Traitor, Matthew Stover [spicy books to read .txt] 📗

to save anybody. Sure, it started out that way—that’s what I planned for—but by the time you caught up with me on the hive-island, saving lives was the farthest thing from my mind. All I wanted was a club big enough to smack the Yuuzhan Vong all the way out of the galaxy. All I wanted was to hurt them.”

She blinked. “And this is wrong?”

“It is for me. That’s the dark side. It’s the definition of the dark side. That’s what you saved me from.”

“I saved your life, Jacen Solo. That’s all. Your ethics are your own affair.”

Jacen just shook his head. His family history was itself the ultimate argument that the dark side is everybody’s affair, but he wasn’t about to get into that. “You don’t understand.”

“Perhaps I don’t,” she agreed cheerfully. “You seem to be telling me that what you do is irrelevant; all that matters is why you do it.”

“That’s not it at all—”

“No? Then tell me, Jacen Solo, if you had pursued the noble goal of saving those thousands of slaves in the manner of a true Jedi, what would you have done differently? Anything? Or would you only feel differently about what you have done?”

Jacen frowned. “I—that’s not what I mean—”

“Does killing a dhuryam for a noble goal make it any less dead? Do you think it matters to these dead dhuryams whether you killed them in a frenzy of rage or with calm, cool Jedi detachment?”

“It matters to me,” Jacen said solidly.

“Ah, I see. You can do whatever you want, so long as you maintain your Jedi calm? So long as you can tell yourself you’re valuing life? You can kill and kill and kill and kill, so long as you don’t lose your temper?” She shook her head, blinking astonishment. “Isn’t that a little sick?”

“None of those questions are new, Vergere. Jedi have asked themselves all of them ever since the fall of the Empire.”

“Longer than that. Believe me.”

“We don’t have a very good answer—”

“You’ll never have an answer, Jacen Solo.” She leaned toward him, her hand on his shoulder. Though her touch was warm and friendly, her eyes might have been viewports into infinite space. “But you can be an answer.”

He frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

She turned her palms upward in a gesture of helpless surrender. “What does?”

“Oh, well, yeah,” he sighed. “I’ve wondered that myself.”

“Look around you,” she said. “Look at this world: at the patterns of the fern forest, at the rugged curves of terrain, the braided colors of the rings overhead. It is very beautiful, yes?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jacen said truthfully.

“That is ‘sense’ of a kind, yes?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Sometimes when I look out at the stars, or across a wild landscape, I get the feeling that it does make sense—no, more like what you said: that it is sense. Like it is its own reason.”

“Do you know what I see, when I look at this world? I see you.”

Jacen stiffened. “Me?”

“What you see around you is the fruit of your rage, Jacen Solo. You made this happen.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You stole the decision of the tizo’pil Yun’tchilat from the shapers on the seedship. You chose the dhuryam that has become the pazhkic Yuuzhan’tar al’tirrna: the World Brain. You destroyed its rivals. You gave it the over-lordship of this planet. This planet takes its shape from your dhuryam friend’s intention, its personality—and its personality has been shaped by your friendship. All this beauty exists, in this form, because of you.”

He shook his head. “That wasn’t what I planned—”

“But it is what you did. I thought we had agreed that why you did it is of concern only to Jedi.”

“I—you always twist everything around,” he said. “You make it way more complicated than it really is.”

“On the contrary: I make it simpler. What you see around you, Jacen Solo, is a reflection of yourself: an artificial construct of the New Republic, remade by the Yuuzhan Vong into something new—something more beautiful than has existed in the galaxy before.”

“What do you mean, an artificial construct?” The sick dread that had curdled in his stomach when he found duracrete beneath the moss slammed back into him. “Where are we?”

“Yuuzhan’tar,” she said. “Did you not understand this?”

“No, I mean: what world was this before?”

She sighed. “You see, but you do not see. You know, but you do not let yourself know. Look, and your question is answered.”

He frowned at the fern forest below, where mountain shadows stretched away from the setting sun. Those flying creatures were out in greater force now, in the twilight, and they circled higher and higher through the shadows as though in pursuit of nocturnal insects. Their wings were broad, leathery, their bodies long and tapered, ending in a sinuous reptilian tail—

Then one swooped straight up in front of Jacen and soared above into the darkening sky, and he could no longer ignore what they were.

Hawk-bats.

He said, “Oh.”

Those strange metric designs on the distant mountains—he knew what they were, now. And the impossibly complex topography of the jungle, that made sense, too.

Jacen said, fainter now, “Oh. Oh, no.”

The designs were viewports. The mountains were buildings. This place was a nightmare image of Yavin 4: the valleys and ridges were patterns of rubble carpeted by alien life. Far more than just an ancient temple complex like one on the gas giant’s moon—what Jacen looked upon here was the shape of a single planetwide city, shattered into ruins, buried beneath a jungle.

And all he could say was, “Oh.”

   Long after Yuuzhan’tar had turned this face away from its sun, Jacen still sat on the mossy ledge above the jungle, now shrouded in night. Flashes of bioluminescence chased each other through the shadowed canopy in jagged streaks of blue-green and vivid yellow. The Bridge was impossibly bright, impossibly close, as though he could reach up, grab on, and swing from one of its braided cascades of color. The colors themselves shimmered and shifted as individual fragments in the orbital