"Supreme One," he said, "while I am certainly no friend to heresy, I must beg for less drastic methods. We are engaged in a war that may continue for klekkets or even longer. The combined labors of workers and Shamed Ones and slaves arc necessary to advance our objectives. We have settlements to grow, food crops to raise in half-wrecked ecosystems, ships and weapons and other vital items to ripen and harvest, and Yuuzhan'tar itself to transform from a machine-poisoned, artificial landscape into our perfect ancestral paradise."

Jakan bowed toward Yoog Skell. "Our paradise can scarcely be perfect if it contains heresy."

"I concede the high priest's point," Yoog Skell said. "But an inquiry into all our workers would be disruptive. Segregation of the workers from the slaves is impossible at this stage-they are all engaged in vital work. Going amid them with bribes aimed at getting them to turn on one another-imagine the disruption! Imagine the situation if the workers start accusing overseers in the hope of seeing them brought down!

Imagine how many false accusations we should have to weed out from the true!"

"That would be the task of the priests," Jakan said. "Your own people need not concern themselves."

"But if the workers should accuse warriors? Or shapers? Or even loyal priests?"

Nom Anor realized that Yoog Skell was pointing out to the shapers and warriors that Jakan's plan put them at risk as well as the workers, whom no one cared about.

Yoog Skell spoke on. "Besides, who cares what the Shamed Ones think? The G.o.ds hate them anyway. And whose fault is it that the workers lapse into heresy? Haven't the priests already failed in their duty?"

Jakan, bloated with injured dignity, was about to make a furious reb.u.t.tal when Shimrra held up a hand for silence. All eyes respectfully turned to him-all except that of Norn Anor, who was blind to everything but a sudden blaze of his own itching torment. The itch was spreading.

Now his back was on fire, where he couldn't scratch even if he wanted to!

"The G.o.ds have placed me upon this throne as their instrument,"

Shimrra said, "and I agree with the high priest that heresy may not be tolerated."

A satisfied look inflated Jakan's face, a satisfaction that died away at the Overlord's next words. "But the high prefect has a worthy point. When we arc at war, it is foolish to disorder one's own forces. I don't want disruption among the workers at such a time, particularly since the workers are uneducated and may have adopted these beliefs without knowing their dangerous nature. Therefore-"

He turned to the high priest. "Priest Jakan, I direct that the priests inform the people of the danger of this heresy. Tell them from me, from their Supreme Overlord, that the Jeedai are not emanations of the G.o.ds. Tell them that such beliefs are unsound and forbidden. Those workers who are properly obedient to their superiors will then know to avoid any such contamination in the future."

"And"-the priest bowed-"if they persist in their error?"

"You may kill any heretics you come across, as publicly as you like," Shimrra said. "But I wish no large-scale investigation of the ma.s.ses of workers, no rewards for accusations. When we win the war"-he nodded at Jakan-"then we may have a more thorough inquiry. But for the present, I want the Yuuzhan Vong focused on defeating our enemies, not interrogating each other."

Jakan's face had fallen, but he bowed and acceded with grace. "It shall be as you wish, Supreme One."

"You may return to your scat, High Priest Jakan."

With great dignity, the priest returned to his desk. Behind him, Onimi sneered and scratched himself again.

Fury raged in Norn Anor as he watched the misshapen figure scratch.

How he would love to have those fingers beneath his boot!

An agreeable expression crossed Shimrra's face. "The Shamed One reminds me," he said, "that I should ask the shapers how their work progresses? How goes the worldshaping of Yuuzhan'tar?"

"Supreme One," Ch'Gang Hool said, "it goes well."

"This news is pleasing," Shimrra said. "May we inquire of the master whether there have been any problems?"

A look of caution crossed the master shaper's face. He spoke quickly. "Some difficulties are inevitable, Supreme One. We are dealing with an alien environment that we have largely destroyed, and some of the native life-forms-microscopic ones, mostly-are proving persistent.

Perhaps," he admitted, "some of you have experienced some . . . minor discomforts ... as the result of a fungal infection. We are attempting to, ah-"

"And the nature of this minor discomfort?" the Supreme Overlord asked sweetly.

Ch'Gang Hool hesitated. "Ah-itching, Supreme One-persistent itching."

Nom Anor's nerves flamed at the very mention of the word itch.

Anger began to simmer in his blood.

Ch'Gang Hool gave what was probably intended to be a confident growl. "A mere itch, Supreme One. Nothing that any member of the higher castes cannot overcome with the discipline demonstrated in the course of earning rank and honor."

"And you are, of course, a disciplined member of the highest caste," Shimrra said.

Ch'Gang Hool rose to his feet, lordly in his ceremonial robes. "I have earned that distinction, Supreme One."

Shimrra jumped to his feet, both fists smashing the arms of his throne, and roared at the top of his lungs. "Then why have I watched your surrept.i.tious scratching through this whole meeting?"

Ch'Gang Hool froze. In the sudden ominous silence Onimi jumped to his feet, rags of uniforms swirling around him, and scratched himself with abandon. Then he sat down with a broad grin on his face.

The Supreme Overlord pointed one long-clawed, implanted finger at the master shaper. "The worldshaping of our new home-world is being botched. Do you think I don't know that this plague has spread among our entire population here? Even I was infected within hours of landing on Yuuzhan'tar!"

Anger erupted in Nom Anor's mind. This wasn't just about his own personal torture by this demonic itch. What was this whole war about, if not to re-create the perfection of the long-lost homeworld? What a catastrophe it would be if the worldshaping failed!

"Supreme One," Ch'Gang Hool said, "this complete reconstruction of an entire ecosystem is a complex matter, and though perfect success is within reach, it may take longer than our earlier estimates-"

Shimrra gave a scornful laugh. "It's not simply the fungus, though, is it, master shaper? Do you think I haven't heard of the grashals intended for worker barracks that melted down into a ma.s.s of undifferentiated protein? Or the crop of villips that grew imprinted on some local animal, and could only transmit the beast's screech of a mating call? The blorash jelly that attempted to devour the shapers who tended it?"

"Supreme One, I-" Ch'Gang Hool attempted again to protest, then sagged in defeat. "I confess the fault," he said.

"Death!" someone roared in Nom Anor's ear.

The Supreme Overlord himself growled his rage. "The world-shaping shall be placed in more competent hands than yours," he said, and then he turned to the group of warriors behind Tsavong Lan. "Commander!

Subalterns! Take this imposter of a master shaper and carry him from this chamber. Execute him as soon as you get him out of our sight! Make him pay for his incompetence!"

Chapter 11.

Dif Scaur, the head of New Republic Intelligence, was alone in his office when his secure comm chimed. This was a comm unit that was used for one purpose only, and he tried to control the sudden lurch of his heart as reached for the comm with one long, pale hand.

The display brightened, and he saw the caller. The caller with flame-colored eyes.

"Yes?" Scaur said. Antic.i.p.ation hummed in his nerves.

"The experiment was a success."

Scaur took a breath. "Very well," he said.

"I believe I can now guarantee the success of the project."

Scaur gave a single, deliberate nod. "Then I will make the necessary arrangements."

"We will need a larger facility. And we will also need the silence of certain individuals."

"That has already been arranged." Scaur hesitated. "We should meet in person."

"Very well." The caller seemed satisfied. "I will await your arrival."

Transmission ceased. Scaur reached out a hand to turn off the comm unit, and when he drew it back in, he realized it was trembling.

Now everything has changed, he thought. Now I am the Slayer.

The shipyards of Mon Calamari glittered in the light of its sun, structures as graceful and strong as the ships they produced. Luke could see three cruisers partially completed, each in the MC80 cla.s.s, each different in appearance from the others. Half a dozen smaller craft were also in various stages of completion. One always wished the Mon Cals would develop a sense of urgency, at least in wartime, but their desire to customize and perfect each vessel never abated, and each was lovingly crafted and beautified and refined until it became both a work of art and the deadliest force in the New Republic a.r.s.enal.

Beneath a transparent dome, Luke and Mara stood on a graceful mezzanine thrust out over the main concourse of the Fleet Command annex.

Both gazed upward at the glittering silver shipyards afloat over the brilliant blue of the planet, both set off by the depthless velvet night of s.p.a.ce and its spray of stars. The scene, the emptiness and beauty and the blue jewel of life set within it, settled around Luke like a cloak, a vision of peace and perfection. "It's the turning point," he said.

Mara gave him a quizzical look. "Do you know what made you say that yesterday?" she asked.

After that strange moment, when he'd been touched by something that reminded him of Jacen, he'd gone into deep meditation and a Force trance in the hope of regaining the fleeting contact, but he'd been unable to find the answers to any of his questions.

Now that he'd made contact with Jacen a second time, he had begun to suspect he knew what had spoken to him.

"It may have come from the Force itself," he said.

Distant stars reflected in her jade-colored eyes as Mara considered this. "The Force can offer us a view of what is to come," she said. "But usually it's ... a bit less spontaneous."

"I'm more sure than ever that Jacen has a special destiny." He turned to Mara and squeezed her hand.

Mara's eyes widened. "Do you think Jacen himself knows his destiny?"

"I don't know. And I don't know if he would accept it if he did-he's always questioned his purpose as a Jedi, and even the meaning of the Force. I can't imagine him not questioning any fate that lay in store for him." His thoughts darkened, and he looked at Mara soberly. "And a special destiny is not always something joyous, or easy to bear. My father had a special destiny, and see where it took him."

Mara's look turned grave. "We must help him," she said.

"If he'll let us. He hasn't always been cooperative that way."

Luke raised his head to gaze out the great dome, and to the dome of star-spangled blackness beyond, where Jacen's coral craft, caught in the tractor beams of one of the fleet's MC80A cruisers, was being carried to a nearby docking bay. Though the craft itself was too distant for Luke to see it, Luke thought he saw the Mon Cal cruiser, a distant wink of light swooping gracefully toward the annex.

"Hey!" called a loud voice from the concourse below. "It's Senator Sneakaway! And Senator Scramblefree!" This was followed by booming laughter, and then. "Yes! You! I'm talking to you!"

Wordlessly Luke and Mara drifted to the mezzanine rail and looked down onto the concourse. Below, the tallest Phindian Luke had ever seen, her long arms thrusting out of the sleeves of her Defense Force uniform, lunged toward a human and a Sul-l.u.s.tan who had just emerged from a consular ship docked at the annex. Luke recognized both the newcomers as members of the Senate.

The Phindian stepped into the path of the two Senators, then reeled. Luke realized that the Phindian was drunk; she had probably just stormed out of the officers' club beneath the mezzanine.

The Phindian thrust out her tiny little chin. "Do you know how many friends I lost at Coruscant?" she asked. "Do you?"

The two Senators remained silent, their lips pressed closely together. They tried moving around the Phindian, but her long, long arms blocked their way.

"Ten thousand?" the Phindian boomed, extending one finger from a delicate-looking fist. "Twenty thousand? Thirty thousand comrades lost?"

Two more fingers thrust out. "F-forty?" The Phindian tried to hold out a fourth finger, but then seemed a little late to realize there were only three fingers on her hand.

"We all lost friends on Coruscant," the human Senator said grimly, and tried to push one of the Phindian's enveloping arms out of his way.

The Phindian blocked him again. Her yellow eyes tried to focus on his face.

"Too bad you didn't think about your friends when you ran away, Senator Sneakaway!" she said. "Too bad that when you commandeered Alamania, you left your friends to die!"

Luke felt Mara's hand on his arm. "Should we intervene?" she asked in a low voice.

"Not unless it turns violent," Luke said. "And I don't think it's going to." He glanced directly below the mezzanine rail at a group of officers who were quietly watching the confrontation from the officers'

club. "Look there."

Mara turned her gaze to the group of officers. "They're not intervening, either."

"No," Luke said significantly. "They're not."

"Please stand aside, Captain," the Sull.u.s.tan Senator said to the Phindian. "We have important business here on Mon Calamari."

"Important business!" the Phindian said. "Is that anything like the important business that required you to order Green Squadron to escort you and your shuttle into hypers.p.a.ce? Green Squadron, which was covering my Pride of Honor? My poor Pride, which got hammered by the Yuuzhan Vong and suffered two hundred and forty-one dead? My poor Pride, which barely made it to Mon Calamari and is going to have to be sc.r.a.pped, because it simply isn't worth the expense it would take to patch it back together?

What business was so important that it was worth two hundred and forty-one lives Senator Scramblefree?" One spindly hand prodded the Sull.u.s.tan in the chest. "Eh?" the Phindian asked. "Senator Flyaway? Senator Cowardheart? Senator Curdleguts? Eh?"

"Take care, Captain," the human Senator said. "You're endangering your commission."

"You've already taken away my ship!" the Phindian said. "You've already killed half my crew! You've already cost us the capital!" She hooted with laughter. "Do you think I care about my commission? Do you think there's anything you could do to me that's worse than what you've already done? Do you think I care about the solemn oath I swore to protect craven little bootlickers like you? Do you think any of us care?"

The Phindian waved one long arm in the direction of the officers on the threshold of the club. The two Senators turned and saw the solemn group who watched this confrontation in silence.

The Senators stared. The officers stared back. And for the first time, the Senators seemed nervous.

The Phindian still stood with her long arm extended, pointing to the officers' club, and the human ducked beneath it and walked briskly for the exit. When the drunken Phindian swung around after the human, the Sulhistan dodged around her and scuttled after his human colleague.

But even if her arms were longer than her legs, the Phindian was fast in pursuit. She caught the two and draped her arms around their shoulders as if they were old friends, "Tell you what," the Phindian said. "There's nothing you can do to me, but there's something you can do for me. There's a fleet appropriations bill coming up in the new session-it will be in your committee, Senator Decamp-and you're going to vote for it. Because if you don't, we won't be able to go on protecting cowards and thieves and politicians from the Yuuzhan Vong, will we? And besides, if you don't give us the money-" The Senators stopped dead in their tracks as the Phindian caught their heads in her elbow joints, half strangling them.

Her yellow eyes glittered. "If you don't give us the money," the Phindian said drunkenly, importantly, "we'll take it. After all, we've got the guns, and we already know how brave you are around guns, don't we?"

She released her two captives, and the Senators hastened for the exit. The Phindian raised her tiny chin and called after them. "One more thing, Senators! Don't ever expect to run from the enemy on a fleet ship ever again! Because if you ever try to commandeer one more fleet vessel, we're going to pack you into an escape pod and fire you straight at the Yuuzhan Vong. And that's a solemn oath, and we've all sworn it!"

The Senators were gone. The Phindian stared after them for a moment, her long arms dangling past her knees, then wheeled and returned to her friends.