Conquest: Edge of Victory I (21 page)

Or was that even a relevant question, without the Force? Were Jedi so dependent on their Force-given senses that without them they were moral cripples?

Rapuung had kept a stinging gaze on Anakin as the Jedi searched for a response. Now he suddenly looked away toward some middle distance.

“You make no sense,” Vua Rapuung said. “But … I acknowledge you have saved my life. My revenge will owe to you, when it is complete.”

“You’ve saved me a couple of times,” Anakin replied. “We’re not even yet.”

“Not what? What is that word?”

“Never mind. Vua Rapuung, what is this revenge you seek? What has been done to you that would make you turn against your own people?”

Rapuung’s eyes hardened. “Do you really not know? Can you really not see? Look at me!”

“I see your scars fester. You have implants that seem
dead or dying. But I don’t have the faintest idea what that means.”

“It does not concern you,” Rapuung said. “Do not presume, infidel.”

“Fine. Then tell me this plan of yours, the one that will get me to Tahiri.”

“Follow and see,” Rapuung answered.

   They crouched in a tangle of roots at the water’s edge on a tributary of the great river.

“We’re farther away from the shaper base than we were yesterday,” Anakin complained.

“Yes, but in the right place, now,” Rapuung said.

“Right place for what?”

“Wait. See.”

Anakin’s mouth twitched around a retort but didn’t form it. Was this what people were complaining about when they accused
him
of being tight with words? Rapuung was as stingy with facts as a Bothan courier. Six days running and fighting together, and Anakin still knew nothing about the warrior except that he was mad about something. Maybe even crazy. He’d mentioned some “she” and seemed to have an obsession with his worthiness before his gods.

But maybe all Yuuzhan Vong were like that. It was not like Anakin had chatted with a lot of them. Maybe Rapuung was as normal as normal could be. Maybe he kept his motives and plans secret because that’s just the way Yuuzhan Vong were.

Or maybe he was afraid—afraid that if Anakin knew what he was up to or knew how to get into the shaper base, Anakin would kill him or abandon him.

He sneaked a glance at the fierce, flat-nosed visage and gave that a silent negative. He couldn’t imagine Vua Rapuung being afraid of anything. Maybe
prudent
was a better word.

So Anakin waited, quietly, and found himself gradually
mesmerized by the gentle flow of the stream. He stretched out tentatively to the life around him, feeling again the shadow of the pain and death he had caused.

I’m sorry
, he told the forest.

How close was he to the dark side? Was Rapuung right?

He’d argued with Jacen that the Force was a tool that was neither good nor evil, but that could be used, like any tool, to do good or evil with. Could evil be as simple as not thinking? He supposed so. Corran Horn had once told him that selfishness was evil and selflessness good. In that light, selfishly causing death to save himself was evil, regardless of the fact that he simply hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions at the time. And yet he wasn’t just fighting for himself, was he? Tahiri’s life was at stake. Maybe more than her life, because if the Tahiri of his vision ever came to be, it could mean the end of a great many people.

If he was honest, he had to admit he hadn’t been thinking about those larger consequences, either. He’d had a problem to solve, and he’d solved it, the same as he might solve a mathematical equation or a problem with the hyperdrive motivator in his X-wing. He just hadn’t thought about the problems his solution might cause, which seemed pretty typical of him lately.

Mara Jade had pointed out this tendency of his ages ago, when they were camping together on Dantooine. Apparently he hadn’t learned anything. Maybe it was time he started to.

Which brought him back to Vua Rapuung. The man was self-admittedly out for revenge, and if there was one thing that had been drilled solidly into Anakin, it was that revenge was of the dark side. If he continued working with Rapuung, would he be implicated in that revenge? What tragedy was he helping to bring about by cooperating with this half-crazed Yuuzhan Vong?

Something stirred the life of the forest. A thousand
voices changed slightly as they smelled and heard something unfamiliar, something not included in their limited vocabulary of predator and prey, hunger and danger.

Something new to Yavin 4 was approaching, on the river.

“Are you expecting someone?” Anakin asked.

“Yes.”

Anakin didn’t ask who. He was tired of asking questions that he knew wouldn’t be answered. Instead he sharpened his senses and watched.

Soon something appeared on the river, coming upstream.

At first he thought it was a boat, but reminded himself that if it was a Yuuzhan Vong boat, it was something organic, as well. Studying it, he picked out the details that proved him right.

The major visible portion was a broad, flat dome poking up from the water, banded with scutes or plates. Whatever moved it was below the surface of the water, but it did move. Now and then something that might be the top of a head broke the water in front of it. If it was a head, it was a big one, nearly as wide as the visible portion of the shell, and scaled and dull olive in color.

Sitting on top of it was a male Anakin could not feel in the Force, but the closer he came, the less he looked like a Yuuzhan Vong. At first Anakin didn’t understand why he got that impression; he had the same sharply sloping forehead, and his nostrils were set nearly flat into his face just like every other person of that species Anakin had seen.

But he had no
scars
. Not one. Not a single tattoo that Anakin could detect, and he could see most of the fellow because he wore only a sort of loincloth.

Now and then he touched something on the surface of the carapace, and the boat creature altered course slightly.

“Stay hidden,” Rapuung said, and stood.

“Qe’u!” he called.

Through the concealing roots, Anakin saw the other man’s head snap around in surprise. He uttered a string of words Anakin didn’t understand, and Vua Rapuung replied in kind. The floater began turning in their direction, and Anakin dug himself lower.

The two Yuuzhan Vong continued their conversation as the floater drew nearer to shore.

Anakin took several deep, steadying breaths. He’d been thinking about Vua Rapuung’s prudence; it was time to start thinking of his own. When would the Yuuzhan Vong stop needing him? Now? When they reached the shaper base? When he’d exacted whatever revenge he was after? It could be anytime. He remembered what he had told Valin about the Yuuzhan Vong and their promises. Was there any reason to believe Rapuung would keep his?

Anakin suddenly noticed that the two had stopped talking. Just as he was thinking about taking a look, he heard a loud splash.

“You may come out from cover now, infidel,” Rapuung said in Basic.

Anakin rose warily from his hiding place. Rapuung stood on the floater. Alone.

“Where did he go?” Anakin asked.

Rapuung gestured toward the water on the other side of the floater. “In the river.”

“You threw him in? Will he drown?”

“No. He is already dead.”

“You killed him?”

“A broken neck killed him. Mount the vangaak and let us depart.”

Anakin stood there for a moment, trying to master his anger.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Because to leave him alive was an unacceptable risk.”

Anakin almost retched. Instead, he climbed up onto
the floater, trying not to look at the corpse floating beyond.

That was one innocent, unarmed sapient being dead because Anakin had saved Rapuung’s life. How many more would there be?

Rapuung began manipulating several knobby projections on the carapace. Anakin assumed they were nerve clusters or something of the sort.

“Who was he?” he asked, as the floater turned sluggishly downstream.

“A Shamed One. A person of no consequence.”

“No one is of no consequence,” Anakin said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Rapuung laughed. “The gods cursed him at birth. Every breath he drew was borrowed.”

“But you knew him.”

“Yes.”

They continued down the river at a leisurely pace. “How did you know him?” Anakin persisted. “What was he doing up here?”

“Trawling the stream. It was his usual route. It used to be mine.”

“You’re an angler?” Anakin said incredulously.

“Among other things. Why so many questions?”

“I’m just trying to understand what happened.”

The warrior grunted and held his silence for five minutes. Then, almost reluctantly, he turned to Anakin.

“To find you, I had to disappear. I faked my death out here, on the water. I made it appear as if some water beast had eaten me. They gave Qe’u my route. I will return and tell a story of how I survived, lost on this strange world, until I came across the vangaak, pilotless. I will not know what happened to Qe’u. Perhaps a
Jeedai
killed him, perhaps he met the same water beast I did.”

“Oh. And they’ll let us through the security on the river. But why should they believe that story?”

“They will not care. He was a Shamed One. His death
will be of no concern. Even if they suspect I killed him for some reason, no one will question my story.”

“And how will you explain me?”

Rapuung grinned nastily. “I won’t. They won’t see you.”

Nen Yim found her master staring into the waters of the succession pool—the heart, lungs, and liver of the damutek. It rippled slightly as the native food fish of the moon investigated her shadow. It smelled faintly of sulfur, iodine, and something oily and burnt, almost like singed hair.

Master Mezhan Kwaad’s headdress was woven into an expression of deep contemplation, so Nen Yim stood behind her, waiting for her attention.

A drop of something plunked into the succession pool, just below the master’s feet. Another followed, and another.

When Mezhan Kwaad finally turned, Nen Yim saw it was blood, drizzling from her nostrils.

“Greetings, Adept,” the master said. “Have you come in search of me, or of the succession pool?”

“Of you, Master. But if you would speak at another time …”

“There will be no better time until my cycle of sacrifice is complete and my Vaa-tumor is removed. You had your first implanted yesterday, did you not?”

“I did, Master. I cannot feel it yet.”

“Bear it well. It is one of the oldest mysteries.” She cocked her head, focusing her regard on Nen Yim’s face. “You wish to know what it does, the Vaa-tumor?”

“I am content in the knowledge that the gods desire this sacrifice of our caste,” Nen Yim replied dutifully.

“Once passing to adepthood, you enter the mystery,”
Mezhan Kwaad said, as if speaking in a dream. “As warriors take on the outward aspects of Yun-Yammka, so we take on the inner qualities of Yun-Ne’Shel, she-whoshapes. The Vaa-tumor is her most ancient gift to us. Yun-Ne’Shel plucked a fragment of her own brain to make it. As it grows, it models our cells, changes our very thoughts, takes us nearer the mind and essence of Yun-Ne’Shel.” She sighed. “The journey is painful. It is glorious. And, regrettably, we must return from it, excise her gift from our bodies. But though we return to a semblance of who we were, each time that we are vessels for that pain and glory we are forever changed. Something of it remains with us. Until …” Her words seemed to fail her.

“You shall see,” Mezhan Kwaad finally said. “And now—what have you come to tell me?”

Nen Yim glanced around, making certain no one was within hearing.

“It is quite safe here, Adept,” Mezhan Kwaad assured her. “Speak freely.”

“I believe I have finished mapping the
Jeedai’s
nervous system and brain structure.”

“That is good news. Very commendable. And how would you proceed now?”

“It depends on what results we want. If we wish her obedience, then we should use restraint implants.”

“Why, then, have we mapped her nervous system?”

Nen Yim felt her headdress fidgeting and tried to calm it. “I don’t know, Master. It was your command.”

Mezhan Kwaad tilted her head and smiled faintly. “I am not trying to trick you, Adept. I chose you for very particular reasons. I have told you some of them; about others I have remained silent, but I suspect you are bright enough to know what they are. Suppose, just for a moment, that there are no protocols to be followed. In the absence of direction, what would you do? Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” Nen Yim said. She felt as if she were
poised over the digestive villi of a maw luur. She could almost smell the sour scent of the acid. If she answered this question truthfully, she might be revealed as a heretic. If what she had come to suspect about her master was wrong, this conversation would be her last as a shaper, and one of the last in her life.

But she could not surrender to fear.

“I would modify the provoker spineray to fit our expectations of her nervous system, to give us very fine control.”

“Why?”

Nen Yim did not hesitate this time. It was already too late, whichever way it went.

“Despite the assurances of the protocol we followed, what we have now is only an educated guess concerning how her nervous system functions. All we have done is to map unknowns onto knowns. But the ‘knowns’ are Yuuzhan Vong norms, not human ones, and we know already that she lacks analogs to some of our structures and has others that have no comparable configuration in ourselves.”

“Are you saying, then, the ancient protocol is meaningless?”

“No, Master Mezhan Kwaad. I am saying it is a starting point. It asserts certain things about how the
Jeedai’s
brain works. I suggest that we now
test
those assertions.”

“In other words, you would question the protocols given us by the gods.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And you understand this is heresy of the first order?”