Workan and Myal, who outranked her by a considerable amount, would be eager for this sort of kill themselves. It was new for the Sith, to openly attack an enemy. Normally, in her society, murder and assassination were almost... genteel. One’s opponent was eliminated either by oneself or a hired killer. Vendetta killings were honorable, and one bragged by snapping off the recognizable blade of the shikkar. But this - openly chasing a foe, dispatching them like beasts - was new. They were not Sith. They did not deserve any elegance or sophistication in their deaths.
There was movement in one of the trees, and it was not caused by the wind. Workan paused, unfastened his parang, took aim, and let it fly. Emitting its unique whirring sound, the weapon struck home. The leaves of the tree shook slightly, and a body fell. It was short and squat and appeared to be male, wearing what Vestara knew to be a pilot’s outfit, with an overly large head that was - unfortunately for the pilot - cloven in two. The huge black eyes were wide and staring, the folds that encircled his mouth flapping in his death throes. Vestara wrinkled her nose.
“Sullustan, I think,” said Workan. “So ugly.”
Vestara’s danger sense tingled. She opened her mouth to warn her companions, but they had sensed it as well. All three of them drew their lightsabers, batting back the blaster bolts that did nothing other than reveal the shooter’s location to his killers. “You flushed his friend,” said Myal.
“You take this one,” said Workan. Myal inclined his head, drew his blaster, and fired while Vestara and Workan almost effortlessly defended him. This shooter, a human, also dropped, dead before he hit the ground.
Myal sighed, disappointment furrowing his brow. “Too easy,” he murmured. Vestara agreed. Apparently there was more challenge in planning and carrying out the murder of a fellow Sith than there was in killing these beings.
Workan’s comlink chirped. It was Taalon. “We have found the rest, holed up in a cave. I thought you two would wish to see them before we dispatched them.”
You two? Vestara fought to keep her expression motionless. Workan and Myal exchanged glances. “Indeed,” said Workan. “What do you wish Vestara to do?”
“She will return to the frigate and begin cataloguing its contents,” said Taalon. Vestara felt her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment and used the Force to hide it. Workan clicked the com and looked at Vestara expectantly. She bowed and turned around, breaking into a trot as she returned to the frigate. Ship sensed her unhappiness but she did not respond to his inquiries.
Vestara was used to unquestioning obedience, but this time, the dismissal stung. Taalon had deliberately denied her a chance for a kill and had added insult to injury by assigning her a menial task that had no urgency whatsoever. As she approached the grounded freighter, though, she sensed another presence in the Force - and this time, she was sure it was not an animal.
Vestara drew her lightsaber and activated it with a fierce snap-hiss just as someone stepped out of the hole blown in the freighter’s hull.
The human girl was barefoot, wearing only a single garment that covered her from shoulder to knees. It was stained, tattered, and oft-mended. Pale flesh showed old and new scars. A fresh gash on her head suggested that she had been injured in the crash. That’s why her Force presence felt so faint to me, Vestara realized. The girl had been unconscious, and Vestara, like the other Sith, had focused on the fear of the known prey.
“Please don’t hurt me!” The voice was young and frightened. The girl flung up her hands in a pleading gesture, her face - too old and haggard-looking for the age Vestara suspected she was - filled with fear. “I don’t care about the cargo! You can have it!”
Intrigued, Vestara lowered her weapon slightly, happy to seize another chance to learn something about this vast galaxy that her people
There was movement in one of the trees, and it was not caused by the wind. Workan paused, unfastened his parang, took aim, and let it fly. Emitting its unique whirring sound, the weapon struck home. The leaves of the tree shook slightly, and a body fell. It was short and squat and appeared to be male, wearing what Vestara knew to be a pilot’s outfit, with an overly large head that was - unfortunately for the pilot - cloven in two. The huge black eyes were wide and staring, the folds that encircled his mouth flapping in his death throes. Vestara wrinkled her nose.
“Sullustan, I think,” said Workan. “So ugly.”
Vestara’s danger sense tingled. She opened her mouth to warn her companions, but they had sensed it as well. All three of them drew their lightsabers, batting back the blaster bolts that did nothing other than reveal the shooter’s location to his killers. “You flushed his friend,” said Myal.
“You take this one,” said Workan. Myal inclined his head, drew his blaster, and fired while Vestara and Workan almost effortlessly defended him. This shooter, a human, also dropped, dead before he hit the ground.
Myal sighed, disappointment furrowing his brow. “Too easy,” he murmured. Vestara agreed. Apparently there was more challenge in planning and carrying out the murder of a fellow Sith than there was in killing these beings.
Workan’s comlink chirped. It was Taalon. “We have found the rest, holed up in a cave. I thought you two would wish to see them before we dispatched them.”
You two? Vestara fought to keep her expression motionless. Workan and Myal exchanged glances. “Indeed,” said Workan. “What do you wish Vestara to do?”
“She will return to the frigate and begin cataloguing its contents,” said Taalon. Vestara felt her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment and used the Force to hide it. Workan clicked the com and looked at Vestara expectantly. She bowed and turned around, breaking into a trot as she returned to the frigate. Ship sensed her unhappiness but she did not respond to his inquiries.
Vestara was used to unquestioning obedience, but this time, the dismissal stung. Taalon had deliberately denied her a chance for a kill and had added insult to injury by assigning her a menial task that had no urgency whatsoever. As she approached the grounded freighter, though, she sensed another presence in the Force - and this time, she was sure it was not an animal.
Vestara drew her lightsaber and activated it with a fierce snap-hiss just as someone stepped out of the hole blown in the freighter’s hull.
The human girl was barefoot, wearing only a single garment that covered her from shoulder to knees. It was stained, tattered, and oft-mended. Pale flesh showed old and new scars. A fresh gash on her head suggested that she had been injured in the crash. That’s why her Force presence felt so faint to me, Vestara realized. The girl had been unconscious, and Vestara, like the other Sith, had focused on the fear of the known prey.
“Please don’t hurt me!” The voice was young and frightened. The girl flung up her hands in a pleading gesture, her face - too old and haggard-looking for the age Vestara suspected she was - filled with fear. “I don’t care about the cargo! You can have it!”
Intrigued, Vestara lowered her weapon slightly, happy to seize another chance to learn something about this vast galaxy that her people
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