Okay, so I get that the whole ‘colicoid serum’ thing (which sounds like it’s going to give you an STD, or maybe tuberculosis, honestly) is supposed to be for Inquisitor players who want to be mad scientists. But this is even more ridiculous than giving us magic rocks. C’mon BioWare! I’m still thinking over the final solution (with friends, irl, because the more brains on this the better).
Despite all this, there’s a lot of interesting stuff in this chapter that I’m really looking forward to!
Part 7: Tears of the Devil
He stepped out of the spaceport and was met with the smell of smoke. Looking around, one thing was abundantly clear. Whatever Balmorra had been thousands of years ago, the city of Sobrik was a poverty-stricken war-torn Imperial military mudhole today. And his artifact this time was in an untouched Sith sanctum… under a busted toxic waste disposal facility. He glared at the orange-tinted dawn sky in dissatisfaction with his lot.
“What’s that look for?” Aristheron said from beside him. “Yes, we have much work to do, though I fancy I do more than you. Balmorra is part of the Empire, however, and deserves our aid and support.” Sabran Kentalon had disappeared from Nar Shaddaa, so Lord Emment had ordered Aristheron to assist the military in breaking the rebellion on Balmorra, to eliminate its former Minister of War, Vol Argen.
Murlesson transferred his glare sideways. “If you must know, on the flight from Nar Shaddaa I watched all eighty episodes of Lightning Strikes My Heart,” a terrible rom-com set on Dromund Kaas about a really artificially hapless female logistics lieutenant and the handsome fighter pilot captain who was madly in love with her for some reason.
“Ooh, that sounds cool, is it good?” Vany asked.
Aristheron gave him an utterly perplexed look. “But that’s an awful holodrama. I watched half an episode and that was enough. Why would you sacrifice your impulse control for that?”
“The holonet suggested that despite the plot-holes and cheap production, it was one of the best shows to understand modern Imperial society quickly,” Murlesson said, hiding a yawn. He didn’t want to admit he’d gotten sucked in and hadn’t slept in 36 hours because of the ‘one more episode’ syndrome. He was glad it was done with; it hadn’t been a total waste of time, if it was even remotely accurate to how ‘normal’ people behaved, but it had been time-consuming, and the behaviour demonstrated had been occasionally painfully stupid. He needed time to digest it now, and it was well that he had a mission to focus on.
That, and he’d felt tremours in the Force that he really didn’t want to listen to.
“I better watch it then,” Vany mumbled to herself. “Lightning Strikes My Heart, huh?”
Revel chuckled. “More like Lightning Strikes My Ass. But if you want to rot your brain with that shmoopy lovey-dovey nonsense, go right ahead.”
“Ooh, sounds right up my alley,” Vany said, grinning at Revel.
<Do Sith these days really waste their time with such foolishness?> Khem grumbled. <There is no need to understand the masses, only to rule them.> Murlesson ignored him.
“I’m going to check in with Captain Rigel,” Aristheron said, shaking his head at Murlesson’s foolishness – or maybe Vany’s. “I believe your Major Bessiker will be over in Requisition, on your left. I’m sure I will see you later.”
Murlesson saw him off with a wave, and headed over the clearly-marked building. Inside, there was a human man, a little shorter than him, with a full beard and eyebrows and no other hair, bustling about from one side of the room to another, juggling datapads. His spirit was dim but cheerful.
Murlesson watched him for a few moments, wondering if this were another caricature from a holodrama. Maybe he was in a holodrama right now. It would make sense with how disconnected he felt from reality these days. Eventually, having seen that the man was not going to notice him without further encouragement, he cleared his throat.
Immediately the man spun, nearly dropping one of his datapads. “Ah, who’s this… A Sith? And an alien at that! It’s a real pleasure. I have a son on Korriban, you know. I’m Major Bessiker, and you must be Apprentice Murlesson.”
Murlesson really didn’t care if he had relatives on Coruscant, let alone Korriban, but nodded politely, wondering how much he should ‘act’ through this encounter.
“It’s a tough war you’re walking into – we’re fixing blasters with adhesive tape – but we’ll help you any way we can,” Bessiker continued energetically. “Darth Zash mentioned you’d be coming, and sent me as much data as she had on your objective. Not that I’ve had time to really review it properly, with all the immediate work around here! Now, let’s see… a blown open vault, hmm? Captain Ilun, do we still have those pumps…?”
A thinner, rather elegant-looking man had been working more quietly further back in the office. “Sir, if this is the vault I think it is… it won’t be that easy. The fumes alone have put men in the medical centre with life-threatening complications.”
“Sounds like one of my exes,” Revel muttered.
“Is there anything else we can work with?” Murlesson asked. “Droids, perhaps?”
“Unfortunately, the chemicals’ corrosive qualities also damage any delicate equipment beyond use very rapidly,” said the captain. Well that explained why Zash had said a diving suit wasn’t a good option.
“We need some way to make this pit less deadly,” said Major Bessiker. “Tell me, Captain, is there nothing that can survive the toxic waste?”
“Well… nothing grows there, sir, but… there are the colicoids.”
Murlesson squinted. He’d read about colicoids in his pre-landing study of Balmorra. They sounded like something to be steered clear of, but what if he could control one?
“Colicoids! What do those bugs want with toxic waste?” Bessiker cried.
“Food, sir,” said Captain Ilun. “Our surveillance satellites have recorded them feeding on the toxic waste. We suspect they’ve been designed to eat it.”
“Gross,” said Murlesson, completely deadpan. “Why?”
“It does seem like a strange thing to do. Captain?”
“It’s a guess. The toxic waste resistance may have been an unintended result – or the Balmorran scientists were insane.”
“I personally prefer the term ‘differently rational’, Murlesson said, darkly humourous. Khem shifted in impatience behind him. Revel grinned gleefully.
Bessiker didn’t seem to notice he was trying to make a joke. “Well, whatever you call it, it might be just what we need to crack this thing.”
Murlesson frowned at Bessiker. “What are you talking about? Are the colicoids going to eat all the toxic waste and shit it out as slightly less toxic waste for me?”
“What? No, that would take decades, if not centuries, and I imagine you and Darth Zash don’t have that sort of time or patience. I was going to suggest you get yourself the colicoid’s resistance to toxic waste!”
Everyone stared at Bessiker blankly for a few seconds. Then Murlesson turned to Captain Ilun. “And you thought the Balmorran scientists were insane.”
“I thought you preferred the term ‘differently rational’, sir,” Ilun rejoined, which made Murlesson smirk just a little.
“I don’t understand, what’s wrong with that idea?” Bessiker spoke up.
Murlesson rubbed his forehead under his lowest horn. “It’s ridiculous. Before we all lose our grip on reality, let’s try to brainstorm something more feasible.”
“I should mention that we don’t have much budget to go on, even with Darth Zash’s assistance,” Ilun said. “Anything we come up with, we will have to do more or less with existing resources. This means we can’t requisition star-grade probes or nuclear wasteland submarines.”
“Right,” Murlesson said. He wasn’t going to use his cult funds, either – they were still fledgling, they needed every credit they could get. “Can we still scan the area, somehow? Perhaps a sonic mining scan?”
“The area is rather delicate, but a gentle scan shouldn’t trigger any seismic activity,” Bessiker said. “Yes, that’s a good first step. I send someone on it right away.”
“Good,” Murlesson said. “Now, what resources do we have?”
An hour later, and he was no closer to finding a practical solution. He’d been racking his brains over the holocrons he’d absorbed, but while they were long on military strategy and Force philosophy, they were short on practical archaeology into inaccessible locations.
“I really think we should investigate those insects,” Bessiker insisted for the fourth time.
“Dammit, Jerris, I’m an archaeologist, not a mad scientist,” Murlesson said, gripping his fraying patience with both hands, quoting… something.
Bessiker brightened. “You’ve watched Voyage Among the Stars too, then?”
“No,” Murlesson said. “But it’s a common reference on the holonet, it seems.”
“You should watch it! It’s a wonderful fantasy story, even if it is produced by a Republic studio. I think you’d like it very much.”
“Yeah, I’d say it’s half-decent,” Revel said.
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Murlesson said. Even if it didn’t help him with modern social behaviour, it would help him get the references people insisted on making all over the place.
Captain Ilun cleared his throat. “Even if we discover what makes the insects immune to the toxicity, there’s no telling we will be able to modify it for human and near-human use. Perhaps there is some other way we can use them?”
“I could…” Murlesson began slowly, “perhaps use the Force to control one.” He’d thought it rather a fanciful idea when he first thought of it, but since no one else was coming up with anything…
“Could you?” asked Bessiker in astonishment. “That’s incredible!”
It sounded a whole lot more credible than ‘find a way to breathe toxic gas and swim in corrosive goop’. “I could use that to scout out the location in more detail than a scan; it may give us some idea of where to go next.”
“Then I will send a team to lure out and capture a colicoid!” Bessiker said. “I know just the man to lead it, too, the most competent man on Balmorra. He’ll be sure to succeed.”
“That sounds promising,” Murlesson said. “How soon can they be ready?”
“I’ll get right on it,” Captain Ilun said. “I’ll compile a list of gear they’ll need and requisition use of two shuttles. They’ll be ready in perhaps an hour. My lord, it is several hours away by shuttle; will you be going with them?”
“Yes, of course,” Murlesson said. “Do you require my presence for anything further, or can I go eat?”
“Oh, go eat!” Major Bessiker urged him. “We’ll take care of everything, dear boy- my lord.”
The leader of the team was a tall, pale human lieutenant who looked far less surprised and confused at being asked to capture a colicoid than Murlesson would have thought; he could only imagine what other ridiculous demands had been made of him in the past, or if he’d been ordered to capture a colicoid before. They didn’t talk much on the flight over, Murlesson keeping to his own corner with Khem at his side, and the lieutenant professionally silent, keeping an eye on his jittery soldiers.
Capturing a colicoid was easier than he’d expected – bait and a force-field cage were all that was required. The stupid bug never knew what happened until it was latched securely to the bottom of the shuttle. It was doused in toxic fumes; none of them would have been able to share a cabin with it.
It was fairly berserk by the time they arrived back in Sobrik, and had probably been trying to escape for some time, smelling its home growing more and more distant. Screeing and flailing in its limited space, it did not take kindly to the slightly larger enclosure Bessiker and Ilun had prepared for it.
“It’s a good thing that in isolation, they’re fairly easy to put down,” Bessiker said, watching it rake the bars with serrated claws. “If it gets out, not much lost.”
Murlesson reached out a hand towards it, feeling his way around its tiny, uncentralized awareness. “Shut up!”
It grew quieter, chittering rather than screeing, withdrawing from the bars. The Imperials gave him a look of awe. He shrugged. It wasn’t what he needed, but it was a start.
He turned, sensing a familiar presence, and saw Aristheron near the back of the group. “Interesting,” he said.
Murlesson shrugged again. “It’s a shot in the dark but it’s all we have right now. How was your day?”
“I’ll be on a mission tomorrow and out of touch. I would ask you along, but…” He nodded towards the colicoid: “It looks like you have other considerations right now.”
“It will take some training and some practice,” Murlesson said. “I will let you know if I have any spare time.”
“You should get some rest, then.” Aristheron looked up at the twilight meaningfully. He’d been awake about 52 hours. “I’m sure we’ll both be very busy for some time to come.”
Training the colicoid to obey him properly was frustratingly difficult – it was incredibly stupid – and training himself to sense through its senses was even more difficult. Add to that that he was having trouble concentrating, trouble sleeping again, and it was a surly young Zabrak two days later who received a summons from Imperial Command on the planet to proceed to Sundari Outpost to the east. Apparently a Sith Lord requested him personally and by name. Who it might be, who might know he was on this planet and care, he didn’t know – Zash would have contacted him personally. It unsettled him and made him grouchier. He took Khem with him and left Revel to take care of the Viper and the colicoid.
He met Aristheron at the door to the Command Centre at Sundari Outpost. “So you’ve been called in too, hmm?”
“Indeed,” Aristheron said. “I hope the battle against the rebels goes well in my absence.”
Murlesson was tired and not in the best frame of mind, but he still sensed the presence from upstairs – a strong presence in the Force, one he hadn’t felt since…
“Are you all right?” Aristheron asked. “You look like you’re about to be ill.”
“I’m fine,” Murlesson snapped, helpless black poison rearing in his chest. “Let’s get this over with.” He straightened, putting on a cold, unfeeling face, pulling his Force close about him so it was difficult for others to sense. Aristheron glanced at him, but followed him to the elevator.
They exited the elevator together, and Darth Lachris was there before them, throttling a man in a strange civilian outfit. “Do you know the worst part, Governor?”
“I didn’t… I didn’t…” gasped the governor of Balmorra.
“Exactly,” Lachris said. “You didn’t even own up to your mistakes. That’s why the Dark Council gave this planet to me.”
“Surely he has learned his lesson,” Aristheron said, taking a step forward, apparently not at all bothered by her name-dropping the Dark Council. “There is no need to kill him.”
“On the contrary,” Lachris said. “He is useless now. There is no need to keep him around.”
Murlesson certainly didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was surviving the encounter and getting away as soon as possible.
The governor’s body fell to the floor with a thump, and Lachris turned to them – to him, advancing towards him and taking his face in her hands. “Murlesson! That was your name, yes? Apprentice to Darth Zash now, I hear. You’ve done very well for yourself! I’m so proud of you!”
He didn’t answer for a moment, gut churning, heartbeats roaring in his ears, taking a step back out of her reach. “Yes.”
Her orange eyes glittered, her paper-white face still too close to him. “You still hate me. Good. But I’m happy to see you again. With your cleverness, this will surely be a simple mission for you.” She turned to Aristheron. “My apologies. I’m Darth Lachris, and I’ve been tasked with cleansing Balmorra. I’m glad you both came – more Sith can only bring much-needed dignity.”
She explained of a certain supposedly ex-Republic Grand Marshall Cheketta, and how she needed him specifically dead or captured, of how his resistance had fortified the Balmorran Arms Factory into an impregnable stronghold. Murlesson supposed he could crack the stronghold, if he wanted to. But he really didn’t care what the Empire found challenging. He resolved then and there to bring Cheketta to Lachris as appeasement and diversion without touching the Arms Factory at all. She would be disappointed, possibly Aristheron would be disappointed, but the more trouble the Empire had with that place, the better.
How to sell this, how to sell this…
“How shall we go about this?” Aristheron asked him, as they moved to a strategy table back downstairs.
Murlesson hardly glanced at it. “I don’t think we should assault the Arms Factory to obtain Cheketta at all.”
“What?” Aristheron frowned. “How do you intend to deal with it, then?”
“Let me ask you – why would you make an assault on a fortified position while its commander is at home? I don’t intend to be around for the assault at all. All Darth Lachris said she wanted of us was Cheketta, dead or alive, and that is my goal. After that is up to you.” When Aristheron frowned, he added: “I’m busy, getting into a possibly literally inaccessible location. You’re the military man.”
“You ought to be in the military,” Aristheron told him. “Sith command every part of it, and you have a good tactical mind. There’s a place for you there.”
Murlesson grimaced. “I’d rather study artifacts. As I was saying… Cheketta.”
“His name sounds like a kind of cheese,” Vany put in, trying to lighten the tension. It sort of worked.
“Cheketta, then,” Aristheron acquiesced.
Murlesson pivoted smoothly back to the strategy table, steepled his fingers together. “What do we know about him? His tactics? Habits? Possible bait?”
“He’s very loyal to his subordinates,” Aristheron said. “I can obtain records of his actions during the war if you wish to study them; he was a skilled soldier, taking much territory from the Empire. He has his vices, drink, mostly, I’ve heard, but doesn’t indulge while stationed in a warzone.”
“We can use his loyalty, then,” Murlesson said, tapping the strategy table’s profiles computer. It showed him the faces and bios of several of Cheketta’s known staff members. He selected one and bent his head in thought for several minutes. He kept getting sidetracked by anti-Lachris thoughts, but eventually his ideas fell into place and he nodded decisively. “Let’s get one of his subordinates to send him a message asking him away from the Balmorran Arms Factory. He’ll never make it back from his destination.”
“I like it,” Aristheron said. “But how will you get his subordinates to do that?”
“It depends on the subordinate,” Murlesson said, showing him the display.
“Sedoya Senn, Jedi Knight,” Aristheron read. “Never heard of him.”
“Hmm.” Murlesson pressed his fingertips harder against each other. “Jedi are generally well-respected by the other side, aren’t they?”
“Yes, if Senn sent a message to Cheketta, he would respond immediately and without questioning much,” Aristheron said. “Shall we fake a transmission from him?”
“No. Cheketta could call the real Senn back just to confirm – it would be an unusual thing we are asking, isn’t it? Before I forget, how noisy should the actual confrontation be?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Aristheron said. “If we can lure him out and strike him with overwhelming force, he should be ours before his reinforcements arrive. Darth Lachris did say she would give us an army; I doubt we’ll need all of it for this particular operation. I would like to take him alive, though. Killing him would make him a martyr – and deprive the Empire of the chance to expose the Republic’s underhanded involvement on this planet.”
“All right,” Murlesson said. “But the Jedi will have to go, if he’s present.”
“Agreed.”
“In that case, we present the Jedi with ‘hard evidence’ of the Republic’s involvement on Balmorra. It doesn’t have to be true, or even stand up to much hard scrutiny. All we have to do is make it difficult to dispose of quietly, and suggest that the Empire’s on the verge of obtaining it, and Cheketta will rush out to deal with it. He’ll have no choice.”
“’All we have to do’,” Aristheron quoted him with slight, aristocratic sarcasm. “Very well. I will direct an engineer to create a virus that innocently leaks what we’ve been able to glean of Cheketta’s funding into a rebel datacentre near Senn’s current location, then assault the datacentre with a token force. When Senn shows up to heroically drive my forces off, he’ll discover every monitor covered in our intel. Then we eliminate him-”
“Not before confirming Cheketta’s position,” Murlesson said. “We want him well within the trap before we spring it.”
Aristheron frowned at him. “When it comes to the battlefield, I do know something of what I’m doing.”
“Sorry,” Murlesson muttered. “I won’t interrupt.”
“I was going to say, then we capture Cheketta and eliminate Senn. Not a bad day’s work. You are coming for the actual mission, of course?”
“Yes, of course,” Murlesson said. “You might need the back-up.”
It was good to be working with Aristheron; except for Lachris, the other Imperials barely took notice of him. Probably their anthropocentric bias working in his favour. Oh, if he wanted to make them do something for him, they’d jump right to it – but they’d instinctively respect Aristheron more than him. For now, that was what he wanted.
They set off a few hours later, the virus safely in the hands of an engineer, the ‘token force’ in easily tracked land vehicles and the ‘overwhelming force’ standing by in shuttles. Murlesson and Aristheron were in the command shuttle with Vany and Khem, alone. If the rest of the plan went according to schedule, they’d advance on the target location once Cheketta was confirmed to have left the Arms Factory. If it didn’t… they’d abort and try something else.
“Now that we’re out of there, what’s your relationship with that woman?” Aristheron asked, once they were well in the air.
“Yeah, how many Sith Lord moms do you have?” Vany asked. “You don’t seem to like this one much. The other one’s nicer.”
Murlesson bristled. “None of your business.”
Aristheron’s eyes flashed, and Murlesson knew he’d been pushing his patience for some time. “Why not?”
Was that Sith nobility’s arrogance showing through? Did he feel Murlesson owed him a debt for everything? Well, he did owe him a debt, but that didn’t mean he could just ask about whatever he wanted-!
Aristheron sighed with politely restrained irritation. “Murlesson. I’m not asking to make you angry. I’m asking because I’m concerned for you. Can you believe that?”
Murlesson slowly let the tension drain from his shoulders. He could feel Aristheron’s Light side glimmering through the neutral shadow that covered him. “I… can believe it. And I realize I am indebted to you for a great many things-”
“No,” Aristheron interrupted. “Did watching that holodrama trash teach you nothing? I am indebted to you for other things. It’s what… friends do for each other.”
Murlesson stopped and stared at Aristheron. “I-… we’re friends?”
“Oooh, he said the f-word!” Vany teased under her breath.
“Did you think we were not?” Aristheron asked, brow creased.
“I didn’t dare hope that you would think of me as such,” Murlesson said, feeling very young and foolish.
Aristheron put a hand on his shoulder, and for once, he didn’t shrug it off. “You still think too low of yourself. You are Sith. You are my equal.”
“And your friend, apparently.” Were Sith not supposed to be strong enough to handle all their problems by themselves? Except they needed minions and allies to be their most effective… Was Aristheron saying that ‘friend’ was an easier, more natural word to use than ally? He might be able to understand that.
“And my friend. So will you not speak about your trouble?”
He looked away, at the floor. “I don’t- I don’t want to talk about her.” If Aristheron found out Murlesson hated her so much, wanted to kill her so much, while she was being useful to the Empire, he would probably be not friends with him anymore.
“I will drop it for now, but you know I am persistent, Murlesson. You must tell me eventually.” The hand left his shoulder, and the Light glimmer darkened to its normal state. “Let us continue, then.”
The first part of the plan went flawlessly, which left Murlesson on edge, wondering when it would all go wrong. No plan survives contact with the enemy, said any number of strategic manuals, not just Naga Sadow. He had to anticipate, but the Force was clouded with the Jedi about.
They stormed out of the shuttles and into the datacentre. “Surrender!” Aristheron cried, upon seeing the Republic forces.
“Never! Death first!” returned Cheketta, a big ugly man in heavy armour, as he had been in the holo Lachris had shown them.
“Not an option!” Aristheron said, and then the smoke grenades and lasers started flying.
Murlesson tried to keep his head down. He’d never been in a fight like this before, and while he’d read about them, actually parsing it in person was terrifying. He kept his lightsaber off, preferring to duck the lasers – keeping a glowing object nearby, though it could deflect blaster fire, would just make him more of a target through the smoke.
Aristheron was right in the thick of things, indomitable as ever, crossing swords with both the Jedi and the Jedi’s Padawan. This wasn’t his first time in a close-quarters battle like this, clearly. As Murlesson moved to flank them, he sent strength in the Force to Aristheron, trying to mentally encourage all the Imperial soldiers to fight harder. The Republic soldiers were dwindling fast, thankfully.
Murlesson reached them and swirled his lightsaber, removing the Padawan’s leg. The Padawan shrieked and fell, and now it was two-to-one against the Jedi, who looked pained, and he hadn’t even been struck yet. Aristheron battered aside the Jedi’s defence, killing him. Murlesson took the opportunity to finish off the Padawan. He had served his purpose.
But that left them open to Cheketta, now that there was no friendly fire to discourage him from targeting them with his giant assault cannon, and the big man let loose with a vengeful roar, sending both Murlesson and Aristheron hastily back towards cover. Well, this was going to be a time to practice deflecting blaster bolts, or die. He chose not to die, preferably. His lightsaber spun and hummed in his hands, his conscious brain barely registering what he was doing, the Force doing it all for him.
Aristheron reached out a hand, throwing an office chair at Cheketta; the relentless cannonfire faltered briefly, but that was all the window Aristheron needed, leaping in close and slashing the cannon apart into a smoking wreck. “Surrender.”
“Never,” Cheketta growled.
Murlesson sensed Aristheron was trying not to roll his eyes. “You’re a good soldier and a good man. There is no need for you to die while you can still serve both sides. The Empire isn’t without mercy. We can come to an agreement.” Aristheron pointed his lightsaber at him. “Of course, I can still capture you by force if you like.” To his soldiers, he ordered “Set blasters for stun.”
Cheketta glared, and for a minute he looked like he was going to try and fist-fight the man with a lightsaber. But then the fight seemed to go out of him. “Good fight. You’ve got… well. You’ve got something I don’t have anymore. I surrender.”
Aristheron gestured to the Imperial soldiers. “Take him into custody.”
Murlesson frowned at the grand marshal as he passed by him. There was something off about him… “Aristheron,” he murmured to his friend, “I don’t trust him. He’s not as broken as he sounds.”
“I figured as much,” Aristheron replied. “Perhaps if we held his entire army hostage, his surrender would have been genuine. For now, all we can do is keep our eyes out.”
Murlesson nodded and followed him to the shuttle.
They’d been airborne five minutes when the shuttle banked suddenly, nearly throwing everyone from their seats.
“Report,” Aristheron snapped immediately.
“We’re being fired upon,” said the pilot. “There’s a blockade of combat shuttles and ground-based rocket launchers between us and Sundari Outpost.”
“Can we go around?” Aristheron asked.
“Negative, sir. We’ll have to fight at least the shuttles.”
“My people won’t give up on me,” Cheketta said confidently.
Aristheron glanced at Murlesson. “We’ll be able to deal quickest with the rockets,” Murlesson said. “Leave Khem and Vany to guard Cheketta, send this shuttle on ahead for delivery.”
“Drop Murlesson and me to deal with the rocket launchers, then fight your way through the shuttles,” Aristheron ordered. “Shuttle 3, stay in reserve to pick us up again.”
“Yes, sir.” The shuttle went into a weaving dive, flak from near misses shaking the hull, and the hatch opened when still a ways above the ground.
“Go,” Aristheron said to Murlesson, and together the two Sith jumped from the shuttle, rolling to mitigate the ground’s impact. There was the ground blockade before them. Aristheron was charging, fearless, drawing small arms fire and even a couple rockets away from the Imperial shuttles. Then they were in among the rebel soldiers. Murlesson gritted his teeth, letting Darkness take him, becoming death to those who were trying to kill him.
“This seems almost too easy,” he called to Aristheron.
“Balmorran volunteers, not Republic veterans,” Aristheron replied. “No help for it.”
The last rocket launcher operator fell, bisected through the middle. They were still taking some fire from pistols, but Murlesson looked back towards rebel territory. “Reinforcements coming in.” A dozen more combat shuttles, almost within firing range already.
“I see them,” Aristheron said. “Shuttle 3?”
“Inbound, sir.”
The shuttle landed near to them; Aristheron was closer, sprinting for the rear hatch. Murlesson was a little way behind when the Force screamed at him of danger. He turned and flung up a shield in the Force, but the impact of the explosion picked him up and tossed him back a dozen meters. He lost consciousness when he hit the ground.
When he woke, he was alone and it was getting dark. The Imperial shuttles were gone, and the Republic shuttles had passed by, probably picking up their survivors. No one had stopped to check if the Zabrak were still alive or not, which he counted probably a good thing, or he might have woken up in a prison.
He climbed woozily to his feet, and his head swam, black spots appearing briefly in front of his eyes. His ears were ringing. Shouldn’t that have gone away by now? Oh frak-
He vomited, feeling absolutely miserable. At least he was still alive. He’d rather be miserable than dead.
His commlink casing was cracked, and when he tried to turn it on, only got static. There was only one thing to do, then. He began walking in the direction of Sundari Outpost. He’d make it eventually.
An hour later, his limbs were so wobbly he had to sit down. He’d made it that far on sheer willpower, really. But he was feeling ill again. Just to rest his head a few minutes…
Darth Lachris was laughing at him, shrill and derisive. “What a good little boy you are! I’m so proud of you!” He spun, trying to find where she was – she was in front of him, reaching out to touch his face, rubbing her hateful fingers all over his skin. His head hurt more the more she pressed. He struggled, trying to get away, and she laughed some more. He didn’t want to look in her eyes… There was no choice, and they were decaying, rotting, filled with maggots, squirming and wriggling. The maggots turned into flies and flew at him, and he threw up his arms, falling backwards.
When he regained his bearings, he saw he was surrounded by people he knew. Fellow slaves, Nel and Ten and Balea, and newer acquaintances like Aristheron and Vany and Rylee. The swarm of flies flew from one to another, devouring them all. He cried out in terror and protest, and the laughter grew louder… No, this was a dream – no one could just defeat Aristheron, just like that – but even knowing it was a dream just made it darker, made him more unable to move.
Someone ‘shhh’ed the flies, and they died, fading from his vision. Someone was touching his head, and his dream showed him a pair of slim red hands, feminine hands, reaching out to him, but where they touched his head, it didn’t hurt. Everything quieted, and he slept.
He woke to find there was a presence nearby…
He jumped to his feet, only just then registering that someone had put a blanket on him. His body didn’t hurt anymore. A small, red-headed someone, currently crouched over a small self-heating cooking pot, stirring gruel, it looked like. But not just any gruel, his nose told him – this was far better than any slop he’d been served in Netokos’s service.
But the red-head was a Jedi, Light streaming off him – her? – gently. It was a completely different feel from Aristheron’s, but it felt… veiled, as Murlesson’s own did in the Dark, and he shivered as he looked at the harmless-looking human. He didn’t want to know what they could bring to a full-on fight.
Wait, was this Sabran Kentalon? Murlesson’s hand went to his lightsaber before he’d finished thinking about what a bad idea that was.
The red-head sighed, their back still to him. “A pity it would be, to come to blows before we’ve even had breakfast. Might you wait a moment?” Even their voice was light and gender-neutral.
“A-are you Sabran Kentalon?” Murlesson asked, letting his hand fall back to his side.
The human looked up at him with a smile and twinkling violet eyes. “My, what a compliment! I’m afraid I am not. You speak with but a humble rurouni. Sabran is not here right now. They have blue hair, not red.”
“The Rurouni?” A strange wandering Jedi Aristheron had spoken of more than once with some disdain. Powerful, but unwilling to use his power. His power… The Rurouni used masculine pronouns, right? He noted that the Jedi hadn’t asked who he was. Maybe he didn’t care.
“You may call me so if you wish,” the Rurouni said, spooning out gruel into bowls. “Come, have some porridge.”
Wordlessly, Murlesson did as he was told. Could this be his chance…?
The Rurouni ate quietly, comfortably, as if it didn’t bother him to be eating with a Sith, as if it didn’t matter that he’d just taken care of a Sith in the middle of a bombed field, on a planet that hadn’t finished being fought over yet. Murlesson couldn’t help but feel more and more tense in the silence, unable to really enjoy the taste of the ‘porridge’, until he burst out: “Why did you help me?”
“Why not?” said the Jedi, with his mouth full.
“You don’t know anything about me. I’m a Sith. Why would you not…”
“Kill you?” The Rurouni shrugged. “That seems a bit extreme. Yes, you’re like a dark star, smouldering and volatile and bitter. Yes, you killed Sedoya and Marco yesterday. And you’re also a lost, hurt boy in need of healing and rest and breakfast.”
“You’re not afraid that sparing me will be like sparing Exar Kun, who brought waste to the galaxy?”
“Do you want to be like Exar Kun?” asked the Rurouni. Ugh, did he answer every question with another question?
“Naga Sadow is more my style,” Murlesson said, scraping the bottom of his bowl for the last of the porridge. He was trying to push buttons now; the strangely laid-back Jedi wasn’t giving him anything to go on, but he didn’t think he was going to just kill him out of the blue now.
The Rurouni shrugged. “I don’t know too much about either of them, anyway.”
Murlesson frowned at him. “How can you not-” He caught himself. It wasn’t his business if the Jedi didn’t read anything useful or interesting.
“I believe anyone can change,” said the Jedi, and there seemed to be something wistful in him, something Murlesson couldn’t immediately interpret. What, had the Rurouni once been Dark? “Just because you’re angry doesn’t mean you’re megalomaniacal.”
“But I am megalomaniacal,” Murlesson muttered, and the Rurouni laughed.
“It doesn’t make you, quote, ‘evil’, unrepentantly, irredeemably, for the rest of your life. Will that do?”
“Fine.” He hesitated before asking the next question, the one that threatened to make his feelings overflow. The one that made him feel like being irredeemably ‘evil’ for the rest of his life. “Do you know Darth Lachris?”
The Rurouni cast big, curious eyes over at him over his bowl. “I know of her, yes. Are you asking if I’ve met her…?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Murlesson muttered, his hearts pounding just thinking about her. “Are you going to kill her? Is that why you’re here on Balmorra?” There were several reasons a Jedi could be on Balmorra, but… surely a Jedi wouldn’t pass up the chance to take out a high-ranking Sith…?
The human just blinked. “Should I kill her? I’m not really a fan of killing people.”
“Why not?” Murlesson demanded. He was starting to see why Aristheron didn’t think much of the Rurouni. Yet he had such strength…
“Life is precious,” said the Rurouni, and somehow it didn’t actually sound pretentious. “To a Sith no less than to a slave, to a Talz no less than a Hutt. Why do you want me to kill her?”
“Don’t you know what a monster she is?” Murlesson hissed, wondering if that ‘Sith’ and ‘slave’ comment meant the Rurouni knew who he was.
The Rurouni’s face was sad as he put his empty bowl down. “I know she is cruel, as many Sith are. But that’s no reason to kill her.”
“Isn’t it? To prevent her from being cruel to more people? Isn’t that what you Jedi do!?”
The Rurouni focused on him, very intently, the affected foolishness finally falling from his eyes. “What has she done to you, young Dark one?”
Murlesson withdrew. It was… He… He shouldn’t say too much to the Jedi, should he? Jedi were not to be trusted. Except… since this Jedi seemed weirdly reluctant to just kill Sith, he needed to give him some motivation. “Sh-she… When I tried to escape, she caught me, and she… she killed my friends. My fellow slaves. She destroyed them and told me I didn’t need ‘baggage from my past’.” His voice cracked, and he sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “They didn’t deserve to die.” He was amazed at how genuine his feelings were, as if they were a frozen holo of his feelings back when he’d first been plucked from his old life and forced into his new one.
He turned tortured eyes on the Jedi, letting his anguish and fear leak out into the Force. “That’s why I want her dead. I dream about them, about her. I can’t focus while she’s here. I can’t kill her, or they’ll know it’s me. But you can kill her, you’re strong, I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Please. Please kill her.”
The Rurouni leaned forward towards him. “Why not come with me? It’s clear you hate your life as a Sith. Come with me, learn to be a Jedi – and then you will find peace without anyone having to die.”
What a ridiculous notion. Murlesson scoffed, still in pain. “Would Jedi besides you be so quick to accept someone so deeply in the Dark? Besides, I may not like this life, but I understand it.”
The Rurouni gave him a compassionate look that made him feel disgruntled. “If that is your decision. But think on it. If you change your mind, call for me. I will come.”
Murlesson looked away. If he thought on it, some other Force-user would notice and kill him for treason. “And Lachris?”
“I will think on her.”
He sighed. That was probably the best he was going to get. The Rurouni was probably just being cautious that this wasn’t some sort of trap. And even if there was a small possibility… “Then I’ll tell you what I know.”