Star Wars - Lost Tribe of the Sith 01 - Precipice

life on the planet ended right there.
Omen
’s crew didn’t number enough to sort out what was safe and what wasn’t. They had to go home, regardless of the state of things with the ship.
    Korsin looked up into the morning sky, now streaked more by cirrus clouds than smoke. He hadn’t told the others about the thing that had struck the viewport during the descent. What had he seen? Another predator, probably. There was no point in bringing it up. Everyone was scared enough, and fear led to anger. The Sith understood this—they made use of it—but uncontrolled, it wasn’t doing them any good. The sun hadn’t even set before lightsabers came out again in a dispute over a foodpak. One less Red Sith. Not twenty standard hours since the crash and things were starting to get basic. Tribal.
    Time
had
run out.
    Omen
had come to rest in a small indentation down a short ways on the other side of a crest. Sky and ocean spread out ahead. The ship had stopped on the incline just in time, and there wasn’t a flat plane left on the vehicle. The sight of his ship, shattered on the alien rocks, moved Korsin only a little. He had known opponents—mainly captains in the Republic—who were sentimental about their commands. It wasn’t the Sith way.
Omen
was a tool like any other, a blaster or lightsaber, to be used and discarded. And while the ship’s resilience had saved his life, it had betrayed him first. Not a thing to be forgiven.
    Still, it had a purpose. Flying again was out of the question, but the sight of the metal tower just above the bridge gave him hope. The receiver would find the Republic’s hyperspace beacons in an instant, tellingKorsin his location. And the ship’s transmitter would tell the Sith where to find
Omen
—and, more important, the Lignan. Maybe not in time for the engagement at Kirrek, but Sadow would want it nonetheless. Walking carefully over loose stones to the airlock, Korsin tried not to think of the other possibility. If the Battle of Kirrek was lost because
Omen
was lost, he would die.
    But he would die having completed his mission.
    A vial lay empty in Devore’s open, quaking palm.
    Devore had somehow gotten to
Omen
first—and was sitting in the commander’s chair. Well, slouching was more like it. “I see your cabin’s intact,” Korsin said. He remembered Seelah returning to the living quarters for little Jariad. In a fire, you go for the thing you love.
    “I didn’t go there first,” Devore said, limply letting the vial drop to the deck beside the command chair. There was another container there, particles of glistening spice still beside it.
He’s been here awhile
, Korsin guessed. He had a sneaking suspicion spice was why Devore had gone into mining in the first place; it had certainly shortened his naval career. “I didn’t go there—I mean, it wasn’t first,” Devore said, pointing vaguely to the ceiling. “I went to look at the transmitter array.”
    “Structure looked sound.”
    “From outside, maybe.” Slouched in the command chair, Devore watched blankly as his brother clambered over fallen beams to reach the ladder. Above the ceiling panels, Korsin saw what Devore must have seen: a melted mass of electronics, fried when a seam opened in the hull during the descent. The external transmitter stood, all right—but as a monument to its former purpose, nothing more.
    Climbing down, Korsin made his way to the comm control panel and pressed the button several times.Nothing. He sighed. The story was the same everywhere on the bridge. He switched the transmitter on one last time and stepped back over the debris.
Omen
was dead. But Sith had survived death before, and the guts of
Omen
still held enough spare parts to allow a transplant. His eyes darted to the hallway. Surely, in the workshop—
    “Gone, with the armory!” The explosion had vented most of the stores into space. Devore buried his face in his hands, finished.
    Korsin wasn’t. “The landing bay. The Blades.” The fighters had been in flight when
Omen
made its sudden departure, but something in the landing bay might be serviceable.
    “Forget it, Yaru. The deck was crushed when we hit. I couldn’t even get in there.”
    “Then we will cut the ship down deck by deck and fabricate the parts we need!”
    “With what? Our lightsabers?” Devore rose, steadying himself against the armrest. “We’re done!” His cough became a laugh. The Lignan crystals offered the Sith power—just not the kind to