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?”
“I do.”
Mezhan Kwaad’s eyes were oily pools, utterly unreadable. Nen Yim met her gaze steadily, without flinching, for a very long time.
“I have searched for an apprentice like you,” the master shaper finally said. “I have asked the gods to send you to me. If you are not what you appear to be, you will not be forgiven. You will not profit from any betrayal of me, I promise you that.”
That gave Nen Yim a start. The thought that the master might be afraid of her had never crossed her mind.
“I am your apprentice,” Nen Yim said. “I would not betray you. I have put my life and my position in your thirteen fingers.”
“They are well placed, Adept,” Mezhan Kwaad said softly. “Proceed as you have just suggested. Do not speak to anyone but me about this. If our results are to the liking of our leaders, I assure you they will not look closely at our methods. But we must be discreet. We must move with caution.” She glanced once more at the pool and touched her head.
“When the pain of the Vaa-tumor reaches its peak, there are colors to be seen that have never been seen before, thoughts to be had, strange and mighty … Well, you will see. At times I am almost ashamed to have it removed, to retreat from the final embrace of it. I should like to know where it would take me.” She gave Nen Yim a rare genuine smile. “One day the gods shall ordain it. Until then, I have much work to do for them.” She draped her eight slender fingers on Nen Yim’s shoulder.
“Let us go see our young Jeedai, shall we?”
The Jeedai watched them come in. Only her green eyes moved, following them closely, like one beast seeking the soft throat of another.
“I would advise you not to attack us with your Jeedai tricks,” Mezhan Kwaad told her. “The provoker has been told to stimulate you to great agony if we are afflicted in any way. Though in time you will come to understand agony, at the moment you seem to dislike it, and it clearly disrupts your concentration. There are worse things we could do to you.”
The Jeedai’s eyes widened. “I can understand you,” she said. Then she stopped, looking even more confused. “I’m not speaking Basic. This is—”
“You speak our language now, yes,” the master shaper said. “If you are to be one of us, you must speak the sacred tongue.”
“Be one of you?” The Jeedai sneered. “Thanks, but I’d much rather be the slime under a Hutt.”
“That’s because you perceive yourself an infidel,” Mezhan Kwaad said reasonably. “You do not understand us, and there are things that confound us about you and the other Jeedai. But we will understand you, and you will understand us. You will become a tissue connecting the Yuuzhan Vong and the Jeedai, nurturing both. You will make it possible for understanding to flow both ways.”
“That’s what you want from me?”
“You are the path to peace,” Mezhan Kwaad assured her.
“Kidnapping me won’t get you peace!” the Jeedai shouted.
“We did not kidnap you,” Mezhan Kwaad said. “We rescued you from the other infidels, remember?”
“You’re twisting things,” the Jeedai returned. “The whole reason they captured me was to give me to you.”
The master’s headdress rearranged itself into an expression of mild anger.
“Memory is a most malleable commodity,” Mezhan Kwaad said. “It is mostly chemical. For instance, you now know our language. You did not learn it.”
“You put it there,” the Jeedai said.
“Yes. Your memory of the words, the grammar, the syntax. All introduced to you.”
“So you can implant memories. Big deal. We Jedi can do that, as well.”
“Indeed. I have no doubt those Jeedai abilities could do much to confuse one as young as yourself. How many of your memories are real? How many manufactured? How could you tell the difference?”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is this. Right now you think you are—what is it, Taher’ai?”
“My name is Tahiri.”
“Yes. Tahiri, a young Jeedai candidate, raised by a tribe strange to her—”
“Sand People.”
“Of course. But soon enough, you will remember. After we’ve stripped away the false memories and undone the disgusting modifications made to your body, you will remember who you are.”
“What are you talking about?” the Jeedai exploded.
“You are Riina of Domain Kwaad. You are one of us. You always have been.”
“No! I know who my parents were!”
“You know the lies you were told, the memories you were given. Fear not. We will bring you back.”
Mezhan Kwaad signaled, and Nen Yim bowed and followed her from the room. Behind them, the young Jeedai wailed in the first sign of true despair that Nen Yim had heard from her.
“Do not wait for tomorrow,” Mezhan Kwaad said. “Make your modifications and begin your trials. We must show results, soon.”