Reunion: Force Heretic III

by Sean Williams

  “This isn’t going to solve anything,” Hegerty said. “There has to be an explanation for what’s going on!”

  “Name one that doesn’t involve your duplicity,” Darak sneered.

  “Bioscreens,” the elderly scientist suggested quickly. “Something the Yuuzhan Vong have developed that interferes with your sensors, perhaps, but not ours. They could have been spying on you for ages without your knowing—until we came and flushed them out!”

  “If there are any intruders in our system,” Darak said, “then Sekot will be able to deal with them. We don’t need your help.”

  “If we can’t catch this thing,” Mara said, “then how do you expect to?”

  “Sekot has powers far beyond your own. If it so chose, it could reach across this system and snuff the life out of a single cell.” Then, with a dark expression, she added, “It could sterilize your Widowmaker with little more than a thought.”

  Luke sensed his wife beside him tense at the threat. While he questioned Darak’s statement, the thought of Yage and her crew being destroyed made him feel ill.

  “If you insist there is something in our system evading our senses,” Darak went on, “then Sekot can choose to destroy everything in that sector, just to be on the safe side.”

  Mara glanced at Luke. “That would certainly fix the problem. We should tell Yage to get those TIEs out of there and let Sekot do its stuff.”

  “I’m not saying it will do this,” Darak said. “Sekot takes its own counsel. The decision does not lie with you or me.”

  Mara was watching Luke closely, waiting for his decision. But for the moment he had no words to offer, no orders to give. His mind was stuck on how Sekot could act across such a vast distance quickly enough to stop the fleeing coralskipper. Conventional weapons simply wouldn’t work in this instance, he knew, and the Force, of course, wouldn’t work against the Yuuzhan Vong. And even if it did …

  Great is the Potentium, Rowel had said. Great is the life of Sekot.

  The Potentium was an unusual view of the Force, and not one that Luke found he could easily relate to. Its teachings didn’t acknowledge the existence of the dark side. Jabitha had indicated that she regarded the intention behind an action to be more important than how the act was executed: the same argument, in other words, that others had advocated in the early days of the war against the Yuuzhan Vong. The ends justified the means. But the dark side was ultimately corrupting, and would turn anyone who used it against the very ones they were trying to defend.

  Anakin killed with the strength of his mind. Until that moment, we had not known that such things were possible …

  “Sekot must not act,” Luke said finally.

  “What?” said Mara and Darak at the same time.

  “Call it off,” he insisted. “I don’t care how you do it, but Sekot must not attack that coralskipper!”

  Renewed suspicion filled Darak’s eyes. “You would only say that if you’d been lying all along. There is no coralskipper, is there?”

  Luke didn’t have time to argue his case with the stubborn Ferroan. He closed his eyes, looking for inspiration and strength to do what his instinct told him he had to do.

  Taking his comlink, he quickly contacted the Widowmaker. “Captain Yage, recall the TIEs and return to orbit. Under no circumstances are you to provoke Sekot.”

  There was uncertainty in the heartbeat of silence before Yage spoke. “Understood.”

  “The TIEs are turning back,” Tekli confirmed a couple of seconds later. “The skip has a clear run for the edge of the system.”

  Mara was staring at her husband as though he’d lost his mind. “Luke, if that skip gets away—”

  “I know, Mara,” he said. “Trust me.”

  Better that the coralskipper escapes and tells the Yuuzhan Vong where Sekot is, he thought to himself, than Sekot turns to the dark side.

  The thought of a living planet serving the forces of destruction and terror—the same planet that was the symbol of the Yuuzhan Vong occupation of the galaxy—was a disturbing one. All it would take was a single step in the wrong direction for Sekot to begin the long, inevitable fall. And that step could be something as simple as the destruction of that Yuuzhan Vong skip …

  “The coralskipper,” Tekli said over the comlink, breaking into his thoughts. “Something’s happening to it!”

  PART FOUR

  REVELATION

  Ngaaluh joined Nom Anor and Kunra deep beneath the quarters she had most recently been assigned. A double shift of guards outside the Prophet’s personal chambers let her through after checking with their master. Her expression was wary, concerned.

  “Master.” She bowed her head in respect and nodded a more cursory acknowledgment of Kunra. “I came as quickly as I could. What is the emergency?”

  “The emergency has passed, for now. I called you here to keep you informed.” In an unhurried, matter-of-fact tone, Nom Anor explained to his chief spy in the court of Shimrra what had happened the previous night. As she learned of Shoon-mi’s betrayal, her eyes widened. Even after years of training in the deceptive arts, she was unable to completely hide her shock.

  “This is impossible,” she said at one point, shaking her head as though refusing to hear. “I cannot accept that Shoon-mi would do this.”

  Nom Anor lowered the collar he had worn high all day, revealing the gash the traitor had put in his throat. “It happened,” he said. His tone remained calm, belying the rage still burning in his gut and the dark suspicion that was rising to take its place. “The fool dared raise his hand against me, and has paid for it. But I wonder if this is not the end of it.”

  “I have asked around,” Kunra said, his expression grim. “Shoon-mi was not alone in his discontent. There is a feeling growing that we are not moving quickly or decisively enough.”

  “And I wonder at Shoon-mi’s boldness,” Nom Anor added. “He simply didn’t have the brains to organize such a coup on his own. There has to be someone else behind it.”

  Ngaaluh glanced at Kunra, then back at her Prophet. Her eyes were full of confusion and uncertainty. “Who would that be, Master?”

  “At this point,” Nom Anor said, “your guess is as good as mine. But we will find them, and eliminate them.”

  “There are rivals,” Kunra said. “There are at least two subordinate acolytes, Idrish and V’tel, who would take power for themselves, if they thought they could get away with it.”

  “I find it …” Ngaaluh struggled for the right words. “… appalling and inconceivable that someone in whom you have placed so much trust would consider turning on you.”

  “That they would consider it is what makes them such good emissaries.” Nom Anor examined her alarm at the thought and found it sincere but puzzling. “Why does this surprise you? You are an expert at deception. You know that it is in everyone’s nature to betray—if not Shimmra, then me, or both of us.”

  “But no—” She swallowed. “To attack you would undermine everything we have worked for. It is not something the Jeedai would sanction.”

  Ah. The words of a true fanatic to whom the movement was as pure and incorruptible as its ideals. To Nom Anor, a realist, the heresy was something quite different, and it behaved as such. To him it was a means of attaining power, and there was nothing stopping others within the movement from trying to use it toward exactly the same end.

  “Not all are as dedicated as you, dear Ngaaluh,” he said. “Not all see things so clearly.”

  “Perhaps the attack came from outside the movement,” she said, her lips tightening into a thin, angry line, “from Shimrra.”

  “The Supreme Overlord has tried to infiltrate us in the past,” Kunra conceded, “but he could never have gotten so close as to turn Shoon-mi without us knowing.”

  “And he hasn’t the patience for such a plan,” Nom Anor said. “He would have used Shoon-mi to lead his warriors into the heart of our hiding place, then destroyed us in one sweep. No.” He shook his head decisively.
“Had Shimrra been behind it, we would be rotting in the yargh’un pit right now with the other heretics.”

  “If word spreads of this attack on you,” she said, exhibiting more of her usual spirit, “that might make a suitable cover story. It will provide a more palatable explanation than that one of your closest turned against you.”

  “Word will not spread,” Kunra said grimly. “I have made certain of that.”

  “And what good would such a tale do anyway?” Nom Anor asked. “It would fill our masses with anger and the need for revenge. They would demand that we attack Shimrra directly, to make it known that we cannot be intimidated. We cannot do that. It would be death for us all to make a move on the Supreme Overlord before we are ready.”

  “If we were ready soon—”

  “We won’t be, Ngaaluh. Our undertaking is massive and the risk great. Small acts of terrorism are one thing; we can afford to lose a cell or two if the perpetrators are discovered. But to throw everything into an ill-prepared confrontation with Shimrra?” He shook his head. “It would be less a case of doing than dying.”

  She nodded slowly, as though faintly disappointed. What was it with fanatics? Nom Anor asked himself. Why were they ever willing to throw their lives away on doomed quests? This was one instance when the Jedi were setting a very bad example. After Ganner and Anakin Solo, pointless death seemed to have garnered a powerful glamour.

  But not for Nom Anor, he swore. If he was going to fall, it wasn’t to be with some scruffy rabble on a misguided quest that had no hope of succeeding.

  She seemed to accept it at last. Ngaaluh’s head hung down onto her chest as she said, “You are right, of course, Master.”

  “I am,” he reassured her with more than a hint of command in his voice. “We are striving on numerous fronts. Our numbers grow every day. Shimrra is aware of us and our efforts. It’s only a matter of time before he accepts the inevitable.”

  “Yes, Master.” Her head came up, and he saw in her eyes that she had swallowed his rhetoric completely. “He cannot ignore us forever.”

  “So we continue with our plans. We will spread the message ever more widely, and facilitate its spread by getting rid of those who oppose us. The campaign against Zareb goes as expected, I presume?”

  “Those who will speak against him have successfully infiltrated his household,” she said. “When the time is right, they will be captured and interrogated.”

  “The time is right,” Nom Anor said. The time was always right to watch another rival fall. “Set the plan in motion tomorrow.”

  “I worry about this,” Kunra said. “We are wasting resources, throwing novices in such numbers to their deaths.”

  Nom Anor nodded. This was the strongest argument against his plan of revenge, but it was easily countered. “We will find more. The one thing we don’t lack for at the moment, Kunra, is a willing congregation.”

  “They may become less willing if our targets remain lowly intendants and executors.”

  “Not so lowly,” Nom Anor said with a scowl. He remembered his days as an executor with fondness after long months of squalor behind the mask of the Prophet.

  “But it is hard to see their relevance in the larger scheme of things. Yes, they may create opportunities for those loyal to us to rise, but how long must the faithful wait before they are free?” Kunra’s eyes narrowed, as though he were squinting into a bright light. “I repeat only that which I hear on the lips of malcontents. It is not my opinion.”

  “No, because you have no more wish to commit suicide than I.” Nom Anor exhaled heavily. “We will deal with malcontents as they arise. Let them attack Shimrra if they want. They will do it without my support, or my resources.”

  “Perhaps one of them will get lucky,” Ngaaluh said with a gleam in her eye.

  It was time to stop the conversation in its tracks. Killing Shimrra, Nom Anor knew, would have disastrous consequences for the heretics. Chaos would reign for as long as it took a new Supreme Overlord to take power—and how much harder would it be to curry favor from Warmaster Nas Choka or High Prefect Drathul, both of whom were relatively unknown quantities? Nom Anor needed Shimrra exactly where he was. If Shimrra fell and the war effort failed, he doubted that Mara Jade Skywalker and the Galactic Alliance would show much mercy when they found out who was really behind the Jedi Heresy …

  “You received a courier today,” he said to the priestess. “I presume he carried word from Shimrra’s court.”

  “Yes,” she said, momentarily flustered by the change in topic. “I have underlings bring me news on a regular basis. It does not do to keep out of touch for long. A misstep can be fatal.”

  That Nom Anor knew well. “Do any of the developments concern us? Has High Priest Jakan’s spineray notion been approved?”

  “It has been turned down, as expected.” She thought for a moment. “There was one matter my underling reported. It may not be of direct concern, but it is still intriguing. Do you remember that mission to the Unknown Regions I mentioned before?”

  “The commander who thought he had found Zonama Sekot? He went missing, if I recall, after making his claims.”

  “Yes. There is more to the story, now. It appears that this Ekh’m Val didn’t just claim to have found the living planet. He claimed that he had brought a piece back from it.”

  “Really?” Nom Anor feigned interest. “Has this Commander Val been located yet?”

  “No, Master.”

  “And what happened to that piece of Zonama Sekot?”

  “It has disappeared, too.”

  He snorted. “Very convenient. What do you think, Kunra? Another boastful warrior with nothing to back up his claim?”

  “There is corroborating evidence,” Ngaaluh said before Kunra could answer. “A yorik-trema was impounded about the same time as Commander Val is supposed to have made his claims. Also, a vessel by the name of Noble Sacrifice entered orbit around Yuuzhan’tar immediately prior to then. It was destroyed on suspicion of harboring infidel spies. The landing field records indicate that the impounded yorik-trema came from Noble Sacrifice.”

  “I don’t understand the mystery,” Nom Anor said. “Why can’t this ship have been exactly what we’re told it was?”

  “It is not in Warmaster Nas Choka’s nature to hide incursions of this kind. He would have reported it, used the fact that his warriors successfully stopped it to gain advancement in Shimrra’s eyes. He wouldn’t bury it like this.”

  “Are you certain it has been buried? Perhaps your informants conveniently ignore a proper handling of the affair for the sake of a good story.”

  Ngaaluh shook her head. “I checked. There is no mention of this Commander Val anywhere, in any of the official recordings.”

  “So he didn’t exist at all.”

  “Yet I did find him.”

  That surprised him. “I thought you said he’d disappeared.”

  “Not for those who looked hard enough.”

  Nom Anor was intrigued now, whether he wanted to be or not. “Where is he, then? Have you spoken to him?”

  “Sadly, no. He is in no condition to talk. Commander Val is dead. My underling found his body in the yargh’un pit. It had been stripped of all identifying features and tossed, lifeless, with the others Shimrra has shamed with a dishonorable death.”

  For a moment, Nom Anor was convinced. Something was afoot; someone had wanted Commander Val silenced, for some sinister reason, perhaps inimical to Shimrra …

  Then his usual skepticism returned.

  “How did you know it was him?” he challenged her. “You said the body had no identifying marks.”

  “The timing of the body’s death coincided with Val’s supposed disappearance,” she responded. “Besides, how many perfectly fit warriors have you seen thrown into yargh’un pits? That honor is reserved for those of the lowest ranks, starving heretics convicted of the foulest crime of heresy.”

  “Treachery is not much higher. If Val had collaborated with t
he infidels, or allowed himself to be corrupted, his fate might have been the same. Your underling could have been mistaken—or simply added his own elaborations to the tale.”

  “It’s possible,” she conceded.

  “I fear that you have been taken for a fool, Ngaaluh. You should know better.”

  “I will not argue that point with you, Master.” The priestess bowed her head. “I am simply saying what I have heard.”

  “And my thanks for that. It is a diverting tale.” Nom Anor glanced at Kunra, who seemed immoderately fascinated by the conversation. The Shamed warrior’s critical faculties either had not kicked in, or lacked the capacity to separate likely falsehood from an unlikely truth.

  “Look into the matter more closely when you return to Shimrra’s court,” he allowed her. “I’m always happy to be proven right. And if I’m wrong—well, perhaps there is something in it we can use.”

  “Yes, Master.” She bowed again. “I will return in two days to present my evidence against Prefect Zareb.”

  “Excellent.” Nom Anor experienced another pleasing rush at the thought of another old rival destroyed, the third in a row. “This plan is working perfectly well. As far as I am concerned, we are following the ideal course. And any who disagree with me can join Commander Val in the yargh’un pit.”

  “That can easily be arranged,” Kunra said, “with Ngaaluh’s help. Any rumbling in the ranks will soon be quelled.”

  “As my master wills it.” The priestess bowed her head a third time, and begged permission to leave. She was tired and required time to prepare for the days ahead.

  Nom Anor permitted her to go, explaining that his concern over Shoon-mi’s betrayal had evaporated. What did he have to fear with contingencies such as this in place?

  Pleased, she bade him a good rest himself, and left.

  When Ngaaluh had gone, Nom Anor turned to Kunra.

  “Well?” was all he asked.

  “I believe her,” the ex-warrior said. “She is not the one who covets your throne.”