Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Vector Prime (29 page)

Danni didn’t respond, didn’t blink.

“There are ways for you to join with us,” Da’Gara remarked.

Again, she stubbornly held her ground.

“You will learn,” Da’Gara promised. “You will learn the glory of the Praetorite Vong. You will learn your place.” He turned to the two warrior escorts. “Bid Prefect Ma’Shraid to join us. She will enjoy watching the yammosk devour the unworthy one.”

Danni fought hard to hold steady her breathing, to not betray her horror. She said nothing and offered no resistance—how could she?—as she was dragged back through the main chamber, where other warriors had come in and were working on Miko and the gooey chains.

It all came as a rush to Danni, a blurring of reality and what she could only think of as a dreamscape. She was tossed back into the tube, went sliding and bouncing and falling back into the water, its iciness biting at her in those few places where the ooglith cloaker was not properly shielding her. Down they went, and her bonds were removed, and weights were applied. Down they went, deeper into the sea, toward the glow that marked the main base. Once again Danni came to appreciate the marvel of the ooglith cloaker, for she did not feel much of a pressure buildup as they descended, as if the living suit was somehow warding the weight of the depths.

The immense tentacles of the yammosk, the coordinator and central brain of the Praetorite Vong, hung in the water all about her, like banners strewn to mark the spot of celebration. Rocky reefs, covered with brightly glowing simple creatures, served as bleachers, and upon these, Da’Gara’s warriors stood in force, at quiet attention, the intensity of their steeled gazes diminished not at all by the gnullith, which almost hid
the variety of scarring and tattoos on their faces. Danni was brought to a place at the rear of the line, far from the core of the yammosk.

But through the crystalline clear water, she could see that horrid face, the two bulbous black eyes, the puckered maw, and the great central tooth.

No one seemed concerned with her; the warriors all stood quietly, eyes locked ahead, though the two flanking Danni kept a firm grip on her arms.

The great yammosk belched forth a huge bubble then, which rolled out, expanding, expanding, to encompass Danni and all the gathered Yuuzhan Vong, and to her amazement, that air pocket stayed in place about the grounds, holding back the waters. She saw the gathered aliens remove their gnullith, and then one of the guards holding her pulled the breather from her face, as well.

Prefect Da’Gara appeared sometime later, in ceremonial red robes that Danni had not seen before. He ascended a platform before the yammosk and held his hands out to his people.

No sound came from him, and yet Danni knew that he was communicating with his minions, and as she let herself fall deeper into that thought, and as she closed her eyes and concentrated, she, too, could begin to comprehend the prefect’s thoughts. The call wasn’t coming directly from Da’Gara, she came to realize, but was being relayed from him and to his people through the mental power of the gigantic yammosk. The creature was a telepath, obviously, its power great enough to facilitate communication throughout the gathering.

The title Da’Gara had given to the yammosk, war coordinator, suddenly resonated more deeply to Danni.

With the telepathic call for order, the communal bonding facilitated by the yammosk, completed, Da’Gara walked to the front of the platform and began speaking aloud. Danni didn’t understand the language, of course, but by concentrating
on the continuing waves of energy from the yammosk, she found that she could comprehend the basics of his speech. He was talking about glory, about the Praetorite Vong and this grand conquest they had been assigned. He spoke enthusiastically about Prefect Ma’Shraid and the second worldship, and about a third that would soon land. He talked about the skirmish with the starfighters, and the ultimate victory.

Then he went back to exalting Ma’Shraid, and Danni understood the purpose of that focus a moment later when a low humming reverberated through her body and all heads snapped to the side, looking back, away from Da’Gara and the yammosk. A great tube, like the one that led from the first worldship under the ice pack, slid down toward the yammosk’s air bubble and then breached the shield at the rear of the gathering.

In came the warriors of the second worldship, rank upon rank, hundreds upon hundreds, a force larger than that Da’Gara had assembled. In they marched, male and female, all tattooed and mutilated, with athletic builds and finely toned muscles, and all with that same intense, fanatical gaze. A woman wearing red robes akin to Da’Gara’s came last, borne on a litter by four strong warriors. While their comrades formed ranks intertwined with Da’Gara’s soldiers, a show of common purpose and obedience that was not lost on Danni, the litter moved to the front platform, and the woman, Ma’Shraid, took her place beside Da’Gara.

He offered her the floor, and she immediately offered prayers to many gods. Then she fell into a similar discourse of glory and duty, speaking of the honor to have been chosen to serve with the Praetorite Vong, and of the glory they would all soon know, particularly those who would die in the conquest.

It went on for hours and hours, and Danni saw not one head nod with boredom. The level of energy alone nearly overwhelmed her, a devotion so rare among her own people.

Finally the speeches ended, with Da’Gara’s call to the
yammosk, and then Danni felt a vibration ripple through her body, a power so intense that she feared she would simply explode.

As if in response to that wave of energy, a second litter appeared, not from the tunnel, but from around the bleachers. This one was curtained above so that Danni could not see the one being borne.

She knew, though.

Four warriors marched to the point at the end of the twin ranks of warriors, the farthest point from the yammosk’s bulk, perhaps a hundred meters from Da’Gara and Ma’Shraid.

The curtains came down; there stood Miko Reglia, stuck fast to a post.

Again came the vibration, rippling through Danni. She could just sense the despair and helplessness that emanated from the yammosk; but those emotions were created for and aimed at Miko, she could tell, for his expression fell and his shoulders drooped. She could only watch in horror as two thin tendrils snaked out from either side of the yammosk’s puckered maw, soaring out before the lines of warriors and to the litter. They grasped Miko and, with frightening power, yanked him free of his bonds and began dragging him in.

At first the Jedi struggled, but he apparently recognized the futility of that attempt and so he closed his eyes—he was again finding his point of meditation, Danni knew.

But again came the waves of the yammosk’s thought-energy, rippling through them, pulling at Miko’s heart and chipping at his willpower.

Danni understood. The creature wanted him to show his fear, wanted him to break into a tirade of despair and hopelessness.

“Fight it, Miko,” she whispered, and she wished that she, too, was a Jedi, so that she could somehow communicate to the man, lend him her strength that he might die honorably.

Miko tried to look away, or down, tried to close his eyes and muster his internal strength. He was determined to meet
his doom with courage and calm, but he could not keep his eyes closed. The yammosk would not let him. He knew then that this was the end, a horrible, painful death. He saw the maw, growing larger and larger, saw the rows and rows of smaller teeth behind that dominant fang, then saw, as he inched even closer, the fleshy interior of the creature’s mouth.

He had never been afraid of death—he was a Jedi Knight—but something was different here than he had ever foreseen, some darker sense of dread and emptiness that questioned his very faith. Logically he knew the source to be the yammosk, a trick of the telepathic creature, but logic could not hold against the waves of despair and horror, against the certain knowledge that this was the very end of existence!

Closer, closer. The mouth opened and closed, chewing before the meal had arrived.

Closer, closer.

“Anybody here care to lend a hand?” Han asked sarcastically, ending with a frustrated sigh. Anakin had just put the
Millennium Falcon
down on Sernpidal—no easy feat, as the planet did not boast much in the way of landing docks. Basically they had come down within a walled field, on the ground, in the middle of the low, sprawling city. While there was plenty of activity around them, people of various species rushing to and fro, there seemed to be little or no organization to it all, and certainly not a one had made any movements to help with the unloading of the
Falcon
.

Finally, Han rushed out the door of the walled bay, into the path of two locals, white-skinned men with red eyes, wearing the traditional Sernpidal dress: red-striped white robes with huge hoods.

“Who runs the dock?” Han asked.

“Tosi-karu!” one of the men screamed frantically, and both started to run away.

“Well, where do I find this Tosi-karu?” Han demanded of the speaker, moving swiftly to intercept.

“Tosi-karu!” the albino yelled again, pointing to the sky, and when Han tried to hinder the man’s progress, he slapped Han’s hands away and did a nifty spin move, sprinting away to the side.

“Tosi-karu!” Han yelled after him. “Where?”

“Oh, you would have to look up to see that one, I fear,” came another voice, calm and controlled.

Han turned to see an older man, not an albino Sernpidalian, leaning on a staff.

“He flies?” Han asked skeptically.

“Orbits would be a better word,” the old man replied. “Although she could fly, I believe, if the local legends concerning the goddess are true.”

“Goddess?” Han echoed, shaking his head. “Wonderful. So we put down during some kind of holy day.”

“Not really.”

Han looked around at the continuing bustle, particularly of the locals, rushing, averting their eyes. “I’d hate to see it during the holy days, then,” he muttered. He turned back to the old man. “Are you the dockmaster?”

“Me?” the man asked with an incredulous chuckle. “Why, I’m just an old man, come out to spend my last days in peace.”

“Then where is the dockmaster?”

“Don’t know that there is one,” the old man answered. “We don’t get much traffic out here.”

“Wonderful,” Han muttered. “I’ve got a hold full of goods—”

“Oh, I suspect you’ll find little trouble in getting them unloaded,” the old man said with a chuckle.

“You
should
stop and help us,” Anakin said to a group of Sernpidalians at the doors on the other side of the walled bay. He put tremendous Force emphasis on the suggestion, weighting the word
should
heavily.

The Sernpidalians slowed and turned to regard the boy and the Wookiee, and for a moment, it seemed as if they meant to stop and help. But then one yelled “Tosi-karu!” and the group hustled away.

Chewie howled.

“What do you mean, Luke could do it better?” Anakin asked. “They’re obviously preoccupied.”

Chewie let out a series of growls and roars.

“Yes, it does matter!” Anakin insisted.

It wasn’t often that Anakin heard the Wookie chuckle, and the sound cut deeply when aimed at him. “I’ll get this fellow,” he said, moving toward another Sernpidalian who was hustling by.

Chewie’s huge arm draped in front of Anakin’s chest, easily holding him back. Then the Wookiee stepped right in front of the Sernpidalian and, when the albino tried to move around him, froze the man in place with a great Wookiee roar.

Only for a second, though, and then the Sernpidalian turned on his heel and ran screaming away.

“Oh, you’re right,” Anakin said dryly. “That’s much more effective.”

Chewie, eyes narrowed dangerously, turned to regard him.

Han looked at the old man skeptically.

“He’s a big one,” the old man noted, eyes wide, and Han heard Chewie moving behind him. He turned to see the Wookiee and Anakin, with Chewie grumbling about something and Anakin shaking his head.

“They won’t even stop to listen,” Anakin complained. “I can’t even begin to tell if there’s any organization to this place. Chewie scared a few, but they just yelled some things I didn’t understand and ran off.”

Han considered the words for a moment, then glanced at the old man, and back at Anakin. “What are you sensing?” he asked.

Anakin’s eyes opened wide; he was obviously surprised that his father was asking him anything about the Force. Han was as Force-blind as Anakin was sensitive to it, after all, and rarely had he ever asked for any Force-related insights to any events, usually trusting his own instincts and luck instead.

Anakin closed his eyes for a long while. “Fear,” he said at length.

“Oh, there’s a lot of that,” the old man said. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

“But something else,” Anakin started. He looked hard at his father. “It’s more than fear,” he decided. “Especially with the ones like that.” He pointed to a group of locals rushing past on the opposite side of the avenue, their red-striped white robes flapping behind them in the dusty breeze. “It’s almost …”

“Religious?” the old man asked, again with a wheezing chuckle.

“Yes,” Anakin answered even as Han scowled at the old man. “Spiritual. They’re afraid and full of hope all at once.”

“Tosi-karu,” the old man said, and he started walking away.

“Tosi-karu?” Anakin asked. “That’s what one of the people at the other door yelled.”

“Hey!” Han called, but the old man continued away, chuckling and shaking his head with every step.

“Tosi-karu?” Anakin asked again.

“Some goddess,” Han explained. “There’s something weird going on down here. I don’t know what Lando’s got us into, but I’ve got a—”

“Bad feeling about it?” Anakin finished, managing a sheepish grin at stealing his father’s trademark line.

“Lot to do,” Han corrected. “I want those holds emptied, and us out of here as soon as possible.”