Tell No One

Tell No One.

Chapter 3

Shapers tendrils dancing atop their master’s head, coiling and unfurling rhythmically in the dank, but humid, sleep cycle air, Mezhan Kwaad took a moment to admire her work with a gaze that only a shaper could appreciate. Maa’it implants analysed all – from the most simple of synapses to the complexities of an entire nervous system. What she had here was but a bug – a small beetle by all accounts. But this one was special, unlike its brood mates, it would, hopefully, be much more proficient at its tasks.

Mezhan Kwaad knew all too well that by using shaping protocols devised by herself here, she had carried out acts of the utmost heresy, and by all that was Yuuzhan Vong doctrine, what she intended to do once her protocol was more refined and stable, was more than risky.
The beetle, a Dweebit biot, was used in world shaping as a catalyst for those planetary atmospheres that would be less than useful for the needs of the Yuuzhan Vong and their creatures. Native life would be effectively wiped out by the noxious gas produced by the dweebits.

Using old shaping protocols that were available to all masters of her caste, the process could take up to a klekket to complete. Mezhan Kwaad’s hard yet heretical work had paid off in mass, the small brood of dweebits produced from this experiment would be able to carry out the atmospheric changes, when introduced to an alien habitat, in near triple time. All she needed to do was allow them to nest with those already shaped, and leave the rest to nature.
Yet for all her hard work, all she had accomplished in secret, she felt little in the way of satisfaction like she had when she had begun this surreptitious plan. Something was missing, like a misplaced shaping implement. It felt to her like someone had reached into her mind and plucked out a sensation that had lain so dormant, she had managed to forget about it entirely until it was replaced by a new awakened one.

The shaper thought back over the day’s events – or more aptly, the day’s encounters. Her thoughts immediately sought out Vua Rapuung , oh how she had tried to dampen down those thoughts. The slightest memory sent her headdress into disarray, curling unnaturally as though kneading her scalp to push all thought of the warrior away. Why did she allow him to affect her this way? Such reactions would cause suspicion among the adepts under her instruction - thankfully they were not permitted access to her private chamber amid the damuteks. This was her retreat, where she could conduct her heresy in fractional safety, but these thoughts, these feelings were – her strict teaching told her – as forbidden as her heretical acts through shaping, could she conceal both?
A spark of defiance flickered to life and drew breath within her heart, of course she could, how else had she come so far unnoticed?

What would cause suspicion was the amount of time Mezhan Kwaad spent in seclusion, she could hardly spend all her time here.
Once more her thoughts turned their analytical gaze on Vua Rapuung, her parting words to him had made clear that she wished more than to leave the situation as it was. Her tendrils had writhed and curled at the tips with the purest of curiosity throughout the day, as she waited, hoping. But the intriguing warrior had not sought her out – perhaps out of reproach for his ‘ungodly’ thoughts, perhaps out of fear. Mezhan Kwaad’s shapers hand tingled with a pain born of mild anger and disdain, her poisoned whipsting ached to be unleashed upon any lowly enough to act out of fear that way. A slave to ways that tried so desperately to keep the masses fearful, repressed, yet turned a blind eye to the acts of the elite. But this was not how she had gauged Rapuung to be – they had shared an understanding in those last small moments together, one that made her whole self ache with delight in a way only that which was forbidden could!

Mezhan Kwaad broke from her reverie with a start, trying to still the tendrils atop her head as they fell into disorder again, she needed a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing on with her plan. When she had a clear mind, she could then devise a way to distribute the new dweebits into the nesting hives of the others unnoticed. For that she would require a meticulously collected mind, and that meant no more foolish thoughts of a certain warrior.
How like a flustered initiate he’d made her feel. No more, there were more important things that needed to be done…

Rising from her spiny-barbed work stool, Mezhan Kwaad took a moment to savour the delicious toe-curling pain she felt as the spines tore from her embellished skin. Rivulets of blood formed around the puncture wounds, and were devoured by the stainless white oozhith she wore. The stool, actually a living creature, showed no signs of gratuitous motion, despite its hour long feed. This was all fine and well for the shaper, she of all people understood that all around them served a purpose- there was a symbiosis among all they shaped and grew.

Holding her wrist up to the small crevice in the chamber wall, she waited for the membranous porthole to recognize her scent, before allowing her to pass through. The air in the main part of the damutek was no more refreshing than it was in her private chamber. Humidity began to take its toll, even on her tendrils which slowed their motions or hung near limp altogether.
The shaper headed directly toward the succession pools, the air was cooler there and surprisingly refreshing. She would often come here to contemplate her work, or simply to distract herself, to become transfixed by the subtle ripples on the water, made by the mernip youths fresh from the breeding pools. Down here, where few trod, she felt she could truly lose herself for a moment and clear her cluttered head.

The bioluminescent glow of the mossy wall fungi was scant here, it’s use barely required – for the mernips made a glow of their own. Should she be disturbed, she could retain some anonymity in the concealing liquid black shadows cast by the large chunks of coral stalactites and stalagmites that littered the cavernous area.
Revelling in the cool embrace of the air, Mezhan Kwaad sank into her thoughts once more, stepping toward the edge of the basin of a nearby succession pool. The Mernips eerie, incandescent light shone blue from beneath the water, lighting the shapers’ severe features beautifully. All was serene if for but a moment, not even a single one of the ships’ dovin basal clusters could be heard from here. A subtle change in the air caused her tendrils to wake from their heat educed slumber. It was at this moment that Mezhan Kwaad knew she was not alone. Whoever had entered the chamber had done so in relative silence, but the sensitive mernip youths had sensed the subtle vibrations on the chamber floor and had begun swimming erratically.
This begged the question, who else had cause to be here so late?
Another shaper, likely. Only shapers and those with extreme authority could enter a shaper compound unaccompanied. But shapers had no cause to move with stealth among their own – unless they too had something to hide?
The thought played across Mezhan Kwaad’s mind and dissolved as a new notion swept in on swift wings. Perhaps she had been suspected at last? No, she had been surreptitiously careful, how could anyone have –

“You come seeking answers master shaper?” A deep voice, committed to her memory, spoke from the shadows, its effects on her instant. Mezhan Kwaad stiffened, frozen almost if it were not for her erratically swaying headdress, maa’it implanted eyes searching the darkness for the source of those words.

The tall, muscular figure of a warrior stepped out of the shadows and into the dim light the pools afforded. Reflections danced in his dark eyes, indicating to Mezhan Kwaad – through her own reflection – that she was doing a less than proficient job of concealing her surprise the moment her heart had leapt.
His gaze was intensely unwavering, it felt to her as though he could look right into the ice lined pit that had once held her soul – coaxing it back to life.
He had sought her out.

“I seek some answers of my own,” Rapuung intoned, and the shaper did well to disguise her reluctant hesitation at that question afforded her.

So pregnant with the possibility of deceit were his intentions, that this could turn on her like a pack of hungry bissop hounds at any moment if she were wrong about the warrior.

Vua Rapuung stood there, as still as an alters’ effigies, expectant and imposingly spectacular – waiting for an answer to a question that he’d asked almost a full cycle ago.
With breath now unhitched from her throat, Mezhan Kwaad composed herself best she could. She knew he would not wait forever – nor could she, this would be her undoing, but that, she thought, was a risk part of her ached to take.

“Now,” he began in a hushed tone, one could never tell if you were entirely alone…could they?
“…explain.”