Drew Karpyshyn - Darth Bane - Rule of Two

She recalled that Caleb had come to Ambria to escape the war between the Jedi and the Sith. Unfortunately for him, the war had eventually followed him even to this remote world. Yet the healer had maintained a steadfast neutrality during the conflict, refusing to aid followers of either the dark side or the light; only Bane had successfully compelled him to make an exception to his rule. Maybe with the end of the war, he had renounced his solitary ways and returned to the world of his birth, reintegrating himself into galactic society. It was just one of several possibilities that would explain his disappearance.

He could have died. It had been ten years since Bane had visited the camp, and though Caleb couldn't be that old, it was possible something had happened to him in the ensuing decade. Ambria could be a harsh and dangerous world; the healer might have been slain and devoured by the hssiss, the fearsome carnivorous lizards that sometimes emerged from the depths of Lake Natth to feed.

The planet had its share of sentient predators, too. The handful of people who still lived on the world survived by picking through the remains of the battles that had once raged over its surface and in the skies above, finding damaged items and old technology they could restore and sell offworld. Most of the junkers, as they were called, were simple folk just trying to get by. But a few had become desperate criminals, willing to kill over anything of value-like Caleb's missing collection of medicine and supplies.

Or maybe the healer had fallen victim to some disease or affliction even he couldn't cure. If he had died of natural causes, it wouldn't take long until the various desert scavengers carried off the last of his remains, leaving behind no evidence of what had happened.

It was clear there was no help to be found here, but there was no point in going anywhere else. Bane had a day, at most, before the orbalisk toxins reached lethal levels in the tissues of his body. Zannah simply stood there, unable to even think what she should do next. And then she remembered another detail from her Master's tale.

Caleb had tried to conceal his daughter from Bane. Her Master had easily discovered her cowering inside the shack; there was no other place to hide in the small camp. At least, there hadn't been ten years ago,

"Wait here," she said to Darovit, leaving him to watch over Bane on his gurney.

She went back into the shack, kicking the sleeping mat aside to reveal a small trapdoor in the floor. She used the Force to fling it open, and was rewarded with the sight of a man staring up at her from a small cellar.

His expression wasn't one of fear, nor even anger. Not exactly. He looked more like he was weary; as if he knew his discovery was going to lead to a long and tedious exchange.

"Out" Zannah said, stepping back and dropping her hand to the handle of her lightsaber.

Without a word, he climbed up the cellar's small ladder until he stood beside her inside the shack. He looked to be in his late forties, a thin man of average height. He had straight black hair that hung down to his shoulders, and his skin was brown and leathery from a decade of exposure to Ambria's burning sun. There was nothing about his appearance to suggest he was a man of power or importance, yet Zannah could sense his calm inner strength.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked him.

"I've known ever since you and your Master built your camp on this world," he said quietly.

"And you know why I'm here?"

"I sensed you coming. That was why I hid."

She peeked down into the cellar, noting that it contained a number of small shelves lined with bottles, bags, jars, and pouches that held the medicines and healing compounds he used in his vocation. There were also a number of ration kits piled in one corner, along with a handful of small, square supply containers.

"When did you build that?" she asked, curious.

"Shortly after my previous encounter with your Master," he answered. "I feared he would one day come back, and I wanted a place for my daughter to hide."

The man suddenly smiled at her, though there was no joy or mirth in the expression.

"But now my daughter has grown," he told her. "She has left this world, never to return. And you have no power over me."

"Are you saying you will not help my Master?" Zannah asked, not even bothering to put a threat into her voice.

"There is nothing you can do to compel me this time," he replied, and she sensed a deep satisfaction in his tone. She realized he had been preparing for this day for over ten years.

"The war between the Jedi and Sith is over," Zannah told him. "My Master is no longer a soldier. He is just an ordinary man who needs your help."

The man smiled again, flashing his teeth in a feral grin. "Your Master will never be ordinary. Though soon enough he will be dead."

One glance down at the man's hand, permanently scarred by the burns he had given himself plunging it into the boiling soup, made Zannah dismiss any ideas of using torture to change his mind. And she knew that any attempt to dominate his mind with the Force would fail; his will was too strong for her to bend it to her needs. "I can give you credits. You'll be richer than you can possibly imagine."

He waved his hands around at the austere little shack. "What use are credits to a man like me?"

"What about your daughter?" Zannah countered. "Think of how much easier her life could be."

"Even if I wanted to let my child take your blood payment, I could never find a way to get it to her. For her own protection, I insisted she change her name when she left this world. I do not know what she is called now; I do not know where she has gone."

Zannah chewed her lip, then tried something desperate. "If you do not help my Master I will hunt your daughter down. I will find her, torture her, and kill her," she vowed, carefully hitting each word for emphasis. "But first I will make her watch as I torture and kill every other person she cares about."

Caleb smirked, amused at her empty threat. "Go, then. Seek her out and leave me alone. We both know you will never find her."

Again, he had her. With no name and not even a physical description, it would be impossible to track down one woman who could be on any of a million Republic worlds.

Scowling, Zannah glanced once more down at his scarred hand. It stood as mute testament to the fact she couldn't break him through raw physical pain, no matter how brutal. But with no other options left, she decided to try anyway.

She reached out with the Force and picked Caleb up. His feet dangled only a few centimeters off the floor, yet his head brushed against the shack's low, slanted roof. She began to squeeze, applying pressure directly to his internal organs, slowly crushing them as she inflicted an agonizing pain few beings had ever experienced. She was careful to leave his lungs alone, however-allowing him enough air to breath and speak.

"You know how to make this end," she said coldly. "Say you will heal my Master."

He grunted and gasped in pain, but shook his head.

"Zannah! What are you doing?"

Darovit had come into the shack, curious as to what was taking her so long. Now he stood in the doorway, staring in horror at the scene.

"Stop it!" he shouted at her. "You're killing him! Put him down!"

With a sharp growl of frustration she released her grip, letting Caleb fall to the floor. Darovit rushed to his side to see if he was okay, but the older man shook his head and waved him away. He rose to his hands and knees, then settled back onto his heels, his hands resting on his thighs as he took slow, deep breaths.

Darovit turned on her. "What did you do that for?" he demanded angrily.

"He refused to help us," she said, her voice more defensive than she meant it to be.