Chapter 57 (Patreon)

There she is, Talli thought with dislike as she spotted the passenger who had just arrived on Jabiim aboard a tiny craft, barely larger than a shuttle.

It was hard not to recognize the person she'd come to the spaceport for among the sparse trickle of travelers arriving on the rainy world.

A small, old ship with only a single twin anti-meteor laser mount for armament, and plenty of places where the armor plating was simply missing, replaced with ordinary sheet metal. Four passengers came down the ramp of this near-wreck—a vessel that would have been considered pathetic even on Jabiim, and one whose proper place was long ago in a scrapyard for ships past their prime…

Although…

The former Nightsister was exaggerating slightly. The ship was a wreck—yes—but by galactic standards it was still in more or less serviceable condition. It was just that, according to many of her new acquaintances, landing on Jabiim in a tub like that a few years ago would have been close to suicide. So the ships Talli had seen at the spaceports were generally in far better shape, and this was the first time she had encountered a vessel quite so… pathetic.

As for the passenger Talli was supposed to meet… it wasn't the cloak with the hood pulled low, nor the elongated box floating beside her that could easily be recognized as a medical capsule used to transport the critically injured. Everyone arriving at the former witch's new home seemed to favor similar clothing—the endless rain encouraged that particular fashion—and as for the cargo… well, plenty of people got themselves into serious trouble somewhere out in the galaxy. No, the problem was something else. The newly arrived… mm… guest was being unbelievably stupid about it, rendering her already rather unimpressive disguise completely useless.

Seriously, that… “strut”—there was no other word for that swaggering, menacing way of walking—the rigid posture clearly meant to showcase just how “dangerous” the visitor to Jabiim was, the wary looks from the other three passengers…

No, seriously, could she stand out any LESS?! If Talli hadn't known that every camera had been switched off and that customs officers were making a very deliberate effort not to look toward the passenger the former Dathomiri witch was about to collect, she would have simply said screw it, turned around, and gone back to the Academy to help her overworked Teacher—instead of walking out to meet this… this… Hutt-theater actress!

“Follow me,” the girl said, struggling to keep her voice calm as she stared into the darkness beneath the hood. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to spit in irritation or burst out laughing right in the visitor's face. And Talli made absolutely no effort to hide what she was feeling, projecting it into the world with obvious satisfaction.

…

…

The Dathomiri got silence in reply. Contemptuous, perhaps. Or arrogant. That was probably what the newcomer meant it to convey. Most likely, judging by what the Force was telling Talli. But Talli would have called the silence moronic. If only because not so long ago, she herself would have been perfectly happy to use the same trick to make herself seem important and mysterious. It was so embarrassing she suddenly wanted to hit someone. Hard. She could even hit herself.

“No, you can keep standing there like a monument to your own silence if you want,” the white-haired girl said with a shrug, turning away. “But then you'll have to go through customs like everyone else…”

Baldy, Talli added silently. She would have said that out loud too, but… her job was to escort the guest to the one waiting for her, and then she could get back to the Academy and her Teacher. There was no point making things any worse than necessary with an idiot she probably wouldn't even see again for a long time. And when she did—she probably wouldn't recognize her. The one waiting for her… knew how to teach people manners.

Well, look at her, Talli thought with dislike, feeling the anger of the wreck's passenger at her back as the woman followed after all, the medical capsule floating behind her with a quiet hum. Came crawling in from her backwater and expected something. People falling at her feet, maybe? She hasn't earned that yet.

Lahata Spaceport, serving Jabiim's smallest city, was tiny. Well, compared to the one in the capital. Talli herself had seen very few facilities like it, and back home on Dathomir, any flat stretch of sufficiently firm ground that could support the weight of a starship counted as a landing site for the vessels that only rarely dared visit the planet.

But even here, in the backwater of a backwater little planet, the Jabiimi had built a proper spaceport. Small, yes, and ships rarely landed here, but the place even had a separate lane for diplomatic missions. It was closed at the moment, though, so Talli was leading the bald woman in the cloak and hood who had arrived on the rainy world through the business lane instead. Basically, you paid extra, and all that. Then your documents were processed faster, your luggage was inspected first, and they would even pour you a cup of caf so that Jabiim's expensive guest—in every sense of the word—would feel properly looked after.

Good caf, the Dathomiri almost smacked her lips at the thought of that fragrant delight she could get whenever she wanted… at home. At the Academy, right alongside her Teacher, and at his mansion, where Talli now lived with Lara—Little Miss Nondescript.

She had bought a cup of caf here not long ago, then spent five minutes trying to get the taste out of her mouth before tossing the “drink” straight into the trash. To be fair, the caf hadn't actually been bad. You just got used to good things quickly, that was all. To a soft bed. To being treated… like a normal sentient. To people speaking to you without contempt, without looking down on you. Respecting you. Simply because the Teacher had decided you were worthy of personal instruction. And when your successes were valued on their own, rather than treating you as nothing more than an appendage to a powerful Mentor…

Talli SAVORED even something as simple as walking through empty corridors. Comfortable shoes still didn't feel like something to take for granted. Neither did clean, soft, comfortable underwear, or beautifully tailored clothes made from expensive fabric. Even now, every time the former daughter of that bitch Talzin woke up in her ridiculously comfortable bed, she felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. And the thought that three of her “sisters” were currently being trained by a certain Lady into perfect servants who couldn't so much as open their mouths without their mistress's approval only made it better. Even Lara, whom Talli occasionally ran into during experiments or around the mansion, no longer irritated her all that much.

There had never really been any friction between them… Though really, how could someone that pathetic possibly cause Talli any trouble? Especially now. Little Miss Nondescript simply lived the life of a dumb bantha and seemed perfectly happy with it. She spent her days playing around with her paintings and, from time to time, took part in the Teacher's experiments with the most ingratiating smile imaginable and the lovestruck eyes of a fathier, practically dripping for him. Lunatic!

Glancing back to make sure the bald woman hiding under her hood was still following—still practically radiating displeasure—and that behind their “guest” floated the repulsor-borne “coffin” containing half the torso of Jabiim's second visitor, Talli turned her attention back to the spaceport corridors and her own thoughts.

As for wanting the sorcerer… No, she still couldn't call Little Miss Nondescript crazy. If only because Talli herself wouldn't have minded something deeper than a teacher-student relationship. Love, of course? Ha. Three times ha. Absolutely not. But becoming Siith's lover? Oh yes. She would have taken full advantage of that—and she would definitely have tried to… swap the dominant and submissive roles between them now and then… Hmm. And if she remembered how the Teacher had freed her from Mother Talzin's filth… Yes, perhaps… during those passionate nights, self-interest wouldn't have been the only thing driving her.

Damn it, Talli grimaced at her own thoughts. Given the dreams she'd been having at night—dreams featuring the sorcerer rather creatively “punishing” her for mistakes in her studies—this line of thinking was starting to look dangerous.

She was almost certain she knew why. The contrast between her old life and her new one was enormous, and every part of that change was tied directly to Siith. Her miserable existence as a low-ranking Nightsister, little better than a slave, had been replaced by a level of comfort not even every Senior Sister or fucking Shaman could enjoy.

On Dathomir, apprentices were treated worse than servants, and any senior Sister who deigned to take one of the younger girls under her wing could do whatever she pleased with her. After all, she was sharing her knowledge. Satisfying the perfectly understandable urge to feel important was nothing unusual. But the “price” could be considerably uglier than simple servitude and an endless stream of flattering praise.

And here… Talli could spend a long time listing just how thrilled she was with the way people treated her, but she could put it simply enough: it hadn't even been two months since she'd left Dathomir, and she had absolutely no intention of going back to that dump in the ass-end of the galaxy. She was staying here. As her Teacher's personal apprentice. Ideally, his ward. Better yet, his lover. Best of all—his companion.

But the last one ran into the same problem EVERY woman who had plans for Siith's bed eventually faced. He was completely wooden. Not in bed—when it came to taking a hint. Talli had no idea what he'd tinkered with inside his own body, but… damn it, she had practically paraded herself in front of him wearing outfits that somehow looked less modest than outright nudity, struck the most shamelessly provocative poses she could manage, and dropped hints so blatant that the only thing left was to literally say, “Fuck me.”

Unfortunately, you could armor warships with the sorcerer's thickheadedness, and there wasn't a turbolaser or explosive charge in the galaxy that could punch through a ship plated with that stuff!

Talli, of course, wasn't giving up. Not even close! She wasn't about to walk away that easily from a rather pleasant man who also happened to interest her because of his knowledge, power, and wealth.

Though… the looks the other women who had already suffered defeat gave her were… strange. Almost sympathetic. And without even a hint of hostility.

Karrina, Karray's biological older sister—the sorcerer's daughter—who had once refused some kind of ritual adoption precisely because she had plans for Siith herself, only shook her head sadly at Talli's attempts. Cordelia, head of Jabiim Security and Alto Stratus's cousin, merely snorted and went right back to barking at the sorcerer in her usual manner, paying no attention to the former witch from Dathomir. Romri, after watching her for a while, simply clapped Talli on the shoulder and said, “Welcome to the club.” Only Mlada Vast, the Mandalorian, watched the whole thing with obvious enjoyment, as though she were watching some cheap HoloNet comedy.

But it wasn't over yet…

“How much longer?” Well, look at that—she could talk! Managed to get over her pride, had she? Though, judging by her voice, it was more like she'd finally let her irritation loose. “We're walking in circles.”

“Not much longer.” Talli tapped the commlink on her wrist. “As soon as Security makes sure no one who shouldn't be here is hanging around nearby, they'll give me the signal.”

“I see.” The “guest” was practically hissing.

“If you're tired of walking, you can grab some caf,” the Dathomiri said, nodding toward a dispenser nearby. “But the stuff here tastes like bantha shit.”

“Can't be any worse than what they served on that tub,” the hooded woman disagreed, turning toward the dispenser. “It's not poisoned, is it?”

“Why would it be?” Talli was genuinely surprised. “It would've been easier to poison you on the ship, or once we get into the speeder…” The former witch paused to think for a second. “Although, yeah, I suppose they could do it now too. Still, the caf definitely tastes like shit—I've tried it—so you won't be missing anything if you wisely…”

The woman who had arrived on Jabiim didn't bother listening to the rest. Talli, meanwhile, was already thoroughly enjoying herself. She just didn't like this woman. She was irritating.

Her voice, her walk—every step of it oozed some kind of… posturing. And with that same affected swagger, the bald woman—still hiding the fact under her hood—reached the dispenser and tapped the kind of caf she wanted.

There was a click, and a disposable cup appeared in the recess, a stream of hot black liquid pouring into it.

“Would've been better if it was poison,” the sorcerer's apprentice whispered almost inaudibly, her shoulder twitching. Not because she wanted to poison the “guest,” but because she'd remembered how awful the stuff tasted. And now she wanted some decent caf herself. She'd gotten hooked on the drink.

There's nothing better in the galaxy than sitting down with a book and a huge, steaming mug of delicious, aromatic caf, Talli thought, trying to hypnotize her commlink with her stare. Deliver this idiot, get back home, curl up in a soft chair, and steal half an hour of bliss for herself to the sound of the endless rain.

Why in the world had the Teacher decided Talli was the right person to meet this…

“You're also…” After taking a sip of caf, the “guest's” voice changed slightly. The anger was gone from it, leaving only displeasure and an unpleasant trace of arrogance.

“From Dathomir, yes,” the girl confirmed with a nod, pressing her lips together. Somehow… talking about her homeworld felt unpleasant.

And that was the reason. She was from Dathomir. Just like the “guest.” And yes, out of all the Dathomiri women here, Talli was the best fit for the job. Lara lived up to her nickname completely, and this bald woman would eat her alive. Not literally, but she could easily get her to blurt out something she shouldn't. The three being trained by the Lady were idiots. That said it all. Any one of them could be trusted to ruin absolutely everything.

“Are you here because of the one who hired me too?”

“No.” Talli shivered slightly. The Lady… scared her. More than Mother Talzin ever had. The former witch had been lucky Siith had decided to keep her and Little Miss Nondescript under his own supervision. Lara, incidentally, had been much luckier—she definitely would have died. And if she hadn't, she would have broken. Completely.

“Hmm… Do I have to drag every word out of you with pliers?” A threatening note crept into the voice beneath the hood.

“You haven't grown the pliers for that yet,” Talli snorted, almost feeling as though she were talking to one of the Sisters again. “You'll find out everything once we get there. No need to chatter about things you shouldn't when you don't know how many eyes and ears are on you. That little performance you put on earlier was more than enough.”

“Hmm…”

“That's right. Better just drink your caf,” Talli nodded.

“You're kind of…”

“Too impudent?” The Dathomiri bared her teeth in a grin. “I'm at HOME.”

The grinding of teeth from beneath the hood was music to Siith's apprentice's ears. Well, what had Baldy expected? She needed to remember where she could play at being Hutt-knows-who and where she couldn't. You couldn't just fly off Jabiim after causing trouble, for one thing. And this woman clearly wanted trouble. Just look at how tense she'd gone.

“You're taking a risk, getting on my nerves,” the “guest” hissed. “Maybe no one explained this to you, little witch, but you're here to meet a Sith. So…”

Talli burst out laughing without bothering to hear what else the lunatic was about to say. She really was brainless! Talli had literally just warned her not to run her mouth—mostly so she herself wouldn't accidentally let something slip—but apparently Jabiim's visitor had the memory of a goldfish.

“You know,” Talli began, even with a hint of sympathy in her voice as she looked almost pityingly at the figure radiating fury, “my Teacher once said that practically everyone who so much as touches the Dark Side inevitably starts shouting from the rooftops that they're a Sith.” The girl snorted. “But sorry, sis… Ahem… Neither of us has anything to do with the Nightsisters anymore, but you don't mind if I call you that, do you?” Talli didn't bother waiting for an answer or even a nod. The amusement vanished from her face as she stared into the darkness beneath the hood with complete seriousness. “You are not a Sith. Not even close. You can rage, grind your teeth, even pull out your glowing stick. But calling you a Sith would be like flattering a puddle by telling it it's as deep as the ocean of Darkness.”

The “guest” didn't answer. And she didn't draw her glowing stick either. Even her fury had faded considerably, giving way to palpable confusion. All because Talli, remembering the Lady, allowed none of her emotions to show except fear and respect. She could laugh at this vicious little bitch all she wanted. She could needle her Teacher, who was always indulgent. But displeasing a real Sith was something else entirely. Because Talli knew that maybe not now, maybe not even within a year, but the punishment would come—and the Dathomiri would end up weeping bloody tears, regretting every word she'd said just for the sake of showing off.

Her commlink beeped, signaling that Security had given them the all-clear to board the speeder and continue on their way.

“Let's go,” Talli said calmly, without a trace of hostility, turning away from the “guest.” “You'll understand everything soon enough.”

Murk. So much murk. It felt as though he were floating through a filthy, unnaturally viscous, clinging river. The current would speed up, sending his consciousness spinning in a nauseating dance, then slow again, granting him an almost normal perception of… murk. Both what was “inside” and what was “around” seemed to be made of it.

At least the constant pain he remembered more clearly than anything else was gone. Down below. Where his abdomen ended. Before… when? Long ago-recently? Everything below the waist had twisted, ached, spasmed. Now—it didn't. Unfortunately, the absence of pain did nothing to make his mind any clearer. It simply made existing easier.

As for perceiving reality… he could barely do that at all. His self-awareness, his sense of identity—both were vague. No specifics. No details. Who he was, where he was, why he remembered his suffering so clearly, why he was certain it had ever existed at all, and that once… it hadn't—he didn't know.

“You know…” A loud male voice struck his ears like the blast of a stun grenade, only to cut off at once and turn into barely audible muttering. “I don't understand… and you… sure you can keep her under control? Why… a cripple, even if a former one… consciousness right now… girl… vicious little thing, like…”

“A tool…” The strange voice cut through, somehow sounding both normal and otherworldly at once. “Very insolent… promising… The Zabrak too… Wasteful… might still be useful… I'll simply finish him off… I remember… rats are rats.”

“Up to you…” The ordinary male voice again, though still difficult to make out through the murky haze in his head. “Face… constipation… they've got it in for…”

“Don't interfere. Work… the consciousness needs… shut up and watch.”

“My dear… rude…”

“I'M! NOT! YOUR! DEAR!!!” Those four words came through perfectly clearly, the last one booming like thunder. Even the murk couldn't muffle them—as though, on the contrary, it only emphasized the importance of what had been said in that strange female voice.

With those words came something… familiar. Rage. Fury. A thirst to kill. An unbearable urge seized him to fall to his knees and bow his head low. In fearful respect, in hateful recognition. In reverence before overwhelming power! That voice had every right to sound heavy, distinct, terrifying.

And yet even that recognition remained vague; he didn't know the speaker herself. She stirred no specific memory of a particular sentient. It was the power in her voice that troubled his sleeping memory, frightened him, made him want to become an inconspicuous grain of sand lost in the infinity of the universe. He understood that the speaker was powerful, and therefore—she had the right. And yet… she was different. The authority and rage… they were richer, more concentrated than what he dimly remembered, but also… It felt as though the power woven into her words had been tamed. Her emotions and passions wore a strict collar, with a short, sturdy leash attached to it. The woman speaking was mistress of her own desires. Sovereign.

“I don't understand why you're getting so worked up—it's a common expression,” the male voice sighed. After the woman's power-laden words, his speech was still coming through clearly. There was irony in his tone, a little mockery… and not a trace of fear. “But if you don't like it, I'll call you the old way, my dear friend Xo.”

“LADY XoXaan!!!” she hissed rather than said, the power in her words once again scattering the murk that had begun dragging his consciousness back toward the “bottom.” “I'm going to kill you!”

The loud crackle of electrical discharges and the sense of a familiar threat triggered another surge of fear. He wanted, at the same time, to growl in rage and to drop to the ground, curl into a ball, and cover with his limbs the places where Force Lightning hurt most. The impulse was unpleasant. Repulsive and humiliating. Unexpected and expected at the same time.

Force Lightning? The thought came sharp with anger and fear. Somehow he… knew it hurt. He knew the sound of it, remembered his own restrained rasp with a howl of pain hidden behind it. But he couldn't remember what those words actually meant beyond the inevitable torment that tore through the body, forcing him to whimper and beg for mercy.

“You do realize that if you actually wanted to kill me, the oath would kick in, right?” The male voice sounded… amused? Even though it was forcing its way through the crackle of electrical discharges, the speaker wasn't frightened. Quite the opposite—it sounded as though he were barely holding back laughter. “I don't mind your whole… what was it… tsundere thing—that's it! Or your urge to entertain yourself in strange ways, but weren't you the one who said we needed to focus?”

“You are such a… pain in the ass,” the woman sighed heavily and wearily despite all her strength and power. “One day you're going to push this too far… You know what, maybe you should piss off to Coruscant for a month or two? To the Jedi Temple? I'm sure by the time you came back, the Order of my enemies would have simply collapsed under the weight of your insanity.”

Jedi. A new thought drifted through his murky consciousness, this one filled with contempt, anger, and disgust, once again stirring associations without bringing up any specific memories.

“A month without me? You'd wither away from boredom!”

“Ah, right, I'd forgotten… You can't even sleep as much as you want anymore…”

“Kha… That was low!”

“Just shut up and watch. You're the one who wanted to see how I work with a damaged consciousness…”

“My eyes are wide open, oh…” The man's voice began drifting away again, sinking somewhere into the dark depths of the murk.

“Stop staring like that,” the frightening female voice said irritably, and those were the last words he heard before the murk swallowed the consciousness barely struggling to stay afloat on its surface.

“Master,” the short, green-skinned Jedi with large ears looked at the hologram of the Dark Woman with a hint of irritation and mild irony. “Was this really worth taking up the Council's time?”

“I wanted to show you personally,” Master Kuro replied without displaying even a trace of emotion, looking at Master Yaddle with complete calm.

“A tiny library in the tomb of an ancient Sith?” Master Rancisis snorted, smoothing the fur on his face with a clawed hand. “Amusing, but nothing more.”

“Inside it, you don't feel the pressure of Korriban's Dark Side,” Master Kuro noted again.

“Very much in Master Siith's style,” Master Windu sighed. “Setting up a little retreat for himself in a place whose conditions he found unpleasant. I wouldn't be surprised if he sat there drinking caf from that strange mug of his and reading books between rounds of looti—researching the ancient tomb,” he added after catching several looks from the other Council members. “Is that everything you found on Korriban?”

“Yes. Only the library, the empty tomb, and the modifications made to the outpost run by the local Commerce Guild branch. The locals… reacted very strongly when I expressed a desire to examine the physical components of the strange shield dome covering the complex.”

“The head of the Guild on Korriban has already contacted the Temple,” the Korun said with a slight grimace. “According to him, if the Jedi damage anything in the dome created by the head of the JMG himself, the Commerce Guild guarantees the Temple a mountain of trouble and lawsuits.”

“You can understand their position,” Master Rancisis said, continuing to stroke the fur at his chin. “A dome that neutralizes Korriban's pressure on the minds of ordinary sentients… Frankly, I wouldn't be pleased by the prospect of it failing either, and I'd be extremely opposed to having it examined by… unqualified specialists. Especially given that the sorcerer himself leaves Jabiim rather rarely.”

“But we can't exactly leave something like that unstudied. On this, I'm with Master Kuro: an unknown construct, built by unknown means and interacting with the Dark Side of the Force, is no trivial matter,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi said, folding his arms across his chest, his expression making the seriousness of his position clear. “Its effects may appear beneficial at first glance, but I hardly need to remind any of you that Darkness can easily hide in the shadows cast by the Light.”

“The principles behind how this ‘magic’ works are still unknown to us,” Master Yarael Poof said, shaking his long-necked head like a pendulum. “So a proper study is impossible for now. I suggest we simply request the dome's specifications from the JMG or the Commerce Guild and verify on-site that the actual structure matches the documentation.”

“Alternatively, we could commission the smallest viable version on Korriban itself for the Order's use and send observers to watch the construction process,” Oppo Rancisis added in support. “The pressure of the Dark Side interferes with us as well, so having a proper landing and parking area for Temple ships outside Commerce Guild territory could prove useful.”

“And what about the library?” Yaddle asked.

“And what of it? A safe place to rest in the depths of a Sith tomb,” the Thisspiasian shrugged. “The JMG is fond of libraries—they serve as temples for the cult of Hecate. I see no problem with one existing on Korriban. Especially since the deity Master Siith worships demands neither worship nor sacrifice. And in general, the religion is quite peaceful, more constructive than anything else, requiring its followers to preserve and expand knowledge. Master Kuro, what kind of books are kept inside?”

“Mostly recreational reading,” the Dark Woman said from the hologram, sweeping her gaze over the bookshelves somewhere beyond the frame. “There are educational materials as well, but I found nothing on JMG magic. Just standard Republic textbooks from various worlds.”

“All the more reason,” Oppo Rancisis concluded with satisfaction. “At most, one might object to the tomb being remodeled, but if memory serves, Sith structures aren't considered cultural heritage protected by the Temple, are they? We merely advise ordinary sentients to stay away from them for their own safety.”

“No need to sour relations with the Commerce Guild, there is. As Masters Poof and Rancisis suggested, proceed we will,” Yoda said, bringing the discussion to a close. “Master Windu, speak with the archaeologists, you will. On Korriban, discuss the outpost with them and determine the dimensions required. Then contact the Commerce Guild about land on Korriban for the structures the Temple needs. Only after that, speak with Master Siith about commissioning a dome. Leave the library be—no harm does it cause. Inside Hecate's temples, you and other Jedi have been before. No darkness or evil is there. Thank you for your work, Master Kuro.”

“Grand Master.” The Dark Woman inclined her head in a slight, respectful bow.

“And one more thing I ask of you,” the short green Jedi said, sweeping an attentive gaze over everyone present. “When Master Siith takes his next leave… suggest one of the Knights… or even a Master, to accompany him. If he refuses—so be it. No need to insist.”

“And if he agrees…”

“Easier it will be…” Yoda shifted his gaze from Oppo Rancisis, who had left the thought unfinished, to Mace Windu, who nodded pensively. “For me. For you. For everyone.”