Drakka stretched as he left the gambling den, pleased by the way his pouch bounced against his hip. Not so much profit that he'll be followed, but enough that he could afford a fun night in one of the better brothels.
Alas, there was work to do. The fact it took nearly three hours on a speeder bike to get to their outpost was bad enough, no need to do so in the light of day. The hell that would follow if he was tracked to their base wasn't worth even the best Mos Ila had to offer.
Straddling his bike, and taking a few seconds to check it hadn't been tampered with, he pushed off. Then he immediately set it down again, eyes flickering over to the spaceport.
Not much of one, admittedly, but for the Imps purposes it sufficed. Especially after their engineers had turned it into more than a smuggling post for the Exchange. Drakka pulled binoculars, taking a closer look.
The man, standing taller than most and walking as if he was the toughest bastard around, he ignored. The Twi'lek was more interesting, simultaneously annoying the armoured man and watching their surroundings. Her eyes found him, briefly, before flickering away dismissively.
He would have been insulted, he was more dangerous than half the warriors on this pathetic planet, if not for the way his spine itched when she had looked at him. Curious, weighing, as if his death was little more than an extension of effort.
Drakka refocused on the man, wondering why a twi'lek that dangerous followed just another human, before he caught the lightsaber. A lightsaber. Seeing as they were in an Imperial city, that wasn't a jedi. A shame, a jedi would at least lecture before taking a hand.
He fled, kicking the speeder into high gear and feeling marginally more safe as sand surrounded him for as far as the eye could see. A sith would mean nothing good. They might have to shut down operations for a while, wait to see what caught the things' attention. To hope it wasn't them.
Arriving, and ignoring the two sniggering guards as he nearly tripped when getting off the speeder, he stepped inside. The boss looked at him, waving for silence. "I don't often see my hunters leaving the brothels early. What has happened?"
Drakka hissed, bowing his head. Private grievances or not, he owed the boss a life-debt. "A sith has arrived."
Silence followed, before half of the people in the room scoffed. Idiots. The boss, at least, seemed appropriately cautious. "And this concerns us how?"
"Because it is sith." Drakka said, irritated. "And if it comes for us, we will die."
The insult and wounded pride turned the room against him, too many of his fellows thinking themselves at the top of the food chain. How they only needed to fear the Exchange. The boss held up his hand. "Drakka is right to be cautious. A sith, even should it prove to be a pup, is no easy prey."
Drakka sighed in relief. Finally, an ounce of sense. "Yet it does not need to disrupt our meal, one way or the other. Come, Drakka, eat with me."
"Of course. I meant no disrespect." It was a wonder how he managed to stay polite, sitting as he accepted something that smelled like piss. "My thanks."
Something itched its way across his back, ever so slowly creeping up and up, and by the time they were finally done with the useless posturing he felt like screaming. Food and drink was cleared as their boss slapped the table. "Now, let us discuss how to kill this sith."
Drakka flinched as the boss's head evaporated, the wall caving in a moment later. Shouts, screaming in pain and not, echoed as fighting erupted. He threw himself backwards and kept still, hands very carefully away from his blaster, and thanked the Scorekeeper the boss had died first. He'd have been honour bound to defend him, otherwise.
"Not him." A voice called, and the chaos settled enough he could see a man holstering his blaster. A blaster that had been about to kill him, and Drakka wanted to laugh. How easily he gained another debt. "He actually displayed some brains, unlike the rest of them. Honestly, talking about killing my Morgan. It's like some people are just destined to get on my bad side."
The Twi'lek. Drakka sighed, wishing he could say it was a surprise. Some part of him wished it had been the sith, so they could have died to a worthy opponent. The woman stood over him, tilting her head. "You speak basic, right? I think I have a Trandoshan translating program around here somewhere."
"I speak, great huntress." He said, making sure to avert his eyes. "I obey, as the debt demands."
Surprise, and something more, flickered over her face. She pouted. "You only say that because you saw me with Morgan. No matter."
The sith, if logic had not abandoned him. "Isn't a life-debt a bit extreme for this? Or are you one of the old ones?"
It was his turn to be surprised, looking up. The Twi'lek smiled. "I made some study of religion, once upon a time. Stand, speak. I insist."
Drakka stood, disliking how amused she was. "I follow the old rights, great huntress. I obey."
"I'm Vette." She introduced, appearing far too upbeat. "What's your name? The rest of you, loot and pack. We leave in ten."
Her people, soldiers, Drakka corrected himself, moved with practised efficiency. Not even a single casualty, although some appeared wounded. How little his former coworkers had managed after all that boasting. "They called me Drakka, great Huntress."
"So, Drakka, how would you like a trial-run position in my little organisation?" The offer wasn't unexpected, yet he still hesitated. To hide from this madwoman and her sith master. To be far away from the chaos they would bring.
"It would be my honour, great huntress."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Darth Baras, Dark Lord of the Sith and master of the largest privately owned intelligence network in the galaxy, did not like to be surprised. The fact he did not know where his apprentice was, aside from appearing to stand in some cantina, irritated him. "Why are you not on your ship, apprentice?"
"It was damaged in battle, master. Repairs will take time, so I sought to begin the mission immediately. My slicer has confirmed this line is secure and my men are keeping prying ears away."
So had his, but the fact his apprentice had access to one capable enough to determine that was a surprise. Another one, and two in such sort a time was not something that happened often. Not anymore. "Very well. Tell me about the battle. About your thoughts on Nomen Karr."
"He is steadfast." A pause, as if to collect his thoughts. Baras let him. "Self assured. He believes he knows what is right and just, and will go to extreme lengths to see it come to pass. Unafraid of sacrifice, either his own or that of others."
"You paid attention, then. The battle? I heard you took prisoners."
His apprentice nodded, eyes still averted. Respect, or did he know it made him harder to read? "I kept them in reserve, to use as a bargaining chip against Karr. The jedi did not care, so their deaths would have given me little. Perhaps Imperial Intelligence will learn something."
"They will not."
"As you say, master. The enemy ships were destroyed, their soldiers and sailors captured or killed. My own losses were minimal, although my ship will need a few weeks to repair."
"You spared the prisoners after they ceased to be useful."
The sith bowed deeper, if only slightly. "Their deaths would have achieved nothing, save the breaking of my word."
"Your word." Baras laughed. He saw his apprentice flinch, just slightly, as he pressed on their bond. "Means nothing to me. Their deaths would have prevented any chance of a leak, and would have spared the Empire the cost of imprisoning them. Your compassion betrays you."
"I did not care for them. I still do not." That rang true, to Baras's hidden surprise. "They are worms, for all the emotion they evoke in me. As I do not stop my day to eradicate every anthill and birdsnest I come across, they ceased to be important to me when they surrendered. Their captain's compliance ensured no holdouts would attempt something drastic, such as detonating the engine."
The sith lord grunted, waving the matter away. "You bring results, the games you play are your own. Bend them all as you did your slave, but the mission comes first. Find the padawan's master, kill him."
He cut the connection, leaning back in his chair. "Which is it, apprentice? Compassionate or uncaring, cold cruelty or simpering affection?"
Baras didn't know, not for sure, and it irritated him. It was needed, of course. He had thousands of tools, many more soldiers and slaves, but few apprentices. Each required something unique, something he couldn't simply buy or take. A spark, to keep him on his toes. To replace him, if one proved strong enough. Perhaps it would be this one, perhaps not.
Such was the way of the sith, but still it bothered him. He could see, strip his apprentice bare and satisfy his curiosity, but it would do little good. Temporary satisfaction for months of work, to say little of how rare a fleshcrafter was to begin with. A shame, really, that the art had been all but lost. A time when the sith could trust their legions absolute.
Still, perhaps his apprentice would show him what they were like. Before taking it all, of course, as was his due.
But for now he was contained, so he was worth the risk. Future tests sprang to mind, from pitting him against his other apprentices to making him kill his slave, but Karr was more important. More pressing. Baras sighed, turning back to his work.
'This is the way the sith works.' He reminded himself, bending to the task. 'The master demands, the apprentice obeys. Until the apprentice kills the master, and the cycle repeats.'
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Gregor groaned as his back cracked, leaning over his desk. The plans to decimate Cybers Chosen spread before him, but that operation had already concluded. His captains shuffled, clearly uncomfortable, and he finally looked up. "Spit it out, then."
"Lady Vette and her sith master have survived the attack, but their ship was damaged. They are stranded on Tatooine for the time being."
"They won their battle, and the ship can still fly." Gregor corrected. "And whatever business they have on Tatooine is their own."
It wasn't common knowledge, of course. Few outside this room knew of their boss's connection to the sith, and fewer still believed it to be a weakness. He himself had met the man, early twenties and carrying himself with the air of domination. Of fury restrained, a calm face hiding monstrous strength. The fact he seemed to care for their boss made it twice as terrifying, really. He remembered how far he'd gone to protect those he loved, and imagining a sith spurred by grief was enough to make him shudder.
"Even so, they are gone. She took most of her loyal men with her, including the mandalorian. Her influence here has never been weaker, sir."
Gregor nodded, a pleased smile on his face. "So it hasn't. Good thinking, captain. Tell me, how would you go about it."
He settled the disbelieving and worried with a wave, the young leader of the Grey Death spreading his arms. "We have everything we need. The men obey us, the workers do as they are paid. Helioas, even in victory, can be dealt with. Bert will do business with us regardless. She has no more power here."
"And if she comes back?"
The boy scoffed. "Then we'll kill her. The hutt's were ill-prepared to deal with a sith, but we have time. Weeks, before they finish whatever they are doing on Tatooine. More before they can marshall a force large enough to contest us. Beskar can be bought, soldiers trained."
"I see you've been giving this some thought." Gregor grinned. His eyes flickered to the Grey Death's second in command, a woman of some reputation. "Who here agrees with him?"
No one moved, the boy frowning. "Cowards. We could rule Nar Shaddaa, be what the Hutt's have been for centuries. We could be kings."
Gregor waved his hand, tired of the drivel, and the Grey Death got a new leader as the woman stepped over the boy's corpse. "Sir."
"Now that that's dealt with, let's move on. Unless anyone else wishes to suggest turning on the woman that saved the life of my daughter?" The remaining captains shook their heads, two of his guards dragging the body away. "Good. The Hutt's?
"Cautious, for now."
"They won't be for long. Starts planning for everything from undercutting our businesses to a full scale invasion. They have what they need to bury us, but the threat of the sith should keep them somewhat honest. Operations?"
"Smooth. The business model started by the boss is holding, and our contact on Balmorra is reliable."
"Very well. Unless anyone has anything to discuss, we're done here."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Vette shuffled as they took positions around the camp, wishing she had her own people here. Quinn's men were competent enough, sure, but she'd come to like having her own army. People for her to lead and teach, to terrify and train. Here everyone was used to Morgan being his normal self, so she didn't seem all that impressive in comparison.
"Mark in ten. Divide them, clean them up. No heroes."
The increasingly popular motto echoed over the channel as the lieutenants made ready, Vette stealing a look at Morgan. Standing eerily still, watching the little town as if he could conquer it with his mind. He probably could, too, the cheating bastard.
She'd noticed it, of course. How he always got introspective when they touched down on a new planet. She hadn't known better on Balmorra or Dromund Kaas, had teased him about it on Nar Shaddaa, and now here they were again. She wondered if more cryptic comments were incoming, nonsense until they left the planet behind.
Then it would turn out to be prophetic, and she knew Quinn had more or less started treating it like that. Speaking of. "Quinn, has Morgan been spouting nonsense at you? Stuff like, the sands will turn to glass when the second moon rises, or something?"
The reply took seconds, his voice annoyed. Professional, of course, but still annoyed. "No. Please keep your focus on the battle."
She hummed, doing just that. The mark crept to zero, and Morgan disappeared. Not technically, but he certainly moved fast enough that blinking could see him move dozens of feet. Spooky, she noticed some of the greener men flinch away through her scope, and very impressive to look at.
She aimed, almost idly, and her anti-material rifle tore through one of the droids. Big bastards, the X4-Z2, and a favourite of the Exchange. Her rifle still turned it into scrap. She watched as the soldiers carried out their assignments, what forces the Exchange had posted in the village poorly prepared.
Well, perhaps not poorly. Adequately for raids and mercenaries, perhaps the average Tusken tribe. Not the bigger ones, of course. She'd been reading over information gathered by her people, and apparently they could grow to hundreds of thousands in size.
Morgan tore through the defenders with contemptuous ease, his two shadows hunting the droids as if a game. Knowing Alyssa and Inara, it probably was. Vette stood, stretching as she put her rifle away. 'All that planning for thirty seconds of combat.'
Striding into the village, and ignoring what soldiers saluting her, she entered the hut Morgan had vanished into. It would hold Izzeebowe Jeef, a name she couldn't help but roll her eyes at, and according to Sharack he would tell them how to follow the padawan. She'd mostly skimmed her stolen briefing. That reminded her, she still needed to tell Quinn about that security flaw.
"-the tears evaporate in the heat of our sins."
She raised an eyebrow, looking at Morgan. He'd taken his helmet off, appearing, to all effect, to be paying attention. She could see the boredom in his eyes, though, as if this was a chore he knew was necessary but mind numbing all the same.
Well, at least none of the men had died. He'd be broody instead of bored.
"I understand. Please, let's get down to business."
"To do the business you are about, one must indeed sink very low."
Vette bristled, Inara and Alyssa not far behind. The old man seemed ignorant of the danger, Morgan waving his hand. She led go of her knife, reluctantly.
"You are the seeker Sharack spoke of. You wish to understand the jedi's purpose in the lair of the sand demon?" The man continued without waiting for an answer, cutting Morgan off mid word. "My eyes may be aged and failing, but my mind sees. Few are aware that Tatooine was once a place of positive Force energy. That the jedi made pilgrimages here to renew and purify. The sands speak of a ritual called the Demons' Blood. This is what the jedi that Sharack witnessed was engaged in."
"Interrupt him again and I'll slit your throat." She said evenly, catching the old man's eye. He blinked, seeming to just now notice her. "It's impolite, and I don't like impolite people."
Morgan glanced at her, a smile on his lips. "Vette, please. The old and inane are allowed some courtesy, and the sooner he tells us what we need to know the sooner we can leave."
She nodded, smiling at the old man. Izzeebowe spoke again, unbothered. "The Demon's Blood. A jedi seeking enlightenment would cover himself in fresh sand demon blood and enter the village of the savage ones. Cowering before the demon slayer, the savage ones would reveal the path to self discovery and to that which the slayer seeks."
"And where would I find the demon?" Her Morgan seemed somewhat interested for the first time since she got here. "A precise location, if possible. With coordinates."
"Sharack has asked me to prepare. Here." He handed Morgan a datapad, who turned and left with it. "Carefull, young sith. Tatooine holds more danger than you know."
He looked back, snorting. "Let's hope not. Alyssa, leave him be."
Vette watched the sith step back, disappointment on her face. Inara put a hand on her shoulder, and they followed Morgan. Izzeebowe turned to her when they were alone. "You have questions?"
"Many. He knew just about everything you just told him, didn't he?"
The old man nodded, milky eyes roaming her face. "He did. All but the coordinates. I do not blame him for coming. Hunting the desert is a dangerous enough task without having to guess its location."
"Hunting in the desert, you mean." The old man stared at her, not answering. She sighed. "Fine, be that way. You happen to know how he knows stuff like that?"
Izzeebowe shrugged. "He is connected to the universe. To time and gravity, space and energy. He knows because he can see, or remember. I do not know for sure which is which, and his mind is as protected as yours."
She stepped back, hand going to her blaster. "You're a Force user."
"And I mean no harm to you or your lover. The jedi and sith like to believe they hold prominence in the Force, but every culture in this universe has some relation to it. Priests and shamans, warriors and healers. They are revered as gods or condemned as mages. Practised as religion and science."
Vette relaxed as the man did nothing, staring off into space. "Does Morgan know?"
"He is certain of his knowledge, and so misses the obvious."
"That's not an answer. I've seen him arrogant and self assured. This wasn't that."
"He knows. He does not care. He protects me, in a sense, by ignoring my existence."
She didn't know what to say to that. "Well. Be seeing you?"
"I hope not."
Walking outside, and trying to decide if she liked the man or not, Hellen walked up. "Ma'am."
"Lieutenant." She greeted, looking around. "Where'd Morgan go?"
"Back to the ship, ma'am. We'll be returning shortly ourselves, if you need a ride."
"Nah." Vette turned, walking deeper into the desert. No one knew she had a speeder stashed behind a rock, so hopefully it would keep a few of them up at night. "Let him know mama is taking care of some business? I'll be back for dinner."
Hellen nodded, saluting, and she waved the woman off. The speeder took her to her own ship, the sentries only standing down after verifying her identity. Good.
"Dorka."
The mandalorian nodded to her, sending off the two men he'd been talking to. "How'd it go with the Exchange?"
"Folded like a cheap hooker." She grinned, her second shaking his head. "What?"
"You only get that crass when something is bothering you. No, I don't want to know. Talk to Amelia if you need counselling."
She folded her arms. "That's insubordination. Is it? You'd tell me if you were insubordinate, right?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, good to know where we stand." She pointed to the ship, already preparing for the endless complaints from her people. Not that she'd budge, of course. Keeping her people housed in the ship meant rapid deployment, and kept them out of trouble besides. The Exchange had a worrisomely large presence on the planet, and they wouldn't swallow their wounded pride like they had for Morgan. Say what you will, belonging to the Empire gave you a reputation. "Amelia's inside?"
A nod, and she was off. Boarding the ship took another security screening, this time performed by six bored looking mercs instead of two perimeter sentries, and she was inside. Getting to her own room, which she had also made her office to cut down on travel time, she opened it.
Mildly disappointed not to have Morgan here to annoy, and debating getting a second office on the Aurora, she shook her head. She'd see him tonight, anyway. Amelia entered not a minute after she'd sat down, pretending very skillfully she hadn't been running. Vette knew better. "There you are. I would prefer you'd not leave without informing me, ma'am."
"I was just joining Morgan for some light exercise. Didn't even get to speak to him, really. Waste of my talents." She sniffed for effect, Amelia narrowing her eyes lightly. Damn. "What were we doing again?"
Her deflection was ignored, and she grieved the loss of her ability to lie to people. Or just the people that knew her best. "I'm fine, really."
"If you need someone to talk to, you can always speak to me. Or Lord Morgan, but that would have been your first choice regardless. Meaning it concerns him, and you don't want to push the issue."
Vette sighed. "I hate competence, you know that?"
"Of course, ma'am."
"Fine, fuck. Stop doing that with your eyes." She took a seat, half heartedly picking up a datapad. "He's been keeping something important from me, is all."
"I do not know him nearly as well as you, ma'am, but he does not seem the type. Not with you, I mean."
Throwing her hand in the air did little to relieve the irritation. "I know! And he'll probably crack if I ask. But he's been keeping it a secret for a reason, so I don't really know what to do."
"May I ask what the secret entails?"
Vette looked at her, unamused. Amelia held up her hands. "I suppose not, then. Cheating, if it can even be called that when it concerns a sith, is out. He's far too devoted. If it brings you in danger he would have told you, which means he's trying to protect you by not telling."
"Yes, thank you." Vette said dryly. "A summary of my problems is just what I needed."
Amelia shrugged, a smooth and nearly effortlessly graceful gesture. "I suppose it comes down to trust, then."
"Yea." Vette spun her chair around, enjoying the way her lekku went flying. "I suppose it is. Let's get some work done."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"You are impatient. It does not suit you." Teacher floated around the chamber, a meditating Morgan the centre of his orbit. "What troubles you, apprentice?"
"Secrets and lies."
Teacher snorted. "We are sith, yes. I'm fairly sure I remember them being enshrined somewhere on Korriban. Big stone obelisk and all."
"I don't mind lying. I dislike lying to my disadvantage."
"Ah. Is this about a certain twi'lek?"
Morgan opened his eyes, sighing. "She's a good actor. Better than me. And she's being patient. I know she has questions. She told me as much, and then she also said my secrets are my own. It still bothers me."
"Is this a secret you are keeping from me also?" The cube tightened its orbit, Teacher's voice echoing around the room strangely. "I would remind you I hold little ambition. That I have no others to talk to, even if I wished to betray your trust."
Morgan snorted. "Leave it be. It's not something I'm going to say out loud, for one. You insisted I meditate, I've meditated. Not feeling much better, so can we try something else?"
Silence followed, only interrupted by the slight flailing of his clothes. Teacher kept orbit, quiet and foreboding. The man finally settled in front of him, tilted lightly to the left. "Very well. Show me your camouflage."
He did, the Force swirling and blending until his form blurred. Not enough so, not nearly, and Teacher wobbled. "Progress. Your other skills?"
"Precognition is as fluid as normal. The saber is, as always, progressing through practice. The lack of a proper instructor is halting progress, but nothing to be done about that. My shields are good, as you've said yourself, and increasingly difficult to penetrate. Fleshcrafting is going slowly with limited practice, but I've noticed an increase in strength. Nothing extreme, but every little bit helps. It's easier on myself, so I've been applying little increases as I develop. Unravelling is going well, Alyssa and Inara serve to make techniques, and they've been getting better with practice."
Teacher nodded, the cube wobbling. "Good. The saber will come with time, but you know the technique. Opponents will sharpen it, but it is a discipline that will take decades to master. Camouflage is your best tool, for now. It will allow you to conserve strength by bypassing obstacles instead of ramming through them like a berserker."
"Your faith in me is inspiring, as always." Morgan concentrated, sinking deeper into the patterns of the Force. His body blurred further, but only slightly. "Well, no substitute for hard work."
Morgan's eyes snapped open, briefly disoriented as he parsed how much time had passed, and one of Quinn's men walked inside. The soldier, a sergeant by his armour, saluted. "Sir. Lady Vette has passed a message. As ordered, it is a direct quote. Mama is taking care of some business. I'll be back for dinner."
Amusement tugged at his lips, waving the soldier away. Teacher hovered again, having set down sometime after the first hour. "You sank deep."
"A revelation, but a small one." Morgan waved his hand, the blurring effect making it seem near translucent. "Copying the pattern of the Force by, pardon the pun, force wasn't getting me far. Riding it like an ocean seems better, but I'll defer to your experience."
Teacher grunted, as if he was lifting a heavy weight. "What works for one doesn't for another. Continue, I'll be here if you need me."
Morgan agreed by shutting his eyes, sinking and sinking as thoughts became less consciousness and more instinct. Where he could feel every soul in the ship like a beacon, drifting over a planet that felt like death waiting with bated breath.
Time passed as his form grew more indistinct, almost ghostly, as he slowly became one with the Force. Of riding the swirls and patterns like a fish, drifting along as the current took him away. Deeper still the current became a breeze, twirling and twisting as it played with leaves. A voice snapped him out of it.
"You never tire of growing more scary, huh? I'd say a stealth generator could do that better, but somehow I don't think sith are fooled by those."
Vette grinned as he looked at her, waving. "Hi."
"Hi." He stood, looking around to see Teacher nowhere in sight. "How long have you been staring, then?"
"Stalking, me?" She stuck out her tongue, stroking her lekku as innocently as she could. "Cubie flew off when I walked inside. I think he's cross with me since I called him Cubie again."
Morgan let out a long suffering sigh. "You're aware he's an ancient, possibly able to one day control a body again, Lord of the Sith?"
A shrug. "I'll deal with it then. So, why are you pretending to be a ghost?"
"So I can kill people without fulfilling that bothersome fighting requirement." Vette pouted, a corner of her mouth pulling into a smile. "And so I can sneak away without you noticing."
"Probably a good idea to learn how to mute sound, then. Shooting you by your breathing isn't all that much harder if I can't see you."
He waved. "Yes, yes. The impossible Vette, mistress of all things combat and subterfuge. Dinner?"
"I have foreseen this need for food." She preened, clapping her hands. Amelia walked in from the second room, holding food. "Probably still warm. Hard to predict how long you train for."
Morgan smiled at Amelia, scowling at Vette. "And how long have you had her wait there?"
"Not long, my lord. It is my pleasure."
"No it isn't." He opened the container, steam wafting against his face. Rice and some sort of meat, he'd long ago stopped asking what kind, with a side of green leaves. "I can tell what people feel. You're a little annoyed and insulted, but otherwise happy enough. Probably did some work while you waited."
Vette smiled a smug smile at the woman, who bowed her head. "Forgive me, my lord."
"See, this is why I tend to have dinner alone." He waved at Vette, shutting off his perception. Feeling that woman go through seven stages of fear, hope and something that felt suspiciously like adoration rubbed him wrong. "No chance of that one needling me in ways I can't get upset at."
"Insulted." She argued, accepting her own dinner with a smile. "Insulted I am. To think I could play tricks on a great sith lord like yourself. The shame of it."
"See. Exactly what I'm talking about. Implying that I could only be tricked if she was better than me, because otherwise I surely would have seen through it."
Amelia's poker face was impressive, Morgan had to admit. Still, enough fun on her behalf. "Thank you for dinner. Please, don't let us take more of your evening."
She left, and not resisting the urge when it came, he turned his perception back on. Rather annoying to keep going all the time, especially on his own ship, but it was so very useful. He expected to feel relieve, perhaps more annoyance, but instead he felt disappointment? A tingle of shame, perhaps.
"What in god's name did you do to that woman?" He asked when she left, making double sure she wasn't listening. Getting outplayed twice in a row would wound even his pride. "She wasn't better, last time we spoke, but certainly less confusing to read."
Vette had dug into her own dinner, pausing with her spoon halfway to her mouth. It had no business looking as adorable as it did. "Why'd you assume I did something?"
"You're the one that spends the most time with her."
"And you're the one that broke her mental conditioning with strange sith magic. I'm not to blame here."
"You've made it clear I'm not running a cult, right? That seems to be cropping up with alarming frequency."
"A lot of sith have cults." She flicked her wrist, annoyed, as a piece of rice fell on the floor. "I asked Teacher. Big ones, too. Militant and sexual, mostly, though that depends on the sith in question."
"Great. Good for them. Me, the sith in question, doesn't want one. He has this strange notion that cultists do things like sacrifice their supposed saviour to their flame god, or some such. No thanks."
"If left unchecked, maybe. I studied them, remember? Well, religion in general, but you'd be surprised how slim the difference can be. If properly managed they've achieved great things."
Morgan paused, surprise on his face. "Are you trying to sell the idea of a cult to me?"
"Nah. You'd never go for it."
"But that's not the reason why you aren't, right?" He looked at her, his face turning serious. "It's because you agree it's horrendous to twist vulnerable people into serving a greater agenda. Right?"
Vette shuffled. "Sure."
"I'm serious about this, Vette."
She glared back, putting her food down. "All I'm saying is that for someone who doesn't want a cult you're real good at building one."
"I'm trying to be kind, as much as I can in this godforsaken universe. As much as I can while belonging to an order built on treachery and betrayal. As much as I can remember, because Korriban took far more than it ever gave back."
Her head shot up, eyes sharp. "What's that supposed to mean, this universe?"
Morgan breathed, swallowing his own rising temper. He felt his face settle into an old mask, knowing he'd regret it even as it slipped on. "Nothing. Nothing at all. Excuse me."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Vette flinched as the door shut with perfect gentleness, looking over his half abandoned dinner. "So much for trusting him. You knew there's things he doesn't talk about, that he doesn't want to talk about, so let's push him for it. Fuck."
A door opened and she snapped her head to look, but it wasn't the main one. She stood, catching a glimpse of the generous supply closet she'd had Amelia wait in. "Morgan's not here, Teacher."
"I know. Did you know that students and teachers develop a bond? Through the Force, I mean."
She shook her head, confused. Teacher continued without prompting, the door closing on its own. "It is something Baras is going to use to find and kill him, should he not guard against it. Baras is a skilled sith, that much I know, but the bond is weak. Enough to track, but that is all. He is not much of a master."
He flew closer still, and it took some willpower not to move. "Me and my apprentice share a strange one, I will admit. He cannot seem to feel it, for one, and that is likely due to the protections inscribed on my holocron. He could find me with it, if he practised, but it is not something all that pressing. More importantly, he is not granted such protections. A man of guarded feelings, my apprentice. Only one person I can think of with which he doesn't feel the need to wear some sort of mask, not counting myself."
"We had a fight. Sort of. I don't know."
"You fought with a sith. Brave, I suppose. Stupid is another word for it. You are well trained, both in weapons handling and hand to hand fighting. A worthy addition to any personal guard, in my time." He paused, as if to let that sink in. "He would have killed you in seconds, had it come to that. Even with your own strength, even with your Force shielding. Dead, faster than you can pick up that bowl."
Vette groaned, sliding down against the wall. "You know it wasn't that sort of fight."
"Yes. Got him good, well done. Confusion, hurt and the ever damaging sting of betrayal. Hooray, you did more damage to my apprentice than those two jedi on Balmorra, or that sith Lord on Nar Shaddaa."
"If you're here for a scolding, don't bother. Don't value your opinion anyway."
"Deflecting, how novel. You make him happy, so I let much slide. A happy apprentice is a motivated one, and that keeps him alive."
"And you." She finished, looking at the cube. It stilled. "Please. He told me that holocron thing is degrading. He can feel it whenever you make him train his control with those puzzles in your core. Fuck if I know what he's talking about, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out your training him so he can fix whatever is wrong with it. Give you a body, maybe, and with it a way out."
"Morgan is not so naive as to need that explained. He cannot take what I value, and what he values I cannot take. Sith we may be, but circumstances conspire to make us get along. It helps that most of my ambition was lost. We are not talking about me or my relationship with our wayward apprentice."
"He knows things. You know he does. Things he shouldn't, can't. I promised I'd trust him on it, that if it became necessary he'd tell me, but it's driving me up the wall. How much have we done he's been a little too prepared for? How many fights and skills and strange insights. How much does he know now, about our quest on this shitty planet? He won't tell me."
Teacher hovered, irritated. "Have you forgotten, perhaps, that he is sith? A Darth's apprentice, no less, and here on his direct orders? That every Imperial element on the planet will bow to his authority, should he exercise it? That the warship he commands is likely the most sophisticated in the sector, and able to reduce any opposition to slag? Why does he owe you any explanation at all?"
"Because none of that is Morgan." She hissed. "None of that is the man I'm in a relationship with."
"Are you saying his power did not attract you? That you do not enjoy it, to submit to someone belonging to the greatest warrior sect in this galaxy?"
Vette's mouth clicked shut, her eyes narrowing. "You mistake lust for love, Teacher."
"Am I?" The cube paused, his tone softening. "He does love you. It is almost sickening, really, and something I've spent a significant amount of time blocking out. If he does not want to tell you there is a good reason, likely one that protects you."
She deflated. Righteous indignation and anger felt so much better than reason, but she was better than that. Had to be better than that. "I just wish he'd tell me."
"He will." Teacher replied, certainty in his tone. "But don't push him on it. He won't react well, that I can promise."
"Yea. Fuck. I'll go find him, apologise."
The cube floated to the side room, and she saw him powering down. Standing, and taking a few deep breaths to soothe the last of her annoyance, she moved to the door.
It opened, and she nearly ran into Morgan as he strode into the room. He paused, taken aback when he saw she was doing the very same thing he was, and her mouth moved before she could properly structure her thoughts. "I'm sorry."
Arms wrapped around her, and she melted into the hug with nearly pathetic relief. His voice came from above her, soft and worried. "Christ, I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have shut down like that. Not with you. It won't happen again, I promise."
Vette nodded in his shoulder. 'Letting him open up on his own. Yea, I can do that. Patience is my middle name.'
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Quinn allowed himself the luxury of cracking his back as he finished up the after action report. The assault hadn't lasted long, not with three sith there, but the paperwork proved endless and unnecessary. At least no one was contesting them on the confiscated goods. The money from his lord's businesses or not, running a warship was expensive.
But he was a diligent officer, so he filed it all away. A heavily abbreviated and edited report went to the wider military, a courtesy he could skip with a single stamp of Morgan's seal. Still, better to control what they learned and when. No need, for example, to mention how effective the Chosen were getting.
'The Chosen. By the Emperor, I wish I'd gotten word of that sooner.' Too late now, Quinn was forced to admit. Nicknames for military units were common enough, but for those with special talents having no recognition was invaluable. The surprise alone could win entire battles, not to mention it made locating and assassinating them far harder.
But no. Now his men, from that lifetime ago when he was but a lowly lieutenant on Balmorra, were starting to get their very own legend. Pulling shore leave had made his displeasure clear, they had known he wasn't a fan of the practise, but it had done little to stop the name from spreading.
'You fight, and wound, one sith Lord and all of a sudden people start venerating you.' He snorted, setting the thought aside. 'Well, at least they perform.'
The door opened without his say so, looking up to see captain Kala walk inside. Her ever present shadow of a commander was a step behind her, looking at his datapad curiously. He wiped the screen clean. "Captain, commander. How can I help you?"
The commander saluted, unnecessary but appreciated, as Kala dropped into the chair with a sigh. "Thought I'd give the preliminary report on the Aurora status in person."
"I see. Please. It would save me from paperwork if nothing else."
Kala snorted. "I hear that. What little damage the internal systems sustained has been patched, we did two tests on the hyperdrive to be thorough, and a short jump confirmed it. She's space worthy, but her armour will take longer to fix. And necessitate a more permanent landing, instead of hovering over the planet like a nervous parent."
"I'll bring it up with Lord Morgan."
"Thanks. Clara arranged the supplies through Vette, they're already here, and my engineers are confident they can do it themselves. Before you ask, yes, it would have been cheaper to requisition it from the logistics network. It also would have taken as much as a week before we got it, and that's with the sith's name attached. I imagined he wouldn't have appreciated the delay. As it stands it'll take four or so days before we're in top shape, maybe another two if we want to be extra safe."
Quinn blinked. "Good news, then. I'd thought it would have taken a fortnight, if not longer. Is our Lord aware?"
"Not yet." Kala held up her hand as he was about to stand, looking back nervously. "Hold up. We passed him in the hall, looking none too pleased, so best we wait, yes? It's nothing urgent, anyway."
He sat again, seeing the commander was frowning. "I've not known him to be easily affected. A problem?"
"For us? Probably not." Clara shuffled, clearly resisting the urge to glance at the door as Kala had. "I'd rather not speculate, if it's all the same to you."
Nodding, and secretly relieved, his finger flickered at the datapad. "Well, no security warnings. No incoming long ranged calls, no recent arrivals to the ship. You two are hiding here?"
"Sorry?" Kala had the decency to wince, Clara shrugging with an unrepentant nod. "But yea, pretty much. I'd be the first to say he's done much for me, for my career, but I think he forgets how fucking terrifying he can be."
Brief flashes of blood and terror shot through him. Of a secret facility their lord somehow knew the purpose of, and of being ambushed by an full fledged sith Lord. Of trying to stab said Lord, and being saved in the nick of time by Alyssa. How their lord had chased the Lord through the corridor, flashes of red only interrupted by the groaning of steel.
"Sometimes." Quinn allowed. "But I'm confident he would not turn it against us. Not without very good reason."
'Like being a spy.'
"You're right, of course." Kala straightened. "And the status report should be good news?"
Clara put a hand on her shoulder, whispering something in her ear. Quinn's own ears strained, but the commander spoke quietly enough he didn't catch it. Kala turned red. "I know that. Fucking hell, Clara."
"Something the matter?" Kala shook her head rapidly, standing and moving to the door. Quinn frowned. "Alright then. Thank you for the courtesy, captain."
The door shut with finality, Quinn looking down to see he had no more pressing issues. Some backlogged paperwork, of course, but nothing that couldn't wait. He stood, moving over to the door and opening it.
His paranoia made him step slower than he usually would, but the hallway was deserted. So was the next, and every other one until he got to the barracks. A sergeant snapped to attention. "Officer on deck!"
Men and women stood and saluted, but he waved them down. "Chosen, report to training room seven."
He left as they scrambled, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as they filed into the room. "Do not take my usage of the name as encouragement."
"Sir." Quinn motioned for Jillins to continue, the man looking at him straight. "We did not choose the name, sir, and are aware of your dislike for famous soldiers. It has markedly improved morale, sir, and we have been questioned by some if we are adding to our ranks."
"I'm aware. Regardless, it is done. Meaning each of you are now targets for assassination, bribery and blackmail. Congratulations, shore leave is cancelled for anything that isn't an official mission. Outside communication? Cancelled. Your new job? Become what others have decided you are. Immortal."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Listening with half an ear as Kala reported the Aurora's progress, and holding up a hand when she started rambling, Morgan looked down on Tatooine. "Thank you, captain. I get the picture. Please submit a full report to my desk and inform me if the timeline changes."
"Already done, my lord."
The bridge was near empty, only a lurking Clara standing somewhere beside them both. Pretending to look at a console, he saw. A smile split over his face. "Thank you."
Awkwardness spread in both of them, and in the two soldiers that had escorted them here, as their captain shuffled. "Something else, captain?"
"Nothing important, sir. I simply wished to enquire if anything was the matter, and if I can be of any assistance."
Morgan sighed. "Well, glad to see the Imperial Navy isn't immune to gossip. Everything is fine, or it is now, and there was nothing you could have contributed. Not without getting between us, and I'd advise you not to."
"Very good, sir. Excuse me."
The glass reflected an amused Vette walking onto the bridge, waving at Clara and smirking at the near robotic Kala. She was kind enough to wait until they were alone. "I'll give her credit for bravery. What ya looking at?"
"Death and doom." He smirked, waving down at the planet imperiously. "How this sad excuse for a planet will bend under my will, and be broken should it resist."
"Sure." Vette drawled the word, coming to stand next to him. "Anything else? Perhaps less megalomaniacly?"
"That's not a word. And yes, actually. Look."
He pointed, and after standing there looking foolish for around five seconds, three blimps appeared on their long ranged scanners. "Incoming. The Enosis is coming by for a visit, if the IFF isn't lying to me."
"Cool." She stretched, and he had to bring forth some willpower not to glimpse at her. She grinned, clearly knowing she'd succeeded anyway. "I wonder what they've been up to."
"You'll have to tell me about it. I'm going to hunt the sand demon, see if it can't be reasoned with."
Her head snapped to look at him, the levity sliding from her face. "I'll tell Quinn to prepare an escort."
"Don't be obtuse. I'm going alone. Not much of a trial if we bomb it from orbit."
Vette scowled, and he smiled as she entered protection mode. "If this is about-"
"It isn't. I decided before, when we spoke to the madman." She crossed her arms, displeased. He leaned against her, putting his head on hers. "Don't worry. There used to be a time when I did stuff like that all on my lonesome, and I've grown since."
"Well, I'll tell Soft Voice about this great plan of yours. See if you brush him off as easily as you do me."
He shrugged. "I don't answer to him, and I'm not brushing you off. If you have a legitimate concern, please."
Silence stretched, followed by a huff. "Be like that. Not like I wanted to trek through the desert looking for giant monsters to fight anyway."
"I'm sure." He allowed, grinning. "No time like the present. Be good?"
"Never."