Vector Prime

by R. A. Salvatore

  The remaining two members were both human, Fyor Rodan of Commenor and Chelch Dravvad of Corellia. It was Fyor Rodan who had requested Luke at council, Jacen knew, and according to his uncle, Rodan was no friend and not to be trusted.

  With all of that in mind, with all the insights Luke had given him about these councilors, Jacen sat back and observed very carefully.

  After the somewhat hypocritical pleasantries and formalities that seemed to Jacen to go on and on, Borsk Fey’lya looked Luke right in the eye and asked, in the gravest of tones, “You have heard the initial reports from the Mediator?”

  “Leia will be meeting with Nom Anor soon, I am told,” Luke replied, avoiding the obvious.

  “A meeting complicated already,” Borsk said.

  “Would all councilors who are surprised please raise their hands,” Fyor Rodan put in, and even to sixteen-year-old Jacen, his sarcasm seemed rather juvenile, and certainly out of place in the somber hall.

  “I heard of the . . . intervention,” Luke admitted.

  “The Osarians were wrong to try to intercept a New Republic envoy,” Cal Omas remarked.

  “A convenient excuse for our Jedi hero to rush to the rescue,” Fyor Rodan shot back.

  “Quick to the trigger, they are,” Pwoe said, his accusing stare falling over Luke.

  Jacen could hardly believe the lack of respect, and the obvious thinly masked intentions behind it all. The New Republic was having growing pains, with minor squabbles erupting throughout the galaxy, many of them age-old conflicts that had been buried under the blanket of the Empire for years and years but now, with the new freedoms afforded to individual planets and species, rising up once again. So of course, the New Republic and its councilors and representatives had been taking many verbal hits of late, as had the Jedi Knights, and thus the finger-pointing between the two groups had escalated.

  On it went, one recounting after another of a civil war here, a vendetta there, grievances from one agriculture planet, and a workers’ strike that had spread to several mining planets, with even the Wookiee Triebakk howling out some complaints at Pwoe about a failure in one of the nav systems of the newest Mon Calamari battle cruisers.

  It all seemed like so much nonsense to Jacen, a bunch of talking heads full of complaints and short on solutions, and yet another reminder of his fears concerning his uncle’s schemes for enacting some control over the Jedi. He tuned right out of the meeting for many minutes, falling into some silent meditative techniques he had been trying to perfect, until Borsk again looked Luke in the eye and bluntly asked him his plans concerning the Jedi Council.

  Luke paused for a long while. “I haven’t made any final decision,” he replied, which took Jacen somewhat by surprise, since his uncle had seemed fairly certain that he would indeed reestablish the council.

  “Whether with council or by yourself, you must rein in these wandering Jedi,” Councilor Niuk Niuv said with uncustomary passion.

  Triebakk howled in protest, and Cal Omas gave words to the sentiment. “Rein in?” he echoed incredulously. “Need I remind you that you speak of the Jedi Knights?”

  “A dangerous group,” Councilor Pwoe remarked gravely, the watery essence of his voice only adding weight to the statement.

  “Causing disturbances throughout the galaxy,” Fyor Rodan was quick to add.

  Jacen noted that his uncle was watching the quietest member of the council, Chelch of Corellia, one he believed might be the swing vote on any resolutions concerning the Jedi, and one who was now giving no outward hint whatsoever of his intentions.

  “Why, I have heard of battles along the Outer Rim, as far out as the Angor system,” Fyor Rodan went on, standing up and waving his fist. “Jedi swooping in, torpedoes flying, against innocent citizens.”

  “Smugglers, you mean,” Cal Omas retorted.

  “Many who aided in the overthrow of the Empire!” Fyor Rodan shot back.

  “And you take that as an excuse for their current illegal activities?”

  “The Jedi Knights are not the law,” Niuk Niuv pointed out.

  “So they should be told,” Fyor Rodan said. “Chief Fey’lya, perhaps we should consider a resolution against the Jedi. A strong statement from this council demanding that they end all policing efforts that have not been explicitly authorized by this council or by regional ambassadors.”

  Borsk Fey’lya turned to meet Luke’s stern gaze, blanched, and rubbed his hairy face. “Let us not be premature,” he said.

  Jacen did not miss how the Bothan seemed to shrink back from his uncle Luke’s powerful presence.

  “Premature?” Fyor Rodan echoed with a laugh. “These wild ones have become a bit inflated concerning the policy-making role of the New Republic. Are we to tolerate that?”

  “Are we to deny their help in those areas where they are best qualified?” Cal Omas retorted angrily, bringing a derisive snort from Fyor Rodan, a shout of agreement from Triebakk, a groan from Pwoe, and a stream of retorts from the ever more impassioned Niuk Niuv.

  And so the shouting began again, at new heights, and Jacen quickly backed away from it all. The Jedi, it seemed, were to be judged on every move, and by people who, in Jacen’s estimation, had no right to judge them.

  He and Luke left the council chamber a short while later, the war of words, about nothing and everything all at once, raging behind them. To Jacen’s surprise, Luke was wearing a satisfied smile.

  “Both Fyor Rodan and Niuk Niuv tipped their hands in the last part of the exchange,” he explained to the obviously confused Jacen.

  “With the smugglers?”

  Luke nodded and smiled.

  “You think they’re tied to smugglers?” Jacen asked incredulously.

  “It’s not so uncommon,” Luke said. “Ask your father,” he added with a grin that set Jacen back on his heels. The roots of Han Solo were no secret to the young man.

  “So you think their complaints about the Jedi have to do with their own profits?” Jacen asked. “You think some of the councilors are working with smugglers that some Jedi are giving a hard time?”

  Luke shrugged. “I don’t know that,” he admitted. “But it seems to fit.”

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  Luke stopped. Jacen did, too, the pair turning to face each other directly.

  “We have a hundred Jedi Knights setting their own agendas throughout the galaxy,” Luke explained. “That is the problem.”

  “You don’t think these Jedi at the Outer Rim are justified in going after smugglers?” Jacen asked.

  “That’s not the point,” Luke replied. “Not at all. The point is that the scattering of Jedi Knights prevents any cohesive movements.”

  Jacen’s gaze seemed distant, as if Luke had just lost him.

  “We have Wurth Skidder acting foolishly defending Mara’s shuttle and the Osarians over here, other Jedi apparently going after smugglers with a vengeance at the Outer Rim, and I’ve heard stories of still other problems in other sectors,” Luke explained. “It’s hard to keep up with it all, and sometimes it feels like I’m fixing symptoms without ever getting to the real disease.”

  His choice of words gave Jacen pause, and Luke, too, when he thought about them in the context of his wife.

  “That’s why we need the Jedi Council,” Luke pressed on a moment later. “A singular purpose and direction.”

  “Is that what it means to be a Jedi Knight?” Jacen asked bluntly, a question Luke had been hearing many times in the last few months—from Jacen, and not from his other apprentice, Jacen’s younger brother, Anakin.

  “Why do you care what the councilors think?” Jacen asked, as much to change the subject as out of true curiosity. “You don’t need them to reestablish a Jedi Council. Why would you want anything from them and their foolish arguing?”

  “I don’t need them,” Luke admitted. “The Jedi, despite what Fyor Rodan and Niuk Niuv and even Borsk Fey’lya might think, don’t answer to the council. But if I don’
t have their agreement in this matter, my plans, as I develop them, both for the academy and for the Jedi Council, might prove more difficult to implement, at least in the public relations department. You learn to play along, Jacen. That’s the game called diplomacy.”

  But that was just the point, Jacen thought, though he kept it to himself. Any formalities concerning the Jedi, from the academy to any new councils, seemed to him to be layers of bureaucracy added to something spiritual and personal, something that should not be governed. In Jacen’s idealistic sixteen-year-old eyes, the individual Jedi Knights, by their mere acceptance of the philosophy necessary to sustain their Force powers, should be self-governing. A properly trained Jedi Knight, who had been taught to avoid the dark side, who proved he could resist the temptations associated with such power, needed no bureaucrats to guide his actions, and putting that governing layer there, he feared, would steal the mystery.

  “We know that Rodan and Niuk Niuv are against us,” Luke went on, walking again as he spoke. “I doubt that Pwoe will be receptive to anything that he feels will threaten the power of his position—the Quarrens have waited a long time for a seat on the council. Triebakk will be with me on whatever I decide, as will Cal Omas, who learned long ago to trust me and the Jedi. That makes Chelch Dravvad the key vote, and I think I’ll have him if I can answer the concerns of some of these problems that Rodan and Niuk Niuv are pushing.”

  “What about Councilor Fey’lya?” Jacen asked.

  Luke waved his hand, as if the Bothan was irrelevant. “Borsk wants whatever is best for Borsk,” he explained. “If Chelch goes over to side with Rodan and his group, making it four to two against me, then Borsk will back them. But if the others are split, three to three, Borsk will lead them either to inaction, not wanting to risk a fight with me and Leia, or he’ll back us, hoping we’ll return the favor.”

  “Mom would never back Borsk for anything,” Jacen said dryly, and Luke didn’t disagree. “Borsk Fey’lya would be a fool to think that she would.”

  “He lives in a world where alliances shift by the moment,” Luke explained. “Borsk does what Borsk needs to do, at any given moment, to benefit Borsk. And he’s so jaded by that personal philosophy that he thinks everyone else plays by the same rules.”

  Now it was Jacen’s turn to come to an abrupt halt. “And these are the people you want to please?” he asked skeptically. “These are the people you seek to emulate with your own council?”

  “Of course not,” Luke replied, taken aback.

  “But that’s what will happen,” Jacen argued.

  Luke stared at him long and hard, and Jacen more than met that stare. They had been around this route so many times of late, without resolution. The paradoxes within Jacen’s own mind kept him somewhat impotent against his uncle. Jacen had been trained as a Jedi Knight at the academy, yet he had become convinced that the academy was not a good thing, that it was too formal and structured, and that growth within the Force was a much more personal experience. Actually, though the academy remained, Luke had come to somewhat agree with that perspective. He felt that the academy had been a necessary stepping-stone back to the old ways, where Jedi Knights in training worked with Masters one-on-one, as Jaina was with Mara, and Jacen and Anakin were with him. This arrangement would not have been possible before now, for Luke had long been the only Jedi close to attaining the status of Master. Now there were others, and the old ways were being rediscovered, a process that Luke understood would take some time.

  Still, Jacen had begged his uncle to go further and faster, to bring the Jedi back to the one-master-one-student model of old, but to improve even upon that model. Instead of finding Force-strong youngsters to train in the ways of the Jedi, Jacen wanted such promising students to find their way to the Jedi. Luke thought his arguments a play of semantics, but to Jacen they went much deeper—they went to the core of what it was to be a Jedi Knight.

  “I have not even put my ideas on solid footing yet,” Luke said, and Jacen knew that to be as polite a reply, and as much a concession, as he would ever get. He knew what it was that his uncle feared: that Force-strong potential Jedi Knights might be ensnared by the dark side before they ever found their way to the Jedi Masters. But still, to Jacen, this internal strength in the Force remained a personal thing and, ultimately, a personal choice.

  They said no more as they left the senate building, making their way down to the docks where Han, Anakin, and Chewbacca were working on the Millennium Falcon.

  FOUR

  Seeds Planted

  “The Jade Sabre has made orbit,” Shok Tinoktin informed Nom Anor that night. “Leia Organa Solo is aboard her, along with her daughter and Mara Jade Skywalker.”

  “And a Noghri,” Nom Anor added. “Always at least one Noghri if Leia Solo is about.”

  “The Noghri are worthy adversaries,” Tinoktin agreed. “But I fear the others more. So should you.”

  Nom Anor turned a glare upon the man, reminding him of who was the boss here, and who the mere attendant. And Shok Tinoktin did shrink back, the blood draining from his face. He had been around Nom Anor long enough to fear that glare as much as, perhaps even more than, he feared death itself.

  “They are Jedi,” he stammered, trying to clarify his warning, trying to make certain that Nom Anor did not note any lack of confidence in him. Speaking doubts about Nom Anor had proven a fatal flaw for several previous advisers.

  “Leia is not true Jedi, or at least, she has not embraced her Jedi powers, from what I have been told,” Nom Anor replied with a sly grin, one that allowed Shok to relax a bit. “Nor is her daughter a proven Jedi.”

  “But Mara Jade is counted among the strongest of the Jedi Knights,” Shok Tinoktin pointed out.

  “Mara Jade has her own problems to consider,” Nom Anor reminded.

  Shok Tinoktin didn’t take comfort in that; in fact, the reminder of Mara’s disease only heightened his trepidation about letting her see Nom Anor at this time.

  “She should be long dead,” he dared to say.

  Nom Anor smiled again and scratched his head. He had been wearing his ooglith masquer for a long while and was literally itching to take the thing off. But he hadn’t the time, of course, and in truth, he didn’t want even the trusted stooge Tinoktin to see his true, self-disfigured face, with its strange eye, a reflection of Nom Anor’s highest show of devotion on the day he was awarded the position of executor among the Yuuzhan Vong, and first advance scout for the Praetorite Vong invasion force.

  He had taken the eye out with the sharpened end of a burning stick. Of course, he had filled that hole in his face with yet another marvelous organic innovation, a plaeryin bol, a creature that looked much like a normal Yuuzhan Vong eyeball, but its pupil was really a mouth, and one that could spit a venomous glob accurately across ten meters at the command of its host, by a simple twitch of Nom Anor’s eyelid.

  “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 a
t 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.