Reunion: Force Heretic III

by Sean Williams

  The exterior of the inner sanctum, Shimrra’s private chambers, had been heavily decorated with slender, curving spikes that reached for the sky as though to snatch at the clouds. The number of entrances had been reduced—possibly in response to failed attempts by the heresy to get inside—and each one was now protected by heavy security.

  Still, the priestess Ngaaluh had no difficulty smuggling a villip inside, with which to spy on proceedings. Cleverly incorporated into elaborate robes and ornamentation, it saw what was taking place with perfect clarity. Nom Anor, on the receiving end of its transmissions, saw, too.

  A full court had gathered to hear the priestess’s report on the Vishtu region. Nom Anor recognized many of the faces gathered before the Supreme Overlord. Many were ones he had himself served with. The others were recent additions, replacements for those lost in action or killed for failing their master. They watched proceedings with keen, cautious eyes, knowing that opportunities for advancement would be frequent in such an environment, but that risks were concomitantly high.

  Then, of course, there was Lord Shimrra himself. Nom Anor felt an immediate adrenaline rush the moment his eyes fell upon the Supreme Overlord. It was easy to forget, when bathed in the rhetoric of the heresy, how striking Shimrra was—how gloriously wrathful. Every fiber of Shimrra’s being screamed out in torment, tortured by the very garments he wore. He radiated psychic distress on every frequency—yet beneath that there burned a cold, implacable surety of purpose. He was like a natural force whose very presence demanded attention, and it took all of Nom Anor’s will just to lower his gaze.

  “… resources provided by Prefect Ash’ett proved barely adequate for my investigation.” Ngaaluh’s report droned on, giving details in abundance, but offering no real information. “I was forced to procure my own means. And what I found was disturbing to an extreme. Numerous cells of heretic movements have formed in the consul’s staff at all levels of seniority. It is clear, Great Lord, that the situation warrants serious scrutiny.”

  A flurry of whispers circulated around the throne room. High Prefect Drathul looked particularly concerned. As head of the intendant caste on Yuuzhan’tar, Prefect Ash’ett fell under his governance. Any stain on Vishtu would inevitably reflect on him.

  “I find this disturbing,” Shimrra rumbled from on high. His grotesquely magnificent throne towered over the penitents gathered before him, yet he did not seem dwarfed by it. Darkness and power radiated from him in waves. “Once again, Ngaaluh, you display unflinching bravery in bringing such news to my attention.”

  Another whisper; the Supreme Overlord had killed many underlings for delivering better news.

  The priestess bowed low, unfazed. “It is my duty, Great One. I do not shirk from it.”

  “You have evidence, I presume?”

  Ngaaluh snapped her fingers. Guards brought forth five prisoners in cages made of coral and sinew that formed a natural shell, through which numerous perforations admitted air. The cages unfolded with a gentle pressure on the outer spinal ridge, and the five prisoners tumbled out. They whimpered and cried as they struggled awkwardly to their knees, but none of them pleaded for mercy.

  “These were apprehended in the act of spreading the word of the Prophet,” Ngaaluh explained, perfectly truthfully. “They all work for Prefect Ash’ett.”

  The prisoners were pushed facedown onto the floor by Shimrra’s swarthy bodyguards. They squirmed and wriggled, but were unable to escape. Bound by blorash jelly at wrists and ankles, the deformed creatures looked hideous in the face of Shimrra’s imperial perfection. Everything the Supreme Overlord had, the prisoners lacked. There was beauty in pain and ugliness; Nom Anor had forgotten just how splendid it could be.

  “You,” Shimrra said, gesturing at one of the prisoners at random with a single long, clawed finger. “Are you a servant of the Jeedai?”

  “With every breath,” the prisoner gasped, knowing he was sealing his death sentence with those words. His eyes were wild with hatred and rebellion, but trembling limbs betrayed his fear.

  “You do not fear the gods, then.”

  “No.”

  “Do you fear me?”

  “No.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Our freedom and our honor!”

  The court hissed to hear the heresy spoken so brazenly in the very heart of the Yuuzhan Vong empire. All, including Nom Anor, expected Shimrra to enact an immediate and terrible revenge on the source of such a foul challenge—but the Supreme Overlord, as he so often did, surprised them all.

  “Interesting.” Shimrra’s voice was measured, almost bored, as though they were discussing nothing more than fleet movements in a distant part of the galaxy. “It is as you have stated it, Ngaaluh. Tell me, do the Jeedai instruct these heretics personally, or do they direct them through another?”

  The prisoner interrupted before Ngaaluh could answer. “I obey my conscience; I obey the Prophet!”

  Nom Anor cursed. That wasn’t what the fool was supposed to say!

  “My personal opinion is that Ash’ett is involved,” the priestess said, recovering quickly and getting the correct message across.

  “But you have no direct evidence?”

  “In time, I will provide it.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Shimrra turned his attention back to the prisoners. “Throw them to the yargh’un pit. Their screams of torment will provide a pleasing ambience during my communion with the gods. And while you’re about it, bring me Prefect Ash’ett.”

  “It would be good to hear his side of the story, Lord,” High Prefect Drathul said as the heretics were dragged away. “I am certain that he can prove his innocence. He is a loyal and faithful servant—”

  Shimrra silenced him with a gesture. “Whether Prefect Ash’ett is corrupt or not,” he said, “the fact is that he has allowed the heresy a foothold in his affairs. That is not acceptable. He must be reminded of the consequences of laxity—as must everyone in a position of responsibility. I want every member of his immediate family executed in the yargh’un pit. If they offer resistance, execute everyone in his entire domain and install another in Vishtu sector. A confession will not be required; suspicion alone is enough. This is the price of laxity that all will suffer if the heresy is not wiped out.”

  The orders provoked gasps from the audience. Its severity was extreme, even for Shimrra. Prefect Drathul’s face went a sickly shade of gray, Warmaster Nas Choka grinned a predator’s smile at the fate of the intendants he despised, and Nom Anor, far away, cackled gleefully.

  “I am weary of this pointless aggravation,” Shimrra said. His every word and act was calculated to antagonize, to bludgeon those beneath into obedience. Not just the acts of gross violence, but the sweeping red gaze, the glistening teeth, the lazy pacing of a predator at the top of the food chain. “If there were a chance that these worthless animals could achieve their goal, then I might admire their determination, their loyalty to a cause. That their cause is utterly farcical wouldn’t detract from the respect they would deserve, simply for attempting to rise above their station.” Shimrra sneered mightily, triumphantly, at the terrified faces of those watching him. “But they are inevitably doomed. Their cause is hopeless and their deaths will bring them no honor. The gods spurn them as abominations. I will not suffer them, or anyone tainted by them, to live.”

  Nom Anor was delighted. His betrayal of Ash’ett had reaped unexpected rewards. Shimrra was obviously hoping to send a clear warning to all caste members while at the same time weeding out suspicious domains. From now on, suspicion alone was enough, and failure to fight the heretics couldn’t be blamed on underlings. What that meant for the heretics, though, wasn’t disaster. It gave Nom Anor an even more potent weapon. With just a word from Ngaaluh, Shimrra could be made to destroy whole swaths of his loyal supporters. It was perfect!

  Ngaaluh, glorious queen of deception, was the first to recover from the Supreme Overlord’s pronouncement.

  “Your
will, Great One, is the will of the gods,” she said, bowing low. “We obey you utterly and without question.”

  The others in Shimrra’s court had no choice but to follow suit, echoing her bow and her words with murmured praises of their own. High Prefect Drathul had looked for a moment as though he might protest, but Shimrra’s warning was clear. Those who spoke out against punishment for heresy risked being labeled heretical themselves. Drathul’s eyesacks were inflamed and black as he stooped to offer his loyalty to the Supreme Overlord.

  Yet when he looked at Ngaaluh, his expression was free of hatred. Nom Anor looked for any sign of resentment at how Ash’ett—and by association all of the intendants—had been implicated in the heresy, but he saw nothing but resignation. That surprised him. It wasn’t like Drathul to simply roll over and accept his fate.

  The moment passed, and Ngaaluh moved back to allow other penitents to speak.

  The conversation moved on to other troubles on the surface. A field of lambents had overheated and caught fire, disturbing harvesting on the far side of the planet. Lungworms from the district of Bluudon had developed the noxious habit of emitting hydrogen sulfide instead of life-giving oxygen. Two flocks of massive transport envelopers had gone wild on separate occasions, sending local communities into a panic until the beasts were contained. All could be traced to the ongoing malfunctions of the dhuryam controlling the transformation of Yuuzhan’tar. The new master shaper, Yal Phaath, had yet to find a solution to the problem.

  Meanwhile, two thousand kilometers away, a cell of heretics had successfully infiltrated a coralskipper farming crew and slipped parasites into the feeding lines. Half-grown pods had exploded all over the shipyard, setting off others and creating a chain reaction that undid an entire year’s work. The damage couldn’t be hidden; even from orbit the destruction was obvious. It was the pro-Jedi movement’s third major strike in a week. Nom Anor rubbed his hands together. While he wasn’t responsible for the disruption of the World Brain, that didn’t stop him taking credit for it. Word was quickly spreading: anywhere could be next. His power was growing by the day. Nothing could stop him now …

  PART THREE

  ABDUCTION

  Wet leaves slapped at Jacen’s face as he ran through the tampasi. Despite their size and weight, he didn’t let them impede his progress; he just kept running, allowing the Force to guide him in his search for Danni.

  He could sense her somewhere up ahead, but the reading was vague and distorted, as though something was interfering with the Force. But if he concentrated he could detect the young scientist’s life signs, and was able to at least get some idea of which way they were taking her.

  Leaping over fallen logs, ducking heavier branches, Jacen hurried through the dense undergrowth. The ground cover was so thick he couldn’t see where to put his feet, and on more than one occasion he stumbled when the ground dropped out from beneath him. The rain fell in a heavy mist all around, plastering his hair and clothes to his skin and blurring his vision. It was all irrelevant. All that mattered was reaching Danni and making sure no harm came to her. He stayed focused on her spark in the Force and continued to push himself harder and faster through the vegetation.

  Without warning, he burst out of a dense knot of ferns and onto a narrow path. He turned to follow it, knowing instinctively that this was how the Ferroans had made such speedy progress. Moving steadily along the path, he cast his mind out into the Force again to check the area. He found Danni’s spark—faint and flickering, but there nonetheless. He couldn’t detect Saba, though—whom he had sensed following some time ago—nor hear her movement in the tampasi around him. He didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had to stay focused …

  His pace quickened, feet splashing noisily on the wet ground. He could tell that he was closing in fast, and this goaded him on. He could sense the kidnappers now, also: five in all, each with a certain calm to their thoughts. They were relaxed, exuding a confidence that came from the belief that they had gotten away with their crime—along with the fact that they were being joined by other conspirators.

  Yes, thought Jacen, reaching out farther into the Force. There they were now. The two groups were coming together in a clearing up ahead, greeting one another with laughter and congratulatory handshakes, none of them exhibiting the slightest hint of fear or concern.

  Removing his lightsaber from his belt, he increased his pace even more. The kidnappers were so close now that he could hear their voices just off in the distance, could even see faint movements through the gaps between the mighty boras that stood between them and himself.

  If you’ve hurt her in any way …

  Using the fallen trunk of a boras as a springboard, Jacen leapt into the small clearing where the kidnappers were gathered, somersaulting in the air as he went and igniting his lightsaber at the same time. When his feet touched the ground he was already in a defensive stance, ready to deflect the three bolts of energy that spat from the tips of the kidnappers’ lightning rods harmlessly into the ground.

  He raised his lightsaber above his head, poised in a double-handed pose to strike if anyone came too close. The kidnappers froze, and an uneasy silence fell over the clearing.

  He looked down at Danni lying on a stretcher made from two thick branches with a crisscrossing of vines in between. He couldn’t tell whether she was all right, but she didn’t seem to be moving at all, and that didn’t bode well.

  “We’re prepared to fight,” one of the kidnappers said, stepping forward. The weapon in his hand trembled uneasily.

  Looking around at the startled conspirators, he could see from their faces and postures that they weren’t experienced fighters, and he had no doubts that he could take them all on with little effort. But that wasn’t what he wanted. That wasn’t who he was. There had to be a peaceful way of resolving this and getting Danni back safely …

  “You can’t win,” another said with marginally more confidence. “It’s fifteen against one.”

  Jacen was about to lower his weapon and try another tack when an ear-piercing roar broke the rainy quiet. A dark shape leapt out of the trees as Jacen had and dropped heavily into the clearing. Saba’s lightsaber sliced through the air, turning the rain to steam with a menacing hiss.

  “Fifteen against two,” she snarled.

  Half the kidnappers fled in panic at the sight of the mighty Barabel, not even attempting to put up a fight. Seven remained, all clustered around the stretcher, putting themselves between Jacen and Saba and their hostage. Five of them raised their clubs, ready to fight, while the other two flashed their gnarled lightning rods.

  “Wait!” Jacen called out over the rain. If he was going to defuse this situation, he knew it would have to be now. “Please, just lower your weapons!”

  Heads turned to him as he deactivated his lightsaber and returned it to his belt. He raised both hands defenselessly in the air.

  “Do you really want to die here tonight?” he asked the Ferroans.

  “You’re the ones outnumbered, Jedi!” one of the kidnappers spat.

  Jacen extended his will through the Force toward the lightning rod in the man’s hand. With a small gesture, he pulled the weapon to himself. The Ferroan glanced down at his empty hands, then up at Jacen, surprise fighting with panic in his eyes as he took a nervous step back.

  “Looks can be deceptive,” Jacen said, dropping the weapon to the ground.

  Caught between the snarling ferocity of a Barabel and Jacen’s calm confidence, the group tightened their grip on their remaining weapons and moved in threateningly close to Danni.

  Jacen stepped forward, one hand upraised, keen to stay any violent acts they might intend. “There has to be another way.”

  “Such as?” asked the one whose weapon had just been confiscated.

  “We could try talking,” Jacen said. “Perhaps if you told us why you’re doing this, we might be able to work things out without violence.”

  “I don’t trust them,” said another of the
Ferroans, a woman with black hair and round features. “I don’t trust any outsiders!”

  “There’s no reason to be frightened of us,” Jacen said. It was the truth, of course, but he pushed the words anyway into the more receptive parts of their minds to reassure them.

  “We’re not frightened of you,” the woman snarled. “We just don’t want you here!”

  “But we are here,” Jacen said. “And we’re here by Sekot’s invitation.”

  “Then Sekot is wrong,” the first man said. “As Senshi says, it’s—”

  “Quiet!” snapped one of the kidnappers at the back, a narrow-eyed man whose hair came to a sharp widow’s peak above his forehead. “Tell them nothing!”

  Jacen thought quickly. This “Senshi” who had been mentioned was obviously someone of influence in their conspiracy—perhaps even their leader. This was the person he needed to be speaking to, rather than wasting time arguing in the rain. As easy as it would have been to rescue Danni now and return to camp, he knew that in the long run this wouldn’t solve anything. The problem wouldn’t have been dealt with, which meant further attempts on their lives would be made. This needed to be resolved now.

  “You came looking for hostages,” he said, “and you’re returning with one. But three would be better, don’t you think?”

  “What are you saying?” the woman asked, frowning.

  “I’m saying that we don’t need to fight.” He indicated Saba, who still had her lightsaber raised and at the ready. “Saba and I will accompany you, as prisoners, so that we can talk this out properly with Senshi.”

  “I still don’t trust them,” the woman said. She spoke to the other Ferroans, but her eyes flitted back and forth between Jacen and Saba.

  “If you fight, you’ll lose,” Jacen said simply. “And possibly even die. But my way nobody has to die, and you get to return to Senshi with more hostages than he or she could have hoped for.” Jacen put the weight of the Force behind the suggestion, trying again to breach the barrier of their minds. He felt the words find purchase in their thoughts—especially the mind of the man at the back whose comment had silenced everyone. “You know it makes sense.”