Star Wars - Lost Tribe of the Sith 03 - Paragon

both sides. By winning her approval, the commander had solidified his bonds with the restive miners his ship was carrying—and stripped away something that had belonged to his hated sibling. She even let him think it was his idea, though she bit her lip to ribbons that first year.
    For her part, Seelah won power and influence in the new order—benefits going far beyond convenient morning ablutions. Little Jariad would be raised in the best lodgings wherever they were—first in the walled native city of Tahv, later in the mountain compound.
    And she had a job. Administration of the Sith sick wards seemed like a worthless sinecure given the rude health of the Keshiri-pampered people. Certainly no one else wanted the assignment, not with a world toconquer and an interstellar escape to engineer. Most Sith injured in disagreements never reached a healer, anyway.
    But Seelah got to know more about the Sith who were stranded on Kesh than anyone, including the
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officer originally responsible for keeping the ranks. She knew who was born and when and to whom—and that was the balance of power. The others weren’t even looking. Their eyes were still on the sky, on getting out. Only Korsin seemed to understand that they might be settling into a permanent situation—though he clearly worked to prevent anyone but Seelah from sensing it. She didn’t understand why he had been open with her about it.
    Perhaps the wife of Yaru Korsin didn’t merit hope. No matter. She didn’t need it, anyway. She saw the future—here in the assembly yard behind the ward, as she walked through on her periodic reviews. Here, the youth of the Sith reported to see her. Or rather, to be seen.
    “This is Ebya T’dell, daughter of the miner Nafjan and the bridge cadet Kanika.” Seelah’s willowy aide, Orlenda, stood behind a stern-faced pink child and read from a parchment. “Eight years old next month by our counting. No ailments.”
    Seelah’s hand closed in a V around the young girl’s chin. Seelah looked left and right, inspecting the child like livestock. “High cheekbones,” she said, mashing her index finger against the youngling’s face. The child didn’t flinch. “I know your parents, girl. Are you a source of despair to them?”
    “No, Lady Seelah.”
    “This is good. And what is your duty?”
    “To be like you, milady.”
    “Not the answer I had in mind, but I won’t argue,” Seelah said, releasing the child and turning to Orlenda,her aide. “I don’t see any flaring of the skull, but I’m concerned about her coloring,” she said. “Too florid. Check the genealogy again. She might yet have a family, if we choose properly.”
    With a pat on the rear from Orlenda, eight-year-old Ebya T’dell returned to play in the outer yard, momentarily safe in the knowledge that her life might not be a genetic dead end.
    It was an important matter, Seelah thought as she watched the younglings duel with wooden staffs. Every child there had been born since the crash landing. Apart from the infusion of youth to the Sith population, it appeared that very little had changed. Every color from humanity’s spectrum had been represented in the original
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crew, and that continued to be the case. None of the casual pairings with Keshiri had produced any offspring whatsoever—Seelah thanked the dark side for that—and, of course, there was the problem with Ravilan’s people. The number of relatively pure-blooded humans had been steadily increasing. So had the purity of that blood.
    She had seen to that—with Korsin’s full approval. It was sensible. Kesh had killed the Massassi. If it had not killed humans yet, then the Sith needed more humans.
Adapt or die
, Korsin had said.
    “There were several more younglings on the list for this week,” Orlenda said. “Did you want to see them today, Seelah?”
    “I’m not in the mood. Is there anything else?”
    Orlenda rolled up her parchment and shooed the remaining children to the exercise yard. “Well,” she said, “we’ll need a new Keshiri bearer for the wardroom.”
    “What happened to the last one, Orlenda?” Seelah smirked. “Did you finally kill him with your kindnesses?”
    “No. He’s dead.”
    “The big one? Gosem?”
    “Gorem,”
Orlenda said with a sigh. “Yes, he died last week. We’d loaned him to Ravilan’s team breaking down one of the decks of
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, looking for whatever it is they look for to use. Gorem was, well, you remember,