The Unifying Force (56 page)

Shimrra’s slayer bodyguards were with him, as was Onimi, perhaps the only Shamed One on Yuuzhan’tar or any other occupied world still content to curl at the feet of the elite. A shaper doubled as a villip mistress to make certain that the Supreme Overlord didn’t miss a moment of the devastation he had called down on the planet.

“We should be rejoicing,” Shimrra was saying as he meandered about, much to the consternation of his limited audience. He gestured to Onimi, who was squatting almost possessively close to the austere throne. “What, no rhymes
from you this day? No words of ridicule or mockery? No capering about while Yuuzhan’tar burns?”

Solemn-faced, Onimi got to his feet to recite a poem, though absent his characteristic self-amusement, and with his gaze not on Shimrra or any of the others in the bunker, but raised to the high, arched ceiling or perhaps the sky beyond.

Shimrra stood silent for a moment, then began to nod. “Yes, Onimi, you’re right to give them fair warning. Is it not just as I planned, just as I imagined? Zonama Sekot will die, its living ships will perish, the Jedi will be stripped of their weapons, and the gods will have been defeated—I will have done away with them. Yuuzhan’tar will recover, and I will rid the universe of all vermin.”

The shaper waited until Shimrra was finished, then stepped forward from her villip-choir. “Dread Lord, High Priest Jakan reports that saboteurs have been seized at the Well of the World Brain. Apparently the priest Harrar is among them.”

“Harrar!” Onimi said, then caught himself and hunkered down.

Shimrra glanced at him, then turned back to the shaper. “Too clever even for Nom Anor, that one. It’s no wonder he survived. But now on the side of the enemy … Enlisted or conscripted, I wonder?” He swung to Onimi again. “Betrayal is rife in our fair kingdom, my familiar. The gods breaking faith with their creations. Shamed Ones rising up against those who have for so long suffered them. And now our esteemed Harrar, giving up the elite …”

“Assuming that it meets with your blessing, Dread Lord,” the shaper said, “the prisoners will be prepared for sacrifice.”

“With all speed, set to it,” Shimrra said. “Join them there. Let us give the gods their last ounce of flesh before we dispense with them.”

Muffled explosions punctuated the silence as the shaper
exited. The coffer trembled as the enemy’s aerial bombardment continued.

Admitted into the bunker, a wounded warrior in vonduun crab armor saluted and began to stagger toward the throne. He didn’t make it halfway before he collapsed onto his knees, black blood curdled in a wound to his right armpit.

“Lord,” he began weakly. “Enemy warriors have surrounded the Citadel, and even now are attempting to battle their way inside.”

Shimrra approached the warrior to have a closer look at his wound. “No blaster made that injury.”

“Three Jedi, Lord. At the western gate.”

The slayers stepped forward, but Shimrra waved them back.

“Let the Jedi come to us.” He looked at Onimi. “After all, diversion needn’t be the exclusive province of the warmaster.”

What had been the Atrium of the Senate was now a cold cavern of living yorik coral. No less digested than the great dome, the imposing post-Imperial interspecies statues that had once graced the arched enclosure resembled sandstone stalagmites or immense candles festooned with flows of melted wax. The curving walls were swirled in blood red, purple, and rust brown, and lighted only by luminescent lichen or the occasional lambent. Yawning black hollows to either side of the vast room were all that remained of the ornate entrances to the Grand Concourse.

It was in the Atrium that Jedi Knight Ganner Rhysode had died and become a legend among the Yuuzhan Vong warrior caste. Or so Jacen had said. But Jacen had also said that Ganner had brought much of the Atrium down, and that clearly wasn’t the case. Leia decided that whoever was in charge of the World Brain had tried to expunge any memories of Ganner’s heroic last stand by having the Atrium rebuilt.

Their hands shackled behind their backs by pincered biots, she, Han, Harrar, Cakhmaim, and Meewalh were being ushered by a cadre of warriors toward the five-meter-wide tunnel opposite the Atrium’s front entry. C-3PO and R2-D2 trailed behind, the protocol droid’s leg joints squeaking, and the astromech’s retractable tread also in need of lubrication. High Priest Jakan’s acolytes were doing a rush job of purifying the captives by wafting smoke from elaborate censors and anointing everyone with finger-flung drops of a pungent-smelling liquid. Nearby walked Master Shaper Qelah Kwaad and High Prefect Drathul, whom Harrar had explained presided over Vongformed Coruscant.

Red-orange light pulsed brightly from the far end of the
tunnel. According to Jacen, the round-topped corridor extended almost half a kilometer to what had been the Great Rotunda, and was now the Well of the World Brain.

“I thought you had your fill of this on Caluula,” Leia said to Han, who walked at her left hand.

“Ah, that was only a yammosk,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Now we’re going to be sacrificed to a World Brain.”

“We really are coming up in the world,” Leia said in the same unflappable tone. She paused, then in a more serious voice added: “I don’t suppose we can count on Lando and Talon flying to the rescue this time.”

Han compressed his lips, then gave her his best lopsided grin. “Chin up, sweetheart. This isn’t over yet.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a clamor began to build from somewhere outside the Atrium’s missile-torn entry. As the procession came to a halt, Leia could discern the sounds of running feet and dozens of voices raised in conviction. The voices grew louder and more determined, and then the air was filled with the strident whiz of hurled razor bugs and the angry snap of thrashing amphistaffs.

The cadre of warriors shoved the captives to one side, whirled, and fanned out across the cavern. Amphistaffs unwound from the warriors’ forearms, stiffing into poison-spitting batons. Ensconced in their bandoliers, thud and razor bugs vibrated in urgency. All eyes were on the entry when a crowd of scrawny Yuuzhan Vong began to pour into the cavern from the hedge-lined causeway, shouting demands and brandishing crude weapons.

Shamed Ones, Leia realized.
Heretics!

Han grinned at her again. “See, what’d I tell you?”

She wagged her head uncertainly. “You’re getting scary in your old age.”

Shamed Ones continued to squeeze into the Atrium, ultimately massing into a mob fifty strong, but taking no action against the marshaled warriors. Clearly appalled by the intrusion, Jakan hurried forward, raising his thin arms over his head, as if about to call on the power of the gods to smite the crowd. Standing alongside Leia, Harrar translated the high priest’s words.

“Jakan is demanding to know who or what inspired them
to profane this most sacred of places. He’s ordering them to leave or be killed where they stand.”

Individuals began to edge their way to the front of the crowd. A battered Yuuzhan Vong male limped forward, shorter than many of his comrades and wearing a shredded robeskin. The Shamed Ones quieted long enough for their apparent spokesperson to make a brief statement.

Leia saw Harrar’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“He declares himself to be the Prophet!” The priest glanced at Leia. “It’s Nom Anor!”

Leia traded astonished looks with Han, while the Shamed Ones went back to shouting and gesturing with their weapons. Others began to advance to the front, two of whom stood to either side of Nom Anor, as if his lieutenants or disciples, and three others who ignited the blades of their lightsabers.

Seeing Mara, Tahiri, and Kenth, the atrium warriors immediately tensed and looked to High Prefect Drathul for orders. Leia was at once revived and worried. Several dozen poorly armed heretics, bolstered by three Jedi, against almost one hundred able warriors.

R2-D2 toned in disquiet.

“I agree completely, Artoo,” C-3PO said. “The odds are most unfavorable.”

The Shamed Ones recognized this as well, as did the Jedi. And they, too, began to spread out, if warily. Just as the tension was culminating, sounds of another commotion infiltrated the cavern.

“Reinforcements!” C-3PO said jubilantly.

But in place of boisterous cries came a repetitive chant; and in place of the determined shuffling of bare feet came the cadence of sandaled troops. A murmur of confusion swept through the heretic crowd. Expressions of fervor became looks of sudden concern. The fact that even Mara looked apprehensive was not a good sign.

The Shamed Ones began to move away from the entry, as through the gap marched one hundred additional warriors, armed with thick amphistaffs and armored in vonduun crab. Leia could tell by the behavior of the crowd that the new troops were something to fear. Nom Anor, his lieutenants,
and the Jedi held their ground, but the rest of the heretics fell farther back, pressing themselves to the Atrium’s coarse walls.

Whatever chance there had been for victory vanished.

Jakan, Drathul, and Qelah Kwaad relaxed somewhat as the menacing detachment formed up parallel to Drathul’s line of warriors, facing the entry and the quailing heretics. With a singleness born of years of training, they adopted defensive postures, amphistaffs held diagonally across their chests, and other melee weapons at the ready.

Fixing Nom Anor with a menacing gaze, Drathul pushed through the double row of warriors and paced down the line until he reached the commander of the reinforcements.

“Stay your hand when it comes to dispatching Prefect Nom Anor, his subalterns, and the three Jedi,” the high prefect said. “We’ll want to add them to our offering to the World Brain.”

The commander snapped his fists to his shoulders in salute.

When Drathul had returned to a safe position behind his warriors, the commander issued an order, and as one entity the reinforcements performed a synchronous about-face, uttered a battle cry, and attacked, turning their amphistaffs and thud bugs against Drathul’s forces. It took a moment for the Shamed Ones to realize what was happening; then they pealed in triumph and rushed forward to lend their meager arms to the fray.

“Mark this as the moment the war truly turned,” Harrar said to Leia in a resigned voice.

With the guards occupied, R2-D2 rolled up behind Cakhmaim and Meewalh and used his laser to stun the creatures that secured their wrists. Once freed, the Noghri immediately moved Han and Leia out of the line of fire. C-3PO and R2-D2 followed, the astromech anxious to laser the pincerbiots manacling Han and Leia, as well.

The Atrium was in pandemonium, with Yuuzhan Vong battling Yuuzhan Vong, and Mara, Tahiri, and Kenth fighting their way forward. Leia saw Nom Anor race for Drathul, but it was Harrar who had her attention.

“Qelah Kwaad!” he shouted, as Cakhmaim was freeing
his hands. “She must be stopped before she reaches the dhuryam! She can seal off the passageway!”

Leia whirled to see the master shaper disappearing through the archway that led to the Well of the World Brain. Harrar started after her, but was tackled by Jakan before he had gone five meters.

Leia called to Han, gesturing toward the tunnel entrance. The last thing she saw before disappearing inside the archway was Harrar dropping the elderly high priest to the floor with a single blow, and Nom Anor with his hands vised on the slender neck of High Prefect Drathul.

When the reptoid slave soldiers crowded at the base of the Citadel realized that serpentine Sgauru was not going to drop Jacen into their midst but merely hold on to him until Tu-Scart completed knocking an opening in the western wall, they made the mistake of taking out their fury on the beasts themselves, by peppering them with razor and thud bugs, and firejelly grenades. Seeing others of their kind attacked, the claw-footed artillery beasts that had been spewing plasma into the Glitannai Esplanade canyon shambled through a turn and charged at the Chazrach, trampling dozens before any could escape back into the maw at the base of the Citadel. But the reptoids found no safety even there, as the enraged beasts pursued them inside, and the sound of the Chazrach’s cries resonated in the air.

The unexpected departure of the artillery beasts was all that Captain Page needed to send his commandos and droids rocketing back down into the canyon to finish what the mammoth biots had begun. While the commandos plummeted for the banks of the swollen river, Luke and Jaina rushed to the edge of the demolished walkway and hurled themselves into the ragged breach Tu-Scart’s stubby forelegs had opened, and in which Jacen had been safely deposited by Sgauru.

That still left the problem of how to reach Shimrra’s bunker, but it didn’t take the Jedi long to discover a narrow stairway that hugged the Citadel’s curved perimeter as it wound toward the summit. Luke led the ascent, with Jaina close behind, and Jacen a few steps behind her, silently thanking the World Brain for interceding at the western walkway,
and reaffirming his promise to end the dhuryam’s inner turmoil.

Carved from the same yorik coral that made up the fortress’s unpolished hull and bulkheads, the stairway was a continuous spiral, occasionally walled in on both sides, but more often climbing without an exterior handrail through maintenance rooms and expansive living chambers. Dilating membranes sealed each individual level, and access corridors connected the stairway to interior spaces. The Citadel shook with each seal the Jedi violated, as if each rupture sent a measure of pain through the living vessel. But the shaking could just as well have been a response to the ceaseless bombardment by starfighters, or explosions triggered by Page’s commandos as they fought their way into the lower levels.

Judging by the way the sinuous stairway had been engineered, and the layout of the interior spaces, Jacen realized that Shimrra’s worldship had obviously flown upright through space—a veritable mountain rather than a flattened oval or projectile-shaped vessel, such as the Jedi and Alliance forces had encountered at Helska 4, Sernpidal, Obroa-skai, and other worlds.