Drew Karpyshyn - Darth Bane - Rule of Two

Bane's answer was cut off by a shout coming from one of the nearby passages.

"Rain! Rain, you're alive!"

A boy sprinted out of the shadows, no more than a year or two older than Zannah. He had dark hair and wore the black armor of the Sith. A lightsaber hilt was clutched tightly in his right hand. Despite these warrior's trappings, it was immediately obvious to Bane that this child posed no threat. The Force was barely alive in him. The power that burned so brightly inside Zannah was nothing but a dying ember of gray ash in this one.

"Tomcat!" Zannah shouted, her face lighting up with joy. She took a step forward, extending her arms as if she wanted to hug him. Then, as if suddenly remembering the presence of her Sith Master, she pulled up short and clutched her hands to her chest.

Oblivious, the boy kept coming. He didn't register her sudden change in mood; he hadn't even noticed the two-meter-tall figure looming in the shadows behind her. There was something pathetic about him, a desperate loneliness in his voice and his eyes that turned Bane's stomach.

"I'm so glad, Rain," the boy gasped as he skidded to a stop in front of Zannah, reaching forward to hug her. "So glad you're-"

She stepped back and shook her head, causing his words to catch in his throat. The happiness in his face vanished, replaced by a look of hurt bewilderment.

"I… I am not Rain," Bane's apprentice said, rejecting her childhood nickname and all it symbolized. "I am Zannah."

"Zannah?" A look of confusion crept across the boy's face. "Your real name? But why?"

Fumbling for answers, he finally tore his gaze away from the young girl and noticed Bane standing motionless in the background. His bewilderment became comprehension, and quickly turned into righteous rage.

"You!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Bane. Then, as if suddenly remembering the weapon in his hand, he ignited his lightsaber. "You stay away from her!" he screamed. "I will fight you!"

The boy knew he was overmatched. He knew he had no chance to win a battle against a Dark Lord of the Sith. Yet he chose to stay and fight anyway-the actions of a complete and utter fool.

Darth Bane regarded his doomed adversary with contemptuous indifference. This boy was nothing to him-an inconsequential speck he would wipe away. If the boy wanted the vain and empty glory of a so-called courageous death, Bane would grant it.

He dropped his hand casually to his lightsaber, but before he could ignite his weapon, Zannah reacted. Just as she had done when she had broken the necks of the unfortunate Jedi who had accidentally killed her friend, the girl unleashed a wave of unstoppable dark side energy. She acted on pure instinct, drawing on her natural affinity for the Force with no forethought, preparation, or even training.

It happened so quickly Bane never even had a chance to put up his guard… but the attack wasn't directed at him. The right hand of the boy she had called Tomcat-her cousin and childhood friend-disintegrated. With a mere thought she obliterated everything below his wrist: flesh, bone and tendon vanished in a bloody explosion, leaving only a ragged stump.

With nothing left to grip it, the hilt of his lightsaber clattered to the floor, the blade extinguished. Howling in pain, the boy fell to his knees, clutching his mutilated limb to his chest. Small spurts of blood pumped out of the wound and splattered onto the cavern floor.

The Master glared down at his apprentice. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because there would be no use or purpose in his death," she answered, echoing his own explanation for letting two of the mercenaries survive.

Bane was smart enough to recognize what was happening. Zan-nah was trying to save her cousin's life. He knew that the emotions driving her-sentimentality, mercy, compassion-were weaknesses from which she must learn to free herself. But he didn't expect his apprentice to learn the ways of the dark side in a single day.

He looked down at the injured boy crumpled on the ground. The blood spurting from his stump had slowed; the blast that had taken his hand had also partially cauterized the wound. The flow was further stanched by dust and grime from the cavern floor as he rolled back and forth at Zannah's feet. Tears poured from his eyes and mucus ran from his nose to clog his mouth and throat, turning his cries into thick, blubbery whimpers. She regarded him with a cold and calculating eye, feigning disinterest.

The risks from letting this wretched creature live were small, Bane decided. Like the mercenaries, no one would believe his tales of surviving an encounter with a Sith Master. It was obvious that Zannah wanted the boy alive. But she hadn't begged or bargained for his life. Instead she had taken charge of the situation, unleashing the dark side and then defending her actions with Bane's own teachings. She had shown not only her power, but also her intelligence and cunning. It was important to reward such behavior-to encourage her when she displayed the gifts and talents that would allow her to one day take the mantle of Dark Lord from her Master's shoulders. More important than ending the life of one miserable, insignificant boy. "Leave him " Bane said, turning on his heel. "He is nothing to us." Zannah quickly fell into step beside him as they made their way from the chamber and began the long, slow climb through the tunnels back to Ruusan's surface. Bane noted with satisfaction that even though Tomcat's pitiful sobs echoed after them, his apprentice never once glanced back.

Prepare for reentry turbulence," Irtanna warned them from the pilot's seat of their shuttle. With a crew of only five, she had no need to use the shipboard intercom. She simply spoke loud enough for everyone aboard to hear.

Although the Envoy-class shuttle carried only a handful of passengers, she was capable of comfortably transporting four times that many. The ship had been absorbed into the Jedi fleet sometime during the last few weeks of the Ruusan campaign, donated by an anonymous benefactor from Coruscant who had been charmed by Farfalla's urgent plea for resources to support the war effort. Christened the Star-Wake, she was a product of Tallaan Shipyards, a basic transport vessel capable of both suborbital flight and interstellar travel, thanks to her Class Twelve hyperdrive.

The fact that she had been pressed into service was proof of just how desperate the Army of Light had become… Envoy-class shuttles were known for being practical and affordable, making them a favorite choice of independent merchants and wealthy recreational travelers. Their most distinguishing feature was an easy-to-use navigation and autopilot system, allowing users to plot and engage hyperdrive routes to hundreds of known worlds across the Republic with a simple push of a button. Unfortunately they lacked heavy shielding or any significant armament, and were neither particularly fast nor maneuverable.

Johun would have preferred something in a more military vein; he doubted the autonav would be any use should a Sith Buzzard suddenly appear on the horizon. Logically, he knew this was highly unlikely. Every Buzzard in Kaan's fleet had been accounted for: either shot down, captured by the Army of Light, or seen fleeing the system at the tail end of the final battle. But scores of danger-filled flights through enemy-controlled airspace in the months before their ultimate victory had trained his mind to be on constant alert when approaching the planet's surface. From the way Irtanna was white-knuckling the shuttle's steering column, he knew he wasn't alone in his irrational fears.

There was the faintest bump as they passed from the cold vacuum of space into the upper layers of Ruusan's atmosphere and began their descent. Irtanna worked the controls with a confident hand, making subtle adjustments to their course as Johun studied the scanners skimming the ground below them, looking for signs of life. Four other craft were visible on the ship's monitors. Like the Star-Wake, each was crewed by a four- to six-person rescue team sent by Farfalla to help clean up the aftermath of the war.