decided to join your cause.”

Jacen frowned at Sekot’s unnaturally dry image. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you have achieved what you set out to do,” Sekot said. “I shall return with you to your war.
Whether or not I can make a difference, of course, remains to be seen.”

Vergere’s image moved over to where Jacen stood, his mind still numb with shock. To his surprise, the arm Vergere’s image placed around his waist exerted a faint pressure, like heavy fog.

“We are done with running,” Sekot told him, softly, so only he could hear. “We must find a way to end this war. Perhaps together we can work out which way we must go. Not just for ourselves, but for the sake of all life within the galaxy.”

Jacen turned to stare into the eyes of his former teacher. In them he found great intellect and infinite compassion, as well as an ageless, unfathomable wisdom the likes of which he could never hope to achieve. But try as he might, he could find no reassurance in them, and that troubled him more than he was prepared to admit.

“It gives me great displeasure, Supreme One, to report on yet another nest of perfidy, this time in Numesh sector and overseen by the Prefect Zareb.”

Nom Anor watched with keen interest as the court of the Supreme Overlord heard of the latest supposed threat to the status quo. The villip hidden in Ngaaluh’s robes caught the scene with perfect clarity as she presented her report. He listened with relish, feeling the need for some uncomplicated revenge in order to wash the taste of Shoon-mi’s betrayal from his throat.

Shimrra was seated atop his yorik throne, one elbow resting on the throne’s arm as he gazed down reflectively upon those gathered before him. The baleful red eyes swept the attentive crowd. There was no sound apart from the shuffling of feet and the soft, creaking contractions of shifting armor, and Ngaaluh’s voice, tolling the doom of the former executor Zareb. The planted heretics had been interrogated; their testimony was plain.

“It is with regret that I must deliver this news, Supreme One, but the conclusion is inescapable: you have been yet again betrayed by someone in whom you put your trust.”

Shimrra shook his head at the inevitable conclusion. “How is this possible?”

“My Lord, I fear—”

“Not you, Ngaaluh. You have said all you need to say.” Shimrra rose to his feet and descended from his throne with calculated precision, red eyes glancing at a different member of his audience with each step. His voice, when he spoke, was like the voice of Yun-Yuuzhan himself.

“The heresy is not a poison gas that sneaks in through the cracks. It is not spirits whispering in someone’s ear. It is not a contagion, floating on the wind. No, the heresy is spread by Shamed Ones who are flesh and blood like us. They possess no supernatural powers. Their love of the infidel
Jeedai
gives them no unseen advantage.”

Shimrra’s posture was one of restrained fury when he reached the base of the steps.

“So, Warmaster, can you explain how these flesh-and-blood heretics are able to corrupt my most trusted servants without being detected?”

The mighty Nas Choka ground sharpened teeth together. “Our investigations continue through all avenues, Great One,” he said. “Of prime concern to us is the nature of the traitors Ngaaluh has reported. They are all, you will note, of the intendant caste.”

“Indeed.” The Supreme Overlord turned to High Prefect Drathul, whose eyes shot hatefully at the warmaster. “Tell me, Drathul, how these Shamed Ones have been able to amass the resources necessary for their existence, let alone to undermine my authority.”

The High Prefect shifted uneasily. “I can assure you that the chains of supply are being examined as we speak.
We strongly suspect that some of the knowledge required to divert these resources was obtained from a renegade shaper.”

Shimrra’s look of disdain required no words. “Master Shaper,” he said, turning next to Yal Phaath. “How do you respond to this claim?”

“Such knowledge did not come from our ranks, I assure you, Supreme One.” The master shaper locked his grotesquely modified hands nervously in front of him. “Our faith lies firmly in you and the gods.”

The Supreme Overlord’s expression conveyed perfectly what he thought of that assertion.

“Ah, yes: faith.” Shimrra turned lastly to the high priest. Nom Anor wished he could freeze the villip choir on the look on Jakan’s face. Watching the warmaster, high prefect, and master shaper squirm had been fine enough, but this was even better.

“This heresy undermines the spiritual center of our mighty people, Jakan,” Shimrra said, looming less than an arm’s length away from the high priest. “The gods have every right to be displeased at the lack of faith we show in them. Your plans to rid us of this treacherous Prophet show a distinct lack of imagination.”

“You may be assured, Supreme One, that retribution is at hand,” Jakan pronounced, a slight trembling of his hands the only sign of the terror he was surely feeling. “Such vile blasphemies will not go unpunished.”

“Indeed they will not. Our enemies are flesh and blood, after all. They are nothing to the gods but aberrations.” Shimrra released the high priest from his stare, and Jakan visibly sagged.

“The question remains, however,” said Shimrra, stalking back to confront High Prefect Drathul, “how to explain the spread of the heresy among the higher ranks on Yuuzhan’tar.”

Drathul straightened, but remained silent in the face of the Supreme Overlord’s piercing stare.

“Perhaps, High Prefect, I am betrayed more profoundly than I ever dared think. Perhaps there is a traitor in my palace, a recruiter for the vile sect that swears allegiance to the
Jeedai.
”

Shimrra’s voice was low and threatening, and the implications were obvious. Every scar on Nom Anor’s head tingled to hear it. He had never hoped it would come to this. Not against the high prefect himself!

“This poisoned kshirrup dares to purvey the Prophet’s rot among those closest to me, attempting to turn them against my will. The traitor steals secrets, misappropriates resources, tells me lies, holds a weapon to my throat that I cannot even see. What do you say of that possibility, Drathul?”

The high prefect’s name emerged as a low, threatening growl. The audience craned forward to see what would happen next.

“I think it is a possibility, My Lord,” the high prefect said in as firm as voice as anyone could muster under the circumstances, “but I assure you—”

“Not another word, Drathul!” Shimrra leaned over the high prefect. “I am observant. I hear the whispers; I sense the hidden eyes upon me.
I know when I am being betrayed
!”

The roar echoed through the chamber. Drathul visibly flinched at the bile in the words. Guards appeared from behind the hau polyp dais, and Nom Anor felt a keen sense of victory sweep through him. Drathul in the yargh’un pit? So soon?

But instead of closing in on the high prefect, it was Ngaaluh whom the warriors surrounded. Staring dumbly at the villip choir, Nom Anor saw the blunt, scarred faces closing in, and it took him a long moment to realize what was happening. It took Ngaaluh just as long, for the
guards were almost upon her before she proclaimed her innocence.

“My Lord? What is this?”

“This is treachery,” Shimrra said, turning to face her. His burning red eyes seemed to stare right into Nom Anor’s frozen heart. “You should know that well enough.”

“Supreme One, I swear—”

“Seize her!”

Shimrra strode across from Drathul, growing mightier and more furious in the villip choir with every step. The guards grabbed Ngaaluh and held her tightly. To her credit, she didn’t struggle, but Nom Anor felt her fear in the way the villip trembled.

“Your evidence against Prefect Ash’ett was convincing,” Shimrra snarled. “Against Drosh Khalii and Prefect Zareb it was watertight. Almost too good, in fact. Wondering, I took the opportunity to question the witnesses you brought here, prior to their disposal in the yargh’un pits. When interrogated
properly
, they told a very different story.”