• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“I am aware of that. But you strain the intent of that protocol. Not to breaking, perhaps. And yet who knows what I might have observed had I arrived a little later?”

“Are you accusing me of something, Master?” Mezhan Kwaad asked mildly. “If not, one might believe you are merely jealous because Lord Shimrra chose Domain Kwaad for the honor of this shaping.”

“I accuse you of nothing, nor am I jealous. But dangerous heresies have surfaced in recent years, most often among Domain Kwaad.”

“I have never been accused of heresy, nor have any of my subordinates,” Mezhan Kwaad said. “If you try to bathe me in the filthy secretions of slander in a pitiable attempt to regain the favor of your domain with Lord Shimrra, you will discover I can be a most unresting foe.”

The old shaper drew himself very erect. “I do not slander. But I watch, Mezhan Kwaad. Rest assured, I watch. And now—”

He broke off suddenly and staggered. His aide caught him. Nen Yim was still wondering what had happened when she suddenly felt something pressing her entire body, as if she were deep under water. Her lungs labored to draw the syrupy air and her pulse hammered.

Through flashes of blue and black, she saw that Mezhan Kwaad and Yal Phaath’s aide were also struggling to breathe.

The pain increased sharply. Soon her eyeballs would collapse, then her heart. Striving for calm, she spun her failing gaze around the room.

The young Jeedai stood at the side of the vivarium, hands pressed against the transparent membrane. Her green eyes blazed and her teeth were drawn back from her lips in a rictus of fury. Nen Yim saw murder there, and suddenly understood.

She staggered toward her master. Mezhan Kwaad had already collapsed. The ol-villip that controlled the provoker spineray had fallen from her hands. Nen Yim took it up and stroked the variable tissues, all of them at once.

The Jeedai screamed and pounded on the membrane, and for an instant the pressure actually increased, crushing so hard that Nen Yim couldn’t breathe at all. Then, more suddenly than it had come, the uncanny pressure relented, and her lungs jerked in a much-needed breath.

The Jeedai writhed on the floor of her chamber. Nen Yim watched her, reaction starting to set in.

An eight-fingered hand fell on Nen Yim’s shoulder.

“Adept,” her master said, in a strained voice. “The ol-villip, please. Before the specimen dies.”

Nen Yim nodded dumbly and handed Mezhan Kwaad the organism. Mezhan Kwaad adjusted it until the Jeedai stopped her contortions and succumbed to unconsciousness.

“That was well-wrought thinking, Adept,” Mezhan Kwaad told her.

“What happened? Tell me,” Yal Phaath demanded impatiently.

“The Jeedai did it,” Mezhan Kwaad replied. “Surely you’ve heard of their powers.”

“Do not insult me. I am, of course, current on the information concerning the Jeedai. They can move objects, communicate with one another as villips do, even influence the minds of weaker creatures. But there has never been any evidence that they can affect Yuuzhan Vong. Quite the contrary.”

“I beg the master for permission to speak,” Nen Yim said.

Yal Phaath gave her a reluctant glance. “Speak.”

“The Jeedai did not affect us, not directly. She affected the molecules of the atmosphere, compressing them.”

“She tried to crush us with our own air?”

“And would have succeeded but for my adept,” Mezhan Kwaad observed.

“Amazing. And this power—it is not generated by implants of any kind?”

“She has no implants, either biological or”—her voice lowered—“mechanical. From our earlier interrogation, she believes that she is manipulating a kind of energy produced by life.”

“Ridiculous,” Yal Phaath said. “If such a power existed, why would the gods deny it to the Yuuzhan Vong?”

Mezhan Kwaad smiled a carnivorous smile. “The gods have not denied it to us, they merely withheld it for a time. And now they have delivered it.” She stepped to the vivarium membrane and parted it with a flick of her fourth finger. She knelt by the unconscious Jeedai and stroked her face.

“She