Chapter Ten: "What Happens Now?"
It took another forty minutes for the Republic ships to reach the Brentaal Star's position, and by that time the Black Talon was long gone. Forces were mobilized near the border of Imperial space to try to intercept it, but they all knew this was a futile effort. The Imperial ship was small and it was fast; it would slip through.
Satele Shan spoke with Canlyn as they walked to the Brentaal Star's infirmary. The sickbay had been well away from the action, and medical personnel had already assured them that Master Yuon remained stable. Nevertheless, both wanted to check on Yuon, and Canlyn also wanted to look in on Qyzen Fess.
"I failed," Canlyn said frankly. "I lost The General, and even my own lightsaber. I should not have gone to the bridge."
"Captain Mettis summoned you," Satele replied. "We are not Sith, answerable to no one. You must obey a captain's order on his own ship."
"Had Master Caecinius been sent instead of me – "
"The body count would have been much higher, likely including the Sith you faced, but The General would be every bit as dead," Satele said firmly. "Caecinius is skilled, but even he cannot be in two places at once." Her expression softened. "Captain Mettis personally commended you. From all he said, I believe you conducted yourself admirably."
"How is the captain?" Canlyn asked.
"He will need ocular implants to restore his vision,' Satele replied. "Even then, he will have a painful period of adjustment. I suspect his career is over."
They reached the infirmary, where Ashara sat with a glum-looking Qyzen. The padawan jumped to her feet at their arrival.
"G-grandmaster!" she cried.
"Ashara Zavros." Satele's expression was grim. "You disobeyed the orders of your Master, and of the Jedi Council. I give you one chance to return to Tython to make amends."
Ashara's face grew pale. She glanced helplessly at Canlyn.
"Don't look to Knight Dessan for aid. This transgression was yours alone, and so is this decision. Will you return to Tython?"
Ashara hesitated, then shook her head. "No." Her voice quaked, but she forced herself to stand erect. "Canlyn and Qyzen are my friends. I won't abandon them."
"Then you leave me no choice." Satele raised her chin as she pronounced her sentence. "Ashara Zavros, I strip you of the title of Padawan of the Jedi Order. You are forbidden from wearing Jedi robes or presenting yourself as a member of the Order. If you use your abilities for malignant purposes, you will either be confined or have your abilities suppressed through chemical means. Is this understood?"
Ashara had expected this. But the words, spoken aloud, left her fighting to stand upright. Tears ran down her face. She swallowed a few times, then nodded.
"I understand," she said. "If you'll excuse me."
She walked stiffly to the door. As it closed behind her, Canlyn could sense her friend fleeing, in desperate search of a private place to hide and weep.
Satele's posture relaxed, and she allowed her sorrow to show. "An unpleasant duty," she said. "I know you are friends, but I trust you appreciate…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "Friend or not, you must watch her well. She has no control of her emotions. I fear where they may lead her."
"I will try to keep her as close to The Path as is possible," Canlyn promised.
Satele nodded, accepting her answer.
"I must return to Tython," she said. "Keep me apprised of Master Yuon's condition. And also… whatever else may arise. I sense a dark journey ahead. I hope you have the strength to bear it."
With a parting nod, Satele left.
Canlyn turned to Qyzen. "How are you? They said the knife went into your chest."
"A shallow wound." He spoke in a monotone. "The cut is of no consequence."
Canlyn understood. The injury did not bother him. His failure to stop the Imperial spy did.
"From Lieutenant Jorgan's report, it sounds like you came close to success."
"Close or far is same," Qyzen said. "Either way is failure. Three failures. I am poor hunter."
"I don't think that's true. The first two times, on Tython, were at the hands of a Force user. This time you faced a highly-trained agent."
"Failure is failure."
Canlyn tried to find the words to comfort her friend. They eluded her.
"I don't understand your ways," she said gently. "But if you believe your Scorekeeper brought us together, then you must believe it was for a purpose. Perhaps she is trying to show you that there are better ways to judge your life than through Jagannath points."
Qyzen listened in silence, then turned his head away.
"I may not understand," Canlyn added. "But when you're ready to talk, I will be prepared to listen."
She sat with him for another moment before leaving in search of Ashara. Traveling from one anguished friend to the next, hoping that she could provide some comfort beyond just meaningless words.
Back on her transport, on the return flight to Tython, Satele attempted to meditate. She felt troubled. Though no seer, she had always had premonitions about the future. What she saw now was darkness. She feared for Canlyn, so studious but so unprepared for the larger universe. She feared for Ashara, so undisciplined, and feared she had made the wrong decision by not compelling her to return.
She feared for her entire Order, and cursed herself for allowing the Jedi to cut themselves off so completely from the galaxy.
Around her fears, meditation eluded her. She simply brooded over her feelings and worries, which made her all the more irritable when her communicator chimed.
She reached for it, sharply telling the caller, "I left instructions not to be disturbed."
"I am sorry, Grandmaster. But I felt the two of us should speak." The voice was unfamiliar, but the accent was unmistakable - a crisp, cold Imperial voice.
The image of a young woman formed in the holofield. Young, but with a serious demeanor and the sharp eyes of a practiced predator. Satele recognized her from Canlyn's description.
"You must be the agent who caused so much trouble today," she said coldly.
"Cipher Nine, of Imperial Intelligence." The agent bowed her head in acknowledgement.
"Are you calling to gloat? Because I warn you, your success will be short-lived – "
"Please stop," Cipher said. Her voice was quiet but fervent. Satele felt the plea in her tone. "I have a scrambler on to keep this communication undetected, but I have limited time. I'm taking an enormous risk, contacting you like this."
Satele cocked her head, studying the young woman.
"What exactly do you want?" she asked.
"The General and I spoke before I killed him," Cipher said. "He talked about plans by both sides, about weapons of unthinkable destruction. Some of what he said – Well, it matched information that I'm already aware of."
"So you attacked a Republic ship in Republic space and murdered a man, but now you feel guilty?" Satele knew that bitterness was unbecoming of a Jedi, but she could not quite restrain herself.
"No, I don't feel guilty," Cipher said. "I am loyal to the Empire, and I did my duty. But neither of those things make me blind. The General feared that our course is being decided by - in his words - lunatics on both sides. He saw a future where Republic and Empire reduced each other to ash. I will not betray my government, nor do I expect you to betray yours. But... Maybe, if some of us were able to work together just enough to nudge things at key moments… Well, we might not prevent a war, but perhaps we can at least make sure that some kind of civilization exists on the other side of it."
Cipher fell silent, waiting for Satele to speak.
Satele did not know what to think. The young woman spoke eloquently, and her tone was sincere. But she was a spy, a professional liar. By no means could she be trusted. The smart thing to do was to reject her out of hand and close off any further communications.
"A fragile hope is better than no hope at all."
It had been less than a day since she had said those words to Master Syo. They now echoed strongly in her mind. Certainly, she should be mindful. But caution did not mean closing off the potential for hope.
"How will I contact you?" Satele asked at last.
"I'll get word to you when I'm in a secure location," Cipher told her. "We'll discuss future communications then. I'll be seeing you, Satele Shan."
The young woman's image vanished.
Satele ordered a trace on the signal, but her ship's technicians were unable to find any evidence that the transmission had even occurred. She ordered technicians not to mention the attempted trace to anyone.
Lunatics on both sides. The Jedi had allowed their voices to go silent for too long. Whose voice might have taken their place, in both the Republic government and the Republic military? She decided that she would keep this communication to herself, at least until she knew more.
As she settled back to her meditation, she found herself wondering: Was Cipher Nine's message was a sign of hope? Or was it an omen that the path ahead was even darker than she had foreseen?
Vette was afraid.
She had heard stories of the Sith all her life. Her childhood friend, Risha, would have scolded her for even coming to Korriban. But she couldn't make herself pass up the prize.
A stupid choice, as the weight of the shock collar on her neck reminded her. Her life now depended on the good will of a Sith. A man capable of horrific violence, and who regarded her as his slave.
As she followed Arkarix Krell to his Master's chambers, he sternly instructed her on her conduct.
"My Master is not as forgiving as I am," he warned. "Do not speak unless spoken to. If you have the misfortune to draw his attention, reply briefly with as neutral an answer as possible. If he orders your death, I will have no choice but to obey."
Vette wouldn't have dared to speak regardless of the warning. Clad head to toe in metallic armor, Darth Baras loomed over the room like a living version of one of the Tomb's stone statues. The only sign of humanity was the one good eye that glared balefully out from his helmet. Vette kept her eyes fixed to the floor, praying to whatever deity might be listening that his attention would fall anywhere but on her. She remembered Reyenna's warning: "The more invisible you are, the better."
Baras was pleased when Krell showed him the ancient lightsaber.
"Can you sense its power?" Baras asked.
"I can." The emotion in Krell's voice seemed like a mix of rage and wonder. Something in his tone made Vette shudder.
The movement caught Baras' eye, which flickered over her. The glance was entirely dismissive, as if she was no more than living furniture. Vette felt actively grateful about that.
"Was the slave useful?"
"She was," Krell said. He did not elaborate. Vette doubted that he wanted his Master to know that his life had been saved by a Twi'lek in a shock collar.
"Then keep her," Baras said. "Consider her my gift. Along with the lightsaber. Your warblade is fine for an ordinary Sith, but my apprentice requires a more unique weapon."
Krell looked up at the word "apprentice."
"Yes, Arkarix Krell," Baras said. "Your Trials are over. Pack quickly. We leave for Dromund Kaas on the hour."
Vette packed Krell's belongings, following his directions as she placed them in his bag. She had never had aptitude for domestic tasks, and folding his clothes took several attempts. At each failure, she worried that the shock collar would activate, but he merely watched with patient amusement.
"You will need to improve quickly," he advised.
He handed her an acolyte's robe, one too small and slim for his frame. She guessed it had been left by Reyenna.
"Your own clothes are filthy," he said. "Discard them. You can wear this for our journey. We will purchase something more suitable when we arrive at Kaas City."
He left her alone in the room, allowing her privacy to change. She undressed shakily, then reached for the acolyte's robe.
She barely managed to tie the robe shut before she suddenly collapsed. She was on her knees at the foot of the empty bed, sobbing.
Weak, she berated herself. Stupid.
But she could not stop the tears. She expected Krell to walk back in at any moment, to see her misery. She felt a flash of hatred toward him at even the thought of him observing her weakness.
She pushed herself to her feet, wiping furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. There was nothing she could do about her situation, at least for now. That didn't mean she would accept it. She would not cower. She would not allow Arkarix Krell or anyone else to see how afraid she was.
Krell knocked on the wall outside the room. He surveyed the fit of the robe.
"It suits you," he said. He indicated the packed bag on the bed. "Let's go."
They walked out of the Sith Academy. As institutions of higher learning go, this one has got to be the scariest, she reflected. She almost said it aloud, but she didn't trust her voice to remain stable.
As they moved out, Vette saw a group of new acolytes coming in. A few of them looked fierce and eager. The majority looked extremely young and utterly afraid. She didn't want to think about what awaited them.
As they neared the spaceport, she saw the shuttle waiting. The shuttle that would take them to their transport to Dromund Kaas, to the heart of Imperial space. Ever further from a life she could call her own.
She swallowed thickly.
"So," she said, unable to fully keep the nervous quake out of her voice. "What happens now?"