CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 7 page

"You want kill him?" Quano asked, his voice rising excitedly.

"That is a possibility," she answered, giving him a warm smile. That, or make him my apprentice:assuming he doesn't kill me. "But I've got to find him first."

"Him no here no more. Him go two days ago. Leave Doan."

"He came here looking for something, didn't he?"

Quano nodded. "Stuff miner dig up. Him take it. Kill miners. That when Quano escape."

"And you've been hiding ever since," Zannah guessed. "So why did you come back to the cantina?"

The Rodian hesitated, his bug eyes darting nervously between Zannah's face and the small wrist-mounted blaster peeking out from beneath the sleeve of her cloak.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Quano," she promised. "I'm not like him," He enjoys hurting people. I only hurt people if I see some way to profit from their suffering. "I don't think he's coming back." Not if he's got the talismans. "But I need to know something else, Quano. When that man left Doan, where did he go?"

She saw the Rodian flinch before answering. "Quano not know. For trueness."

"I believe you," she said, reaching out to gently pat his hand. "But I bet you know people who could help me find out, don't you?"

The bartender shifted uncomfortably, but another gentle push with the Force overcame his reluctance. "Quano has friend at spaceport. Him maybe find out."

"Can we go see him?"

"You want go now?"

Zannah smiled again, knowing it would help sustain the rapport she had established. "You can grab your credits from the safe first, if you want."

It was a two-kilometer walk from Quano's cantina to the nearest ground-shuttle station, a fifteen-minute wait for the shuttle to arrive, and then a forty-minute ride before they reached the spaceport. By the time they arrived it was well past midnight, and the Doan spaceport-never busy even during peak hours-was empty except for a few individuals assigned to work the graveyard shift.

Unlike the highly regulated ports on Ciutric, the authorities at the Doan docks didn't bother doing any registration checks on incoming vessels. In fact, their only job seemed to be collecting the landing fee.

"Your friend," Zannah asked as she and Quano walked into the unstaffed gate, "what does he do here?"

"Cleaning crew," the Rodian answered.

Zannah wasn't quite sure how a janitor was going to be able to help her track down a ship that had left nearly two days ago, but she held her tongue as he led her into the arrival/departure area then out to the landing pad at the back.

The pad was small, barely large enough to accommodate a dozen midsized passenger shuttles. The vast majority of Doan's interstellar traffic was made up of either the personal vessels of the wealthy nobles, who all docked at private landing pads on their estates, or cargo vessels affiliated with the mining operations, which were handled at a different location. Individuals landing here at the communal spaceport were few and far between.

The landing pad was poorly lit by a handful of floodlights set on tall lamp posts, but even so Zannah could clearly see there were only three ships on site, one of which was her own shuttle. Half hidden in the shadows near the edge of the landing pad was a young man slumped backward in a chair. He wore a crumpled custodian's uniform and an ID badge, his arms hung limp at his sides, and he was snoring loudly.

Quano walked over and kicked the leg of his chair, startling him out of his sleep.

"Pommat. Get up."

Looking around with the bemused expression of one only half awake, the young man shifted his position and sat up straighter in his chair. When his gaze settled on Zannah, his eyebrows arched suggestively.

"Hey, Quano. Who's your pretty friend?"

"My name is not important," Zannah said, speaking before the Rodian could reply. "I was told you could help me track down a ship that passed through here two days ago."

When the man looked at Quano, the Rodian said, "Is okay. She nice. She friend."

The young man turned back to Zannah, crossing his arms and giving a derisive snort. "Yeah, right. A friend who won't tell you her name." She could sense that his will was stronger than the bartender's, but still malleable. The fact that Pommat obviously found her attractive would help, too, if she was willing to flirt with him a little.

"I'm a friend who has credits," she replied coyly. "If you have what I need."

The man bobbed his head back and forth a few times before uncrossing his arms and running his fingers through his shaggy, sleep-ruffled hair.

Zannah arched one eyebrow playfully and reached out with the Force. "Come on, Pommat. I'm not looking for the strong, silent type."

"Yeah, all right," he relented. "Maybe I can help. What do you need?"

"A few days ago a man with long white hair arrived on Doan. Did he come through this port?"

She already knew the answer: unless the man had some connection to one of the noble families, this was the only port for a thousand kilometers. But a basic tactic in negotiations was to get the other person to start giving you affirmative answers to simple questions. It made them more likely to agree with you on more important matters later on.

"Oh, yeah. I remember him. Nice ride. State-of-the-art shuttle. Custom interior. Top of the line. Even nicer than yours."

"How would you know what the interior of my shuttle is like?" Zannah asked suspiciously.

There was a brief pause, then both Quano and Pommat burst out laughing.

"Him smuggler," the Rodian explained when he caught his breath.

"Not exactly," Pommat clarified. "It's just a little side racket I've set up. Something to help pay the bills, you know?"

"No," Zannah said darkly. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me."

"Whoa, you got a little fire in you, doll," Pommat said appreciatively. "Let me break it down for you. At night, I'm the only one working here. I can pretty much do anything I want. Including breaking into somebody's shuttle."

"You're not worried about security systems?"

"Never ran across one I couldn't slice," he said, puffing out his chest. "It's one of my many talents. Maybe if you're lucky, I'll show some of the others later on."

"So you break into people's shuttles and steal from them?" Zannah clarified, ignoring his clumsy come-on.

"Nah. That'd be stupid. People would notice if stuff was missing. They'd report it to my boss. Wouldn't take long to figure out who was behind it."

"So what do you do, exactly?"

"You're going to love this," Pommat said with a sly wink. "Once I'm inside, I slice into their nav computer and download all the info onto a datapad. It gives me everything: the owner, any planets the ship is registered with, commonly plotted hyperspace routes. I know who owns it, where they've been, and which world they use as a home port."

"Clever," Zannah admitted. "But what use is that?"

"This is where it gets good," he promised, obviously pleased with himself. "I've got an arrangement with a guy on Kessel. Every month he sends me a shipment of glitterstim."

Glitterstim, or spice, was a powerfully addictive drug banned on most worlds. Doan, however, had no laws against importing it. And nobody at the spaceports to enforce the laws, even if they did exist, Zannah silently noted.

"I don't sell the spice here," Pommat continued. "Nobody has any money except the nobles. And they won't deal with the lower classes. But I've got contacts at the spaceports on a bunch of other worlds here on the Outer Rim.

"So let's say I slice into a ship's nav computer and I find out it's from Aralia. I reach out to my contact on that world, and I see if he wants me to send him a shipment. After we work out a price, I sneak onto the vessel while the owner's not around and I hide a stash of spice somewhere on board.

"I tell my contact where I hid it, give him the ship's registration, and he tells one of his buddies at the spaceport to let him know when it returns to Aralia. Then he waits until the coast is clear, sneaks on board, takes the stash, and transfers the credits into my account back here on Doan. The owner never has a clue!"

"Spice smuggling is a capital offense on Aralia," Zannah remarked.

"That's the best part. If the customs officials ever decide to search one of these ships, the owner goes down for the crime, not us. It's foolproof!"

The whole operation seemed rather petty and ill thought out to Zannah. She wasn't bothered by the fact that Pommat was willing to have innocent people suffer horrible fates just so he could make a handful of credits from time to time. What bothered her were the technical details. The operation had obviously been thrown together out of simple opportunity, but it struck her as inefficient and unreliable. But she wasn't about to ruin the rapport she had established by saying so out loud. "I didn't realize I was dealing with a criminal mastermind," she teased, bringing a cocky grin to Pommat's face. "So when the white-haired man left, you snuck onto his ship and copied everything from his nav computer?"

"Got it all right here on my datapad," Pommat replied, patting his hip pocket.

"So you know his name? You know where he's from?"

"I do:but it's going to cost you."

Zannah smiled, and tilted her head in acknowledgment. "Of course. Name your price."

"Go big," the Rodian chimed in. "Remember, Quano get half."

Pommat shot his friend a disapproving look before stammering out his opening offer. "Uh:four hundred credits?"

She was in no mood to negotiate. "Deal." From the crestfallen expression on the smuggler's face, she knew he was suddenly wishing he had asked for a lot more.

Reaching into her cloak, she produced four hundred-credit chips and handed them over to the young man. "Start talking."

"Ship's registered to someone named Zun Haake," Pommat answered glumly as he flipped two of the chips to Quano and slipped the remaining pair into his pocket.

"Haake's a Neimoidian name," Zannah pointed out. "The man I'm looking for is human."

Pommat shrugged. "Maybe the shuttle's stolen."

"I'm starting to think this information isn't worth what I paid for it."

"The registered owner might be fake, but the nav data's real," the young man assured her. "That ship came from Nal Hutta."

"You're certain?"

"No doubt about it."

"Just out of curiosity," Zannah asked, "is he carrying a shipment for you?"

"No," he replied, almost regretfully. "I don't do any business there. The Hutts don't like small-timers cutting in on their action, you know?"

"Probably a wise decision." Quano barked out a laugh.

"What about my ship?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "Any hidden surprises on board?"

"Nah. You're the first ship that ever came here from Ciutric," Pommat replied. "I don't have any contacts back on your world.

"Unless you're interested in establishing a more long-term relationship?" he added, leering at her.

Zannah answered by whipping out her lightsaber handle and igniting the red three-quarter-length blades protruding from each end. She moved with the blinding speed of the Force, her first vicious slash severing Pommat's outstretched arm at the elbow and carving a lethal furrow across his chest while the second cleanly removed Quano's head from his body. Both were dead before they even had a chance to register an expression of surprise.

The deed done, she shut off her weapon, the twin blades disappearing with a low-pitched hum. She didn't kill without reason, but once Pommat revealed that he knew she was from Ciutric she had no choice but to eliminate both him and Quano. The Jedi might still come to investigate Medd's death, and she couldn't risk having them trace the shuttle back to her and Bane's estate. She didn't like loose ends.

Crouching down, she removed the datapad from Pommat's pocket, along with the credit chips she had given him. Then she did the same with Quano before loading the bodies, along with the dismembered bits, onto a nearby hoversled used to move heavy baggage around the spaceport. If any Jedi did come snooping around she didn't want to leave any signs that someone with a lightsaber had killed the two men.

Loading the corpses onto her shuttle, she took a last look around to make sure she hadn't left any witnesses behind. Satisfied, she made her way to the cockpit to prepare for liftoff.

The remains of her victims could be jettisoned into Doan's sun just before she made the jump to hyperspace, leaving behind no physical evidence that could connect her to the world. After that, it was off to Nal Hutta, though whether she was going to eliminate a rival or recruit an apprentice, Zannah couldn't say for sure.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A soft beep from the console alerted Bane that the Triumph was at last approaching its final destination.

The journey to Prakith had taken longer than he had anticipated. Travel into the Deep Core was always dangerous; the densely packed stars and black holes at the galaxy's heart created gravity wells capable of warping the space-time continuum. Under such extreme conditions, hyperspace lanes were unstable, shifting or even collapsing without warning.

The last known route to Prakith had collapsed nearly five hundred years ago, and nobody had bothered to plot a new one since. This happened frequently with worlds in the Deep Core: if they weren't rich in resources or mineral deposits, the dangers of trying to find new hyperspace lanes simply didn't justify the effort.

In the centuries since the collapse of the hyperlanes, Prakith had basically been forgotten by the rest of the Republic. Even travel from nearby systems was risky, and Bane expected to find a planet that had stagnated after being cut off from the rest of society. Interplanetary trade was the lifeblood of galactic culture; without it populations dwindled and technology levels tended to regress to varying degrees.

Prakith's isolation had also allowed the Jedi to effectively purge all mentions of Darth Andeddu and his followers from galactic records, though Prakith itself was still mentioned in a handful of older sources. Bane had compiled all the known sources, including several hopelessly out-of-date navigational charts, in the hope of relocating the lost world.

It wasn't impossible to travel through unmapped hyperlanes, but it was both slow and dangerous. Bane was forced to plot and replot his course multiple times, making hundreds of small jumps, moving from one star to its nearby neighbors, picking and choosing from a list of potential hyperspace routes generated by the Triumph's state-of-the-art nav computer.

Despite being the best program credits could buy, the computer was far from foolproof. It operated on probabilities and theoretical assumptions derived from previously reported data and complex astrogational measurements made on the fly. There was no way to predict the stability or inherent safety of a given route until a ship charted it by going through; as a result each stage of the journey had the potential to end in disaster.

Traveling through uncharted space was more art than science, and Bane relied as much on his instincts as the mathematical calculations of the nav computer. By sticking to shorter jumps he prolonged the journey, but he was able to minimize the risk of the Triumph being torn apart by an unexpected gravity well or being crushed out of existence by a collapsing hyperlane.

This wasn't the first time he had braved the perils of the Deep Core. Ten years ago he had traveled to the lost world of Tython to reclaim the Holocron of Belia Darzu. The fact that he was now going to Prakith to retrieve another Holocron-this one created by Darth Andeddu-didn't strike him as mere coincidence, however.

What the ignorant dismissed as chance or random luck was often the work of the Force. Some chose to call it destiny or fate, though these terms were far too simple to convey the subtle yet far-reaching influence it wielded. The Force was alive; it permeated the very fabric of the universe, flowing through every living creature. An energy that touched and influenced all living things, its currents-both light and dark-ebbed and flowed, shaping the patterns of existence.

Bane had spent a lifetime studying these patterns, and he had come to realize that they could be manipulated and exploited. He had come to understand that as the power of the dark side waned, the talismans created by the ancient Sith tended to become lost. But in time the cycle would turn, and as the power of the dark side waxed full the chance for these lost treasures to be found again would bubble up to the surface. During these windows of opportunity, all that was required was an individual with the wisdom to recognize them and the strength to take action.

Bane had mastered these talents, yet he was unsure if he could say the same of his apprentice. Zannah was smart and cunning, and her powers in the dark side might be even greater than his own. But did she have the vision to guide the Sith through the invisible tides of history as they rose and fell?

He wondered how her investigation on Doan was progressing. He had hoped to return to Ciutric before her, but he had underestimated the difficulty of navigating through the Core. By the time he got back, it was likely she would already be there waiting for him. She would realize he had sent her away as a distraction, and she would be expecting betrayal on his return. The confrontation he had been anticipating would finally come to pass.

The nav console beeped again, and the view outside the cockpit changed from the blinding white field of hyperspace to reveal the Prak system: a small red sun surrounded by five tiny planets. Taking manual control of his vessel, Bane descended on the third-a forbidding world largely covered by active volcanoes, burning lakes of magma, and dark fields of sulfuric ash.

As he entered the atmosphere, the scanners picked up several small cities scattered across the inhospitable surface. The nearest was several hundred kilometers to the north, but Bane turned his ship in the opposite direction, heading for the vast mountain range that ran east-west along the planet's equator.

He didn't know whether Andeddu's cult still existed or not, but from the moment he had come out of hyperspace he had been confident their stronghold still survived. He could feel its presence on the surface of the world-a nexus of dark side energy pulsing like a beacon from the heart of the mountains.

As he drew closer, the ship detected a small settlement on the edge of the range. Surprisingly, an automated landing beacon was emitting a signal on standard channels. That meant there was still an active spaceport, though it was probably used by shuttles traveling from one location on the planet's surface to another, rather than visitors from offworld.

Bane's theory was confirmed when he brought his shuttle in to touch down at the small landing pad on the edge of the settlement. The only other person on site was an old man sitting in a chair outside a small, dilapidated customs booth. He watched curiously as Bane emerged from the ship, but made no effort to rise.

"Don't see too many visitors lately," he said as Bane approached. "You from Gallia?"

From his research, Bane knew that Gallia was one of Prakith's larger cities. The man was assuming he was a native of Prakith; the idea that someone from outside their system would come to visit obviously hadn't even crossed his mind.

"That's right," Bane said, seeing no reason to complicate the situation by revealing the truth. "I flew in from Gallia. I'm looking for information on Darth Andeddu's followers."

The man leaned forward in his chair and spat on the ground. "We don't like to talk about them." He fixed Bane with a suspicious stare, spat again, then sat back in his chair and crossed his arms defiantly. "I got nothing else to say to you. Go back to Gallia. You aren't welcome here."

Bane could have pressed the issue, but he saw no benefit in intimidating or torturing an insignificant, irritable old man. Instead, he turned away and began walking in the direction of the buildings on the horizon. He was confident that someone there would be willing to tell him what he wanted to know.

* * *

A few hours later Bane was back in his shuttle, armed with the information he needed. Despite the old man's declaration, he'd found people were only too eager to share what they knew about the strange, insular cult deep in the neighboring mountains.

It was clear that Andeddu's followers were still active; occasionally some of them even came into the small town in need of supplies. It was also clear that the people in the mountain village regarded their mysterious neighbors with a combination of fear and loathing. Estimates of their numbers ranged from a few dozen to more than a thousand, though Bane suspected the truth was somewhere closer to the low end. Beyond that, everything else fell under the headings of wild speculation or illogical superstition.

Drawn by the unmistakable power of the dark side emanating from his target, Bane dropped the Triumph lower and began to weave in among the tall black peaks. As he flew deeper into the range, he began to notice increased signs of recent seismic activity. Some of the mountains were over twenty kilometers tall but most were half that height, their tops blown off when the molten lava at their core erupted in a shower of smoke and fire.

It wasn't long before the stronghold itself came into view, a towering structure built on the flat plain of a valley hidden deep within the heart of the range. A four-sided, flat-topped pyramid chiseled from black obsidian, the two-hundred-meter tall building was part fortress and part monument to a self-proclaimed god. From the stories of the townspeople, Bane had learned that Andeddu had been worshiped as a deity during his long, long life before being overthrown. Yet even after his betrayal and death, a small cult of devoted followers believed his spirit still existed. They had continued their loyal service, preparing themselves for the day their Master would return.

Prakith's long isolation from the rest of the galaxy had only served to strengthen his followers' resolve. Those who lived in the temple now were described by everyone he spoke to as fanatics, and Bane suspected each would be willing to sacrifice his or her life to protect Andeddu's Holocron.

Bane throttled back his shuttle, searching for a place to touch down. Ribbons of lava crawled down from the surrounding peaks and crisscrossed their way across the valley. The malevolent power emanating from the stronghold kept the deadly streams at bay, but any landing site he chose on the ground would be at risk. He had no intention of acquiring the Holocron, only to return and discover that his ship had disappeared beneath a slow-flowing river of magma.

There was one option: the flat top of the stronghold, no doubt constructed in the first place as a landing site. He would have preferred not to risk alerting anyone inside the pyramid by landing on it, but it seemed he had no choice. There was a time for subtlety, and a time for strength. He circled the pyramid once, then brought the shuttle in for a perfect landing on the landing pad.

Moving quickly, he sprang from the cockpit and raced outside, lightsaber already drawn. Through the Force, he could sense the chambers in the building beneath his feet explode in a flurry of activity as the cultists rallied to meet the unexpected intruder.

He glanced quickly around, taking stock of his surroundings. The roof was square, thirty meters across on each side, with a small hatch built into one corner. At that moment, the hatch burst open and beings he assumed were cultists began to pour out-nearly two dozen in total, all armed with vibroblades and clubs.

Despite their numbers, Bane instantly realized they posed no real threat. Though they worshiped one of the ancient Sith, these were ordinary men and women. The Force did not flow through their veins; they were nothing but fodder. Their fury might be fueled by the dark side energies emanating from the temple, but Bane could just as easily draw upon the same power, letting it build until he unleashed it against his foes.

A decade earlier he would have eagerly engaged them in physical combat, his body pumped full of adrenaline released by the orbalisks that had covered his flesh. Swept up in a mindless rage, he would have carved a bloody swath through their numbers, hacking and slashing at his helpless enemies while relying on the impenetrable shells of the orbalisks to protect him from their blows.

But the orbalisks were gone now. He was no longer invulnerable to physical attacks, yet he was also no longer a slave to the primal bloodlust that used to overwhelm him. Free from the parasitic infestation, he was able to dispatch his enemies using the Force rather than relying solely on brute strength. Bane extinguished his weapon and stood perfectly still, allowing the swarming horde to close in on him as he gathered his strength. He called upon the power of the temple itself, feeding on it to bolster his own abilities as he created a deadly field around his body. It began as a tight circle, but quickly spread outward until it extended to a radius of ten meters, with the Sith Lord at the center. The air within the circumference of the field suddenly became darker, as if the light from the red sun above had been suddenly dimmed.

Cloaked in the shadowy gloom, Bane simply held his ground against the enemy assault. The front ranks of onrushing cultists shrieked in agony as they entered the field, their life essence violently sucked out of their bodies, aging them a thousand years in only a few seconds. Muscles and tendons atrophied instantaneously; their skin withered and shrank, pulling tight across their bones. Eyes and tongues shriveled, turning them into mummified husks before their desiccated flesh crumbled away, leaving only skeletal remains and a few strands of hair.

The effort of creating an aura of pure dark side energy would have quickly exhausted even Bane. However, as his enemies fell he was able to draw their essence into himself, feeding on their energies to revitalize his fading strength and reinforcing the field in preparation for the next wave of victims.

The mass of cultists continued to charge forward. Those in the middle ranks had seen the fate of their companions and tried desperately to stop. But the momentum of those behind swept them forward into the field to suffer the same agonizing death as those who had already fallen.

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 672