Set after Apprentices II: The New Generation






"Her wounds were serious considering," Perrin said as he crossed the threshold separating the Medical Wing of the Imperial Palace towards the Emperor, lost in thought staring at the traffic in the distance.


"No surprising," the older man mused, "especially if her opponent was the fool Ithron. An apprentice who cannot carry out his charge ill serves his master." Hyfe continued as he began to move through the hall, Perrin falling into step behind him. "But then Lupercus will come to understand this soon enough."


"Yes, Lord." Perrin commented and Hyfe turned to the younger Sith scowling.


"You still refuse to address me as Master?"


"A Hand serves their Lord. A slave serves his Master." was all Perrin said and Hyfe clapped his hands in appreciation.


"Your skill at prevarication improves, Descartes. But do not be so bold in sitting on the fence as to forget that Hands can be sacrificed for the greater good of the body."


"So, will retribution be taken of Lupercus?"


The Emperor chuckled. "Whatever for? Too bind the old Naboo Sith Order to the New Order, we had to make certain allowances towards the leadership of the Sith and as a result, Darksword is Governor of the Corellian Diktat."


"They call him 'Diktator'" Perrin remarked.


"He is bound to me politically no matter the manner of his title. If he upsets that, his Protectorate is forfeit and he knows it. And he needs us to one day settle himself over Hapes."


"He is searching for..."


"Of course he is searching! He needs to rebuild the powerbase he has lost to the Sith Order's Grand Master. While we have weighed him down in the real work of governing a territory, not a skill to be taken lightly, his Sith have been diddling about playing their power games. The Grand Master knows he cannot act independently without the Empire getting word and so seeks to set the Sith out apart from the New Order."


"Master Lupercus feels that void of separation and feels his foundation weakening and so schemes to cull Vance's numbers." He turned to Perrin, "The same as I culled you and Dehoir to be my Hands."


"Speaking of which.." Perrin frowned at the mention of his counterpart's name.


"Her whereabouts are not your concern, Descartes. You would do well to concern yourself with my wishes, first and foremost."


"What about the wishes of the Dark Side?"


The Emperor of the Galaxy turned an eye back to his Hand, "What about them?" he answered back. "Do you know who, throughout all time, have sought some sort of religious justification for their actions? Those that have been contaminated by Jedi philosophies! Those fallen Jedi who feel a burn in their conscience about betraying those they felt an attachment for. When initiates and their masters dig through the bones of old Sith Lords, believe me, they do not care what justification the old owners of those bones had in subjugating a planet or enslaving a people for their particular cause! what they care about is the power that old Sith Lord wielded and how they too could seize it!

It is said that when one starts down the dark path, forever will it dominate their destiny. And that is true, Descartes. For all creatures are inherently selfish. when one craving ...when one desire is given in too... it rarely, if ever, becomes sated. No. We want ...more."


Perrin stopped, remembering Mira's report. "So Lupercus' decision to support the Rule of Two?"

Hyfe laughed. "Rule of Two..." he sneered. "Where was the Rule of Two when Lupercus headed The Naboo Sith Order? Where was his piety toward's Bane's flight of fancy then? No. Lupercus is more concerned about his power and his powerbase more than what some Dark Lord of the Sith proposed a thousand years ago."


Perrin grinned, "I guess your Grand Moff Zell would say, 'How the fuck do the Sith expect to win over the Jedi when they only pit two against fucking hundreds of Jedi?'".


Perrin's voice even sounded like the old man that Hyfe chuckled despite himself. "Indeed. The Sith cry over Jedi victories of a thousand years ago and while it speaks well of Palpatine, as one of two Sith who brought down the Jedi Order of the Old Republic, our current victories over the Jedi have been one of mass."


"Mass?"


"Our military commander, Simon Kaine, recognized the value of mass Sith. He encouraged their attack on Naboo which left the Jedi dickering about while we took Coruscant."


"And now the Jedi Order has been disbanded and their members are helping old women cross antiquated streets while the Sith take their rightful place in the galaxy. So, tell me, Descartes, where in all this is the Dark Side failing? WE RULE THE GALAXY!"

"Whether the Sith Order, the Naboo Sith Order, the Order of Golgotha....whether it is the Rule of Two, the Rule of Thousands.. or if it's Darth Yang, Darth Maximus, Lupercus, Vance Jas... as long as they serve me," he grinned and evil grin, "the Darkside is served.

So let their infighting continue. It culls the weak rather than coddles fools as the Jedi do."


"So.. this Darth Skygge?"


"Incessant naming has weakened the title." Hyfe growled.


Perrin agreed. Being an Emperor's Hand kept him from having to come up with some stupid 'Darth' name. He could do without that sort of notoriety.

"Take her on your current assignment. With Lupercus and Jas eyeing each other, we must be vigilant in keeping an eye on the Jedi."


"Are they still a threat?"


"Anyone who can use the Force can be an annoyance." Hyfe admonished and Perrin took the advice to heart. Never underestimate your enemy.


"I've watched this Darth Skygge and she seems to have her head in past Sith achievements rather than the achievements she could be grabbing for now."


"I shall drive the lesson home, Lord."


"See that you do. She can be of use to me if she can seize such opportunities."


"Now, about your mission..."

Mira lay in the medical center on Coruscant, sleeping. But her rest was far from peaceful.

Her most recent mission to Korriban had ended in confusion and disaster. Master Jas had sent her and Ithron on a mission to recover some artifact, though Mira suspected...no, knew...that in reality he had wanted the two to learn to work together. And work together they did, to a point.

The voyage there had been interrupted by Ithron's visit to Lupercus Darksword's place of residence while Mira had scoured the city, supposedly looking for a shuttle. In reality, she had simply been allowing the gentle prodding of the Force to lead her. And so she had discovered that the fool Jedi she had met on Telos had found her again.

The two Sith had fled the planet. Mira's desire had been to complete the mission with as little complication as possible. Ithron's...well, who could say what Ithron's goals were? During the time he had been with Lupercus, he had apparently been swayed by the Diktator's power and had submitting to doing Darksword's bidding.

By the time they reached Korriban, Mira had suspected something was wrong. She never realized just how wrong it was. The dream came to her now, in the silence.

Lightsabers flashed. Ithron's blazed red in the darkness. From the hands of Mira and Ben flowed emerald green blades. Others ignited, but Mira was focused on those two. For it was within those blades that her life was contained.

Her brain jumped foward. Pain. More pain than she had ever felt. The searing heat of Ithron's red saber as it rammed through her. The numbing burns of Ben's saber across her body. She turned and fought back, her life ebbing away as she did so. She would not die without a fight.

Even now, over a week later, Mira still had no idea how she had gotten off the planet or how she had even survived. But here she lay, injured, broken, but alive. And it was the last that counted in the high stakes game she played.

As the dream faded, Mira awoke. The injuries were less, now. Bacta treatments, as well as Sith healing techniques, had begun to restore her to full health. Thankfully she hadn't had any body parts completely amputated, though some serious reconstructive work had been done to keep them all functional. Thank the Force for the technological advances of the Empire, she thought to herself.

Her thoughts were still in confusion about the nature of the Dark Side. Ithron clearly had more power by surrendering completely to it. Yet there was something about his eyes that warned her away from such absolute surrender. It was almost as if Ithron no longer existed. He seemed now to be simply a manifestation of the Dark Side; no longer human, but simply evil incarnate. Mira did not want to walk that route.

But there was no time for such thoughts now. She needed to heal so that if trouble once again approached her, she would be able to confront and defeat it, in whatever form it presented itself. She sat slowly, feeling the pain from where Ithron's saber had gone through her. Closing her eyes, she focused on the area, knitting together the severed arteries and pierced organs, carefully healing the burned areas.

She had been in this state for at least a week. Someone had given her basic bacta treatments and brought her here; who, she did not know. Whoever it was, she owed them her life. It was but one more thing in the ever-growing pile of questions that haunted her in her unguarded moments.

Breathe, she told herself. She was willing her body to heal itself, speeding up what would take months for a normal person, trying to condense it into two weeks. She had been hurt by both Jedi and Sith, though whether Ithron could still be considered a true Sith was debatable, at least in her mind. More like one of Lupercus's pawns.

That was another thought. Revenge. With every fiber in her being Mira wanted to kill Ithron and Lupercus. The latter desire she would never be able to act upon, for surely he would die of old age before she attained the power to challenge him in combat. The former, on the other hand...she only had to catch him unawares once to strike him down from behind. She would watch as his guts spilled onto the ground, as his dark eyes filled with fear as he watched her walk in his blood. Yes, that would be a good day.

Twenty minutes later, the door opened. A doctor entered, one she had not seen before. It wasn't the one that had been patching her up all week. "Ms. Tyrell. Good to see you awake."

She looked at him. "Who are you?"

He smiled. "I'm your doctor when the other one's at home asleep. You haven't seen me yet as you've been doing a lot of sleeping yourself." He walked towards her bed, and she reached out through the Force to determine his intents. Nothing suspicious hid behind his gray eyes. Still, one could never be too careful. Her mind locked onto the lightsaber under her sheets, and she prepared to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Nothing happened, though. The doctor took a quick look at her wounds and commented, "Well, you're healing quite nicely. In all my years I've never seen someone heal as quickly as you are. I'm very impressed. You must keep yourself pretty healthy."

Mira's expression did not change. "I do what I can."

The doctor chuckled. "Well, keep it up. Whatever you're doing, it's working." He looked at his datapad. "I'd say one or two more bacta treatments and you'll be good to go. I'll send the med droid in to escort you to the tank."

He turned to leave, but Mira stopped him. "So am I getting out of here anytime soon?"

"I'd say you can leave tomorrow, if you so wish. I assume you have something important to do."

Mira didn't reply, so the doctor shrugged and left. The medical droid came in a few minutes later and helped her into the bacta tank. While in the tank, she meditated and focused on healing herself again, all the while trying to keep the questions from once again rising to the forefront of her mind. No sense trying to reason them out now. She would have a chance to ask Master Jas, or perhaps Perrin Descartes, later.

*


Perrin watched as the virtually naked woman floated around in the bacta tank. He was dressed in the latest comfortable fashion unconcerned that he was not clothed in the typical drab robes the Sith or their Jedi enemies seemed to prefer.

It was as if the two groups, back during the dawn of creation itself, met and decided their members would sport hooded robes till the end of eternity.


Not Perrin. He hated tradition, he hated grave robbing and he hated stupidity.


Now, as he looked at the floating girl, he wondered what sort of stupidity she had emersed herself in and been injured by on the traditionally Sith world of Korriban probably digging through the old Sith trashheap of graves for trinkets of power or whatnot.


But the better question was, why were Sith fighting Sith?


This is what the Emperor wanted to know. He had been patiently biding his time as the Naboo Sith Order underwent pains of neglect and pains of growth....as two Masters rose to prominence within an Order too small for them.


The Emperor had let slip his interest regarding the abandoned Jedi Temple on Naboo but ironically was slow to move his vast resources towards the tiny, insignificant world giving the Sith enough time to marshal what meager scraps they enjoyed sitting at the Emperor's table together and race forward.


Which is exactly what his majesty wanted.


The rest of the plan would be revealed but only when Perrin arrived with the girl.


"Contact me when she is finished healing.." he remarked to the medical droid. "I want her ready for an assignment as soon as possible."

The smell.

It had to be the worst part of bacta treatments. She would have avoided them if she could, but her wounds were too severe for that. A saber through the torso was no joking matter. Not to mention the nearly-severed arm. By herself, she might have died. With the bacta, she'd only have a few scars. It was worth the smell.

And what had been the benefits of her venture? She had originally thought that it was to bring the crystal back to Vance. Or Darth Vicirus, now. But he hadn't seemed to care about that. Then she had thought that it was to meet the Jedi in a face-to-face battle, but there had been a Jedi nearby when Vance had arrived, and he hadn't struck him down. Now, floating in bacta, she asked herself again why she had gone to Korriban.

As she floated, the answer came. It was like words from a dream. Vicirus used you to expose the treachery of Lupercus and Ithron. You were the bait. And you were the catalyst for the changing of the Order. You have become the pawn of the very thing you hated. And you have power because of it.

That was why she had gone. It had been foolish on her part to go to Korriban, perhaps, but she had emerged from it stronger. As she floated, time seemed to warp, and the more she thought on that idea, the more things warped. It was another vision. They had been coming often, ever since the journey to Korriban, and she had learned to pay attention.

In the sanctuary of his chambers, with the door lock safely on, Ithron allowed his mind to wander while his body sat in a meditative state. Ithron removed the lightsabre from his belt. Activating it, he held it in his right hand, the blade toward the ceiling. Slowly, he moved his left hand nearer to the buzzing blade until it was near enough to feel the heat coming from the device.

Then, with an effort of will, he plunged his hand into the blade, so it ran through his palm. For a moment, Skygge could feel the power rushing through the apprentice's body, the exaltation in the pain. Then the main substance of the pain exploded into Ithron's conciousness, forcing him to double up and drop his sabre which clattered, harmlessly, on the floor. The flesh on his left hand sizzled and burned, but Ithron's eyes were fixed upon his right hand. In a moment of ecstasy, before the pain took him and he blacked out, he the essence of raw power flash between his right thumb and forefinger: Force Lightning.

Skygge jolted from the vision. She had recognized the surroundings as those of the shuttle on the way to Korriban. So that is how Ithron gained his power. By harming himself. And then he harmed me, injured me so badly that I was on the brink of death. How much more power could I tap if I pulled my energy from that?

Thoughts of revenge sizzled in her brain just as Ithron's flesh had sizzled under the lightsaber. She thought of her compatriot's betrayal, of the pain which he had caused her. As these thoughts gathered in her mind, the bacta around her began to heat. Consumed with her own thoughts, she did not realize that the glassteel that surounded the tank was also heating.

Then, with a single convulsion, she sent a blast of the Force out from her body. it shattered the bacta tank, spraying bacta and glassteel all over the floor and the med droid. She ripped the oxygen mask from her face as she fell to the floor of the tank, then rose and stepped out. A quick rinse in a cold shower came next.

Her jumpsuit felt a bit tight as she zipped it up, but that was probably the inactivity of the last two weeks. She'd added a small layer of fat. That would disappear quickly enough. The holes in the torso and the slice in the arm remained; she'd fix them later.

The med droid approached. "Ms. Tyrell, you have been asked to report to Perrin Descartes as soon as possible. Are you well enough to leave?"

Skygge glanced at the droid. "I just shattered a bacta tank. What do you think?"

The droid nodded, producing a datapad. "Sign here," it stated.

Skygge did so, then turned on her heel and walked towards the door. On to her meeting with Descartes. They had a lot to discuss.

"Those bloody tanks cost money, you know.." Perrin griped to the youngster. "If the Emperor or myself decided to hurt you as an example in which you required the tank to recover, you would be, crudely put, bantha poodoo."

He looked up from his desk, "Try to be more careful next time. While a Sith may be required to invest more blood, sweat and tears than the average Jedi fool, we do like our life saving devices to be around to pull us back from the brink of our own arrogance."


He stopped his criticism short as he noticed the tears in Ms. Tyrell's clothes. "And put in for some new threads. We do represent the pinnacle of evolution so it would be nice if we dressed the part."

Then, as responsibility set in regarding the mission Hyfe entrusted him with, "Please, take a seat."


He tried to organize his thoughts past the anger of his annoyances. The young woman before him was like a hate sponge, soaking up anger where she could. Currently, her hate was focussed into a revenge seeking aura, probably from her encounter with Ithron. Progressive...nay, Linear hatred. And if Perrin kept up as he was doing, he would see an example of transference. Hatred of Ithron changing to hatred of Perrin.


Not that such a thought concerned him. While hatred was good for increasing focus, Focus was a blindness all it's own. A sacrifice of the environment for the situation, or a sacrifice of the general for the specific.


"As your little experience on Korriban may or may not have shown you, the Sith Order is undergoing some rather interesting changes. On the surface, it is beginning to split into two camps. Naturally, when such an event happens, loyalty becomes a rather priceless commodity and lying the natural talent found within all members involved."


He looked over at a datapad, "Now you are a recent initiate of the Sith Order which already places you in a paradox of decisions. As a member of the Order, there is a claim for your loyalty as a member on paper. As a Sith, there is a greater need for loyalty to self which easily translates into loyalty to those through whom your advancement is most promoted.

Therefore, before I expose you to sensitive information regarding a mission that you have been seen as worthy of accomplishing, I must ask a very basic question with a not so very basic answer.



To whom do your loyalties lie?"



And, almost as an after thought, "Please know that while you may be able to fool yourself, you will not fool me."

Skygge absorbed Descartes' repremands unflinching. Her face never twitched, never altered in the slightest, yet somehow she knew that he could feel the anger growing inside her. It didn't make sense, that anger, for it had been her fault that the tank had burst, and yet it welled up in her anyway, threatening to burst forth. She managed to contain it, though, and direct it back towards Lupercus and Ithron.

She sat as requested; nevertheless, her posture remained erect and attentive. Her eyes never left Descartes' face; neither did her expression change. Still, she knew something important was happening, something that would determine her destiny for years to come. Or so it seemed.

"As your little experience on Korriban may or may not have shown you, the Sith Order is undergoing some rather interesting changes. On the surface, it is beginning to split into two camps. Naturally, when such an event happens, loyalty becomes a rather priceless commodity and lying the natural talent found within all members involved."

This Skygge knew well. Ithron had turned from following Lord Vicirus and pledged loyalty to that son of hell, Lupercus. Her recent injuries were the measure of that loyalty; Ithron had been commanded to kill her. Had the Jedi Ben not stepped in at that moment, he would have succeeded. But Skygge had been working on the Jedi for some time, turning his thoughts towards the Dark Side, and his loyalty had been to her. Yes, loyalty was a very precious commodity.

"Now you are a recent initiate of the Sith Order which already places you in a paradox of decisions. As a member of the Order, there is a claim for your loyalty as a member on paper. As a Sith, there is a greater need for loyalty to self which easily translates into loyalty to those through whom your advancement is most promoted.

Therefore, before I expose you to sensitive information regarding a mission that you have been seen as worthy of accomplishing, I must ask a very basic question with a not so very basic answer.

To whom do your loyalties lie?"

And, almost as an after thought, "Please know that while you may be able to fool yourself, you will not fool me."

A basic question, indeed. And one that required a very complex answer. Had she spoken immediately, as some would - Ithron came to mind - she would probably end up lying on the floor, unconscious or dead. But Skygge was smarter than that. She knew the power contained behind Descartes' impassive face, and she knew that power could be unleashed on her. So she considered her words carefully before answering.

"Loyalty," she finally said. "Does a Sith really know loyalty? I was once loyal to the Jedi, those simple-minded fools that sit all day in their meditations, contemplating a universe that is falling down around their ears. Loyalty. According to that son-of-hell Lupercus and his puppet apprentice, loyalty should only be to oneself. They would do anything to gain more power, even consume their own like slashrats. Darth Vicirus would have us pledge our loyalties to his Brotherhood of Sith, but it was that Brotherhood that created Lupercus and Ithron. Are they worthy of loyalty? Or, as the question should be, are they worthy of loyalty now? It seems that they may be, for it would seem that Vicirus has instituted changes to bring the Brotherhood back to what it should be. Ithron's turning, it seems, has awakened him to the realities of the nature of the Sith.

"So to whom do my loyalties lie? That, perhaps, is a question that I myself do not know the answer to. This one thing I do know: my loyalty is to the will of the Dark Side of the Force, and to those that serve it. Beyond that, I cannot say."

There was no deception in her talk, no falsity. She had answered as honestly as possible, as Perrin had requested. Now, she could only hope that her answer had been sufficient.