Ascension/Part 2

Space is always cold, Nillan Deys'lro thought, snugging his crossed arms over his chest and hoping it looked standoffish and intimidating rather than like an attempt to conserve body heat. He had never liked space travel, and his impending arrival on Lisal did little to keep the shivers off his back.

He preferred that explanation—the cold of space—to the alternative: ''They're more powerful than you, Nillan. The dark side is stronger with them, and their cold is freezing you out''. He had felt it before in the company of Sith Lords whose power far exceeded his own—felt the dark side not as the scalding heat that had become so familiar it was his daily warmth in the way no sun could ever be, but instead as a cold so piercing that it turned his bones brittle and frosted the marrow inside. It was a cold no number of midnight robes could insulate him against.

They were all cramped into a personnel transport that looked like it had been in service since Darth Ruin was running things—ten Forceful agents of the New Sith Empire, en route to their next assignment. For some of them, Nillan suspected, it really was their next assignment—certainly the enormous, four-armed brute that seemed as much wolf as man, or the long-armed reptilian Nillan thought might be called a Phindian. But it was Nillan's first assignment, and the scrutiny in the eyes of his fellow Sith told him it showed; his goatee hadn't grown in nearly as fast or as thick as he'd hoped, and fourteen years could only put so much muscle on his body. He was tall for his age, but that just made him lanky instead of intimidating.

Most of the others looked at least in their late teens. The only person who appeared younger was a girl squeezed in between the four-armed wolfman and a tall, gray-blue-skinned man with a long, gaunt face that looked like a Muun's skull—all teeth and hard edges, with coal-black eyes. The green-skinned girl, small to begin with, seemed an afterthought between her hulking neighbors, and indeed neither seemed to notice her. Her hood was up, but a small blossom hung down over her right eye; Nillan had wondered why she was wearing flowers in her hair until he had put it together with her green skin and the two water bottles she had exhausted just on this flight and realized the flowers were her hair.

She was attractive in a vegetable-girl sort of way, and Nillan started wondering where else she had flowers growing until he caught himself. Can't get distracted. There would be plenty of girls, vegetable and otherwise, when he became a Sith Lord—not just girls, but women, all of them willing and eager for a Sith Lord's touch. But now wasn't the time. He crossed his legs before his body could get away from him.

She looked up, and Nillan had a moment to appreciate her bright green eyes—green as sunlight through a forest canopy, like a Jedi's lightsaber blade. He wrenched his eyes away, more concerned about where they had been than where they were going, and found himself locking eyes with the wolf-man. His lower arms were thicker than Nillan's thighs; his upper arms looked strong enough to rip Nillan in half. His lips pulled back to expose a row of gleaming fangs and to let loose a growl; he cracked the knuckles of his upper hands with a sound like splintering wood.

Desperate, Nillan looked away only to find the skull-faced man returning his gaze instead. He was barely shorter than the wolfman, if half the width; without lips to close over those long teeth, it was hard to tell whether he was smiling, snarling, or just hungry.

He took a snorting breath through nostrils that were little more than holes in his face. Leaning toward Nillan, he sucked another wet, rattling breath through his teeth, then rasped, "You smell like food."

Nillan swallowed, but he was a Sith in training, and he knew he could not show fear. Summoning his best disdainful voice, he replied, "Well I'm not."

"You sure?" Another mouth breath like gargling. "You smell a lot like food…"

"Yeah? Well…you look like an anorexic Muun," Nillan retorted. "Are you?"

It wasn't the best comeback possible, but it drew a laugh or two from the transport. Skull Face's next sound was definitely a snarl, and he flexed his three-fingered hands. Nillan fought the urge to reach beneath his robe for his lightsaber. There was no room to maneuver here, and if it became a brawl…

"Oh, stop hissing," snapped a young man two seats down from Nillan; at a glance, Nillan thought he was a few years older and the only pure Human aboard. "Our master's expecting ten new Sith. We show up and we're down to nine, pretty soon we're gonna be down to eight."

Skull Face grunted, but some of that logic must have worked on him, because he sat back, glaring at Nillan, who marveled at his own ability to make an enemy before they had even made landfall. He looked away and saw Flower Girl studying him, though she lowered her eyes when he caught them.

"Hey," the Human called, and when Nillan looked down the row he saw the young man was looking at him too. "Where're you from?"

"Jaguada."

Nillan started preparing his retorts to the usual snide comments—''Oh, Jaguada? Great, you can clean my blaster for me, grunt!''—but the Human shook his head. "No, not where were you trained, where are you from?"

Nillan shrugged, trying to sound casual as he replied, "I don't know."

The Human smiled. "Are you a legacy?"

Nillan nodded.

"Me too! The name's Crile Craetor.  We—"  He stopped, because the meter-high reptilian between them had snickered. Narrowing his eyes, Crile asked, "Something on your mind?"

"You sssound ssso proud," she hissed.

"Damn right we're proud!" Crile replied; Nillan said nothing. Making a fist as he held out his arm, Crile added, "I have the blood of a great Sith Lord in my veins—the legacy of power! What do you have?"

"Sssome measure of pride, I hope; I was chosen by the Force. But you…"  The reptile sneered. "Your legasssy is nothing more than a ssslave whore chained to a birthing bed and a father who gave no more thought to you than he did to her the moment he had finished with her. You're nothing but masss production; the only thing misssing is a ssserial number ssstamped on your forehead."

Derisive laughter rang through the transport, and Crile's face flushed with rage. He jerked halfway to a standing position, but a near-Human across the aisle stood and pushed him back down.

"You were saying something ironic about ten becoming nine becoming eight?" the near-Human observed dryly.

Crile grimaced, but slumped back into his acceleration chair, crossing his arms and looking away as a few more snickers rattled around. Nillan studied his hands; he was sure he had made an enemy already in Skull Face, and he didn't like the way Wolfman had glared down at him either. ''Get it together, Deys'lro. You're a Sith, trained in the dark side; stop cringing and own it!''

But there was a difference between confidence and stupidity. He was sure he would have the perfect dun möch retort ready to destroy the next person who challenged him, but he didn't need to court anyone's wrath. With ten dark siders all crammed into rickety bucket of bolts for the hours-long trip from Sith Space, it was a miracle no one had died yet.

It'll be all right.

Nillan started; it was an encouraging enough thought, but it lost some of that effect by virtue of not being his thought. He cast about until his eyes landed on Flower Girl, who was looking back at him. She offered him a small, jade-lipped smile, and Nillan's eyes widened. He nodded at her, wondering, You?

Yes, me.

Nillan recoiled in his seat and Flower Girl's smile wilted. Rattled, Nillan tried to focus on the dark side, seizing on the feeling of violation at having his thoughts read to build up his anger, but nerves got in the way. He was surrounded by older and stronger Sith—most of whom could probably kill him and a couple who seemed interested in the idea—and the only exception was a girl who could peruse his thoughts at will. And that wasn't even touching on the master they were going to serve…

"Look alive, little Sithlings," the pilot's voice came through the intraship comm. "We're coming in."

Little Sithlings didn't go over well with Nillan's companions at all; snarls and grumbles rippled up and down the aisle. No one was foolish enough to attack a pilot of a craft in flight, but once they had touched down and the door to the cockpit opened, Wolfman got to his feet. He wore only a black loincloth and a pair of belts, but he was well over two meters tall and almost every inch of his fur-covered muscle was visible.

"You'd better find a respectful tongue, worm," he growled, "or I'll bite yours out."

There were a few appreciative hisses from the other Sith. The pilot was a near-Human of some kind, his face chalky but unremarkable. He rubbed one side of his broad nose and smiled. "Apologies, of course. Let me make it up to you.  I've run a few trips here, I can tell you things about your new master, if that would help."

"I don't need your help, maggot; mind your place," Wolfman snorted. He pushed the pilot back into the wall with one powerful hand and turned away. For an instant Nillan thought he saw a challenging gleam in the pilot's eyes, but it was gone so quickly Nillan was sure he had imagined it.

"You know best, of course," he said with a contrite bow.

The transport's ramp dropped, though none of them had signaled it, and a figure in full-body light armor stepped aboard. The helmet obscured all features, and for a moment Nillan was confused; was this his new master? The build seemed male rather than female, but there was a lightsaber on the belt, so who could be sure…?

But then the man spoke, his helmet imparting a robotic tone to his voice. "I'm Zeff Rogu. Come with me."

They got up and followed Zeff Rogu down the ramp, but Nillan hung back, looking for the pilot. He was not alone; the little flower girl had stayed, as had the near-Human who had prevented Crile from getting into a fight. Nillan glanced at Flower Girl, but her hood shadowed her face and she didn't return his gaze. The near-Human gave Nillan and Flower Girl half a second of his attention each, then faced the pilot. "What do you know?"

"She prizes loyalty," the pilot said, and his obsequious smile was gone, his eyes serious. "To your Council of Five and your hierarchy, yes, but personal loyalty too. You show it to her, she'll show it to you.  And don't think you can outsmart her or get the best of her—she's clever, and a lot more powerful than you'd think.  People keep underestimating her, for some reason…"

He smiled in a way that left Nillan disconcerted. "Works for me, though. Us, ah, worms are always hungry."

The near-Human frowned, but stepped down the ramp without another word. Nillan and Flower Girl followed; Nillan resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, the absurd instinct to check his back. He's just a pilot; the problems are at the bottom of the ramp.

"He was telling the truth," Flower Girl whispered. "Or at least his true opinion."

More telepathy. It had never been Nillan's thing, and it made him uncomfortable to see a little plant person already such a master of it. He gave one terse nod and skipped on ahead to where the other Sith were gathering their packs and gear. Nillan reached for a bag, only to lurch back as a three-fingered hand wrapped around the handle.

"Yours?" Skull Face asked, holding it out.

"Yeah." Nillan reached for it, but Skull Face swung it back; a twist of the Force opened it and spilled all his garments onto the dirt. Nillan's sword hand twitched toward the part in his robe, but Skull Face hooked the thumb of his free hand through his belt beside his own lightsaber.

"Pity, this," he rasped, and dropped the empty bag to the ground.

"What's the holdup?" Zeff Rogu demanded, pushing through the crowd. The visor in his helmet took in the mess. "Whose things are these?"

"Mine," Nillan admitted, stooping to collect them.

"Mine sir," Zeff corrected, and Nillan gasped as his windpipe closed for a second. "You are only an adept, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Sir," Nillan rasped, rubbing his throat.

"Name?"

"Nillan Deys'lro, sir."

Zeff nodded. "I'm an Acolyte, Nillan Deys'lro; learn the pecking order now and save yourself trouble later. Get this cleaned up.  The rest of you, move."

Nillan stuffed socks and spare shirts into the bag, anger gnawing at his insides, wanting to hack off Zeff Rogu's head and use his helmet to smash in Skull Face's face. He didn't dare try, though; he sensed Skull Face wasn't all talk, and if Zeff Rogu was a Sith Acolyte and had been sent to collect them, he was probably well on his way to lordship too. And Nillan hadn't forgotten ten minus one equals eight, either. So he forced each garment into his bag, twisting the fabric in his fist as he envisioned doing it to Skull Face's scrawny neck, and stewed in his unreleased rage.

When he got up and slung his bags over his shoulder, he found Flower Girl trailing the group, watching him. He waved her off angrily, and she turned away without a word as he jogged to catch up.

There was no spaceport, not even a landing pad; the transport had settled down in a cleared patch of bare, hard-packed dirt. The eleven Acolytes and adepts wended their way through ferns and undergrowth in the shadow of a forest. Their path could hardly be called a trail; even with Wolfman crashing through the brush, they weren't leaving much of a trail behind them, either. Nillan saw beads of water on the ferns, felt droplets hit and soak his hood when they passed beneath trees, and smelled the humidity in the cool air; it was not raining, but it had recently.

Zeff led them through the outskirts of the woods to a clearing at the base of a bluff. Bringing up the rear of the line, Nillan caught a glimpse of prefabricated buildings on the cliff's peak before Zeff's droidlike voice barked, "Get in one line."

Skull Face was toward one end of the line, and Nillan hurried to the other. Flower Girl was there, but she did not look at him as he took his place.

Zeff swept the line with the gaze Nillan could feel through his visor, then turned and knelt, and Nillan belatedly noticed the two figures picking their way down the bluff. Both were female, and Nillan's eyes zeroed in on the green-skinned redhead in black. This matched the description he had heard of Darth Alecto, the woman Sith potentials on Jaguada were calling the Queen of Assassins. She wore only a tank top, cargo pants, and boots, and Nillan was surprised not to sense anything from her, no particular wave of cold or even searing tremors of heat; if anything, the black-haired woman at her side radiated more danger.

But Zeff Rogu knelt as they approached, which Nillan took as a hint, dropping to one knee as well. She's clever, and a lot more powerful than you'd think…

The rest of the line knelt, one by one; Wolfman had claimed one of the center spots in the line and was the last to kneel, keeping his back straight and his eyes up. Darth Alecto and her attendant hopped down off the last ridge within a second of one another and advanced on Zeff. Up close, Nillan could see the black ink of Darth Alecto's tattoos. She took in the line with a look and asked, "This is all of them?"

"Yes, Master."

She looked again, and this time she cocked her head. "Ten? I was only expecting nine."

Nillan saw Flower Girl twitch in his peripheral vision, but Darth Alecto was looking at Zeff again, and he said, "They were all aboard the transport, Master."

She studied the new Sith with narrowed eyes for a moment, but in the end she shrugged and her face cleared. "I'll appreciate Darth Saleej's generosity, then. Take your place in line."

Zeff looked up from where he knelt. "Master?"

"You're my first Acolyte, Zeff, not my foremost," she said. "Take your place."

Nillan hoped against hope Zeff would backtalk and he could see the lethality for which Darth Alecto was famous. Serves you right, you puffed-up bastard, he thought. But the masked Acolyte just got to his feet, bowed stiffly, and stormed to Nillan's end of the line. Nillan tried not to lean away from the anger radiating off Rogu.

"I'm Darth Alecto," she said, recapturing Nillan's attention, "and this is Lisal. You'll be here until I find a use for you.  Rise."

She looked them over again, taking her time this round; when it was Nillan's turn he met her eyes, trying not to flinch. Then she sauntered to the far end of the line and asked, "What's your name?"

"Varriben," replied a snouted alien wearing goggles under his hood; his voice was a buzz.

Darth Alecto considered him. "You're a Kubaz?"

"Yes Master."

"I'm told Kubaz are excellent spies."

"I can only speak for myself, but I am."

"I can work with that." She moved on to Skull Face. "And you, Zanibar?"

Nillan could tell Skull Face was surprised to have his species recognized, but he rallied. "Shrizzzqadl."

"And aside from eating other sentients, what do you do?"

Skull-faced Shrizzzqadl growled. "I kill."

Darth Alecto smirked. "Simple and straightforward. Two things a Sith Lord can never afford to be, but I can work with that too, I suppose.  You?"

Lukurt Kreen was the Phindian, and Rewz the diminutive, beige-scaled lizard woman who had mocked Crile Craetor for being a legacy. Crile himself held his head high as he named himself for Darth Alecto, but she passed him by without any further inquiry, and his shoulders sagged a little in her wake. Darth Alecto's silent, black-haired companion trailed in her wake, her dark eyes analyzing each new disciple, and though nerves had Nillan strung tight, he could've sworn he saw the woman sniffing each one.

Darth Alecto looked up at Wolfman. "And what are you?"

He crossed both sets of arms and looked down at her; she came halfway up his barrel chest. "I am Sith Acolyte Zurgharjhen, of the Irrukiine race of Malrev IV."

"Funny thing about being an Acolyte," Darth Alecto mused in a thoughtful tone. "It really only means as much or as little as your Sith Lord wants it to mean. And it can come and go on a whim.  Acolyte today, adept tomorrow."

Zurgharjhen growled once. "I have fought Jedi in the armies of Darth Relteus!"

Darth Alecto laughed. "That imbecile who got himself killed by the Dark Vanguard? Is that how you wound up here?"

Zurgharjhen's hands squeezed into fists, and the upper ones were the size of Nillan's head, but Darth Alecto passed on without any evident concern. The next person in line was the near-Human, and there Darth Alecto's smile turned crooked. "And who might you be?"

"Dolre Thyle, Master." He bowed his head.

Darth Alecto grinned. "You're lying to me…"

Dolre's head shot up; Darth Alecto's companion stepped to her side, fingering a short sword sheathed at her belt, and Nillan could see Dolre's eyes widen from five meters away. "I'm not! My name is—"

"Oh, 'Dolre', I'm sure it is," she agreed. "Not about that. One chance to be truthful with me, Dolre."

For a second nothing happened. Then Dolre's face twisted as if in pain and his features writhed, his cheeks hollowing out and darkening, nostrils flaring, eyes sinking and growing at once… Within a few seconds he was a different man—the same height, his clothes only a little looser on his body, but covered in green hide instead of skin, bulbous yellow eyes peering at Darth Alecto warily.

She nodded in satisfaction while a few others gasped. "Now that I believe. Clawdite?"

"Yes, Master." He sounded grumpy.

"Well, it's not Shi'ido, but it's something," Darth Alecto mused, and moved on.

Fruuna was a female Trianii after Dolre the not-actually-a-near-Human, and Nillan's stomach twisted like Dolre's face; Darth Alecto was nearly there. He could see her plainly now—the arrowheads tattooed around her left eye, the coil on her right cheek, and the symmetrical chain like linked droplets of water stretching from her bottom lip to the notch above her sternum. Her eyes were violet, but Nillan thought that was all that had in common with flowers; intent and cool even in contemplation of her new recruits, they were the kind of eyes that could vivisect a being without a spoken word.

Once he got past the intensity of her eyes, Nillan also realized she was beautiful, and his eyes started to follow the tattoo on her neck back down to her sternum, but he forced that thought right out of his mind. If it's too soon to plant your seeds in the garden, don't even think about it with the gardener.

Darth Alecto stepped even with Flower Girl, giving Nillan an appraising look…then stopped, pausing a moment before turning on Flower Girl, and for the first time she looked curious. Flower Girl was studying the dirt as if willing it to rise up and reclaim her, but Darth Alecto curled her index finger and used it to tilt the girl's chin up. She studied Flower Girl a long time before she smiled. "You're good at hiding, aren't you?"

Flower Girl didn't reply, but Darth Alecto's smile faded and her eyes narrowed in consideration. Her attendant said, "Your master asked you a question."

Darth Alecto raised her free hand to still her companion, then asked, "What's your name? And out loud this time, for Lady Khiyali's benefit."

Flower Girl rasped once, cleared her throat, and said on the second try, "Megaera."

"Megaera," Darth Alecto repeated. She brushed Megaera's hood back, and Nillan saw he had been right—the girl had flowers instead of hair, long coils of blossoms stretching past her shoulders. Darth Alecto brushed one of the blooms with a fingertip. "If I pluck this, will it hurt?"

Megaera swallowed. "It's…it's like pulling out a chunk of your hair, Master. But if you want one, I can—"

She reached to her belt, where Nillan saw she had a curved pruning knife in a sheath. There was a hiss of metal on leather, and in a movement so fast it hardly existed, Lady Khiyali caught Megaera's wrist with one hand and held a knife to her throat with the other. She hissed, and Megaera froze, eyes wide.

Darth Alecto hooked two fingers around Lady Khiyali's wrist and tugged the knife back. "Thank you for that, Nevya, but I don't think our little flower here is trying to kill me. Certainly not yet; give her time to get to know me first."

A queer, twisted smile played about Darth Alecto's lips, but Lady Khiyali did not smile at all as she released Megaera and the knife vanished beneath her cloak. "Yes, Master."

"Keep your flowers for now," Darth Alecto added. She smiled again. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Megaera."

Megaera swallowed and nodded, and at last Darth Alecto was before Nillan. He bowed his head.

"Your name, boy?"

"Nillan Deys'lro, ma'am."

She was silent, and he looked up to find her eyes tightened above a smile he didn't like at all. "Where were you trained, Nillan?"

"Jaguada, ma'am."

Nillan knew Jaguada's reputation; it turned out more slightly-forceful warriors than true Force users, and while Jaguadans were often the terrors of their respective army units, it had been a long time since one of them had risen to lordship. He was afraid Darth Alecto would make that observation aloud, but instead she said, "Ah yes, makes sense. Well, Nillan Deys'lro, this isn't the military.  You—and all your companions here—will address me as Darth Alecto or Master.  Do you understand?"

"Yes ma—Master!"

She smirked and moved on, and Nillan discovered he had been right; the Khiyali woman did take a sniff of the air around him through her broad nose. She met Nillan's eyes for a moment, and Nillan could see danger there, but the effect was blunted so soon after meeting their master.

"And of course Zeff," Darth Alecto finished. She glanced down the line and added, "Also a transplant from a Sith Lord who got overbold in battle, as it happens."

Nillan heard Zurgharjhen growl as Darth Alecto walked back to observe the line from a distance; if she heard it too, she clearly didn't care. Rounding on them, she laid a hand on her attendant's shoulder. "This is Nevya Khiyali, my right hand and second-in-command of my Brotherhood of Shadows. She has earned her place at my side, and so all of you will treat her with the same respect you treat me.  From time to time you may encounter others of my Anzat brethren here on my business; show them respect as well, and you won't have a problem.  Fail to, and you'll be lucky if you live long enough for me to hear of it."

Darth Alecto crossed her arms, eyes moving from each of her Sith to the next as she spoke. "How many of you were trained on Korriban, like me?"

Crile Craetor raised his hand, beaming. Darth Alecto nodded, then asked, "How many of you have defeated a Jedi in lightsaber combat? A Padawan or better; rejects in the Service Corps don't count."

A few hands went up—Zurgharjhen the Wolfman, of course, along with Lukurt Kreen and Rewz.

"And how many of you have taken a sentient life?"

Every hand went up, and for a moment Nillan was back in the Jaguada Arena, bleeding and limping from the wound in his leg but dodging what would have been a fatal stab and swinging his prybar to smash Lakin's orbital ridge, squash his eye to pulp, and crush his skull. Darth Alecto nodded again and gestured their hands back down. She studied them a moment, then said, "I don't care about any of that."

Nillan looked down the line; Zurgharjhen bared his teeth, and Crile deflated.

"Everything you've done—every training, every victory, every plot, every scheme, every competitor you betrayed or who betrayed you, all of it—has been for one thing: qualifying you to be here," Darth Alecto said. "Now you're here, and none of that matters anymore. What matters is what you do in my service.  And make no mistake, you are here to serve me."

Nillan thought several of his colleagues felt misgivings, but Darth Alecto singled out Crile with her gaze. "What's on your mind, Crile Craetor?"

"I…Master, what about Darth Saleej?"

Nillan wondered too. He had been thrilled to be assigned to Darth Alecto's command, once he had gotten past the intimidation; she was the woman who had outfoxed the Jedi to kill the Supreme Chancellor under their very noses. But even Darth Alecto paled in comparison to her master, the Scourge of the Perlemian and the first Sith Lord to seize worlds in the Inner Rim in who knew how long.

"You don't serve Darth Saleej—you haven't earned that privilege," Darth Alecto said. "I serve Darth Saleej; you serve me."

"You all come from different backgrounds and bring different strengths and weaknesses," she continued, pacing the length of the line. "No matter what your talents or aptitudes, I will find a use for each of you. But cross me, and the use I find might be 'as an example to others'."

She walked back. "You've all competed against others to get here—competed for single slots at your academies, to be the only beings sent forth from your academies to serve me. But now that changes; you're not competing against one another anymore.  I expect you to serve alongside each other and work together when I command it.  Apart from Darth Saleej's indulgence, there's no reason all of you can't be anointed Sith Lords if you're worthy."

Nillan had trouble wrapping his mind around that; his instructors had drilled into his head since he could understand words that the only way to survive was to be the best, and experience had borne that out time and again. The idea of not having to compete against the likes of monstrous Zurgharjhen, skull-faced Shrizzzqadl, and Zeff Rogu was a profound relief, yet so alien that he even looked at Zeff as if for confirmation. The Ubese ignored him, and so Nillan looked the other way instead and found Megaera mirroring his surprise. Without thinking, he stared at her and thought, Is it a trick?

Her green eyes widened again. I…I can't sense—

"That vexes you, Shrizzzqadl?" Darth Alecto asked. Nillan and Megaera jumped and returned their attention to her, but at least they were not alone in doing so.

The gangly Zanibar flexed his three-fingered hands and rasped, "It's…different."

"You mean it's weak," Alecto said, strolling up to him; like Zurgharjhen, he towered over her, but her face showed a vague interest that bordered on boredom. "You mean it's Jedi—everyone's special, everyone belongs, there's a place for everyone in the big, wide, loving galaxy."

"Your words, Darth Alecto, not mine," Shrizzzqadl answered.

Alecto's lips curled up, but Nillan couldn't bring himself to call it a smile. "So much the better for you, because they're foolish words, and I don't suffer fools for long."

She paced away, leaving Shrizzzqadl's skull-faced leer behind. "I said all of you could be anointed, and you could; I didn't say any of you will be." She rounded on them, and there was fire behind her violet eyes. "You've gotten by so far by being better than everyone else around you, but the strongest weakling is still weak. I don't care how much better than the others you are; your colleagues aren't the standard for Sith Lords.  And if you don't rise to that standard, you'll be top of the heap as an adept until the day you die."

The Clawdite shapeshifter, Dolre Thyle, raised a hand. "Then to what standard will we be judged, Master?"

Darth Alecto smiled. "Mine. If you aren't anointed yet, you haven't met it; work harder."

Dolre bowed his head, and Nillan had to keep his shoulders from slumping too. Maybe there was an advantage in not having to compete with those who were already Acolytes, but the disadvantages swallowed it up. Given enough time to learn about them and understand them, any Sith worth his lightsaber could find ways to exploit or undermine others; at only fourteen years old, Nillan had surpassed most of his competitors on Jaguada and outthought the rest. But without a clear target, when the only path to success was get better…

"Saying which," Darth Alecto continued, "you work for what you get from me, and you're all coming here and starting fresh. Whatever you did or didn't do before here is meaningless, so you're all adepts for now—all except Zeff.  I've seen what you can do, Zeff; your lordship's a long way off yet, but you can stay an Acolyte."

Zeff Rogu bowed his helmeted head but said nothing—wisely, Nillan thought, because this edict had drawn the sharpest reactions from the line yet. Zurgharjhen and Shrizzzqadl snarled while a few of the adepts exchanged smirks and one or two actually dared a laugh. Nevya Khiyali watched them all with those dark, vigilant eyes, her gray face betraying no expression but one hand cradling the hilt of her sheathed short sword.

Zurgharjhen slammed one fist into the opposite hand. "Did you bring us here to insult us?!"

Darth Alecto glanced at him. "Insult?"

"I have proven my worth in battle! In the armies of Darth—"

"—Relteus, I remember," Darth Alecto cut him off. "Fascinating as it is that you used to kill people for a Sith Lord who couldn't find his own command center without a homing beacon and reconnaissance imagery, the past is dead, remember? I don't care what any of you have done, I care what you will do.  And speaking of which…"

She nodded to Nevya Khiyali, who shrugged off her cloak, revealing loose, combat-ready fatigues. Nillan wondered if they would have to fight the Anzat until Darth Alecto said, "Leave your gear and your weapons here. We're going for a run."