Star Wars - Edge of Victory - Book 1: Conquest Page 12

  But it was his ears, again, that alerted him. Something crashed through the treetops behind him, and all of the hairs on his neck stood up. What was he facing? A living ship? A beast?

  He dropped and cut a sharp turn, slipping between two trees, scraping one of them. For an instant, he thought it had worked, but then he heard the whirring turn to follow him.

  How does it see? he wondered. Infrared? Or, given that the Yuuzhan Vong used only living technology, maybe it smelled him. Whatever the case, it certainly had a lock on him. It was faster, too, though less maneuverable in the trees due to its greater size.

  He thought he was evading it pretty well until some­thing hissed past his ear—not a branch, not anything he could feel in the Force. Desperately he increased his eva-

  sive tactics, spinning and rolling, coming as near the trees as he dared, slipping through the narrowest spaces he was able to.

  Dark things licked past him, hissing in the leaves, and then something caught the speeder in a grip that stopped it dead in the air.

  Anakin didn't stop, however. With all of the forward momentum that had just been stolen from his craft, he was hurled into the night, a rocket of blood and bone. He tucked and spun, slowing himself with the Force, and dropped onto a branch bigger around than he was.

  He turned and found himself facing a hole in the night.

  A thin tendril whipped out from the thing and wrapped around his waist, cinching painfully tight. With a hoarse cry, he snapped on his lightsaber and cut, just as the strand started to tighten further, as if reeling him in. Incredibly, the strand—it seemed no thicker than his thumb—resisted the first cut, though it yielded to the second.

  By then he had been jerked off the branch, and once again he was falling. Closing his eyes, he nudged his course to another branch and used it as a springboard to propel himself toward the next unseen landing place. He never made it. Another of the strands caught him in mid­air. He managed to twist himself and chop it, but by that time another had fastened on him. He managed to cut it, too, but noticed the severed pieces weren't dropping off, but retained their grip on him. If this kept up ...

  He saw pretty clearly what he had to do. The next time his feet hit a branch, he hurled himself up and out, feeling the breath of several strands passing beneath and by him. He aimed himself at the hole in the Force.

  The problem with that, of course, was that he couldn't sense a landing place. He came down on top of the craft, but the surface was uneven, and he slipped, bounced once on the rear of the thing, and slid off. He caught a projection as he fell, and for a brief moment felt an odd disorientation, as his inner ear suddenly told him that

  down was in two different directions, as if he stood on the dividing line between two different gravities.

  In a flash, he knew what that must mean. Whatever this thing was, it was, like other Yuuzhan Vong craft, pro­pelled by a dovin basal, the creatures that somehow gen­erated gravitic anomalies. He was hanging next to the craft's lifts.

  The craft jerked and spun over. Anakin lost his grip, but he had a fix on the gravity source now. The Yuuzhan Vong and their creatures might not exist in the Force, but gravity did.

  As he fell, he hurled his lightsaber up, guiding it with the Force. It struck at the heart of the gravitic anomaly, and sparks showered the canopy below. As Anakin fell through the first layer of leaves he saw his lightsaber rup­ture into a bright purple flare.

  Concentrating on the weapon, Anakin glanced off a branch, falling like a rag doll. Trying to focus through the pain, he found the forest floor, pushed against it, pushed...

  Until it pushed him back. All of his breath coughed out in a rush, and he folded around his gut, sucking for wind that would not come.

  The morning sun found Anakin turning blue and black over much of his body, but still functional. In the dim light, he cautiously climbed from his hiding place in the hollow of a tree and looked around.

  The Yuuzhan Vong craft was down, perhaps eighty me­ters away. It reminded Anakin of some sort of flat, winged sea creature, though it looked as if it were grown from the same stuff as the coralskippers. It was fetched up against a tree. The cockpit was a transparent bubble ex­truding from the top. The pilot inside looked quite dead.

  Anakin found he'd been right about the dovin basal. It looked roughly the same as the larger ones he'd seen, ex­cept it had a huge, oozing gash in it. His lightsaber lay-

  nearby. When he picked it up and tried to activate it, his fears were confirmed—nothing happened.

  "Perfect," he murmured aloud. "No weapons at all. Perfect."

  He found the remains of his speeder, still attached to the cable snaking from the Yuuzhan Vong craft. It didn't take much of an inspection to tell him that this time he wouldn't be salvaging anything.

  From here on out, he was walking.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Nen Yim watched the damutek ships settle amongst the alien trees, with a giddiness she tried hard to conceal. No reward could come from a display of emotion, espe­cially childish ones. A shaper was circumspect; a shaper was analytical. A shaper did not stare in wonder and joy and wave the tendrils of her headdress in abandon.

  So Nen Yim did none of that. But by the gods, she felt like doing it. This was a planet! Perhaps technically a moon, but a world, an unknown world! The unfamiliar smells of the place, the unanticipated movement of the air, the unimagined oddness of a gravity that wasn't exactly right had her senses buzzing. But the real ex­citement came from within her. Like the thick-trunked damutek, she was a seed, finally come to the right soil to sprout in.

  Soil. She reached down, bent, and scratched up a fist­ful of the rich black dirt. It smelled like nothing she had ever known—a bit like the sluices beneath the mernip breeding pools, or the exhalations of the maw luur of the great worldships. The latter took in waste through its vast capillary network and digested it into nutrients, metals, and air. As a child, she'd often stood where the maw luur exhaled; until now, it was the only wind she had ever known.

  "Your first time on a true world, Adept?"

  Nen Yim turned, thinking to find one of her fellow adepts speaking to her, but suddenly arranged the tenta-

  cles of her headdress into genuflection when she saw it was no such lowly creature, but her new master, Mezhan Kwaad.

  The master let her finish, then beckoned her to face her. " You may turn your eyes on me, Adept."

  "Yes, Master Mezhan."

  Mezhan Kwaad was a female nearing the final edge of youth. If she were not a shaper, she might yet bear a child, but of course that was the one form of shaping for­bidden to masters of their caste. She was lean but still wore the form of a mature female, despite her high status. Her broad, high-cheekboned face bore the ritual fore­head scars of her domain, and her right hand was an fight-fingered master's hand. Her other alterations, in keeping with the aesthetic of the shapers, were more dis­creet. The marks of her sacrifices were not external, as they tended to be for the other castes. She wore the body-hugging oozhith of a master, its tiny cilia rippling in subtle waves of color as it sought and captured the alien microorganisms in the atmosphere to feed itself.

  "And answer my question," the master went on.

  " Yes, Master. I have never before known a world out­side of our worldships."

  "And what are your impressions?"

  "Our worldships are built for centuries, perhaps mil­lennia. Yun-Yuuzhan created planets and moons for millions and billions of cycles. The resources in the moon's interior are released slowly, by tectonic processes, or by life adapting to lack." She looked back down at the dirt beneath her feet. "But it does feel so strange, the un-imaginable wealth I'm standing on. And the life! Dif-ferent from our own, and varied, and none of it made to serve us!"

  The master shaper narrowed her eyes. " It is made to serve us," she said quietly. "It is the will of the gods that life serves us. You were taught this."

  "Of course, Master," Nen Yim said. "I only meant we have
not shaped it yet. But we shall."

  "Yes, we shall," Mezhan Kwaad agreed. "And I em­phasize we. Do you know why you are an adept, Nen Yim? Do you know why you are here, and not correcting the mutations of methane-fixing recham forteps in a de­caying maw luur?"

  "No, Master."

  "Because I saw your work on the endocrine cloister in the worldship Baanu Kor.n

  Nen Yim knotted her headdress in a humble posture. "I only did what needed to be done," she said.

  "You did it optimally. Many would have stopped short at the molding of tii, but you went beyond that. You applied the Vul Ag protocol, though such has never been used in an endocrine cloister."

  "I thought it would make the outer osmotic mem­branes more efficiently transpire—"

  "Yes. Tradition and propriety are of absolute impor­tance to our task, and yet immersion in those qualities can lead to hidebound thinking. I need adepts who are resourceful, who can use the sacred, unchanging knowl­edge in new ways. Do you understand?"

  "I believe so, Master," Nen Yim answered cautiously. A small lump of fear formed in her throat. Did the mas­ter know")

  But she couldn't. If she knew that Nen Yim had dabbled in heresy, she would never have promoted her. Unless she herself—

  No. Not a master. That was impossible.

  "Don't believe," the master said. "Know, and you shall go far. Do you see? As you say, after generations we have a whole new galaxy of life at our fingertips. It is time to demonstrate exactly what Yun-Yuuzhan intended us for."

  Nen Yim nodded, watching the damuteks again. They were already splitting from their protective skins and be-

  ginning to expand, to grow into highly specialized shaper compounds.

  "Come, Adept," the master said. "It is time to receive your hand."

  "So soon?" Nen Yim asked.

  "Our work begins tomorrow. We have one of the Jeedai, you know. Only one, but we shall have more. Supreme Overlord Shimrra himself is watching what we do here most carefully. We will not disappoint him."

  Nen Yim stepped from the ceremonial bath into a darkened oozhith. At her touch it wrapped itself firmly about her, and she felt the tingle as it inserted cilia into her pores. It was not a full-skin oozhith, but a shortened garment that left her arms and most of her legs bare. She smoothed back her short dark hair and held out her right

  hand, looking at it as if for the first time rather than the last. Then she allowed the attendant to escort her into me darkened grotto of Yun-Ne'Shel, where the master waited.

  The grotto smelled of brine and oil. It was close and damp and reacted faintly to the touch. The grotto was a distant relative of the yammosk; what you felt in the chamber came back to you, enhanced.

  And so now both her eagerness and her trepidation

  -ad her pulse hammering as she knelt at the mouth of the grotto, a hole the size of a fist surrounded by a massive bulge of muscle. Without pausing or flinching, she placed her hand through the opening.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then the teeth slid out of their sheaths, eight of them, and pricked into her wrist.

  Sweat started on her brow as she surrendered to the pain, as the teeth, with glacial slowness, sank through tissue, grated into bone. The lips closed occasionally to sock away the blood. The grotto gave her back her pain, amplified, and her breath went choppy. She lost her sense

  of time; every nerve ending in her body was raw, as if the cilia of her garment were writhing needles.

  Until, finally, the teeth met in the center of her wrist; she felt them click together. She tried to take a long, calming breath to prepare for what was to come next.

  It happened quickly. The mouth suddenly rotated ninety degrees. Her arm twisted with it no more than a degree or so, and then the hand came off with a wet snick. Nen Yim held up the stump of her wrist and stared at it in dull astonishment. She barely noticed the attendant taking her by the shoulders, guiding her toward the dark basin in the center of the grotto.

  "I can do it," she whispered. She knelt by the basin, her head spinning. Dark things moved in the waters, five-legged things that came to the scent of her blood eagerly. She pushed her gushing stump into the water.

  She had thought her body could feel no greater pain than it already had. She was wrong. She didn't feel it in her hand at all, but in a great spasm that arched her body like a bow and kept it cramped there. She couldn't see the creature grappling with her wrist. For a horrible mo­ment, she didn't want to. A great flash of light exploded in her head, and for a time she knew nothing.

  She awoke, and tears of shame started. Through them she saw the master standing over her.

  "No one has ever endured it without a brief lapse the first time," she said. "There is no shame, on this occa­sion. If you ever receive your master's hand, it will be dif­ferent. But you will be ready."

  Hand. Nen Yim raised it before her.

  It was still seating itself, a thick greenish secretion marking the line between it and her wrist. It had four narrow fingers and a thumb protruding from the thin but flexible carapace that now served as the top of her hand. Thousands of small sensor knobs covered the fingers and palm. The two fingers farthest from her thumb ended in

  small pincers. The finger nearest the thumb had a thin, sharp, retractable claw.

  She tried to wiggle the fingers; nothing happened.

  "It will take some days for the nerve connections to complete themselves, and some time after that for your brain to become used to the finer modifications," the master said. "Rejoice, Nen Yim—you are now truly an adept. You will join me in shaping the Jeedai, and will bring glory to our caste, our domain, and the Yuuzhan Vong."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Anakin sank farther beneath the roots of a marsh-grubber tree and submerged himself up to his mouth, peering through the twisted growths at the elusive sky. For long moments he thought perhaps he had been mistaken, that the noise from above had been his imag­ination, but then he saw a shadow much too large to be any native bird pass across the fetid U-shaped lake that concealed him.

  His hand went to his useless lightsaber and then fell away.

  For three days he had been avoiding the Yuuzhan Vong speeder analogs. It helped that he knew the sounds of the jungle moon; the irritated cries of Woolamanders in the distance or a flight of a group of lesser kitehawks had become his best allies, warning him of approaching fliers kilometers before they passed overhead. Still, as he approached the site of the academy, the searchers came with greater regularity. He didn't think they were random flights, but rather that they were part of some sort of expanding search net spiraling out from the flier he had brought down with his lightsaber.

  Well, at least now he knew better than to cut into a dovin basal. From what he could tell, his weapon had passed through or very near the part of the thing that warped gravity; the crystal in his weapon had been subtly warped, then fused by the energy it generated. That was both good news and bad; focusing crystals had been

  found on Yavin 4 before, in the old Massassi temples, and they could be used in lightsabers. Unfortunately, Massassi temples had been in short supply lately.

  Sighing, he renewed his grip on the makeshift staff he had managed to cut with his utility knife. He doubted very much that it would be of any use whatsoever against Yuuzhan Vong armor, but it was better than nothing. He'd run across some explosive grenade fungi earlier—a local plant that, when dry, could generate a respectable bang. At the moment, however, they weren't available. He'd stashed them on dry ground before hiding here.

  So he sat, waiting for the shadow to return, and tried not to think about what would happen when he finally reached Tahiri and her captors. How many Yuuzhan Vong were there? Why were they still here?

  All good questions, all totally moot if Anakin Solo died or was captured on the way.

  He would have to face the answers soon enough, of course. By his calculations, he was only about twenty kilometers away from the academy.

  He was so bus
y watching the sky that he didn't notice ripples of a wake approaching him until it was nearly too late.

  Even then he first thought it was a large crawlfish, one of the harmless crustaceans that had been furnishing him with food since he came to ground. He caught a glimpse of mottled chiton as it approached.

  But crawlfish got to be only a meter or so long, and he suddenly realized that this creature was more on the order of three meters.

  He quickly lowered the sharpened end of his staff, which was promptly yanked from his hands by some­thing very strong. The head surfaced then, a nightmare of mandibles and hooked feelers reaching for him. For an instant, fear and shock got the better of him, then he grabbed its mass with the Force and pushed. As it blew

  back and up, he got a good view of it: flat, wide, and seg­mented with thousands of legs.

  It splashed down, milled about, and started for him again. Quickly, he clambered out of the water.

  Someone called behind him, in a language he didn't understand. He spun and saw one of the Yuuzhan Vong craft, side extruded open. A Yuuzhan Vong warrior was just stepping out.

  The warrior hesitated for a second, then stepped back into the craft. As it rose into the air, Anakin uttered a brief curse and ran. He paused only long enough to grab his pack.

  The flier stayed with him, but kept its distance. Ad­renaline hummed in Anakin's blood, but his mind was curiously calm. He dodged through the undergrowth, looking for a cave, temple ruins, any place to remove him from his observer. His fatigue sloughed from him like dead cells in a bacta tank, and the Force flowed through him like a river, wild, almost frightening in its sheer, joyous strength.

  It was not a state he had quite ever achieved before, an utter awareness of everything around him. Yavin 4 was so alive. And in that matrix of living, pulsing Force, the fliers were bubbles of nothing. The Jedi had learned to detect the Yuuzhan Vong by not detecting them, but be­fore it had always been a matter of focus. He would look at a suspected Yuuzhan Vong, and if he felt nothing, that was likely what he had.