by James Luceno
“I am impressed with Mara Jade’s ability to resist the spores,” he admitted.
“Everyone else you tested them on was dead or dying within a few weeks,” Shok Tinoktin replied. “Most within a few days.”
Nom Anor nodded. His coomb-spore formula had indeed proven wonderfully effective, breaking down the victim’s molecular structure and causing horrible death in short order. If only he could find a way to make the not-so-subtle shift from simple poison to disease, where the spores could become self-propagating, spreading on their own from being to being and thus infecting large populations.
Nom Anor sighed and scratched his head yet again. The spores—coomb, brollup, tegnest, and a dozen other varieties—were but a hobby, one that he had been able to insert into his official duties in attempting to develop some method for easily killing the supercreatures, the Jedi Knights. Also, such alchemical work, if successful, could prove critical in Nom Anor’s ascension to the rank of high prefect. But in those endeavors and aspirations, to date at least, it appeared as if he had failed, for Mara Jade Skywalker had somehow defeated the spores, or at least had held them at bay.
“Do you have the shlecho newt?” he asked.
Shok Tinoktin nodded and reached into his pocket, producing a small brown-orange lizard.
“Make certain that it gets near to Mara Jade’s mouth,” Nom Anor explained, and Shok Tinoktin, who had heard the explicit instructions several times already, nodded. The coomb spores Nom Anor had used in his lethal blend were the favored delicacy of the shlecho newt, and if there was any trace of them at all on Mara Jade’s breath, the little creature would surely detect it.
“I shall escort them in,” Shok Tinoktin offered, and after a confirming nod from Nom Anor, the man turned on his heel and walked from the room.
Nom Anor rested back in his chair, considering the upcoming meeting and the potential gains he might find. He thought it quite humorous that Rhommamool’s enemies on Osarian were so fearful of the meeting that they thought Leia’s recognition of Nom Anor in such a manner would strengthen his prestige and, therefore, power. For, in truth, Nom Anor hardly cared for any such gains in prestige at this time. In fact, his thinking went to quite the opposite. He carried all the emotional weight and influence he needed to control the weak people of Rhommamool, or of any other planets on which he planned to stir up trouble, but beyond that immediate sphere of influence, Nom Anor preferred anonymity.
For now.
No, Nom Anor was looking forward to this meeting simply so that he could gauge the effect of his infection upon Mara Jade, and so that he might learn more of the Jedi in general, including Leia, a woman he knew would prove pivotal in the upcoming events, and Jaina, who might prove to be a weak link to get to Leia Solo, perhaps even to Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade. That was one of his missions here, to identify those most dangerous foes and to find some way to minimize their effectiveness. Occasions such as the Osarian-Rhommamool conflict, where Nom Anor could also further the effects of the internal squabbles among the humans and their allies, could bruk tukken nom canbin-tu, or “weaken the hinges of the enemy’s fort,” as went the common saying in his native tongue, were then all the better. There were other agents doing that very same thing, after all, though in Nom Anor’s estimation, it wasn’t even a critical component of the Yuuzhan Vong’s overall plan. These humans and their pitiful allies would propagate their own problems by their very nature, he knew. They had no sense of structure and order, not in terms of the regimen and hierarchical code to which his own people adhered, at least. He had witnessed disinformation campaigns waged against political enemies, even one that had basically accused Leia Organa Solo of treason. He had witnessed coup attempts on many, many worlds and had seen supposed authorities profiting many times from the activities of less-than-legitimate business contacts. These infidels did not understand the law, or the need for unbending adherence to it.
That would make it all the easier for the disciplined Praetorite Vong, he knew, and all the more justifiable.
Nom Anor noticed on one of his many security holocams then that Shok Tinoktin was returning, with Tamaktis Breetha, the former mayor of Redhaven and now a member of Nom Anor’s independent senate, and Leia, Jaina, and Mara. He noted the movements of two others, as well: a golden droid—and he would have to remember to punish Shok Tinoktin for allowing a droid into his complex!—and a ghostly gray creature seeming almost to float behind the others, hanging close to Leia, as if it was nothing more substantial than the woman’s shadow. The expected Noghri bodyguard, Nom Anor knew. He nodded at the sight and made a mental note to keep careful watch on that one. In many ways, Nom Anor held much more respect for the Noghri, those deadly warriors, than for any humans, even Jedi.
Then he let his gaze shift back to Mara, studying her every movement, trying to discern some hint of instability, some hint that the infection was fighting on. He did see Shok Tinoktin’s shlecho newt on the man’s shoulder, eyeing Mara directly, its eyes wide, its tongue darting, and its head a brilliant shade of crimson, a clear sign of excitement.
So, he mused, the coomb spores, at least, continued their assault on the woman, and Nom Anor’s respect for Mara heightened even more.
He went to his closet then and took out his great black cape, throwing it about his shoulders, pulling the hood up over his head, cowl low and concealing, then reaching in and lifting the black screen he used to completely cover his already-masked face. Though this was his usual public dress, Nom Anor chuckled as he completed the outfit. He knew the history of his guests and understood that the sight of him dressed like this might play interestingly upon them, particularly upon Leia, for it was hard to miss the likeness of Nom Anor to another foe Leia had once battled.
In a box on a shelf hidden deep in that closet, Nom Anor kept his remaining infectious agents, and it occurred to him, though only briefly, that he might use this opportunity to infect the other two, as well. How crippled might the New Republic become if Leia Organa Solo suddenly succumbed to the same disease Mara Jade Skywalker was fighting? How debilitated might Leia and Luke, Mara and the always dangerous Han Solo become if Jaina Solo fell ill and died?
Pleasant thoughts, no doubt, but Nom Anor couldn’t take the chance of linking himself so obviously to the deadly infection. Along that same line of thinking, particularly given the sensory powers of the Jedi and the evasive nature of Noghri, Nom Anor realized that it would be a mistake to allow Leia and the others into these private quarters. He hustled to his door and pushed out into the hall, arriving just as Shok Tinoktin led the group around a bend in the corridor.
He saw the spark of recognition on Mara’s face, and he knew as she turned quickly to Leia that she was informing the other woman of his identity. In the back, Tamaktis Breetha bowed and held his position.
Nom Anor nodded to Shok Tinoktin, and the man moved out of the way, allowing Leia a clear path to Nom Anor.
She sucked in her breath; Nom Anor saw the recognition, the surprise, even horror, upon her face. He looked like Darth Vader!
“I bring greetings from the council of the New Republic,” Leia said in formal greeting, and the fact that she spoke so quickly, and with her voice controlled and even, offered Nom Anor a bit of insight into the strength of this woman. She was one to respect.
“You bring interference where it is not wanted,” he countered. Tamaktis Breetha gasped, and even Shok Tinoktin was a bit taken aback at Nom Anor’s sudden surliness and brusque attitude.
“We have come as arranged,” Leia said. “An agreement between you and Borsk Fey’lya, I believe.”
“I agreed that an emissary could come,” Nom Anor admitted. “To what end, I do not know. What can you contribute, Leia Organa Solo, to the dispute between Rhommamool and Osarian? What flame of hope can you light within the Rhommamoolians that their desperate cry for independence shall not be ignored by the New Republic, who speak of freedom as the greatest of all virtues?”
“Perhaps we should ret
ire to more private chambers,” Leia suggested. Tamaktis Breetha seemed about to agree, but a look from Nom Anor cured him of that suicidal urge.
“What have you to hide?” Nom Anor mocked her.
“More comfortable quarters, then,” the woman persisted.
“Will a chair make you more comfortable?” Nom Anor asked. “Physically, perhaps, but will it make you more comfortable with the truth?”
Leia looked at him incredulously.
“For that is all that I have to offer you,” Nom Anor rolled on. “The truth that Osarian has no claim over the people of Rhommamool. The truth of the frailties and failings of your New Republic. The truth of the false heroes, the Jedi Knights.”
“Your truth,” Mara interjected, and Leia glanced back at her.
Glad of the confirmation that his little tirade was wearing thin on them, Nom Anor didn’t even try to hide his smile, though it was hardly visible through the black face screen.
“There is only one truth,” he said calmly. “It is when one does not like to hear it that one concocts other, more palatable versions.”
“If I may, Princess Leia,” C-3PO began, moving forward. “There is ample history of the Jedi Knights to show them as true—”
“Silence!” Nom Anor growled at the droid, and the powerful being trembled visibly, as if he was about to explode into murderous action against poor C-3PO, who was also trembling, though hardly in a threatening manner.
“Are we to discuss the situation between Osarian and Rhommamool?” Leia asked, her tone diplomatic and soothing. She moved as she spoke to gently push C-3PO back, and nodded to Jaina to collect the droid and to keep him quiet.
“I thought we were doing just that,” Nom Anor said, under complete control once more, as Leia turned back to him.
“This is not a meeting,” Leia countered. “It is a lecture in a hallway.”
“And even that is more than Borsk Fey’lya deserves,” Nom Anor was quick to answer. “Would you not agree, former Councilor Solo?”
“This is not about Borsk Fey’lya,” Leia retorted, keeping her calm, though Nom Anor saw the fringes at the edge of that calm beginning to unravel. “This is about the fate of two worlds.”
“Who need nothing from the hypocritical New Republic,” Nom Anor added. “The New Republic that speaks of peace and prosperity, when it means peace in terms of the lower classes having no power to gain wealth or power, and prosperity only for elite friends of the New Republic.”
Leia shook her head and sputtered a few undecipherable words.
“Order your battle cruiser to destroy the Osarians’ ability to attack Rhommamool,” Nom Anor said in all seriousness. “Shoot down their starfighters and cripple their missile pads, and forbid them to rebuild such offensive weapons.”
Leia stared at him hard, and the depth of her expression, he knew, carried more than the frustration of the immediate circumstances, carried in it the remembered weight of long-ago enemies.
“And when they leave us alone, the conflict will be at its end,” Nom Anor went on. “Peace will prevail. And so will prosperity.” He paused and brought a hand up to his black-masked face and struck a pensive pose. “Ah, yes, then prosperity will prevail, but it will be prosperity for Rhommamool and not Osarian, not the favored elite of the New Republic.”
“You can’t believe what you’re saying,” Leia returned dryly.
“Can’t I?” Nom Anor asked, his voice dripping sarcasm. “A plausible read of the situation. Go out yourself among the streets of Redhaven and ask.”
“If you cared for the people of Rhommamool, you’d sit down and negotiate away this budding war,” Leia said bluntly.
“I thought that was what we just did,” Nom Anor said.
Leia’s expression again turned incredulous.
“I told you how to stop it,” Nom Anor went on. “A simple call to the commander of your intervening terror weapon …”
Leia looked back at Mara and Jaina and shook her head.
“Not what you expected?” came Nom Anor’s sarcastic, taunting reply. “But more than you, or the New Republic, deserved. I think our positions are clear, and so I bid you turn about, back to your silly little flying box, and away from Rhommamool. I am afraid that I have lost patience with your foolishness.”
Leia stared at him long and hard, then turned on her heel and stormed away, sweeping up Jaina and Mara in her wake. Bolpuhr, too, turned about, but not until he had given a long and threatening stare at Nom Anor, who merely smiled widely in reply.
C-3PO, too, turned to leave, but he lingered there a moment, wilting under Nom Anor’s glare, perhaps the coldest stare he had ever felt.
“Excuse me, sir, but may I inquire if there is a problem?” the droid gingerly asked.
“One I could easily rectify,” Nom Anor answered ominously, coming forward a step, his stance threatening.
“Have I somehow offended you?” the droid politely asked, although he was quaking with fear.
“Your mere existence offends me!” Nom Anor growled, and C-3PO, having heard enough—too much, actually—wheeled about and hustled away, calling for Princess Leia.
“I did not expect such an encounter,” Tamaktis Breetha dared to say, moving to stand beside Nom Anor.
“Nor did I,” Nom Anor replied. “I had thought the meeting would be boring, and hardly that much fun.” He looked at his former mayor and recognized the doubts on the man’s face.
“Speak your mind,” Nom Anor bade him. “Your questions will only strengthen me.”
“Rhommamool will indeed need the help of the New Republic,” Tamaktis Breetha said after a long pause.
Nom Anor chuckled. The man didn’t understand. This wasn’t about Rhommamool—Nom Anor would hardly care if he left the place and then later learned that Osarian had completely obliterated it. Of course, he would never go on record making such a statement.
“Our cause is bigger than the civil war between a pair of planets,” he told Tamaktis. “It is about the basic freedoms of citizens of the New Republic and basic fairness to the exploited masses everywhere. When that truth comes out, then Rhommamool will find all the allies it needs to crush the thief-lords of Osarian.”
The former mayor squared his shoulders as Nom Anor spoke, taking pride in the cause—the greater, if impractical, cause. “I will see that our guests depart promptly,” he said, dipping a bow and, after Nom Anor motioned for him to proceed, starting away.
Nom Anor went to Shok Tinoktin and gently patted the head of the still-excited shlecho newt.
“The scent of the coomb spore was strong on her breath,” Shok Tinoktin remarked.
“And she wasn’t as strong,” Nom Anor added. “I could see it in the way she walked and held herself.” Supremely pleased with himself, the executor headed for his private quarters, Shok Tinoktin moving to follow.
“Make sure that their course away leads them past the square,” Nom Anor said to him on sudden insight. “I want them to witness the devotion.”
Shok Tinoktin bowed and turned away.
Nom Anor went into his room. He started for the two villips he had concealed in his closet, but changed his mind and went to his viewscreen instead, staring up at the images of the stars that were just beginning to peek out as the sun disappeared. Had they made contact? he wondered. Had the yammosk set up the controlling base?
“He looked like Darth—” Jaina started to say.
“Don’t even talk about it,” Leia cut her off, her tone leaving no room for debate. “Try to keep up, Threepio,” she said, more sharply than she had intended, when the droid came bounding around a rounded corner in full flight, nearly crashing into one of the metal support girders that lined the hallway like a giant rib cage. “And try not to get lost.”
“Oh, never that, Princess Leia,” C-3PO said, as sincere as he had ever been, and he glued himself to Leia’s side.
They continued along the winding maze of corridors, up stairwells and through heavy doors, and it occ
urred to all of them how defensible this place truly was, a bunker more than a statehouse. Also, given the number of stairs they climbed, and where they eventually came out, they realized that Nom Anor’s private chambers were quite far below ground, something that had been lost on them in their trip down, a journey that had followed a more meandering route, along corridors they now understood to be gently, almost imperceptibly, sloping.
They arrived at the Jade Sabre without incident, and the guards standing before the shuttle’s hatch briskly stepped aside.
“I wish that it could have gone better,” Tamaktis Breetha remarked to Leia after Jaina, Mara, and C-3PO went aboard to begin departure preparations.
“Perhaps you should tell that to Nom Anor,” Leia replied, and the gentle-eyed old man bowed.
“You must understand that Osarian has been ruling us as a virtual slave colony for decades,” Tamaktis began.
“I know the history, and the current standing,” Leia replied. “Your intractable leader does not help the situation.”
Tamaktis, obviously unconvinced, didn’t respond.
Leia shook her head and moved into the ship, Bolpuhr gliding in behind her, the Noghri never taking his wary gaze from Tamaktis or the two sentries.
“We’ve got a course change,” Mara informed Leia as soon as she joined the others on the bridge, taking her customary seat behind Jaina.
“They want us to fly low across the city, then vector out from the west,” Jaina explained.
“A trap?” the wary Leia asked.
“I don’t see the point,” Mara said. “They could have taken out the shuttle while we were with Nom Anor, and could have easily captured us inside the complex.”
“Unless they’re trying to make it look like an accident,” Jaina put in.
