Clash of Fates, a Thrawn Dualogy : Part one
Bob DeFrank
DFRANC@Prodigy.Net
Catagory: The Rebellion
Keywords: Thrawn, Vergere, Vong, Anor
Spoilers: Vision of the Future, Vector Prime, Dark Tide: Ruin, Rogue Planet
Rating: PG-13, violence, nothing graphic, no sexual situations
Summary: While the Battle of Endor draws near, another confrontation just as
crucial to the future of the galaxy is taking place. Grand Admiral Thrawn and
the Yuuzhan Vong have become aware of one another, and a war for control of the
Unknown Regions has begun. Thrawn and the Executor wage this war in their own
way, but it will a lone Jedi Knight, a psychotic TIE fighter pilot and an
innocent native of a conquered planet who will decide the outcome.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned
by George Lucas, Timothy Zahn, Michael A, Stackpole, R.A. Salvatore and Greg
Bear. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Much of this story was written before Agents of Chaos: Hero's
Trial was published, as a result I have had only a vague idea of Vergere's
situation, appearance and personality. This means that I will have to alter the
forthcoming chapters of Part Two in order to return Vergere to where she is in
the beginning of Hero's Trial. I am confident that I can make it work, though,
since I had a similar crisis when writing Part One: I was in the middle of
writing Chapter Two when Rogue Planet was published, which gave me the idea of
putting Vergere in this story in the first place. Enjoy the story, and may the
Force be with you.
Prologue
The slaves were hard at work under the morning sunlight, tending the many fields
of yorrik coral where the Yuuzhan Vongs' creatures grew to maturity. The sight
pleased Sang Anor to no end. The Executor walked with long, easy strides along
the uneven ground, surveying the development of the many and diverse life forms
that grew around him, tailor-made to fit the needs of the Praetorite Vong. On
this small, obscure planet deep in what the beings of this galaxy called the
Unknown Regions a fleet was slowly being constructed, and when the waves of holy
warriors arrived at the Outer Rim to bring the superior ways of the Yuuzhan Vong
to the infidels they would find the human Empire in chaos and a strong foothold
already established. The worlds of this galaxy would be like to ripe villips
waiting to be plucked.
Like most Yuuzhan Vong warriors, Sang Anor was clothed in a loincloth only. The
Vong wore as little as possible when circumstances did not call for vonduun
shell armor or an ooglith cloaker, the better to reveal his masterpiece of
scars, tattoos and various other functional deformities that marked his exalted
status as the highest ranking Yuuzhan Vong in this galaxy.
That would change once the great jihad against the infidels began, when the Vong
forces questing here from across the vast space between galaxies arrived. So
they thought, at any rate. Sang Anor had his own plans, and they did not
include being subordinate to Domain Shai. Taking control of this world was the
first step in the Executer's plans: the armies of the Yuuzhan Vong would have a
secure foothold on this galaxy in the power base that was being grown here,
under Sang Anor's direction. He would be in a position to control the course of
the war and when, inevitably, the Yuuzhan Vong were victorious he would rule
this galaxy. In the name of the Overlord, of course.
That would be awhile in coming, though: the many worldships of the Praetorite
Vong were still a long way from these stars. It would be more than twenty years
before the first worldships reached the Outer Rim, no matter how hard the dovin
basals that were focused on these star clusters worked to propel the ships.
Sang Anor meant to be alive and powerful when they arrived, though, ready to
begin his true work.
But in the meanwhile he had problems nearer at hand to deal with. One of his
private pleasures, however, was stealing a few minutes to walk among the living
tools and weapons of his people, watching them grow stronger. He was
unaccompanied, armed only with a long-bladed coufee hanging at his side, and he
was out of sight of the nearest Overseer, but Sang Anor wasn't worried as he
passed a group of slaves searching for signs of infection or parasites in the
yorrik coral. The slaves had all been implanted with Obeyers, of course, at the
temples, joints and other power centers of the body and could no more raise a
hand against a Yuuzhan Vong than they could grow wings and fly. Besides, he
could easily hold his own against any five of this world's short, reptilian
natives.
Lean and broad-shouldered, Sang Anor towered head and shoulders over the tallest
of them. Before the Executer had selected this planet as a seed-world the
natives had been a primitive race, small tribes living in mud huts along the
marshes. Now both they and their world had been put to use in forwarding the
goals of the glorious Praetorite Vong. They should be grateful.
Topping a ridge, he came in sight of two Overseers who nodded respectfully and
continued their work. One reptile, an old one that could barely lift it's thick
tail, had collapsed while carrying a gourd of nutrients to feed the coral. The
Overseers kicked it a few times for spilling the feed and ordered it to rise.
The Obeyers inside the slave forced it to try, but the native was unable to get
to it's feet. It only lie there, breathing shallowly.
One of the Overseers took a step toward the prone slave. It had fallen near a
holding pit for infant amphistaffs. A younger reptile broke away from a group
of a half-dozen and ran to the old one's side as fast as the growths the Obeyers
caused in his knees would permit. It knelt beside the oldster and turned its
slitted eyes to the Overseers, babbling in the garbled Basic that many of the
slaves had learned from their new masters (they also knew better, by now, than
to ever dare to speak in the tongue of the Yuuzhan Vong). Sang Anor
recognized the words "wait" and "rest" in the sibilant pleadings.
The Overseer didn't dignify the slave with a verbal response, merely tapped the
head of the amphistaff that lay across his shoulders and coiled around his upper
arms. The trained serpent uncoiled, straightened and stiffened. Quick as a
snake himself, the Overseer lashed the slave, using the flat of the staff's tail
rather than the razor-sharp sides--no sense in wasting labor. The slave
scurried off and the Overseer put one bare foot on the worn-out slave and
shoved.
The reptile rolled into the holding-pit, and any sounds it might have made were
swallowed up with the screeching cries of the infant amphistaffs. Mature,
amphistaffs were intelligent and obedient, but the infants were savage,
untrainable and always hungry. They would leave nothing of the slave and it was
near their feeding time anyway. Sang Anor nodded in approval. Nothing went to
waste here.
The Executer heard the sound of bare feet on the beaten path between the coral
fields and turned as his son appeared around a growing coralskipper. Nom Anor
stopped at a respectful distance and dropped to his hands and knees, eyes
downcast, awaiting acknowledgment.
Nom Anor was a young Vong with little combat experience. He wore a long-sleeved
shirt woven of arach-threads. The garment was calf-length and slit on either
side to his waist, so as to conceal the disgusting smoothness of his body
without obstructing movement. The young Vong had nearly his father's height and
frame, but was still of the feenir level, the slang term translated as
"larva": minimal scars and no tattoos.
"Rise and speak." Sang Anor spoke coldly. Any familiarity between two Vong of
such vastly different stations would only dishonor them both. As the son of the
Executer, the only special treatment Nom Anor was entitled to was that everyone
expected three times as much from him than from the other feenir. Everyone
except Sang Anor himself, who expected five times as much from his son.
He longed to see Nom Anor as a battle scarred warrior, one he could embrace as
an equal. Of course, he let none of this show on his ruin of a face. It was
unwise to grow too attached to one's offspring: the feenir state was the
weeding-out phase, where the weak and stupid were culled. Whether Nom Anor
prospered or not was entirely up to him and the gods.
Nom Anor stood upright in single, fluid move, but he kept his head bowed to hide
the shameful symmetry of his face. Sang Anor, who's facial bones had been
broken and rebroken countless times, noted the perfectly disciplined stance with
approval. The feenir couldn't keep the flash of excitement from his eyes.
"Executor," he said respectfully, "Prefect Ke'Nass has returned with a prisoner
from the Imperial fleet."
Sang Anor's head snapped around, eyes blazing up. "Come!" Nom Anor following
in his wake, they loped across a coral field, their tough-soled, clawed feet
enabling them to find purchase on the rough surface. They soon arrived at the
living shell-structures that served as residences for Overseers and slaves. A
spaceport was not needed, as coralskippers required little in the way of
maintenance. There was a flattened area used as a landing field, though. Two
coralskippers were settled there now, being fed by attentive slaves, and between
the two beautiful, living ships...
Sang Anor's eyes narrowed at the telltale solar side panels and spherical
cockpit of a TIE fighter.
"Executor." The tall Vong at the edge of the field greeted Sang Anor. In full
armor, an amphistaff coiled around his arm, Prefect Ke'Nass looked every inch
the proud warrior. If his intelligence, or at least the good sense, matched his
ambition he would be formidable indeed. The Prefect was cunning enough when it
suited him and none could deny he had a fair amount of charisma. He was also
Sang Anor's most despised rival for power.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" Ke'Nass went on, indicating the fighter which Sang Anor
saw at a glance was no ordinary TIE. "The prisoner called it a TIE Advanced.
An improvement over the normal abominations. I didn't want the worldship
defiled by it so I had the vessel set down here."
"What is the meaning of this?" Sang Anor slowed to a walk, then stopped a few
paces from Ke'Nass. He didn't raise his voice, but the menacing undertone got
through the Prefect's dense skull. Ke'Nass' lips were twisted in a perpetual
smirk, but the mocking expression was in earnest.
"Information, Executor." The prisoner, a man in the uniform and masked helmet
of a TIE pilot, was kneeling beside the Prefect, his hands bound with blorash
jelly and an armored Vong warrior standing behind him. "Intelligence about the
Imperial fleet operating in this sector. My scouting group detected this lone
fighter and I saw an opportunity."
An opportunity to make a grab for personal glory, and perhaps revealing our
presence to that fleet. "You were instructed not to engage the infidels unless
you were detected."
"I prefer to strike at our enemies, not hide in the dirt like worms and hope the
machine-men don't notice us."
Sang Anor slowly flexed his hands, his hooked talons almost itching, and for a
second he seriously considered cracking open the Prefect's armor, turning him
inside out and feeding his guts to his own coralskipper. "And I prefer to have
my orders obeyed. Tell me, what did you learn that was worth your
disobedience?" Especially when the spies Sang Anor had dispatched were already
at work gathering information about the ships that were operating in this
supposedly unknown part of space. Ke'Nass' grand gesture was not only risky,
but useless as well.
The Prefect gestured briefly and the warrior behind the prisoner pulled off the
captive's helmet. Nom Anor, standing a half dozen paces away from the high
ranking Vong, drew a sharp breath as his eyes widened. Sang Anor, more
practiced at hiding his feelings, confined his surprise to a low hiss through
clenched teeth as he saw the pilot pale blue skin, black hair and the red eyes
that burned defiantly at all around him.
"Very melodramatic." Sang Anor said to cover his shock. "Is this a joke,
Prefect?" A Chiss? In an Imperial uniform and flying an Imperial fighter?
Impossible! Only humans were allowed in the Empire's military. "Or perhaps you
came across some pirates using stolen equipment. There are no aliens in the
Empire's fleet."
"So we thought," Ke'Nass shrugged, the spikes that studded his armored shoulders
seemed to bristle, "this pilot boasted otherwise when I spoke to him during our
transport back to this world. It seems the Imperials operating here have made
an alliance with the Chiss, which does not bode well for our work here remaining
undiscovered." The smirk twisted further to show the Prefect's sharpened fangs.
Sang Anor offered a thin smile in return. Ke'Nass would dearly love to see this
project fail: building a power base in the Unknown Regions was all Sang Anor's
idea, Sang Anor's "baby" as the infidel slang went. If he failed, then Ke'Nass
was the Prefect most likely to become the next Executor.
As for Sang Anor, a Yuuzhan Vong Executor cannot be demoted, he or she holds the
position for life. The issue was the way that life ended, whether in old age,
in battle, or at a summery execution, which would certainly be ordered as soon
as he communicated his failure to the villip sympathetic to the one held by the
Overlord.
And Ke'Nass will be Executor, and if we are discovered, the Empire made ready
for our assault in twenty years' time and we lose this galaxy, well, that is all
secondary isn't it? he though with contempt. "Well it seems you've brought
something interesting after all." He said pleasantly. Nothing his spies
wouldn't have found out anyway. "I will take over the interrogation, unless you
think you're more qualified for it as well?"
"By all means, Executer. This warrior will brief you." He turned and sauntered
away. The Vong behind the kneeling Chiss bowed.
"I am Saven Marn, Executor. I was flying a coralskipper on the patrol when the
Prefect detected this machine. In accordance with orders we disrupted the
machine's communications and moved to capture, not kill. Because of this the
machine was able to destroy two coralskippers before it was disabled."
"Impressive." Sang Anor turned to the kneeling pilot. The Chiss wore a look of
cold disdain, but the Executer could smell his fear. They had been speaking
the Yuuzhan Vong language all this time, now he switched to Basic. "What is
your name, Chiss, and why do you fly for the Emperor?"
The glowing eyes narrowed and he spoke in a complex, musical language. Sang
Anor was one of the few Yuuzhan Vong who could speak flawless Basic without the
aid of a tizowyrm, but the Chiss language was beyond him. He picked out a name,
"Mith'raw'nuruodo," because of the emphasis the pilot put on it, but that was
all.
He was impressed by the creature's defiance. Strong enemies offered the best
challenges, and it was so much more satisfying when they broke. His long arm
shot out, faster than the glowing eyes could follow, and gripped the pilot's
shoulder like a vise. Nom Anor started, by touching the Chiss, the Executer had
conferred a great honor on the infidel.
The glow in the alien's eyes flickered uncertainly as he was lifted upwards. He
maintained his dignity, but Sang Anor could feel him tremble as his booted feet
left the ground and he held him up, one handed, without trouble or tiring.
"Let's stop playing games." He brushed the pilot's face with his free hand, the
hooked talons a hair from breaking the skin. "If you are an Imperial pilot, it
follows that you speak Basic. So start speaking." He studied the Chiss with
eyes like spears of blue ice. "I've always wondered about you Chiss. Tell me,
do your eyes continue to glow after they've been dug out of their sockets?"
That did it. The pilot began to talk, and Sang Anor soon learned more than he
wanted to know.
Bob DeFrank
DFRANC@Prodigy.Net
Catagory: The Rebellion
Keywords: Thrawn, Vergere, Vong, Anor
Spoilers: Vision of the Future, Vector Prime, Dark Tide: Ruin, Rogue Planet
Rating: PG-13, violence, nothing graphic, no sexual situations
Summary: While the Battle of Endor draws near, another confrontation just as
crucial to the future of the galaxy is taking place. Grand Admiral Thrawn and
the Yuuzhan Vong have become aware of one another, and a war for control of the
Unknown Regions has begun. Thrawn and the Executor wage this war in their own
way, but it will a lone Jedi Knight, a psychotic TIE fighter pilot and an
innocent native of a conquered planet who will decide the outcome.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned
by George Lucas, Timothy Zahn, Michael A, Stackpole, R.A. Salvatore and Greg
Bear. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Much of this story was written before Agents of Chaos: Hero's
Trial was published, as a result I have had only a vague idea of Vergere's
situation, appearance and personality. This means that I will have to alter the
forthcoming chapters of Part Two in order to return Vergere to where she is in
the beginning of Hero's Trial. I am confident that I can make it work, though,
since I had a similar crisis when writing Part One: I was in the middle of
writing Chapter Two when Rogue Planet was published, which gave me the idea of
putting Vergere in this story in the first place. Enjoy the story, and may the
Force be with you.
Prologue
The slaves were hard at work under the morning sunlight, tending the many fields
of yorrik coral where the Yuuzhan Vongs' creatures grew to maturity. The sight
pleased Sang Anor to no end. The Executor walked with long, easy strides along
the uneven ground, surveying the development of the many and diverse life forms
that grew around him, tailor-made to fit the needs of the Praetorite Vong. On
this small, obscure planet deep in what the beings of this galaxy called the
Unknown Regions a fleet was slowly being constructed, and when the waves of holy
warriors arrived at the Outer Rim to bring the superior ways of the Yuuzhan Vong
to the infidels they would find the human Empire in chaos and a strong foothold
already established. The worlds of this galaxy would be like to ripe villips
waiting to be plucked.
Like most Yuuzhan Vong warriors, Sang Anor was clothed in a loincloth only. The
Vong wore as little as possible when circumstances did not call for vonduun
shell armor or an ooglith cloaker, the better to reveal his masterpiece of
scars, tattoos and various other functional deformities that marked his exalted
status as the highest ranking Yuuzhan Vong in this galaxy.
That would change once the great jihad against the infidels began, when the Vong
forces questing here from across the vast space between galaxies arrived. So
they thought, at any rate. Sang Anor had his own plans, and they did not
include being subordinate to Domain Shai. Taking control of this world was the
first step in the Executer's plans: the armies of the Yuuzhan Vong would have a
secure foothold on this galaxy in the power base that was being grown here,
under Sang Anor's direction. He would be in a position to control the course of
the war and when, inevitably, the Yuuzhan Vong were victorious he would rule
this galaxy. In the name of the Overlord, of course.
That would be awhile in coming, though: the many worldships of the Praetorite
Vong were still a long way from these stars. It would be more than twenty years
before the first worldships reached the Outer Rim, no matter how hard the dovin
basals that were focused on these star clusters worked to propel the ships.
Sang Anor meant to be alive and powerful when they arrived, though, ready to
begin his true work.
But in the meanwhile he had problems nearer at hand to deal with. One of his
private pleasures, however, was stealing a few minutes to walk among the living
tools and weapons of his people, watching them grow stronger. He was
unaccompanied, armed only with a long-bladed coufee hanging at his side, and he
was out of sight of the nearest Overseer, but Sang Anor wasn't worried as he
passed a group of slaves searching for signs of infection or parasites in the
yorrik coral. The slaves had all been implanted with Obeyers, of course, at the
temples, joints and other power centers of the body and could no more raise a
hand against a Yuuzhan Vong than they could grow wings and fly. Besides, he
could easily hold his own against any five of this world's short, reptilian
natives.
Lean and broad-shouldered, Sang Anor towered head and shoulders over the tallest
of them. Before the Executer had selected this planet as a seed-world the
natives had been a primitive race, small tribes living in mud huts along the
marshes. Now both they and their world had been put to use in forwarding the
goals of the glorious Praetorite Vong. They should be grateful.
Topping a ridge, he came in sight of two Overseers who nodded respectfully and
continued their work. One reptile, an old one that could barely lift it's thick
tail, had collapsed while carrying a gourd of nutrients to feed the coral. The
Overseers kicked it a few times for spilling the feed and ordered it to rise.
The Obeyers inside the slave forced it to try, but the native was unable to get
to it's feet. It only lie there, breathing shallowly.
One of the Overseers took a step toward the prone slave. It had fallen near a
holding pit for infant amphistaffs. A younger reptile broke away from a group
of a half-dozen and ran to the old one's side as fast as the growths the Obeyers
caused in his knees would permit. It knelt beside the oldster and turned its
slitted eyes to the Overseers, babbling in the garbled Basic that many of the
slaves had learned from their new masters (they also knew better, by now, than
to ever dare to speak in the tongue of the Yuuzhan Vong). Sang Anor
recognized the words "wait" and "rest" in the sibilant pleadings.
The Overseer didn't dignify the slave with a verbal response, merely tapped the
head of the amphistaff that lay across his shoulders and coiled around his upper
arms. The trained serpent uncoiled, straightened and stiffened. Quick as a
snake himself, the Overseer lashed the slave, using the flat of the staff's tail
rather than the razor-sharp sides--no sense in wasting labor. The slave
scurried off and the Overseer put one bare foot on the worn-out slave and
shoved.
The reptile rolled into the holding-pit, and any sounds it might have made were
swallowed up with the screeching cries of the infant amphistaffs. Mature,
amphistaffs were intelligent and obedient, but the infants were savage,
untrainable and always hungry. They would leave nothing of the slave and it was
near their feeding time anyway. Sang Anor nodded in approval. Nothing went to
waste here.
The Executer heard the sound of bare feet on the beaten path between the coral
fields and turned as his son appeared around a growing coralskipper. Nom Anor
stopped at a respectful distance and dropped to his hands and knees, eyes
downcast, awaiting acknowledgment.
Nom Anor was a young Vong with little combat experience. He wore a long-sleeved
shirt woven of arach-threads. The garment was calf-length and slit on either
side to his waist, so as to conceal the disgusting smoothness of his body
without obstructing movement. The young Vong had nearly his father's height and
frame, but was still of the feenir level, the slang term translated as
"larva": minimal scars and no tattoos.
"Rise and speak." Sang Anor spoke coldly. Any familiarity between two Vong of
such vastly different stations would only dishonor them both. As the son of the
Executer, the only special treatment Nom Anor was entitled to was that everyone
expected three times as much from him than from the other feenir. Everyone
except Sang Anor himself, who expected five times as much from his son.
He longed to see Nom Anor as a battle scarred warrior, one he could embrace as
an equal. Of course, he let none of this show on his ruin of a face. It was
unwise to grow too attached to one's offspring: the feenir state was the
weeding-out phase, where the weak and stupid were culled. Whether Nom Anor
prospered or not was entirely up to him and the gods.
Nom Anor stood upright in single, fluid move, but he kept his head bowed to hide
the shameful symmetry of his face. Sang Anor, who's facial bones had been
broken and rebroken countless times, noted the perfectly disciplined stance with
approval. The feenir couldn't keep the flash of excitement from his eyes.
"Executor," he said respectfully, "Prefect Ke'Nass has returned with a prisoner
from the Imperial fleet."
Sang Anor's head snapped around, eyes blazing up. "Come!" Nom Anor following
in his wake, they loped across a coral field, their tough-soled, clawed feet
enabling them to find purchase on the rough surface. They soon arrived at the
living shell-structures that served as residences for Overseers and slaves. A
spaceport was not needed, as coralskippers required little in the way of
maintenance. There was a flattened area used as a landing field, though. Two
coralskippers were settled there now, being fed by attentive slaves, and between
the two beautiful, living ships...
Sang Anor's eyes narrowed at the telltale solar side panels and spherical
cockpit of a TIE fighter.
"Executor." The tall Vong at the edge of the field greeted Sang Anor. In full
armor, an amphistaff coiled around his arm, Prefect Ke'Nass looked every inch
the proud warrior. If his intelligence, or at least the good sense, matched his
ambition he would be formidable indeed. The Prefect was cunning enough when it
suited him and none could deny he had a fair amount of charisma. He was also
Sang Anor's most despised rival for power.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" Ke'Nass went on, indicating the fighter which Sang Anor
saw at a glance was no ordinary TIE. "The prisoner called it a TIE Advanced.
An improvement over the normal abominations. I didn't want the worldship
defiled by it so I had the vessel set down here."
"What is the meaning of this?" Sang Anor slowed to a walk, then stopped a few
paces from Ke'Nass. He didn't raise his voice, but the menacing undertone got
through the Prefect's dense skull. Ke'Nass' lips were twisted in a perpetual
smirk, but the mocking expression was in earnest.
"Information, Executor." The prisoner, a man in the uniform and masked helmet
of a TIE pilot, was kneeling beside the Prefect, his hands bound with blorash
jelly and an armored Vong warrior standing behind him. "Intelligence about the
Imperial fleet operating in this sector. My scouting group detected this lone
fighter and I saw an opportunity."
An opportunity to make a grab for personal glory, and perhaps revealing our
presence to that fleet. "You were instructed not to engage the infidels unless
you were detected."
"I prefer to strike at our enemies, not hide in the dirt like worms and hope the
machine-men don't notice us."
Sang Anor slowly flexed his hands, his hooked talons almost itching, and for a
second he seriously considered cracking open the Prefect's armor, turning him
inside out and feeding his guts to his own coralskipper. "And I prefer to have
my orders obeyed. Tell me, what did you learn that was worth your
disobedience?" Especially when the spies Sang Anor had dispatched were already
at work gathering information about the ships that were operating in this
supposedly unknown part of space. Ke'Nass' grand gesture was not only risky,
but useless as well.
The Prefect gestured briefly and the warrior behind the prisoner pulled off the
captive's helmet. Nom Anor, standing a half dozen paces away from the high
ranking Vong, drew a sharp breath as his eyes widened. Sang Anor, more
practiced at hiding his feelings, confined his surprise to a low hiss through
clenched teeth as he saw the pilot pale blue skin, black hair and the red eyes
that burned defiantly at all around him.
"Very melodramatic." Sang Anor said to cover his shock. "Is this a joke,
Prefect?" A Chiss? In an Imperial uniform and flying an Imperial fighter?
Impossible! Only humans were allowed in the Empire's military. "Or perhaps you
came across some pirates using stolen equipment. There are no aliens in the
Empire's fleet."
"So we thought," Ke'Nass shrugged, the spikes that studded his armored shoulders
seemed to bristle, "this pilot boasted otherwise when I spoke to him during our
transport back to this world. It seems the Imperials operating here have made
an alliance with the Chiss, which does not bode well for our work here remaining
undiscovered." The smirk twisted further to show the Prefect's sharpened fangs.
Sang Anor offered a thin smile in return. Ke'Nass would dearly love to see this
project fail: building a power base in the Unknown Regions was all Sang Anor's
idea, Sang Anor's "baby" as the infidel slang went. If he failed, then Ke'Nass
was the Prefect most likely to become the next Executor.
As for Sang Anor, a Yuuzhan Vong Executor cannot be demoted, he or she holds the
position for life. The issue was the way that life ended, whether in old age,
in battle, or at a summery execution, which would certainly be ordered as soon
as he communicated his failure to the villip sympathetic to the one held by the
Overlord.
And Ke'Nass will be Executor, and if we are discovered, the Empire made ready
for our assault in twenty years' time and we lose this galaxy, well, that is all
secondary isn't it? he though with contempt. "Well it seems you've brought
something interesting after all." He said pleasantly. Nothing his spies
wouldn't have found out anyway. "I will take over the interrogation, unless you
think you're more qualified for it as well?"
"By all means, Executer. This warrior will brief you." He turned and sauntered
away. The Vong behind the kneeling Chiss bowed.
"I am Saven Marn, Executor. I was flying a coralskipper on the patrol when the
Prefect detected this machine. In accordance with orders we disrupted the
machine's communications and moved to capture, not kill. Because of this the
machine was able to destroy two coralskippers before it was disabled."
"Impressive." Sang Anor turned to the kneeling pilot. The Chiss wore a look of
cold disdain, but the Executer could smell his fear. They had been speaking
the Yuuzhan Vong language all this time, now he switched to Basic. "What is
your name, Chiss, and why do you fly for the Emperor?"
The glowing eyes narrowed and he spoke in a complex, musical language. Sang
Anor was one of the few Yuuzhan Vong who could speak flawless Basic without the
aid of a tizowyrm, but the Chiss language was beyond him. He picked out a name,
"Mith'raw'nuruodo," because of the emphasis the pilot put on it, but that was
all.
He was impressed by the creature's defiance. Strong enemies offered the best
challenges, and it was so much more satisfying when they broke. His long arm
shot out, faster than the glowing eyes could follow, and gripped the pilot's
shoulder like a vise. Nom Anor started, by touching the Chiss, the Executer had
conferred a great honor on the infidel.
The glow in the alien's eyes flickered uncertainly as he was lifted upwards. He
maintained his dignity, but Sang Anor could feel him tremble as his booted feet
left the ground and he held him up, one handed, without trouble or tiring.
"Let's stop playing games." He brushed the pilot's face with his free hand, the
hooked talons a hair from breaking the skin. "If you are an Imperial pilot, it
follows that you speak Basic. So start speaking." He studied the Chiss with
eyes like spears of blue ice. "I've always wondered about you Chiss. Tell me,
do your eyes continue to glow after they've been dug out of their sockets?"
That did it. The pilot began to talk, and Sang Anor soon learned more than he
wanted to know.