All eyes turned to Corran.
Yu’shaa was the first to speak. “Blessed One, what can you mean? After all we’ve done? My followers died so that we might make this voyage. They put their faith in you.”
“And I put my faith in your words, Yu’shaa—your promise that this voyage would include you and you alone. Now we have a shaper and a priest, and I don’t know anything about either of them.”
“I explained about the shaper,” the prophet said. “I knew nothing about the priest.”
“Consider,” Harrar interposed. “Nen Yim and I risk far more than this—Prophet. He is already hunted, already condemned. He has little to risk on this journey and everything to gain. I, on the other hand, am a powerful and honored priest. Not only have I consorted with Jeedai, but I also seek Zonama Sekot, a planet absolutely taboo to us. If Shimrra learns of this, I will be dispatched without honor.”
Corran nodded. “Probably. Unless Shimrra himself planned this whole fiasco.”
“I assure you, he would never do such a thing,” Harrar replied.
“But I’ve only your word for that, and we are, you know, on opposite sides of a war.” Not too diplomatic, Corran. He started again. “Look, you three aren’t the only ones who think Zonama Sekot is important. There are already Jedi there, negotiating with it. Your people have attacked the planet at least once. Bringing one of you there—especially one seeking peace—that was one thing. Bringing three of you is another matter.”
“Contact these other Jeedai,” the Prophet urged. “Discuss it with them. Surely they will agree that if peace is to be achieved, the initiative must come from both the Jeedai and the Yuuzhan Vong.”
“He’s right,” Tahiri said.
Corran shot her a hard look. “I’d like to speak to Tahiri alone,” he told the others.
“Of course,” Harrar said. The others didn’t say anything, but they stayed where they were as Corran escorted Tahiri to what was appeared to be some sort of common area.
“Corran—” she began, but he cut her off.
“No,” he snapped. “Listen. We’re outnumbered here. I can’t have you disagreeing with me in front of them.”
“Then maybe you should stop making decisions without consulting me. We’re a team, remember?”
“And I’m by far the senior member of the team. If you want to disagree with me, fine. But do it in private. We can’t have them thinking you and I are divided. And in the end, I certainly hold the power of veto, because I’m the only one who knows where Zonama Sekot is.”
“Contact Kenth. See what he thinks. Or better yet, talk to Master Skywalker.”
“Well, it seems Sekotan ships don’t come equipped with HoloNet transceivers,” Corran replied. “If they did, I would do just that.”
“We could go to Mon Calamari, get a decision from the council.”
Corran lowered his voice. “That’s where I’m going to tell them we’re going.”
“But we aren’t? Where are we actually going?”
“Zonama Sekot.”
“I lied. I wanted to see what their reaction would be.”
“And?”
“I can’t tell yet. Let’s give it a few days, see what shakes out.”
“That’s dangerous,” she said. “I’m pretty weak. If it comes to a fight …”
“If it comes to that, I’ll deal with it,” Corran said, grimly.
“What does that mean?”
“Sorry. The old man has to have some secrets. But if this goes sour, none of us will make it to Zonama Sekot. Orders from headquarters. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes,” Tahiri replied. “I understand you perfectly.”
“Good. Now, did you notice anything a minute ago? Any reaction I might have missed?”
“I doubt it. But I don’t like the priest.”
“Why?”
“Nen Yim and the Prophet are both heretics. I can’t imagine a high-ranking priest cooperating with either of them.”
“If a high-ranking shaper can be a heretic, why not a priest?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” she said. She sounded dubious.
“If you suspect him, why did you think we ought to continue the mission?”
“Because it’s important. I think Nen Yim and the Prophet are on the level. We have the priest outnumbered, and I don’t think he’ll try anything until we reach the planet—whatever else he has planned, he wants to reach Zonama Sekot as much as the rest of us.”
“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.