Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 09_ Edge of Victory 02_ Rebirth - J. Gregory Keyes [89]
“That’s interesting,” Kae Kwaad said thoughtfully. He pointed at one of the larvae, indistinguishable from the rest. “This one will have to be destroyed. Its color is off.”
“Indeed,” Nen Yim said.
“See to it,” Kae Kwaad said. “I must rest now.”
“You should speak to the prefect,” Nen Yim pressed.
“What would a master shaper have to say to the likes of her?” Kwaad sneered. “You have spoken to her. It is enough.”
Nen Yim watched him go, then despondently turned her attention to the larva. She was carrying it toward the orifice, to feed it to the maw luur, when she suddenly understood that she was no longer considering the death of Kae Kwaad, but was committed to it. Not only that, but she had chosen the method of his death.
Grutchins were used to breach the hulls of infidel ships and contained an acid powerful enough to eat through metal alloys. A single bite from one would be sufficient to end the life of her miserable master.
So instead of destroying the pupa, she worked her own shaping on it. She removed neurons from the tiny brain of the grutchin, and with the protocol of Qah imprinted a simple series of reflexes keyed to the scent signature of Kae Kwaad, which she obtained from skin cells shed in his quarters. As a failsafe, she made the triggering of the reflexes dependent on a word she herself would utter.
When the grutchins had matured, she would speak the name Mezhan, and Kae Kwaad would die, her new master slain symbolically by her old.
When she was finished, Nen Yim slept, and for the first time since Kae Kwaad had come aboard the Baanu Miir, her sleep was peaceful and dreamless.
* * *
A ket later, the pupae began to molt.
When he saw the small but adult beasts, Kae Kwaad began to shriek incoherently and sank into what appeared to be a deep depression. Calmly, Nen Yim bore his ranting and whims, waiting until the end of the day, when the initiates had been dismissed.
“I want all of the initiates killed,” Kae Kwaad said quietly. “They are plotting against me.”
“I am sure they are not,” Nen Yim told him. “They have worked diligently. It is only their training that is at fault, and I am to blame for that.”
Why was she trying to reason with him, even now? She eyed the grutchins, an arm’s length away. She and Kae Kwaad were alone now. She need only speak the word.
She had taken the breath for it when he spoke again.
“No, Nen Tsup, seductive Nen Tsup, perhaps I am to blame. It is my hands, you see. They are not as steady as once they were.” She noticed that he spoke with a sort of glacial slowness, and his eyes had a peculiar look to them. “My thoughts are drops of blood,” he whispered. “Pooling at my feet. My every thought is a sacrifice.”
Nen Yim hesitated. It was as if, far in the distance, she saw a door dilate open, with strange light beyond. She kept the word in her throat and moved nearer, near enough that their bodies were touching. His glazed eyes met hers, and she endured as he caressed her with those stunted hands.
How is it you were not sacrificed to the gods, Kae Kwaad? she wondered. How is it you live to shame your domain and species?
For an instant his eyes changed, sparked, as if he knew what she was thinking, as if they were in on the same joke and only pretending to act their roles.
It was gone very quickly.
“Master,” she asked, “why is it you do not replace your hands?”
He looked down at them. “My hands. Yes, they should be replaced. But it is denied me. Only another master can access that protocol, and none will do it. They are all against me, you know.”
“I know,” she whispered, leaning her mouth near his ear. “And yet,” she said, lowering her voice even farther, “you are a master. You could do it yourself.”
“I haven’t the hands to make hands.”
“But I do, Master Kae Kwaad. I do.”
“And you would have to learn the protocol,” Kae Kwaad replied. “And you are forbidden it.”
Now her lips were touching his ear. “I might do much that is forbidden, Master,”