As the last one of the borders was finally disposed of Teslief glanced toward the massive creature and saw the newly arrived ship and the Impaler launch fighter screens.
The Cathar glanced at the fighters. “Weren’t we trying to expend as few resources as possible here? Why are they sending out fighter screens?”
“I don’t know, but we need to get back inside the ship. We need to scramble our fighters too.” Teslief turned and started toward the nearest airlock.
“But we don’t have fighters,” the Miraluka said, “we’re masterless acolytes.”
“Are you? How many other acolytes at your level are on this vessel?”
The Falleen paused for a moment, dropping behind the Cathar. “Just the three of us I think.”
“By the end of the siege of Dantooine, I expect that either one of you will rise above the other two with power, or with guile. Whoever that is will train under me. Is that clear?”
The Miraluka smiled slightly in his spacesuit. “What if we stay at a similar level and there are still three of us?”
Teslief stopped, turning to face the three of them. “If that were to happen I would have to make a choice.” She paused for dramatic effect. “I don’t like making unnecessary choices, they make me mad. You don’t want to make me mad.” Teslief paused again, waiting until someone started to comment.
The Cathar was about to say something, and Teslief cut her off. “That’s what I would say under normal circumstances. This siege will cause many losses on our side, and we will need everyone we have. If you are not cut out for that, then you will be left behind, but if you survive at similar levels? I will choose one of you to train, and the others will have to find a master willing to take them on.” Teslief turned and continued towards the airlock. “Your first lesson is patience. Wait for the right time to strike…if you are willing to do so.”
The three acolytes followed in silence. Unsure of what they had just gotten themselves into.