This one took a while… not only was the actual writing complicated and challenging (and I went for a round of beta-reading just to be sure it makes sense, which was the best idea), I had been working on my Halloween cosplay and playing the other four SWTOR routes that I didn’t play when I first tried the game five years ago. I’m pleasantly surprised, they were all pretty enjoyable. Warrior is still my favourite overall, but Bounty Hunter is up there with Smuggler for entertainment value. Meanwhile, I had to restart Agent three times in Act 1 though until I found a set of decisions that I was happy with. It’s just really not comfortable playing a hardcore KGB officer, you know? And it’s much more fun if you put on the Ghost in the Shell OST. Anyway, my personal tier list is probably: Consular < Trooper/Knight < Agent/Inquisitor < Bounty Hunter/Smuggler < Warrior.
That being said, I need a break from the game and its terrible awful no-fun gameplay. I do want to ask if it would be worth getting into… the entire rest of SWTOR, as I vaguely remember playing Ilum once four years ago and that’s as far as I’ve gone. And if it’s possible while still maintaining my stance of boycotting EA financially. But it’s going to be a while before I feel like slogging through more terrible boring pointless mob-infested maps, so don’t expect any sequels in the near future even if I do decide to play more. XD
So now it’s NaNoWriMo again and I have a proper outline! Writing this has been like walking a tightrope. I feel like I’m learning to write all over again. Thanks to Tharash for helping me with the space battle in this chapter! And for beta-reading! He was a huge help both in tactics and in helping me figure out not just what happens, but why it happened. (Makes me wonder what would happen if he’d been beta-reading all along… but anyway ;D )
For this arc, Murlesson is less of a spooky Corpse Party-themed sad boy now; he’s much more an asskicking Disturbed-themed angry boy. I almost have a complete Disturbed collection so you can probably put their entire discography on random and find something appropriate, though tracks like Leave It Alone, The Animal, or What Are You Waiting For work better than others with less energy. I updated the official playlist so you can take a look if you like. I don’t have any specific listening for this chapter!
I feel like Reid, my DnD character inspired by Murlesson, is starting to bleed back over into Murlesson which is really weird.
EDIT: added a bit to a scene to elaborate on army sizes.
Part 32: Battle of Wits
The Acrimonious and the 44th Imperial Fleet came out of hyperspace some way from the planet of Corellia, close enough to see the blue of her oceans under the white swirl of clouds, but far enough that the larger moon was filling half the viewport. Cities glowed on the night side of the planet, sprawling enough for their lights to cut through the clouds and blaze into the dark of space. And above her danced lasers of every colour. The Republic and the Empire were hard at work throwing their forces at each other; pitched space battle was not usual, but both sides were determined not to give in here.
Murlesson was not on the Acrimonious. Today he was on the Doombringer. Best not to be in the most predictable place in the fleet. Revel was down in the hangar with the Viper, but the rest of his companions were waiting in various stages of jitteriness around the back of the Doombringer’s bridge.
“Contact,” said the Sensors ensign, a woman with short dark hair. “Sir, it’s the 43rd fleet.”
“Where’s the 58th?” asked Captain Eisek.
“Unknown at this time, sir. Scanning.”
Murlesson cursed to himself in Huttese, crouched in the corner of the bridge he’d claimed as his. Yes, he ought to have been sitting or standing in a central place of authority, but he wasn’t concerned with appearances – and was indulging in some contrariness in flouting them. With his cult, he absolutely had to be impressive every second he was with them. With the Imperial military, he could be an eccentric weirdo hiding in the corner, an extruded gremlin lurking in the shadows with his hood over his head. In either case he didn’t fit in. He’d earned his rank. This was fine.
Anyway, he wasn’t required to interfere yet, though his brain was churning. They’d anticipated that Thanaton and his forces would be already at Corellia by the time they arrived, that he would be able to predict the time and place of their arrival. While he’d hoped that Thanaton would guess wrong, he wasn’t surprised by the quick reaction. He could hear over the interfleet comms that Pyron was already calmly giving orders to move into a defensive line, with the moon on their left flank; they’d use it as a shield as long as they could, until they could get punch through the 43rd and get into the fighting around the planet. Strange to think that international war might be ‘safer’ than this match-up. But while they didn’t know where the 58th was…
Long-range turbolaser blasts were already beginning to gleam past them. Murlesson hopped to the floor to get a better look over Sensors’ shoulder. The enemy formation was wrong. Didn’t Pyron see it? “Kallig to Acrimonious. Hold here with the Implacable. The rest of the fleet will circle the moon.”
Captain Eisek gave him a concerned look. “Er, my lord…”
Pyron came back immediately. “I understand, my lord. Acrimonious, Implacable, hold position, starboard shields to full. Infernal, Reprisal, Malevolence, escort the Doombringer to the following coordinates…” At least Pyron caught on quickly; Murlesson saw the blips on the tactical display shift in response. “Expect to meet ships from the 43rd on the far side.”
Captain Eisek, finally understanding, gave his own orders, and the moon passed in front of the bridge viewport as the Doombringer spun, the Reprisal and Infernal keeping formation with her, the Malevolence sliding into a position at her stern. The Acrimonious and Implacable were also rotating, but only to present better broadsides to the oncoming Bloodletter, Spite, Hell’s Tempest, and Lacerator. The Implacable’s heavy armour would help with Pyron’s delaying action, but the Hell’s Tempest was a small heavy hitter, and the Bloodletter and Lacerator were equal in size to both Murlesson’s ships. They wouldn’t be able to hold them off forever.
The surface of the moon spun past the starboard viewports, but the minutes seemed interminable, even as he watched the displays closely. Watching space was useless. Even capital ships were visually swallowed up by the vast darkness.
“Contact,” snapped the Sensors ensign. “0.132 by 0.428, half of the 43rd: the Voidmaker, Ruin of Duro, Carnage, and Tyrant’s Blade.”
He’d read the enemy correctly. If those ships had been allowed to pincer the 44th‘s original formation… no one would have made it planetside. But now… He shot a grim smile towards his companions, whether or not they understood what had just happened. Ashara smiled back obliviously.
“Any specific orders, my lord?” Captain Eisek said to him. The enemy ships were coming fast, and beginning to fire on them.
He shook his head. “Get the Doombringer in a position to take out multiple ships as planned. If we can hit something in the other half of the fleet, even better. Avoid taking fire from the Voidmaker and Carnage. I trust you don’t need me to figure this out.” Which was the arrogant, Sithy way of saying ‘I defer to your experience’.
“Yes, my lord. Launch fighters! Helm, adjust heading .4221.”
“.4221,” echoed the Helm, and as space turned before them again, battle erupted in earnest. The full force of eight capital ships slammed against each other, battering against and through shields, scorching hulls, rattling frames with explosions. The Doombringer did less than the others, saving as much power as she could, mostly focused on finding the best position possible. The Voidmaker was the largest enemy ship in the formation, but the Carnage was the second-largest, and the one with the most turbolasers. The others would protect the Doombringer from them until she was ready.
Murlesson turned again to his companions. “Ashara. Drellik. Get to the Viper. Launch when you’re ready.”
“Yes, my lord!” Drellik was sweating, eyes wide, uncertain of his role in this situation. Ashara gave Murlesson a quick wave, grabbed Drellik’s arm, and ran. They’d take the Viper and head towards the planet with Revel, hopefully acting as a decoy to draw some attention. It would also help keep Ashara and Drellik safer than they would be otherwise.
The lights flickered, even on battle-stations’ power-saving half-light, and the gravity wavered as the ship’s generator struggled to keep up while reserving most of its power. Sheets of laserfire rained down upon them, despite the Infernal’s efforts to partially shield them; they were all large targets.
Murlesson chewed on the thumb of his glove, thinking. Their fate was in their own hands. His hands, even if he was letting the captain take command for now. He just hoped he’d studied enough historical battles to get through this. Even having a holocron of Naga Sadow injecting knowledge straight into his brain didn’t mean he was Naga Sadow. And it was a ridiculous endeavour to try to think of a historical tactic that Thanaton wouldn’t know; Thanaton was middle-aged and had read far more than Murlesson had time to yet, obviously, despite his best efforts.
“We’re fighting just to survive,” Captain Eisek said off-handedly to him, as the Carnage slid past the Infernal to start taking chunks out of the Malevolence. A pair of fighters veered near the viewport and away again; one of them exploded in a small flash.
“Story of my kriffing life,” Murlesson said with a tight grin. “We make it through this, it will be our turn to make him feel fear.”
The Force suddenly howled at him, and his gaze snapped up to the forward viewport. He couldn’t see anything, but he could sense it, incoming, danger intensifying sharply at a point… there.
He reached out his hand to catch whatever-it-was in space, and the missile detonated in a fiery blossom dead centre of the viewport at a safe distance. The kinetic energy, residually transferred through the Force, made his robes lash and billow as if they’d been caught in the wind of the blast.
He glanced at Eisek, putting on a little bit more Dark Lord demeanour. “That would have taken down our last bridge shields. Please don’t make me do that again.”
“Yes, my lord,” Eisek said, and turned to the battery chiefs. “Intensify forward firepower.”
“Contact,” said Sensors urgently. “The 58th is coming from around the planet.”
“They won’t be here in time to matter,” Murlesson said. They were nearly in position, only metres away, and his breath quickened in anticipation, watching the formations line up on the displays.
“Fire the Silencer,” Eisek commanded, outwardly cool as a Chiss, but inwardly nearly as excited as Murlesson himself… and the viewport lit up before them. A scarlet-white beam tens of metres wide appeared in space before them, burning through the Ruin of Duro and the Carnage, and beyond.
For a moment the image was burned into his eyes, frozen in time; then both ships disintegrated in massive explosions, throwing flames and ship fragments in all directions in a glorious blast of raw fiery power.
Murlesson whooped, arms in the air, before he realized what he was doing. There were a couple of giggles from around the bridge, and Eisek’s face was strained stone. Suddenly very glad that no one would be able to tell he was blushing through his skin colour, and fighting the urge to pull his hood over his head and force everyone to ignore him, he schooled his own face to sternness and cleared his throat. That was as good as verbally announcing his embarrassment and just made it worse. He ought to zap the crew who had giggled – a proper Sith would just kill them – a proper Sith wouldn’t whoop at explosions – but he didn’t need to lose the battle because his ego was dented.
“Ruin of Duro is destroyed, Carnage is destroyed… The Bloodletter is destroyed!” Sensors reported, not quite in control of her own emotions, thrilled at the destruction they’d caused with one shot – and maybe a little horrified that it was on Imperial ships. Murlesson checked the sensors himself, trying to focus past his roiling elation and shame. All three ships were virtually obliterated, non-existent, space-dust. “The 43rd is retreating, all remaining ships! The 58th has slowed its speed; the 43rd is retreating towards them.” The enemy didn’t know the recharge time on the Silencer was still over ten minutes. They didn’t have to know. The 44th was home free. The Viper had taken off and was also well on her way to safety.
“Well done,” Captain Eisek said. “Should we wait for the Acrimonious and the Implacable?”
“No,” Murlesson said. “We must reach Corellia as soon as possible in this window. Pyron will catch up. Hopefully by the time I’m already on the ground.” Pyron was aware of this part of the plan.
“Very good, my lord.”
Emotions and strategy didn’t stop him from texting Aristheron and Akuliina, packaging his message with the sensor and video data of the shot. “did u c that” Of course he knew how to spell perfectly, but months in holonet chat rooms, writing at extremely high speed, had carved all unnecessary letters out of his messages. Zash disapproved, but he didn’t care what she thought.
Aristheron’s reply was immediate, as he was somewhere on Corellia himself already. “It is impressive. I hope you can put it to better use against the Republic soon. There will be enough material to test it on there.” Well, that was to be expected. Maybe he shouldn’t have sent the video of exploding Imperial capital ships to the die-hard Imperial patriot. At least Aristheron liked the big gun. That was worth something, and he couldn’t stop the warm feeling in his chest from spreading.
Akuliina’s came somewhat later, when they were almost at their geosynchronous parking orbit. The international fighting was at present on the other side of the planet. “Is this your first superweapon?”
“shut up” Her condescension took the bloom off the good feeling; in fact, he was rapidly descending towards sulkiness just from that. How many superweapons had she had!?
“Oh, don’t be like that, it’s a nice superweapon. I haven’t had one that powerful yet.”
Certainly, the power of technology was nothing compared to the power of the Force, Salvara had taught him that, but… technology was still really frakking useful and he appreciated when it worked as planned. He nodded to Eisek, beckoned to Khem and Xalek. “I’m heading down. Stay alert.”
“Yes, my lord. Best of luck.”
He checked his commlink again as he got on his shuttle with Khem and Xalek, which launched among a couple dozen others heading towards the area he’d picked for his new headquarters. Fighters fell into escort formation beside them, and they were met by even more shuttles from the other capital ships of his fleet. “u ok”
“yup!” Ashara answered. “did the silencer go off?”
“it was spectacular, ill show u l8r”
He would have wanted to establish a base not right next door to Thanaton’s, planetarily speaking, but Coronet City was both the largest metropolis on the planet and also where most Imperial ground forces were currently fighting. It was the best place available to blend in, to avoid having to waste resources fighting the Republic instead of his nemesis. So he was on his way to the area full of the people he hated most after Sith – the financial district where all the corporations had their headquarters.
He was distracted from planning by an alarm going off from the cockpit. “What’s that?”
“My lord!” called the pilot. “An explosion on the Infernal!”
“Frakking-” He stormed into the cockpit, leaning past the pilot and co-pilot and peering through the canopy, fully aware he was in their way and not caring. The Infernal was already distant, but yes, he could see gigantic gouts of flame ripping through it, reaching out towards the Doombringer. It was a smaller dreadnaught, and it had already taken damage in the battle. This last blow was crippling.
“Clever,” he said. “And quick.” He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he hadn’t expected Thanaton to come from that angle.
“My lord?”
“Thanaton put a bomb on a supply shuttle.” It was standard Imperial procedure to resupply at any new planet if possible. Thanaton had taken advantage of it. Pretty basic, really, once he’d figured it out. He leaned over and pushed the comm. “Pyron.”
“Lord Kallig. The Infernal has taken heavy damage.”
“Don’t tell me that’s why she’s on fire,” Murlesson retorted sarcastically. “Can she be salvaged?”
Pyron paused. “Technically, yes, but we cannot take on two fleets while protecting her repairs.”
“And legally she’s part of my forces even in repair…” And if Thanaton was willing to strike at his ships here, he’d be willing to strike at them in spacedock. Corellia had good shipyards, but only a small portion of them were under Imperial control.
“The 58th is approaching,” said Ensign Rawlen, Sensors on the Acrimonious.
“Put the Infernal on a course to intercept and abandon her,” Murlesson said. Either Thanaton would destroy what was left of the Infernal, and there would be an end to the problem, or he would try to salvage it himself. Crippled as it was, it would take a lot of time to repair, and wouldn’t be a new problem for a while. “Then do as you wish.”
“Understood, my lord,” Pyron said. “Infernal, angle to intercept, then evacuate. Direct your escape pods towards the planet. Fleet, maintain formation and retreat in orderly fashion.”
The Infernal twitched as another explosion shook her, but yes, she was drifting away, presumably towards the enemy fleet he couldn’t see from here. Murlesson switched off the comm and walked back to his seat in the back.
Khem grumbled in approval. <You have finally become decisive.>
“Yes,” he said distantly, trying not to second-guess himself and the consequences. He didn’t regret the loss of a ship, at least. He’d been prepared to lose a ship coming in, that didn’t matter. As long as he made it to the ground, the fleet had served its purpose. He would want it to remain intact in case he needed it again, but it had been too good to be true that he’d be able to get in without losing anything. At least he hadn’t lost more, coming in against Thanaton’s entrenched position.
This kaggath was starting hard. And that was exciting.
No further sabotage had been reported by the time the shuttles and their fighter escort cruised into Incorporation Islands in the southern part of the city. Murlesson tried not to be curious about what was going on outside the shuttle, but he really wanted to watch. Now they were in atmosphere, he could hear the fighters splitting off to pull manoeuvres and shoot at ground targets, and that was not something he’d seen before – except in holodramas, and those were like real life the way childrens toys were.
Pyron had made an arrangement with local forces during the jump to Corellia, and the fighters were reinforcing an on-going assault on a heavily-defended Republic position. While they did that, half of the shuttles dodged turret-fire and congregated on an office building in a row of normal, if stylish, office buildings. The other half were going to capture a real corporate headquarters, built grandly on its own little island, only accessible by shuttle or skycar. In some aspects the corporate building would make for a more defensible base, but it was too obvious; it was his red herring. He was taking the less-defensible but more-inconspicuous building. Both were behind the Republic position, hence the need for the fighters’ cover.
The hatch hissed open as the shuttle bumped down on the duracrete. Murlesson looked at Khem and Xalek. “Well? Go play.”
Khem bared his teeth in a grin and flexed his claws; Xalek nodded wordlessly, and they left with a run of deadly intent. Murlesson walked out more slowly, looking around at the street, the buildings around him – seemingly taller than Nar Shaddaa, but that was only because the ground was still under his boots and not two kilometres away under accumulated structures. He had to crane his neck to spy the top of the building. The offices of this area were not built terribly close together, so Corellia’s warm golden sun was well able to shine down on every part of the broad, tree-lined streets, though it was a little obscured by the smoke that rose from every part of the city these days. As far as cities went, it was not his favourite. Ashara might like it.
The soldiers were running in, and he could hear blasterfire echoing up the levels. Murlesson did not run, walking calmly in their wake, past the barricades his soldiers were setting up in the main foyer, and into the smoking elevator, making sure no civilians saw him, feeling his power prowl through him unused. Most of the people in the building were surrendering, even the security forces working there. They couldn’t possibly hope to fight three battalions, a Sith, and a battle-hungry monster. He’d given orders to be reasonably lenient, and those who surrendered were being escorted to the door, where they fled gratefully.
He arrived at the top floor in time to find Khem toying with the executives of whatever company this was. The handful of humans were grovelling for all they were worth. “I’ll give you my fortune! Please! Let me live!” “Don’t kill me, I have a family – a husband, a daughter-”
“You will wait here until my lord decides what to do with you,” Xalek said with contempt, stopping Khem from lunging forward.
“I was enjoying the show, but I suppose I can do that,” Murlesson said, stepping into the office. “It’s fascinating to watch the rich suddenly realize their mortality… to whine like a slave, to beg for what they’ve suddenly discovered is truly important, though with far less skill. You don’t have much pride, do you?”
“No, sir, none at all,” said one man, transparently trying to say anything that would placate him.
He snorted. It was pleasant to finally be on the other side of the transaction, to watch complacent oligarchs suddenly discover true fear, but he didn’t have time for it. “I’ll take that money you were offering. Let’s see you transfer it.”
Shaking, they all lined up one by one at the central console to open their bank accounts. When they had done, he waved dismissively at them. “Get out.”
“You really will let us go?” asked a woman, and was shushed by her colleagues.
He shrugged arrogantly. “The Empire isn’t here for wanton slaughter, as far as I’m aware. You are of no interest to me now. Leave.” He nodded to one of the soldiers nearby, who nodded and sent word along the comms. When they had all gone, he turned to the window. “Besides, Ashara wouldn’t like it.”
“There is no pride in killing the pathetic,” Xalek said.
<They would be hardly worth devouring,> Khem said. <There was no challenge in capturing this place. What was the point?>
“The point,” Murlesson said, “is that Thanaton will have to look hard to find us here.” Not to mention several million credits richer, just like that, though he hadn’t counted on that. He spun around and pointed. “You! Lieutenant – send out scouts to familiarize themselves with the neighbourhood. If you find where Thanaton’s forces are, so much the better. Do not engage yet.” He turned to his minions. “Khem, go with them. Xalek, go to site two and take charge.”
“Yes, lord,” Xalek said, bowing.
<I will learn my hunting grounds,> Khem said, and followed the Lieutenant, who was no doubt thrilled with this arrangement.
It was a few minutes later that Ashara, Drellik, and Revel walked in, having taken a taxi from the spaceport. “Nice digs,” Revel said. “Did they leave any booze? Spice?”
“Look for yourself,” Murlesson said with disinterest, doing about five different things thanks to the command console his soldiers had already set up. “Quiet landing?”
“All good,” Ashara said. “Did the civilians make it out okay?”
“As much as could be expected,” Murlesson said. “Drellik, I’ll get you your team for your mission in just a moment.”
“I’m ready whenever they are, my lord!” Drellik’s job was to head out of the city and find a fallback position in as remote a location as Murlesson could reasonably make it to if he really screwed up. Just in case. His experience with the Imperial Reclamation Service made him an excellent choice for this responsibility, even if there wasn’t any archaeology involved whatsoever.
It wasn’t going to be the most dangerous job of his campaign, but he still hoped Drellik would be careful. Drellik was competent enough, brilliant in his personal sphere, but pretty useless as far as minions went, from a cold-blooded analysis of real power. But Murlesson needed him to survive, for his own sanity.
And Murlesson wanted it to be clear that he wasn’t going to be leaving Corellia. Even if he was losing, even if he lost everything, he’d still be trying to take out Thanaton, with every last breath of hate in him.
Drellik left, and that was when Ashara got bored enough to bug him. “Okay, this is where the briefings kind of stopped. What’s the plan now? I know you can’t take Thanaton on by overwhelming him, but doesn’t that mean you should consolidate all your stuff so you can hit him really hard in one spot?”
“That means he could hit me really hard back,” he said, sending out more orders. “And it would be much more costly for me than for him. Didn’t you notice how we barely got to the planet? He has the capacity to field at least two divisions – about 50,000 troops – and I’m sure he went and whined at the Minister of War to top him off. He’s a Dark Councillor. He can have whatever he wants.”
“Ohhh,” she said. “And how many guys do you have?”
His fleet had not been stuffed full of infantry when he took it over, and though High Command had been willing to let him have the fleet, he hadn’t been able to request more ground troops. They probably thought he was going to die in this kaggath and that wasting their men on him was foolish. “About 5000.”
She was taken aback for a bit by such a terrible ratio, but rallied quickly. “Well, I was told it’s not the size of the army that really counts, it’s how you use it. Right?” She waggled her eyebrows.
He laughed, abruptly and genuinely. He hadn’t expected that. “Quite. I’m much better off diffusing my forces into cells and then using them simultaneously from different angles. A net instead of a hammer.”
“Ohhh. That makes sense. I’m more of a hammer girl, myself.”
That earned her a raised eyebrow from him. “You don’t say. But right now, I’m going to go get some more allies.”
“Are you allowed?” she asked dubiously. “With the ‘power base’ thing?”
He grinned at her. “Does it matter?”
She grinned back. “No! Cheating sounds like fun. Where do we start?”
“I’m going to start with the most dangerous lot first, with Revel, and then I’m going to start a new cult branch, and by then hopefully Jeik will be here with his team. I’m hoping you’ll join me when I go contact the Selonians.”
“Ooh, I’d love to,” she said. “They’re gorgeous people. Man, I love watching you take charge and being badass and clever and stuff.”
“Er. Thanks.”
Soldiers were still dragging in the large holocomm unit and hooking it up when it began to signal. Murlesson glared at it in irritated premonition, and as the technicians finished and backed away, he stepped up to it… to see Thanaton. “What do you want?” He should have changed his public holocomm frequency.
“I thought I would welcome you to Corellia,” Thanaton said smoothly. “Notorious for its independent, stubborn, reckless citizens, rich in wealth, technology, industry, and culture, it is one of the jewels of the galaxy, and will only shine brighter once it’s brought under Imperial rule. How are you settling in?”
“Sounds like I’ll be right at home,” Murlesson shot back. “After I shoot the rest of your fleet out from under you.”
That did ruffle a feather or two, though not as many as he might have hoped. “It’s hardly impressive that you got the Silencer working,” Thanaton told him. “Especially after you lost far more from one… ‘careless’ supply shuttle. And I would have been very disappointed if you weren’t clever enough to make it to ground at this point. But I can assume you’re very busy. Scurry all you like – I’ll be coming for you.”
“Schutta,” Murlesson growled after Thanaton’s image winked out; the holocomm immediately went off again. Pyron was calling. “Yes?”
“I have discovered the location of Thanaton’s base of operations,” Pyron said. “He is operating out of the Museum of Corellian Industry in the government district.”
“Because of course he would be in a museum,” Murlesson said. “I hope he enjoys it for now. How long do you think before he finds my locations?”
“A matter of days, if not less,” Pyron said. “It’s quite difficult to keep information from our own people, especially in logistical matters.” Obviously, that was how Pyron had discovered Thanaton so quickly.
“Yes, that’s one of the Empire’s greatest skills,” Murlesson mumbled to himself. He was going to have to move regularly. “All right. I’m leaving the space conflict in your hands. Fight the Republic if you wish, but I might need you again before this is over.”
“I understand,” Pyron said. “I will join you on the ground when I am able.”
He shouldn’t feel pleased about that. He shook his emotions away and buried his head in his console. Time to get some frakking work done.
Over the next couple of days, Revel helped him track down some of the more notorious local gangs. Not the ones that had dealings off-planet; he didn’t need to get tangled up with the Exchange or anything. But local Corellian criminals, on their own turf, paid well from the ransom he’d gotten from the corporate executives, would be probably more than happy to attack specific Imperial installations.
He went out in casual clothing, the same clothes he’d worn on that date with Ashara, actually, because that was about all he had, though he kept his circlet on because he needed it. Hopefully most people would interpret it just as Zabrak jewellery; many of his species liked to decorate their bodies with more than tattoos. He was following his clues up north into a less-wealthy urban neighbourhood, and the dirtier the streets got, the more it felt like home. The area was pretty heavily cratered; it seemed the war had dropped more than a few bombs in this area. He felt a flare of bitterness as he passed one. Of course more bombs would fall here than in the financial district. No one cared about the ‘lower classes’.
He was pretty far in when he sensed they were being followed. One follower became two, quickly, and they must have been coordinating because two became four, and he sensed others ahead of him with awareness and intent.
“We’re being followed,” Revel said to him out of the side of his mouth.
“I’m aware,” Murlesson said dryly. “And flanked, and met.”
“Forgot you have extra-strong handwaver powers,” Revel said. “These ones are the Silverfists; their boss is Kitt Lyth.”
“The younger group you contacted, yes?”
“Yeah. You wanna try stepping into an alley for the laughs?”
“Frak, yes.”
They took a hard left and swung into a narrow alley between apartment buildings. Instantly, teens and young men of several species filled in the ends both behind them and ahead of them. “You came to the wrong neighbourhood, off-worlders,” called one of them.
Murlesson put his hands in his pockets, imitating their stance, and did not raise his voice. “I’m looking for Kitt Lyth.”
A Nautolan stepped forward cautiously. “I’m Kitt. You’re back, old man.”
“I’m not old,” Revel said, and stopped at Murlesson’s raised eyebrow. “Well, compared to you punks, I might be. Yeah, I’m back. Brought my boss, the one who wanted a word with you.”
The Nautolan glared at Murlesson, sizing him up, his sense contemptuous. “This kid? With his fancy leather jacket and brow band? Pfft. What a poser.”
Murlesson laughed. “You wouldn’t be the first to underestimate me.” He stepped forward until he was looming over Kitt. “Or the last. What’ll it be… ‘kid’?”
Kitt hesitated, but he was too far forward to get behind a fellow gang member without losing face. He swung a punch at Murlesson’s gut… a punch that never arrived. Unguarded panic spread over his face before he had the grand idea to punch with his other fist.
Murlesson stepped around him, leaving him hanging there with both fists pulled back, his arms caught in the Force. He hadn’t even needed to take his hands out of his pockets to make an overt mnemonic. “Well, that went swimmingly. Care to listen to my offer before you fail to establish dominance again?”
Kitt growled and struggled with the rest of his body, his sense embarrassed, confused and angry, but Murlesson’s Force-grip was quite strong and he was only tiring himself out. “How dare you…! I don’ know what kinda trick you pulled, but… Boys! Get the Zabrak! The old man’s nothin’.”
Murlesson let them all charge a couple steps, and then raised a hand to manipulate their sight. They stumbled to a halt, rubbing their eyes, looking around. “Where’d he go?” “Kitt, you okay?”
“I’m over here, but I’m losing patience,” Murlesson said from the end of the alley, behind them. “Do you want me to give you credits or not?”
That got their attention, and even the two humans tugging on Kitt’s arms to try and free him from the empty air that held him fast turned to look at him.
He dropped the Force bindings and beckoned to Kitt. “I’m looking for a group who could cause a little chaos for me. Tell me, how much do you like the Empire?”
“I hate ’em!” Kitt snarled, rubbing his arms. “Kriffing Imps!”
Murlesson smiled toothily. “Splendid. Then you wouldn’t mind being a thorn in the backside of certain specific groups for me, would you?”
Kitt’s snarl faded, to be replaced by calculation. “We ain’t military. We have a few blasters, but nothin’ that’ll let us take on soldiers. Plus we’re good at shaking down the neighbourhood… or we were until you walked in… but I ain’t dumb enough to think I know how to attack the Empire without gettin’ us all killed… even if we had the weapons.”
Good. He’d thought Kitt was foolish, but maybe there was a reason he was the leader of this gang. “I will see to it you’re supplied with weapons, plans, and anything else you require to see my requests done. And credits. Did I mention credits?”
“You did,” Kitt said. “Where’re these weapons coming from? Don’t want no soldiers on either side coming for their missing guns.”
“The Empire,” Murlesson said. “But I acquired them legitimately – though I won’t say how. Suffice it to say they won’t be traced to you.”
Kitt, frowned, scratched a lek, then gestured for a huddle with some of his gang. Murlesson leaned against the wall with folded arms. Revel joined him.
“Good show,” Revel said. “Spanked them, then laid out your deal.”
“It’s a lot easier when I’m completely overpowered,” Murlesson said. “Try doing it as a squeaky twelve-year-old with no idea what the Force is.” It was nice to put some style into it.
Kitt turned back with his cronies flanking him. “All right. How much you offerin’?”
“How much would you like?” Murlesson asked, and they went back into their huddle.
It only took them a minute this time. “Ten thousand,” Kitt said, a bit defiantly, as if he was expecting that to be asking too much. “Per job. Republic credits.”
Murlesson looked around at the gang. “What, are you only bringing ten people to work?”
They looked at each other a little wildly. “Uh… Th-thirty thousand?” Kitt asked quietly.
“I’ll give you sixty thousand, per mission, and you don’t tell anyone where it came from,” Murlesson said. It was wildly overpaying them, but it would ensure their silence.
There was an audible gasp, and Kitt’s dark eyes bugged out more than they already were. “D-d-deal.”
Murlesson smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you. Comm frequency? I’ll be in touch.”
“Who are you?” Kitt asked, handing over his frequency in a daze.
“Keep an eye on the news,” Murlesson said. “If I’m careless, you might find out.”
He could already sense their wild theories; none of them were likely to figure it out, but that was part of the fun, wasn’t it?
“Just keep an eye on ’em,” Revel advised him when they were well away. “With that much money, sure, they’ll throw themselves into a fire for you. But it’s only a matter of time before they start being stupid, too. Possibly think they can bite the hand you fed ’em with. Or, more likely with this lot, get so stoned they forget to turn up.”
“Then I’ll use them while they’re still worth my time. And I certainly won’t rely on them for anything critical. The money’s nothing, don’t get hysterical.”
“Well, on to the… ugh… Shadowzone gang. Let’s see you do your magic again.”
“You said these ones were older, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, the Silverfists were pretty easy to persuade. Shadowzone won’t just be enticed by a pile of credits and scared of your teleportation trick. They’ll be a tougher sell.”
“No they won’t. If they laugh in my face I’m killing every last one of them.”
Revel laughed. “That’d do it.”
Setting up a new cult proved more difficult. While he’d brought a few senior cultists from the Screaming Blade to help him, first of all, just finding homeless people in this city was more difficult than Nar Shaddaa, even after asking the locals. There were proper shelters that provided for most of them, and he couldn’t just walk into such a place and try to recruit people there.
The actual homeless, vulnerable without the shelters they refused to go to, were much more sparse, and those that were there were very poorly off even by his standards. Most of them, as he walked among them, were hopeless addicts, or had a severe mental or physical disability. Most of them seemed completely uninterested in an existence different from what they currently had, content just to lie in a doorway and shout at shadows. As he’d hoped to be able to scrounge together some sort of militia from them, or at least saboteurs, or at the very very least, a passive observation network, it was disappointing at first.
Especially since, despite all their differences, he still identified with them, even distantly. They were the rejected, the abandoned, the forgotten. Like slaves that had been completely used up and thrown away. He almost wished he could do something for them, but they wanted nothing from him.
Still, he needed to establish an invisible cell. While the lack of able-bodied homeless was at least a sign that Corellians were unsurprisingly better-off than the residents of Nar Shaddaa, he was going to have to change his focus. Surely even here there was a collection of useful people to whom he could appear as a messiah. They just weren’t going to be the completely destitute as he’d found elsewhere.
Although he checked the cheap labour factories and found that even there he wasn’t going to have easy pickings. This really was a civilized planet. There were unions.
It was all made more difficult by the fact that Thanaton had patrols out looking for him, patrols often escorted by one Sith apprentice or another, who might see through his passive mental cloaking before he became aware of their probing presences. He had to be very careful. And that was to say nothing of getting past Republic checkpoints with Jedi, and avoiding international street fights.
It took him several days to establish that his energy would be better spent elsewhere. Partway through the process, he was coming back alone from one of his cultist scouting trips when he saw a familiar figure on the side of the street ahead of him, surrounded by ranks of soldiers. He lifted a hand in greeting, and received one in return.
“Aristheron,” he said when he came close enough to speak without shouting. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Nor I you,” Aristheron said, moving away from the soldiers, including Stroud, Murlesson now saw, so they could speak privately. “But it is good to see you, and to see you well.” His friend’s gold-and-black armour was looking a bit scuffed; clearly he’d been in the thick of the conflict for a while. “How goes it thus far?”
“As well as circumstances permit,” Murlesson said, glancing around. “He and I are aware of each other, but he hasn’t found me yet, and I’ve been establishing myself as well as I can before I go on the offensive. And you? What brings you out here?”
Aristheron grimaced. “Regrouping after a mission to bolster a shaky flank. I suppose I could say similar – as well as circumstances permit. I am hampered by fellow Sith with no knowledge of tactics or strategy – whose only claim to command is that they can swing a lightsaber, and yet they are placed in charge of battalions. And communication is lacking as our side vies for prestige amongst themselves. It’s frustrating. At least the greatest fool, Lord Razer, was killed yesterday and we can proceed without his interference.”
“That was his actual name?” Murlesson asked skeptically.
“Of course not,” Aristheron said. “That was his Sith name. Which I grant you might be worse.”
“Did you kill him, or did he jump out in front of the Republic with a ‘shoot me, I’m pretentious’ sign?”
“I’m told a Jedi challenged him to single combat, and both slew the other, which surprises me as I didn’t think he was that good.” Aristheron made a dismissive gesture. “He is unimportant. Your Silencer is remarkably useful. I would tolerate any number of Lord Razers for the benefit of having the Silencer on our side – as long as none of them had a Silencer themselves. Many of those with me, both Sith and military, agree.”
“That’s good,” Murlesson said. “I hear Pyron’s been putting it to good use after I had to use it to get planetside.”
“I understand you did what you had to,” Aristheron said. “I regret that it happened, but I will not blame you for it. If it were not for your conflict with Thanaton, I think most of High Command would be very happy to have Lord Kallig here.”
“That would be a novelty,” Murlesson said mildly. “But since Thanaton is on the Dark Council, they would rather rally behind him. At least they can’t interfere.”
“No. But I hold by my personal opinion that kaggaths are stupid and wasteful. And I do not understand why Thanaton would choose to have one here. There is too much going on already, too much to keep track of, without adding a kaggath on top of it.”
Murlesson smiled. “I know. It’s fantastic. A fascinating puzzle.”
Aristheron shook his head as half a dozen speeder transports came in, the lead one piloted by Vany, who waved enthusiastically when she saw Murlesson. “Well, if that is what pleases you. I hope you will join me in taking the fight to the Republic when you are done. The two of us combined will be very effective.”
“I will consider it,” Murlesson said, waving back to Vany with a lot less effort. “In the meantime, I’m counting on you to keep the Republic off my back.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Aristheron said. “I must go. May your battles go as planned.”
“And to you.”
He turned the task of establishing a new cult over to his Screaming Blade representatives, Effie and Nycks and their helpers, buying them a building to work out of and giving them free rein. They could spend their undivided time and attention in gathering followers, and in retrospect he had absolutely no experience in actually recruiting cultists from scratch. They’d be safer and more efficient without him hanging around. He’d check back in a week or two. Once he had an audience for a convincing display of power, it would be easier.
Without a cult to take into consideration, the last unofficial addition to his forces was of course Jeik and his Mandalorians. They were late, and Murlesson was in the process of getting his base moved to a new, even less-conspicuous location for the first time when they showed up unannounced, rubbing the sentries the wrong way and barging past all the soldiers packing crates and pushing loaded carts.
“Heyyy, boss!” Jeik greeted him with a jovial fist-pump. “This is gettin’ real, ain’t it?”
“It certainly is,” Murlesson said, turning away from Pyron – who had descended to the ground for an in-person update – and letting a nearby officer take over giving orders to the soldiers moving gear. “I am glad you are here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I’m glad you didn’t leave us behind when you fell in with those stuffed shirts.”
Murlesson tried not to snort. “It’s been strange, honestly, to have regimented forces under my command. While I appreciate the efficiency – and the superweapon – I think more unconventional forces are fun. Of course I wouldn’t not hire you.”
Jeik grinned. “Yeah, I’m glad you can afford us! Hey, speaking of which, did you hear the Great Hunt Grand Champion is here on Corellia too? Must be after some pretty gnarly bounties.”
“I did not hear that,” Murlesson said. “Tell me about this Champion.”
“His name’s Tarric Kotadeh, a li’l green Mirialan, beat up old armour, but don’t let his size fool ya. Tough little scrapper, and he will punch you in the face and set you on fire if you let him get into close range. You should hear about the impossible targets he’s taken down in the last year.”
“Can’t have been that impossible,” Murlesson said. “How much is he asking?”
Jeik named a figure. “Though that’s just for a Jedi. For a Sith, for a Dark Council member specifically… I’d guess that’d be quadruple. At least.”
“…Tempting as it is to blow my entire fortune to have him bring me Thanaton’s head, it wouldn’t be very satisfying personally,” Murlesson said, pleased that he hadn’t let his eyes widen in shock. “I’ll stick with you.”
Jeik grinned and gave him a loose salute. “Pleased to hear it, boss!”
“I have quarters set aside for you at the new base, or you can find your own accommodations. Settle in – I’ll have work for you tomorrow.”
“Good, a night to party before we get started. See ya tomorrow!” Jeik stomped out, his squad whooping and hollering behind him.
Murlesson turned back to Pyron. “Where were we?”
Pyron was primly not watching the Mandalorians leave with barely-disguised distaste. Despite being perfectly aware that he owed his family’s safety to them – to these Mandalorians in particular, even – he probably would never really accept them as effective and reliable combatants. “You were about to inform me of your next goal after this move is completed.”
“That’s correct.” Murlesson pulled up the area map. “If I can capture this base in Labour Valley, I’ll be able to access a huge portion of the tunnel system beneath the city without Thanaton breathing down my neck.”
“That base appears to be in a most advantageous position… for Thanaton,” Pyron said. “It will likely be quite costly to take it.”
“Certainly,” Murlesson agreed, and dropped his voice. “Which is why I’m going to let the Republic do most of it for me.”
“Canny, if you can pull that off,” Pyron said.
“You doubt me?” He wasn’t angry or annoyed, only curious at the choice of words.
“No, my lord. But it’s a tall order. Not my specialty. I prefer more conventional tactics.”
“I can’t afford conventional tactics. We’ll see how far I get, as usual.”
“And after that? You’ll have to fight the Selonians every step of the way through the tunnels, will it be worth it?”
“I have plans for that too. I think I can get them on my side.”
“They universally hate the Empire,” Pyron said. “Filthy beasts.”
“I didn’t say I could get them on the Empire’s side,” Murlesson said. “If worst comes to worst, I’ll scare them into staying out of my way. It would be nice if I can get them to harass Thanaton for me as well, though.”
Pyron finally smiled. “You have never lacked for ambition. May I invite you to dine with me tonight, once the new headquarters has been established?”
Murlesson was caught completely flatfooted. “Er. Mmmaybe. Can I get back to you?” Stupid, he was the Sith Lord, why was he asking? “I’ll get back to you.”
“Certainly,” Pyron said.
And Murlesson tried not to look hurried as he moved away, somewhere he could send some texts. To both of his Sith friends. “do u eat with ur mil officers lik wats protocol 4 a lord in a fleet” He’d already shared drinks with Pyron, a while back, but he… wanted confirmation. Things had changed so much in such a short time.
Aristheron’s reply came a few minutes later. “Yes, I consider myself a warrior as they are.”
Akuliina’s came second, again. “No, I’m better than them, lol. What are you up to?”
“killing thanaton on corellia lmao”
“And going on a date with your personnel? How naughty”
“wtf does that mean”
“Never mind. You’d better win; Thanaton is horribly fusty.”
“of course ill win”
In the end, stuck with two conflicting pieces of advice, he accepted Pyron’s invitation. And immediately regretted it. What if this caused Pyron to lose his deference, his respect for him? Especially without his mask to keep himself mysterious – though he wouldn’t have been wearing his mask to eat anyway. Druk. Familiarity bred contempt, and while Pyron seemed… friendly, in his distant, proper way, he… well, he wasn’t sure exactly what he was worried about, but he was worried.
It was a good thing he was too busy to stop working over dinner; both he and Pyron brought datapads. In fact, neither of them said very much for the first ten or fifteen minutes, both trying to consume sustenance and get work done as quickly as possible.
In the end, it was pretty productive, and the only really awkward moment was when Pyron dared to ask: “How old are you, by the by? I’ve wondered for some time.”
Not old enough to drink or copulate, apparently, was Murlesson’s instant mental rejoinder, but all he said was: “That’s classified until it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I understand,” Pyron said, with the faintest hint of a smile.
Murlesson flicked his eyes up to look suspiciously at him. “Why do you ask?”
“Like I have said before, you are young enough to be my grandson, if my ignorant estimation is anywhere near correct, but you have knowledge and wit far beyond your years. It’s still impressive to me, even after working with you as I have.”
Empty flattery, or genuine interest? The Force suggested the latter, but it was hard to believe when he was so sarcastic himself. “What are your grandchildren like?” he asked abruptly.
“Rambunctious,” Pyron said, with a proud smile. “Much younger than you, not as clever, but still very smart. The older boy enjoys chemistry, and the younger boy is fascinated by engines. They are good boys, both of them.”
Murlesson slowly put down his datapad. “…What is it like, having a family?” He regretted the question the moment it left his mouth. Pyron’s expression didn’t change – long years of practice not reacting to anything, likely – but his sense in the Force sent out a wave of pity and concern. “Forget I asked.”
Pyron did not comply with his request, gazing off into the distance as he considered his answer. “I imagine it’s one of the most fulfilling things in the galaxy. To raise a new generation into society, teaching them right from wrong and watching them become their own complete persons, that is the purpose of modern sentient life, is it not? For me, my wife, my children, my grandchildren… They are the reason I fight. I fight to maintain the necessary order in the galaxy that they may live safely and happily, and have the best life that they can.”
“That doesn’t sound real,” Murlesson said bluntly. “That’s what people say in holodramas.”
Pyron couldn’t resist a smirk, apparently. “It can be true, too.”
“If you say so.”
Real and false information planted where the Republic could conveniently recover it led in due course to an attack on the Labour Valley stronghold, which was situated in a small factory near the southern side of the valley, unknowingly aided and abetted by gang harassment on Thanaton’s supplies and support facilities. Lord Skar would have his hands full fending them off. Pyron wasn’t happy about giving ground to the Republic, even temporarily, but like Aristheron, was brought over with assurances that it was only temporary. And if all went according to plan, the Republic wouldn’t even take the base completely before Murlesson took it himself.
Murlesson was not observing the attack from his own base in a former administrative complex nearby, nor was even anywhere near the fighting. He was leading his Mandalorians on the hunt for Mwi, an Aqualish mercenary whose large squad bolstered Skar’s forces and tactics. His plan was to divide Skar’s forces to destroy them piecemeal before taking out Skar himself, so he had his analysts also fabricate a gathering of discontented factory workers who didn’t exist. Skar wouldn’t tolerate brewing rebellion in his jurisdiction, and Mwi would be the most suitable underling to send to investigate. So far it was working.
The waiting was the worst part. Murlesson could be very patient when he knew what he was being patient for, but with the anticipation of bloodshed ahead, he found it more difficult than usual to sit still in the street alcove he occupied with Jeik and two other Mandalorians. He wished he’d brought a datapad, but realized he probably wouldn’t have the attention to actually read it. Jeik invited him to join in their dice game and he declined.
Mwi was later than expected, and came in faster than expected. Though on foot, his mercenaries were heading to cover almost before Jeik’s sniper took her first shot. Mwi had expected a trap, Murlesson guessed. Smart man, but he probably hadn’t realized what the trap was made of.
Still, the mercenaries had spread into a wide formation, finding their own cover, keeping the Mandalorians’ heads down with sustained fire. “Dank ferrik,” Jeik said, tapping his comm. “Steady, boys and girls, we’re only outnumbered four to one. Vaughn, grenades at will. Yong, how’s your sniper perch?” There was a punting noise and a dull thud as the grenade launcher went off.
Murlesson cracked his neck and shoulders. “You keep them busy. I’m going to flank them.” It wasn’t originally part of the plan, but he’d kept his own role adaptable, depending on how things looked.
“By yourself?” Jeik gave him a confused look. Murlesson raised an eyebrow. “Well, okay! I’ll believe you! You sure you don’t want company? Skoll and Jeeta here-”
“I’ll be fine.” Murlesson smirked. “Enjoy the show.” He drew his lightsaber, with its inky black core bleeding into a crimson glow, and cut through the hinges of the door next to them. It was a pretty solid fire-door, but that just meant it made a better clang when he kicked it in.
He took off into the bowels of the factory, closing his eyes and feeling out the way, the route that would take him behind the enemy lines. He sensed them moving; both the mercenaries and the Mandalorians were spreading further into the buildings around them, heedless of civilians – most of whom were wisely vacating the area – finding better vantage points to shoot at each other from. Down a flight of stairs, up a ramp, and he found himself at a loading door. On the other side were a cluster of mercenaries, huddled for cover between shots.
He ripped open the door with sheer metaphysical strength and shot lightning at them; most of them fell, smoking, but now he’d drawn the attention of the rest of the group, and they were all turning towards him… He pushed out illusions and uncertainty into their minds, making their first shots go wild, and darted forward. He’d spotted Mwi.
<Hold your ground, centre, hold your ground!> Mwi was squealing. <Left flank, pull back, right flank, lock him down – where is he!?>
“I’m in your nightmares,” Murlesson said, vaulting their cover and swirling his lightsaber through several mercenaries before they knew what was happening. It was cheesy as hell and it felt good to say. “It’s time to say goodbye to this life.”
<I think I’m fine,> Mwi said. <You’re the one stupidly exposed.> The mercenaries, despite the damage the Mandalorians were doing, seemed weirdly focused on him. Were they out to get him the way he was out to get Mwi? The blaster bolts were flying thick at him, and he could block most of them with his saber, dissipating a couple more with his hands, but he’d lost his momentum for a second and was on the defensive. A bolt struck his left shoulder and he flinched – then dropped into the flinch, spinning low, and coming up with a forked bolt of lightning that lit up the entire street. Saber in his pained left hand, the Force in his right, bodies flew between the lightning and the telekinesis.
They were pulling back hastily, still with discipline, but they were in trouble. He could hear the Mandalorians cheering him on as he wove between the enemy’s shots, sliding into cover and out again, once more untouchable with the way he scrambled their minds. He sensed they were trying to get into a new formation, trying to react to his mad offensive, but he was too fast for them, deeper among their lines than they could adapt to. They were trying, he’d give them credit for that.
<Damn Imperials,> he heard Mwi complaining. <Can’t they stay off the comm for ten minutes…?> A pause to listen. <I can’t pull back; we have the Sith right where we want him-> Mwi listened, then gave a burble of discontent. <Everyone, pull back!>
That worked for him. Killing everyone single-handed was not the goal, and Mwi at least had reached an advantageous position for himself. “They’re retreating, Jeik,” Murlesson said to his commlink as he ducked back and allowed them to leave. “Regroup; we’ll follow at a distance.”
“We’re letting them go?” Jeik complained. “Well, you’re the boss. Status, everyone!”
Murlesson left them to follow Mwi’s trail immediately. They could follow when they were ready, hopefully quietly. They were heading back to base; had the Republic attack gone better than he’d expected?
There was no visible fighting at the base, which was a major cause for concern, and there were several Republic sentries picking up the blasted barricades at the entrance as if they expected to use them again, which was an even more major cause for concern. When they saw Mwi’s mercenaries running up, they shouted and scattered to defensive positions, calling on their commlinks – presumably to their main force still inside.
Mwi really was pretty good, Murlesson had to grant him that, watching him direct the fight against people his own level; it did not take long for the mercenaries to overwhelm the sentries and push inside. Murlesson followed quietly, nursing his injured shoulder. One of the fallen soldiers had a medkit on his body, and Murlesson grabbed a kolto needle and jammed it into his shoulder. If nothing else, it would numb the pain so he could keep fighting.
There was a desperate battle running inside, with half the lights blown out and the corridors a seizure-inducing torrent of blasterfire. The red and green bolts shimmered weirdly off the metallic walls and ceilings, made weirder by the thick smoke that choked the base.
In all this, it was easy to be a shadow slipping through, unnoticed by all. A mercenary ducked into the same alcove as him and didn’t take the least notice of him, shooting outwards a few times before taking a bolt in the chest and getting flung backwards to the floor. As he moved on, a Republic soldier did catch sight of him, peered, frowned, and took aim at him, and Murlesson tripped him and broke his neck as he hit the ground.
They made it to the command centre at the heart of the base, where there was little more than command personnel hanging on, taking cover behind shot-up computers and seats. Where was Lord Skar? And half his troops? The bodies he had seen didn’t account for what he knew was here.
They were at his own base. Suspicion congealed into certainty in his gut. But he couldn’t let this base stand, not when this opportunity was before him. He needed to ensure that this base was not recoverable, at least. He found a corner as the last of the Republic surrendered and the Imperials began giving orders to get the situation under control. Mwi was giving orders to set up defences against Murlesson and his Mandalorians, which amused him; little did Mwi guess that his perimeter was already compromised. “Jeik.”
“Boss! Where’d you go?”
“Hush. I’m inside Skar’s base. He isn’t here. I think he’s at my base.”
“Well that’s an osik situation,” Jeik said. “Orders?”
“I want you to sweep this base and destroy it when I leave. I doubt there will be much to stand in your way. In the meantime, ready me a speeder.”
“Hogging all the fun for yourself? Sounds good, boss. Just give us a shout, we’ll be ready.”
He switched the channel. “Xalek.”
“Here, lord.”
“Be alert. Skar’s attacking.”
“Yes, lord.”
He turned back and skirted the edge of the command centre to the comm room, where Mwi was entering. Giving a report, perhaps? He slid in behind him, taking up a position in the corner of the room where the holocam of the comm unit wouldn’t pick him up. Although it would be pretty hilarious to videobomb his enemy in front of his superior.
The holocomm flickered to life, showing not just Lord Skar – a tattooed Sith in heavy armour – but also a female Sith with elaborate hair, and Thanaton himself. Mwi stiffened – apparently he hadn’t expected a dressing down from the Inquisition – and so did Murlesson. Thanaton recognized the importance of this skirmish too, it seemed.
“What is it?” Lord Skar said. “Are you done playing with the Mandalorians so soon?”
<The base nearly fell to a Republic attack,> Mwi said. <Did you not receive word?>
“Do not be impudent,” Skar growled. “Your usefulness only extends so far.”
Mwi nodded, and seemed to be gathering his own patience. <My lord, we held Lord Kallig’s attention as long as we could, but we returned to secure the base. It is ours again now.>
“I rather you had kept Kallig tied up,” Skar said. “This base is not so important in the grand scheme of things. The Republic could not use it to take control of this sector. I didn’t think you so cowardly.”
Mwi flinched. <You know I am not, my lord. Yet the enemy is very fast, and daring. I am not thinking it is worth the money for us to fight him any more. He and his Mandalorians will surely be hard on our heels.>
“How dare you,” Skar began, but Thanaton stirred.
“So there is no critical update yet?” he asked impatiently. “You’re wasting my time, Skar.”
“I’m working on it, my lord,” Skar said with great deference. “The upstart’s base will be mine in a few minutes. We’re about to begin our assault now.”
Time to move, then. He jammed a knife into Mwi’s back – mission accomplished – and bolted from the comm room, to the tune of Thanaton’s startled and enraged shouts. The guards outside whirled, shocked, and he zapped them and drew his lightsaber. More came running, already wild-eyed from the earlier fighting, and he pulled out his commlink. “Jeik. Move in.”
“Got it, boss! Your ride’s ready when you get here.”
He shut the commlink off and breathed the Dark Side into himself. And launched himself at those that stood in his way.