Mannnnn I know it’s been so long since I had a chapter, but first I burned out on work real bad this year, and then Tharash/Aristheron came over to hang out for 3 weeks and we drove all over my province and it was really fun but I didn’t start feeling creative again until I’d recovered from that. So that’s why it’s taken so long. And unfortunately, my beta-reader is too busy right now to check everything, so I just have to hope it’s good enough like I did with the first 3/4 of this story. XD (He still helped talk me through some of the tricky plot bits though!)
Originally there was going to be another defecting Sith at the end of this chapter, just to show Thanaton losing his grip on his underlings, but that was one step too complicated for me.
Three more chapters until we’re done, let’s go! (and I’m not just saying that, they’re already mostly written, let’s really go!)
Part 34: Accelerate
Ashara met him back at the park, alone. “Are you okay? You met Thanaton, didn’t you? I sensed your feelings.” She frowned. “Still do, actually, now that I’m close to you again. What happened?”
“Yes,” he said, barely able to contain all the gleeful tumult within him. “He ran. He frakking ran, Ashara. He’s not going to meet me in person again alone if he can help it.”
“That’s good, I think,” she said. “Be careful, though.”
He made a frown of his own. “Where are Kitt and his gang?”
“I got them out the back way… I, um, kind of set the building on fire for a distraction…”
“I’m so proud of you.” He squeezed her hand.
She coughed a nervous giggle. “Uh. That’s weird. But good weird. I think. Anyway, I got them out, but they said they were going back home. Is that okay?”
“Yes, sure, fine,” he said. They were fine. He looked up to the stars, to where the Republic and the Empire must be fighting beyond the range of mammalian vision, and flexed his power, just a little. The shadows played around him, flirting with the light from the streetlamps, and his lips parted in an involuntary smirk. His voice was a low hiss. “They’re not important anymore. I just need to move everything into place. Then he’ll be mine.”
Ashara was giving him a concerned look, but he couldn’t dwell too much on it. His strategies were filling his mind.
His cult was where he turned his attention now. Could he even call it a cult? Effie and Nycks, the administrators, had begun by trying to do things the same way they had been done on Nar Shaddaa, but very quickly had found that produced few to no results here. These people weren’t looking for a saviour. At least, not like that, not a mystical spiritual guide come to deliver them from the meaningless existence they lived.
Not yet, anyway.
Instead, the administrators had been spreading the word among the blue-collar citizens of a Sith who fought not for the Empire, but against other Sith – technically true, even if Pyron had blown up a bunch of Republic ships on his behalf, and he had run a couple localized missions himself for the Imperials – and Thanaton had done the rest himself. Guessing that Murlesson would be trying to recruit a new branch of cultists, he had sent operatives to track them down and disrupt his plans. This had backfired wildly when perfectly ordinary citizens, suddenly harassed and worse for Murlesson’s sake, came running to find him.
Certainly, most of them had turned to the Republic first, to CorSec, but the Republic had their hands full with the war, and CorSec was spread too thin, and so eventually, these people risked being called ‘traitor’ by their own people and came to him. To complain, to ask for revenge, whatever their reasons, it was free advertising, and Murlesson was considering sending Thanaton a gift basket. But there was definitely an unknown number of infiltrators and potential paid traitors among the civilians, so that probably cancelled out the advertising…
Anyway, he needed a place to address his potential new followers. He’d rented an old commercial building for their use, but with most of the locals having things like jobs and homes, they would not need to live in a commune like the people on Nar Shaddaa. Mostly.
He’d thought long and hard about how to manipulate them to his side. He’d faked an earthquake on Nar Shaddaa to draw in the foolish who wanted a strong person to follow. Corellians were different, less interested in ‘wizardry’; they were independent, or at least, believed themselves to be, even if he found a bunch of gullible ones. He wanted to display his power to them, to show them that he could beat Thanaton if he only had their aid, but from what his investigations were showing him, he didn’t need to do anything like that exactly. If he said words that they agreed with, and gave them news that showed his actions matched his words, he should have them for long enough.
“You’re like a tiga loreng bird from Bimmisaari,” Ashara said to him when he aired his thoughts to her. “Putting on a mating display to attract followers.” They were at a disused shipping yard with Khem, investigating its potential as an arena to make a speech to his followers.
“The only ‘mating’ displays I put on are for you, and they’re terrible,” he groused back, thinking back to their one date on Commenor. He looked behind himself, but there was no one there. Still the feeling remained…
“I love them anyway,” she told him with a grin. Khem made a noise of disgust and moved away. “So you’re just going to talk to them? How restrained of you.”
“I think that’s all they need,” he said. “Turn on the charm, assure them they’re not traitors, that they’re doing the right thing for themselves and their families, give them the good feeling of being a special part of something bigger than themselves. I don’t need them eating out of my hand. I just need a better information network.” For Thanaton was up to something; he was building something in a bombed crater near his headquarters, but Pyron’s techs could not determine what. Thanaton’s guards might be alert for Imperial spies, but would probably not look nearly as closely at civilians being curious. Why would the Republic care about a kaggath?
“We’re not asking them to betray the Republic,” Ashara agreed. “Just to help us out against a little bit of the Empire.”
“Enemy of my enemy is not necessarily also my enemy,” he quipped. The shipping yard would be suitable enough. It was covered with a huge translucent sail high overhead, fine for warding off the glare of the sun, and keeping out prying optics – though certainly infra-red would probably see through it, but that was probably his paranoia talking – and he’d have to move the containers around a bit to clear a space on the ground for everyone to stand, but it would work. It would present him as not being above them, by choosing a place like this instead of somewhere more glamorous.
As he looked about him, he frowned. That feeling from before was building as pressure in his chest… danger was around. Closing around them, like a noose… “We need to leave – is what I’d say if we had time.”
“What do you mean-” Ashara began, and then armed men appeared between the crates, firing on them as they came within view. Murlesson dropped into a combat crouch, his lightsaber roaring to black-red life, but they were surrounded, he could sense it. The only way out of this was to stay together, and he backed with Ashara to a corner. It wasn’t going to help for long. The enemies were starting to climb the crates to get better vantages on them.
<These are not Thanaton’s armies,> Khem growled, pressing back into cover, his vibrosword humming uselessly. <Who are they?>
Murlesson hissed. “They’re the ones I paid to fight him.” In a flash, he realized what was happening. Thanaton had been in the same place as the Silverfists a couple days ago, at the very least. He’d figured out Murlesson’s little ploy with them, and had turned them against him. And if one group, why not one or two of the others?
Betrayed rage coursed through his chest, and he jumped forward – into the air, spraying lightning before him in a large arc that made them flinch and keep their heads down. “You think you can challenge me!?”
“You lied to us!” came Kitt Lyth’s voice from somewhere in the back. “The old man told us! We don’t work for the Empire!”
“You were fighting the Empire with him!” Ashara cried out, trying to help – trying to stop the fighting, he could tell. Futile. “The old man is with the Empire too!”
“We’re going to stop you!” Kitt yelled back. “For Corellia!”
“Idiots,” he snarled, power gathering to where he levitated above them. “I hope Thanaton paid you well, because there will be a lot of wailing families tonight…” He raised his hand, about to unleash the Force in a wave of devastation that would wipe out everything living in front of him-
The Force shrieked too late, and a net enveloped him, dragging him bodily to the ground, cracking his head against the duracrete. He was dazed, barely aware of-
There was a net around him – an electrical net. He was trapped, ensnared- Sickening panic shot through him, and he shrieked and thrashed, writhing as the net tightened around him, binding his limbs to his body, sending coursing pain shooting through him. Raw, white-hot memories from his slavery blasted through his mind, all the sharper for having been repressed for months.
But he wasn’t helpless as he had been then, and before they could dial the current up to lethal strength, his full-blown panic attack fairly shredded the net from around his body, probably with the Force, though there seemed to be filaments between his teeth… As he scrambled to his feet, his lightsaber flying back to his hand, he barely noticed that they were shooting at him, throwing grenades at him. The bolts he deflected without thinking; the grenades he cast away with a Force-push. He didn’t know how many enemies there were, or which gang was where. All the certainty in his mind was that he was going to kill.
He took off, throwing disorientation in front of him, black-red saber cleaving ‘steel and ‘crete and flesh and bone in a violent rampage. There were too many crates in his way and with his left hand, he blasted away everything, like he’d tried to do before. The thudding and clanging of the crates boomed through the yard, mixed with screaming. He had the dim sense that Khem was fighting with his sword, somewhere off to his right, and distantly tried to avoid tossing him too. He had the more hallucinatory sense that Netokos was there somewhere, laughing, and he was going to kill him.
But there were still more enemies, hiding as best they could, like bugs behind rocks. He could hunt them down one at a time, but he had no patience for that in this moment. He stomped down, bringing his mad forward charge to a halt, and lifted. Every container rose and moved away, falling at the sides of the yard, leaving the gangsters completely exposed. And himself, too, but half of them were too busy gawking, and another quarter were either trying to take care of the dead and dying, or looking for new cover. Those left with the presence of mind to fire at him were easy to sidestep.
It seemed that the leaders were figuring out just how much they were in over their heads, because he heard panicked orders, and the survivors began to pull back. “Stop.” He reached out one hand, and every body froze. No living being could move, under the Force stasis he’d put over the entire yard, and he looked down on the absolute terror in their eyes – he was floating again. He lifted his other hand to manifest his inner hurricane into outer destruction-
“Murlesson!” Ashara was screaming his name, and had been for some time, he dimly realized. She’d been trying to get to him, fighting her way through the hail of blaster bolts around him, and now… she was fighting through his stasis, able to speak, able to slowly move her limbs until she was standing below him, a little in front of him. He looked down at her. She was small on the ground like that. “Murlesson! Wait! Don’t massacre them!”
She wanted to let them go, after what they’d done to him!? There was fear on her face, fear of him, and he felt a twitch of emotion – but not enough to break through the silent unthinking hatred.
“So just… let’s calm down, don’t kill them all, let them go…”
“They think they can hurt me. They’re going to die.” His voice was half-strangled – not from the net, though his screams had burned his throat, but from the sheer effort of coming back to himself enough to make the effort to speak.
“No,” Ashara said. “Don’t kill them all. Please. I know they hurt you but they’re running away now. There’s got to be another way. This isn’t… justice, or punishment, or anything – this is revenge!”
“That’s exactly what it is,” he grated out, voice shaking. He was going to scream again in a second – and let it out, a tortured, furious shriek that lifted every container a few centimetres from the ground and then dropped them again. Several of the frozen gangsters had pissed themselves and he had no sympathy.
“No,” Ashara said. “Murlesson. Breathe. Please. Don’t be a mass murderer. Please. For me?” She reached out to him with her arms and the Force, pleading with her eyes.
A mass murderer? He had a literal superweapon that vaporized thousands at a time and she hadn’t cared like this. They deserved to die. He was disoriented, he realized, imagining Netokos was there when he’d been dead for months; they should all die like Netokos, mutilated with countless stab wounds, cast aside like garbage. It wasn’t the same – he was incredibly powerful compared to what he had been, but that was no reason for mercy on these cruel beings, was it, just because they were weaker than him? How could they dare challenge him, hurt him, and think to get away with it? He closed his eyes and envisioned the slaughter. It would bring him no satisfaction but he wanted to kill them. He needed to kill them.
For Ashara… he would do anything. Even let go of psychotic rage. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t feel good. But they were not Netokos, and the dead needed to be shoved back into the pits of the past and forgotten. Slowly, he floated down until he touched the ground again, and she put her arms around him. “Please. Let them go.”
“You shouldn’t have to beg me for anything,” he rasped, hoarsely.
“I really shouldn’t have to beg you not to slaughter fifty helpless people,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “Even if they hurt you like that. You already killed half of them. They’re not worth it. You’ll be okay. I promise. I’m here for you.”
He dropped the stasis, and heard scrambling as the gangsters fled. Thanaton had definitely not given them a fair shake on what they were up against.
All he could do was stand, shaking, with the screams of the past in his ears, with his body burning along the lines of the net, with his hearts racing like they were going to burst. Ashara’s arms seemed confining, although she smelled nice. He shouldn’t have let them go. How could she advocate for their lives when they’d nearly killed him, when they’d put him through that!?
She felt his emotions crackling around him, of course, and rubbed his back, trying to be soothing. “They hurt you. They hurt you horribly. They were cruel and I know it brought back something from your past, I could feel it. But look at me.”
He hardly could. Her eyes were full of sadness and concern. “It wouldn’t help you to kill them. I’m not asking you to forgive them, they’ve done something unforgivable – but they made a mistake and they know it. They’re terrified.”
“That’s the best time to kill them,” he said dully. Though making an example of them wouldn’t work because who would know who they were or what happened to them? Nor could he tell people about it because it would have meant admitting weakness, that he’d nearly died to a net. To normal people. “Every Dark Side Sith knows that.”
She gave him a long look. “The Dark Side is your strength but that doesn’t mean you have to emulate the worst of those who use it. Pretty soon you’re going to have to choose between being a Sith… and being a person.” She dropped her arms from the hug he’d never bothered to reciprocate and, after a moment of hesitation and another long look, walked off.
He watched her go, then turned to Khem. “We’ll return to base for now and I’ll decide what to do when we get there.”
Ashara was not waiting for them when they returned, and he took the opportunity to speak to Khem without her hearing. “I won’t kill them all. But they cannot be allowed to live after what they did. You could find them again? Even if they’ve tried to escape the city?” The light burns from the net still prickled across his body. They would heal quickly, but for now they kept his Darkness simmering. He needed it.
<So I will kill them all on your behalf,> Khem said with satisfaction. <They are weak prey, but the insult to you will be erased.>
“Not quite,” Murlesson said to the first half of his answer. “I want you to kill the leaders. Kitt Lyth, Tesk Shum, and Aereni Brasud. I don’t care what you do with them, but leave their bodies where their people will find them.”
<It will be my pleasure,> Khem said.
“Don’t bother to kill the others. They’re not worth your time or mine. And don’t tell Ashara or I will kill you.”
Khem snorted disdainfully. <Your attachment to the female Jedi will be your undoing.>
“I am perfectly aware of that. Get out and do your job.”
Kitt called his commlink a while later. Murlesson almost didn’t answer it, to let him go to his death in dread and uncertainty, but then answered it out of venomous curiosity. He gave no greeting.
“Lord Kallig,” Kitt’s voice trembled through the comm, “I… we’re so sorry. We just…” He broke off to swallow tears, it sounded like. “We thought you betrayed us, you lied to us… We should have just run.”
“Yes,” Murlesson said. The burns prickled again. “You should have.”
A faint, shaking sigh. “You’re not going to let us go, are you. We’re all going to die.” Murlesson was silent and let him draw his own conclusions. “Can we… Is there anything…”
“There is no ‘we’,” Murlesson interrupted him. “My mercy to you is that you will take responsibility for your gang’s idiocy. And my last advice to you is: don’t be near anything you consider collateral damage.”
“Please!” Kitt begged, suddenly hysterical. “Please, I don’t want to die, I’ll do whatever you want, please don’t-“
It was reminiscent of his own begging and he nearly retched in reflex. “Shut up!” he cut him off instead. “Would you swear yourself and your followers to my service instead? To work like droids until your dying days? This is your choice now that you have gone against me – to serve me with all who will still follow you, traitor, or to sacrifice yourself for your followers’ freedom.”
“I… I…” Kitt stammered, processing. “Yes. Yes, I will serve you.”
He hadn’t thought it through, the idiot. Murlesson might order him to work against the Republic, to leave his home, his own followers might turn on him for trying to save himself. He should just let Khem kill him and never think of them all again, it would be simpler – but Kitt’s pleas swallowed his pragmatism in a wave of preemptive guilt.
“I will be in touch,” Murlesson said coldly. “Don’t even think about trying to run. I am busy now, but I will find the time to hunt you down eventually if you do, and then your death will be painful as well as certain.”
“I understand,” Kitt gasped. “Thank you. Thank you. I’ll never cross you again.”
“We’ll see,” Murlesson said, and hung up. It took some time to control his breathing and his hearts. He truly had become that which he hated, and the self-loathing that rose up threatened to make him vomit. He leaned on the desk beside him, clamping down on the emotions with all his strength – he couldn’t let anyone else feel this. He shouldn’t have answered the comm, should have clung to his traumatized rage. It would have been easier.
A few minutes later, he commed Khem. “Kitt has resworn himself to my service. Take him off your list.”
<You are too lenient,> Khem told him. <You do not exterminate your enemies, you do not punish them before execution.> ‘Like a proper Sith’ went unsaid.
“He is easy to manipulate. Do what you want to the others, they haven’t even tried to reach out. That’s a lot of blaster-fire.”
Khem chuckled low in his throat, almost drowned out by the sounds in the background. <Aereni Brasud’s people have banded around her rather than flee. They offer a challenge worthy of my skills.>
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, and ended the call.
He walked into the common area of his cult branch headquarters, dressed in casual clothes, and nodded to the administrator present. “What’s up?” It had taken him an extra day to recover his self-control well enough to speak to his potential new followers. If he was being honest, he was still not all right, but… since when had he ever been all right? The real issue was that he was getting close to his mental limit and Thanaton still seemed as untouchable as ever. And Ashara was just unhappy in general and he couldn’t fix it. Acting ‘normal’ today, particularly by Corellian standards, was difficult, but he was hoping that it would get easier if he got in among them to mirror them directly.
“Master!” said Nycks, slightly tangled in sound equipment. “You’re early!”
“Is that a problem?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No!” they exclaimed. The little brown Bothan was not used to being in such close contact with him, and in fact were in a little over their head, coming from the slums of Nar Shaddaa and now given such authority. In function, they were Effie’s assistant, even if they had the title of ‘administrator’. They were still useful, though. “You can go wherever you want, Master, of course!”
“Do you need help?” he asked. Nycks would say no, because they wanted to prove themselves, but the gesture counted for his audience. There were a few dozen Corellians present already, and more were coming in.
“Oh, no, Master. I’ve got it. Can I do anything else for you?”
He raised a hand and with the Force, untangled a cable that had gotten wrapped around one of their legs. “Just don’t hurt yourself, Nycks.”
Effie popped her head out of the office at the end of the hall. “Master! We’re just about ready. Can I get you some caf?” She was a native of Commenor who had moved to Nar Shaddaa and fallen on hard times before joining the cult, and she was quite comfortable around Corellians, it seemed.
“I’m good, thanks,” he said. “But that’s an excellent offer to make when I’m around. I breathe caf when I’m busy, and stars know I’m busy now.”
A few Corellians nearby chuckled at their exchange. One of them walked up to him with an outstretched hand. “Jor Canmon, mister. You’re really Lord Murlesson?”
“I am,” he said, shaking the hand. It was a gesture he did not like making, in general, but he couldn’t hesitate now, not with Jor’s manly, firm shake. “Good to meet you.”
“Didn’t believe there was a Sith who wasn’t all about control and destruction, but you actually seem… decent. Why d’you work for the Empire?”
“They pay me better,” he said with a smile, and Jor laughed. “Glad I’ve made a good impression.”
“Well, the real issue is Darth Thanaton, ain’t it?” Jor said, business tempering his own smile, and a few behind him nodded. He could feel their anger behind their smiles, politely restrained for now, but restless, looking for a target. “You still do work for the Empire, and regardless of the outcome of this war…”
“We’re Corellian, not Imperial,” said a woman behind him. He found that an interesting distinction. Not that it mattered to him in the end.
“I understand,” he told them. “But I would like to address everyone at once. When Effie and Nycks are ready, of course.”
“Just… a… second!” Nycks grunted, who was somehow tangled up worse than before, but they’d gotten the main power cable hooked up. “Got it!”
They offered him a hand-mic, and he took it with the Force, stepping up onto a coffeetable with his hands in his pockets. He was suddenly very aware of his circlet, resonating with his power, though he wasn’t trying to take over their minds, only to sway them. “Good people,” he said, and any lingering whispers died to nothing. He couldn’t be too loquacious with them. They did seem rather impressed with his trick with the mic. “Thank you for coming to me. I’ll get straight to the point. Thanaton has hurt us all. He’s been trying to kill me for months, and has come very very close at times – and you, I feel your pain, your anger. Tell me, what has he done to you?”
A few hands went up, but before he could call anyone, others even angrier shouted out about their homes, their families, their livelihoods. He actually already knew all their stories and complaints, from Effie and Nycks’s reports, but they needed to be able to vent, to recall why they were here with him in the first place. The fury and frustration flooding the room was palpable, and he drank it in.
He nodded sagely when they seemed to be winding down. “Thanaton is ruthless and single-minded. He believes that you are weak, that you do not matter, that you are a means to an end – that is, if he deigns to consider you at all.” He was being a bit of a hypocrite, which would have amused him if it wasn’t Thanaton on the other end of the comparison. “And alone, yes, you could do nothing to him, with all his armies around him. So I propose an alliance.” He took his hands from his pockets and spread them as if to embrace the entire crowd. “Together, we are stronger. Help me out, and I will be the voice of your rage, the blade of your vengeance and mine. Together, we will bring his terror to an end.” Okay, so he couldn’t dispense entirely with the archaic poesy.
“Yeah, okay,” seemed to be the general mood in the room. Not roaring cheers, but they seemed willing to buy what he was selling, nodding and murmuring among themselves.
In general. “But waitaminute,” said a voice from the back of the crowd. “This Thanaton or whoever is just bothering us because of you! If you weren’t here, he’d have no reason to bother us!”
“True,” Murlesson said with a disarming smile. “I am still a Lord of the Sith. I offer you vengeance upon Thanaton, and freedom from Thanaton, and it would be much easier to give it to you with your help, but as for changing the past… I can’t give you that.”
“Not change, then, but why can’t you just go away?” complained the man.
“This is our battleground,” Murlesson said. “It didn’t have to be here, but it is here, and I can only deeply apologize for what it’s done to you. But here is where I stop running from him and fight. One of us will die here. It’s as simple as that.” That seemed to meet with general approval. Corellians liked standing up to bullies, as he understood. And regardless of who died, the conflict wouldn’t trouble the people any more afterwards.
“Are you strong enough to fight him?” asked another. “Ain’t he on the Dark Council?”
“Hells, yes,” he said with a cocky grin. “I’ve been preparing myself personally for this fight for ages. It’s his armies that are getting in my way.”
“Why does he want to kill you?” asked a woman.
“Because I remind him of himself,” he said. “I threaten his position and his ego. We both come from slavery, and broke free from it with great effort. We both love knowledge and study. But I’m younger and better-looking.” That got him another chuckle. “I also like to think I’m nicer, but if he agrees he would just think that I’m weak for it.”
“That’s kriffing stupid,” said someone near him. “Kindness isn’t weakness.”
“I have several friends who will roundly agree with you,” Murlesson said. “But most Sith are afraid to be kind. Would any other Sith reach out to you, ask for your help? I know how you feel – how it feels to be wronged, and to be powerless to right that wrong. Of course I will never ask you to do anything dangerous – unless you’re up for it. I know Corellians are brave, and many of you are fighting for your families, which makes you…”
“Double brave!” said someone, and got a laugh.
“Just don’t get us drunk, too,” said another person, and got an even bigger laugh.
How had this degenerated into stand-up? But the feeling in the room was determined, so he’d take it and run with it. His circlet was resonating more than ever. “Drunk Corellians could probably take on the Emperor. But let’s not go there – yet.” He raised a fist. “Are you tired of getting pushed around by heartless invaders?”
“Yeah!” about half of them chorused.
“Can I count on you to support me in this one very specific struggle that will not affect the Republic?”
“Yeah!” a bit louder.
“Are you ready to stick it to the Empire?”
“Yeah!” most of them yelled.
“Then give Effie and Nycks a contact frequency and some availability, and we’ll tear down this tyrant.” The administrators were waiting by the office door with datapads and smiles. “This building is always open to you if you have need of anything, food, medical supplies, career opportunities; I have an organization that provides other services unrelated to war. Please make yourselves at home.”
Jor shook his hand again as he stepped down from the little table. “Not bad, not bad. Are you sure you’re a Sith? Never heard one speak so inspiringly before.”
“Quite sure,” he said politely. “I’m just not as insecure as most of the others. My ego is not fatally wounded by interacting with non-Sith.” He was feeling a lot better than he had been, and maybe it was because of said interactions. Maybe his confident acting had affected his real mood. He just needed to keep Khem away from this lot.
“Is that what their deal is,” Jor said contemplatively. “It all makes sense now. Well, I’m happy to help. Gotta get that bastard back for his men crippling my son, y’know.”
They wanted to believe in him so much. “I understand. I will think of you when I strike him down.” He wouldn’t; he’d have enough to think of on his own account. But Jor seemed pleased with the sentiment.
He returned to the cult building a day later and stopped before he entered. There was a… presence inside. Force-sensitive, but very weak…
He put a hand on his lightsaber, fully alert. The weakness meant little to him. It was almost certainly a trap, one way or another.
“Master!” Effie said, hurrying up as he came in. “We had someone come in very badly injured an hour ago, I was just about to notify-”
“I felt it,” Murlesson said. “Where are they?”
Effie led him to a side room set up to be a rudimentary medical facility, twisting her hands anxiously. “Was it bad to take him in?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Murlesson said. “Thank you, Effie. You may go.”
“Master.” She bowed and left, leaving him alone with the mystery man.
The man was human, older than him but still pretty young, dark-skinned with a scruffy beard and a shaved head. He was in civilian clothes, though the administrators had taken some of them off to heavily bandage his midsection, where he had been impaled by a lightsaber. His head was bandaged too; he had a concussion, at the very least. Murlesson could feel it all, moving his hand over the man’s body, and could feel the gasping hatred inside him – hatred that took him aback a little, for it was like his own. “Who are you?” he asked softly, curiously.
“Kephriad Erat,” groaned the man, rousing. “You are Lord Murlesson Kallig?”
“Who else would I be?” Murlesson said snarkily – if he could sense this man’s Force-sensitivity, this man could definitely sense his power right beside him, veiled though it was. “Why are you here?” The question was more clipped than the previous one.
“Please- Lord Kallig- I want to join you. I want to fight Thanaton.”
“You’re in no condition to fight a sheet of flimsi,” Murlesson said. “What did he do to you?”
“I was going to get out but he found me and tried to stop me. Blasted me with lightning, stabbed me, rolled me off a four-story building. I landed on a speeder and that’s the only reason I’m still alive.”
“You’re very lucky,” Murlesson said. “Thanaton’s not usually so sloppy.”
“There’s no such thing as luck,” Erat said. “The Force wanted me to join you.”
Murlesson waved his hand. “Attributing conscious will to the Force is about as reasonable as attributing conscious will to gravity. In any case. Why should I believe you?”
Erat looked shocked. “You don’t believe me? After all I- Someone called an emergency med-evac for me and I managed to mind-trick them into driving here.”
“Why didn’t you just let them take you to a frakking hospital?” Murlesson asked, sitting on the edge of the counter nearby.
“I-I wouldn’t be safe in the hospital! Thanaton would find out and finish me off, you know he doesn’t allow defectors.”
“How did you even find this place?” Should he not expect Thanaton’s armies in short order?
“I heard it on the street, before I left – I swear I didn’t tell him! Not that he asked…”
Erat’s emotions seemed genuine enough – it would be pretty hard to fake with a concussion like he had, Murlesson reasoned. “I’m sure you can understand my distrust. Even injured, you could bring Thanaton plenty of information.”
“I swear, I never want to see him again,” Erat said. “I was a minor apprentice – Lord Kogni’s apprentice, really – but I am too weak to survive under either of them.”
“So what does that make me?” Murlesson asked dryly. “Someone who cares for strays? Are you too weak to serve me? I should just finish you off on principal, you know I should.”
“It’s getting to be pretty well-known that you find uses for the useless, to put it one way,” Erat said, and reached out, his eyes suddenly burning. “Let me help you. I want him dead and there’s no way I could do it on my own.”
Murlesson slowly reached out to take his hand, alert for a trap – a stunner, a vibroknife, a poisoned sting – but nothing happened, except he found that Erat’s hand was rather sweaty. “I fully intend to murder Thanaton to the best of my capabilities. Do you therefore swear yourself to my service, to be my apprentice and to obey me in all things?” He didn’t know what the formalities were. He hadn’t needed formalities with Xalek.
“I do,” Erat said fervently. “I do, Master. Maybe I’m just putting myself in worse danger. But I’ve got nothing more to lose.”
“I know how that feels,” Murlesson said grimly. “All right. Rest, then. Maybe you’ll recover fast enough to be useful before I’m done here.”
“I hope so, Master.”
Each region of the city had a different kind of fighting, and the government district was a strange mix between all-out war with tanks, wardroids, full battalions, starfighters, and fortresses, and a weird civilized veneer as politicians still ran around trying to exert impotent influence. He, Khem, and Xalek did a few services for the Imperial military in the area – which, sadly for him, did not involve stabbing any of those politicians – and that gained him the use of a base within walking distance of the Museum of Industry. He found one or two other locations that would be useful for feints and deceptions, but first he had to get the personnel over there, and he couldn’t settle into his final positions too early in case Thanaton found him and drove him out before he was ready. Pyron kept him apprised of the Republic’s positions, but Thanaton was more difficult to predict.
Things were quiet for a week or two after that, a return to jockeying for position, still infiltrating his forces into the government district. Though his forces were increasingly gathered in that end of the city, his main operational base was still quite far back, still at the tunnels in Labour Valley, in fact. He had claimed a building right on top of a major underground access point, as the final push was coming soon when he would move the last of his military forces to the confrontation area.
It would leave his not-cultists rather far behind, also still in Labour Valley, but they were civilians. They could go anywhere that civilians were allowed to go, even if that was very limited in the most active war zones like the downtown core. They were doing surprisingly well as informants, and though they couldn’t exactly tell one Imperial unit from another, they had reported that it seemed Thanaton was building an arena in that crater. An arena with a replica of the Dark Council, seats and all. He was preparing a showdown in the flashiest way possible, and Murlesson had to approve, except he figured it was going to be completely rigged against him and more likely to be used as an execution ground than a real arena. How Thanaton was hoping to lure him there, he didn’t want to know. He still wanted to shank Thanaton quietly in the back rather than fight him face to face, and especially without military interference. And Thanaton surely knew that.
Things weren’t perfectly quiet, of course – skirmishes between his people and Thanaton’s were becoming more frequent, to say nothing of the war still raging outside. Half the Jedi council was showing up, and he’d even heard hints that the Rurouni had been spotted. He felt the pressure of the escalations, of course – anything Republic would be out to get him, most of the locals weren’t a fan of him, and he couldn’t relax around Imperials either, not even really around Aristheron’s people on the occasions he bumped into them. The galaxy had always been against him, only now at least he could fight back.
“I do wonder,” Drellik said one day when they were at lunch at the Labour Valley HQ, “why didn’t he just sit back and let you come to him? Surely he has the upper hand, and could have waited for you to wear yourself out trying to penetrate his defences.”
Drellik studied history, but only for the cultural aspect, not the tactical aspect. “He only has the upper hand because he has more forces and he was here slightly longer,” Murlesson said. “If he sits back and waits, the better I become established; and the more his advantage slips away, the more easily I might find some sneaky backdoor to damage him through.”
“That’s right,” Revel said. “The more time we have unopposed to scout the area, mess with his resources, get comfortable. We might slowly lose troops either way, but with the boss as clever as he is, that’s no cause to be lazy fighting against him. Surprised you don’t know all that, Lieutenant.”
“Oh, well,” Drellik said, abashed, “I am very good at taking charge of a dig site, but not so good at a battle site – let alone a whole campaign. I’m just happy to be of use now and then.”
Ashara was in the government district, or else she might have chimed in there to comfort the lieutenant. “I do want to point out that I’m not exactly uncomfortable with being in a desperate position,” Murlesson said. “It’s challenging, and I like that.”
“You a masochist?” Revel said.
Murlesson glared. “Don’t call me that.” It wasn’t pain he enjoyed. He’d had plenty of that. Revel noticed he’d crossed a line and backed off. “But I’m at my best with my back to a wall.” He got up, leaving his dishes as they were. “Time to get the soldiers packing. Today we’re finally out of Lady Murthil’s fur.” Uneasiness had been nagging him all morning, vague and nagging. Danger was coming, but he couldn’t figure out where or from whom… it was past time that they left this base.
He was supervising the last bits of command centre tear-down with Pyron on vid-comm. “Three days until your plan comes to fruition, is it not?”
“Yes,” Murlesson said, avoiding the temptation to uselessly micromanage his soldiers by distracting himself with a datapad. “Unless something suspiciously advantageous occurs, of course. Thanaton should send out his forces to investigate mine – of course he’ll be expecting me to act, but if I can get him to believe he’s anticipated me, and then hit him with the Republic at the same time, his resources should be tied up long enough for me to do what needs to be done without being interrupted.”
“And you’ll be taking time to prepare yourself for this, yes?” Pyron asked. His voice was entirely professional, but Murlesson spared him a curious-but-irritated side-eye.
“You think I am overextending myself?”
“It’s important to rest before significant events, my lord, even for one of such seemingly-boundless strength as you. I’m getting older, of course, and I know I must regulate my sleep carefully to be at my best for the Empire. You may not have to concern yourself nearly as much, but you will surely be stronger if you do.”
The message was a more genteel version of what his ship droid liked to tell him. With great power came a lot of nagging, apparently. “You’re concerned about more than just my sleep, aren’t you.”
“Of course,” Pyron said. “You have succeeded at everything you promised, but this is your most difficult challenge yet and if it were not you handling it I should have said it was impossible. I have thrown in my career with yours, my lord. I do not doubt your ability to win, but I must also contemplate the consequences of losing, especially when to me there only appears a sliver of hope of victory.”
“I hate Thanaton too much to lose,” Murlesson said. “It’s true – I’m quite selfish. If I do lose, I will die long before the rest of you.” So he wouldn’t care what happened after that.
“It’s not death that bothers me,” Pyron said. “It would be in service to the Empire, no matter what the records will say – serving Bilsane did nothing for the Empire, and you delivered me from that. I have made an impact on this war against the Republic and I am proud of that. But my family would be shamed were we to fail. Perhaps they would even be put to death as well. And that is a hard thought to consider.”
“I see,” Murlesson said. As Pyron had made clear before, everything came back to his family. And what was Murlesson fighting for? His own freedom? He didn’t have a family. Shouldn’t have a family, they were obviously liabilities even if Pyron drew resolve from his. Was not remotely in a position to think about a family, even if Ashara was willing to adopt with him, and he was finding himself doubting that.
“My lord, Moff Pyron!” said an ensign over the holocomm from the Acrimonious, stepping up urgently to the holocomm.
“Go ahead,” Pyron said.
“Sensors has detected incoming craft to your location, Lord Kallig! Twenty dropships, heading for encirclement positions!”
Murlesson frowned. With the base’s sensors just disabled and packed not more than ten minutes ago, he was technologically blind to attack except for the Acrimonious’s watchful eyes above. Such a large attack, perhaps a third of Thanaton’s forces – because a dropship held a lot more than a little shuttle, he only had shuttles himself – meant his soldiers would be wiped out if they were caught. Well, that explained the feeling of danger he’d been sensing. “Labour Valley HQ: all remaining personnel – make your way to the tunnel access now. That includes you, Revel.” He looked up to see half a dozen of the dropships landing a couple blocks away, and those were just the ones within line-of-sight of the office window.
“You’ll be okay-? You’ll be okay,” Revel said, answering his own question dismissively. “See you at the new base, boss.”
Murlesson nodded absentmindedly and raised a hand towards the window. The RPG that had been streaking towards it exploded abruptly, and several soldiers flinched at the sight and sound so close. “Leave the remaining equipment. It will be destroyed anyway. Captain, I trust you to see everyone safely to the new location.” His captain saluted and gave orders, and in a couple seconds more, he was almost alone.
He moved right to the middle of the window, to see better and to deliberately show himself. He stopped another RPG from detonating in his face, but the building shook from another two, three from other angles. Marching down the street towards the building were hundreds of Imperial soldiers, and among the front ranks was a woman with her dark hair done up elaborately with hairsticks and ribbons and dangly things – though he had no doubt that if anything got loose, her hair would stay in a nice, practical ponytail. She looked up at him with a grim expression, and raised a hand towards him. He raised a hand back, fingers clawed, and blocked the bolt of lightning she directed at him, though it shattered the window around him. A few shards of transparisteel grazed his face and robes, but he was unharmed. He tilted his head arrogantly to her, and she raised her chin with an imperious look of her own.
“You’re certain this is wise?” Pyron asked from the holocomm. “The hundred soldiers whose escape you protect are experienced and valuable, but you are our Sith Lord.”
Murlesson turned to smirk at him. “Don’t worry, Pyron. You’ll see your family again.” He twirled his lightsaber and slashed through the holocomm, destroying it, and turned to make his way to the tunnel access, cracking his neck in warm-up. He’d guard it until Lord Kogni appeared before him, and then make his way into the shadows, taking her with him.