Reunion (34 page)

“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 the 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.”

A knot eased in him, but he did not allow himself to relax. “Ngaaluh is a master of deception. You could not tell that she was lying simply by looking at her. Her prattle about this mysterious Commander Val could be nothing more than a distraction, to draw attention away from herself.”

Kunra shrugged. “That’s possible,” he said. “I am not as skilled as you in exposing lies.”

Nom Anor narrowed his gaze. Was that sarcasm he heard in Kunra’s voice? Perhaps they were in league together, he thought: the two closest to the Prophet plotting to unseat him and presenting a united front when the attempt failed.

Certainly Ngaaluh seemed keen to attack Shimrra—and she
had
received the mysterious courier that day …

“She remains useful,” he said, coming to a similar conclusion about Kunra even as he spoke the words. “While she remains so, I can live with my doubt. And I can take precautions. It takes more than a coufee in the dark to kill me, now more than ever.”

“That is eminently so.”

Nom Anor ignored the smugness in Kunra’s tone, just as he had ignored the sarcasm. “And our work continues. When is my first congregation here due?”

“Whenever you feel up to it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be up to it? Tell—” He hesitated, then quickly chose Shoon-mi’s replacement. “Tell Chreev
he’s now the chief acolyte. He will make arrangements immediately in the morning. I see no reason to pause and give people reason to worry.”

The former warrior smiled. “I agree. Now would be the wrong time to lose momentum.”

That’s enough
, Nom Anor thought.
Saving my life doesn’t automatically give you a premium on my ear
.

Nom Anor pointed at the door, but bit his tongue on harsh words. The time would come to teach his strong arm a lesson in humility. “Go. You have done enough for one day.”

Kunra bowed with barely sufficient reverence, and left.

The ride down was bumpy. Jag’s hands itched to take control of the ship and smooth out their descent, but he couldn’t. Although both sides knew that
Collaborator
was a ruse, it was important that the pretense was maintained. The rechristened picket ship would, therefore, spiral unpowered down to the upper atmosphere, at which point atmospheric drag would begin to decelerate it. Only when they were safely out of sight would Tahiri bring the barely skyworthy craft to an inelegant landing. It certainly wasn’t the way Jag preferred to fly, but it was important he didn’t interfere.

That everything went without a hitch didn’t surprise him, however. With the hopes of both sides riding on the mission, fighting had enjoyed a tense lull since the mission’s launch. Only the occasional skirmish marred Esfandia’s dark skies.

Something rattled violently from behind him. “Are you sure everything’s securely stowed back there?” he called out to Arth Gxin, the Imperial sergeant who had volunteered for the mission.

“Positive,” the sleek, black-haired man responded. Gxin looked more like an aristocrat than a dirt flier, but
Pellaeon had assured Jag that he was the best atmospheric pilot he had. “Something’s probably just worked loose in the wreckage, that’s all.”

Jag nodded, satisfied by the explanation. It wasn’t as if any of them could get up to look, anyway. They were firmly strapped in, and would remain that way until their flight path had leveled out.

They were a diverse group, and among them they represented just about everyone who had a stake in the outcome of the battle. Jag and Jocell stood for the Chiss; Gxin came from the Empire, as did the six military-issue speeder bikes they’d brought with them on the mission; the Galactic Alliance was represented by Jaina and Enton Adelmaa’j; and Tahiri carried the Yuuzhan Vong inside her now. They were a motley crew, it was true, but together Jag was sure they’d be able to teach the Yuuzhan Vong ground forces a thing or two about atmospheric combat.