“Gand.”
Zeratul, had he salivary glands or a method of excretion, would have spat on the ground.
“Disgusting, vile things.”
The man beside him nodded.
“Too… fixated on profit. Willing to do anything for money. Concepts of loyalty and spirituality are too foreign to be learnt upon them. They lack, however, enough collectivity to pose a significant threat. I assess that they are a low priority with minimal risk.”
He turned to his blue-skinned colleague.
“I concur.”
He pressed a button, sending the Gand into oblivion, to be replaced with a tattooed Zabrak.
“Zabrak.”
The elder cringed.
“Looks dangerous, even as a projection. Those horns,” he mused, “are they surgically implanted, or are they a genetic holdover?”
Zeratul stepped forward, scrutinizing the picture with his glowing eyes. “They are genetic. Each Zabrak has them, to an extent, some of course, develop larger than others.”
The other alien nodded his head.
“Much like your bone blade?”
Zeratul shook his head, clamping down on a frustrated sigh. Such an outburst would be unacceptable.
“They are not retractable, Tassadar. They are fixated beyond the epidermis.”
The other looked at him a small time, as if questioning his answer, before adjusting the focus on the holographic representation of the creature in front of him. “And these, markings on his skin, are they genetic as well?”
Zeratul again shook his head, this time less forcedly. “No, they appear on only a select few Zabrak. It seems to be some kind of… definitive art, of some sort. Similar to the ancient Naga dan’dora mare Skey’g’aar warriors dawned during the Insurgence.”
Tassadar shook his head now. “Battle tattoos? You would figure at their current technological state, this galaxy would have evolved beyond such trivialities.”
“On the contrary,” Zeratul jumped in, always eager to show off his usefulness in expectation of the commendations that often followed,” these ‘trivialities’ seem to be a throwback to a day long gone, when hundreds if not thousands of warriors wore such markings. Both of them who wore them did so in honor of a fallen ‘Sith’ lord, Darth Maul.”
“Both?”
The question was asked in a heightened tone, and was accompanied by a gaze in the Skey’g’aar’s direction.
“Yes. These markings I have seen on two warriors, a Darth Zeta, and a Lord Ahnk, both members of the Sith Brotherhood.”
“Both Zabrak?”
Zeratul shook his head once again. “Darth Zeta is a Zabrak. Ahnk is a human. A Nubian, I believe.”
Tassadar nodded his head, and made a gesture in his hands that Zeratul knew to mean that they had moved from their original discussion, and that he wished to resume it now.
“Risk assessment?”
Zeratul stepped forward.
“Of the Zabrak, or of the Sith?”
“The Sith,” Tassadar said, with a voice implying he should not have been asked.
“In my opinion, the Sith represent a greater threat to our people then even the Yuuzhan Vong. The Sith have stood for millennia without being defeated completely, they have always rebuilt and may now be at their most powerful state. They are preparing, as we speak, a massive offensive on the Jedi, their natural enemies in this galaxy. When they are done this offensive, they will be free to begin an invasion of our space. With their mysterious force, I do not believe that we can defeat them in personal combat. They would be able to destroy us. Remembering, lord, that they as we did, fought off the Yuuzhan Vong offensive.”
Tassadar nodded slowly. “How many Sith are there? Millions? Trillions?”
Zeratul shuffled his feet. “To my knowledge, under two hundred.”
Tassadar scoffed. “With so few numbers, how can they mass warships against us?”
Zeratul sighed. “They can’t, directly, however…”
He made a sweeping gesture to indicate his incredulance, as if his voice didn’t do it when he bellowed to Zeratul, “How can they defeat us!? With our innumerable supply of Tek’a’tara to slowly kill their warriors, and our formidable defensive warfleet… would they use this, force, to crash our ships into each other, and our warriors to crumble in fires?”
Zeratul nodded. “You do not understand the power of the force.”
“No I don’t,” he said quickly and curtly. Then, he paused, and Zeratul took the reprieve in his offensive to steal a breath. “No… I don’t. I require more information.”
Zeratul clutched his hand to his shoulder in the traditional signal of willingness to serve. “What would you ask of me?”
Tassadar looked at him. “I will require information on this force, naturally. You will be sent to study the Sith. I will have Xylon seek out their enemies, the Jedi, and find what their countenance is to the Sith’s power. Can you do this?”
Zeratul nodded. “I will infiltrate them immediately.”
There was a pause, and although he knew he was pressing his luck, Zeratul broke it with a question.
“For now, what will we relay to the homeworld?”
Tassadar sighed. “Very well, then. What is your suggestion in this matter?”
Zeratul bowed and spread his palms, symbolisitcally honored to have been asked his position in such a matter. “I would recommend that the Elder sent a warleet here immediately. Preferably, with his flag and with him in command.”
Tassadar sighed and slowly shook his head, “Do not you see what would happen if we took such a large force from our homeland? We are fighting 4 wars at present Zeratul, do you believe that we can fight another?”
Zeratul stood firm. “The Dominion will never falter!”
“Yes,” Tassadar said, uttering for the first time, heresy. “Yes, Zeratul, the Dominion will falter. We must not allow it to falter, because if we send too many of our men to die, even the gods themselves can not help us.”
“You speak blasphemy! The Dominion has not been defeated for over 4 millennia, the gods have seen to that! We will live forever!”
Tassadar sighed again, disappointed. “Zeratul, only 203 are you. You have not seen what I have seen. You were not even alive when Ador was destroyed. I lived there, in my youth. I have seen the Dominion suffer defeat because we made mistakes. We must endeavor not to repeat those mistakes. Yes, we have always survived and rebuilt, but if we are not careful, one day, we will run out of Cree’Ar left to rebuild.”
Zeratul scoffed, as silently as he could. “What will you report?”
Tassadar didn’t have an answer ready. He considered. “The threat needs to be investigated. I will not report. In 3 years time we will meet again here, on Votras, and we will decide whether the Sith are the threat you believe them to be.”
Zeratul nodded, accepting that.
Of course, that meeting had never taken place. Tassadar Dazdamar had been killed less than a year following, by Ahnk, after Zeratul had seen to it that Ahnk knew Tassadar was about to call for the Cree’Ar fleet. In reality, Zeratul was left in command with Tassadar’s death, and he called the fleet, which, incidentally, had been en route in any case. It had become clear to Zeratul that a mastery of the force would take years of dedication; years he did not believe his people had. He had made a choice that he was going to be their savor, even if it made Tassadar a traitor.
Now, he reflected on such time as almost better than at present. Kal Shora was even older and more protective of his fleets then were Tassadar. Although he was wise, he was often also very arrogant in Zeratul’s eyes. He never listened to him, mainly, he felt, on account of his race. As annoying as Tassadar had been, he had evolved beyond such ancient prejudices.
Distracted as he was, he didn’t notice the sentinel class shuttle until he heard the Tek’a’tara begin issuing commands inside his head.
“Unidentified shuttle, you have entered space controlled by the Cree’Ar Dominion. You will power down your shields, weapons, and engines. You ship will be taken into one of our carriers where you will explain your business with the Dominion.”
Zeratul looked up at the ship, and he felt something…
Something familiar…
