I really need to stop listening to Disturbed; it seems like every new song I listen to (some of which I’ve listened to before tbh) fits Murlesson lol. Or maybe he should stop being such an angsty teenager?
But it didn’t stop me from using Enough as a fight song for this chapter!
Both Tharash and Yllamse were really helpful in helping me to hammer out the sequence of events here and getting them to fit with the emotional tones I was going for. Thank you!
P.S. It seems that Thanaton doesn’t actually make it to the Dark Council until you make it to Voss, not ‘shortly after you make it to Act 2’ as I had assumed. Pyron tells you about it after you get the CN-12 for him. Oh well, it changes literally nothing about the story to do it this way.
Edit: Changed Ziost to Commenor for reasons.
Part 23: Idealism and Cynicism
Part 24: Unnecessary Melodrama
Four days could not pass fast enough. Lord Cressinth, though she maintained her detached demeanour consistently, prowled through the fleet, not confining her observations to the Acrimonious. She was constantly fiddling with a datapad, not even looking up at her surroundings, yet all the crew gave her a wide berth in case she should suddenly show her temper. For all her show of indifference, she was not a fond friend of boredom, and several men ended up in medical for no reason other than that they were available to be a target. Fortunately, none of them were injured more badly than a broken arm.
As for Pyron, the wait was an excellent test of patience. He knew the wait was to allow Kallig’s subordinates to arrive on Commenor, where his family lived. For him, that part of the plan was far more nerve-wracking than the relatively simple scheme to contain Bilsane, and he still didn’t know Kallig’s final strategy on the matter, which was a situation he didn’t exactly like. But, as Kallig himself had said, his ignorance would prevent him from accidentally giving it away to Cressinth. All he knew was that he had called his wife, informed her she must gather the children and grandchildren, and they would be meeting a Lieutenant Drellik in such a location at such a time, and that everything would be fine. All else was out of his control now. When he was Moff… that would change…
Despite his own patience being quite long, it was a relief when the bridge doors slid open one midday shift, the guards reacted, and were knocked backwards by an invisible blow, striking the wall hard enough to be knocked unconscious – he hoped they weren’t dead. Everyone either jumped or flinched; Pyron turned sharply but held on to his poise.
Kallig strode purposefully up the centre aisle to the command platform, showing no sign of pain now, robes billowing around him, lightsaber loosely held in his right hand but un…lit? Unactivated? A prickling sensation rose on the back of Pyron’s neck; there was a palpable energy in the air around him, dark and unsettling. “Hello, everyone. I’m here to take over.”
Bilsane was sputtering with bugged-out eyeballs, but Cressinth looked up from her datapad and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Oh good, you’re finally here. I thought you’d never show up.”
Kallig bowed sarcastically. “I aim to please. Shall we?”
Additional guards clattered in, rifles raised and ready, aimed at the intruder, but Pyron gestured for them to hold. Besides aiding in lessening the danger for Kallig, it lessened the danger for his men as well – Kallig would simply block or deflect their shots with the unbelievable reflexes common to Force users, and stray bolts could hit something or someone. For good or for ill, it was in the hands of the Sith now. The crew of the closest consoles looked to him, and he gestured that they were permitted to leave. He would not force them to remain within the line of fire needlessly, though now his own post was the closest one. He would stand firm. Some of them followed his example and remained; others hurried to the sides of the chamber, still present yet marginally more safe.
Cressinth dropped her datapad carelessly behind her, and her saber blades erupted from the double-ended hilt in a blaze of sickly green. Both Sith were crouched for battle, ready to move on a hair’s trigger. Pyron could taste the tension in the air, the seething animosity swelling to a deadly pitch. “You’ve fewer minions with you than I thought you might. What did I tell security to stand by for?”
“I don’t need them,” Kallig said. “None of you are worth the effort.”
Cressinth sneered. “Bring it, little boy.”
A lightning bolt arced from Kallig’s fingertips towards Cressinth, but she caught it on her lightsaber. Pyron was so taken aback by the impossible sight that he almost missed that Kallig had ignited his own scarlet saber and was charging towards Cressinth – or was he? It was… difficult to see… almost as if his eyes didn’t want to cooperate. The prickling feeling on the back of his neck was even stronger as the Sith clashed together with a harsh electronic buzz of contained plasma. He could not see Kallig’s face beneath his mask, but Cressinth’s face was unchanged, eyes half-lidded and mouth set solemnly.
“You pretend vainly to be calm,” Kallig said. “I know your true feelings. Why hide them? Just out of curiosity.”
“I’m aiming for the title Lord of Apathy,” she said. “Like, no one likes overlords who rant.”
“I prefer monologuing over ranting, personally,” Kallig said. “Isn’t apathy a Jedi trait? Peace is a lie, there is only passion.” He grunted as their sabers clashed and slid against each other. Even if he were no longer in pain, it seemed lightsaber combat did not come easy to him.
“I’m a living example of the Sith Code, then,” she said. “My peace is absolutely a lie.” She laughed without any change in expression.
Pyron’s console pinged: Taugel and Eisek, the captains of the Implacable and Doombringer, were checking in. Kallig’s representatives had arrived on station. He told them to stand by. The situation was not yet so chaotic that Bilsane would fail to detect the fleet breaking formation, and certainly Kirtyne, the captain of the Reprisal, would notice the Implacable closing in on his ship.
The battle before them was remarkable to watch, an incredible display of martial prowess. He had to focus to not be drawn in by the whirling blades of light, red and green darting through the air. He would be defenceless if they suddenly swung in his direction.
“Incoming transmission,” Preslov the comm specialist said, one of the few who had remained at his post, nervously bland.
“Put it through,” Cressinth ordered, parrying Kallig’s strike and spinning away. “I’ve been expecting a call…” The forward viewscreen flickered, and the two duelling Sith pulled apart long enough to look up at it.
The screen resolved into an image of a running light-fight turning a Commenoran city street into a warzone. The resolution blurred and tried to focus several times before finally clearing, showing them a small group huddled behind duracrete construction traffic barricades. There was a prim-looking lieutenant, a company of a dozen or so mercenaries, and chillingly, his family behind them, looking frightened out of their wits. The group was surrounded by a full squad of soldiers and commandos, keeping them pinned well down. A couple abandoned speeders sat in the middle of the street, repulsors destroyed and engines burning. He heard the sound of a gunship’s engine and saw a shadow pass over the street, heard Kallig hiss in consternation inside his mask.
“We have the targets cornered, Lord Cressinth,” said one of the commandos into the camera. “We’ll have them soon.”
“Good job, boys,” Cressinth said, allowing herself to smile slightly. “Carry on.”
“Pyron!” Bilsane frothed. “What is the meaning of this!? I should have known you would have something to do with this – this coup!”
Pyron remained silent. Anything he said now could make things worse. Inside, his blood had turned to ice. Either Kallig and his forces would find a way to salvage this, or his family would die, and he would kill himself to rid himself of the shame – or Bilsane would have him shot, which would amount to the same thing but with more humiliation. Either way, he needed to keep a clear head more than ever now. He tried not to look at his wife, at the uncomprehending fear on her face.
“I suppose you think you’re clever,” Kallig said to Cressinth.
“Of course I do,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not dumb. The weak point in all of this was Pyron’s family. Did you think you were clever? You can kiss the civilians and your cute little lieutenant goodbye. I’m assuming even you don’t care about the mercenaries.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “I can’t imagine you’d beg for their lives, but it would be funny if you did. I might even let them go if you did.”
Kallig growled, soft and venomous. “There are approximately six million forms of communication in the known galaxy and I cannot possibly find one that can express just how much I want to smash you through the viewport right now.” His empty fist clenched until the leather of his gloves squeaked, his whole body trembling with rage. A few drops of liquid fell from the glove, and Pyron swallowed as he realized it was blood. How…?
She snickered and began to walk towards him; he sidestepped as she swung. “Hold still!”
Kallig sidestepped again, leaning back against her strikes. “What horrible fate awaits me if I say no?”
“I’ll kill you slowly, piece by piece, until you beg me to just stab you and end it. I know, cliché, but it’s so much fun.”
“Pfa. Get in line. You’re daft if you think I’m dying because you asked me to.”
“I guess you don’t really care for those helpless innocents. Oh well, whatever.”
“You don’t know what that even means,” Kallig snarled passionately. “Any of it! You so-called Lord of Apathy, with your juvenile mannerisms… I’ll teach you what it means to be helpless, to have no pride left, to have anything you pretend not to care about ripped away from you!”
A whoop resounded from the comm, and an explosion, and everyone whipped around to see chaos explode across the Commenoran scene. One of the mercenaries had pulled out a rocket launcher and brought down the gunship; while most of his family was still cowering, he could see his older grandson grinning widely even as his mother tried to shelter him. The mercenaries were still cheering as a female alien Sith with twin sabers burst out of a side alley, jumping in front of the lieutenant protectively, yelling “Sorry I’m late!” A moment more, and the transmission ended.
Kallig didn’t waste an instant, lunging back into action against Cressinth with a hoarse scream.
“Those are Mandalorians!!??” Cressinth shrieked. “They didn’t tell me that!”
Kallig barked a vicious laugh as he parried her counterstrike. “And you thought I was dumb.”
Pyron caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Bilsane fleeing the bridge. He sent orders to other ships through his console, then turned, gestured to four of the soldiers still transfixed by the ferocious duel, and followed at a purposeful trot. Hope burned again in his heart, but he had something to deal with first. “Set for stun.”
Bilsane must have run in fear like he hadn’t run in years, because Pyron only caught up to him in the forward hanger, on the verge of stepping into a warming shuttle. “Moff Bilsane. I am placing you under arrest for extortion, unprovoked and unlawful assault of civilian targets, and dishonourable conduct unbefitting an officer of the Imperial Navy.” Emperor’s bones, he’d waited a long time to say those words. Certainly there were more he could say, but he didn’t want to be here all day.
“Pyron! You traitor! I should have you shot! You, arrest him!”
The soldiers hesitated, caught between the two highest points of authority in the fleet, and in that blink, Bilsane had drawn his sidearm and fired. Pyron felt a blow in his left bicep, spinning him halfway around before the pain registered. One of the soldiers caught him with a surprised yelp, and two of the others reacted, firing stun bolts into the shuttle, but they missed as the shuttle began to lift off, the docking ramp closing on Bilsane’s purple face.
“Sir!” cried the soldier helping him up. “Sir, you’re injured!”
He declined to respond sarcastically, though he was quite aware of the fact, clamping a hand protectively over the blaster wound. “Dispatch a medic to the bridge; I must return there at once.” Even if Lord Kallig lost the duel, Pyron would make sure that Bilsane never had another day to tarnish the honour of the Imperial Fleet. He was undoubtedly heading for the Reprisal; even if he made it there, he would not leave except in cuffs or dead.
He entered to find the duel still on-going. Both Kallig and Cressinth were reeling, panting, their robes both slashed with charred burn marks. Cressinth’s hair was dishevelled, falling over her face, green strands sticking out, and her stoic facade was cracked, her lips curled in a disdainful snarl.
But Kallig – his mask had fallen, the hood with it – he was an alien! Pyron would never have guessed, had assumed him to be human, but no human had crimson skin and a crown of horns. His eyes glowed a baleful yellow in his heavily tattooed face, the shapes of the tattoos resembling a skull like his mask had.
Pyron only froze for a moment. Alien or not, a Sith was a Sith; he would be no less professional now that he knew.
“Where is Bilsane!?” Cressinth shrieked. “Tell me, traitor!”
Pyron nodded, but spoke to Kallig. “Moff Bilsane has fled, my lord. He will not be returning.”
“Then there’s no reason for me to hold back!” Cressinth hissed. She flung out her hand with a defiant cry, and for a moment nothing happened.
The six-inch-thick transparisteel forward viewport splintered briefly with a spiderweb pattern before shattering outward, out into the vacuum of space, and the atmosphere hissed as the ship began to depressurize. The emergency shutter began to close, and Cressinth ripped it away, dooming them all-! Pyron felt the tug of the wind grow to a violent yank, and he flung himself behind a console to avoid getting sucked out into space, but there was no making it back to the door for him.
Kallig swung around, and the door controls exploded at his gesture, locking the doors in place so they could not close. Bridge crew all around were clinging to consoles against the wind; a lucky few made it to the opening and escaped. The depressurization klaxon was wailing and the emergency lights were spinning, only adding to the pandemonium. Kallig was looking around frantically, lightsaber forgotten; a flailing ensign slid past him and Kallig grabbed him and flung him back to safety. How he maintained his own balance was a mystery to Pyron. The air was getting thin, and Pyron was beginning to wheeze even though he was not exerting himself. They only had moments left…
“Why!?” Cressinth cried, charging at Kallig with her lightsaber raised. “Why do you protect them!? You are no true Sith!”
Kallig chuckled low in his throat, sounding just a little bit demented. “Oh, I’m the truest Sith you’ll ever meet.” He sank into a wide crouch, raised his hands decisively, and the room fairly hummed with invisible energy. He snarled – and for a moment, looked truly terrifying, even more inhuman than he already did – by the Emperor, were those fangs? Lightning crackled around his body; several lighting panels exploded; and just as Cressinth reached him, the flooring swelled up in the centre of the room before tearing free with a popping of nuts and bolts. Cressinth swung; Kallig ducked, halfway, and lightning sizzled and spat, blindingly bright. There were two simultaneous shrieks, one low, one high, and Cressinth was sucked out the gaping viewport. The floor panels slammed over the viewport behind her, and the howl of escaping air dwindled to a whistle. The panels bent in the middle – they weren’t made to withstand this sort of pressure – but held.
Kallig was shaking violently, a new dark slash visible on his left sleeve, his face transformed into something hideous and demonic. Slowly, he swayed to one side, his eyes unfocusing slightly. Pyron cautiously climbed to his feet and Kallig straightened abruptly, turning towards him with a detached, calm expression – though his hands were still trembling. “Admiral.” The darkness was gone from his face, and he looked like… an ordinary young alien man, if slightly… unwell, somehow. And very grim.
“My lord,” Pyron said. The air was terribly thin, and he could hear it still escaping, yet he could still gather his dignity. “There is yet one task remaining to us. May I complete it?”
Kallig silently gestured to Moff Bilsane’s former seat. Pyron walked over and sat, and couldn’t help letting out a quiet sigh of satisfaction. This was where he belonged. He glanced around at the bridge crew pointedly, and they hurried to their stations, looking to him for orders. “Battle stations. Shields up, and stand by. Implacable, Doombringer, report.”
“We are battle-ready and await your command, sir,” replied Taugel, the captain of the Implacable. Yes, the armoured Destroyer was right where he needed it to be – flanking the Reprisal closely. The Doombringer and the Infernal had taken up stations fore and aft of the Reprisal, not to block it in, but to inflict maximum damage while receiving minimal. The Reprisal had begun to move forward, out of formation, but had paused, probably to pick up Bilsane’s shuttle. Technicians were rushing into the bridge; most of them hurried to the broken viewport, to spray expanding sealant all over it until the bridge could be vacated for proper repairs. The effect on the atmospheric pressure was immediate, thank the Emperor. One of them was a medic who hurried to Pyron’s side and began to bandage his arm. Another medic went to Kallig, who sidestepped her, even though he’d been much more badly wounded than Pyron had been.
“Hold position.” With any luck, they would not be forced to action. “Reprisal.”
The forward viewscreen blinked on again, Moff Bilsane filling most of it. “You think you have won, don’t you, Pyron!? Imperial High Command will have you destroyed for this! This is mutiny! Treason! Dishonourable conduct unbefitting an officer of the Imperial Navy, indeed! Mark my words-”
“Now you mark me and mine,” Kallig said suddenly, taking a step forward into the range of the holocam. “High Command has lost interest in you. What little protection you had has been utterly stripped. I command here now – and Moff Pyron will see my commands fulfilled.”
“Moff Pyron!? Outrageous! Who are you, alien slime!? I am-”
“You’re an imbecile and a waste of oxygen,” Kallig said. “I am Murlesson Kallig, Lord of the Sith, and I will put you out of your misery.” He raised a hand, and Bilsane began to choke and gag.
“Cut the transmission!” cried Captain Kirtyne in the background, but Kallig twisted his wrist, and Bilsane collapsed with a gurgling crunch even as the transmission blinked off.
Pyron waited. Would the Reprisal attempt to fight? Surely there was no point in it? He attempted to re-establish audio-only communication. “Reprisal, come in. With Moff Bilsane dead, you have no reason to risk charges of insubordination. Stand down, and I will not be forced to destroy you.”
He heard Kirtyne choke off an inappropriate retort, wheezing before muttering: “Acknowledged. Standing down.”
“He’ll be gone in a week, anyway,” Kallig said, disinterested, and pulled out a personal commlink. “Drellik.”
“Here, my lord!” A cheerful voice answered, breathlessly, and Kallig breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Mission accomplished, all present and accounted for!”
“All?” Kallig asked, retrieving his mask with telekinesis and replacing it on his head. He seemed to relax when it was done.
“Yes, my lord! May I assume that all is well with you?”
“It is.” Kallig glanced at Pyron. “I’d like to speak with Lady Pyron.” Ah, that was true, if he was a Moff, his wife was a Lady. That announcement would startle her for certain.
Kallig passed him the commlink; he heard a moment of fumbling microphones, and then a hesitant voice. “Valion?”
“Sandana,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes… yes, I am, and so are the children and grandchildren. What is going on? The kind lieutenant tried to explain, but there wasn’t time – and then there was all this shooting…”
“There has been a shift in power,” he said, trying not to let on just how satisfying this was. “Lord Kallig has made me Moff. I’m sorry I could not warn you properly ahead of time.”
All Sandana could do was make uncomprehending fluttering noises. “Th-then… you are all right?”
“I’m quite well,” he said, and really, he was, arm aside. “Please continue to place your trust in Lieutenant Drellik and have no fear for me. Lord Kallig is in command of the 44th and is restoring order.”
“Well… all right then. Call soon, Valion.”
“I will, Sandana.”
That was somewhat more personal than he liked for the open bridge, even if the volume on a personal commlink wasn’t very loud, but he was grateful Kallig had allowed him reassurance like that. He handed back the commlink. “Well. Your orders, my lord?”
Kallig glanced at the viewport repairs. “Assemble the fleet for travel, and have these repairs completed quickly. We’ll set course for Axxila tomorrow.”
Axxila seemed an odd choice to him, but he was not yet privy to Kallig’s plans. “Yes, my lord. It will be done.”
“I’m heading to medical,” Kallig said, looking at his left arm, which he was still holding carefully. How he managed to stand so straight and speak with such unconcern through undoubtedly great amounts of pain was amazing to Pyron, but the young man was remarkable in many ways. “I will speak with you later.”
“Yes, my lord.”
His injuries bandaged in kolto by medics who were almost too afraid to touch him, Murlesson went up to Bilsane’s quarters. He didn’t care for looking into the dead man’s effects at all, and would be perfectly happy to have every sign of him wiped from the ship. He was just looking for a quiet place to drop his guard and deal with some personal business. Somewhere that wasn’t someone’s closet, as he’d been doing until Cressinth showed up and he’d had to leave. Khem and Revel had transferred to the Acrimonious and into suitable quarters until they met their rendezvous with the Viper.
The guards let him in at once, and he locked the door behind himself, glanced around at the uselessly luxurious trappings, and found a sofa that didn’t look terrible. He sank onto it, his head in his hands, and moaned. Everything hurt. He’d pushed himself very hard and taken a severe hit – but if he hadn’t taken the hit, everyone else on the bridge would have died. Probably. Maybe. It was all rather a blur and it was possible he had actually had time to take care of Cressinth first and fix the window after. At least his willingness to shed his own blood meant Pyron trusted him more now.
I suppose you’re proud of yourself for proving what an incompetent nincompoop you are, began the voices in his head. Focusing on entirely the wrong things all through the fight. Naga Sadow would laugh if he didn’t simply destroy you for ineptitude.
“Frak off,” he said, massaging his temples through the mask, which didn’t work at all. His back and legs spasmed, and he slid off the couch with a whine. How much had it cost just to pretend to be strong? “What are you going to do to me now? Anything new, or are you just going to hiss at me until I keel over?”
That did seem to be the plan, but he still didn’t like it. He wasn’t sure how long he spent rolling around on the floor, dowsed in cold sweat, just focusing on breathing, trying to subjugate the voices by flooding them with Darkness and hatred and whacking his head on the floor, but his chrono told him it had only been about half an hour before he forced himself to do something else. He felt like he was starting to get bruised. Ashara would be upset with him. He pulled out his commlink with a trembling hand – all his limbs were shaking and he doubted his ability to stand. “Drellik.”
“Here, my lord! We have returned the Pyrons to their homes, and the hostile forces have withdrawn in full.”
“Good,” Murlesson said. Words couldn’t express how relieved he was that Drellik was unharmed. When he’d thought his plan was crumbling down… And to lose Drellik was… unexpectedly distressing to contemplate. Frak, he was getting too attached. He couldn’t help it, and it angered him – though he’d never admit it to Drellik, he didn’t deserve that burden. You think yourself ‘friends’ with the most insignificant of worms. They are all pawns to be used! You keep forgetting this! How many times must we teach you!? It’s no use lecturing him, he’s soft as a spacesponge. His strength drains out of him and he lets it run. Let it run, let it run out, let us in! “Is Jeik still around?”
“Yes, my lord! I’ll pass you over.”
After a moment, a rougher voice spoke. “Hey, Murl- uh, Lord. Good to hear from ya. How’s it been?”
“It’s been,” Murlesson said mildly.
“Almost didn’t believe it was you when you sent me the message. Lieutenant, I taught this boy to shoot a blaster not six months ago, and now he’s a Sith Lord! Hey, how’re your tattoos settling in?”
“They’re fine,” Murlesson said. Why was it he’d wanted to speak to Jeik, when he couldn’t think of anything to say!? “Er… would you be amenable to working for me again in the future?”
“Oh yeah, sure. Not the worst escort mission I’ve ever been on, by a long shot. Your Kaleesh apprentice, boy, he sure can go! Yeah, just call me up when you need a little extra pizzazz, and I’ll get the guys together for you.”
“Good,” Murlesson said, and hesitated. “It was… good to hear you again.” Even from the time his blade was a little sharper, he has attachments.
“Yeah, yeah! See ya soon.”
“What did he mean about Xalek?” he demanded as soon as Drellik had the commlink again. “I want the full report.”
“I arrived at the meeting place in Akbanthline Mall at the appointed time. The family were all there, as directed, and we left in two vehicles. We made it partway to the spaceport when the road onwards was destroyed by the gunship, and we were encircled by soldiers. It-”
“Wait,” Murlesson said. “Yes, I know the gunship was present, I saw it in the transmission the hostiles sent to the Acrimonious. But what the frak was Xalek doing instead of destroying it like I told him to!?” Jeik’s scouts had turned up a number of suspicious things – Bilsane’s soldiers, Cressinth’s added commandos, and the gunship on Bilsane’s payroll. The last would have been a problem – had been a problem – and so he’d ordered Xalek to destroy it before it launched. Either it had launched early or Xalek had ignored him.
He heard Drellik sniff and assumed he’d winced. “As I understand it, he was disagreeing with Ashara on the correct course of action. Shall I put him on?”
“Give me the rest of the report first.” Better to have the whole picture in case he yelled about the wrong thing.
“While we were surrounded and considering surrender, the Mandalorians arrived; unfortunately, Ashara was not with them as planned, as she was still… otherwise engaged. However, they were able to defend us without her support. It became more dangerous when commandos joined the soldiers, and the gunship began to add its support. That was when the Mandalorians deployed their RPG launcher, destroying the gunship, and Ashara and Xalek joined in the battle. Ashara defended us admirably, my lord, but Xalek was amazing – he went on the attack, and I do believe he eliminated half the hostile forces single-handedly… Not long afterwards, the hostiles withdrew and we allowed them to go, choosing to escort the Pyrons the rest of the way to the spaceport, where you contacted me to inform us of the mission’s success.”
“Now I will speak to Xalek.” He didn’t have the energy to yell at him. He’d save it for when he returned to the Viper.
“Lord,” Xalek’s voice said, deep and impassive.
“I’m displeased,” Murlesson said. “You dared to disobey me.”
“To fight-”
“I didn’t ask,” Murlesson snapped. Never mind. He had plenty of energy to yell, just none to do anything else. He could yell while lying flat on his back in the middle of the floor. Tear him apart, promise him torture, promise him blood! He found his other fist clenching and stilled it; they wouldn’t influence him like that, and he didn’t need his fingertips bleeding again. “You’re lucky you’re not before me now. Harkun might not have had the authority to do anything about that loose attitude, but if you deviate from my battle plans again for any reason whatsoever I’ll zap you to a crisp before you can drawl out another of your laconic words.” Xalek said nothing. “You’re confined to quarters until I say otherwise, and while you’re there I expect you to read some godsdamned lore.” ‘Go to your room and do your homework’, he snarked to himself internally. It was a soft punishment, but he couldn’t vent his anger in person at that moment, not without visuals. He almost hoped Xalek would still be defiant when they all rejoined, so that he could assert his dominance. You call that a punishment? Bite him, little snake, sting him, make him pay!
That was partly his problem, his lack of preparatory dominance. He’d wanted to use Force-users on that side of the fight, and from all accounts Xalek had acquitted himself well in combat, but he hadn’t worked with him before, hadn’t had the chance to instruct him personally. It was partly his own fault for sending out an untested asset. So it was with Sith. Xalek had to see his power first-hand to be rendered obedient, and apparently murdering Harkun hadn’t been enough. And this really was his last chance; one more mistake and Murlesson wasn’t wasting any more effort on him.
“…Yes, Lord,” Xalek said, and left.
“Any further orders, my lord?” Drellik asked. His chipperness was beginning to become wearing. Oh, make him shut up. Permanently, if you’d be so kind. I tire of his annoying voice!
“Just pack up and head for Axxila,” Murlesson said. “We’ll meet you there.”
“You sound tired, my lord. Take care.”
Murlesson had just ended the transmission when his commlink went off again. “Ugh, what is it now? …Kallig here.”
“My lord, you’ve an urgent call coming in from the Dark Council,” said the comm officer – the night shift officer, so Murlesson had no idea what his name was.
“Every call the Dark Council makes is probably urgent,” he grumbled. “I’ll take it in my private quarters.” He dragged himself to his feet and over to the holoprojection plate, taking a deep breath and forcing his pain-wracked body into a strong position. “Go ahead.”
Around him, holoprojections winked into sight, seven Darths on seven thrones. He knew them all by sight and name, but Thanaton was already standing. “Do you realize what you’ve done!?” he thundered. “You insolent boy!”
“It seems that I’ve pissed you off more than usual, so I think I’ve done rather well,” Murlesson retorted. He could not show weakness before all these powerful Sith, and while his ingrained hatred simmered deep inside, he wasn’t freezing up in front of them, let his hatred carry him to new confidence. “You certainly scurried into action quickly, couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” A petty charge… but how the Sith thrive on pettiness.
“Of course it bloody well can’t wait until tomorrow,” Darth Ravage growled. “We can’t have a mere Lord running around with a Moff and a fleet, certainly not one stolen from its rightful master.” Thanaton must have called them together, livid, immediately after he heard the news.
“Tradition and law dictate there are very strict rules of succession for commanding the military!” Thanaton cried. “You can’t simply march in and declare yourself master of the fleet!”
“Tradition,” Murlesson said flatly. “Sith tradition is as old as the Sith themselves – and yet the breaking, the side-stepping, the cheating of tradition is a tradition in itself. I walk inside the lines until it is necessary that I do not – and I know each and every one of you has done the same.”
“Slander!” Thanaton exclaimed. “How dare you!” He protests first, because he is the worst hypocrite. Look how this Vowrawn smiles. He is guilty and revels in it. Look how Ravage sours – how many of his rivals has he murdered in ‘untraditional’ ways?
Murlesson spread his hands. He could orate on this topic all day. “I know the rites; I know the songs, the dances, the lore and philosophy of a thousand lifetimes. And knowing all I know, in the end, my lords, there are only two things of importance to a Sith: Power, and the wisdom to use it to attain more. That is Sith tradition, from Ajunta Pall, to Naga Sadow, to our own Emperor.” Sith have no rules. Our boy spoke well.
“Haha! Well said,” Darth Vowrawn said. “You’re quite eloquent, aren’t you? I think the whole thing’s rather amusing, myself. Well, Darth Marr, Darth Vengean, what’s your take on the matter?”
“Unacceptable,” Darth Vengean said. “Especially since it is plain he only seized this fleet to continue his vendetta against Darth Thanaton. We will need every ship to be ready for the next war, not wasted in petty squabbles.”
Murlesson bristled. “Well then, if it’s such a ‘petty squabble‘, you tell him to stop trying to kill me.” He pointed hotly at Thanaton, who snarled silently. “And then maybe I’ll stop trying to kill him. Until then, he started this mess, and I’ll be the one to finish it.” Or we will… if we feel like it.
Darth Marr, who had not moved or spoken yet, chuckled softly. “A bold claim – and yet you are still alive. So far.”
“I am, my lord,” Murlesson said. “I am alive, and I won control of this fleet through fair combat against Lord Cressinth.” It was really surprisingly true. The Dark Council didn’t care about Pyron’s family, so all the tactical gymnastics he’d had to do to get the fleet on his side didn’t count compared to the fact that he’d simply punted Cressinth into deep space during single combat. “I would like to formally apply for recognition of my patronage of the 44th Imperial Fleet.”
“Who was your last master?” Darth Vowrawn asked idly. “Darth Zash, wasn’t it? You’re a lot like her – audacious, persuasive, well-read. Colder on the outside, perhaps, less charming than she was.”
Should he let on how much he despised her? “Darth Zash is gone. She died trying to kill me.” It was true she had a similar story – Thanaton had called her up in the wake of Murlesson killing Skotia, and she’d talked her way into a promotion instead of a punishment. Like master, like apprentice, like all Sith.
“Good lad. Well, Marr?”
Darth Marr was silent.
“He broke the law!” Thanaton exclaimed. “Return my fleet to me!”
Darth Marr looked over at Thanaton slowly. “He has shown his skill. I think I’d like to see what he’d do with a fleet.”
“No!” Thanaton cried.
“Let us put it to a vote, then,” Darth Vowrawn said. “To be sure, there are only seven of us here today. But that simply means we shan’t have a tie! All in favour of granting Lord Kallig this fleet, say aye.”
There were four, Vowrawn and Marr among them. Thanaton hissed and got to his feet. “I won’t forget this. Good day to you all.” He left the holoprojection.
Murlesson bowed. “Thank you, my lords. I’ll show you my capabilities soon enough.” Was that a promise or a threat? Even he didn’t know. His ghosts were cackling merrily away inside his head.
“I look forward to it,” Darth Vowrawn said, smiling cheerily at him.
Strange, now that he thought about it, about traditions and their accumulated dead weight, Xalek wasn’t too far off with his blunt ‘kill or be killed’ axiom. The difference was, Xalek thought nothing else necessary, while Murlesson knew it was all vitally necessary – to know, if not to follow. Traditions were a form of identity, and a useful means of exploiting people who had them. He didn’t have any he really identified with himself… that he knew of, and he preferred it that way, it meant he didn’t have the same weaknesses. Revel and Ashara would surely say he also had less joy in his life, but so what? You need to take more joy in destruction and murder to make up for it. Be like that Volkova girl! He’ll never do that, he’s too scarred to take joy in anything.
And now he needed to look into a few things, and try not to sleep just yet. Frakking hell. He turned off his commlink so he wouldn’t receive any more calls and collapsed onto Bilsane’s hideous couch again with a datapad. He needed to speak to the quartermaster tomorrow, get all this opulent junk sold off, get in like two mattresses and fifty pillows instead. A large computer terminal with many displays. Shelves for books and datapads and holocrons, he could keep a lot more here than on the Viper. He didn’t even know what to do with all the space in here, if he took the walls out there would be nearly enough room to land the Viper itself. He’d have to ask Ashara…
Pyron remained on station for the remainder of the full daily shift; discipline would not suffer one jot from the change in leadership. The fleet had been briefed in full about Lord Kallig and Pyron’s promotion, and he’d conducted a thorough inspection to ensure that everything would work perfectly for Kallig when called upon. Kirtyne was resentful and only made a half-hearted attempt to hide it, but the Reprisal was in battle-ready condition, at least. He was hoping to call his wife again at some point, but he would take the opportunity to speak with his new patron, perhaps learn more of him now that their situations had changed.
And of course he had contacted High Command to inform them of his promotion, to meet with his new peers. “It’s about time,” Moff Graham said calmly. “I offer you congratulations.”
“I do not,” huffed Moff Dolus. “Your new patron is some no-name Sith Lord setting himself against a Dark Council member. Thanaton will have your head! And mine, if he thinks that I support you for one minute.”
“Come, be reasonable, Dolus,” Moff Graham said. “Thanaton grows more insufferable every day. Our ‘ancient and mystical Sith traditions’ will win wars, he says. Not generals with training. If Lord Kallig can put him in his place, all the better for all of us.”
“I am pleased to inform you that Lord Kallig is a practical man in favour of utilizing all the Empire’s resources to their fullest capability,” Pyron said, feeling quite comfortable in his new position. He might be the newest Moff around, and the 44th might only be a mid-level fleet patronized by a currently ‘no-name’ Sith Lord, but he had the feeling that was going to change quite soon. His promotion was only the beginning of things moving and shaking in the Empire.
“That is very promising to hear indeed,” Moff Graham said. “Welcome to High Command. I look forward to working with you, Moff Pyron.”
“Thank you, Moff Graham. I am pleased to finally be in a position of use to the Empire.”
He found Kallig in his quarters when he returned at the end of shift.
“My lord,” he greeted him. “Thank you.”
Kallig tilted his head at him. “Why?”
“For removing a blight upon the Fleet, and elevating me in his place,” Pyron explained.
Kallig shrugged and said nothing.
“And for protecting my family,” Pyron added gently.
Kallig shook his head and huffed in frustration. “That did not go according to plan. I have punished the one responsible, and it will not happen again.”
Was that to reassure Pyron, or himself? As if he sought Pyron’s approval as much as Pyron sought his? He really was young, wasn’t he? “No plan survives contact with the enemy.”
“And if it does, it’s probably a trap,” Kallig said. “Well, that’s why I hired Mandalorians.”
“You trust Mandalorians, my lord?” Pyron asked. He didn’t much himself; they were too wild, undisciplined, and had no concept of what made a successful, civilized society. Well, it was just more evidence that Kallig really did utilize every resource at his disposal.
“I trust my Mandalorian contact,” Kallig said, and sat up, seeming to change gears in an instant. “Care for a drink?”
“Please, if you would be so kind,” Pyron said, sitting across from him. Kallig didn’t use telekinesis this time – too tired, perhaps, and Pyron did not blame him.
“I’ve seized control of Bilsane’s assets,” Kallig said, returning and handing him the glass, then leaning against the wall with his arms folded. “The illegal ones, anyway. I looked into Imperial law on the matter, and by rights they should return to the communities he stole them from.” He growled. “How is it so easy to steal, and so difficult to return what is stolen? How I understand it, the monies will be tied up in court for months even though the thief is dead.”
“I imagine that the Imperial Revenue Service would need to do a full investigation to ascertain the true origins of all his stolen funds,” Pyron said. “But if you would indulge my curiosity, my lord, it seems odd to me that your first thought would be to return the funds at all.” Perhaps that was not the wisest comment to make; he approved of returning the money and didn’t want to encourage Kallig not to.
Fortunately, Kallig seemed offended by the idea. “Please, I’m a Sith Lord, not a Hutt, and this isn’t Nar Shaddaa. I don’t need his stink trailing the 44th after he’s been removed from the galaxy, and a goodwill gesture like that will go a long way towards dispelling it.” He huffed. “I don’t need the Revenue Service involved. I’ll return it myself. I don’t have time to mess around with bureaucracy like that.”
Which was why there were always armies of lawyers happy to take care of it for him, but Pyron refrained from imposing his opinion on the conversation.
“You don’t seem very surprised by me,” Kallig said abruptly. “I was expecting more hesitation once you saw my face.”
Pyron chuckled a little. “You refer, perhaps, to the fact that you are an alien? My lord, I may not be ready to retire, but I’m old enough that an alien Sith is no surprise. Most aliens do not fit in the Imperial Military, but Sith command power regardless of race, gender… or age.”
“Oh, so you’re more surprised by the fact that I’m young,” Kallig said. “Fine, I’ll accept that. I have, unfortunately, been forced to fight with all my strength just to remain alive as long as I have. Which is very likely related to being alien as well.” A pause. “Shut up.” To Pyron: “Not you.”
“It’s a marvel to me that you’re likely young enough to be my grandson,” Pyron said, earning himself a disgruntled look from the young man – or so he guessed from the sharp reaction, mask and all. “And yet you have the cunning to seize command of a fleet despite High Command and the existing fleet’s Sith patron.”
Kallig shrugged. “Naga Sadow did far more. I’m just getting started – with luck.”
“I’ve heard of him. An ancient Sith Lord, was he not?”
“Naga Sadow is… essentially to the Sith, what Odile Vaiken is to the Imperial military, I suppose,” Kallig said. After a brief pause and a muttered curse seemingly to himself, he continued. “Even if you’re not a Sith, you could do worse than to read of his achievements. Sometimes I really wish I didn’t have to engage in all this petty bickering so I could have time to do some proper research. Maybe write and publish my own findings.”
“Research, my lord?”
“If I weren’t a Sith, I’d be an archaeologist,” Kallig said casually. Pyron didn’t know why that was surprising to him, but it was. Perhaps because this youth seemed too… intense for archaeology. And after all the military talk. “While the Sith of ancient times have been very useful in many different ways for what they left behind, I also simply enjoy learning for its own sake, now that I have the freedom to do so.”
“I wholeheartedly concur,” Pyron said. He was no student of history, but he certainly did love reading the classics; Imperial literature, mostly, and Grand Moff Vaiken’s journals and other war manuals, although he did have a soft spot for the novels of two centuries ago. With tea. It had been too long since he’d read anything, come to think of it. Once this campaign was concluded, he would have to make some time to relax with one of his favourites and a large pot of tea. He had a feeling he was going to appreciate it a great deal, if they all survived.
Kallig stood wearily. “I’ve begun making plans to draw out Thanaton; I may not be with you personally very much in the next little while. I will try not to pit you against fellow Imperials, but the fact of the matter is that my objective is eliminating Thanaton, and he will undoubtedly try to use his fleets to protect himself – unless I’m very clever. Which I usually am.”
“I will do my best to serve,” Pyron assured him. “Best to deal with Thanaton now, before the war springs up again-”
Kallig’s commlink was going off again. The young man sighed and dug around for it in his pocket. “I’m very popular today, it seems. …Kallig here.”
“Murlesson,” said a smooth, cultured voice. “Is this a bad time?”
“Not yet,” Kallig said. “What do you need?”
“I’ve finally cornered Kel Reu Giri. Unfortunately, I cannot fight him alone. And I cannot delay in defeating him.”
Kallig had gone very still. “What’s the matter?”
“He’s killing a world.” The other man’s voice hardened in anger. “One of my worlds.”
Even more author notes: I got the idea from the initial Xalek support conversation (he really doesn’t have a lot of content, does he?) that he’s an ignorant simpleton by Murlesson’s standards, so while he may be an unquestioningly-obedient honourable warrior blade, he’s not completely obedient in this part of this story, because he doesn’t yet see Murlesson as the ‘great warrior’ he keeps talking about in-game. He sees him more as a bratty kid who talks too much, which is entirely true!