There was even talk of raising a couple of artificial reefs in the ocean, to provide uvak with rest stations as they made oceanic crossings. The continents had once been joined; there would be connections again.
The ships were one thing—but many other Alanciari technologies would be retired. They would slowly but firmly urge the locals to burn their ballistae, large and small, in a show of trust. It wasn’t because of a desire to disarm the Alanciari alone. Millions of Keshiri under arms were too much a temptation to an ambitious Sith.
The job ahead was immense. He knew who he needed—someone whom he had quickly come to respect and admire, in a way he’d valued no one back home.
He found her at Vaal Hall. The cleanup crew was still setting the place back to its proper functioning, but Quarra was outside the courtyard wall where she’d left the muntok team. She looked up from feeding them.
“It’s getting crowded in there,” she said.
“It’ll get more crowded still. And busy. You saw your sentry friend?”
“Briefly.” She set down the feed bucket. “Looks like he’ll be busy, too.”
“He’ll have a place of honor in our society, as our first visitor from Alanciar.” Edell looked at the alabaster tower, rising above the courtyard wall. “Jogan won’t be trusted blindly, as was Adari Vaal. In a sense, you might say we took him in trade for her.”
Quarra didn’t respond. She fastened a saddlebag to one of the muntoks and detached him from the cart.
Edell stepped toward her. “You could join him, of course—or do something else. Grand Lord Hilts is impressed by the Force tradition in the people here. Self-taught, and all. He’s always wanted to bring Keshiri into the Tribe proper, with titles just like ours.” He reached for her hand and looked intently at her. “A number of roads are open to you, Quarra.”
“No,” she said, smiling weakly and pulling her hand back. “Only one.”
At the end of a time that had been filled with difficult, almost impossible decisions, the final decision had been the easiest.
Watching the sun set as her muntok loped into the city, Quarra understood now why she’d traveled to Point Defiance that autumn evening. She’d become a boat on the canal of her career, yoked to a single direction. However far she advanced, knowing exactly what the rest of her life was going to look like had drained her. Others in the military state had lived with the same problem for years.
But since the arrival of the Sith, the society seemed enlivened. Mysterious new prospects had opened up for all. Among them, only Quarra still felt she knew what the future would look like. She alone had seen the Sith as they really were.
Not like Jogan. Her correspondent at the end of the line was now the center of the world. He’d said they would talk soon, but he had never contacted her, and she had never made any attempt to find him. He was busy now, the onetime professional hermit, visiting one city in Alanciar after another in the Good Omen to repeat the story of his adventure. It had already been dramatized, with the help of actors and songwriters imported from Keshtah, into something that would replace the play of Adari Vaal. Adari had only been found on a rock. He had lived on one, before seeing the truth. Jogan Halder was the real Rock of Kesh.
He had never been a true sentry, she realized. Jogan aspired to a calling that hadn’t flourished in Alanciar since Adari Vaal’s arrival. Now it would again. The hoary patriotic plays trotted out every Observance Day would be replaced with new productions, for every day. There would be storytellers again, and sculptors, and costumers, and actors. Everything put aside during the long emergency was returning now, with startling speed. Encouraged and abetted by the Sith, who ever quietly cultivated the notion that the last two thousand years in Alanciar had been lost to a sort of collective madness.
It was a notion that her friends, neighbors, and colleagues were readily accepting. Quarra feared that, in the end, only she would remember Adari fondly. The signs of Sith evil had been visibly present in the actions of Bentado, but the forces under Varner Hilts had been on their best behavior since their arrival. The Unification was now well under way. The plot to take in Jogan and the people of Alanciar had been diabolical but subtle, and difficult to convince anyone of. Quarra had tried more than once, quietly speaking to others she knew in authority. But all she got in return was the skepticism that should have been directed at the Sith—even from those whose judgment she’d previously trusted. No one wanted to hear from another Adari. Finally, she’d given up.
She’d taken one last warning from Adari, though—and perhaps it would be the last one anyone ever heeded from the disgraced Herald. Adari’s memoirs had told of her hope that by staying close to Yaru Korsin, she might someday learn enough to free her people. She had partially succeeded in that, by teaching the people of Alanciar what she knew. But Adari had confessed to her own personal failings, too. By walking with Korsin, she’d become the Savior for a time—honored far above the Keshiri who had tormented her in her earlier life. And she’d replaced a dull and loathsome husband with a companion who, while more menacing, had far more intelligence.
Edell Vrai had offered Quarra the same opportunity. There were so many tasks ahead, and Edell needed her. And Alanciar needed her, in some sense. She might make things better, might soften the transition—and might even be able to bring some of his people’s medical knowledge to Alanciar. There was a lot to Edell. Wasn’t it better to be companion to a Sith High Lord than a Keshiri folk hero?
No. The dream-woman Orielle had told her she couldn’t run from the inevitable—and her people weren’t going to. She would accept it, too. But that didn’t mean she had to run toward it. Adari had answered that for her. Quarra patted the book of memoirs, safe in the saddlebag after its rescue from the archives. Yes, some animals are better than others—but they’re still animals. Stay with your own.
She found Brue in the twilight outside their Uhrar home, polishing the fireglobes he’d shaped. “Looks like you had a busy vacation,” her husband said, switching the devices off.
“That’s one way of putting it,” she said, dismounting. “How was work?”
“Pretty good.” The weathered Keshiri patted the glass orbs and smiled. He was in demand now, as all artisans were; the Sith were interested in the devices. “Kids are glad to be home. They’ll be thrilled to see you.”
“I’ll surprise them,” she said, kneeling to tie up the beast. Brue ambled back up the steps into the house, whistling.
Quarra looked at their home, and then up the street. She knew what the rest of her life would look like, and she knew what the rest of her children’s lives would look like. She would stay here, to guide them through—and her citizens, so long as her office existed. There wasn’t really more to do.
She looked at the stars appearing in the sky. Under the Sith, they would get new names. She hoped that somewhere among them lived the true Protectors, ready to save their people.
But she was prepared to be wrong.
To read more adventures of the Lost Tribe, look for the Fate of the Jedi novels, now available in hardcover and mass market paperback. And find new stories in Lost Tribe of the Sith comic books by John Jackson Miller, available from Dark Horse Comics.
To Jack and Josie,
my own little Tribe
acknowledgments
The nine Fate of the Jedi novels by Aaron Allston, Christie Golden, and Troy Denning introduced a Lost Tribe of the Sith, marooned on the planet Kesh, and discovered in Luke Skywalker’s time. The Lost Tribe of the Sith project told the history of that Sith society through a series of e-book short stories; those appear here, with a new novella appearing for the first time. My thanks go to Del Rey editor Shelly Shapiro and former Lucasfilm fiction editor Sue Rostoni for bringing me the project, and to Aaron, Christie, and Troy for developing the background materials that became the basis for these stories. My appreciation goes to David Pomerico, Frank Parisi, Erich Schoeneweiss, and everyone at Random House who helped bring the Lost Tribe to both
print and electronic life. To read more adventures of the Lost Tribe, look for the Fate of the Jedi novels, now available in hardcover and mass market paperback. And find new stories in Lost Tribe of the Sith comic books available from Dark Horse Comics.
BY JOHN JACKSON MILLER
Star Wars: Knight Errant
About the Author
Author and game designer JOHN JACKSON MILLER is the author of Star Wars: Knight Errant and the Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith eBook series, as well as nine Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic graphic novels. His comics work includes writing for Iron Man, Mass Effect, Bart Simpson, and Indiana Jones. He lives in Wisconsin with his wife, two children, and far too many comic books.
STAR WARS—The Expanded Universe
You saw the movies. You watched the cartoon series, or maybe played some of the video games. But did you know …
In The Empire Strikes Back, Princess Leia Organa said to Han Solo, “I love you.” Han said, “I know.” But did you know that they actually got married? And had three Jedi children: the twins, Jacen and Jaina, and a younger son, Anakin?
Luke Skywalker was trained as a Jedi by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Yoda. But did you know that, years later, he went on to revive the Jedi Order and its commitment to defending the galaxy from evil and injustice?
Obi-Wan said to Luke, “For over a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Before the dark times. Before the Empire.” Did you know that over those millennia, legendary Jedi and infamous Sith Lords were adding their names to the annals of Republic history?
Yoda explained that the dreaded Sith tend to come in twos: “Always two, there are. No more, no less. A Master, and an apprentice.” But did you know that the Sith didn’t always exist in pairs? That at one time in the ancient Republic there were as many Sith as Jedi, until a Sith Lord named Darth Bane was the lone survivor of a great Sith war and created the “Rule of Two”?
All this and much, much more is brought to life in the many novels and comics of the Star Wars expanded universe. You’ve seen the movies and watched the cartoon. Now venture out into the wider worlds of Star Wars!
Turn the page or jump to the timeline of Star Wars novels to learn more.
Read on for an excerpt from
Star Wars®: X-Wing: Mercy Kill
by Aaron Allston
Coming soon from Del Rey Books
RYVESTER, MERIDIAN SECTOR 13 ABY (31 YEARS AGO)
IMPERIAL ADMIRAL KOSH TERADOC PAUSED—IRRITATED and self-conscious—just outside the entryway into the club. His garment, a tradesman’s jumpsuit, was authentic, bought at a used-clothes stall in a poverty-stricken neighborhood. And the wig that covered his military-cut blond hair with a mop of lank, disarrayed brown hair was perfect. But his posture—he couldn’t seem to shake off his upright military bearing, no matter how hard he tried. Loosening his shoulders, slumping, slouching … nothing worked for more than a few seconds.
“You’re doing fine, Admiral.” That was one of his bodyguards, whispering. “Try … try smiling.”
Teradoc forced his mouth into a smile and held it that way. He took the final step up to the doors; they slid aside, emitting a wash of warmer air and the sounds of voices, music, clinking glasses.
He and his guards moved into the club’s waiting area. Its dark walls were decorated with holos advertising various brands of drinks; the moving images promised romance, social success, and wealth to patrons wise enough to choose the correct beverage. And they promised these things to nonhumans as well as humans.
One of Teradoc’s guards, taller and more fit than he was, but dressed like him, kept close. The other three held back as though they constituted a different party of patrons.
The seater approached. A brown Chadra-Fan woman who stood only as tall as Teradoc’s waist, she wore a gold hostess’ gown, floor-length but exposing quite a lot of glossy fur.
Teradoc held up three fingers. He enunciated slowly so she would understand. “Another will be coming. Another man, joining us. You understand?”
Her mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles. “I do.” Her voice was light, sweet, and perhaps just a touch mocking. “Are you the party joining Captain Hachat?”
“Um … yes.”
“He’s already here. This way, please.” She turned and led them through broad, open double doors into the main room.
Teradoc followed. He felt heat in his cheeks. The little Chadra-Fan—had she actually condescended to him? He wondered if he should arrange an appropriate punishment for her.
The main room was cavernous, most of its innumerable tables occupied even at this late hour. As they worked their way across, everything became worse for Teradoc. The music and the din of conversation were louder. And the smells—less than a quarter of the patrons were human. Teradoc saw horned Devaronians, furry Bothans, diminutive Sullustans, enormous, green-skinned Gamorreans, and more, and he fancied he could smell every one of them. And their alcohol.
“You’re upright again, sir. You might try slouching.”
Teradoc growled at his guard but complied.
There was one last blast of music from the upraised stage, and then the band, most of them nonhuman, rose to the crowd’s applause. They retreated behind the stage curtain.
Moments later, the noise of the audience, hundreds of voices, changed—lowered, became expectant in tone. A new act filed out onstage. Six Gamorrean men, dressed in nothing but loincloths, their skin oiled and gleaming, moved out and arrayed themselves in a chevron-shaped formation. Recorded dance music, heavy on drums and woodwinds, blasted out from the stage’s sound system.
The Gamorreans began moving to the music. They flexed, shimmied, strutted in unison. A shrill cry of appreciation rose from Gamorrean women in the audience, and from others, as well.
Teradoc shuddered and vowed to sit with his back to the stage.
Then they were at their table, only a few meters from the stage. A human man sat there already. Of medium height and muscular, he was young, with waist-length red hair in a braid. Costume jewelry, polished copper inset with black stones, was woven into the braid. He wore a long-sleeved tunic decorated with blobs of color of every hue, mismatched and discordant; it clashed with his military-style black pants and boots. He stood as Teradoc and his guard arrived.
“Captain Hachat?”
“The one and only.” Hachat sat again and indicated the guard. “Who’s your friend? He looks like a hundred kilos of preserved meat.”
The Chadra-Fan seater, satisfied that she had discharged her duty, offered a little bow. “Your server will be here in a few moments.” She turned and headed back to her station.
Teradoc glared after her and seated himself, facing away from the stage. He waited until his guard was in a chair before continuing. “Your messenger hinted at names. I want to hear them now … and to see proof.”
Hachat nodded. “Of course. But, first—would it help you to stop smiling? It looks like it’s hurting your face.”
“Um … yes.” Teradoc relaxed, realized that his cheek muscles were indeed aching. He glanced around, noted the postures of many of the patrons around him, and slid down a little in his chair to match their slouches.
“Much better.” Hachat sipped his drink, a poisonous-looking yellow concoction that glowed from within. There were two glasses, mostly empty but with a similar-looking residue at the bottom on the table. “All right. I run a private space naval operation specializing in covert operations, especially retrievals.”
Teradoc suppressed a sigh. Why can’t they ever just say, “I’m a pirate, a smuggler, a low-life piece of scum with something to sell?” Honesty would be so refreshing.
“We recently found a prize vessel … one whose value could enable us to retire in luxury.”
Teradoc shrugged. “Go on.”
“The Palace of Piethet Brighteyes.”
“I thought that was what your messenger was hinting at. But it’s preposterous. In th
e centuries since it disappeared, the Palace has never been sighted, never reported. It will never be found.”
Hachat grinned at him. “But it has been. Abandoned, intact, unplundered, in an area of your sector well away from settlements or trade routes.”
“If you’d found it, you’d be selling off its jewels, its furnishings, all those paintings. Through a fence. Yet you come to me. You’re lying.”
“Here’s the truth, Admiral. The vessel’s antipersonnel defenses are still active. I lost a dozen men just getting into a secondary vehicle bay, where I retrieved one artifact and some lesser gems. Oh, yes, I could fire missiles at the palace until it cracked … but I would prefer to lose half its contents to a worthwhile partner than to explosions and hard vacuum. At least I’d get a partner and some good will out of it.”
Teradoc rubbed at his temple. The boom-boom-boom from the sound system on stage behind him was giving him a headache. He returned his attention to Hachat. “Don’t use my rank. Don’t speak my name here.”
“Whatever you want.” Hachat took another sip of his drink. “You have access to Imperial Intelligence resources, the best slicers and intrusion experts in the galaxy. They could get past those defenses … and make us both rich.”
“In your original message and tonight, you mentioned an artifact.”
“I have it with me. A show of faith, just as you proposed.”
“Show me.”
“Tell your bruiser not to panic; I’m only reaching for a comlink.”
Teradoc glanced at his guard, gave a slight nod.
Hachat pulled free a small device clipped to his shirt collar and pressed a button on the side. “All right. It’s coming.”
Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith: The Collected Stories Page 33
