Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 20_ The Final Prophecy - J. Gregory Keyes [87]
He hit her a third time and fell back, pulling at the thing in him, wondering if she had managed to kill him, too. He’d been stupid—he should have killed her more quickly. He was lucky the plaeryin bol venom worked at all, upon reflection. He was never more grateful that he had chosen to replace his lost implant.
He was relieved to discover the sting had gone through the meat of his side. She had missed any organs, and he didn’t think the sting was poisoned. Still, it hurt, as did the hole she had made in his arm. He’d been lucky—if he hadn’t surprised her, things might well have gone very differently.
Ignoring his oozing wounds, he reached down and picked up the qahsa, examining it with a critical eye. Was this her original qahsa, or the thing she had used to contact the memories of Zonama Sekot? He fervently hoped it was the former, and that she had brought it along to record her new discovery. If it was the other one, he would have to go back to the cave and face Tahiri. That was a very risky proposition—he would have to take her from behind. He had only a partly depleted plaeryin bol and a rock, no match for her Jedi powers and a lightsaber. She could take his rock from him and club him to death with it from ten meters away.
To his relief, it was the qahsa he sought—the one Nen Yim had keyed him to. He took it and left the clearing, quickly climbing back up the ridge. Over the last few days, he had stolen the other components he needed to carry out his plan—the only thing lacking was the protocol itself, which was too complicated to memorize. Now he had it.
He faced out toward the gigantic hyperdrive guides. He still had challenges ahead. There were still Corran and Harrar to deal with, and Tahiri would surely come after him.
And he had little time. In less than a day-cycle, the ships sent by Shimrra would be here. By that time, Zonama Sekot had to be dead, or at the very least crippled. He intended to see it done.
When sundown drew near and Nen Yim hadn’t returned, Tahiri went looking for her. She hadn’t seen the Prophet in a while, either, and suddenly worried that Nen Yim’s performance had been just that—a ruse to create an opportunity for their departure.
She went in the general direction the shaper had taken. Above her, clouds were gathering, and the tall boras creaked in a quickening wind. Leaves whirled and danced, and a scent like electricity and resin crackled in the humid air.
She found Nen Yim in a small clearing. A trail of blood showed that she’d crawled a few meters before collapsing. As Tahiri knelt beside her, she saw the shaper’s head was a messy ruin. Her one remaining eye was still open, however, if unfocused. Her breath came in faint wheezes.
“Nen Yim,” Tahiri said gently. “Who did this?”
“Prophet. He’s not—” She quivered at the effort of saying the words. “… Nom Anor.”
“Nom Anor?” Tahiri looked quickly around, her hand grasping for her lightsaber. Nom Anor, the one who had tried to kill them at Yag’Dhul, had been right under her nose? A sick chill ran through her.
Nen Yim shivered and gasped.
“I—I have a medpac back at the camp,” Tahiri said. “Just hang on, and I’ll be back.”
“No—I’ve stayed too long already. I can’t—He thought I was dead. He’s going to kill Sekot. You have to stop him.”
“Kill Sekot?”
“Has my qahsa. I brought protocols, in case Sekot was a danger to us.”
“Where’s he gone?”
“He will seek—drive mechanism. The center that controls it can be sabotaged to make the drive fail cataclysmically. Probably made-thing drive, if the ship is an example. Stop him.”
“Of course I will. But you have to help me.”
“No.” Nen Yim’s hand came up. “Leave me here. Let me become a part of this.”
Tears were blurring Tahiri’s vision. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
“You are a part of this,” she said.
“So are you.