Star Wars_ Darth Bane 02_ Rule of Two - Drew Karpyshyn [110]
“And what about you? You have so much power. Why do you think it took so long to show itself? You were always channeling it through me.” He paused. “You won’t become the Dark Lord of the Sith, Zannah,” he added. “It’s just not in your nature. Sooner or later you’ll realize that.”
“Shut up,” she said flatly, still keeping her eyes riveted on the controls in front of her. “If you say one more word I’ll take your other hand.”
Darovit didn’t reply, but his fingers instinctively went to his stump.
“I brought you along for one reason, and one reason only,” she continued, her voice still completely devoid of emotion. “My Master is infested with parasites called orbalisks. And you are going to heal him.”
“But … I don’t know how,” Darovit protested, forgetting her warnings to remain silent.
Zannah reached back with the Force, wrapping it around his windpipe. And slowly she began to squeeze. Darovit fell to his knees, his hands flying up to his throat as his oxygen was cut off.
“There is a data terminal in the back,” Zannah said, ignoring his choking coughs. “Use it to go over everything in the article I took from the Archives.”
She pulled the card from the pocket on her thigh and tossed it down in front of her suffocating cousin. He was rolling back and forth on the floor now, his hands clawing at his throat. His face had turned a bright red, and his eyes were starting to bulge from his sockets.
“If you can’t find a way to help my Master by the time we get to Tython,” she warned, “he will kill you.”
She released Darovit from the Force choke, and he gasped and gulped down air in raw, ragged breaths. She turned to watch him with a cruel smile on her lips, making sure he knew she was enjoying his suffering. Eventually he recovered enough to pick up the datacard and head for the terminal in the back.
Once he was gone, Zannah got up from her chair and began to pace back and forth between the pilot’s and copilot’s seats. She knew Darovit was wrong. He had to be. She was confident in her commitment to the dark side, despite everything her cousin had said. But there was enough weight to some of his arguments to make her wonder what Bane would think about all this.
If her Master—like Darovit—believed her actions showed a lack of commitment to the ways of the Sith, things would go very badly for her when they reached Tython.
Belia Darzu had been a Shi’ido in life, a changeling species whose members were capable of shifting their appearance, so it was not surprising that the projection that served as the gatekeeper of her Holocron similarly changed forms. At various times she appeared to be Twi’lek, Iridonian, Cerean, or human, occasionally even switching between genders.
“The process of creating a Holocron cannot be rushed,” the gatekeeper explained. “The adjustments to the matrix must be made with precision and care.”
She was currently in the form she most often assumed: that of a tall human female with short brown hair. She appeared to be roughly thirty years of age, with a sly, almost crafty, look to her features. In this guise she was typically clad in a dark, formfitting flight suit, dark boots, and a pale yellow vest that left her arms bare. She also wore yellow gloves, a short black sleeve over each elbow, and a red flight cap and belt.
After his initial activation of the Holocron’s power, Bane had brought it up out of the inner sanctum and into a large common room on the main level that once served as a mess hall for Belia’s living followers. Here Bane had been exploring the Holocron off and on for the past several days. He had proceeded carefully, still drained from his battle with the technobeasts. The slow pace allowed him to recuperate his energies and rebuild his strength as he probed the crystal archives.
Much of what he discovered focused on the rituals and practices of Sith alchemy—something he would explore in depth when he had more time. Other times he stumbled across Belia’s own philosophical examinations