The Unifying Force (21 page)

Han wriggled free of the fallen warrior in time to see four more Yuuzhan Vong felled from behind by blaster bolts and rocket darts. The fatal volley was coming from halfway down the corridor, where half a dozen soldiers were crouched, kneeling, and prone on the deck.

They wore pinch-cheeked helmets that were as domed as an R2 unit, bisected by horizontal viewplate strips and surmounted by flaglike targeting range finders. Their gray uniforms were exoskeletoned by blast dissipation vests, forearm gauntlets, kneepads, armor-mesh gloves, and alloy boots with zero-g gripsoles. They were armed with blaster rifles, handguns, combat knives, rocket dart launchers, and whatever else might have been hiding in the alloy utility pouches affixed to their broad belts.

A weapons system all his own, the leader wore a combination jet pack and antipersonnel missile launcher, and his belt was red. Catching sight of Han, the trooper tendered a distinctive fingertip salute before hurrying off.

Leia was suddenly alongside Han and helping him to his feet, but her gaze was directed down the corridor. When she finally turned to Han, her eyes were wide, her mouth a rictus of astonishment.

“Fett?” Han managed.
“Fett?”

Leia shook her head in refusal. “It can’t be him.
Anyone
could be inside that armor!”

Han nodded his head in agreement. “That’s gotta be it. Besides, I mean, even if it is him, he was probably trying to
kill
me, not save me.”

The galaxy’s most notorious bounty hunter, Boba Fett had nearly been the death of Han, Leia, and even C-3PO following the Battle of Hoth, during the Galactic Civil War. But the then-Rebels had evened the score on Tatooine by dropping Fett into the hungry maw of a Sarlacc that resided in the
desert world’s Great Pit of Carkoon. Many believed that Fett had ended his days there, but Han and Leia knew better, having encountered Fett on several occasions since his escape from the Sarlacc. However, there had been no accounts of the man since the start of the Yuuzhan Vong war, and Han was inclined to agree with Leia that the trooper who had saluted him could have been anyone. And yet there was the familiar voice of the man who had called himself “Hurn.”

Han, Leia, C-3PO, and the surviving Caluula soldiers stepped over the bodies of the Yuuzhan Vong and raced after the troops in Mandalorian armor, who had already moved off.

Dozens of Yuuzhan Vong lay dead or dying in the corridor, and fierce fighting was under way in the high-ceilinged hold into which the corridor debouched. Han watched a warrior battle vainly against a whipcord that had lashed around his neck, and was just then dragging him into an area of the hold Han couldn’t see. He saw two more warriors nearly halved by rocket darts. The sibilant reports of blasters were momentarily overwhelmed by the ear-shattering explosion of a concussion missile. Six warriors, lanced by shrapnel, flew backward into the hold. But still others attacked. A strapping warrior with a coufee in each hand charged screaming around the corner, only to reappear moments later, black with blood.

Leia clamped her left hand on Han’s upper arm. “Didn’t that one have hair when he went in?”

Han nodded in shock. “I think they’re taking scalps.”

A knot of Yuuzhan Vong warriors had formed in the hold, many of them gesticulating wildly and all of them talking at once.

“Princess Leia, Captain Solo,” C-3PO said from behind them. “The Yuuzhan Vong are very excited. They have sent runners to other parts of Caluula Station to report that they have found warriors who are exceptionally worthy of captivity.”

“I’d say that’s pretty optimistic of them,” Leia said.

She and Han fought their way into the hold. The armored soldiers had been backed into a corner. Two of them were certainly dead, and several others were in danger of being
overpowered by groups of bloodied Yuuzhan Vong. The Caluula forces gathered what weapons they could find and dashed forward to help.

Han was searching for the leader when he heard a loud
whoosh!
and saw the trooper who might have been Boba Fett streaking toward the ceiling. Blades of fire shot from the jet pack’s hornlike gimbaling servos, and bolts rained down on the warriors from his twin hand blasters, which he twirled expertly before slipping them back into their holsters. Amphistaffs flew at him from all quarters, one of them catching him in the chest and sending him off course into a bulkhead.

Fighting broke out among the Yuuzhan Vong for the privilege of being the first to reach him. Two warriors were climbing over the others, almost within arm’s reach of the rocket man, when Han raised and aimed his blaster.

“Just in case it is him,” Leia said, “try not to hit the jet pack.”

“He has returned! Yu’shaa has returned!”

The gathering was small, numbering no more than two hundred Shamed Ones, but word of the Prophet’s return was spreading through the underbelly of Yuuzhan’tar, and given enough time the audience would swell to thousands, perhaps tens of thousands.

Nom Anor gazed down from what had once been the elevated rail of a magnetically levitated transport, to what had been a broad boulevard of nightclubs and restaurants, where his followers stood with faces raised in renewed hope and expectation.

For a moment—and just that—it felt good to be back.

From his residence he had retrieved the ooglith cloaker that disguised him as Yu’shaa. He had told his servants that he was not to be disturbed, and, attired in the garb of an ordinary worker, he had let himself out through a secret passage and wound his way through the sacred precinct, past the Temple of the Modeler and the Place of the Dead, through the districts of Vistu and Bluudon, shaking spies perhaps only imagined, then on along well-trodden paths that led down below the verdant surface growth, down into the deep
canyons that had once harbored Coruscant’s poor and disenfranchised and, with the arrival of the Yuuzhan Vong, had become the realm of the Shamed, where outsiders were met with suspicion, and anyone not Shamed had to tread carefully, for fear of never surfacing again.

At certain crossings he had uttered passcodes that had opened the way to even lower levels, not merely populated by Shamed Ones, but also ruled by them. He recalled having spied Onimi on a path much like the ones he was forced to follow; Onimi, doing Shimrra’s bidding, who had unwittingly led Nom Anor to the knowledge that the ultimate repository of the shapers’ arts, the so-called eighth cortex, was empty. Now he, too, was doing Shimrra’s bidding and, like Onimi, had become Shimrra’s puppet and pet, tasked with safeguarding secrets.

Long before Nom Anor had been able to seek out his former confederates he had been recognized, and Shamed Ones in filthy frocks and tattered robeskins had flocked to his side, in awe of Yu’shaa’s unannounced reappearance.

“The rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated,” he had tried to tell them.

Only to hear someone respond: “The Prophet has defeated Shimrra! He has defeated death!”

“No, you miscomprehend,” he had said. “I was never taken by Shimrra.”

“The Prophet evaded Shimrra. He has been waiting only for the right moment to reappear among us!”

His carefully conceived plans went further downhill from there.

By the time he had reached what was the broad boulevard—now grown over with shrubs and saplings—a small crowd had already formed. No one seemed to care that Shimrra had expressly forbidden such gatherings, under penalty of dishonorable death.

“He has returned! Yu’shaa has returned!”

Nom Anor scanned the crowd. Below the elevated track, pushing their way forward, came Kunra, Idrish, and V’tel. A Shamed warrior, Kunra had been Yu’shaa’s bodyguard and chief disciple, and the only one who knew of Nom Anor’s visit to Zonama Sekot.

“We knew you would return,” Kunra said when he and the others had climbed to the top of the rail. “You promised that you would elevate us once you had regained your status, and you have been escalated beyond the rank you held. You’re in a position to help us beyond our boldest imaginings. Guise or not, you are indeed the Prophet.”

Nom Anor recalled his words to Kunra and the late Niiriit. Indeed, he had vowed to restore the honor of the Shamed Ones.

If they only knew how he had betrayed them.

“Yes, I promised to lift you,” he said to Kunra. “But we must wait a while longer. This time I come only to warn you. Shimrra knows what you’re planning to do at the sacrifice, and you must trust me when I tell you that he will respond
wrathfully.”

Kunra spread his arms and raised them over the crowd. “Yu’shaa says that we must restage our plan—that we must attack in greater numbers.”

“No, no,” Nom Anor said while the crowd cheered. “You must rethink the plan entirely, or Shimrra will eradicate you!”

Kunra raised his arms again. “Shimrra plans to eradicate us! We must make the first move!”

Nom Anor bellowed to the Shamed Ones, “You can’t look to me, the
Jeedai
, or anyone else to deliver you from your lowly stations! None of us can repair your disfigurements or modify your rejected enhancements!”

“Yu’shaa calls on us to accept that our blemishes are only surface imperfections, and that we must look past them to see our true selves,” Kunra said. “He tells us to follow the authority of our inner selves; to steer by our inner rudders for all important decisions, rather than pray to the gods, consult with the priests, or fear what actions the warriors and intendants might take against us!

“Individualism is the greatest threat to the hierarchy supported by Shimrra’s elite. Shimrra relies on the elite, in order to preserve a system that perpetuates inequity. He wishes to keep us anchored to ritual and domain, so that he and the elite may prosper. But the Prophet tells us that we are individuals first, and citizens last!”

A chill passed through Nom Anor. He finally understood what Kunra was doing. Kunra—who had saved his life after an assassination attempt by Shoon-mi Esh, and who burned with a warrior’s fire—was not about to let Nom Anor shrink from the promise he had made.

What was supposed to have been a final sermon had become a contest of wills.

Nom Anor tried once more to persuade the crowd.

“You err by looking to me or my
disciples
for signs!”

Kunra showed him a covert grin. “The Prophet tells us to look to nature, to the sky, and to the stars—to the planet of redemption, whose coming he foretold!”

The Shamed Ones cheered and lifted their faces higher, beyond the elevated train rail, as if searching the sliver of purple sky for signs. Kunra moved close to Nom Anor, close enough so that Nom Anor could feel the tip of a coufee against his ribs.

“Well done,
Yu’shaa,”
he said quietly. “The multitudes are heated to the point of boiling over. We couldn’t have done this without you.” He paused, then added: “And remember, Prefect: Just as all things are possible on Yuuzhan’tar today, all things will be possible tomorrow.”

As had become her ritual since returning from the convoy ambush, Jaina would search out the officer of the watch every four hours to learn if the
Falcon
had been heard from; then she would spend the next hour or so at one of
Ralroost
’s, observation viewports, gazing at the incoming traffic and stretching out with the Force, in the hope that one of the moving lights might return her touch, or convey some hint of familiarity.

She was about to abandon the effort that afternoon when a swiftly moving ship caught her eye. If there was a spaceborne equivalent of a swoop, Jaina figured she was looking at it. A cramped cockpit anchored to incongruous ion fusion and hyperdrive engines, the small craft was inbound, and on a trajectory for
Ralroost
’s primary docking bay.

Jaina set off for the bay, hurrying down the attack cruiser’s sterile passageways and offering only the hastiest of answering salutes to passing noncoms. By the time she had descended from the landing bay’s service gantry, the craft’s human pilot was on deck and taking off his scratched and dented helmet. His hair was red and shaggy, and his face was wildly freckled. Made up of garments borrowed from at least three separate units, his flight uniform was soiled and patched, and his boots were as mismatched as the engines of his ship. The blaster on his hip was even more ancient than Han’s.

When Jaina intercepted him on the landing apron, he offered a crisp salute.

“Where are you arriving from, Lieutenant?” she shouted above the din of warming engines, repair work, and launches.

“Caluula Orbital, Colonel.” Noting Jaina’s confusion, he
added: “Tion Hegemony. I’ve a message from the commanding officer for Galactic Alliance command!”

Jaina moved closer to him. “You’re a courier?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I’ll show you to Admiral Kre’fey’s cabin.”

Clearly, the offer puzzled him, but he thanked her out of respect. “That’s really not necessary—”

“I insist.” Jaina motioned to the passageway hatch and fell into step beside him. “When did you leave Caluula?” she asked when they could finally speak without shouting.

“Two days ago, local. No hostile contacts along the way. But my ship had some drive problems.”

“Did any ships land at Caluula before you launched?”

“Ships?”

“A banged-up YT-thirteen-hundred freighter, in particular?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’d’ve remembered a YT-thirteen-hundred, sir.”

“What’s the situation at Caluula?”

The lieutenant glanced around. “I don’t know that I’m at liberty—” he began, then shrugged. “What’s it matter, right? Commanding Officer Garray wants the admiral to be advised that unless we can be reinforced and reprovisioned, we’re likely to fall to the Yuuzhan Vong.”

Jaina felt her pulse quicken. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He stopped abruptly. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll go the rest of the way on my own. The sooner I deliver the message, the sooner I can get back to Caluula.”

Jaina nodded. “May the Force be with you, Lieutenant.”

“Same with you.”

Jaina watched him rush off. For the first time in a long while she felt isolated and fearful. Still no word from Jacen, Luke, or Mara, and now her father and mother were missing, possibly marooned in some remote star system. When she tried to reinforce the sense that they were all right, dreadful images whirled in her mind. And when she called to Leia through the Force, she received no response.