Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 21_ The Unifying Force - James Luceno [32]
No larger than a votive candle in the grip of Shimrra’s right hand, the lightsaber thrummed as it cleaved the air.
“Answer me honestly, Prefect, do you believe in the gods?” Shimrra brought the violet blade close to Nom Anor’s neck. “Bear in mind: honestly.”
High Prefect Drathul’s predecessor, Yoog Skell, who had died by Nom Anor’s hand, had once warned Nom Anor never to lie to Shimrra. Now he swallowed and found his voice. “August Lord, I … remain open to belief.”
“If there was some benefit to believing, you mean.”
“I follow the example set by the priests, Lord.”
Shimrra’s eyes bored into Nom Anor’s single orb. “Are you suggesting, Prefect, that our priests are not acting out of the goodness of their hearts?”
“Lord, I have seen many hearts, and few showed evidence of goodness.”
“Clever,” Shimrra said slowly. “That’s the word everyone who knows you or who has had dealings with you uses— clever.”
To Nom Anor’s relief, Shimrra deactivated the lightsaber.
In another scenario, Nom Anor might have remained prophet of the heretics, and even then be attempting to topple Shimrra from the throne. He had faced that choice in the Unknown Regions—How telling!—only to decide: better by Shimrra’s side than overlord to a multitude of outcasts.
“What does one like yourself make of the whisperings that circulate among the elite,” Shimrra asked from his simple chair, “that the gods have become angered by my decisions—as far back to my deciding to tip Quoreal from the throne, usurp his position as Supreme Overlord, and pronounce this galaxy our new home?”
Nom Anor risked adopting a cross-legged posture on the floor. From the far side of the moat, Onimi watched him with visible delight. “May I speak freely, Lord?”
“You had better,” Onimi said.
Shimrra glanced from Onimi to Nom Anor, then nodded his enormous head.
“I would answer that many of the high caste fail to grasp that the actions you took were a tribute to the gods; actions no less bold than those taken by Yun-Yuuzhan when he gave of himself to bring the universe into being.”
Shimrra leaned forward. “You impress me, Prefect. Continue.”
Nom Anor grew more confident. “Many of us had accepted as fact that the generations of wandering through the intergalactic void had been a test of faith—which, as you yourself pointed out, we failed miserably, by quarreling among ourselves and worshiping false gods, weakening the hinges of our own gates.”
Shimrra nodded sagely. “Any group without opposition falls inexorably into decay and tyranny—or both.”
“But you, Dread Lord, saw the arduous journey for what it was: a consequence of our previous failures. You understood that our shapers were fast approaching the limits of traditional knowledge—that they were essentially powerless to repair our deteriorating worldships; that our priests were likewise unable to rescue our society from the depths to which it had sunk; that our warriors, left without a war, had nowhere to turn but upon one another. We were dying in the void, Lord, and were it not for your toppling of Quoreal and his cautious followers, the Yuuzhan Vong might have ended there.”
Shimrra stared at him. “Oh, you are a dangerous person, Prefect.” He glanced at Onimi. “But as my familiar knows well, I have a liking for danger.” He paused, then added: “I will educate you about the gods. The question is not whether they exist, but if we have any further need of them. Their fall began during our long journey, when they failed to come to our aid. As you have undoubtedly learned, Prefect, one cannot keep loyal servants if one neglects them. So the fault lies with them. Absent our bloody support, absent our solicitations and praises, what would