Star Wars - Lost Tribe of the Sith 03 - Paragon

expression of thoughtfulness among the Red Sith. It made Seelah’s skin crawl. She gripped Korsin tighter. Onetime quartermaster for
Omen
’s complement of Massassi warriors, Ravilan had been left without a mission after his charges died during their first days on Kesh. Since then, he’d held a sequence of odd jobs. More importantly, he’d become the spokes-being for the Fifty-seven—the surviving crew members whose bloodlines to the red-skinned Sith species ran truest—and for those who, like Gloyd, were less interested in living on Kesh than leaving it.
    But Ravilan’s lot had grown increasingly bleak. His people hadn’t numbered fifty-seven since their arrival. A dozen had fallen due to accident or professional incompetence—and none of the children of Ravilan’s people had lived a day. Kesh had not been kind in equal measure to all its guests. As motives for wanting to leave went, his were fairly strong.
    But he did not bring him before Korsin today, apparently. “There’s something else,” Ravilan said, eyeing Seelah. “People in the service of your … your
wife
have been trying to document the ancestries of all our crew. They have grown quite insistent,” he added, cocking an eyebrow-stalk.
    Feeling Seelah’s grip tighten further, Korsin rose. “Your people don’t have to worry about that, Rav. Human crew only.”
    “Yes, but many of us have at least some human blood,” Ravilan said, walking along the colonnade with Korsin. The crowd parted; Seelah walked gingerly behind. “And many of your people have some of ours. The merger of the Dark Jedi line with that of my Sith forebears is an article of pride to my—to
our
people, Korsin. To have someone picking it apart—”
    Korsin continued walking, enjoying the view of the ocean, strands of silver in his hair glistened in the sun. Seelah stepped up her pace to get closer. “It’s still a foreign planet,” Korsin said. “We don’t know what killed your Massassi when we landed. We don’t know what’s been happening to—well, you know.”
    “I certainly do,” Ravilan said, looking out at the ocean without seeming to see it. His coloring had faded to a somber maroon hue in his time on Kesh, and his earrings and other Sithly ornamentation only served to make the man beneath look more drab. “This is a world driven by tragedy, Korsin. For
all
of us. If you’d accept one of my people in the crèche as midwife, we might be better able to understand—”
    “No!” Seelah said, interposing herself between the two. “They’re not medical personnel, Korsin. In conditions like these, we’ve got to have some controls!”
    Ravilan shrank back. “It was not a slight, Seelah. Your staff have done quite well since our mission turned …
generational
in nature. The Sith thrive.” His face, wrinkled with age and worry, softened. “It should be so for
all
of the Sith.”
    Seelah looked urgently at Korsin, who waved his hand dismissively.
Dismissing us both?
she wondered. “We’ll talk about it later,” Korsin said. “Was there something else?”
    Ravilan paused. “Yes—I will be in the south, as you requested, visiting the towns of the Ragnos Lakes.” Seelah knew the project: The Keshiri had been harvesting some kind of fluorescent algae, and Korsin had assigned Ravilan to check it out, for potential use in lighting the Sith structures. “There are eight villages on various bodies of water, all with different specimens to examine.”
    “That’s a lot of territory,” Korsin said. “You alone?”
    “As you requested,” Ravilan said. “I start in Tetsubal, farthest away.”
    Seelah smiled. It was just the sort of mindless job that would drive the quartermaster to madness.
    “Take your whole retinue,” Korsin said, slapping a firm hand on Ravilan’s shoulder. Korsin had grown no more physically imposing during his exile, but he still walked like a man Gloyd’s size. “It’s important—and it’ll go faster if you split up. And you could
all
stand to get off this mountain for a few days.”
    He brought Ravilan closer and spoke into his sunken ear. “And, look—next time Seelah would like you to call me Grand Lord.”
    “That’s just a name for the Keshiri.”
    “And there are Keshiri here. It’s an order, Rav. Safe flight.”
    Seelah watched as Ravilan limped off. He’d lost an argument with an uvak in their second year here. It was one of a series of losses—and she wasn’t about to let him win an argument now. She