Star Wars: Lost Tribe of the Sith #7: Pantheon by John Jackson Miller

Author:John Jackson Miller [Miller, John Jackson]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: my-books
ISBN: 9780345519443
Publisher: LucasBooks
Published: 2011-07-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

“… when we landed, we were few. Our survival was not guaranteed. The Tribe—what we have become—was the necessary mechanism. Once we knew Kesh held no dangers for us, the only threat came from ourselves …”

The starship captain sat in his command chair, facing death—and, unbeknownst to him, several of his remote descendants, separated by time. The image of Yaru Korsin flickered in midair, casting eerie shadows through the darkened atrium. It was neither the robust Korsin of the later paintings nor the bug-eyed deity of the Keshiri sculpture who appeared; it was simply a man. A spent warrior-king, clutching his chest and speaking his last.

“… and just as I had you trained in secret, Nida, there are secrets you must always keep. The true power is behind the throne. Should disaster befall—remember that …”

Platitudes passed from a ruler to his child, both long dead. Hilts had studied the words for so many years, they had lost their magic for him. True, that first sight long ago of Yaru Korsin, animated, had excited his imagination. But this time was different. Standing behind the device and its projection, he found himself looking not at the ancient figure, but through him, at the gathered listeners. The atrium had been cleared of dead bodies and living warriors that afternoon; now, as darkness fell, only the faction leaders remained, including a dozen-plus brought in from outside. Hilts searched from face to face. Some had that same look of wonder he’d once had; humility was a new concept for most Sith. Others seemed untouched.

Hilts focused again on Korsin. He’d been dying when he recorded this; bleeding in the seat that had once been the captain’s chair from Omen, he’d hurriedly recorded a message to his daughter, who was busy finishing off the rebels elsewhere on the mountain. Between coughs, the spectral Korsin spoke of the Tribe’s hierarchy, and how the structure should be managed to prevent uprisings like the one that ultimately killed him. He’d just spoken the segment about killing dead Grand Lord’s spouses and banishing Seelah; Hilts could still feel the rage coming from Iliana.

“… that should hold the Tribe for the long term, but you’ll want to begin bringing your own people in at the Lord level. I have a few suggestions, depending on who survives …”

“This is the boring part,” Iliana snapped. Hilts looked to his shoes. She was right. For all the regard placed on the document, he knew it included a lot of logistical detail. Several of the leaders paid rapt attention, listening to Korsin speak of their adopted intellectual forebears, but for the others it was tedium.

Looking at the restive members, Hilts wondered about his next move. He was alone now; Jaye had been kicked outside along with his fellow workers before the reading began. That was good for them, for the moment. But the Pantheon’s Peace would conclude when the recording did—and it didn’t look like the words were leading any toward a settlement. How could

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