Ah, a slow, self-indulgent chapter, considering there is NO main story quest in it at all lol. Hope you like Ashara! I realize they wouldn’t put all this slow resource management and development in an action rpg, but I’m making use of it because I think way too much about logistics in stories. And then, oops, an action scene showed up out of nowhere. Do you think it’s too big? I kind of wanted it to be shorter.
I did a bit of a dumb a few days ago; I stayed up late reading the MOST AMAZING Rurouni Kenshin/Star Wars fanfic ever; but the upshot of it was “I need to consider the Force ambience more” because the author makes it seem so effortless how the Force-users see through the Force as naturally as with their eyes, so I went back and edited all the previous chapters in a tiny way (I don’t have the energy to do a big rework right now).
Listened to a lot of Disturbed writing this! I have two new CDs and they make good background music, though I’m planning to use some of it more thematically later…
Part 12: The Maiden and the Assassins
Chapter 13: Historical Destroyer
Maliss’s smirk widened into a smug grin as Murlesson dismounted the speeder bike, Ashara following him. “Excellent. Truly remarkable. My lord, you are utterly clever and resourceful. You turned the Jedi!”
This could get complicated very quickly if he didn’t shut it down. “If this is what it looks like, you should know that you’re not going to live very long.”
Maliss tempered his grin with insincere regret. Soon to be made real regret. “I’m sorry it had to end this way, but you were ‘dead’, and Darth Thanaton made a better offer. He’s made me a lord.” Of course he had – offering a worthless title to a worm who would soon be dead was well worth learning that the bug he’d tried to squash was still alive. And Thanaton didn’t have to deal with Maliss on a regular basis. “Unfortunately, he’s also asked that you be executed. My regrets.”
Murlesson rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, Ashara. I have to take care of this.”
“I’ll help,” she said grimly. “Sounds like this guy sold you out.”
“It wasn’t exactly unexpected,” he said, irritated that he’d still let it come to this. He’d been sloppy about Maliss, even if the man had been vaguely helpful. But Murlesson didn’t need the gossip and near-useless advice of obvious sycophants to get what he wanted. He wasn’t going to do that again. He hoped he hadn’t just shortened his life by too much. “Let me go in first, you pick up the stragglers.” He took a moment to surreptitiously hit his comm behind his back, alerting his crew.
“Got it,” she said. “I’ll follow your lead.”
“Maliss!” he bellowed, leaping forward unnaturally high and landing with a shockwave that sent soldiers flying. His new strength rocketed through him, boiling out in a wave of seething darkness. “I’ve had a very bad day, so you know what? I’m glad you decided to betray me. I’m glad you’re giving me a target to vent my frustrations on! Thank you for giving me justification!” He’d always wanted to kill him. “You, get out of the way unless you want to be collateral damage!”
Well, that got some of the soldiers to think twice about obeying the soon-to-be-dead rakghoul bait. But Maliss was still smiling, still confident. “So pleased you’re running headlong to your death… gllk!”
Murlesson grabbed him by the throat in the Force, and Maliss flailed briefly before twisting away, the schutta. And now there were four Sith closing in from both sides. Teeth clenched, lightsaber whirling, he held them off, cold hatred and hot anger pulsing through him.
A blaster shot struck one in the back of the head, dropping the Sith with a puff of smoke. Murlesson looked up to see Revel, blaster aimed, a chuckle on his lips, and Khem Val rushing to battle, broadsword raised. He nodded to them as Khem took on two of the Sith who had been fighting him. Ashara had been fighting the remaining soldiers, or at least keeping them busy, sabers swinging as she blocked their shots, and now Revel turned his attention to them too, taking them out from behind before they realized they were under attack from two sides.
These Sith weren’t even as good as Anathemos’s assassins, and he slashed through one’s guard from head to navel as Khem overpowered another with brute force. He kicked the last one he was fighting in the chest and let Khem cleave that one’s head off, and then faced Maliss head-on. “Your turn, maggot!”
“Great lord-”
Murlesson didn’t even give him time to beg, did not need to listen to that voice for another millisecond, and struck him with the Force with all his strength in the chest. Maliss went flying backwards into a ferrocrete bunker, his chest caved in and skull shattered. Khem gurgled a grim laugh deep in his throat.
“That’s it,” Revel said. “Looks like we’re clear.”
“Good,” Murlesson said to his crew. He looked around, but the other Imperials were hanging back; fearful indifference echoed from the lot of them. Internal Sith squabbles were not to be interfered in, and he would not be accosted for the carnage. “Let’s get out of here. Leave the clean-up.” He strode past them towards the hangar, ignoring his minions. They’d follow.
So Thanaton knew about him. The period of quiet was over. He’d gained more personal power, but if he wanted to control the showdown, he was going to need more political and martial power. “Revel, get the ship ready for take-off.”
“Thanks for shooting those guys, I’m Ashara Zavros,” Ashara was saying to Revel. She looked a little shaken, but was trying to hide it behind a friendly smile.
“Nice to meet ya, Ashara, I’m Andronikos Revel. You’re coming along with us?”
“I guess I am!” she said. “If there’s anything I can do to help, I’d like to do it.”
“You’re a good kid. Truth be told, I’ve been needing someone to help with maintenance and diagnostics, know anything about that?”
“I could give it a shot, sure!”
Murlesson stared at them until they caught up to him. “Are you done?”
“Are you always this rude?” Ashara retorted.
“He’s young,” Revel said. “Has no idea how to treat a woman. We’re working on it.”
Murlesson rolled his eyes into the back of his head. “Working on what? Get the ship prepped. We’re heading out.”
“Yes, sir, captain, sir,” Revel said sarcastically, and Murlesson gave him a tired look as he went to his room.
He couldn’t sleep that night, and at first he couldn’t figure out why. He had a headache, but not that bad. He’d sworn the others to secrecy regarding his spying on the Jedi, so Ashara wouldn’t know about it… He’d accomplished his goals on the planet… He’d checked on Corrin and Kaal’s latest report on Thanaton’s movements… The Viper was bound for Commenor, so he could develop his base there while listening for more ghost leads…
It was like a tiny edge of dry skin on the rim of a scab, the unease in his mind, and compulsively, he picked at it, even though, like a scab, he knew he would regret it. He’d killed a lot on Yavin 4. But that shouldn’t have bothered him. The Jedi had been Masters, so even though it wasn’t like fighting Satele Shan, he could be pleased at his growing strength and skill, and their conservative antagonism had what he expected, even if he’d been disappointed that it hadn’t been otherwise. Anathemos would get after him about his assassins, but he wasn’t afraid of that wizened bantha testicle. He could probably have tried harder to please everyone, but there wasn’t much that could make an ally out of a former enemy like fighting alongside them, so he actually rather preferred the outcome and what it had probably done for Ashara’s tentative trust in him. He’d just have to make a contingency plan for Anathemos.
Ten-
And there it was, the mental scab tore, unleashing a flood of misery over him, drowning him in his nest of a bed. For a minute he couldn’t even analyze it, wracked with pain, his mind screaming at him in a torrent of paralyzing guilt. The sound his neck had made when it broke – when he broke it – echoed in his head, over and over, and he buried his face in his pillow and screamed out loud to try to drown it out… quietly.
He rolled out of bed and slammed his head into the metal decking, deliberately, twice. Stupid fool of a sentimental failure! Ten hadn’t even meant that much to him when he was still a slave. His head rang, and he slammed it down again. And again- no. He stopped. This self-flagellation was the opposite of what a proper Sith would do. It felt far too good to punish himself, but why was he punishing himself for doing what was necessary? He ought to be vaguely pleased that he’d tied off a loose end, if he even deigned to think about it at all.
Telling himself that didn’t mitigate the internal pain in the slightest. He wanted to scream, to punch things, to tear his skin, to hit his head on the wall until he passed out. He wanted to die.
He got up, ruthlessly exercising his self-control, pushing his hair out of his face, and splashed water on his face instead. There was no going back. Sure, he could give himself a concussion, or worse, or he could keep believing in the sunk cost fallacy that was life and prepare for what was coming next.
Something in the ship caught his attention – Ashara was not asleep either; the spark of her spirit flickered in the engine room, strangely warm compared to the others, restless, anxious. She wasn’t his problem… but maybe he ought to go check on her…
He didn’t think it through too carefully for once, a little scared of what vulnerabilities he might find in his reasoning. Unwilling to admit that maybe he just wanted someone to talk to who wasn’t Zash or Revel.
The engine room door hissed open and he padded through in his sockfeet. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
Ashara jumped, turning away from the diagnostic panel she’d been studying. “Um… no. I’d ask after you, but I sensed…”
Oh. He supposed that was to be expected. His little mental outburst hadn’t been very well contained. “It’s been a rough week. It’s not usually that bad.”
Her expression suggested concern still, so he headed off any other comments by hopping up onto the guard rail and crouching there comfortably. “So… um… how are you doing?”
She managed a wan smile. “I’m okay. Your ship is nice, if a little bit dim. The others have been nice to me so far. Still wondering if I made the right choice. I’m definitely out of place here.”
“You’ve got five days to figure it out,” he said.
She squinted at him suspiciously. “And then what, you kill me if I decide not to join you?”
He gave her an unimpressed look. “I’m a monster, but not that kind of monster. I’d need a real reason first, like if there was a danger Thanaton might squeeze you for information. But first you’d need to know something about me.”
She grimaced at the reminder that he was still a complete stranger to her, even if she didn’t know that she wasn’t a total stranger to him. “Actually, I did want to ask about you.”
“Like what?” he asked warily.
“Like, what are you really fighting for? Is it just survival, or is it something else?”
“What would you like me to fight for?” he asked, sardonic now.
“I think you’re trying to change the Empire from within,” she said. What? Where did she get that idea after all his talk about survival? Projecting? “But I want to know what kind of Empire you want to see. I mean, you can’t change the Dark Side, how do you change a whole Empire rooted in it? When you’re soaked in it so intensely yourself?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not trying to convert me, are you?”
She frowned, half-turning away, wrapping her arms around herself. “Well, I mean, what I’ve seen of the Sith so far… is heartbreaking. I had no idea – I have to wonder why so many turn to it so easily. You’re in so much pain, I can’t even imagine. Even what I feel from you… it must be a dim echo of what you’re actually going through.”
“I neither want nor need your pity,” he said sharply.
She flinched, though more with irritation than fear. “Geez Laweeze, it’s called compassion. I’m trying to understand you. But seriously, wouldn’t you be happier if you could give it up?”
He glared, hunching into himself. “Just like that? And how do you propose I do that? I can’t. And I don’t want to. I know how to use the tools I’ve been given. Why would I trade them for weaker ones?”
She huffed. “The Light Side isn’t weaker…”
“Whatever. My hatred, my pain and fear, it all sustains me, gives me strength. What’s the point of being happy?”
“Um… I thought it was pretty self-explanatory?” She was thinking, but not fast enough. She’d never considered it before.
“I can try and be less unhappy, or I can be alive. Without the hatred and pain and fear and whatever, I’m just a soft, squishy worm waiting to be crushed.”
“I don’t believe that,” she said, turning back to him with a spark in her eyes.
This was too personal for having known her only a day. “And what about you? Are you happy?”
“What about me?” she demanded, confused. “I dunno- not at the moment, but I wasn’t unhappy before…?”
He got up and stepped towards her with a raised eyebrow. “You seem pretty impatient for a Jedi. In you, I sense…” He was going to have to be careful not to give himself away. “Anger. Fear. Lingering resentment. They were holding you back, weren’t they? I’ve seen you fight. You like fighting. In the Dark Side, you could finally be free to explore your full potential.” He’d started to walk around her, and she was going to turn to follow him, but he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place so he could lurk ominously behind her and whisper in her aural canal. “You would be a peerless warrior, if you only let out those unjustly repressed emotions.”
She shivered, but she didn’t feel particularly afraid of him. In fact, she pulled away and turned around with an annoyed look. “I’m not going against Jedi teachings or my conscience, even if I had trouble with my training. If I stick around, you’re going to have to get used to having a Light Sider on your ship.”
He drew back, amused at her predictable rejection. “I honestly don’t give a druk what you use, as long as you don’t think you can tell me what to do. I have a friend who has a Jedi Padawan following him, too. You just have to not let on to other Sith what you really are. And really… the Dark Side’s freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“What?” She looked bemused. “It isn’t? Why would you say that when it’s your thing?”
“Well, you can’t do whatever you want. It’ll get you killed. I killed my slave-master, broke my chains as the Sith Code says, and it landed me in bigger, more metaphysical chains. The only way to truly escape is to be on top, and the Emperor’s up there, and there isn’t room for anyone else.” He was ambitious enough to dream of killing the Emperor… and enough of a pragmatist to realize it probably wouldn’t happen. In the near future, anyway. “For everyone else… piss off the wrong people, you die. Stop pushing yourself to be stronger, you die. Neglect to plan for contingencies, slack off on your discipline, you die. And sometimes you just die anyway.” He gave a wry, crooked smile, leaning against the guard rail again. “I’m honestly not expecting to live very long. I’m just planning to live as long as I can. And don’t worry. If I do die, I have plans for all of my minions, should they survive my immediate demise.” Mostly directing them to cause a little bit of trouble for the Empire, a last, petty, vengeful, posthumous timebomb. But she didn’t need to know that part.
“That’s crazy,” she said, shocked again. “That’s like… I can’t even relate to that. Sure, people say the Jedi are no fun and have no freedom, but… sounds like we have more than the Sith. We have to control our emotions – which, as you pointed out earlier, I’m bad at – but at least we don’t necessarily die if we make a mistake. We’re allowed to forgive. To grow to be the best person we can be, not the most powerful. We have our own kind of freedom – everything’s a trade-off, you know? We don’t have to push ourselves on pain of death. We can find our place in the universe and find contentment in it. For some Jedi, that’s through meditation and contemplation of the Force, which I personally would find incredibly dull, but to each their own. And some Jedi, it’s through helping others, whether through social work or being spiritual guides or arbitrators or defending them in battle, which is what I think I’m called to.”
He sighed. “So we will forever be incompatible, Light and Dark, Sith and Jedi, and I don’t really care, I just want to be left alone. And I can’t even plan for that because that would be weakness.” He paused, and she paused, and silence fell, heavy and awkward. “So… still want to come along?”
She frowned a little. “You know what? I actually want to come more now.”
He made an incredulous face at her. “Why? You could go back to the Republic. No one need know what happened on Yavin 4. Even if you can’t rejoin the Jedi, you could still be with people you understand. Instead of… this morose lot.”
She gave him a little smile. “Well… I think I can help. You want to create an Empire free of slavery, right? So no one has to suffer the way you suffered, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure, why not.” How much did he really care, behind the acquiescence so apathetically spoken? He didn’t know yet. He hadn’t thought about it specifically before. The Dark Side thrived on suffering. Technically he ought to be against mitigating suffering. He was out to cause suffering among the Sith specifically, and the rest of the universe could take care of itself. She didn’t need to know that part, though. No one could know that part. He might actually have been able to let Ten live if he’d not monologued that part, and the realization was like an icy stab.
Fortunately she didn’t seem to notice the brief turmoil in his soul. “Then that’s something I’ll help you with.”
“And how are you going to help me?” he asked skeptically. She wasn’t a economic-sociologist.
“I’ll fight in your battles with you! You’re obviously the smart one, I’ll let you figure out how to do it. I’ll offer advice if I think of any.”
He shrugged. “Fair enough. Feel better?”
Her answer smile was a little bigger than before. “Yes, actually. What about you?”
He shrugged again. “Eh.” It didn’t matter. And his headache was still there. “I’ll drink lots of caf tomorrow.”
“Man, get some rest if you can! Caf isn’t a substitute.” She peered at him. “You seem… did you hurt your head?”
“It’s fine,” he said gruffly.
“I can help with that, a little!” She stretched out her hand to him, and though he flinched, he didn’t stop her. A gentle wave later, and the pain that had lingered from smashing his head on the floor repeatedly faded. There was still the underlying headache, but it did feel better.
“Thank you,” he mumbled. “Now stop trying to fix me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just trying to help. Oh, one more question – how should I ‘act Sith’ around other Sith?”
“Wear black.”
“That’s it? Wear black?”
He gestured to his own simple robe. “A lot of Sith do. Especially low-ranking ones. And don’t talk about peace and love and whatever, but that should be pretty obvious. Keep your aura dim, don’t be a hero.”
“Well, I’m not a very good actor, so I’m not going to try and talk about death and destruction instead. I’ll just let you do the talking.”
He nodded. “I’ll… see you later, then.”
“Night!”
She came to bother him midway through the next day. “Whatcha doing?”
“Compiling what I know of my nemesis,” he said, flicking from lists of Thanaton’s holdings to lists of known agents. He had planets bowing to him, an army of Sith lords and lesser apprentices, and of course he was the head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge. The fingers of his influence were spread throughout the Empire, and Murlesson had in return a small business, a tiny repository of artefacts that Corrin and Kaal had filched for him, a couple of Zash’s old contacts who didn’t owe him any favours, a handful of competent but near-insubordinate minions, and two moderately-powerful allies whom he couldn’t rely on too often. His burgeoning personal power couldn’t fight the galaxy on his own. Especially since Thanaton now knew he was still up, he needed to build other kinds of power and build it now.
She stared at the rapidly-changing panels of information. “Can’t say I can decipher this instantly, but he has a lot, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not planning to engage with any of it if at all possible,” he said. “I don’t have to nibble around the edges to get to him, if I’m clever. But he can leverage it against me, so I need to know where it is.”
And now she was distracted. “What’s this?” Her slender orange fingers brushed against a sheet of flimsi taped up beside his monitor.
“Chatroom usernames, passwords, rerouters,” he said absentmindedly.
She laughed. “I like these, hahaha. Historicaldestroyer is probably my favourite, but urdeth1209754? Xxxlordbloodspillerxxx? Why do you have one called ilovecutebabygizka? Do you like baby gizka? I agree with you, but it just didn’t seem like something you’d advertise…?”
“You don’t think I participate in forums as myself, do you?” he said. “The holonet is notoriously insecure. If I can imply that I couldn’t possibly be a young male Zabrak Sith, the less traceable I am.”
“That explains mistressoflightning779,” she said. “Also, wow, your room is really messy.”
“I didn’t ask,” he said, irritated.
“I mean, do you actually live on chips and sweet bars and caf?”
“Sometimes… Look, if you think it’s messy, you pick up the wrappers. I don’t care.”
“You ought to care,” she countered. “It can’t be good for you, living like this. And you should eat real food! It’s good for you!”
“You’re not my mom,” he growled.
She put her hands on her hips. “As an athlete, a fighter, I know it’s really important to have a good diet. And Zabrak are carnivorous, aren’t they? Protein is vital to muscle growth and energy. Your body is going to regret not balancing your diet later in life. It’s probably already regretting it. That’s probably why you’re tired all the time and have to drink so much caf.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “My life is going to be short anyway, what do I care about diet?”
She got that look on her face again, the one that was sad for him in that weird, uncomprehending way of hers. “Murlesson…”
“I eat what I want,” he grumbled, turning back to his computer. He really needed more monitors. “I’m fine.”
“Ugh, fine. But food is good, and also tasty. If I made something, would you eat it?”
“Dunno.”
“I mean, I’m not a great cook, and your ship droid makes good food, but – c’mon. You can’t turn down a home-cooked meal. It’s, like, the epitome of rudeness or something.”
He took a deep breath and looked up at her in exasperation. “Ashara. I’m working.”
“Sorry, I’ll go away. I’m just kind of bored. Can I help at all so I’m not bored?”
He looked around, and his gaze fell on a stack of holocrons. He no longer kept them hidden away in cubbyholes, he had too many for that. “Ever read Sith philosophy?”
“Noooo…?” she said hesitantly. “Should I? Do I have to?”
“It’s what I do. Do you want to help or not?”
She shrugged. “Okay, if I have to. What should I start with?”
“Naga Sadow,” he said instantly. “Anything and everything by or about Naga Sadow. You can try Ajunta Pall too if you like but here-” he tossed a book at her. A Jedi wouldn’t want to commune with a Sith holocron right off the bat. “Start with this, and also this one, and if you finish those, do this one.”
“Whoa!” She hadn’t been prepared for the telekinetic deluge of books and dropped two of them, scrambling to keep the pages from getting bent as she picked them up again. “Okay. I’ll get started. See you later!”
Commenor was about the same as he’d left it – and now that he had a moment to examine the socio-political landscape, rife with opportunity. The Council of the Hundred was a chaotic confluence of Commenorean oligarchy; the R&D market was huge; very little of Thanaton’s known resources were based there. The real problem was getting in, since he didn’t have any connections yet, he didn’t have the money to buy his way into anything important, and there was only so far the Force could bend bureaucratic minds. White-collar crime was really not his preferred scene. He’d just have to beg, borrow, or steal what he could.
His first windfall was finding out the merchant who bought Netokos’s manor was dumping his collection. The entire collection. “Why?” he demanded, disbelieving, when Revel told him.
Revel shrugged. “Seems she’s a fashionista who thinks that space could be put to better use displaying her… whatever. Does it matter?”
“I guess not. I just… why?”
“Not everyone likes dusty old artefacts,” Ashara piped up.
“Well, I’m taking them,” Murlesson said. “All of it. I don’t care if the office doesn’t have space. It’ll give the staff there something to do.”
“My accounts…” Zash murmured in horror.
Murlesson glared at her. “My accounts, and also I’d have thought you pleased to finally have access to a collection again.”
A shudder rippled through the Dashade’s body, and Khem spoke. <As long as you do not waste too much time on words and stones. It has been too long since I feasted.> Ashara stared; she still hadn’t gotten used to the whole ‘consciousness switching’ thing yet and she looked fascinated every time it happened.
“That’s true,” Murlesson said. There hadn’t been much opportunity to take Khem out in the last little while, and even though he’d been given free range on Yavin 4 while Murlesson was off spying, he didn’t think he’d had much action there. “As soon as we find where to go, you’ll come with me.”
Khem nodded with satisfaction. <Then do what you like, little Sith.>
Murlesson nodded to Revel and Ashara. “Go get as much as you can of that sale, through whatever means necessary, and have it delivered to the office. I don’t care if you murder the couriers and hijack the speeder. I want it.”
“You’re not coming?” Ashara asked.
“No.” She didn’t need to know why. “I’ll go through it when it arrives. I have something else to do in the meantime.”
That something else was investing in a tech lab near the office. He didn’t have the money to get a really good lab, or really good researchers, but he needed something new for the operation on Nar Shaddaa to produce, and anything would do at this point. And there was no saying he had to own it outright, at this point in time. Just buying shares was enough to get started. In fact, he ought to invest in several industries. When he could. He couldn’t just blow through all his Nar Shaddaa earnings before he’d done some development on Nar Shaddaa as well. He needed to strengthen his Imperial ties to claim protection under the umbrella of the Empire’s might, so his plan was to develop new computer chips, produce them cheaply on Nar Shaddaa, and then sell them back to the Empire, making himself part of their supply lines. It wouldn’t protect him against Thanaton, but other Sith might see that he was making himself useful and at least try to use him before trying to kill him.
And then the fun part was heading down to the central planetary legislature to observe the Council of the Hundred; not to join in, he didn’t have the connections for that yet, and politics was time-consuming anyway. If he lived long enough, he’d pull strings on Commenor someday, but for now… just a bit of reconnaissance would do. He wasn’t even going to try anything terribly illegal; that risk was better saved for when he had a specific goal.
He wore his mask and had his hood up, so no one would easily recognize him afterwards. He’d repaired the mask physically, even if it was still at a fraction of its former Force presence. But it seemed that shabby apprentice robes were out of place here, and pretty soon after he’d entered the observation gallery, he was approached by a uniformed page. “Excuse me, ‘sir’,” the page said with a snobby look, “I don’t believe you’re supposed to be here.”
Murlesson drew himself up, frowning haughtily under his hood and mask. “I am the apprentice and right hand of Lord Kallig.” Make himself so pompous they’d believe the actual Lord Kallig to be a real asshole. “Do you wish him to make himself known? He won’t be pleased at the inconvenience.” He made a mental note to get some nice robes for when he had to deal with jerks like this. So he could go on playing Lord Kallig with one face and Apprentice Murlesson with the other.
The page hesitated, doubt creeping into his face. “If Lord Kallig has business on Commenor, then of course he should come himself… through the proper channels, with a proper retinue, not some… disreputable dissembler-”
“I don’t think you want to finish that sentence,” Murlesson said, getting closer and looming a bit. He raised his hand and focused the Force. “You will not remove me from the Chamber.”
“I will not remove you from the Chamber,” said the page, robotically, then blinked. “My apologies, my lord. Have a pleasant stay.”
Murlesson nodded regally and turned back to the assembling Council.
Force, the actual Council meeting was both boring and stupid. He could tell about a third of the Council members in attendance felt the same but were too dignified to embroil themselves, and about half were too idiotic to realize how stupid they were. It almost made him reconsider entering politics altogether. Would it be possible to control the Council without having to go to meetings? Control enough of the actual Council members that the planet would serve his purposes and take care of itself otherwise? And surely he wouldn’t be the first to try such a thing, which meant first he needed to find the current string-puller and see to it that either he could replace them, or subordinate them, whichever was easier.
Screw this. He was going to go find military influence first. His head hurt.
The collection from his former owner’s estate did not fit in the office, and he had to rent another floor – and unfortunately, it wasn’t an adjacent floor, the other tenants were too well established. Well, it was early days yet. Zash’s former ensigns seemed pleased at having something within their expertise to take care of, at least. He requested a complete inventory, of course, but it was going to take days if not weeks to get everything done properly.
Going through the crates and crates of things was… more painful than he’d expected. Even out of the context he’d known them in, he recognized enough to remember more than he cared to. Especially when he found the lightsaber he’d used on the day of the revolt.
“What’s the matter?” Ashara said, probably sensing the ripples in his soul, from where she’d been sorting data crystals in alphabetical order. He needed to go through those and find which ones he hadn’t read yet.
He held it up, then tossed it back into the crate. “The first lightsaber I ever used.”
“Oh! That’s a memento.”
“Not really. It was pretty traumatic.” His emotional fingerprints were all over it. He wasn’t touching it again if he could help it.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. I have a better one now.”
He took several holocrons he’d never consumed, some of which he hadn’t even known Netokos had owned. The association still tainted them, and he wondered when he would bring himself to get into them.
A couple days later and they were headed to Nar Shaddaa, leaving the staff to deal with the overflow of crates; he had much to do with his cult, as well. Rylee had sent him word that a Hutt was showing interest in them, and she didn’t know how to deal with it, and she was afraid to let Destris deal with it. He assured her he would take care of it. Whether good interest or bad interest, he knew better than to act carelessly around a Hutt. He had a vague idea of how the winds of power flowed in his cult’s neighbourhood, but he delved deeper now, searching for names, allegiances, past affiliations, possible weaknesses.
And there was something else he wanted to do, as well. Every Sith Lord needed a proper sanctum, and with Dromund Kaas off-limits to him at the moment, he would choose the place he was most well-established in to make his own.
“Why not a skyhook?” Ashara asked, leaning over his shoulder. She did that a lot, and as long as she wasn’t being outright annoying, he let her. Sometimes she asked questions about the book she was reading, and if he wasn’t too busy or frustrated, he’d answer, pleased that she was making an effort to know what he knew. She was a much slower reader than he was, though, and not as in-depth in her analysis. At least she was trying, as much as a Jedi could.
He gave her a perplexed glare. “What kind of stupid idea is that? Skyhooks are expensive and extremely insecure. Easy to find, easy to invade, easy to shut down or just blast out of the air.”
She pouted. “But that’s so far down. You’ll never get any natural light.”
“On Nar Shaddaa? What natural light?” He was making plans to extend an elevator and infrastructure pipes – power, ventilation, plumbing, although on second though he should have self-sustaining back-ups – from his cult’s headquarters down to bedrock – no natural light for literal kilometres, actually – and build a private set of chambers there. There would be a ‘throne’ room, but really it would be a place where he could monitor everything under his control. He wouldn’t want for viewscreens there. And he would store some of his best artefacts there, his favourite holocrons. And then he wanted a secret door to a back area with kind of an apartment where he and his close companions could live in hiding if necessary.
“Ugh,” he groaned. “Decorating is annoying.” He wanted the main chamber to be intimidating, and he knew the cliches, but actually putting the elements together to make something that didn’t look stupid was harder than he expected.
“Ooh, ooh, can I do it?” Ashara asked, leaning even closer. “You’re going for spooky and evil, right?”
“Yeah.” He handed over the controls and the seat to her and stood back to watch with his caf.
“You want somewhere you can brood broodsomely, right? Is that what this big throne is for?”
He stared at her. “What do you mean, brood broodsomely?” Vany had said something similar once.
“You do it all the time!” She hunched forward and mock-glared at the viewscreen, fingers steepled in front of her mouth. “What do you call that, besides brooding?”
“Thinking,” he said, vaguely amused at her impression of him. He supposed with him there wasn’t much of a difference in the end.
“You want subtle or not-so-subtle?”
“Be melodramatic. The aesthetics aren’t for me, they’re to impress visitors. Even if I’m not planning to have any.”
“So obviously everything has to be black, for starters, but what if we put a big platform for your throne, and lighting… here… and are these display shelves for your collection? What if we put them over here, and then they won’t distract from you? And have you considered making the viewscreens movable, so they, like, drop down from the ceiling when you want them, and then go out of the way when you don’t?”
“You’re doing great,” he said. “Do whatever you want and let me know when you’re done. I’ll make it happen.”
“Okay!” She was so pleased with this little thing, he almost smiled. Weird.
His comm went off. “Could use you for a moment, boss,” Revel said.
“Be right there,” he answered, and jogged up to the cockpit. “What’s the matter?”
“Call for you,” Revel said, waving at the beeping holocomm in the back of the cockpit. “Answer it before it drives me crazy, will ya?”
“I was under the impression you were my minion, not the other way around,” Murlesson said flatly, and answered it. “Aristheron.”
“Murlesson. Glad to see you. Would you happen to be anywhere in the vicinity of Zeltros?”
Murlesson glanced at the galaxy map, though he already knew he was. “Yes. Right by it, in fact. Why?” Impulsively, he brought up the planet’s file from the ship’s computer. It was right on the main route between Commenor and Nar Shaddaa, yet he knew almost nothing about it.
Aristheron’s brows drew together with displeasure. “The Kollyrion struck a mine, and we put in to this station for repairs – but a small army of mercenaries was waiting for us, about forty or so. We’re cut off from the Kollyrion, though I would not like our chances of escaping in her in her present state anyway. Would you be able to assist?”
“Yes,” Murlesson said. “Can you send me a map of the station?”
“Vany is working on acquiring a schematic; I’ll have her transmit it to you once she finds it.”
“What else should I know about the situation?” Aristheron kept shooting glances over his shoulder, and Murlesson wanted everything he could get before they were interrupted.
“I’m here with Vany, Janelle, Captain Clay, and Lieutenant Stroud. There are several civilians – station workers, mostly – trapped with us. I believe most of the station is still under the impression that nothing is wrong, but there simply isn’t enough security to deal with this threat even if the alarm were sounded.”
“And they’re neutral,” Murlesson said, as if it were a dirty word. He wasn’t liking what he found in the planet’s file.
“It’s that neutrality that allowed me to land here in the first place,” Aristheron said. “This is not exactly the heart of Imperial territory.”
“I expect that was the mercenaries’ plan all along,” Murlesson said.
“I’m inclined to agree. The civilians will be out of the way, at least, once the fighting starts,” Aristheron said. “It will be just you, me, and our subordinates against these forty. I do not know their organization, only that they appear to want me dead. They have heavy weapons, and I imagine they’ll be using them shortly. Vany has locked them out of our sector of the station, but I think not for long-”
There was an explosion and the comm went dark.
“ETA ten minutes,” Revel said. The eye-searing magenta and saffron of the planet filled the viewscreen, and he could see the distant metal form of a space station that looked tiny at the present moment, but the sensors told him was as large as a city. “We’re coming in hot. Where’re we landing?”
The comm pinged; Vany had transmitted him schematics. He skimmed through them hurriedly. It had been too long since he’d put his studies to proper use. “Docking Bay 50 is closest to Aristheron’s location. We might have to go through a couple walls.” Revel cackled at that. Murlesson poked the intercomm. “Attention crew: Aristheron is under attack, and we are about to land and go into combat to aid him. The foe is numerically superior, they have heavy weapons, but we have the element of surprise.”
Ashara popped her head into the cockpit, looking startled. “Like, we’re going into combat now?”
Murlesson gestured impatiently to the viewport and the massive city-like station swelling outside it. “Yes. Get ready.”
“No, I don’t have clearance,” Revel barked into his comm. “You have a terrorist situation and we’re coming to neutralize it. … I don’t care, I’m putting my boss down there.”
Murlesson growled. He needed to be planning. Half his time was gone already. He jabbed the comm and joined the conversation with station control. “Either you permit me to land at Docking Bay 50, or I start being part of the terrorist problem, not the solution.”
Station control replied with a soft, sultry chuckle. “You sure we can’t change your mind? There’s more space in Docking Bay 49. There’s no need to be so violent.”
“No,” he snarled, channelling his dark intent into the comm. “I will assist my ally in Docking Bay 50 or you will regret it.”
A sigh. “All right, then, honey. Just be careful with the other ships in there, all right?”
He hung up without further comment. He had no idea where the hostiles were, and Aristheron might have moved by the time they landed. All he could do was commit the schematics to memory and demand the Force reveal his enemies.
Ashara was waiting, wide-eyed and jittery, by the docking ramp; Khem waited impassively beside her, full of anticipation.
“Here’s the plan,” Murlesson said. “We do not have heavy weapons, but we have lightsabers. We’re going to go through the wall on the right of the hangar, ascertain where the hostiles are, and attempt to hit them from the back. Use everything at your disposal to eliminate the enemy.”
“Got it,” Ashara said, gripping her lightsabers with determination. “I’ll do my best.”
He nodded grimly. If she didn’t, he’d have to defend her. No good letting his new minion get killed on her first mission. It was coddling by Sith standards, but he still needed her alive, and he knew her inexperience was still stronger than her skill at this point.
The ramp lowered, the door hissed open, blowing pressurized steam, and he stormed out, past the welcoming committee of pink, frilly Zeltrons, sparing them not a glance, even if Ashara took the time to make a little apologetic wave to them. They cowered away from him, some of them with a little wail. The computer had said they were partially empathic, but it didn’t take an empath to realize he was overflowing with furious hatred, and he wasn’t keeping it particularly contained right now. Aristheron had said nothing about enemy Force-users, after all. The hangar was much brighter than he was used to hangars being, all white and chrome and striped with blue in soothing patterns. The Kollyrion was further back in the hangar, missing parts of its wing. Then he was casting his senses out and ahead, through durasteel bulkheads and irrelevant space, searching for Aristheron’s powerful rock-steady neutral-grey presence, Vany’s bright shimmer, Janelle’s artificially-clouded spirit. There! Surrounded by hostiles – not forty anymore, by this point, but still enough that he understood why Aristheron was on the defensive, possibly even retreating carefully.
He ignited his lightsaber and slashed his way through the white wall before him, heedless of the frightened squeals of the welcome wagon, and jumped through into the corridor beyond. He smelled smoke and ozone from blaster fire, heard muffled reports. The conflict was very close by, and someone had a minigun. Down the corridor to his left was another gaping hole in the wall, this one looking like it was from a rocket launcher or something. “Khem, Revel, cover that gap, attack on my mark. Ashara, come with me. We’re going to make another hole in the wall.”
“Okay,” she said, following him to the right.
He muttered to himself. “Thirty-five… thirty-three hostiles. Five friendlies… Cover… We have to split them up as much as possible. Can I… yes… But what about the rocket launcher… No, they would have done that by now…” It was not great that three out of his group of four needed to be in close range to attack effectively.
“Can I help?” Ashara asked, and he shushed her. He didn’t need the distraction right now.
“Just fight and kill. Need to block the minigun… But if they have… Right.” He paused before another open section of wall. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” Ashara said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Khem… mark!” He swept his blade through the wall in a circle and kicked it in before him, taking hold of the loose circle with the Force and casting it before him like a giant frisbee. Oh, the minigun was one of Aristheron’s new additions; it was wielded by a big man with a big bushy beard. That changed things slightly. Back to his left, Khem charged in with a terrifying roar, Revel popping up behind him to offer some small covering fire. His own advance was slower, step by step, blocking blaster fire as it came, lightsaber humming like a wasp.
The enemy was staggered strategically through the space – looked like a waiting area with a pair of cafés on one end. They were making good use of cover against Aristheron’s group, but they were a bit exposed in the rear. It was going to be difficult to exploit, though, blaster bolts were flashing like a rave through the room, concentrated on one of the cafés, the air already thick with smoke. The other café was a pulverized ruin, another target of the rocket launcher. And there was another crater in the ceiling; he wondered briefly if Aristheron had pushed a rocket up there or if the rocketeer had just missed. They should be out of rockets by this point, though he wouldn’t rule out other weapons. They were using grenades, for one thing, though Aristheron and Janelle were keeping them away for now.
The mercenary leader, behind a structural pillar, took stock of the newcomers and shouted orders; a dozen or so of the mercenaries moved to new positions to fire against Khem and Murlesson, and he slowed further as he needed to concentrate. His frisbee had only taken out three men, which was slightly disappointing, and there was no real alarm from the group before them, only a slightly tighter tension. “Should have sent you with Khem,” he muttered, flinging out his hand and throwing a bench at them, making the incoming fire go wide. Ashara had no words, concentrating with all her might. But really, he could take care of himself; Khem could have used her skills more.
Aristheron rose from behind a sturdy but on-fire kabob stand, counter-charging the closest mercenaries. At first Murlesson thought he might be suicidal, even though he’d expected him to do that, but then he noticed Vany was hefting a light sniper rifle, and there was a dark-skinned Imperial officer behind her with a pistol in a two-handed grip. Janelle jumped out from behind another structural pillar, following her master into the teeth of the storm. A grenade hurtled towards them, and Janelle batted it aside with the Force; it exploded somewhere off to the side.
Murlesson hissed air in and cast forwards with a howl and a blazing crackle of lightning. Mercenaries screamed as it flashed over them, seeking them out behind cover and through armour, and then he and Ashara were upon their first line. The Force churned about him in a raging black tempest, and he drew on it recklessly. No holding back.
Now he felt them begin to falter, felt them begin to realize they were beset on three sides by powerful foes. But there were still thirty of them, and the blaster fire was beginning to singe his robes. Couldn’t have that. He shot his hand forward again, this time filled not with lightning but with pure Darkness, washing over them, knocking them backwards and out of cover, filling them with his fear and hatred and suffering. Then he reached up to the ceiling near the blast craters, fingers clawed, and pulled.
The Force shrieked at him, warning uselessly, and then Ashara was before him, defending him, deflecting the bolt that would have struck him in the chest – and taking a second shot herself. She stumbled, crying out, his eyes widened – and the ceiling fell in.
No time to see after her. The collapsing ruin of the floor above was still landing with a shuddering crash on top of the middle of the chamber, scattering furniture and screaming bodies. He moved smoothly forward, lightsaber whirling in blinding patterns, scything down the remaining enemies before him, snuffing out those startled, now-frightened dogs before they could rise again. His sheer power and that of his allies was rapidly overwhelming the remaining hostiles.
When the last mercenary hit the ground and stayed there, he turned back to Ashara. “Hurt bad?”
“I’ll live,” she said, with a pained grin. She’d been struck in the shin, and was holding her hands to the injury, healing it as best as she could. “Could use a kolto patch, though.”
Wordlessly, he pulled one from his belt and handed it to her, then turned to where Aristheron was approaching him. “Good to see you’re still alive.” And good that he’d begun to pay back his considerable debt to him. In fact, seeing Aristheron again was a relief for several reasons. Come to think of it, he hadn’t spoken to him since before his confrontation with Thanaton. He wondered if he ought to feel guilty about that, then decided he shouldn’t, even if other people would have. “You would probably have defeated them eventually, but this made things a lot faster, didn’t it.”
Aristheron nodded, as calm as if he hadn’t just pulled down the ceiling on everyone. “You’ve gotten stronger.” A handful of station personnel peeked in cautiously, through the door beside the first gaping hole in the wall, and entered cautiously, moving to help the surviving civilians.
“I have. But Thanaton knows I still live.”
“I didn’t know… but I hoped,” Aristheron said. He’d made a shot in the dark on him? He must really have been feeling pinched. He turned and waved over his four companions, who had been assisting with the civilians until that moment. “Allow me to introduce my subordinates, Captain Perival Clay and Lieutenant Egdan Stroud.” The black captain bowed stiffly, and the bearded giant nodded cheerfully. “Captain Clay commands my flagship, and Stroud is my chief of ground operations. But as you have seen, they are both personally competent on the battlefield.”
“Right,” Murlesson said. “I have someone to introduce as well, I guess…”
“You needn’t sound so enthusiastic about it,” Ashara said sarcastically, all done with her leg and clambering to standing, still a little wobbly. “Hi! I’m Ashara Zavros! Murlesson’s told me a lot about you and your- well, your other companions.” She turned to Janelle as eagerly as Janelle turned to her. “You must be Janelle Wouters!”
“I am!” Janelle’s face lit up with solidarity. “How long have you been with Lord Kallig?”
“A couple weeks, not very long. What’s it like with Lord Laskaris?”
“It’s pretty good, actually!” Janelle nodded enthusiastically. “He’s a very reasonable boss. I’m sure Murlesson told you, but he’s more reasonable than my former Jedi master, so I joined him because frankly, my former master is out of control and needs to be stopped. Is that what happened to you?”
“No…” Ashara looked down with a pained look for a moment. “I… still don’t want to talk about it yet, but it’s really nice to meet another Jedi out here. I’m glad I’m not the only one. Although I didn’t even get as far as you in my training, I wasn’t assigned to a master before I… joined Murlesson.”
“Isn’t he an enormous grouch?” Vany butted into the conversation, grinning.
“He is!” Ashara said, grinning back. Murlesson scowled and they all ignored it. “But I kind of like that about him. You must be Vany!”
“That’s me! Hey, Aristheron, we should stay a bit and catch up!”
“No,” Murlesson said, on edge. When the girls whined, he continued gruffly. “I read about this planet on the way in. It’s covered in pheromones. Stay too long, and you’ll never want to leave.” He glared at the Zeltrons on the other side of the room.
“I kind of don’t want to leave anyway,” Vany said. “It’s a pretty nice place! The parts that haven’t been exploded, at least!” Murlesson hated it. It was too bright and languid and new, and he was suspicious of anything that might try to mess with his head. His head was already messed up enough.
“It’s already working, then,” Lieutenant Stroud said, smirking, and Vany stuck her tongue out at him. Captain Clay coughed.
“We don’t have a choice right now,” Aristheron said. “We must at least repair the engine. I will not leave the Kollyrion here.” He glanced at Captain Clay, who bowed and hurried off.
“Fifteen minutes,” Murlesson said to his crew. “This isn’t a social call.”
<I will wait on the ship,> Khem grumbled, and left. Ashara grinned at him and turned back to Janelle and Vany. Revel glanced at them all, then shrugged and followed Khem.
“So what brought you to this area?” Aristheron asked Murlesson.
“Heading back to one of my bases,” Murlesson said. “The Force was with you, I suppose. And you?”
“I was going to rejoin my fleet after a private errand, but this trap was laid for me first. I must discover who laid it.”
“It doesn’t seem like Kel Reu Giri’s style,” Murlesson said.
“I agree, but I don’t think he can be ruled out. I am still on his trail, despite my new position. Yet I have found preparing for the inevitable rekindling of war to be quite rewarding.”
“Right. Meanwhile, here I am, all my focus on Thanaton… I’m not in any position to assist in any anti-Republic-related capacity.”
“I understand.”
It was fortunate Aristheron was part of Darth Marr’s base, Murlesson reflected, as it protected him from Thanaton’s ire at his being allied to Murlesson. “Though, I was wondering… Now that you’re a full military commander, you wouldn’t happen to know of any fleets that could use a change in command, would you?”
“How do you mean?” Aristheron said.
“I need more regular old-fashioned military might if I’m going to stand up against Thanaton. So… if you know of any fleets or even portions of fleets that are being mismanaged, incompetently led, in need of new patronage…”
Aristheron frowned. “The first one that comes to mind is that of Moff Broysc, but I’m afraid he’s unassailable, despite his growing dementia – his Sith patron is too strong.” Well that sounded like more of a challenge, but he wasn’t in it for the challenge’s sake. “I will keep an ear out for you. But there was something I wanted to ask about, before I forget. I heard Darth Lachris was slain on Balmorra.”
“I heard as well,” Murlesson said, wondering why Aristheron was bringing it up.
“You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you? The Jedi who fought her seemed unusually prepared, the investigation reported. Though in the end, she didn’t die by his blade – she fell into a power line.”
Aristheron didn’t know anything for sure. Murlesson glared at him with a hint of bared teeth. “I’m not going to pretend I shed any tears over her death. I may have rejoiced in it. But I didn’t do anything.” A blatant lie, but he believed in it body and soul. For the moment.
Aristheron nodded. “Very well. I am relieved to hear it. What was she to you? I asked before, and you declined to answer…”
Murlesson tried not to think about it. “She was the one who put me on Korriban. It was unpleasant. I was not thrilled.”
“I see. Well, Lord Volkova has already recaptured the place. The Jedi was long gone by then.”
“I heard about that too. Single-handed or something. Sounds like something she would do.”
“Aye. Her personal strength and skill are formidable. We shall see if she tempers them with anything else.”
Murlesson nodded. His allies didn’t have to like each other as long as he didn’t call on them at the same time. How funny, how they all intersected differently – he and Akuliina were of the Dark, Aristheron was of the Light… but Akuliina and Aristheron were loyal to the Empire, and he was not.
His comm was going off. “What is it now?”
“You guessed it, another distress signal,” Revel said. “This one’s from your other apprentices, though. You should come listen right away.”
“Right.” He nodded to Aristheron. “I’m off. Take care.”
“I will see you again,” Aristheron said gravely. “Be well.”
He nodded. “Ashara! We’re going!”
“Coming!” Ashara called. “Bye, Janelle!”
“Talk soon!” Janelle hollered, and Vany cheered.