Darth Bane_ Dynasty Of Evil Part 20

Gathering himself, he drew his lightsaber and raced down the hallway, leaping toward the door.

He hit it square with both feet, knocking the door open as he flew into the room.

Much to Set's surprise, there were no guards waiting for him. The only witnesses to his grand entrance were an old wooden desk and chair. He felt a second of panic when he didn't see the Holocron anywhere in the small office; then he noticed the safe built into the wall.

There was a combination pad, but Set ignored it. Using his lightsaber, he simply cut several long horizontal and vertical slices in the door. The glowing blade carved through the thick metal with ease, reducing the front of the safe to several heavy chunks that fell to the floor.

The Holocron was the only thing inside. Set reached out slowly, trembling slightly as he wrapped his fingers around the obsidian pyramid. He drew it reverently from the safe, cradling it with both hands.

He nearly dropped his prize when alarm bells began to ring throughout the prison.

Whirling to the door he whipped out his lightsaber, his left hand still clutching the Holocron. He dropped into a fighting stance, bracing himself to meet the reinforcements he expected to burst into the room.

For several seconds he didn't move, listening for the sound of running feet or the shouts of soldiers. Hearing nothing, he carefully reached out with the Force-only to find he was still alone.

The alarms were still blaring away, and it took a minute for Set to realize they had nothing to do with him.

They spotted Zannah. Or her Master's escaped.

Extinguis.h.i.+ng his lightsaber, he tucked it back into his belt.

n.o.body's going to be worrying about you. Not with a couple of Sith Lords wreaking havoc in one of the other wings. of the other wings.

He had what he had come for; it was time to leave Doan. Hopefully he would never have to come back again.

Set still intended to stick with his original plan of stealing one of the other s.h.i.+ps, rather than risk running into Zannah by going back to where they had landed her shuttle. He just needed to look around until he found the hangars where the other vessels were being stored.

Shouldn't be too hard. Just stick to the lit halls and keep out of everyone else's way. Let them fight it out while you sneak off with the real prize. fight it out while you sneak off with the real prize.

Fortunately, that was something Set was very good at.

The echoing alarms chased Serra as she ran down the long hall toward the Stone Prison's emergency control room. She punched in the code to the access panel, her fingers stabbing frantically at the keys as she kept glancing over her shoulder, fearing her enemy would appear in the hall behind her at any second.

The panel beeped sharply, and an ACCESS DENIED message popped up on the readout.

"No," she whispered to herself. "No."

When she had married Gerran, he had shared his personal access code with her. As the crown prince, his code was supposed to override every electronic security system in the royal family's estate.

Maybe the king didn't trust you. Maybe he disabled it when Gerran died.

No, that couldn't be it. The code had worked on all the other locks here in the Stone Prison.

Without it, she would never have been able to reactivate the generators that powered this section of the complex.

She tried to punch the code in again, her fingers trembling with desperate urgency. The alarms overhead were an inescapable reminder that every second she lost made it more and more likely that her prisoner would find a way to escape the dungeon before she destroyed it.

Once again, the harsh beep and ACCESS DENIED message were the only results.

Maybe Gerran's code doesn't work on this door. Maybe only the king is authorized to use the self-destruct sequence. self-destruct sequence.

Slamming her palm against the door in frustration, Serra was unable to hold back the tears any longer. Beaten, she sank slowly to her knees, her face pressed up against the cold metal door.

For several seconds her body was racked by ragged, hitching sobs. Everything had gone wrong.

Lucia had betrayed her; the dark man of her dreams was going to escape. Everything she had worked to accomplish had fallen apart.

This isn't like you.

Although she hadn't heard it in more than a decade, she instantly recognized the voice.

"Father?" she said aloud, though of course Caleb was nowhere to be found but inside her own head.

You're stronger than this.

She nodded, not even caring if the voice she was listening to was nothing but a figment of her own imagination. Blocking out the alarms, she took a long, deep breath and carefully a.n.a.lyzed the situation.

It didn't make any sense for the king to be the only one with access to this room. He couldn't be expected to come here in person if there was ever a prison break or a riot. The warden would have access. Probably the guard captain, as well. And if the king trusted any of his servants with the code, he would also have trusted his son.

You're rus.h.i.+ng. Making mistakes. Try again. Slowly.

She rose to her feet and began to punch in the code for a third attempt. This time when she felt the panic threatening to possess her fingers, she fought back by calling up the image of her father's face, calm and certain. Taking slow, deep breaths, she took extra care to hit the b.u.t.tons in the correct sequence. For a second nothing happened; then there was a soft chime and the door swung slowly open.

Relief flooded over her, and Serra tried to laugh at her own foolishness in entering the number wrong twice before getting it right. What came out was a strangled croak that bordered on the hysterical, startling her back into silence.

The room inside was small, with a single control panel and another door on the other side.

Beyond the second door was a small tunnel that led to a small emergency pod, allowing whoever entered the self-destruct sequence to escape before the prison came cras.h.i.+ng down.

She approached the console and examined the controls. It was simple enough: There was a b.u.t.ton to initiate the self-destruct sequence, a number pad for her to enter her access code, and another b.u.t.ton to confirm the command. There was a CANCEL key on the number pad, but no ABORT b.u.t.ton; once the self-destruct was confirmed there was no way to stop it. After that, anybody inside would have less than five minutes to escape before charges wired into the ceiling, walls, and floors detonated in rapid succession, collapsing the entire prison.

This was it: Her last chance to stop the man who had terrorized her as a child. Her last chance to rid the galaxy of a Dark Lord of the Sith. She pressed the INITIATE b.u.t.ton down, and the console lit up in response. Next, she punched in her access code, slowly, to make sure there were no mistakes. But when the CODE ACCEPTED-CONFIRM SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE warning popped up on the screen, Serra hesitated.

If she did this, her life on Doan was over. The king had no idea she was using the Stone Prison for her personal vendetta; if she did this her secret would be exposed. The explosions that would destroy the complex would send tremors through the floors of the Royal Manse on the plateau thousands of meters above; everyone would know what had happened.

He would know she had put her personal wants and desires above those of the royal family. Her actions would almost certainly be considered high treason: the best she could hope for would be permanent banishment from the planet.

And what about Lucia? She would probably be killed in the explosions. Although her bodyguard had betrayed her by helping the prisoner to escape, was Serra willing to condemn her friend to death without even giving her a chance to explain her actions?

Unable to make a decision, Serra stood frozen, her finger hovering above the b.u.t.ton marked CONFIRM as the alarms continued to ring out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

Set had always prided himself on being able to extricate himself from virtually any predicament.

He had a knack for working himself free from a bind, and a natural talent for finding the outs in any situation. So he wasn't surprised when, after less than ten minutes, he managed to stumble across the prison's main landing bay.

It was much larger than the secondary entrance he and Zannah had arrived at. The alarms that had been all but deafening inside the cramped corridors were merely thunderous here in the ma.s.sive chamber.

Set was perched atop a large metal balcony overlooking the room. Below he could see four vessels, s.p.a.ced about ten meters apart. All of them appeared to be unguarded. Pleased with himself, he tapped the Holocron he had tucked away inside his vest pocket as he studied his options.

Just like a buffet: plenty to choose from.

Two of the s.h.i.+ps were standard, run-of-the-mill pa.s.senger shuttles, their hulls weathered and dented. He quickly dismissed them as unworthy of stealing. The third was the largest of the group, and appeared to be in mint condition. It was also marked with the crest of the royal family.

Set smiled. There was something appealing about the idea of escaping Doan in a shuttle owned by the ruler of the planet. It definitely had a certain flair. And then he saw the fourth vessel.

We have a winner.

The smallest of the lot, the s.h.i.+p was sleek and stylish, with red trim and a black hull. The perfect vehicle for a man of Set's discriminating taste.

Eager to escape, the Dark Jedi made his way down the staircase and across the hangar, his lightsaber clutched in his right hand. When he reached his chosen shuttle, he let out a low whistle of appreciation and reached up to stroke the smooth, dark hull.

"Look but don't touch," a soft female voice whispered in his ear.

Set snapped his hand back and whirled around, his lightsaber springing to life as he slashed at the empty air behind him.

Just out of range of his attack stood an Iktotchi in a black cloak. Her hood was thrown back to reveal the long curved horns that curled down along her neck and under her chin. Black tattoos marked her lower lip, and her small, pointed teeth were bared in an eager grin.

Set wasn't normally one to shy away from a fight, not if he thought he could win. But there was something unsettling about this red-skinned opponent. It was practically impossible to sneak up on a Jedi, yet Set hadn't felt her presence until she'd spoken.

Careful. That probably isn't the only trick up her sleeve.

"Nice s.h.i.+p," he said, extinguis.h.i.+ng his lightsaber and letting his hand fall casually to his side.

"How many credits did that set you back?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he pounced toward her, his reignited lightsaber carving a deadly figure-eight pattern meant to disembowel his unsuspecting foe even as she answered his question.

The Iktotchi wasn't fooled. Instead of replying to his query, she took a quick step back and to the side, nimbly avoiding his attack.

"Too slow," she admonished.

The two adversaries turned to face each other again, and Set paused to consider the situation. He had Andeddu's Holocron; all he needed now was a s.h.i.+p and he was home free. But standing between him and escape was an unknown, though obviously skilled, opponent. She didn't appear to be armed, but she could easily have blades, blasters, or any number of other weapons hidden in the folds of her cloak. He decided it might be a good idea to try to talk his way out of the situation.

"My name is Medd Tandar," he lied, trying to project an air of n.o.ble self-importance into his voice. "I'm here on behalf of the Council of First Knowledge. Step aside in the name of the Jedi Order."

"You're no Jedi," she replied.

"Not anymore," Set confessed. "But I used to be."

He sliced the air half a dozen times with his lightsaber. He spun around, the humming blade dancing and twirling, before ending the demonstration with a back flip.

The Iktotchi was obviously unimpressed by his display of martial prowess, and Set realized he wasn't going to intimidate her into backing down.

"The Jedi teach you any useful tricks?"

"A few," Set replied, thrusting out with the Force.

A wave of raw energy rippled out toward his enemy, but Set knew instantly something was very wrong. Instead of the exhilarating rush of power he normally felt, there was a cramping ache in the pit of his stomach that caused him to double over.

The concussive wave that should have sent the Iktotchi flying twenty meters was reduced to nothing more than a hard shove. It hit her full in the chest, but she simply absorbed the impact by falling into a backward roll that ended with her still on her feet.

A pair of short vibroblades appeared in her hands while Set staggered backward, clutching at his stomach and trying not to throw up.

With horror, he realized she was disrupting his ability to draw on the Force. He'd seen this talent mentioned in a number of ancient texts, but he'd never encountered it himself...and he didn't know how to counter it. His only option was to try to fight through.

Gritting his teeth, he stood up straight. Feeding on the pain and his mounting anger, he tried once more to summon up the power of the dark side. He felt a small surge in response to his efforts, but it was a thin trickle rather than the flood he had been hoping for. Still, it was better than nothing.

The Iktotchi lunged in with her twin blades, and Set staggered awkwardly out of the way, barely avoiding her attack. She moved faster than any opponent he had ever faced. Or maybe her ability to interfere with the Force was just making him slower than he'd ever been. In either case, the outcome was the same...and it wasn't good for Set.

He ducked his head and darted under the nose of the black-and-red shuttle to the far side, knowing his best chance of survival would be to keep ten tons of metal between the two of them.

He couldn't see her anymore, but by concentrating he was just barely able to sense her position.

The effort made his head spin; it was like trying to see with mud in his eyes.

She was stalking him slowly, cautiously creeping around the tail end of the s.h.i.+p. And in that moment Set realized his opponent had no formal training in the ways of the Force. She was operating on instinct. She had never been taught the most basic skills-like how to sense the location of opponents even when they were out of sight.

Set turned and made a dash for one of the other vessels, reaching his new hiding place just before she emerged from behind the black shuttle's thrusters. Crouching down to peer beneath the belly of the s.h.i.+p he was using for cover, he could see her turning her head from side to side, trying to figure out where he had gone.

"I love a good chase," she called out, her lips curling into a feral smile. "That's why they call me the Huntress."

This isn't going to end well.

Bane could still feel the lingering effects of the drugs in his system. He'd done what he could to burn them away with the fire of the dark side, but the Sith were not as adept as the Jedi at cleansing their systems of impurities. The last dregs of the chemicals would simply have to break down naturally over time.

Until then he would be at less than full strength. A fraction slower in thoughts and actions, less adept at wielding the power of the Force. And he was still without his lightsaber.

Despite all this, he was confident victory was only minutes away. The alarms were still ringing throughout the dungeon, but he knew there would be no guards rus.h.i.+ng in to answer their call.

The few mercenaries who had survived his attack were in full retreat, leaving Caleb's daughter defenseless.

Sometimes vengeance needed to be cold and calculating. There were times when it was better to be careful, patient. But sometimes retribution could not be deferred. Sometimes action needed to be fueled by anger and hate; it needed to burn with the heat of animal emotion.

Peace is a lie; there is only pa.s.sion. Through pa.s.sion I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. power.

He could sense he was closing in on Serra's location. His stride quickened as he marched purposefully down the empty corridors toward his revenge.