Symmetry and Imperfection

Part 17

~

Imperial destroyers dropped out of hyperspace nearly on top of him and Perran Jasc had no choice but to decamp from his orbit around the fifth planet. The moonlet that he taken refuge on was a cookie-dough composite of ice and rock, allowing his ship to shed heat and thus avoid detection. Otherwise, he certainly would have been caught.

He sensed Palpatine's abomination with the group and cursed. Between the wretched witch-spawn, the Sith, the turmoil on Kal Madedo and the military might in the system, his men were being drawn and quartered. In one day, due to his granddaughter alone, he had lost six men. Four ran afoul of the Imperial blockades at various outbound jump points. Seven more were dead due to causes unknown; but if Perran had to place bets, he'd lay his money on bounty hunters.

Closing his eyes, he dropped into a light trance. What he sensed made him clench his jaw until it cramped; the ranks had been decimated.

Where he had once had over a hundred warriors, there were now less than sixty and some few of those were so far away it would take weeks to get to them. Kal Madedo was a killing ground, now, with half of his remaining strength concentrated there and little hope that they would be able to fight their way free.

Abhaia. Witch-child, your life is mine for this.

As if thought had conjured her, Abhaia's aura in the Force bloomed with unexpected ferocity. Perran could almost see the flash of lightsabers, smell the ozone of burnt rock.

He felt the death of another man, Nalarn. Shallow cut just above the tailbone, followed by

Perran clutched at his neck, eyes wide.

::: Grandfather, you stayed. I thought you would be gone in a flash once you figured out what was happening. An old acquaintance of yours contacted me and offered to teach me some new tricks, but it seems that your cadre have other ideas. ::: The thought was gleeful and Abhaia's voice was as clear as if he stood next to her. ::: I hope to give you a wonderful view of hell, old man. :::

Perran was so furious that he could not frame a thought in response. Vader, she could only mean Vader. She would ally with that that filth! A torrent of images ran through his mind, aimed at Abhaia. If he could hurt her enough, cause enough overload of her empathy he might

White-hot pain bloomed behind and under his left eye, increasing until he thrashed helplessly in his chair. A sudden popping sensation was accompanied by a short-lived relief; the front of his tunic was drenched in blood.

::: No more threats, old man. What you wanted of me is beyond your reach. Face me :::

The stars outside the viewport flashed to lines and Abhaia's voice faded as if she had been yanked into some unimaginable distance. They had gone to hyperspace.

"Sir! Two gunships spotted our position. You weren't answering and we had to move. Sir?" Captain Brilan's voice came over the com.

Perran was able to keep his voice from shaking, but his entire body quaked to make up for it. "Very good, Brilan. The Imperials are sitting on every known jump point, I'll assume you are jumping us well out?"

"Sir, I've plotted a jump to one of the old intell posts. I don't think anyone living knows about this one."

The intell posts were boltholes for Jedi agents and did not show up on the navigation charts for any military or civilian use. They were almost invariably deep space platforms, stocked with resupply items and repair facilities.

"Very good, captain." Perran discommed and began to bring his body under control, angry that the girl had been able to touch him even at a distance. Her power in the Dark side was growing. He had to eliminate her, yes, but how?

Stripping off his tunic, he used the sleeve to blot up the last of the blood dripping from his nose and then stuffed the ruined clothing in the oubliette. If he gave his men any idea of how powerful the girl truly was they would run screaming. After all most – if not all of them – had provided her with a steady supply if injured and ailing bodies to heal, not to mention a steady stream of pregnant females and the resulting babes and children to care for.

Perran grimaced. He'd had little use for his steadfastly pacifist and nonassertive granddaughter, but he had allowed her to be trained in the healing arts instead of selling her off. At the time, keeping the girl was the only way to control her mother, Keille. He deeply regretted his daughter's death, but if she had not been so trenchant in her heresy

There is and can only be one true way. To shelter the taint of heresy is to loose a plague in your own house. Look at the Sith, look at the Dark Jedi and all the suffering they have caused. Keille persisted in following her mother's path; she earned her heretic's death.

Washing his face in the small refresher, he looked for any outward signs of Abhaia's attack on him. At ninety, he was still – he noted with no small pride – quite a fine specimen. His bronze skin, sharp features, silver hair and blue eyes added to the charisma of his magnetic personality. Even his body could easily be mistaken for that of a man thirty years younger.

But he was not young. The average human lifespan was only one hundred and fifty-odd years with some types living significantly less or more. Sixty years was not a great amount of time in which to establish his final legacy. In time, Perran Jasc would be remembered for the resurrection of the Jedi order. With an army of Force-strong warriors, bred for battle, he would wipe the Empire, the Emperor, and all the attendant vileness from the face of the galaxy. The Jedi would rule as was their right and due, mercifully protecting the easily led and gullible beings who had betrayed them.

There was a slight tenderness and swelling to one side of his nose. A subtle discoloration marked the area of the bleed.

When he caught Abhaia, he would take her back to Illoni. There he would flay her alive, rip her spirit to tatters, and let her bleed to death in the dirt. Those who thought to defy the places chosen for them should be quelled by the spectacle. History would see the need, even if those living out the events could – or would – not.

~

Governor Fargram Wellan was where Vader expected he would be. However, the ridiculous man had drunk himself insensible, and was useless as far as getting any coherent information went.

Vader ordered the entire staff – those who had not run off - placed under arrest and held for standard interrogation. Wellan's whiskey-sodden body was carried off to a very odd little cell on the grounds of the governor's mansion; a rough meter-square iron box on black sand, located in the middle of a white-walled courtyard.

By midmorning tomorrow, the governor would offer Vader his soul in exchange for a glass of water and be grateful for the chance to do so.

The mansion commanded its own hilltop and looked down at Truce City and the night-dark ocean below. Fires and rising smoke marred the pretty display and the sounds of the surf were interspersed with explosions and alarms. Pacification had begun.

The militia and the bounty hunters were proving intractable, the deathprices for the Jedi blotted out all sense and the clever Jedi were beyond the means of the straightforward stormtroopers to catch. A three-way firefight over possession of the spaceport had become a two-way slaughter when an Imperial commander called in a pinpoint bombing on all factions. The Jedi – smarter than those whom they were fighting – vanished from their position just before it was vaporized and merged themselves into the turmoil in the streets.

Vader shook his head over this monumental example of mission creep; he certainly had his work cut out for him. At least his pro forma report to the Emperor brought an equally pro forma reply. Whatever it was that was keeping his master's attention so completely occupied, Vader wished it to continue indefinitely.

Vader was about to break two millennia of Sith tradition. Since the time of Bane there had never been more than two Sith at once, but he could not let someone of Abhaia's power and potential slip away for the outmoded traditions of his lineage.

Finding her signature, he bridged the small distance with a tendril of darkness.

::: I am here. :::

Vader felt the aftermath of battle singing in his apprentice's blood and smiled as she schooled her mind to stillness. Feather-brushes of fear, light and quick, still disturbed the calm she sought.

::: You fear me. :::

Her response came without hesitation. ::: Yes. :::

::: Most wise. Have you considered your path, youngling? :::

Her response was wordless, composed of images interlaced with strong emotion. Anguish and indecision were strongest, pulling her back to the sure and familiar even as the reality of that course repelled her.

Oddly enough, he understood and was even sympathetic to her vacillation. Even as Anakin Skywalker had been seared out of existence and Darth Vader had been born, there had been a deep reluctance to become one with the Dark. It was only through the seemingly endless surgeries and recuperation that Vader had come fully to terms with his destiny. Anakin Skywalker had died to give Vader life, and in return, Vader would grant Skywalker the one thing that flawed and hobbled man could never attain – vengeance and with it, peace.

Recently, the dead man had been fairly lively. This happened from time to time and took some energy to quell – the conscience-ridden ghost could be notional and had proven all but impossible to eliminate. Vader had decided that he was not going to die trying.

Abhaia emanated a dreary gray misery and a dense frustration, unhappy with the paths before her, but cognizant that she must choose and go forward.

::: Only the path of the Sith can lead you to what you desire. :::

He felt her fearful resistance once more, but this time it was laced with resignation and a sense of utter desolation.

::: And your Jedi companion? :::

A welt of betrayal and disappointment marked her spirit. ::: He could not face me. He sneaked off while I slept. I looked for him. He's hidden away in the caves, but I found and destroyed his communications gear. He had orders to neutralize me. :::

Vader nodded to himself. It was as he had expected.

::: Come to me, Abhaia. :::

Her answer was less than a whisper in his thoughts, but filled him with a dark and thunderous exaltation.

::: I come, my Master. :::

~