Lost Tribe of the Sith: The Collected Stories by John Jackson Miller

Author:John Jackson Miller [Miller, John Jackson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, SciFi, Star Wars, Old Republic, Lost Tribe of the Sith
ISBN: 9780345511379
Publisher: Del-Rey

She stood a full two meters, easily taller than Hilts. Bright red hair, neatly coiffed; flawless pink skin. She would have fared well in Seelah Korsin’s inspections, centuries before, Hilts thought. And that was the whole point.

The intruder led Hilts back to the atrium, where he saw half a dozen similarly clad women, all perfect specimens of humanity themselves, threatening the huddled workers with lightsabers. She spoke again. “Of course, you know me.”

“Only by reputation,” he said, throat sandy. He’d never gotten to taste his drink. “I don’t get out much.”

“I can see that.” The woman smiled primly and deactivated her lightsaber. “Iliana Merko. And these are my fellow Sisters of Seelah.”

“I don’t think Seelah Korsin had any sisters,” Hilts said, regarding the beauties guarding his Keshiri.

“Sisters in spirit.” Iliana strode confidently ahead, crushing Jaye’s abacus underfoot as she did. The mathematician was with the others, now, prone on the floor but safe. Boot heels clacking against the marble, Iliana surveyed the glass statues lining the atrium. All depicted either Yaru or Nida Korsin. Iliana didn’t look pleased.

“Sorry,” Hilts said. “They took out the Seelah statues after—after what happened, years ago.” He assumed she knew about the failed coup Seelah had plotted with Jariad against her husband, Yaru. To members of Iliana’s faction, it was like yesterday. “I don’t think they kept any Seelah pieces at all.”

“I’m not surprised. No one gave our lady the respect she deserved. She founded the Tribe, you know—not these traitors.” Glaring at a glass representation of Yaru Korsin, Iliana’s expression melted to puzzlement. “Did he really look like that?”

“Back then, the Keshiri sculptors were still figuring out how to get human eyes right.” Hilts cautiously stepped toward her. The woman didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and he chose to think that boded well for his survival. But then, it wasn’t as if she was going to be interrupted. Who ever came here?

“You know why I’m here,” she said, facing him.

“The Testament won’t be read for twelve days yet. Why are you here now?”

She stepped briskly toward him. “We have to talk about what Korsin’s Testament says,” she said. “Before the others arrive.”

Hilts couldn’t help but laugh. “You know what the Testament says. Everyone does. It’s been transcribed so many times—”

Iliana charged forward, igniting her lightsaber and waving the tip just under the Caretaker’s hairy chin. “Of course we know! But this is different. This Testament Day, this reading—somehow, it’s become a conclave.”

His eyes narrowed. “The Pantheon’s Peace.”

“Exactly.”

It suddenly made sense to Hilts. For centuries, Testament Day and the reading had been the one time that the Tribe’s entire hierarchy met peaceably under one roof—that of the palace atrium—to hear their late founder’s words spoken. Even after the Sith splintered, deference to the great leaders of the past had been enough to bring the various faction leaders together at one time. No one dared make the meeting an opportunity for mayhem; some now regarded Korsin almost as a magical being, able to influence events from beyond the grave.

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