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Shimrra knew the name. “The same who lured Tsavong Lah to his death … I have been blaming the shapers for not being able to supervise the World Brain, but I begin to suspect that this Jeedai is somehow responsible. When I interact with the Brain, I sense its reluctance, its miseducation. I have had to instruct the Brain, as one would a disobedient child—a child of warriors who has been mistakenly raised in the crèche of the priests.”

Shimrra rolled the lightsaber between his hands. “And the Force. I’ve heard it described by heretics as the lingering exhalation of Yun-Yuuzhan.”

Nom Anor’s words to his followers returned to haunt him.

“I would not grant it such importance, August Lord. The Force is merely a power the Jedi have learned to draw from, over twenty or more generations. But not the Jedi alone. A group called the Sith also made use of the power, and were perhaps responsible for the Purge that occurred even while we—you—were finalizing our invasion plans.”

Shimrra folded his arms across his chest. “High Priest Jakan has made mention of these Sith. Are they in hiding?”

Nom Anor shook his head. “Sadly, their flame has gone out of this galaxy, Dread Lord. The heretics claim that in the Jedi are combined all aspects of the gods. But in fact the Jedi are not flawless, nor are they beyond being outwitted and defeated. They have been captured, killed, almost turned to our own purposes.”

“As you yourself demonstrated at Zonama Sekot.” Shimrra’s mood became dark. “I am eager to deliver an end to our enemy before that planetary nemesis undoes us.” He sharpened his gaze on Nom Anor. “Are we safe, Prefect?”

Nom Anor mustered his courage. “With any luck, Dread Lord, Zonama Sekot is a dead world. If not, it certainly has no sense of where it is, let alone where we are.”

SEVEN

Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker stood in the trapezoidal entrance to the cliff dwelling that had been their home and shelter on Zonama Sekot for what had felt like three standard weeks. The span of time was only a guess based on human circadian rhythms, because the days had been anything but regular since the living world’s abrupt jump to hyperspace, lasting anywhere from fifteen to forty hours, as Zonama’s governing intelligence struggled to reassert control.

Torrential rain continued to lash the Middle Distance, driven by gales powerful enough to snap and topple the giant boras and strip the reddish trees of their globular leaves. The sky was an inverted silver bowl, with massive storm clouds stacked high in all directions, deep purple to black, and incandescent with continuous flashes of lightning. Peals of thunder resonated from the bare rock walls of the chasms that housed the cliff dwellings. As if from deep below the surface came a hollow moan, like breath across the narrow mouth of a container. Many believed that the sound was caused by wind rushing across Zonama Sekot’s three-hundred-meter-high hyperdrive vanes.

Caught in an updraft, three sheets of lamina building material spiraled up from the floor of the chasm and disappeared over the rim.

“This place is coming apart,” Mara said.

Luke nodded but said nothing. He had his right arm around Mara’s shoulders, and the side of her face was pressed to the soft weave of his dark cloak. The persistent gusts whipped Mara’s red-gold hair about her face and across her mouth.

To Luke’s left stood R2-D2, emitting a steady stream of mournful chirrs and chatterings, his status indicator flashing from red to blue and his third tread extended to keep himself from being blown over. Luke put his left hand on the astromech droid’s hemispherical head.

“Don’t worry, Artoo. We’ll come through this all right.”

R2 swiveled his primary photoreceptor to Luke and warbled in renewed hope.

Mara snorted a laugh. “What a guy. Always a kind word for pets, small children, and droids.”

The cliff dwelling—walls of tightly fitted stones enclosing two small spaces—was located in the canyon’s middle tier of natural ledges. Cavities in the bare rock face opposite were likewise partitioned into hundreds of