In a way, it was good to be back in action again. Good to be traveling; good to have a goal and a mission that didn't involve sniveling, groveling to the sensibilities of foolish beings far beneath himself in power and importance.
Sidious felt a soaring freedom from the frustrating acting that pervaded all his days. He even needed to act for Ederra nearly everywhere but the bedroom, and that galled him.
Acting was the seat of his power; he knew that, and most days, he did from the self that took pleasure in the dominance that acting afforded him. Yet, piloting his Scimitar made him feel twenty years younger, as if he had vaulted back in time, an ambitious young apprentice once again, carrying out another of the training missions that would someday make him powerful enough to rule.
He was close now, so close. Yet with the power came age, and that, Lord Sidious could do without.
Age could be vanquished with the dark side. At least, right now, it could, and Sidious relished the opportunity.
Alderaanian space presented no problems; his Scimitar had a cloaking device, permitting him to approach and land anywhere he wished. Pestage had provided him with the coordinates of the base camp from which Ferren was scheduled to depart on his way up the mountain. Ferren's group would be climbing the most challenging face of Appenza Peak, one expert climbers always chose because of the superior views, as well as the bragging rights, it afforded.
Of course, Sidious was no expert climber, but he worried little about this. Clothing suitable for the elements, enough dried rations, and the means to create fire were his responsibility; the dark side would do the rest. He had no need to carry whatever specialized equipment professional climbers made use of, and the relative lightness of his pack as a consequence would only assist him.
He set the Scimitar down in a restricted wildlife habitat halfway up the mountain, snugging it up close to a stand of trees that would protect it from discovery by any craft passing overhead. He had slept and breakfasted well; he dressed in rugged climbing boots and the requisite layers for the Alderaanian winter, strapping his lightsaber securely to his arm. He had chosen white for all of his wraps; that and his pale skin and light hair would make him difficult for the Ferren team to spot. The rest of his Sith habit would stay behind for this trip. He checked his pack of dried rations once more and strapped that on his back.
With that, Lord Sidious let himself out into the frozen wild air, and drank the deliciousness of it into his lungs, enjoying the feel of the cold and the glancing light of the pink morning sun on the snow.
Who needed the comforts of mistress and couch? Within a few days, another strategic death would fuel his rise and fan the flame of his dark side power. He admired the gleaming curves of the Scimitar and the silent forest looming above the snow. Ahead of him rose the majestic peak, a physical manifestation of the path he strode in the Force.
Sidious turned and started forward, relishing the crunch of his boots in hard-packed snow.
After about an hour of walking, he slowed. He had set his senses to the dark side, alert for the proper place to stop and meditate, and he realized now that here was the place. He knelt in the snow and closed his eyes, listening … sensing.
He knew where the base camp was, of course. But where were Pan Ferrin and his team now? Sidious asked the dark side, and received a sort of instinct. A guide.
A feral spark lit in the Force and shot through him. He shuddered, equal parts fear and arousal. He opened his eyes.
It took him a moment to recall the name of the giant beast that stood in a clearing of trees to his left, testing the air, watching him. More than three times his height, tiny back legs, a hulking shape, culminating in two huge armored forelegs and a small pointed head with two gleaming tusks jutting from the lower jaw.
Bolraida. That was it. It had some cousin, some distantly related animal the Alderaanians had managed to domesticate.
This thing was not amenable to domestication. This thing was aggressive and deadly.
Sidious reached to unstrap his lightsaber. He would not tempt the beast. If the dark side willed, he would fight it. And Sidious believed it would.
He believed the entire synchronicity, his mistress's illness and subsequent departure, the Senate recess coinciding with Ferrin's trip, had all occurred for his benefit, to reignite the dark side in him. So, of course the beast would charge him.
Sidious saw it, the flick of an ear, the snort of breath visible in the air, the same instant its ferocious intent settled on him. It launched itself across the space in great snow-eating leaps despite breaking through all the way to its muscled chest. Its sheer being sang in Sidious's senses: dangling ropes of matted fur, the weight and heft of sharp tusks, the mass of it breaking through the crust and lifting to hurl itself through space, the sinew, the strength of the beast, its fetid breath. All of the animal burned itself in flashes upon the Sith lord's consciousness. He found his lightsaber in his hand, ignited without his volition.
The dark side leaped within him as the snow beast leaped upon him.
A being that massive could sever one's spine and crush one's carcass into the snow. Darth Sidious swept nimbly from beneath it, his lightsaber melting a path in the snow for his sure feet. The sheer weight and smell of the thing impressed him; swaying ropes of matted fur, an odor somewhere between dung and mold. Sidious spun, sending his humming saber into the beast's side. The singe of burnt fur rose into the cold air. The beast roared in pain and swung at him with its tusks.
This would be too easy. A spirit rose in Sidious of times long gone, of streaming through the Naboo twilight behind the controls of a fast speeder with the wind in his hair, of sparring with his master after a lesson for the sheer play in it. Joy can exist in the dark side, his master used to say, and it had been a long time since Sidious reveled in the power for the simple sheer play in it.
Power thrummed in his arms and legs, tingled all the way to his fingertips. He launched himself into the cold air, soaring over the broad back of the beast, covered in mats like hills of dirt. He landed, turned, swung. Another deep cut.
It let out an agonized shriek, turned, and dove for him. Sidious leaped back, taking a wavering instant to adjust to the pull of hard, crusty snow on his boots. His glowing saber attracted the thing, and Sidious danced with it, bowing, flagging, feinting, until it pleased him to lop off one enormous tusk. The bone fell into the snow with a soft crunch. He leaped to avoid the spray of blood.
Another scream, and it came for him, bleeding mouth wide open. Sidious marveled at the size and number of teeth, the fetid breath, the mouth like a crimson, wet cavern. He thought of ending the beast with a stab to the throat, but took off the other tusk, instead.
It hemorrhaged badly now, and Sidious tasted visceral fear in the dark side. The beast turned to run; Sidious went for a huge armored foreleg this time, sensing with satisfaction the resistance the bony carapace offered his blade. The thing stumbled in the snow, bleating in agony.
Ah, now the other foreleg. In an instant, it, too, lay severed in the snow, not quite as expertly cauterized this time. One leg poured blood and the other did not. Completely disabled now and bleeding its life away, the beast collapsed broadside in the snow, rear legs protesting in spasmodic jerks.
Sidious walked around it. Its suffering permeated the air, stirring the dark currents he held to and relished. What now? One of the tiny hind legs?
Yes, Sidious decided. More pain, more blood. The tail, perhaps. Yes. Sidious severed that, belatedly thinking that anyone to come upon the carcass in times to come would know a lightsaber-wielder had once been here.
No matter. Sidious did not care. He would not deprive himself of the thrill of so feral a kill.
Yes, now the last leg. After that, Sidious contented himself with searing the animal here and there with the lightsaber, sensing the last of its pain as it slowly lost consciousness, bleeding its majestic life away into the snow.
He stared at it, at the odd form and design of its body. Small hindquarters, huge forearms, small head, huge tusks. This was no elegant design; it was grotesque. Something about it made him think of Lord Momin, the ancient Sith sculptor who enjoyed shocking people with his art, the more gruesome, the better.
Lord Momin would have approved of this kill, Sidious thought. Should he finish the beast off?
Yes, of course. He would have the last word, not the errant winding-down of nature.
He could sense the erratic beating of its slowing heart. Sidious thrust his lightsaber into it with all the Force he could summon in his right arm.
With a shudder, the beast was still. A last, groaning sigh emerged between its severed tusks and hung visibly in the chill air above the snow.
Just when Sidious thought it was over, a last, reflexive gasp for air opened the mangled jaws and turned the small head in the snow. Another, and another.
Sidious watched, meditating, fascinated. How strange, he thought, the juxtaposition. Where had he stood three nights ago, compared to where he stood now? Three nights ago, the most star-studded party in all the known galaxy, standing next to the Supreme Chancellor and a planetary Queen with an accomplished, beautiful woman resplendent on his arm, himself a household name, posing for holos; and now, contemplating a kill alone in the wilderness of Alderaan. Gentility, ferocity, riches, rugged sojourns: only the dark side could arrange such a dizzying breadth of experience for one individual. It made for a rich life, a powerful life, fueled by so many differing veins of experience. So many ways to embody passion.
In the throes of orgasm, the pleasure was so great, one thought one might never again have need of the dark side, and yet, in the grip of the dark side, the power so intoxicated one that one truly believed one had no need of the other.
And yet Sidious knew, as soon as he arrived home and caught a glimpse of the cascading river of his mistress's auburn curls, that the need for sex would take him again, and the need for Darkness after that, like an ocean tide. Advancing and receding, endlessly round and round, and yet all were passion and parts of a whole.
Parts of him, aspects of his power, which he used and enjoyed by turns at his will.
As he would enjoy his next kill, and all the more, since the next one would be sentient.
Sidious studied the hulking, furry carcass of the beast, committing its odd design to memory, exhilaration dancing in his veins, grateful for a life that afforded him so much. A life he vowed, once again, never to give up, like this poor unfortunate beast.
Then he turned, following the Force to his next kill.