Reunion (5 page)

The guards obeyed Shimrra’s will with grim determination, ignoring the plaintive cries of the condemned. The cries turned to shrieks as all hope fled, then faded to distant wails as the Shamed One was dragged away from the throne room.

Shimrra waited until the last echo had passed before speaking again.

“You do well, Ngaaluh. Once again your investigations have exposed the enemy within.”

The slender priestess bowed deeply. “I am honored by your acknowledgment, Supreme One.”

“You find success where many others have failed.” Shimrra’s baleful gaze scanned the faces of the priests, shapers, warriors, and intendants who had been assembled for the interrogation. “We must be ever watchful to ensure that the roots of heresy spread no farther than they already have. More than that: we must actively seek out nests of perfidy and find their source.”

Assent came loudly and without hesitation.

“Be assured, Great One,” said High Perfect Drathul, senior intendant of Yuuzhan’tar, “that we are making every effort to arrest this terrible tide.”

“Your will—the will of the gods—is not to be denied,” seconded Warmaster Nas Choka, cutting the air with his ceremonial tsaisi. “We will not rest until the last heretic lies crushed beneath our soles!”

“Nor would I expect anything less,” the Supreme Overlord said. “In fact, henceforth anything short of enthusiasm for the heresy’s eradication will be regarded as collaboration. And collaboration will be punishable in the same fashion as treachery. Is that understood?”

The echoes of the Supreme Overlord’s pronouncement rumbled around the throne room, and all who heard it bowed solemnly in agreement.

“You will continue this work, Ngaaluh,” Shimrra intoned. “I cannot personally oversee every interrogation and execution, yet it is my misfortune to be the one responsible for upholding all that the gods have entrusted to us. I am therefore glad to have someone in whom I can place my trust. Go forth and find me more bodies for the yargh’un pit. When it is full, I will build another, and another, until the curse of this foul heresy is erased from the galaxy once and for all, and the gods favor us again.”

“Yes, Supreme One.” Ngaaluh’s bow was even deeper than her first.

The Supreme Overlord shifted in his throne and stared dispassionately over the heads of his minions. “Leave me now. I have much to contemplate.”

One by one the members of Shimrra’s court filed out of the chamber. The priestess Ngaaluh was among the last to leave. She turned to glance back at Shimrra, giving the villip beacon she carried a final glimpse of the Supreme Overlord, seated atop his throne.

To Nom Anor, watching the events on a villip choir far away, deep beneath Yuuzhan’tar’s surface, Shimrra looked isolated yet undiminished. The Supreme Overlord’s power and confidence was evident in his straight-backed posture
and the indifference with which he dismissed his court. The ruler of the galaxy had weathered many storms in his time and, judging by the glaring determination of his stare, planned to weather many more.

Nom Anor’s smile, previously broad and triumphant, slipped at the sight. His gnarled hands curled into fists as he paced back and forth across his audience chamber—the sixth he’d occupied in as many weeks. The transmission from Ngaaluh ended as she crossed the security perimeter of Shimrra’s throne room.

“Another success,” Kunra murmured. The disgraced warrior, Nom Anor’s adviser in all matters nonreligious, slouched by the door, to all appearances perfectly relaxed. But Nom Anor knew better; Kunra was alert for trouble, listening intently to everything taking place on either side of the door. “We’ve gained a great deal of valuable intelligence since Ngaaluh joined us. She is instrumental in our growing influence.”

Nom Anor nodded distractedly. As though his silence were a challenge, Kunra persisted in his enthusiasm.

“Not only does Shimrra find a traitor close to his throne, but then he fails to extricate a confession from her! Did you see the look on his face? He is frightened of us!”

“I find it difficult to watch.” Shoon-mi appeared from the shadows beside the Prophet’s stately chair with a bowl of water Nom Anor had requested. The Shamed One was dressed in a faded priest’s robe and wore his scarless face with something akin to pride. His expression, however, was forever glum, and seemed to become increasingly so with each passing day.

Nom Anor understood his religious adviser’s concern perfectly. “In all of us lurks a residual loyalty to the old ways, Shoon-mi. Sometimes even the truth finds it difficult to erase the programming of a lifetime.”

“That’s not what I meant, Master.” Shoon-mi looked almost sullen. “I’m referring to Eckla of Domain Shoolb.”

Nom Anor stared blankly at Shoon-mi for a few moments before comprehension dawned: Eckla was the Shamed One who had just been sentenced to death in Shimrra’s chamber.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Her sacrifice was a noble one, and did not go unnoticed.” The words flowed smoothly, covering the fact that Eckla of Domain Shoolb had ceased being of interest to Nom Anor as soon as the risk of her betraying him was no longer an issue. “She will be remembered as a martyr to our cause.”

“One of many, now.”

Nom Anor’s instincts urged him to reprimand the impudent nobody daring to rebuke him, but he forced himself to speak calmly. “The way to liberation is long and hard, Shoon-mi. We all knew this when we joined, and we would all do the same as Eckla if our time came.”

“Without hesitation, Master.” Shoon-mi made all the appropriate gestures, but still a hint of defiance remained in his tone. “I remind each new novitiate that pain is often the only reward of faithfulness. Few seem deterred.”

“At least something lies beyond the pain,” Nom Anor reminded him, feeding his assistant the spiritual fodder he craved. “The
Jeedai
promise a new life, whereas the old brings nothing but death and servitude. Freedom is worth the risk of pain, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Master.”

With nothing more to add, Shoon-mi bowed his way out of the audience chamber. Nom Anor could have used his advice on forthcoming novitiate selections, but he let the Shamed One go for now. Had he cared at all about the life of Eckla of Domain Shoolb, he, too, might have needed some time alone to think.

He gestured for Kunra to shut the door. He felt restless, unnerved. If Ngaaluh’s infiltration of Shimrra’s court
was so successful, why didn’t he feel satisfaction? Why couldn’t he be like Kunra, and blithely accept that Shimrra was feeling the full effect of the heresy undermining his authority?

“Tell me about the ones you’re training in this region,” he said tiredly, when he was certain the room was secure. “What progress have you made?”

“I have selected three of the more adept recruits, without Shoon-mi’s knowledge.” The disgraced warrior moved from his position by the door toward Nom Anor. The confident ease of his movements revealed that he had grown to enjoy his position as lackey-cum-chief-lieutenant for the Prophet. “Each shows the right balance of fanaticism and stupidity for the task. I’ll let them fight among themselves to see which is successful.”

“Literally fight?” Blood sports didn’t fit in with the Jedi Heresy, but Nom Anor knew that Kunra had a dark, rough edge that might go that far.

Kunra shook his head. “The successful applicants must be able to meet the stare of Shimrra’s lackeys unflinchingly, yet without resorting to violence. They will take their first steps toward true defiance against each other. The first to strike a blow will be the first to be dismissed.”

“And by dismissed you mean—”

Kunra nodded. “Eliminated.”

Nom Anor nodded, satisfied. There were many conflicting demands made of an organization such as his. The first was finding ways to spread the heresy through conduits that had never been designed to act efficiently or reliably. The Shamed Ones had always gossiped, but did so with no concern for accuracy and were safe only under the assumption that no one higher up cared to listen. For the heresy to be effective, distortions had to be kept to a minimum. And now that higher ranks
were
listening, precautions had to be taken to ensure that the message couldn’t be traced. These two objectives were
frequently contradictory, and Nom Anor relied on his two assistants to balance them, with or without each other’s knowledge.

So if Shoon-mi was responsible for ensuring the spread of the word, Kunra, then, was there to plug the leaks. He and a small, handpicked team of what Nom Anor thought of as “spiritual police” worked secretly to tie up any loose threads that threatened to unravel the entire fabric of the scheme. His work was made easier by the fact that disappearances were assumed to be the work of higher echelons getting close to the sources of the heresy. Each surgical elimination had the added effect of heightening paranoia and, arguably, making his role less essential.

But as the network expanded, and exponentially more mouths began spouting the Jedi tenets, the risks multiplied. Sometimes Nom Anor woke in the middle of the night, sweating with panic at the thought that even now, despite all his precautions, Shimrra was closing in.

“Good work,” he said, praising Kunra as he would a trained pet. He didn’t need to earn Kunra’s loyalty; he had purchased it simply by sparing the ex-warrior’s life. “But don’t bore me with the details. Just make sure you have a candidate ready in three days. I wish to move on. This skulking in the dark is not something I care to make a habit of.”

Kunra bowed briefly. As with Shoon-mi, there was a certain amount of defiance in the gesture, but Nom Anor could accept it from Kunra. The ex-warrior needed spirit to carry out his tasks effectively. Shoon-mi just needed obedience.

“Leave me now. I wish to think.”

Kunra strode from the room, shutting the door behind him. Tiredly, Nom Anor leaned over to the bowl of water at his side so that he could wash his face. Things were going well, yes: the heresy was spreading, and a constant
moving from place to place ensured that Shimrra was still no closer to catching him. That wasn’t enough, though, and it never would be. The heresy had been from its conception a means of restoring himself to power. Every step he took had to advance that cause, or it was a step backward. The question that ever nagged at him, though, was: power over whom? Was being the leader of a scruffy army of Shamed Ones and misfits sufficient?

He froze, staring down at the reflection in the bowl of water. It was haggard and grimy as a consequence of living in the foul subterranean dwellings of Yuuzhan’tar, and its eyes were full of doubt. It looked like a stranger.

With a frustrated snarl he dashed the bowl of water to the floor.

Kunra was wrong. Shimrra wasn’t frightened at all. Not once had he shown a flicker of fear. Anger, yes, but not fear. The heresy was a hindrance, not a threat. And the Prophet? The king of a dungeon might be a king, but he was still living in a dungeon.

It was well beyond time, Nom Anor told himself, feeling better even as he came to the conclusion, that he started exercising some real power …

On the
Falcon
, tempers were flaring.

“We
can’t
leave yet,” Han insisted. “Not until we know Jaina’s all right.”

“She’s safe, Han. You know that. She’s on her way back to the
Selonia.
” Leia felt confined in the tiny cockpit and had to resist the urge to storm out. C-3PO was lurking in the access way, looking back and forth between Han and herself as he followed the heated exchange. “By staying here, you’re putting us at risk.”

Through sensors on the ship’s hull she could hear the baying of the mob that had converged on the
Falcon
’s landing field. Only the halfhearted efforts of dock security had kept them at bay.

“So what?” he argued. “We can defend ourselves.”

“It doesn’t help the cause if we go around stirring up trouble, Han! We’re supposed to be spreading a peaceful message, not unrest.”

Han rubbed at his temple as though he had a headache. On the screens before him were views of the cordon around the
Falcon
’s dock, along with various patches from local feeds.

“What about the Ryn?” he asked more calmly.

She didn’t have an answer ready for that. Her thoughts had been focused on Jaina, too. But she supposed that was a consideration. Back on Bakura, Goure had sent them to Onadax on the pretext that another Ryn would meet them there. Thus far, still, there had been nothing.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe Goure got it wrong. Or perhaps things changed here between the message he received and us arriving. The Ryn network is slow, remember. Maybe—”

“Wait.” He waved her quiet. “Did you hear that?”

Leia listened, but heard nothing. She put a hand on his shoulder, lightly patting his taut muscles. If her husband wanted to find a reason to delay, he was going to have to do better than that.

“I really think it’s time we went somewhere safer, Han. Captain Todra can look after herself, and Jaina won’t be much longer. I can feel her getting closer.”

He glanced at her, and with a sigh relented.

“All right,” he said, flicking switches. “But we’re only going to low orbit. If they so much as
think
about hurting her, I want to be able to—”

“Jaina can handle herself,” Leia interrupted, suppressing a smile.

A furious pounding from the belly of the ship brought the discussion to a halt.

“I
thought
I heard something.” Han flicked further switches as Leia dropped into the seat beside him. He
scanned through various security cam angles while she brought the retractable repeating blaster to life.

Through one of the cams they saw a gangly figure banging on the belly hatch with a hefty metal rod. The alien’s face was obscured by a fogged-up visor, but apart from this there was nothing overtly suspicious or threatening about him or her. The cheap enviro-suit the stranger was wearing was too flimsy to have concealed any weapon.

“I doubt security would send someone looking like that to do their dirty work,” Leia said. “Do you?”

Han shook his head dubiously. “Fire a warning shot. That’ll fix him.”