ORBITING ZIOST
TWO STANDARD YEARS AGO
DICIAN FELT THE PLANET EVEN BEFORE IT APPEARED ON THE MAIN bridge monitor of the Poison Moon. She sensed it had seen her, as she now saw it, this seemingly harmless world of blue and white and green, and she smiled gently. The pale geometric tattoos on her face, which stood out in stark contrast with her dark skin tones, crinkled with the gesture. This was the destination she had beheld in her mind's eye a short while ago, the unvoiced answer to the question of what she was hoping to intercept here. She had ordered the crew of this frigate to make all speed, and only hoped she was in time.
Where are you going, charming one?
To unopened eyes and dead senses, this planet would seem a world much as any other: a world with oceans and landmasses, heavily, practically entirely forested, with two white, icecapped poles on either end. White clouds drifted lazily above it.
But it was not a world like any other.
It was Ziost. Homeworld of the Sith.
What was left of the Sith Order now remained silent and in hiding on Korriban, of course. She would return there soon, but not without the prize she had come to claim.
Dician realized she was leaning forward slightly in anticipation, and settled back in her command chair. She gently pushed her excitement down lest it interfere with her mission.
“Wayniss, take us in to orbit.” In her role as an intelligence gatherer, the light, musical tone of her voice often deceived others into thinking her much, much more harmless than she was. Her crew knew better.
“Aye, Captain,” the chief pilot of the Poison Moon replied. Wayniss was a laconic man, not at all Force-sensitive, pleased enough to do as he was told in exchange for the generous pay he was receiving. In his own way, the graying ex-pirate was as fair, honorable, and hardworking as many so-called upstanding citizens. He had done well by Dician on this mission already.
“Any sign of the meditation sphere?” she asked Ithila, her sensor officer. Ithila leaned forward, her face, which would have been beautiful in the traditionally Hapan manner if not for the horrific burn scar that marred the right side, furrowed in concentration.
“Negative,” Ithila replied as Ziost appeared in the forward viewports and the Poison Moon settled into orbit around it. “No indication of it on the planet surface.” She turned to regard her captain. “Looks like we beat it here.”
Dician smiled again. No mistakes. All that remained was to capture the small vessel itself.
Dician settled in to wait, her dark eyes on the slowly turning planet in front of her. It gazed back at her, and she felt a tug in her heart. She wanted to land the Poison Moon, to walk Ziost's forests as other Sith had done in ages past. But that was not why they were here. She must think of the good of the One, the Order, above her own yearnings. One day, perhaps, she would stand upon the surface of this world. But that day would not be today.
They did not have long to wait. Only a few moments later, Ithila said, “Picking it up on long-range sensors, Captain.”
Dician sat up straighter in her chair. “You have all served well and brilliantly. Now, as our smuggler pilot might say, it is time to close this deal.”
It was time for her, Dician, to be perfect. She could not afford a mistake now.
She felt it even as Ithila transmitted the image to her personal viewscreen. There it was, the Sith meditation sphere. She regarded it for a moment, taking it in—the spherical shape, the orange-yellow-red hue, the twin sets of bat-like wings on either side of it. It resembled an enormous eye.
“Hello again, charming one,” she said in her most pleasant voice.
Silence from the sphere.
“As you see, we have anticipated your arrival. Why have you come to Ziost?”
Home.
The voice was inside her head, masculine and intensely focused. A little thrill of exhilaration shivered through Dician. This was not a pet to be coaxed, but a mount to be broken. It respected strength and will.
Dician had plenty of both.
There is a better place for you than on an abandoned world. Dician did not speak the words. Her melodic voice was no asset in this negotiation; the focus and strength of her thoughts were.
The vessel continued its approach to Ziost, not wavering in the slightest, but Dician sensed she had its attention. It would listen.
You are a Sith meditation sphere. Come with me to where the Sith are now. Serve us, as you were designed to do. She let herself visualize Korriban as it was now: with not just two Sith, but many who were One, with apprentices in need of focus and training in the power of the dark side if they were to achieve the glory and power that were rightfully theirs.
“It's slowing its approach,” Ithila said. “It's come to a full halt.”
Dician didn't bother to tell the Hapan woman that she already knew that; that she was intimately connected with this meditation sphere, this … Ship.
It seemed particularly interested in the younglings, and she understood that this had been the focus of its design. To protect and educate apprentices. To prepare them for their destinies.
You will come to Korriban. You will serve me, Dician, and you will teach the younglings. You will fulfill your intended purpose.
This was the moment upon which everything hinged. She sensed scrutiny from the vessel. Dician was unashamed of her strengths and let it see her freely. It sensed her will, her drive, her passions, her desire for perfection.
Perfection, said Ship. It mulled over the word.
Nothing less serves the dark side fully, Dician replied. You will help me to attain perfection for the Sith.
Perfection cannot be obtained by hiding.
Dician blinked. This had caught her by surprise. It is wisdom. We will stay isolated, grow strong, and then claim what is ours.
Ship considered. Doubt gnawed at the corner of Dician's mind like a gizka. She crushed it utterly, ruthlessly, and poured all her will into the demand.
The Jedi grow strong and numerous. It is not time to hide. I will not serve. I will find a better purpose.
She felt it shut down in her mind, close itself off to her in what was tantamount to a dismissal. Dician felt her cheeks grow hot. How could it have refused?
“Captain,” said Ithila, “The ship has resumed course to Ziost.”
“I can see that,” Dician snapped, and Ithila stared openly. Ship was a rapidly disappearing sphere on her screen, and as she watched it was lost to sight.
Dician returned her attention to her crew, who, she realized, were all looking at her with confused expressions on their faces. She took a deep, steadying breath.
“The vessel would not have been appropriate for us,” she said, her pleasant voice challenging anyone to disagree. “Its programming is antiquated and outdated. Our original message was successful. It is time to pick up the shuttle crews and return home. Plot a course through hyperspace for Omega Three Seven Nine,” she instructed Wayniss. He turned around and his fingers flew lightly over the console.
The Poison Moon's original mission had not been to recover Ship, as Dician had begun thinking of the sphere. Dician had initially been sent to track down a Twi'lek woman named Alema Rar and her base of operations. Rar had somehow inherited a lost Force technique that enabled her to project phantoms across space. Dician had been ordered to destroy both the woman and the dark side energy source lest either fall into Jedi hands. And then she had been forced to choose between two unexpected prizes.
When the Poison Moon arrived at Alema Rar's base, coming in stealth, Dician had discovered they were not alone. One of the two vessels already at the asteroid was none other than the Millennium Falcon. Subsequent observations of her operations revealed that it was more than likely her notorious owner Han Solo was piloting her—and quite possibly his wife, Leia Organa, traitor to the noble name of Skywalker, was with him. Her crews had placed bombs on the asteroid that had been Alema's base, and Dician, not about to let such a victory slip away, was turning her attention to the destruction of the Corellian freighter.
But before Dician could issue the orders to detonate the bombs and attack the Falcon, Ship had emerged from the base—without Alema Rar.
Dician had made the decision to follow and attempt to capture Ship, forgoing an attack on the Falcon. She had ordered the bombs to detonate and the crews that had placed them to await her return on the largest asteroid in the system, designated Omega 379. No doubt they were anticipating her swift return.
Dician pressed her full lips together. She had chosen tracking Ship over blowing the Millennium Falcon out of the skies. She had done exactly what she had threatened her crew not to do—made a mistake. And now she could claim neither victory.
Let Ship remain isolated on Ziost. It would find no one to serve, no one to permit it to do that which it was designed for.
In her irritation, Dician let the thought comfort her.