The memory of the two dead Jedi back on Ruusan flashed through Zannah’s mind, followed quickly by the image of Bordon and his son lying lifeless in the cargo hold.
“Yes, I am,” she whispered as she pulled the trigger.
Irtanna managed a faint gasp of surprise, then collapsed to the ground—a quick and clean death. Zannah waited a second to confirm she was gone, then turned to point the blaster at Wend. He had watched the encounter unfold as if paralyzed, not even bothering to undo the buckle of his safety harness.
“Don’t kill me!” he begged, squirming beneath the chair’s restraints.
She could actually sense the fear emanating from him. She felt the familiar heat of the dark side flare to life within her, responding to the plight of her victim, feeding itself on his terror. It flowed through her like a wave of liquid fire, burning away her guilt and uncertainty and strengthening her resolve.
Zannah’s mind was filled with a great and sudden realization: fear and pain were an inevitable part of existence. And it was far better to inflict them on others than to suffer them herself.
“Please don’t shoot,” Wend whimpered, making one last plea for his life. “I’m just a kid. Like you.”
“I’m not a kid,” Zannah said as she pulled the trigger. “I’m a Sith.”
7
B
ane could hear the whine of the
Valcyn
’s engines as the ship sliced through the upper layers of Dxun’s atmosphere, protesting as he pushed the vessel to her very limits. Normally the trip from Ruusan to Onderon’s oversized moon would have taken a T-class cruiser like the
Valcyn
between four and five days. Bane had covered the distance in just over two.
Within hours of leaving Ruusan—and Zannah—behind, he had been cursed with the return of the almost unbearable headaches. And with them had come an unwanted and most unwelcome companion. The spectral shade of Lord Kaan loomed over him in the cockpit for the entire first day of the trip, a visible manifestation of the damage Bane’s mind had suffered from the thought bomb. The spirit never spoke, merely watched him with its accusatory gaze, a constant presence on the edges of Bane’s awareness.
The ghostly apparition had driven Bane to adopt an irresponsible, even dangerous, pace for the journey. He had pushed the
Valcyn
far beyond the recommended safety parameters, as if part of him was trying to use the speed of the ship to outrun his own madness. He was desperate to reach Dxun so he could find the tomb of Freedon Nadd and hopefully discover some way to rid himself of the torturous hallucinations.
Kaan had disappeared toward the end of the first day
of his journey, only to be replaced by an even worse visitation. It wasn’t the founder of the Brotherhood of Darkness that hovered beside him now, but Qordis—the former head of the Sith Academy on Korriban. Pale and semi-translucent, the figure was otherwise an almost perfect replica of what the Sith Lord had looked like at the time of their final meeting, when Bane had killed him. Tall and gaunt, Qordis had skeletal features that seemed more at home on a spirit than they ever had on a being of flesh and blood. Unlike Kaan, however, Qordis actually spoke to him, spewing forth an endless litany of blame, denouncing everything Bane had accomplished.
“You betrayed us,” the phantom said, extending a long, thin finger topped with a talonlike nail. Bane didn’t need to look at it to know the finger would be adorned with the heavy bejeweled rings Qordis had worn in life. “You destroyed the Brotherhood, you brought victory to the Jedi. And now you flee the scene like a craven thief in the night.”
I’m not a coward!
Bane thought. There was no point in voicing the words aloud; the vision was all in his mind. Speaking with it would only be a sign that his mental condition was further deteriorating.
I did what had to be done. The Brotherhood was an abomination. They had to be destroyed!
“The Brotherhood had knowledge of the dark side. Wisdom that is lost forever because of you.”
Bane was growing weary of the all-too-familiar refrain. He’d had this conversation with himself before he decided to destroy Kaan and his followers, and now he was reliving it again and again through the delusions of his wounded mind. Yet he refused to allow any doubts or uncertainties to weaken his resolve; he had done what was necessary.
The Brotherhood had lost its way. They had fallen
from the true path of the dark side. All the study and training Qordis put prospective students through at the Academy was worthless
.
“If that was true,” the apparition countered, answering his unspoken arguments, “then how do you explain your current mission? Your claim to reject my teachings, yet I was the one who discovered the location of Freedon Nadd’s lost tomb.”
You didn’t discover anything. You’re just a hallucination. And Qordis may have stumbled on this information, but he didn’t know what to do with it. A true Sith Master would have left Ruusan to seek out Nadd’s tomb. Instead he decided to stay and help Kaan play army with the Jedi
.
“Excuses and justifications,” the spirit replied. “Kaan was a warrior. But you would rather hide from your enemies than fight them.”
Bane gritted his teeth as the
Valcyn
hit the turbulence of Dxun’s heavy cloud cover. The ship was still going too fast, forcing him to clutch the steering yoke so hard to keep his craft on course that his knuckles turned white. He heard the creaks and groans as the over-stressed hull sliced through the thick atmosphere.
“You betrayed us,” Qordis said again.
Bane swore under his breath, doing his best to ignore the ramblings of the image conjured up by his own mind. How many times had he heard this exact conversation in the past day? Fifty? A hundred? It was like listening to a busted holoprojector repeating the same message over and over.
“You destroyed the Brotherhood, you brought victory to the Jedi. And now you flee the scene like a craven thief in the night.”
“Shut up!” Darth Bane screamed, no longer able to contain his rage. “You’re not even real!”
He lashed out with the Force, releasing an explosion
of dark side energy inside the cockpit, determined to blast the offending vision into oblivion. Qordis did vanish, but Bane’s victory was short-lived. Emergency lights began flashing inside the ship, accompanied by the shrill whooping of a critical failure alarm.
The ship’s console had been fried by the burst of power he’d unleashed. Cursing Qordis and his own reckless display of emotion, Bane began a desperate struggle to somehow bring the vessel in for a safe landing. From all around him he could hear the ghostly, mocking laughter of Qordis.
The
Valcyn
was in free fall, plummeting straight down toward Dxun’s heavily forested surface. Bane yanked back on the yoke with all the strength of his massive frame, managing to redirect the ship into a shallower angle of approach. But if he didn’t find some way to decelerate, it wasn’t going to matter.
He punched at the controls, trying to restart the engine thrusters with one hand while the other still struggled to keep the yoke steady. Getting no response, he closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, digging deep into the burned-out circuits and melted wires of the ship.
His mind raced through the labyrinth of electronics that controlled all the
Valcyn
’s systems, reassembling and rerouting them to find a configuration that would restore power to the dead ignition switch. His first attempt resulted in a shower of sparks shooting up from the control panel, but his second effort was rewarded with the roar of the thrusters coming to life.
Bane managed to get the engines into full reverse only a few hundred meters above Dxun’s surface. The ship’s descent slowed, but didn’t even come close to stopping. A split second before the
Valcyn
slammed into the forest below, Bane wrapped himself in the Force, creating a
protective cocoon he could only hope would be strong enough to survive the unavoidable collision.
The
Valcyn
hit the treetops at a forty-five-degree angle. The landing gear sheared off on impact, tearing loose with a thunderous crack. Wide gashes appeared in the sides of the ship, the hull hurtling into thick branches and boughs with enough force to tear through the reinforced sheets of metal and peel them away from their frame.
Inside the cockpit Bane was flung against walls and ceiling. He was spun, tossed, and slammed against the sides of the cockpit as the vessel careened through the trees. Even the Force couldn’t fully shield him from the devastating crash as the ship carved a kilometer-long swath of burned and broken foliage before slamming into the soft, muddy ground of a swamp and finally coming to rest.
For several seconds Bane didn’t move. His ship had been reduced to a smoking pile of scrap, but miraculously he had survived, saved by the dark side energies enveloping his form. He hadn’t escaped unscathed, however. His body was covered with painful bruises and contusions, his face and hands cut from fragments of shattered glass that had pierced his protective cocoon; his right bicep was bleeding heavily from a deep five-centimeter gash. His left shoulder had been dislocated and two ribs were broken, but neither had punctured a lung. His right knee was already swelling up, but there didn’t seem to be any cartilage or ligament damage. And he tasted blood in his mouth, oozing from the gap where two of his teeth had been knocked out. Fortunately, none of his wounds was life threatening.
Bane rose to his feet slowly, favoring his injured knee. What was left of the
Valcyn
had come to rest on her side, turning everything in the cockpit at a disorienting ninety-degree angle. Moving gingerly, Bane made his
way to the emergency exit hatch, his left arm dangling all but useless from his side. Given the ship’s position, her exit hatch was now above him, facing the sky.
Strong as he was, Bane knew he wouldn’t be able to pull himself to freedom with only one good arm. A Jedi might have been able to use the Force to heal his wounds, but Bane was a student of the dark side. Even if his ability to call upon the Force hadn’t been temporarily exhausted in surviving the crash, healing was not a skill the Sith were familiar with. Before he became a Sith Master, however, Bane had served as a soldier, where he had received basic medical field training.
The
Valcyn
was equipped with an emergency medpac under the pilot’s seat. Inside it were healing stims he could use to treat the worst of his injuries. But when he made his way over to look under the seat, the kit was gone.
Realizing it must have jarred loose during the crash, he rummaged around the cockpit until he found it. The outside of the kit was dented and slightly bent, but otherwise it appeared undamaged. It took him three tries to open the latch with only one good hand. When he finally succeeded, he was relieved to see that several of the health stims had survived intact.
He removed one and injected it directly into his thigh. Within seconds he could feel his body’s own natural healing properties beginning to kick into overdrive in response to the healing shot. The blood flowing from his cuts began to clot. More important, the shot helped dull the pain from his swollen knee and broken ribs, allowing him to walk and breathe more freely.
His dislocated shoulder, however, required more direct treatment. Grabbing his injured left wrist with his right hand and gritting his teeth against the pain, Bane pulled with all his might, hoping the shoulder would pop back into place. Thanks to his size and strength,
he’d been recruited more than a few times by field medics to help resocket the dislocated limbs of fellow soldiers during his military days. A simple procedure, it required a tremendous amount of torque to work effectively, and Bane soon discovered he simply couldn’t get the leverage he needed to perform the maneuver on himself.
Grunting and sweating from his exertions, he realized he’d have to take more extreme measures. Lowering himself to a sitting position on the floor, he stretched forward and bent his knees so he could grip the wrist of his injured arm securely between his ankles. He took a deep breath, then thrust his legs straight while throwing his torso backward.
He screamed as the shoulder snapped back into the socket with an audible
pop
. The sudden jolt of pain was excruciating; it took every bit of strength he had left to keep from passing out. As it was he simply lay on his back, pale and shivering from the ordeal. He was rewarded a few seconds later by the pins and needles of sensation rapidly being restored to the fingers of his left hand.
A few minutes and another healing injection later, he was able to use both arms to haul himself up through the exit hatch and clamber down the side of the
Valcyn
’s wreckage to stand, battered but not beaten, on Dxun’s surface.
He wasn’t surprised to find Qordis waiting there for him.
“You’re trapped, Bane,” the spirit mocked. “Your ship is destroyed beyond all hope of repair. You won’t find another vessel here—there are no intelligent or civilized creatures on Dxun. And you can’t wait for a rescue party. Nobody knew you were coming here. Not even your apprentice.”
Bane didn’t bother replying, but instead made a final
check of his gear. He’d grabbed a pack of basic supplies from the ship and strapped it to his back. It contained food rations, glow rods, a handful of health stims, and a simple hunting blade that he slid into his boot. The pack and its contents, plus the lightsaber dangling at his belt, were the only things worth salvaging from the wreckage.
“The jungles of Dxun are filled with deadly predators,” the spirit continued. “They will stalk you day and night, and the moment you let your guard down they will strike. And even if you survive the terrors of the jungle, how are you going to get off this world?
“There is no escape,” the ghostly Qordis taunted. “You will die here, Bane.”
“It’s
Darth
Bane,” the big man said with a grim smile. “And I’m not dead yet. Unlike you.”