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Chet gave a curt nod to the porter, who headed off with the hoversled in the direction of the hangar.

“Just a moment,” the customs official said softly to Zannah, causing her to hang back.

“Heard some news I thought you might be interested in,” he continued once the porter had disappeared around the corner. “Argel Tenn touched down a few days ago to meet with your brother.”

Zannah had never met Argel, but she knew who he was and what he did. Over the past few years she had slowly been gathering information on all the members in Darth Bane’s network of contacts; they could prove useful to her once she took over the Sith. She didn’t know if Argel’s arrival was relevant or not: Bane was always looking to acquire rare Sith manuscripts, and it could just be a coincidence. Nevertheless, she filed the knowledge away in case it should ever prove handy.

“Thanks for the update,” she said, slipping Chet a fifty-credit chip before heading off toward her private hangar.

The porter was already there, waiting with her bags by the shuttle. Zannah punched in the security code, causing the boarding ramp to lower.

“Put everything in the back,” she instructed, smiling and handing the porter a ten-credit chip.

“Right away, mistress,” he replied, the tip disappearing instantly into a pocket somewhere on his uniform as he hustled to load her baggage.

Zannah kept the smile plastered on her face while he worked. She made a point of being friendly with everyone at the spaceport. She saw it as an investment in the future—the cultivation of a potential resource. The members of the Senate and other powerful individuals might shape galactic policy, but it was the bureaucrats, government officials, and various other low-level political functionaries who actually made things run … and they were so much easier to deal with than the political elite. A few kind words and a handful of small bribes, and Zannah could get anything she needed without attracting unwanted attention. Just as she had done with Chet.

This was one advantage she had over Bane. She knew she was attractive. Men in particular were drawn to her because of her looks; they wanted to help her, to please her. Zannah wasn’t above encouraging them with a soft laugh or a subtle touch—it was a small price to pay to establish a relationship that might eventually prove useful. Her Master’s appearance, on the other hand, would never inspire anything but fear in those who didn’t know him.

Only once the porter was gone and she was alone in the cockpit of the vessel did she let the façade drop. Settling into the custom-molded seat, she punched in the navigation coordinates. Through the cockpit viewport she could see the Triumph, Bane’s personal shuttle, in the adjacent hangar.

Like her own, it was a Cygnus Spaceworks Theta-class T-1 vessel: the latest, and most expensive, personal interplanetary transport shuttle available on the open market. Everything about their life here on Ciutric—the mansion, their clothes, even their social calendar—was a part of their disguise. They surrounded themselves with luxury and material comforts; a far cry from the austere life they had lead during their years on Ambria.

There were times when Zannah missed the simplicity of those early days. Life on Ambria had been hard, but it had kept her strong. And she couldn’t help but wonder if the lavish lifestyle here on Ciutric had made her—and Bane—soft.

The Victory’s engines roared to life, and the shuttle rose up a few meters off the ground. Zannah piloted by instinct while her mind continued its train of thought.

Life was a constant struggle; the strong would survive and the weak would perish. That was the way of the universe, the natural order. It was the philosophy embraced by the Code of the Sith. But here on Ciutric it was easy to be lulled into a sense of peace.

Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken.

Zannah understood that chains were