“I don’t know. But it’s for our guest. Do you know who might want to contact you, Vestara?”
Vestara actually looked surprised. Luke felt the faintest flicker of worry, like an echo of a whisper, in the Force. “I’ve no idea,” and it sounded genuine. “Is there a place where I can—”
“I can’t let you receive a private message, especially from someone who won’t identify him- or herself,” Luke said matter-of-factly.
Vestara nodded. “Of course not. If I were in your position, I would take similar precautions.”
Luke flipped a switch. “This is the Jade Shadow to the anonymous sender of the previous message directed at Vestara Khai. You must understand I cannot permit her to receive a private missive.”
There was a long silence. Luke could feel young ears straining. Then another message appeared, addressed to LUKE SKYWALKER.
THE MESSAGE MAY BE PUBLICLY VIEWED.
“Well, a reasonable Sith, what next,” Luke muttered, and touched another button on the console.
A small holographic figure took shape. It was a human male, wearing the traditional Sith black robes. A lightsaber of antique-looking design was clipped to his belt. His long dark hair was pulled up in a topknot. His face was chiseled and handsome.
Vestara’s startled gasp revealed her emotions, but the Force did so even more prominently. There was a rush of warm, affectionate feelings, quickly clamped down, as if a lid had been put on a pot. Luke’s eyes flickered to the girl, then back to the hologram. Both images appeared to be trying hard not to smile, although Vestara often looked as though she were smiling when she wasn’t due to the little scar on her mouth.
“Daughter. You are well.”
Luke’s eyes widened. Daughter?
Vestara bowed. “Father. I am. It is good to see you. I am pleased that you were among those selected for the honor of this mission.”
“You, it would seem, have already brought honor to the Tribe,” the elder Khai said. “I understand you are the sole survivor of the … initial exploratory team.”
“Thank you, Father. I have always striven to elevate the standing of our household.”
“Master Skywalker,” Khai said. “I understand that you are graciously providing hospitality to my daughter.”
“That’s … a word for it,” Luke said.
“And that High Lord Taalon has agreed that you may continue to provide hospitality. Despite a father’s wishes to the contrary.”
“Let’s face it,” Luke said. “Sith and Jedi don’t exactly mesh well. Put us together and we’re about as volatile as Tibanna gas. If you were tentatively allied with eleven Jedi vessels, and my son were aboard your ship—well, I think you’d like to keep him there for a while.”
Khai considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well, your point is taken, and it is a shrewd one. You have promised she will come to no harm. I am sure that if Luke Skywalker gives his word, then every hair on Vestara’s head will be safe,” said Khai. His voice was melodic and rich and beautiful, just like the voice of every member of this lost Tribe they’d encountered so far.
“It seems we have nothing more to discuss then,” Luke said. “Say your farewells and—”
“Dad?”
Luke frowned a little, turning to Ben. “Yes?”
Ben jerked his head a little in the hologram’s direction, and Luke muted the sound. “I know we can’t just turn her over to them,” Ben said, glancing over his shoulder at Vestara, who had been silent as the grave during the debate between the two parents. “But what harm can there be in letting them talk for just a few minutes?”
“A lot,” Luke said. “You know that.” Neither of them had ever bothered to hide their suspicions of Vestara, and Luke did not attempt to do so now.
“But … you said it yourself, what if it were me?” Ben’s blue eyes were intense. “What if this situation were reversed, and Vestara’s dad was keeping a tight grip on me? A hologram is nice and everything, but you know it doesn’t beat actually being with someone. And it’s clear they really miss each other.”
That much was true. “A private conversation would enable her to relay anything she’s learned from us,” Luke reminded him.
Ben rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Dad, let’s face facts here—she already has. Otherwise how would the Sith know about the Jedi going crazy?”
Luke glanced at Vestara. He was not expecting a sheepish grin and a nod—even if their bluff was called, Sith were not likely to simply docilely show their hands—but neither did she make an earnest effort to contradict Ben. She was a smart kid.
He didn’t reply to Ben, but turned around to the console and unmuted the channel. “Since I am prepared to admit that even nexu are fond of their cubs, I’ll permit you to see Vestara for a brief visit. I will extend my hospitality to both Khais. You will be permitted to come aboard the Jade Shadow, alone, and without weapons.” He knew, as he knew Khai knew, that any powerful Force-user did not need weapons to pose a deadly threat. But acquiescing would take this arrogant Sith down a notch. “Any hint of treachery from you and this alliance is dissolved.”
Khai frowned. He was clearly struggling to contain his offense. “I would never dream of doing anything to harm a union that my superiors have deemed necessary.”
“Then if you are truly simply a concerned father anxious to be reunited with his child, I certainly wouldn’t stand in the way.”
The two regarded each other for a long moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Luke saw Ben and Vestara exchange glances, and the young man stepped closer to her. He seemed to want to put a hand on her shoulder, but stopped just short of making the gesture.
Khai was good. He gave away nothing. At last he said, “Your terms are acceptable.”
A short time later, Khai’s small, podlike ship was secured to the docking port of the Jade Shadow. The port was located on the underside of the vessel. Vestara, Ben, and Luke stood awaiting him as he emerged from the connecting tube.
Khai was, not unexpectedly, an imposing presence, both physically and in the Force. He was tall, much taller than Luke, and while not bulky, was clearly muscular. Luke guessed he was in his early forties, but there was no trace of gray in the jet-black hair, and the lines on his face seemed to be either furrows of concentration or laugh lines rather than the marks of age.
Khai’s belt was empty of weapons, and scans that would detect even the smallest bits of metal on his person had turned up nothing. He paused before stepping fully onto the Shadow and spread his hands. They were strong and callused, with long, clever-looking fingers.
“Saber Gavar Khai,” the Sith said, bowing. “Permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted. I am Master Luke Skywalker. This is Ben Skywalker, my son and Jedi Knight. And Vestara, of course.”
Vestara had locked down her feelings. Save for the brightness of her eyes, she looked composed, almost bored. She bowed, deeply, respectfully.
“Father.”
Saber—whatever that meant—Gavar Khai opened his arms and Vestara went into them. For a brief moment, they were simply a reunited father and daughter, and Luke felt a brief flicker of embarrassment. It was swiftly quashed. Father and daughter they might be, and Luke was willing to grant that there might even be familial love between them, but they were still Sith. They probably fought pretty well as a father-child team, just like he and Ben did.
Vestara pulled back, keeping her face averted from Luke and Ben until the mask was back in place.
“Thank you for permitting me to see her,” Khai said, his arm still around his daughter’s shoulders. “Her mother and I have missed her greatly.”
That comment raised a hundred other questions in Luke’s mind, but he didn’t think any of them would be answered. At least, not honestly.
“I’m a father myself. I know how it is,” he said instead. “If you like, you two are welcome to use my quarters for a chat. A very brief chat.”
Vestara glanced first at Luke, then at Ben
. Ben shrugged slightly.
“Thank you,” Gavar Khai said again. “That is most kind of you. Our chitchat about Vestara’s mother and servants and the state of the household would likely not interest you anyway.”
“I doubt very much that it would,” Luke said. Both men smiled. Both knew that if any mention of mother, servants, and the state of the household did indeed occur, it would be only in passing. Between Sith, there were other matters to discuss.
Luke indicated his cabin, and the two Khais entered. The door slid shut, and Luke and Ben made their way back to the cockpit.
“How come you did that?” Ben asked. “I thought you were against a private visit.”
“I said they could have a chat. I never said that it would be private.”
“I see. But it’s not going to do us any good. I mean—Khai’s acting all polite, but he’s not going to speak Basic just so we can eavesdrop more efficiently.”
“No. They’ll speak the other language we’ve heard from Vestara before.” Luke flicked a switch. Gavar Khai’s voice was heard, speaking in a lilting tongue. Then Vestara’s, light and musical.
“It’s pretty,” Ben said, and Luke wasn’t sure if he meant the language or Vestara’s voice. “But what’s the point? We’ve got no reference in the databanks. There’s no way we can translate this.”
Luke gave him a grin. “We can’t. But I know someone who can.”
“They will be recording everything we say,” Vestara said.
“Of course they will. It is what I would do. But they have never heard Keshiri before. I doubt they will be able to translate it swiftly enough for our conversation to be useful to them.”
Vestara nodded. “This is not a diplomat’s vessel,” she agreed.
“You have been given free rein of it?” Khai said, reaching into his robes and producing a piece of flimsi and a writing instrument. When Vestara nodded, he said, “Good. Draw it for me while we speak.”
At once Vestara obeyed, laying the flimsi down on a flat piece of furniture and beginning to sketch. She heard a slight rustling and turned, curious. Her father was reaching inside his robes, searching for something, and a moment later his hand emerged.
He held out a shikkar.
Vestara smiled. Of course. The sensors would detect no weapon, as the shikkar was made entirely of glass. She recognized this one as one from her father’s personal collection. It was a piece crafted by one of the most famous shikkar glassmakers, Tura Sanga. Sanga’s work was distinctive, and this was no exception. The shikkar was narrow and elegant, stark black-and-white, the hilt slender and long, the blade barely the width of a finger. Its fragility was deceptive. The only weak spot was where the blade joined the hilt—a quick snap would separate the two. Vestara wondered who she would use it on. Ben? The great Luke Skywalker himself? Perhaps, if she was lucky. After all, she had already cut him once. She could do so again, should the opportunity arise. She accepted the noble weapon with a humble nod of thanks, and stashed it carefully in her own robes.
“How is Mother?” she asked.
“She is well. Missing you, but proud of what you are doing.”
Vestara smiled a little. “I am glad. I strive to make you proud.” And to become a Saber like you … or even soar higher than you. She did not attempt to shield her emotions from her father; he encouraged her ambition and would not take offense.
“You did fine work on Dathomir,” Gavar continued. “And even though your Master is dead, you are still to be granted the rank of apprentice. We will find a new Master for you when this business with Abeloth and the Skywalkers is complete. I am sure many will be eager to teach you.”
Vestara straightened slightly, basking in the phrase. “The so called Nightsister prisoners we took are being sorted out according to their abilities and Force-strengths,” her father continued.
“They go willingly?” Vestara was surprised.
“Some do, most do not.” Gavar shrugged his broad shoulders. “It matters not. They will go and do what we tell them, or they will suffer. And a little suffering often changes minds.” He smiled. “And so another world has yielded to the Tribe what we need if we are to be strong and spread across this galaxy.”
Vestara nodded. “I am glad they are proving useful.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “The apprentices … how are they doing?”
He looked confused for a moment. “Apprentices?”
“The ones that Abeloth is turning mad,” Vestara said.
Khai chuckled. Warm affection spread from him in the Force. “Dearest daughter, there is not a single thing wrong with any of the Tribe Sith apprentices that a good beating will not rectify.”
“But—”
“I know what Taalon told Skywalker. It is an utter fabrication. We got the idea from you, my clever girl. We needed a good reason for the Skywalkers to ally with us, and it made sense to claim that our apprentices were suffering the same fate as the Jedi Knights.”
“I see,” Vestara said. It was an excellent plan, one that played well upon the idealistic natures of both Skywalker men. It was sound enough that she herself, who ought to have known better, had believed it. “So … what is the true reason we are allying with them?”
Gavar gazed at her shrewdly. “You have held your tongue and guarded your feelings well thus far. But I think perhaps that information should come later.”
For an instant, a dark flicker of resentment welled up in Vestara, but she extinguished it almost as soon as it came. She was fairly certain her father hadn’t noticed. “Of course. As you see fit.”
“I share your grief about Lady Rhea and Ahri Raas,” Gavar continued, changing the subject. Vestara’s brow furrowed slightly as she worked on the sketch, smudging out an inaccurate line with her fingers. She would have to remember to clean them before she left Luke’s cabin.
She had respected and had a healthy fear of Lady Olaris Rhea. She had been devoted to her, as befit a proper Sith apprentice to her master. But there had been no affection between them. Vestara did grieve for Ahri, although at one point, she had been willing to kill him herself if need be. Lady Rhea’s words came back to her: Want everything you wish—hunger, burn for it, if that fuels you. But never love anyone or anything so much that you cannot bear to lose it.
“They died well, at the hands of the Skywalkers,” was all she said to her father. “You have met them. You know that there is no dishonor in falling against them.”
“True,” said Gavar Khai, stepping beside her and squeezing her shoulder affectionately as he peered at the sketch. “But I would just as soon neither of us fell against them.”
Vestara grinned. “I agree.”
“My decision to come here was sound. I learned a great deal about them just from the little exposure I had a few moments ago. The journey before us will give us ample opportunity to learn more.”
Vestara examined the sketch critically. She added a few more notes. “I will continue to share with you everything I learn.”
“You might be able to learn even more … or perhaps insinuate yourself better with them.”
Finished, Vestara handed the sketch to her father and cleaned her hands at the sink. “I will do what I can, but I am a Sith, and their prisoner. What they have let me learn is only what they want me to know or the occasional accidental slip.”
Khai turned her around to face him, his hands on her shoulders. “I am willing to wager that the slips have not come from Master Luke Skywalker.”
There was something in the tone of his voice that made Vestara instantly alert. “No,” she said. “It is Ben who has told me the most.”
“You are attracted to the Skywalker boy.”
It was a statement, not a question, and Vestara’s stomach clenched. She wanted to deny it, but this was her father, who knew her better than anyone. Even without the use of the Force he would know if she lied to him about this.
“Yes, I am,” she said softly, not meeting his eyes. “He is appealing to me. I am sorry. I
will do my best to—”
Khai tilted her chin up with a finger. “No, you will not.”
“I—” Vestara floundered. She had not felt this off guard since the first time she had killed, when she had been surprised at how hard it had been, how much blood there was, and how the sensation of the victim’s life slipping away at such close range had unnerved her.
“This is something we can use,” Gavar Khai continued. “I certainly do not want you to fall in love with Ben Skywalker. But if you do feel genuine affection or desire for him, do not be afraid to let him sense that. Especially if he can sense it in the Force, he’ll know it’s real, and that will take him off guard. He will begin to lower his own walls, tell you more, trust you more. You can use that.” His eyes brightened as a thought came to him. “You might even be able to turn him.”
“To the dark side?” A strange little jolt swept through Vestara at the thought. She recognized it as … hope. If Ben were to become Sith, then she wouldn’t have to worry about the growing feelings she was having for the Skywalker boy. It wouldn’t matter. They would be on the same side—fighting, killing together, advancing the Tribe agenda to rule the galaxy. Ben would, she was certain, become as powerful as his father one day. He might even become a Lord—or a High Lord. They—
Her father’s indulgent chuckle snapped her out of her reverie. “That would be my hope as well. Ben Skywalker as a Sith would be a glorious achievement for our family, and you could enjoy him to the fullest. But if you fail to turn him, you must be prepared to be content with toying with him. At least until the time comes when he is no longer useful.”
Vestara nodded. “I understand, Father. You do not need to worry about me.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “I never had to lay a hand on you for punishment, child. You have always excelled. You are driven by the dark side to achieve, to rise.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them slightly in approval. “Vestara, you are a true Khai. I know you will not fail me in this.”
She stood a little taller at the high praise, craving it, craving the power that lay, unspoken, behind his words. She had once dreamed of becoming a Lord, but now her ambition knew no bounds. Fate, or the dark side, had placed the Skywalkers in her path. In, perhaps, her hands—literally and figuratively. She would make certain she took full advantage of the opportunity.
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