Rule of Two

by Drew Karpyshyn

  Darovit guilty.

  It was a statement of fact, rather than a question. “Maybe,” the young man admitted, leaning on his walking stick. “But trouble seems to follow the Jedi wherever they go. And I’m not going to sit back and watch so they can destroy this world a second time.”

  Apart from the construction droids the dig site was deserted; the organic crews only worked during the light of day. Crouching low and holding his walking stick parallel to the ground at his side, Darovit crept out from the cover of the trees.

  Peace. Calm, Yuun projected after him, trying to soothe his anger. But she wasn’t bold enough to follow him out into the open, and he ignored her pleas until he had crossed beyond the range of her telepathic communication.

  Darovit wasn’t strong in the Force; that was part of the reason he failed in his attempts to join both the Jedi and the Sith. But he did have a minor affinity for it, enough to allow him to creep through the dig site unseen and unnoticed by the semi-intelligent construction droids.

  Construction droids were employed only for simple, basic tasks. The majority of the work on the monument would be done by a crew using heavy machinery and hoversleds. Moving quickly, Darovit made his way to the nearest sled, crouching down out of sight behind it.

  He had come well prepared, stashing a large supply of powdered tass root and two handfuls of crushed petals from the flowers of the scintil vine in the pockets of his overcloak. Individually the two substances were harmless, yet when mixed together and dampened they had a startling interaction.

  With his good hand he pried open the sled’s maintenance panel just below the control box and stuffed four scintil petals into the repulsor coils. Next, he sprinkled a pinch of powdered tass root over the petals. Then, as a final touch, he scooped up a handful of snow, letting it melt in his glove so it would drip down onto the mixture.

  There was a soft hiss and a sharp alkaline smell as the elements combined to form a highly corrosive paste that began to eat its way through the repulsor coils. Darovit snapped the sled’s maintenance cover back in place; wispy tendrils of brown-green smoke wafted out from underneath it.

  Darovit spent the next hour moving from sled to sled, pausing whenever a construction droid wandered past in its preprogrammed assignments, oblivious to the vandal in their midst. By the time he got back to where Yuun was still waiting for him, every single hoversled had been disabled.

  Temporary solution. Will replace.

  “Repulsor coils are expensive,” Darovit said. “And they’re always in high demand. This should set them back at least a week.”

  Then what?

  “I’ve got a few more tricks up my sleeve for our Jedi friends,” he assured the little bouncer. “This was only the beginning.”

  Light soon. Home now?

  Darovit glanced up and saw the faint glow of the first of Ruusan’s twin suns peeking over the horizon.

  “Home,” he agreed.

  Three weeks had passed since Zannah had presented her Master with the datacard that had almost cost the young apprentice her life. Bane had used that time to study the datacard’s contents carefully, analyzing every tiny scrap of information Hetton had assembled about Belia Darzu. He cross-referenced much of the data with his own sources, verifying everything he could to authenticate Hetton’s research. And Bane was now confident that everything the old man had discovered was true.

  Belia’s experiments in Sith alchemy had revealed the secrets that allowed her to surround herself with a technobeast army. Even more impressive, at least from Bane’s perspective, Belia had successfully created her own Holocron. And there was strong evidence to support the theory that the Holocron she created—the repository of all her knowledge—was still hidden somewhere in her stronghold on Tython.

  Bane ran the final diagnostics check on his vessel: he couldn’t afford to have anything break down on the upcoming journey. The hyperspace route into the Deep Core was treacherous, and if something went wrong there was no chance of anyone coming along to find him. He would die a cold and lonely death—a frozen corpse floating in a metal coffin around the black hole at the galaxy’s heart.

  The Mystic’s systems all appeared to be in perfect working order. One of the new Sienar-designed Infiltrator series, the Mystic was a medium-sized long-range fighter Bane had anonymously acquired through his network of front-men and shadowy suppliers. Built to carry up to six passengers, Infiltrators were armed with light weapons and equipped with minimal plating, the focus of the model being on speed and maneuverability. The Mystic had been customized with the addition of a Class Four hyperdrive, enabling her to outrun virtually any other vessel she encountered.

  Though there was room on the vessel for both Master and apprentice, Bane had decided Zannah would not accompany him on his trip to Tython. But she was not going to simply wait on Ambria for his return.

  Along with his study of the datacard Bane had also spent a great deal of time thinking about the orbalisks clinging to his flesh. Though it was possible that he would discover new information on Tython unlocking the final secrets of creating a Holocron, it was also possible that Belia had succeeded using the exact same process he had employed in his failed attempts. Bane still could not discount the theory that the orbalisks were responsible for his failure, bleeding him of the dark side energies he needed to draw on to complete the procedure.

  There were other considerations, as well. Twice now he had lost himself in a bloodrage, thought and reason replaced by the mindless urge to destroy anything and anyone in range. The first time it happened he had left their camp in ruins: a foolish and pointless waste of resources.

  The second time had almost been far more costly. Had he succeeded in killing Zannah, he still would have found Hetton’s datacard on her. But he would also have been forced to find a new apprentice. A decade of training would have been lost, thrown away because of his temporary madness.

  Zannah had saved herself by explaining the motives behind her actions. She had acted in perfect accordance with her Master’s teachings—a fact Bane should have realized on his own. But the orbalisks blinded him to her skilled machinations, and he now understood that the raw power they granted him came at the expense of subtlety and cunning.

  So while he went to Tython to face the dangers and defenses of Belia’s lost stronghold, Zannah was undertaking a mission of her own.

  Hetton’s ship was magnificent. A custom built cruiser eighty meters in length, she could comfortably hold twenty passengers, yet only a single pilot was required to operate her. Every detail of her construction and design had been made to Hetton’s precise and lavish specifications. Equipped with enough firepower and armor plating to take on a small capital ship, the interior was still luxurious enough to host a formal dinner for planetary dignitaries. No expense had been spared, the vessel being as much a symbol of his incredible wealth as it had been a mode of transportation. There was only one thing Zannah disliked about it: He had called it the Loranda, after his mother.

  She reached forward and punched the controls, marveling at the smooth takeoff and responsiveness of the yoke as she guided the ship up and out of Ambria’s atmosphere. In two days she would be touching down on Coruscant; no doubt she’d have to bribe a spaceport administrator to keep her arrival off the official books. The Loranda was still registered to Hetton, and her arrival would draw immediate attention if it was logged with the proper authorities.

  Fortunately it was common practice for the nobles of Serenno to make frequent unscheduled—and unreported—landings, even on Coruscant. The wealthy weren’t bound by the rules of the average Republic citizen, and portraying herself as a servant sent to bribe a port administrator upon landing wouldn’t strike anyone as unusual. Arriving onworld without drawing undue attention would be the easy part of her mission. Gaining access to the Archives in the Jedi Temple would be much more difficult.

  Bane was taking a tremendous gamble in sending her there. They had spent the past decade hiding from the Jedi
, and now she was about to enter the very heart of the order. But she couldn’t second-guess his decision, not when she had been partly responsible. It was she who had planted the first seeds of doubt in her Master’s mind about the orbalisks, and now her scheme had come to fruition. Bane had decided—for her sake and the sake of the Sith—that he had to free himself from the infestation.

  Nothing in Freedon Nadd’s original experiments indicated that the orbalisks could be extracted from the host, and Bane’s own research into the subject had failed to uncover anything to the contrary. But the Jedi Archives were the greatest single collection of assembled knowledge in the known galaxy. If an answer existed, they would find it there.

  Her Master had taken every precaution to keep her true identity hidden while she visited the Archives. Through his network of mysterious informants and shadowy contacts, he had assembled a list of names and background portfolios for virtually every member of the Jedi Order. From this list, he had chosen one name that suited their purpose: Nalia Adollu.

  Nalia was a Padawan of approximately Zannah’s age under the tutelage of Anno Wen-Chii, a famously reclusive Pyn’gani Jedi Master on the Outer Rim world of Polus. Over the past week Zannah had memorized every detail of her profile and history, along with the history of Master Anno, so she could pass herself off as the young woman.

  The cover story was simple: Zannah would claim her Master was studying a rare breed of parasitic organism that lived beneath the ice-covered surface of Polus. Eager to compare the newly discovered life-form with similar species from other worlds, but loath to leave the quiet of his homeworld, he had sent his Padawan to gather research materials from the Jedi Archive.

  Yet she would need more than a plausible cover story to maintain her disguise when she presented herself to the chief librarian and asked for permission to view the Archives. Zannah and Nalia were of the same age. They were roughly the same height and shared the same athletic build. They both had long, flowing hair—though Zannah had dyed her locks a deep, lustrous black to match those of the other woman.

  It had been five years since Nalia had last left her Master’s side on Polus, so there was little chance of running into anyone who knew her well enough to recognize Zannah as an imposter. But even if her appearance didn’t give her away, there was one final element to consider.

  Throughout her mission, she would be surrounded by servants of the light; if they sensed the dark side in her, she would be instantly exposed. The secrecy she and Bane had worked so hard to preserve would be destroyed. Everything they had labored for over the past decade, everything they had accomplished, would be for naught. She would surely be captured, possibly condemned to death, and her Master would be hunted down and slain.

  The only way the plan would work was if she could use the power of Sith sorcery to mask her strength while simultaneously projecting an aura of light-side energy. It was a complicated spell, one she had never tried before. It required a balance of strength and delicacy, and she had practiced it continuously in the weeks leading up to her departure. Yet despite her best efforts, there were still moments when her concentration slipped and her true nature showed through.

  She just had to hope that, if it happened on Coruscant, none of the Jedi would be close enough to notice.

  17

  A chill wind blew through the forest, dropping the temperature well below freezing, but Johun was able to draw upon the Force to warm himself and keep away the worst of the cold.

  The Jedi Knight was frustrated. Little progress had been made in the construction of the monument on Ruusan over the past weeks, the project the victim of a campaign of vandalism and sabotage.

  It had begun with the destruction of the hoversleds, the repulsor coils eaten away by some type of toxic substance smeared across their surface. It had taken four days to arrange for the shipment and installation of the replacement coils.

  The second incident had seen all the heavy equipment coated with a thick, sticky sap that turned out to be a powerful adhesive. Gloves, boots, and other clothing of the workers had stuck fast, becoming permanently attached to any surface they even brushed against; luckily nobody had made contact with bare skin. It had taken hours to find and apply chemical solvents strong enough to break the bond, and two full days to clean the gummy residue off the equipment.

  Johun had considered posting some of his crew as guards through the night. But the monument site was remote; each morning the crews were flown in by air shuttle. Anyone assigned to watch over the site would be left completely alone, and if the unknown vandals were armed, the guards might be injured or even killed. That was something the Jedi was not willing to risk.

  For a few nights after the second incident he’d hired a private security team to patrol the region, hoping they could catch whoever was responsible. Those nights had passed without incident, however, the would-be saboteur likely scared away by the show of force. But funding on the project was limited, and Johun was already overbudget because of the previous setbacks. Ultimately, he’d ended the contract with the security patrols … and two nights later the vandals had struck again.

  The third incident began with the crew arriving in the morning to find that someone had spread pungent pollen around the entire construction site. As the suns rose, a great flock of tiny birds—tens of thousands of the squawking, screeching creatures—descended on the site, drawn by the scent. Their numbers blotted out the twin suns as they swooped and dived at the crew, making it impossible to work. Even after the pollen was gone, the smell lingered for two days, drawing the birds back each morning to put a halt to construction.

  Johun had decided to take matters into his own hands. Whoever was behind the mischief was cautious, and a security team marching the perimeter was too visible to be an effective deterrent. So for the past three nights, when his crew boarded the waiting flier and returned to the comfort of their beds, he had remained behind, determined to catch the vandals in the act and bring them to justice.

  As a Jedi, he could go several days without sleep, instead throwing himself into light but restful meditative trances that allowed him to remain aware of his surroundings. And if the perpetrators turned out to be armed and even hostile, Johun was confident he wouldn’t be in any danger.

  He was hunkered down behind a camouflage blind hidden in the trees that surrounded the construction site. Located atop a small bluff that overlooked the site and armed with night-vision goggles, he had a clear view of the entire area. The first two nights had passed without incident, and Johun had begun to fear that whoever was behind the attacks must have known he was there. If something didn’t happen tonight, he decided, he’d have to try some other course of action.

  Nearly two hours later his patience was finally rewarded when, through the goggles, he saw a single figure creep out from the trees less than a hundred meters from where Johun was hiding. At its side was a long, thin object that could have been a weapon, a walking stick, or possibly even both.

  Johun scanned the surrounding forest, looking to see if the person was alone. The only companion showed up in the night-vision goggles as a small green blob, hovering in the shelter of the branches. Johun recognized it as one of Ruusan’s indigenous bouncers, and he felt an involuntary shudder as he remembered the terror the species had inspired in the Jedi after a powerful Sith ritual had destroyed their forest homes and driven them mad.

  It would make sense if the bouncers turned out to be behind the vandalism. To protect his troops, Hoth had, in the last days of the war, given standing orders to shoot the creatures on sight, and hundreds had died at the hands of the Jedi. Though the surviving members of the species had returned to their peaceful, healing ways, it was possible they still bore a grudge against the order for what had happened. But that still didn’t explain the involvement of the humanoid figure making its way slowly toward the camp.

  Johun broke from his hiding place. He knew the bouncer would flee at his approach, launching itself on the forest limbs high into
the air where he couldn’t follow. Short of killing it—which he wasn’t about to do—he wouldn’t be able to bring it down. But the bouncer’s companion would have to escape on foot, and Johun was confident he could outrun any non-Jedi.

  He raced toward his prey and the figure turned its head, alerted by the loud crunching of Johun’s boots in the snow. Johun caught enough of a glimpse of the face beneath the hood to know he was chasing a young man. The man threw down the walking stick and bolted for the trees, the long robes he wore to protect against the cold fluttering out behind him.

  Johun had fifty meters of ground to gain; with the power of the Force flowing through his limbs he had expected to make up the distance in a matter of seconds. But his adversary moved with surprising speed, and the Jedi realized that his quarry was, at least on some small level, attuned to the Force as well.

  Across open ground Johun was still faster, but he was a good ten meters behind when the man reached the forest’s edge and plunged into the undergrowth. He cut a path that would have shaken off almost any pursuit: weaving and darting in and out of the densely packed tree trunks, ducking under sharp branches, and leaping over thick, protruding roots at a breakneck pace. Drawing heavily on the Force, however, Johun was able to match his progress, swatting away the limbs and leaves that threatened to smack him in the face and nimbly avoiding the roots that would have sent him crashing to the ground.

  They sprinted through the forest for several kilometers, neither able to gain ground in their contest. The chase ended when they broke into a small clearing with a tiny mud hut built in the center, and Johun realized that his quarry, blinded by panic, had instinctively run for home.

  The man raced to the door, as if hoping to escape by locking himself away inside. Then he stopped, suddenly realizing the mistake he had made. With slumping shoulders he stood by the door, making no attempt to flee as Johun cautiously approached.