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  seemed to have many more stains on it now, and some of them might have been

  living patches of mold or lichen. But these changes and the group's

  circumstances seemed to be sitting well with him; his eyes were bright, his

  manner animated. "Come in, come in," he said, waving the Jedi and Danni into the

  Lord Nyax suspended animation chamber. Bhindi was already there, perched on a

  stool.

  "Tell me you have some information," Luke said.

  Baljos beamed. "I have some information. There, that was painless, wasn't

  it? You can all go now."

  "Don't taunt the Jedi," Bhindi said. "And don't take credit you don't

  deserve. I'm the one who dug most of the information out of the wrecked guts of

  those maintenance machines."

  "True enough, Circuitry Girl. Not that you could have interpreted-" Baljos

  doubtless saw the impatience in someone's face, probably Tahiri's, for he broke

  off that line of talk. "We're prepared to tell you whatever you need to know

  about Lord Nyax. Anything Bhindi didn't find in the machine memory, we'll just

  make up."

  Luke leaned against a wrecked computer console and crossed his arms as

  though to put up a defense against whatever information was to come. "So, who is

  he? What was he modified for?"

  Baljos nodded as though that was the first pair of questions he'd expected.

  "He is-or used to be-a Dark Jedi. His name was Irek Ismaren."

  Luke frowned, then shook his head. "No, that's not possible."

  "Who's Irek Ismaren?" Tahiri asked.

  Luke dug his datapad out of a belt pouch. "Like Baljos said. He was a Dark

  Jedi in training. A son either of the Emperor or of one Sarcev Quest by a woman

  named Ro-ganda Ismaren. She was a crazy woman who modified her son with computer

  implants. My sister Leia ran into him on Belsavis, oh, about fifteen years ago."

  He opened the datapad and began scrolling through entries. Though nowhere

  near as comprehensive as the database he kept in whatever hidden site might

  serve as the Jedi headquarters, this datapad included an abbreviated listing on

  every Jedi, Sith, Force-sensitive, or Force-related person or site he had ever

  encountered in his long searches for knowledge of the Jedi Order.

  Within moments, he found the file he wanted. A face resolved into clarity

  on the datapad screen: aristocratic, handsome, somehow unfinished in a teenaged

  way, framed by curly dark hair.

  It was the face of a younger Lord Nyax.

  Suddenly Luke felt as pale as Lord Nyax. He showed the image to Mara.

  She nodded. She noted some of the details that appeared on the screen under

  Irek's name, "So he should be about thirty now."

  "Yes. And of normal height."

  "Except," Baljos interrupted, "he spent most of the intervening years in

  that suspended animation chamber, so he's physically younger than his

  chronological age. His vital processes were slowed. He was subjected to the

  medical treatments I mentioned earlier, treatments that kept his bones growing

  long past the point they should have sealed, that gave him lots more muscle

  mass. As a baby, he'd had a computer apparatus implanted in his brain by his

  mother; it helped give him enough focus - monomania may be a better word for it-

  to learn to control the Force far out of proportion to his age. When he was

  here, that apparatus was augmented to make his control even greater. It

  apparently stimulates what's left of his brain in ways beneficial to Force

  control. He was equipped with lightsaber weapons, their use part of the hard

  coding in his brain implant-" Luke snapped the datapad shut. "How did this

  happen?" Bhindi said, "It appears that after leaving Belsavis, he and his mother

  came to Coruscant and hid here... and by 'here' I mean in this very facility.

  His mother carefully Monitored his progress in the Force, training him so that

  he'd be the most powerful Dark Jedi in existence, and Save him medical

  treatments to make him much bigger, more imposing, more physically powerful. She

  also arranged to bring in the ysalamiri to keep him hidden as his Presence in

  the Force grew stronger."

  "Then something happened," Baljos said. "The notes are not exactly clear,

  but it seems like they found and I took on a partner, another Dark Jedi, and at

  some point Irek and the new partner got in a dispute and dueled. The partner was

  killed, and Irek took a Hghtsaber thrust right through the skull. He died."

  "Died," Luke said.

  "Technically died," Baljos added. "Brain activity ceased. He fell down and

  didn't move anymore. But his mother and the attendant medical droids were able

  to maintain his autonomic functions and keep his body alive. Her journal, not

  surprisingly, gets a bit harder to understand at this point, and becomes

  increasingly demented over the years, but it becomes obvious that she kept his

  body in suspended animation and had the medical droids insert increasingly

  sophisticated components into the computer apparatus in his skull."

  Luke grimaced. "With what purpose?"

  "I think," Baljos said, "that she was trying to make him into her son

  again-an unlikely prospect, since most of the portions of the brain that

  pertained to memory and the less violent emotions were charred into carbon - and

  also to make him into a new leader for the Empire. She was just crazy enough to

  imagine he could be Emperor Irek, loving son, Dark Jedi, and unconquerable

  tyrant."

  Luke exchanged a look with Mara. She didn't let any of her emotions reach

  her face, but he could feel them through the Force, a revulsion for a woman mad

  enough to keep her own son on the butcher's block like that for so many years.

  "What happened to Roganda Ismaren?" he asked.

  "She was the female corpse we found here. We ran cell samples against her

  records in the files. There's no mistake."

  Luke gave him a disbelieving look. "Irek killed her?"

  "He's not Irek anymore. Lord Nyax killed her. He didn't recognize her. She

  was just another moving shape in the way when he broke out of his holding tank."

  Baljos shook his head. "Very nasty business. It gives even mad science a bad

  name."

  "Does he have any weaknesses?" Mara asked.

  "Oh, yes." Baljos gestured at the suspended animation unit. "He's not ripe.

  "

  "Ripe," Luke repeated.

  "It appears that a groundquake caused some ceiling rubble to drop onto one

  or more of the ysalamiri, killing them and damaging the unit. He woke up, burst

  out, went on a rampage, and fled. But he wasn't due to come out for another

  couple of years." Baljos pointed at one of the computer consoles. "All his

  operational programming was there, plus the refabricated 'Irek' memories Roganda

  planned to implant in him, and they weren't transferred over. He has his

  instincts, he has some combat programming, and he has some deep-level

  motivations - such as to seek out Jedi and kill them, to seek out hot-points of

  the Force and control them, to conquer the universe, little things like that.

  But he lacks memories, tactical skills... even language, I think. I doubt he's

  even verbal."

  "So we can't even talk to him." Tahiri looked down-cast. "Maybe that's a

  we
akness, but it doesn't make things easier on us. He can't be reasoned with."

  "I guess that leaves me with only one more question." Luke returned the

  datapad to his belt pouch and prepared himself for what he expected to be more

  bad news. "Is there any way to save him? To befriend him, teach him about the

  light side?"

  Baljos finally became serious. "I don't think so. He's had almost all

  humanity burned out of his brain. He's just a predator whose only goal is to

  dominate."

  "Great," Luke said.

  Viqi spent almost her every hour in the chamber that concealed the Ugly

  Truth. Though not technically proficient, she knew enough about machinery-and

  could glean more from the ship's computer memory-to have a good sense of the

  resources available to her here.

  Ugly Truth was definitely capable of spaceflight, and her inboard

  diagnostics indicated that every ship's system was undamaged, operational. The

  ship was fully fueled, and battery power, for starting up systems and even

  providing her with some discretionary lights and occasional cool air, was

  adequate to last for weeks more.

  The problem was the exit chute. It had collapsed during Coruscant's fall or

  subsequent bombardment. Small chunks of duracrete and ferrocrete had fallen,

  then metal beams had twisted and more rubble had fallen onto the beams, the

  whole mass crushing into an impenetrable plug.

  Floors above the hidden hangar, she'd found a hole providing access into

  the exit chute above the plug. Here there were signs that someone had been

  working, digging away at the plug from above, hauling blocks of duracrete into

  an office chamber at that level. She supposed that the worker had been the

  pretty boy who'd given her the locator.

  She'd evert found the boy's name. In the ship's computer records was

  information about the family that had owned the Ugly Truth. Hasville and Adray

  Terson had been the founders of Terson Comfort Carriers, an airtaxi company;

  Viqi had seen the ubiquitous vehicles of their fleet, even ridden within them

  during her secret activities aiding the Yuuzhan Vong. The ship's records

  included a holo of their son, Hasray, the boy with the remote.

  Another little sad story, she decided. She pondered that for a while. She

  couldn't feel the sadness of it-far from it, she was elated that the boy's

  sacrifice meant her salvation.

  Viqi spent most of her time studying the ship's controls and diagrams,

  digging into the ship's stores of food, regaining her strength. Occasionally she

  had to venture forth-very quietly, very carefully-to work on unplugging the exit

  chute or to find the chamber, down the hall on this floor, she had chosen for a

  refresher.

  This day, she emerged from the refresher and peered up and down the

  corridor with her customary caution. There was no sound, no sign of movement.

  Slowly, carefully she headed back toward the Terson family quarters.

  Something wrapped around her neck from behind, jerked her off her feet. She

  landed on her back, choking, and stared up... into the features of Denua Ku. The

  warrior held his amphistaff in one hand; the other end of the weapon was coiled

  around Viqi's neck.

  She gaped up at him. He was dead, she knew he was dead, he'd died back in

  the furniture manufacturer's. But now he stared down at her, helmet off, eyes

  neither angry nor solicitous. "Get up," he said.

  She struggled to her feet, assuming control over her expression, her

  manner, her breathing. As she rose, the amphistaff's tail slid from around her.

  "Denua Ku," she said. "I'd thought you had died."

  "I ran." The warrior's voice sounded bitter. "My duty dictated that I

  return to my commander and describe what I'd seen-the giant Jeedai. Now that my

  superiors are informed, I can return to confront the monstrous thing... and kill

  it, or be killed by it. Why did you not seek out the Yuuzhan Vong and tell them

  what had happened?"

  She let some scorn creep into her tone. "A human, alone, wandering about

  the rooftops, waving down coral-skippers? Do you know what happens to them? I

  do. I was shot at twice." That was a lie; she'd never ventured to the rooftops.

  But she'd seen the skips on patrol, seen how they fired at anything that might

  be an inhabitant of the planet caught above-ground.

  "So you came here? Why?"

  "I knew the people who lived here." This lie came smoothly to her, too.

  "Hasville and Adray Terson, and their boy Hasray. They were wealthy. I knew

  their quarters would have preserved food hidden in them, and I was right. I knew

  that would give me time to figure out how to return to the worldship without

  getting myself killed. How did you find me?"

  He reached under his armor at the armpit and pulled forth a creature-an

  insect about the size of one of Viqi's fingernails. It looked like some sort of

  beetle, but was the red color of arterial blood. Though its wings were folded

  along its back, perfectly shaped to its carapace, they vibrated, causing the

  little creature to buzz constantly.

  "This is a nisbat," the warrior said. "When it is near any of its

  hatchmates, it makes this noise, increasing in volume as it gets closer."

  "So?"

  "So one of its hatchmates is within you."

  Viqi couldn't keep her eyes from widening. "Something that size is inside

  me-"

  "No. It was implanted in you when it was fresh-hatched. It cannot grow. It

  cannot even vibrate. But it can be felt by its fellows."

  "I am... grateful to it. That it has allowed you to find me."

  "Hmmm." Denua Ku's acknowledgment sounded neither accepting nor dubious.

  "Now you will be able to return to the worldship."

  "I am delighted."

  "After we find and kill the giant Jeedai."

  Viqi's heart sank. She kept it from her face. "Shall I hold him down while

  you kill him?"

  Denua Ku's lips twitched up in a smile. "Amusing. Is that as funny in Basic

  as it is in our tongue?"

  "If our two cultures share anything, it is irony."

  The warrior held up a hand. From other doorways in the corridor emerged

  more warriors-a party of two dozen or more, Viqi calculated.

  And with them was another voxyn. This one was worse off than the previous

  one; it was a sickly yellow almost everywhere, and in places, its scales were

  flaking off completely. Its head hung listlessly, and it did not even bother to

  snap at the warrior nearest it.

  "Ah." Viqi forced a smile. "Even better."

  "Come along." Derma Ku led the way toward the nearest emergency stairwell.

  Viqi followed, her smile fixed, her mind racing.

  She would find a way to elude them. She would pry the nisbat from her body,

  wherever it was hidden. She still had her locator tucked away, and the stairwell

  to the Ugly Truth was closed, hidden; she would be able to return here. She

  would clear that exit chute and blast off to safety.

  And if it were humanly possible, she would see Denua Ku dead first, dead

  for daring to force her back into his plans when her plans were so much more

  important.

  She kept her back straight and her manner haughty. No matter whom she

  aided, no mat
ter what she wore, she was of the royal lines of Kuat.

  THIRTEEN

  Coruscant

  In a deep tunnel, a maintenance causeway sealed off from the surrounding

  habitat areas, a passage constantly dripping with nearly opaque seepage from the

  levels above, the voxyn became more alert. It raised its head and began the

  familiar side-to-side sweeping gestures. The Yuuzhan Vong warriors became

  agitated and allowed the voxyn and its handler up to the front.

  "Warriors, flank it," Denua Ku ordered. "We cannot lose this one. They are

  too rare now."

  Two warriors moved up, one on either side of the voxyn. They stayed out of

  reach of its claws, even when rt meant sloshing through black pools of liquid on

  the floor, but nothing would protect them from its acid if it Decided to unleash

  some in their direction.

  Two hundred paces farther on, the voxyn stopped. It stared upward and to

  the left.

  "Find an access," Denua Ku ordered.

  Two warriors ran up the passage, and in moments found stairwells leading

  upward. The voxyn had to be dragged from its position, closest to the target it

  felt, to the stairway, but once hauled into that shaft it bounded up the stairs

  with an energy Viqi had not seen it display before.

  Mara crept along the metal girder forty meters above the floor. The light

  from the lamps, dying glowrods, and torches below barely reached her; with her

  dark garments and skill at movement, she doubted very much that she would be

  seen.

  The floor below was irregular, partially buckled, the result of one of the

  quakes that Danni said had plagued Coruscant since the Yuuzhan Vong had begun to

  shift its orbit. It was covered in black material, gummy and sticky, the sort of

  material Mara had seen on countless roofs of buildings on other worlds. Its use

  here meant that this surface was not intended as a work or habitation area - but

  now it was full of beings, a constant stream of haggard males and females of a

  variety of species emerging from and descending into stairs at the chamber's

  four corners. Wearing tatters, not interacting, barely blinking, they carried

  duracrete blocks and rubbish and portions of bodies, hauling these things out

  through a side tunnel and returning unencumbered.