Star Wars_ Darth Bane 02_ Rule of Two - Drew Karpyshyn [47]
In the ensuing seven days she had been both praying for and dreading an end to her journey, when she would be reunited with her Master and begin her training in the ways of the Sith. She never left the cockpit except to use the ship’s refresher. Whenever she tried to sleep, she could never manage more than a fitful doze plagued with nightmares in which she relived her killing spree over and over.
Each time she woke she would tear open a ration kit and pick at the food, her body slowly replenishing what it had lost during her weeks on Ruusan. But the rations were meant for a full-grown adult, and she could never finish them. When she was done, she would toss the uneaten portion along with the container down the hall toward the cargo hold. After a few days the smells of a dozen half-finished meals began to mingle into a sickly sweet aroma that hung like a thin curtain in the air. Zannah actually welcomed the cloying scent of rotting food; it covered up the mounting stench of the decaying bodies in the back.
To fight the boredom, she’d tried to imagine what her future would be like as Bane’s apprentice. She would focus on everything he’d promised her: the ability to call upon and command the Force at will; the mysterious secrets of the dark side; the power to reach her true potential and fulfill her destiny. Her mind, however, kept returning to the Star-Wake’s dead crew. And each time it happened she wondered what her Master would think about such weakness.
The autonav chimed again. Zannah glanced at the readout: The ship would be entering atmosphere in five minutes. She was being prompted to select landing coordinates.
Zannah sat up straight in the pilot’s chair, furrowing her brow as she studied the onscreen display. She’d been hoping that the automated systems that had carried the vessel from Ruusan to Onderon would also be programmed to land. Unfortunately, it seemed that task now fell to her … and she had no idea how to bring the ship down safely.
She punched a button on the screen labeled LANDING ZONES. A long list of unfamiliar locations and coordinates began to scroll across the display. She had no clue what any of the numbers meant, and no idea how to select one anyway.
As she stared at the readout—they were entering atmosphere now—Zannah felt the familiar bump of turbulence. Caught between frustration and panic, she reached out and began randomly poking buttons. She stopped only when the autonav beeped twice: Destination accepted.
Heaving a sigh of relief, she collapsed back into her seat and buckled up for touchdown. She tried to peer over the console to get a view through the cockpit window of where she was headed, but she was too short to see clearly. All she could make out was kilometers of thick, green canopy stretching out in every direction. Evidently she had selected a landing zone in a less civilized part of the world.
A sobering question crossed her mind. Does the autopilot know how to land in the middle of a forest? Or will it smash me to bits against the treetops?
As if reading her thoughts, the autonav chimed angrily. Zannah read the update: “Suboptimal conditions detected at selected landing zone. Seeking nearest available alternative site.”
She felt the ship bank slightly, veering and leveling off to skim the forest in search of a large-enough clearing to land in.
“Alternative landing zone located,” the screen assured her a few moments later, and she felt the nose dip as the vessel began her