But with his vision gone, he could suddenly see everything clearly. He knew the position of every soldier even as they all scrambled for cover; he could track exactly where they were and where they were going.
The soldier in the third turret was training the cannons on the incoming wave of troopers. In the excitement she’d popped her head up just slightly above the walls of the flatbed, leaving the smallest of targets exposed. Des took her with a single shot, the bolt going in cleanly through one ear hole on her helmet and out the other.
It was as if time had slowed down. Moving with a calm and deadly precision, he trained his rifle on the next target, taking her through the heart; barely a moment later he got the soldier beside her right between his cold blue eyes. Des took one man in the back as he ran for the nearest gunship. Another was halfway up one of the flatbed’s ladders when a bolt sliced through his thigh, knocking him off balance. He fell from the ladder, and Des put another shot through his chest before he hit the ground.
It had taken fewer than three seconds to wipe out eight of the nine soldiers. The last one made a run for the edge, hoping to escape by diving off the roof on the far side of the building. Des let him run. He could feel the terror coming in waves off his doomed prey; he savored it for as long as he could. The soldier leapt from the rooftop and seemed to hang in midair for a second; Des fired his last three shots into his body, draining the weapon’s power cell.
He handed the weapon back to Lucia, blinking rapidly at the tears welling up as his eyes tried to soothe their damaged retinas. The effects of the flash canister were only temporary; his vision was already beginning to return. And the miraculous second sight he’d experienced was slipping away.
Rubbing his eyes, he knew now was not the time to think about what had just happened. He’d eliminated the gunners, but his troops were still outnumbered. They needed him down in the hot zone, not here on the edges of the battle.
“Keep an eye on that roof,” he ordered Lucia. “If any of those Republic mudcrutches appear on top, take them out before they get to the gunships.”
She didn’t reply; her mouth was hanging open in amazement at what she’d just witnessed.
Des grabbed her by the shoulder and gave her a rough shake. “Snap out of it, trooper! You’ve got a job to do!”
She shook her head to gather her senses and nodded, then loaded another energy cell into her weapon. Satisfied, Des pulled out the 21D and charged across the clearing, eager to join in the battle.
Three hours later it was all over. The mission had been a complete success: the outpost was theirs, and the Republic had no idea that thousands of Sith troopers were marching through the valley to attack them at first light. The battle itself had been short but bloody: forty-six Republic soldiers dead, and nine of Des’s own. Every time a Gloom Walker went down, part of Des felt he’d failed somehow, but given the nature of their mission, keeping the casualties under double digits was more than he could have reasonably hoped for.
Once their objective was secured he’d left Adanar and a small contingent to hold the outpost. With Des in the lead, the rest of the unit marched back to its base camp.
Along the way he tried to ignore the hushed whispers and furtive looks the rest of the company was giving him. Lucia had spread the word of his amazing shooting, and it was the talk of the unit. None of them was brave enough to say anything to his face, but he could hear snippets of conversation from the ranks behind him.
Honestly, he couldn’t blame them. Looking back, even he wasn’t sure what had happened. Des was a good marksman, but he was no sniper. Yet somehow he’d managed to pull off a dozen impossible shots with a weapon he’d never fired before … most of them after being blinded by a flash canister. It was beyond unbelievable. It was as if, when he’d lost his vision, some mysterious power had taken over and guided his actions. It was exhilarating, but at the same time it was terrifying. Where had this power come from? And why couldn’t he control it?
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that at first he didn’t even notice the strangers waiting at their base camp. It was only after they stepped up and slapped the stun cuffs on his wrists that he realized what was going on.
“Welcome back, Sergeant.” Ulabore’s voice was filled with bile.
Des glanced around. A dozen enforcers—the military security of the Sith army—were standing with weapons drawn. Ulabore stood behind them, a deep bruise on his face where Des had struck him. In the background Des could see the two junior recruits he’d left in charge of Ulabore. They were staring down at the ground, embarrassed and ashamed.
“Did you really think those raw recruits would keep their commanding officer trussed up like some kind of prisoner?” Ulabore taunted him from behind the protective wall of armed guards. “Did you really believe they would follow you in your madness?”
“That madness saved our lives!” Lucia shouted. Des held up his shackled hands to silence her: this situation could get out of hand far too easily.
When nothing else happened, the lieutenant seemed to gain some courage. He stepped out from behind the protective wall of enforcers and over to Des.
“I warned you about disobeying orders,” he sneered. “Now you get to see firsthand how the Brotherhood of Darkness deals with mutinous soldiers!”
A few of the Gloom Walkers began to reach slowly for their weapons, but Des shook his head and they froze. The enforcers already had their blasters drawn and weren’t afraid to use them. The troopers wouldn’t manage to get off even a single shot.
“What’s the matter, Sergeant?” Ulabore pressed, drawing closer to his defeated enemy. Too close. “Nothing to say?”
Des knew he could kill the lieutenant with one quick move. The enforcers would take him out, but at least Ulabore would go with him. Every fiber of his being wanted to lash out and end both their lives in an orgy of blood and blasterfire. But he managed to fight the impulse. There was no point in throwing his life away. A court-martial would likely end in a death sentence, but at least if he went to trial he’d have a chance.
Ulabore stepped up and slapped him once across the face, then spit on his boots and stepped back. “Take him away,” he said to the enforcers, turning his back on Des.
As Des was taken away he couldn’t help but see the look in the eyes of Lucia and the troopers whose lives he’d saved only hours ago. He had a feeling the next time the unit went into combat, Ulabore would suffer an unfortunate—and fatal—accident.
That realization brought the hint of a smile to his lips.
The enforcers marched him through the jungle for hours, weapons drawn and trained on him the entire time. They only lowered them when they reached the sentries on the perimeter of the main Sith camp.
“Prisoner for a court-martial,” one of the enforcers said flatly. “Go tell Lord Kopecz.” One of the sentries saluted and ran off.
They marched Des through the camp toward the brig. He saw recognition in the eyes of many of the soldiers. With his height and bald head he was an imposing figure, and many of the troops had heard of his exploits. Seeing a formerly ideal soldier being brought before a court-martial was sure to leave an impression.
They reached the camp’s makeshift prison, a small containment field over a three-by-three-by-three-meter pit that served as a holding area for captured spies and POWs. The enforcers had relieved him of his weapons when they first took him into custody; now they did a more thorough search and stripped him of all other personal effects. Then they shut down the containment field and roughly tossed him in, not even bothering to release his cuffs. He landed awkwardly on the hard ground at the bottom of the hole. As he struggled to his feet he heard an unmistakable hum as the field was activated once again, sealing him in.
The pit was empty, other than Des himself. The Sith didn’t tend to keep prisoners around for long. He began to wonder if he’d made a serious mistake. He’d hoped his past service might buy him some leniency at his trial, but now he realized his reputation mi
ght actually work against him. The Sith Masters weren’t known for their tolerance or their mercy. He’d defied a direct order: there was a good chance they’d decide to make a harsh example of him.
He couldn’t say how long they’d left him at the bottom of the pit. After a while he fell asleep, exhausted by the battle and the forced march. He slipped in and out of consciousness; at one point it was light outside his prison and he knew day must have come. The next time he came to it was dark again.
They hadn’t fed him yet; his stomach was growling in protest as it gnawed away at itself. His throat was parched and dry; his tongue felt as if it had swollen up large enough to choke him. Despite this, there was a slowly increasing pressure on his bladder, but he didn’t want to relieve himself. The pit stank enough already.
Maybe they were just going to leave him here to die a slow and lonely death. Given the rumors he’d heard of Sith torture, he almost hoped that was the case. But he hadn’t given up. Not yet.
When he heard the sound of approaching footsteps he scrambled to his feet and stood straight and tall, even though his hands were still cuffed in front of him. Through the containment field he could just make out the blurred forms of several guards standing on the edge of the pit, along with another figure wearing a heavy, dark cloak.
“Take him to my ship,” the cloaked figure said in a deep, rasping voice. “I will deal with this one on Korriban.”
8
Des never got a clear look at the man who’d ordered his transfer. By the time they’d gotten him out of the pit, the cloaked figure had vanished. They gave him food and water, then let him clean and refresh himself. Though he was freed from the cuffs, he was still under heavy guard as he boarded a small transport ship heading for Korriban.
Nobody spoke to him on the trip, and Des didn’t know what was going on. At least he wasn’t cuffed anymore. He chose to take that as a good sign.
They arrived in the middle of the day. He had expected them to touch down at Dreshdae, the only city on the dark and forbidding world. Instead the ship landed at a starport built atop an ancient temple overlooking a desolate valley. A chill wind blew across the landing pad as he disembarked, but it didn’t bother Des. After the stale air of the pit, any breeze felt good. He felt a shiver go down his spine as his foot touched Korriban’s surface. He’d heard that this had once been a place of great power, though now only the merest shadows remained. There was an undercurrent of malice here; he’d felt it as soon as the transport had entered the bleak planet’s atmosphere.
From this vantage point he could make out other temples scattered across the world’s desert surface. Even at this distance he could perceive the eroded rock and crumbling stone of the once grand entrances. Beyond the valley, the city of Dreshdae was a mere speck on the horizon.
He was met on the landing pad by a hooded figure. He could tell right away this wasn’t the same one who had come to him in the pit. This person had neither the size nor the impressive bearing of his liberator; even through the containment field Des had been able to sense his commanding presence.
This figure, which Des now thought to be female, motioned for him to follow. Silently she led him down a flight of stone steps and into the temple itself. They crossed a landing and descended another set of stairs, then repeated the pattern, working their way level by level down from the temple’s apex to the ground below. There were doors and passages leading off from each landing, and Des could hear snippets of sound and conversation echoing from them, though he could never quite tell what was being said.
She didn’t speak, and Des knew better than to break the silence himself. Technically, he was still a prisoner. For all he knew, she was leading him to his court-martial. He wasn’t about to make things worse by asking foolish questions.
When they reached the bottom of the building, she led him to a stone archway with yet another flight of stairs. These were different, however: they were narrow and dark, and wound their way down until they vanished from sight deep in the bowels of the ground. Without a word his guide handed him a torch she had taken from a bracket on the wall and then stepped aside.
Wondering what was going on, Des made his way carefully down the steep staircase. He couldn’t say how much deeper he went; it was difficult to maintain any perspective in the narrow confines of the stairwell. After several minutes he reached the bottom, only to find a long hallway stretching out before him. At the end of the hallway he encountered a single room.
The room was dark and filled with shadow. Only a few torches sputtered on the stone wall, their dying flames barely able to pierce the gloom.
Des paused at the threshold, letting his eyes adjust. He could just make out a dim figure inside. It beckoned to him.
“Come forward.”
He felt a chill, though the room was far from cold. The air itself was electric, filled with a power he could actually feel. He was surprised that he didn’t feel afraid. He recognized what he felt as the chill of anticipation.
As Des moved deeper into the room the features of the shrouded figure became clear, revealing himself to be a Twi’lek. Even under the loose-fitting robe he wore, Des could see he was thick and heavyset. He stood nearly two meters tall, easily the largest Twi’lek Des had ever met … though not quite as large as Des himself.
His lekku wound down his broad chest and wrapped back up around his muscular neck and shoulders; his eyes glowed orange beneath his brow, mirroring the flickering torches. He smiled, revealing the sharp, pointed teeth common to his species.
“I am Lord Kopecz of the Sith,” he said. At that moment, Des knew without a doubt this was the cloaked one who had come to him in the pit, and he gave a slight bow of his head in acknowledgment.
“I am to be your inquisitor,” Lord Kopecz explained, his voice showing no emotion. “I alone will determine your fate. Rest assured my judgment will be final.”
Des nodded again.
The Twi’lek fixed his burning orange eyes on Des. “You are no friend of the Jedi or their Republic.”
It wasn’t a question, but Des felt compelled to answer anyway. “What have they ever done for me?”
“Exactly,” Kopecz said with a cruel smile. “I understand you have fought many battles against the Republic forces. Your fellow troopers speak highly of you. The Sith have need of men like you if we are to win this war.” He paused. “You were a model soldier … until you disobeyed a direct order.”
“The order was a mistake,” Des said. His throat had grown so dry and tight that he had trouble getting the words out.
“Why did you refuse to attack the outpost during the day? Are you a coward?”
“A coward wouldn’t have completed the mission,” Des replied sharply, stung by the accusation.
Kopecz tilted his head to the side and waited.
“Attacking in the daylight was a tactical mistake,” Des continued, trying to press his point. “Ulabore should have relayed that information back to command, but he was too scared. Ulabore was the coward, not me. He would rather risk death at the hands of the Republic than face the Brotherhood of Darkness. I prefer not to throw my life away needlessly.”
“I can see that from your service record,” Kopecz said. “Kashyyyk, Trandosha, Phaseera … if these reports are accurate, you have performed incredible feats during your time with the Gloom Walkers. Feats some would claim to be impossible.”
Des bristled at the implication. “The reports are accurate,” he replied.
“I have no doubt that they are.” Kopecz either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about the tone of Des’s reply. “Do you know why I brought you to Korriban?”
Des was beginning to realize that this wasn’t really a court-martial after all. It was some kind of test, though for what he still wasn’t sure.
“I feel I’ve been chosen for something.”
Kopecz gave him another sinister smile. “Good. Your mind works quickly. What do you know of the Force?”
“Not much,” Des
admitted with a shrug. “It’s something the Jedi believe in: some great power that’s supposed to be just floating out there in the universe somewhere.”
“And what do you know of the Jedi?”
“I know they believe themselves to be guardians of the Republic,” Des replied, making no attempt to hide his contempt. “I know they wield great influence in the Senate. I know many believe they have mystical powers.”
“And the Brotherhood of Darkness?”
Des considered his words more carefully this time. “You are the leaders of our army and the sworn enemy of the Jedi. Many believe that you, like them, have unnatural abilities.”
“But you do not?”
Des hesitated, struggling to come up with the answer he thought Kopecz wanted to hear. In the end he couldn’t figure out what his inquisitor was looking for, so he simply told the truth. “I believe most of the stories are greatly exaggerated.”
Kopecz nodded. “A common enough belief. Those who do not understand the ways of the Force regard such tales as myth or legend. But the Force is real, and those who wield it have power you can’t even imagine.
“You have seen many battles but you have not experienced the real war. While troops vie for control of worlds and moons, the Jedi and Sith Masters seek to destroy each other. We are being driven toward an inevitable and final confrontation. The faction that survives, Sith or Jedi, will determine the fate of the galaxy for the next thousand years.
“True victory in this war will not come through armies, but through the Brotherhood of Darkness. Our greatest weapon is the Force, and those individuals who have the power to command it. Individuals like you.”
He paused to let his words sink in before continuing. “You are special, Des. You have many remarkable talents. These talents are manifestations of the Force, and they have served you well as a soldier. But you have only scratched the surface of your gift. The Force is real; it exists all around us. You can feel the power of it in this room. Can you sense it?”
Path of Destruction Page 8
