Scourge is a giant 300 year old red man with face tentacles who used to be the Wrath. Quinn is a moderately average pale man with a penchant for betraying people he loves because he owes some fat douche a favor.

September, 10 ATC – 10 months before the confirmation of the Wrath

The Imperial base on Taris was a landing pad and a large, tattered but possibly structurally sound two-story building. The whole thing was surrounded by a toxic lake that gave off a powerful stench. Beyond the lake Ruth could only make out uneven cliffs composed of broken buildings and vines. A lone, ruined skyscraper stood at the center of the base; its doors were blocked off, no doubt because the thing would collapse at the slightest excuse.

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Vette.

“Just watch your step,” said Ruth. “I’m sure nothing inside the base is both corrosive and deep.”

“Keep your corrosive and deep. I’m more worried about the tall.”

A droid directed them from the shuttle pad to the basement door of the active building. Yeah, that almost certainly wouldn't fall down on her. Only a few of the beams sticking out were actually warped and snapped somewhere along the line.

The basement, at least, was set up as a reasonable-looking bunker. Ruth made straight for the largest conference room, which the droid had indicated would be her meeting place.

A wisp of a man was seated at the conference table. One soldier was standing guard: a massive fellow with a scarred face, red hair, and a close-cut pointed beard. “Moff Hurdenn,” he said in a deep voice that seemed to shiver the floor, “the Sith is here.”

The little man looked up. “Ah. You must be Lord Ruth. Welcome to Taris.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Moff.”

“I have never had cause to assist Lord Baras before, but I have long been an admirer of his work – and yours, of course.” Ah, all right, bootlicker. Disappointing, but it could make her job easy.

“I doubt she came all this way to be fawned on,” said the big soldier in a neutral tone. She liked him already.

“Of course. May I introduce Lieutenant Pierce, on loan from one of our notorious black ops divisions. He is hands down my finest officer. I give you exclusive use of him while you’re on Taris. I trust this will accommodate your every need.”

Ruth and the soldier exchanged looks. There was an energy about him, something pleasingly raw. “What say you, Lieutenant? Are you ready to accommodate me? I can be quite rewarding.” She absolutely didn’t look at Quinn while she was talking; Quinn didn’t so much as blink. Which she didn’t notice because she wasn’t watching for it.

“Rewarding is good,” grinned the big man. She would have been disappointed with the simplicity of the phrasing, but conversation wasn’t the thing she had been missing out on.

"Stick with me, then. We may get along. What's our first order of business?"

“Heard we’re going after the War Trust. Did some homework. If that is the mission, I’m fully prepped.”

“Let’s hear it.”

He gave her a rundown of the situation on the ground, along with an immediate suggestion for where to start. Some hardware had to be grabbed in the field. “I could triangulate the data we need once we get a few transponders. Moff Hurdenn can’t spare the manpower, though.”

“I am the manpower. Can you handle the tech here?”

His calculating once-over was over almost before it began. “I can. Got your coordinates here.” He handed her a small datapad. “Snag the transponders, I’ll figure out where they’re going.”

“People like you make my job easy, Lieutenant. I’ll see you when I have the gear.”

“Good hunting, milord.” Oh, he had a nice dark grin.

I'm being terribly unfair calling Pierce the Heavy. The lieutenant is cunning, sharp at both tactics and social manipulation. Sorry for insulting your intelligence, Pierce! I badly underestimated you when we first met.

August, 11 ATC – one month after the confirmation of the Wrath

Ruth had spent some time setting up matters on Dromund Kaas, scrambling to grab a share of Darth Baras’s intelligence network and killing anything that argued.

Now she was back on Corellia seeking a coup that would help secure her status in the eyes of her fellow Sith. Rescuing the (cooperative subset of) the civilian population was involved, which made it justified.

Now Lieutenant Pierce, whom she had grudgingly accepted as additional firepower with the reasoning that she could keep her eye on one ally at a time, was radiating ire.

"What's on your mind, lieutenant?"

Pierce glared at the city skyline. "Should've been there, my lord. When he led you in. Shouldn't have trusted his word, not when I knew that story he gave us was off."

Ruth shrugged while the anger boiled in her. "I survived."

"Would've liked to get a shot on him, that's all." Pierce rolled his shoulders and turned, scowling, to face her. "Least I could do for the scumbag."

She hesitated to speak, but eventually decided to risk it. “Should I have seen it?”

Pierce sighed. "No. He was always a pain in the ***, and more interested in regulations than in getting things done when they needed doing...but turning you in? For Baras's sake? I thought you were almost as important to him as his duty was. And I thought his duty lay, however annoyingly, with the Empire - our Empire, not Baras's power grab. How a man can do that to someone he says he loves is beyond me."

"Yes, well. Love's not much of a Sith quality anyway. Certainly not something I'll fall for again. Let’s clean up Corellia, hmm? It’ll make me feel better.”

“Yeah. I can do that.”

April, 28 ATC – 16.5 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

If people were going to be meddling in Ruth’s personal life, she figured she should preemptively hit at least something. It was like having an illusion of control.

She called Major General Pierce, who had faithfully managed her personal guard and her troops through the years and through all her doubts. She had kept him at a distance most of the time, but he was still quick to answer her call.

“Milord,” he said. “Pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise. How are the kids?” Never mind the wildly varied ages of Ruth’s personal guard; Pierce insisted on calling them kids.

“Doin’ well enough. They satisfy in the field, don’t they?”

“Oh, yes. The elite guard deserves a raise after some of what I’ve put them through lately.”

“Noted. So what’s the occasion for the call?”

“I thought I might talk face to face instead of via secretaries and memos. And I was wondering whether you’d take a jaunt out into the field with me.”

He hid his shock well after the first half second. A small smile warmed his face while he considered what to say. “Milord. Thought you’d never ask.”

*

The op was an assignment from the Emperor’s Hand, a particularly obstinate installation on a planet at the edge of the Core Worlds. There was no one to intimidate here, nothing to talk about; this was a smash and occupy. Pierce and Ruth didn’t exactly talk about their feelings on the way out, but their planning for the attack was companionable enough.

The target was an installation inside a high wall; shields protected the place from aerial bombardment. The turrets lining the flat roofs were, they soon discovered, not jokes.

“Got some long-range assault cannons we can tote in,” growled Pierce. “It’ll take a while, though.”

“They’ll already have put out the alarm from our first attempt,” said Ruth. “I want to make this fast. One person could start taking those turrets out one by one if they can just get in close.”

“Got a plan for that?”

“Yes.” Ruth grinned. “Remember that thing we used to do where you would give me a hand up to get that last bit of distance on a Force leap?”

Pierce looked over at the rooftop turrets and back at her. “That’s a hell of a distance, milord.”

“Yes, it is. Right around the edge of my ability. Hence the extra meter or two from your push would be appreciated.”

“Not supposed to catapult you to your death.”

“I’ll be moving too fast for them to target. Do it.”

He looked back up at the rooftops. “Can’t believe you made a habit of this maneuver.”

“I didn’t. It’s been years. I always saved it for you.”

That got a grin out of him. “Just like old times, then.”

“Like old times.”

He looked around at the waiting guard, examined her expectant face, and laughed. He knelt and laced his fingers together to give her a step. “Let’s see it, then.”

September, 10 ATC – 10 months before the confirmation of the Wrath

Taris

When Ruth announced her intention to do some scouting on the ground herself, she expected someone to argue. Vette did argue, technically, but it was a 'you can go do what you want, I'm staying in the burnt-out building that's least likely to collapse on me' kind of argument. Quinn, who had spent most of the last thirty-six hours pacing in the lake garrison's briefing room awaiting word from the Pierce’s target-search team, eagerly took a speeder alongside Ruth to strike out beyond a nearby Imperial outpost.

By night Taris seemed to be dominated by the great skeletal buildings that civilization had left. By day it was dominated by the creeping green that nature was reasserting. Pathways were uncertain, intact doorways were hard to see, but at least rakghoul activity was down.

She kept her speeder at a slow pace while she scanned the terrain for signs of recent human activity. When Quinn slowed down she slowed and stopped beside him. "What is it?" she asked.

"Historical note, my lord." He pointed at a vast ridge that, now that he noted it, was too straight to be natural. "That's the Endar Spire. It was shot down during one of the critical points of the Jedi Civil War, some three hundred years ago."

She examined it further. It was a huge ship, and the crash hadn't done it any favors. Now that she was looking she could see a vast Republic icon brushed onto one side. "Really?" she said.

"Yes. This was the transport carrying Revan after his capture by the Jedi during the Jedi Civil War. In seeking to recover or kill him, Imperial forces shot the Spire down just prior to the bombardment."

"Revan walked around in there. Wow." Without thinking about it, Ruth dismounted and started walking toward a yawning gap that looked like it might offer a way in. "My father admired Revan a great deal. He was a seeker, someone who could find strength in more than the extremes."

"I am not surprised you favor him, my lord. - Stop."

Ruth hesitated at a lopsided threshold in a tangle of metal. "What?"

"The wrecked ramp there may collapse that entire mass. I wouldn't advise going in; it's less than safe and there's little likelihood of enemy activity within."

"Perhaps, but I want to explore." She held his gaze for a moment and, since he didn't seem to be weakening, she dropped into her colder command demeanor. "I intend to explore."

He gave an oblique nod. "Very well. Follow me, I have an idea where the original doors would have been."

Quinn found her an entrance, then produced a brilliant hand lamp by which to navigate the slanted deck of the ruined ship. "The fine lines at waist level on the wall were lit navigation guides. It was a convention on a number of Republic ships: blue to guide to the medical bay, brown to the crew quarters, yellow to engineering."

"That would make my life so much easier on our capital ships."

"My lord, that would ruin the aesthetic. Besides, you have me to show you the way."

Well, if I got lost anyway, maybe we could have red and, um, darker red, and darker darker red nav lights. That way we wouldn't ruin the Imperial theme."

"Or you could have actual support staff, my lord."

"Creative contingency planning, captain. Roll with it. - What is this?" She darted into a low room filled with row upon row of equipment racks. About a quarter of them held a scattering of blaster rifles. The other three-quarters..."Vibroblades? Why so many?"

"Combat was very different in those days, my lord. Their blaster technology was next to useless in close-quarters fighting. Once an enemy had closed, vibroswords were far and away the best defense." Quinn held the lamp aloft and looked around. "Many are missing. That suggests the crew was prepared for or actively defending against a boarding action."

"We were sending our people on board while shooting it down?"

"We would have boarded first; our fire would have focused on disabling their turrets and engines. You only shoot to destroy once you're sure your forces can't wrest what they want from within...or once they've already gotten it." He stepped back into the hall and started walking in what appeared to be a random direction. "I didn't see the boarding breach from outside. We'll have to seek signs in here."

And he was off. He described any tech she asked about that he recognized, to her delight; but his primary concern was exploring the area and piecing together the events that happened just before the ship had broken up and crashed. Somehow some parts of the antique broken mess were distinguishable from other parts of the antique broken mess in significant ways, which he laid out in a manner that made the exercise sound more or less sane.

They stopped before a massive blast door just behind the bridge. It was partially submerged in churned-up dirt and durasteel: the door itself had won the fight with the ground and had stayed intact. Quinn examined the edges, checked the nearest control console, briefly hooked up some contacts from his blaster's ion cell to attempt to power said console, scowled, gave up. Glared at the door again.

"Report, captain," she said gently. That was usually the best way to bring him out of these fits.

"Multiple holding actions were fought on the way here. It's possible that the Imperial forces were working their way forward to seize control of the ship entirely, but this door indicates they didn't make it. Or..."

"Or?"

"This path leads to the bridge, but it also leads to the escape pods. If the Republic forces weren't just defending the helm, then they shed a great deal of blood to make sure that someone got off this ship alive."

"Revan."

He nodded. "I suspect so." He looked up and around the old hallway. "I don't think there's anything more to be extracted without proper tools."

She stooped to grab a hydrospanner he had left beside the control console. "It takes a certain kind of person to look at a three-hundred-year-old hulk and think 'Hey, I'm going to reconstruct the events of its last hours by myself using only an ion cell and a hydrospanner.'"

He plucked the tool from her fingers with a somewhat hassled look. "Well, said hulk isn't doing anyone any good while it lies here unexamined, my lord."

"I know. Thank you for showing me through. I learned a great deal."

"You're welcome."

She realized she was grinning like an idiot. He was so ridiculously passionate, and she had just gotten over an hour's worth of listening to him and getting to look at him without combat getting in the way. And he was definitely getting suspicious. And he had definitely told her less than three days ago that she shouldn't get ideas.

It was that last recollection that wiped the smile off her face. She cleared her throat. "We should get back to scouting, then."

"Yes, my lord." Quinn, having traversed the winding path once, made the ship his; he remembered every trick step and every unstable corridor, and he guided her safely and surely back out into daylight. Quinn never led her wrong.

September, 10 ATC – 10 months before the confirmation of the Wrath

Taris

Ruth hunted down the first Republic general of the War Trust and sent him in chains to Dromund Kaas. Now she had an unexpected lead, a Project Siantide, that the war leader had seemed pleased about. She didn’t know why. She moved on to pursue a lead to General Minst of the Republic’s War Trust, who made his stand in the depths of a power plant beneath a particularly dense metal ruin.

His guards opened fire before she could speak. They were laughably easy to defeat. She left Minst for last; oddly, he gave up firing as soon as she struck down the last of his people.

“Wow,” said the Rodian. “You took them all down?”

“Yes, I did. You’re a sorry soldier, General Minst.”

“If you’ve come for Project Siantide….”

So it was important enough for it to spring to mind the moment an enemy burst in. “A sorry soldier but a clever little man. Talk.”

But the little Rodian only managed to babble for a few seconds before trailing off and gulping. “Stars, I’m not going to die for this. I’m not General Minst. I’m a standin. He just wanted me to delay you here while the power plant’s self-destruct counted down. He had me mute the alarms, then try to stall you.” He tapped a button on his wrist console and a PA system stated, calmly, “The system will self-destruct in two minutes.” “Minst is in the blast vault with the Project Siantide files.”

“How do I get in?”

“Access code sequencer. I have one. H-here.” He handed it over. “Please, let me go.”

The poor little twerp. “Get out before I start getting upset.”

The Rodian didn’t have to be told twice.

Quinn was furiously wrapping a kolto press around a surprisingly bad-looking leg wound. “I’ll be unable to keep up with you on foot, my lord,” he said. “Get to the surface alone before it’s too late. You can clean out the vault once you have support.”

“Not likely. We’re both going for the vault now. I’ll start on the entry sequencer. You take your time.”

Ruth sprinted in the direction the Rodian had indicated. She found the computer terminal beside a big blast door and inserted the code sequencer. The screen came to life and started scrolling a nonsensical stream of numbers. Then started prompting for manual entries. Great. Ruth scanned the screen for confirmation codes and started entering them.

“The reactor core will self-destruct in sixty seconds.”

Quinn limped up beside her. “How long is this entry sequence supposed to take?”

“Not sure. Just sit tight. I’ve got this.” She could almost believe herself.

“Of course, my lord.”

No time. She could keep up with the manual entry parts, but the damned sequencer was dragging while the countdown continued. Of all the stupid places to die, it would be here, against a reactor explosion she couldn’t even raise a lightsaber against. Type, hurry, type.

Thirty seconds. Twenty. The console hiccupped. Unacceptable. An oddly funny question floated to mind as she worked. "Any last words, captain?"

Tap tap, tap tap tap went her fingers on the console. "I believe you know how I feel about you, my lord," said Quinn quietly.

Her fingers finished the sequence on their own, which was good; her brain fuzzed out for a moment there. Only the sweep of the vault door pulled her out of it.

“Vault lock disarming,” said the console.

She sprinted alongside Quinn into the vault and the great door crashed shut again. Quinn stumbled on his injured leg and fell, but he was inside and safe. Behind them they heard the roaring blast of the self-destruct.

A uniformed Rodian stood before them. “That was reckless, Sith,” said the alien. “You could have killed us all.”

I believe you know - right, her target. “We’ll talk later, hmm?” She walked straight up and punched him, hard. He fell.

Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it all over. There. I only mostly almost died. I made it. I’m safe. I’m safe and the captain is safe. I believe you know how I feel about you. Which could mean anything or nothing.

Quinn had seated himself with his damaged leg stretched out before him. He avoided eye contact. Of course he would. She stood awkwardly for a long moment.

“What did that mean?” she asked.

“You…know I hold you in the utmost regard,” he said. A few things seemed to show around the edges of his tense expression. The only one she could identify was fear. “And it is an honor to serve you.”

“I see,” she said. His statement was either a disappointment or a lie, and the act of lying would be disappointing, too. “Let’s get moving.” She approached, intending to help him up and on his way.

He recoiled. “That won’t be necessary, my lord.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Th-the general,” he said. “We’ll need to move him, too. That means calling in support, unless you think you can help me and carry him at the same time.”

“Ah. You’re right. I’d rather wait for reinforcements to bring him out...we’ll need to keep him subdued until then.”

“Sedatives. Here.” He pulled something out of his satchel and handed it to her. He winced from the effort of holding it up.

“What’s wrong?” she said suspiciously.

“Nothing, my lord.”

She sedated General Minst while Quinn got to work on his wounded leg. When she started watching him, she saw his movements definitely betrayed a problem with one arm. She walked around him to see a large scorched blaster wound behind one shoulder.

“Damn. Quinn, why didn’t you speak up?” She knelt to take a closer look.

“That’s not necessary, my lord. I’ll tend to it when we get back.”

“You won’t be able to use your arm by the time we get back.” She grabbed a medpac from his satchel.

He jerked away before she could touch him. “My lord, please.”

“You’re no good to me bleeding out,” she snapped in a particularly irritable variant of her command tone. “Hold still.”

The site was mostly scorch mark and blood. “The jacket comes off,” she said. He hurried to start the process himself, but he didn’t have the mobility to finish the job. She helped peel the soaked uniform jacket away from the wound and off his arm. “Shirt, too.”

“No,” he said in a strangled tone. “Cut away what you need to. The shirt stays on.”

“If you insist. Vibroknife?”

He offered it to her in silence.

In the past when Vette or other allies were wounded and there was some time to explain, Quinn had taught Ruth some proper first aid. She cut enough of that thin silk shirt – armor in his mind, it seemed – from around the wound to evaluate the damage and start her work. This shot was deep. It would need real attention when they got back to a medical facility, but she could at least numb and patch the worst of it. She worked quickly, carefully, silently. Her mind was still racing. It unhelpfully supplied every possible way she could touch him from here, every contour she could trace while she had him, every way she could reassert being alive just then. I believe you know how I feel about you. He held very still apart from the occasional shiver when she reached away for a moment and then set her fingertips back on his skin to work. His whole manner screamed of the desire to be out of her reach, anywhere but here. She made an effort not to let her hands linger too long, not to make this, whatever this was, harder for him.

She did what she could for the wound. “I hope that wasn’t too painful,” she said.

He didn’t say anything. But when she stood, he reached up with his good arm to grab her hand. He pulled himself to his feet, then let go. “Thank you, my lord,” he said quietly.

For patching you up, or for not asking or doing the things you know I wanted? “You’re welcome.” He finally looked her in the eye, if only for a moment. She decided to continue. “You know I hold you in the utmost regard, Quinn. And you know I feel…” she paused deliberately…“that it’s an honor to serve with you.”

He nodded. “That’s it exactly,” he said gruffly.

No, it’s not. Why are you doing this, Quinn? Ruth took out her holocommunicator to call in support from Lieutenant Pierce. I believe you know how I feel about you. This time when the big man greeted her she had nothing flirtatious to say.

Any reasonable human being getting poked in a fresh blaster burn probably won’t be thinking too much about other varieties of physical interaction. But I imagine he still wants to keep a multiple-meter distance until she has forgotten what he said. Which pretty much means forever.

April, 28 ATC – 16.5 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

The big Pureblood named Lord Scourge called Ruth while she was on her ship.

“Wrath,” he said. “We should talk. Alone.”

“Is there a reason I would want to do so?”

“Hmm. So you have a little sense. I wish to discuss matters with you without the Jedi around.”

“You know I’m not supposed to talk details before we’ve ensured I won’t just be spilling everything to my master.”

“I have an idea in mind for that,” he said coolly.

“I’m listening.” She was curious about the man.

“How soon can you reach these coordinates?” A console at the base of the holoprojector lit up.

She checked. “Under three hours. I can come now.”

“Good. There is no time to waste.”

It was a back room in a third-rate casino in Nar Shaddaa where Scourge met her. He handed something off to the valet and closed the door. “You weren’t followed?” he said shortly.

“I wasn’t. I didn’t bring anyone to the planet, either.”

“Good.” He stood facing her and folded his arms over his chest. “Your friend thinks we should work with you. I think we should remove you.”

“Is that so. Who do you think would take my place as Wrath? At least I am sympathetic to your goals.”

“You’re worse than useless if he gains knowledge of us from you.” Scourge leaned forward. “Make no mistake. If the Emperor summons you before I believe you are ready, I will strike you down.”

“You’ll try. Did you just bring me here to threaten me?”

“No. Let me explain the history of the matter at hand. Long ago I had a vision of a Jedi Knight who would strike the Emperor down. Long ago, I thought it was someone…but that someone failed. Larr Gith is the one I brought to her fate, and I brought her because I knew of the Emperor’s plan for destruction. That was sixteen years ago. The fight went quickly. Perhaps too easily. I stayed with her for a time out of suspicion. But when no further signs of the Emperor surfaced, I left her…less than desirable…company.”

“What, blondes not your type?”

Lord Scourge sneered. “She is selfish. Petty. Vain. But useful. When rumors and ritualists started coming up again, I took the field. I found the same pattern, the same plan as before. Somehow the Emperor has returned. I must stop him. Whatever I think of her, Larr Gith retains the gifts she had. She is indispensable. Your Wynston invited himself. He has proved useful in stymying several operations already. Now he invites you. I am not convinced you are needed and I know that in Larr’s eyes you’re not wanted. Yet here you are.”

“If I wanted to be wanted I would up the makeup, lower the neckline, and stop by the local cantina. If all life in the galaxy is at stake, my place is with the people trying to stop it.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“I happen to enjoy existence,” she said dryly.

He shook his head, grabbed her, first with his red red eyes, then with a hard grip on her shoulders. He pulled her close, half lifting her to get nearer. She was too startled to fight back while he stared down into her, seeking.

“You’re in love,” he murmured, his lip curling.

She wrenched herself free. “What I am is of no concern to you.”

“It is very much my concern. But this is intriguing. He has spared you.”

“Spared me what?”

“Emptiness,” he said simply. “I do not love, Wrath, and I did not expect the Emperor to allow my successor to nurse that weakness. It was pure necessity that led me to the Jedi the first time, and again now. Requirement. Survival, the bare fact of it. But you are here to defend something, with passion.” He kept studying her face, her eyes. “I wonder how that will change matters.”

She stepped back. He had no right to search her. None. “Do not lay hands on me again, Scourge.”

He seemed amused. “I like your tone. Letting you leave this room alive may not ruin us after all. Be warned, the Emperor will suspect obvious Light Side walls, and he can see through most Dark Side passions. They are his native element. Yet with enough intensity you can hide some things if you must. Hide my face and those of my associates. Hide your knowledge of his plan. Hide it in that interesting defensive anger that feeds off your love. Cover it well.” He quieted down and sank into thought.

“Do you even understand how he returned?” she asked him.

“No.”

“Your Jedi killed the Emperor’s Voice. A vessel, nothing more. A vessel for a good amount of his will and power, yes, but so long as his true form exists in safety, he cannot be killed.”

“I had long suspected something like that. Continue.”

“I don’t know where this form is kept. I am led and commanded by his Voice.”

“As was I, if this is how things always were.”

“Two things can seriously inconvenience him: the destruction of the Voice, which can be compensated for by a ritual to imbue a new vessel; or the imprisonment of the Voice. He had to get me to help him for that once.”

“You saw him imprisoned? Where?”

“Voss. I don’t know the details of how Darth Baras did it, but he was trapped by an entity called Sel’Makor in the depths of the Dark Heart there.”

Scourge made a face she couldn’t quite read. “We will not be able to replicate that trap.”

“Why not?”

“Larr Gith killed Sel’Makor, or rather witnessed his destruction.”

“Oh. Well done, that was very helpful.”

Scourge gestured dismissively. “He didn’t seem useful at the time.”

“We’ll have to find another way.”

“Why? Inconveniencing the Voice will only be a holding measure.”

“It’ll buy us time to locate his true form, yes?”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her for a while.

She met him stare for stare. “Was there something else you wanted to accomplish here, Scourge?”

“No. This has proved illuminating. I will inform the others of what you have told me. You will meet with Larr Gith soon to continue your exercises. I am…curious…to see you in action.”

“That curiosity is mutual.”

He favored her with a dark smile. “Prepare yourself. Meet with us tomorrow.”

“I intend to.” With that, Ruth walked out.

Back on her ship she had a missed message from Quinn. She called him.

“Ruth. We had dinner planned; you missed it. Is everything all right?”

“Oh! Oh, yes, I’m sorry, Malavai, I…work ran late. I should have called.”

“It’s all right. I know they’ve been keeping you busy lately.”

And it’ll only get busier. “That’s no reason to neglect you. I’ll be home in a couple of hours. See you then?”

“Of course.”

“Malavai?”

He paused in leaning toward his own holo control. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

He smiled. “A fact I am always thankful for. I love you, too.”

Something to keep in mind, the next time she thought she was alone in this strange and thus far thankless effort. She laid in a course and started homeward.

October, 10 ATC – 9 months before the confirmation of the Wrath

Neutral space

Jaesa followed Ruth out of the holo room. “I can’t believe you let Vette win.”

“Who said anything about letting her win? Maybe I’m naturally terrible at holochess.”

“Maybe you knew she was having a rough day and decided to sneakily throw the game.” Jaesa crossed her arms. “I can tell, master.”

“You have everything it takes to be a real nuisance, you know that?”

Jaesa only smiled. "There is joy here, on this ship. Yet you hide it in darkness."

"That's just the Imperial aesthetic for you." She scanned the black-and-gray walls and the dim red piping that served for illumination. "I'm used to it. Good things aren't restricted to the realm of sunshine and flowers."

Jaesa stared at her for a distressingly long time. "You are not Sith, master."

"Yes, I am. Sorry to disappoint."

"No. The Light Side is strong in you. You have clarity and kindness. You hide among them yet spare lives and leave places better than how you found them."

"None of that excludes being Sith. What part of our code says I have to put on billowing robes and kill children? 'Peace is a lie.' Just look at your own people, at Nomen Karr who was a respected master. There was no peace. 'There is only passion' - a matter I refuse to deny or apologize for. Love is a passion, yes? And joy as well. Unpopular, but not un-Sith. 'Through passion, I gain strength; through strength, power; through power, victory.' Victory for my master, and for my personal interests - and for the things and people I care about. For my Empire. 'Through victory my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.' My identity as Sith is what permits me to make a difference in the galaxy."

"I...think I understand, master."

"Don't tell yourself I would make a good Jedi. 'There is no emotion, there is peace'? When has silencing your emotions ever helped you, Jaesa? When did trying to deny them benefit any Jedi? How would peace help us survive in this world? 'There is no ignorance, there is knowledge'? Only the knowledge you seek and seize yourself. Ignorance does exist, and it kills. Sitting there meditating won't give you the insights that let you survive, nor the information that will preserve the ones you love. 'There is no passion, there is serenity'? Perhaps for the dead. Looking at you, at my crew, at my homeland, at a sky full of stars - everything excites passion. As it should. 'There is no chaos, there is harmony'? Not in any world I live in. It's in the strife and the chaos that one learns one's own strength. The only harmony is that imposed from above, as the Council tries to do; and that is a coerced silence, not a true peace. Better chaos than that. 'There is no death, there is the Force'? That, I cannot speak to; but given how the code has performed so far, I have little reason to place faith in it."

"If your way is Sith, then why are there so few like you?"

"They didn't have my teacher. They never saw anything but the violence of the hardline Sith, and they learned what they saw."

"But you could teach more. Perhaps more are out there, in hiding."

"Why would they hide?" A moment stretched thin and broke. "No. Of course, they would feel they're in danger. Perhaps they lack the stomach to defend themselves, even though their hearts are in the right place."

"We should find them, Master. Show them they're not alone."

Ruth stared. “Do you have any idea…no. You’ve never lived in Imperial space. The Sith would destroy you for such an effort. Learn to hide yourself first, Jaesa. Learn to survive. If the Dark Siders suspect you, the best intentions in the galaxy will not be enough to save you…or your friends.”

Jaesa’s look was almost calculating. “You’ve thought about this.”

“Lessons my father taught me, that’s all. In time, if it’s safe, you may meet him. He’s a good man and a proud Sith. I think he’ll like you.”

December, 11 ATC – five months after the confirmation of the Wrath

Ruth was having one of her difficult days. Too much thinking about her murdered father.

“Pierce, that building’s going to have to go.”

“Heavy civilian casualties, milord.”

“Republic civilians. Besides, they’re what, one to one with troops in there? Worth it.”

“There’s families in there, my lord,” said Vette, making a face. “Just wiping it out would be terrible.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Yeah, but you oughta listen to it.”

“It’s for the greater good, Vette. Shut up and get out. I’ll call on you when I need you.”

Pierce stayed. “One dead elite Republic squad plus hangers-on, coming up.”

“Ugh. I can’t stand Vette’s whining. Now that she’s gone – no evacuation warning for the civilians this time. It just wastes our resources and lets more hostiles slip away.”

Pierce nodded, taking it in stride. “Noted. What do I do after this op clears?”

“After, we need to talk a more permanent assignment. I don’t want you hanging around my shoulder all the time.”

“Milord?”

“I’ve got some offers for guardsmen, troops and the like. And I’ll need someone to whip Baras’s leavings into shape, the agents and soldiers I swept up. You offered to do some training, maybe staff management like that if I ever needed it.”

“I did.”

“Then do it. But know that if you turn them against me, I will make quite certain you live to regret it.”

“You think I’d turn on you, you’re thinking of the wrong guy.” He crossed his arms, taking up a stance that most would consider threatening and Ruth regarded as rather petulant.

“I don’t want to discuss this. Move it.”

The deaths were acceptable losses for the objective. All of this was working toward the end of the war, which made the little acts of destruction all right. She was feeling angry today. She checked the holonet to seek additional opportunities for little acts of destruction.

April, 28 ATC – 16.5 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

Wynston made the introduction. “Wrath. Jedi Master Kira Carsen. Kira, Darth Ruth Niral, the Emperor’s Wrath.”

The redheaded woman glared at Ruth. “I know who she is. Larr, I didn’t really believe you brought her on board.”

“Wynston’s idea, not mine,” said Larr Gith from her seat.

“The monster herself,” continued Kira. “Here to help, I suppose.”

“Hello. Pleasure to meet you,” said Ruth.

“Larr, have you already forgotten how she killed Ko Raden?”

“Who?” said Ruth.

“Master Ko Raden. The Jedi Master you intercepted and murdered six months ago? He was a good man, a great leader.” Kira’s whole face twisted in pained disgust. “And you didn’t even remember his name.”

“Does the wind name the leaves it strips off the trees in autumn? Do you name the blades of grass you tread on when you walk across a field? His name means nothing to me.”

Kira shook her head in mute condemnation. Ruth scanned the rest of the room. Lord Scourge was watching her with a gleam of approval in his red eyes. Larr Gith was frowning prettily. Wynston…Wynston was staring at her with naked horror on his face.

She felt a little self-conscious, and annoyed that she felt self-conscious. "Standard Wrath rhetoric, Wynston. I do it all the time. Don't get excited."

Wynston shook his head, slowly, and then looked over toward Kira without turning his head. “I apologize for the Wrath.”

“Enough,” growled Ruth. “I didn’t come here to get lectured by Jedi…actually, I suppose I did. But not you, Kira.”

Larr Gith smiled a lazy smile. “Did you try the focus exercises?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s see it.”

Ruth let her irritation power the protective ward she worked around herself while Larr Gith prodded, guided, criticized. She would perfect this shroud, if only out of spite.

It was some time later that Larr yawned delicately. “You must be getting worn out, you’re getting sloppier by the second. Let’s leave off, shall we?”

“Yes,” said Ruth. “Let’s.”

“I hope for all our sakes you won’t be called to see the Emperor just yet.”

“That’s for me to handle, Jedi.”

Wynston wandered in from the other room. “Ruth. Did you bring the names of the last few targets the Hand gave you?”

“Sure did, as requested.” She gratefully turned away from Larr handed the agent a datapad.

“Thanks. I’ll look it over, see who’s critical to what. Trace the connections. And either arrange false deaths or give you the all-clear to act.”

“Do you think you can locate the Servants themselves?”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure. I have people on it.”

“And the Emperor’s true form.”

“Difficult. But I do have eyes in every corner of the galaxy looking into it.”

“Good. Good. I can’t put my own people on it without raising suspicion.”

“Don’t worry. Hand me those names and the rest of the search is mine. Your only part in this is to demonstrate you won’t be an information leak.”

“You’re taking a big chance on me. As everyone else on this ship probably reminds you all the time.”

He looked her in the eye. “Ruth. You have never let me down. In a career like mine, that’s not the kind of thing a man forgets.”

The ship’s outer door clanked open. Ruth walked over and looked down to see a Wookiee overshadowing a familiar Twi’lek.

“…What?” said Ruth.

Vette stopped on the stairs and gave Ruth a halfway glassy-eyed bored look. “Hey, look who’s here.”

“Vette,” she said, and risked a smile. “Good to see you.”

“Likewise, Wrath,” she said flatly. “Brought out the big guns, didn’t’cha, Kira?”

“Not my idea,” said Kira.

“Good to hear.” Vette turned to the Wookiee. “All right, Big B, looks like I’m set here. Get on home, keep Risha honest for me. I’ll be in touch.”

The Wookiee growl-roared something and left.

“You have a Wookiee assistant?” asked Ruth.

“Friend. The word is friend. He’s Bowdaar. Ran into him in my small-fry criminal days. He’s all right. Just about the only one of my associates I think can handle hearing about this – “ she gestured – “without immediately looking for a business plan in it.”

“How do you get a business plan out of ‘the Emperor’s going to blow up the galaxy’?”

Vette shrugged. “I leave that question to Risha and Akaavi, but I wasn’t going to hand them the insider information for it.”

“And since when were you in the world-saving business?”

“Since Wynston asked nicely.” Ruth must have looked skeptical, because Vette shrugged. “Really nicely.”

The agent radiated modesty.

“So, what’s the plan?” Vette asked, looking at Kira and Wynston.

“Got some names for you to locate.” Wynston waved the datapad. “I’ll be uploading this to the usual distribution list. We need to work out who they are, where they are, and what contact if any they’ve had with mysterious Sith figures.”

“Yeah.” Vette gave Ruth a hard look for no evident reason. “I can do that.”

“Come on in. We should chat.” Wynston conducted Vette upstairs and away into the depths of the ship.

“I should get a move on,” said Ruth.

“Yeah,” said Kira. “You should.”

As Ruth turned her back, Kira called out loudly. “So, Larr. Remind me why we invited her?”

Ruth whirled. “Because I’m the most powerful fighter you’ll ever meet,” she said, equally loud. “You’ll want me on your side. And no matter what you choose to throw at me, you can’t change the fact that I want you to succeed.” She met Kira’s eyes and pitched her next words much more softly. “We’re stuck in this together, aren’t we?”

She always had enjoyed feeling superior to Jedi.

October, 10 ATC – 9 months before the confirmation of the Wrath

Quesh

Quesh. Ruth was between errands.

She was crossing the Imperial base’s courtyard when she caught sight of a small, possibly familiar Chiss weaving across the courtyard on his way to the taxi station.

Last she had heard from Wynston, he was heading into Republic space on a deep-cover mission. For obvious reasons he couldn’t leave contact information, and he didn’t know when he would be back. Just to play it safe, she decided to make this contact casual. She headed over. “Hi there,” she said. “Would you happen to know where the cantina is?”

The man who turned to her was Wynston, assuming Wynston had been put through the wringer a few dozen times and denied sleep for a month. He gave her a weak and somewhat absent smile.

“Hi there,” he said in an unidentifiably generic accent. “Cantina’s right around the corner – there.” He indicated the only building in sight. “Can’t miss it, it’s the only doorway that reeks of something stronger than Quesh venom.”

Well, that was a dismissal. “Much obliged.” Then, more softly: “Not to be pushy, but let me know if you could use a freelancer while I’m in town.”

Wynston nodded. Ruth turned back toward the cantina. No use making this look any weirder than one person asking another for directions.

“Ruth. Wait.”

She stopped.

“I need to ask you a favor. It should be fast. It should be simple. I can’t let you ask questions.” He met her eye. The man looked half dead. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

“Absolutely.”

*

Wynston moved with the air of a sleepwalker as he led Ruth to the Imperial forward base and beyond, to a hillside cave a couple of klicks from the nearest path in the endless red-orange swamp. No questions. She kept quiet.

The cave had a cobwebby lab bench against one wall, and Wynston set up a lamp and started pulling an assortment of tubes from around his person. No questions. Ruth kept quiet.

Mixing, shaking, flicking, sometimes pausing to shake his head hard. “Let me know if I can do anything,” she said.

He nodded sharply. “I’ll tell you when the time is right.”

The curiosity gnawed at her. She sauntered back to the cave entrance and surveyed the red-brown valley. A few lobels pulled sluggishly through the muck. Nothing else in sight.

Wynston’s voice brought her back. “Ruth. I’m ready.”

He had seated himself next to the lab bench and he had a syringe in hand, the needle lined up against his vein. “I can’t tell you what to expect. If I die, I’m dead. No special tricks once I’m done breathing.”

“Wynston – ”

“No questions.” He smiled dully. “Thanks for everything.” He injected himself.

His head fell back against the wall, and he stared at nothing for the space of several slow breaths. “I’m not worried about the symptoms,” he said slowly to nobody in particular. “I want my mind back.”

“Wynston?”

He didn’t respond. He just relaxed, more and more, until that stare was nothing more than two red slits in the darkness.

Ruth settled in a spot where she could watch both the cave entrance and the slumped Chiss. A shallow meditation, enough to be aware of his sluggish life force, enough to pass the moments and the hours.

Idiot better know what he was getting himself into.

Idiot better wake up.

When Wynston began to return, his consciousness was a blossom of pain in her mind. “Welcome back,” she said, and hurried to help him sit up. He winced and sagged. “Easy.” He didn’t resist when she pulled him close. His whole presence seemed diminished: small, weak. "I really want to ask how you're holding up,” she told him.

"I know you do." He screwed his eyes shut, turned his head, murmured into her chest. "Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies." A weak laugh. "Official motto of Imperial Intelligence."

Not knowing what else to do, she held him. No questions.

Some time later Wynston shook his head. “Sun must be down by now. We should move.” He struggled to his feet, staggered, righted himself, then led the way out into the twilight.

He stopped her just before they reached the main road to the Imperial base. “It’s done. You never saw me here, Ruth, and you haven’t heard from me in a long time.”

“You got it. Take care of yourself out there.”

“You don’t know how much this means. Thank you, my friend. Goodbye.”

“What the blazes is that supposed to mean?”

“No questions.” He touched a finger to his lips and smiled, almost wistfully. Then he trotted down the road, putting as much distance between the two of them as he could.

March, 15 ATC – four years after the confirmation of the Wrath

Wynston

A small jungle planet. A relatively unimportant assignment, but Wynston had requested it due to some personal curiosity. It required ground support from a military contact he hadn't seen in close to four years, since just before both their lives had gotten very interesting.

And so it was that Wynston was escorted into a conference room to meet with Colonel Malavai Quinn.

"Colonel," said Wynston, not bothering with a salute.

"Cipher," said Quinn.

The neat little Chiss took up his station at a console next to the human’s. "I'm here to pick up the schematics for the Republic base along with any other surveillance information you have."

"Since Intelligence seems to lack the necessary resources, I will oblige."

"My superiors have chosen to leverage military expertise, Colonel, on the assumption that you have some to offer." Wynston tapped a session active on the console and accepted the files Quinn was dragging his way. Staff schedules, logistical details on what resources the place took in and spat out; there, blueprints. Wynston fished out a datacard with one hand and fed it into the console to copy. He started examining the map.

Quinn's next words were spoken in a quiet controlled tone. "Darth Ruth. Is she...?"

"She's alive, no thanks to you," said Wynston, not looking over. "I'm not here to answer your questions. What do you know about the power conduits, here? Is the maintenance access navigable by a midsized combat droid?"

Quinn was subdued. Aware, professional, quick to answer Wynston's questions, but subdued. The years seemed to have changed the angry but would-be-expressionless drone into a slightly older expressionless drone. No surprises there.

"That's everything you asked us to prepare. Will you require anything else?"

"No, this will suffice." Wynston recovered his datacard. "I won't be returning. I can forward you any relevant conclusions from the operation afterward if you wish."

"Please do." There was a pause. Quinn closed his eyes and said, with some effort, "Be good to her."

Interesting that he thought Wynston was close enough to make a difference. Wynston felt no need to correct that misconception. "Not to worry. I can't possibly do worse than you." Ruth had told him not to kill Quinn, but she hadn't said anything about hurting him. "By the way, you'll be glad to know your son is doing well. He's quite charming. I'll be sure to give him your regards next time I take him and Ruth out someplace."

"Get out," said Quinn, in a voice so low that only the rage of it confirmed that anything had been said at all.

Wynston didn't bother hiding his smile. "Thank you for your assistance, Colonel. Good day."

April, 28 ATC – 16.5 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

After the Emperor’s summons came, Ruth spent hours preparing. Meditating, first on the shielding Larr Gith had described, and then, by instinct, something calmer and warmer, something Light Side.

She still wasn’t great at that part. The very faint thought of just selling out the whole Jedi crowd occurred to her while she meditated. Hand them all over, watch them die. It wasn’t like they were any friends of hers.

But no. That was not the way she had chosen to turn her will. Patiently she directed and fortified herself. For Rylon, for Quinn, for all of life, even the parts she didn’t like that much. She had to be ready.

When she returned from constructing the layered mental shield, Quinn was in the room, watching her. He gave her a thoughtful smile when she opened her eyes.

“Have I ever told you how astonishingly beautiful you are?”

That was…unexpected. Ruth’s brow contracted. “Uh. You might have said it once accidentally while under the influence of a mind-altering-gas leak some time ago. But I wasn’t sure whether you were referring to me or Broonmark.”

He smiled, a little wryly. “I hope there is no ambiguity this time when I say that you are beautiful. Whatever you were doing, you were…different. Something I haven’t seen in years. I never thought to comment on it then. I never expected to see it again.”

Light Side meditation, that was all. “I've still got it." Ruth stood up and hugged him, hard. “That look on your face. You have no idea how much I needed that.” What I have to do, I’m doing for you. For you and for our son, I’ll handle both the Emperor and the bratty little toy soldiers who oppose him.

“I live to serve,” he murmured, with a smile in his voice, and kissed her ear.

“I have to go report to the boss.” She kissed him. “I’ll be home soon.”

*

To the dark fortress, alone with its cold dim star in the vast night. She held her determination in mind and covered it with thoughts of her work as Wrath, her military work with Quinn, her ordinary life.

She docked, passed through the silent hallways to the Emperor’s throne room. She knelt as usual. “Master.”

She physically shivered from the intrusion of the Emperor’s mind. Did that cold presence proceed more slowly than usual? It slid and pressed, touching on her thoughts, investigating aspects of her emotion. “You are excited, Wrath.”

“Pierce’s return has opened…possibilities, master,” she said as a cover story, and did her best to mix lust into the idea.

“I see. Consume him as you will.”

He was already used to the surges of disgust she evidenced at statements like that. They seemed to please him. “Thank you, master.”

“Now tell me. Why have you failed to kill Larr Gith?”

“She is elusive, master.” Just thinking of the woman gave Ruth a realistic swell of anger and frustration.

“Find her,” hissed the Emperor. “Kill her.” Finally his presence withdrew from her mind. “Go. Return to me when it is done.”

She strode back to her ship with her usual confidence, stepped in, let the door close behind her.

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t think I will.”

She felt alive, vibrant. Awake. Simultaneously terrified and relieved. She had survived the encounter, at least. She laid in a course for home, then curled up right there on the bridge and held herself, shivering.

October, 10 ATC – 9 months before the confirmation of the Wrath

Quesh

There had still been no word from Darth Baras after Ruth finished her errands on Quesh. In the evening she went to check on Quinn. As expected, he was on the bridge, playing the consoles like they were his life’s work. Which, arguably, they were.

“Still nothing?” asked Ruth.

He turned his head to acknowledge her with a nod. “Still no word, my lord. It seems we have some time to breathe.”

“I suppose I can’t complain about that.”

He stood up straight and tugged at one sleeve cuff. "My lord. Might I have a word with you in private?"

"Of course." She gestured back out toward the conference room and followed him inside, closing the door behind her.

He faced her at a taut parade rest. "Thank you for your attention. I must officially request to be reassigned."

What? "Denied."

He frowned and seemed to struggle for words. "Then I must speak freely."

"Please do, captain."

"I am…compromised. Thoughts...of you...have begun to distract me. My feelings affect my ability to concentrate. I cannot in good conscience continue to serve."

He sounded utterly miserable about it. So it came to this. He would rather run away than risk dealing with her. That was some fine praise. The hell of it was, she already knew she would do anything he asked. "Captain, I'd hate to see you go." Then, against the weight of her feelings: "But if it’s what you want, I'll grant it."

“Thank you, my lord.” His relief was remarkably painful to hear. Quinn produced a datapad and presented it. “I just need your approval here.”

Reassignment papers. All ready. He was that eager. She tapped her finger, signed her approval, shoved the datapad back in his hands without looking at him.

“My lord, you understand why I – “

“Don’t make this harder, captain,” she snapped. “That’s an order.” In the half light, his eyes were bottomless and dark. “I imagine you’ll be recalled to Dromund Kaas while they figure out what to do with you. I’ll set course immediately, I don’t want to delay you. I’ll submit a recommendation shortly.” She finally had to breathe, and it was shaky. “I wish you luck.” Why wasn’t this night over yet? “I’m certain you will excel.”

“No.” Without looking away from her, he set the datapad aside. “I'm an idiot." He looked her in the eye with that calculating expression he had. "Permission to kiss you, my lord."

She hadn’t realized she had any guts left to sink. “Stop toying with me!” It came out as a shout. “Go, stay, kiss me, leave me, anything you want – “ her lip curled as the truth spilled out – “name it and it’s yours, but if you’re trying to drive me insane, just stop.”

He seemed taken aback. “It was never my intention to cause you distress. Believe me, my mind is made up.” She didn’t believe that at all. But with a sudden startling assurance he stepped in, wrapped his arms around her, and lowered his face close to hers. “Say the word, my lord.”

“Promise you’ll stay.”

“For as long as you’ll have me.”

The smallest movement opened the kiss. He was fierce. She was worked up enough to return it. He was warm, strong, pressing, much much much better than her thousand daydreams.

He pulled back and took the warmth with him, too soon. “No,” she whispered, and pushed up to press her lips to his again. He had a hand on her waist, another sliding up to tangle in her hair, dizzy sweet. In time, though, even she had to breathe.

He waited for her to open her eyes, and he smiled. Quinn actually smiled.

“It took you long enough,” she told him.

“It was dangerous. I told you. You’re a distraction.”

“This’ll increase work efficiency on the whole. You’ll see.” She tried to think of something else to say and failed. Instead she just smiled and retreated, stumbling on her own elation on the way out.

*

"Two behind you!" barked Quinn.

Ruth felt them already, additional fuzzy presences in the coruscating fury of the cavern. The great catlike prowlers resisted only for a moment when she drew them in to join their fellows. Then a spin, her twin lightsabers slashing through air and flesh alike; thrust, cut, she dodged a claw swipe and shoved the offender to the wall with enough force to break it. Something else hit her side. She hardly felt it. She didn't care. Everything was light and movement, the Force warping at her command, the bodies of the beasts crumpling around her. Euphoria drove her from form to form, her sabers etching perfection in the space around her. She felt the wilting of her last attacker like a shadow in her mind. Victory.

Now that she could only sense herself and Quinn, she eyed the battleground. Eight prowlers dead. In retrospect, that could have been bad. If any of them had attacked her medic...but no, she had kept them all near her. The Force roared in her ears, shivered in her muscles. The fight was won, and truly it couldn't have gone any other way.

Quinn strode up to her with his eyes fixed on the fallen animals. “My lord, how did you...?"

"You make me stronger. You always have. There's just more, now. ‘Through passion, I gain strength.' It's more than words, captain."

"I see that." He scanned the scene again. "I shall keep it in mind in planning future engagements."

"Recalculating? Haven't I been gaining in power for as long as you've known me?"

"I have never seen a change this significant, literally overnight." He met her eyes and hastily dropped his gaze.

"Give yourself some credit. It was a good evening." A bit much of a reaction for just a kiss? Maybe, but she wasn’t ashamed of it. She smiled and continued before he could try to dismiss it. "Come on. I think this den is clear, but we’ve got a ways to go."

June, 16 ATC – five years after the confirmation of the Wrath

Wynston requested a visit on the fifth anniversary of Quinn’s betrayal. He did not describe the date as such, of course; neither did Ruth. She allowed the visit, of course. She got all the anniversary crying out of the way before he showed up, and hid what she could of the resulting puffiness about her face.

Wynston was popularly rumored to be her lover. She didn’t care enough to correct that. She allowed him to drop by two or three times a year. They didn’t talk about their own agendas, they carefully probed one another to see what they could use for their own agendas, Wynston tried to nudge her toward behaving nicely without being obvious about it, she ignored him, life went on.

Now the Chiss was in her dining room, leaning away from the table, lifting a cup of tea to safety and staring bemusedly down at four-year-old Rylon, who currently had one leg up on Wynston’s boot and was grappling with his hip pocket.

“Does he realize I’m not a terrain feature?” asked Wynston.

“Rylon’s vision extends beyond such small-minded thinking. Also watch out, he’s going for the blaster.”

“I see. Don’t do that, Rylon.” Wynston snatched the weapon away from the child’s fingers and set it on the table.

“Mom,” said Rylon, swiveling his head to face Ruth. “Can I have it?”

“No. No blasters until you’re older,” she said, faux-sternly.

Rylon gave her a heart-stoppingly perfect rendition of Quinn’s frustrated face. “Bored,” he said, and abandoned his efforts to scale and/or rob Wynston.

A household droid intercepted the child before he could make it out the door. “Shall I take him to the playroom, master?”

“Please do. Make sure – who’s on duty today, Niss and Raia? – make sure Niss and Raia are paying attention.”

She composed herself and smiled thinly at the Chiss. “Right down to the eye color,” she said. “The resemblance is terrifying.”

“He may look like Quinn,” said Wynston. “But he’s a Niral in name and upbringing. And talent.” He mimed a quick lightsaber flourish. “Those count for more.”

“Right.” She rubbed her forehead. “Do you want to know something funny?”

“Sure.”

“It just comes to mind every year. Quinn tried to leave, once. Before it all went to hell. We were keeping our distance, you know, for a while. And when that was in danger of breaking he actually went as far as getting me to sign off on a personnel transfer.”

“What happened?”

“I changed his mind.” She laughed bitterly. “The one decent thing he ever tried to do for me, getting out so when the blow had to come it wouldn’t be coming from someone I loved, and I bloody well celebrated talking him out of it.”

“‘Decent’ is an awfully strong word to apply to anything that man has ever attempted.”

“That’s what I like about you. You let me hate him.”

“He’s a very hateable person.”

“I’ll need to be careful going forward. Rylon’s taken to parroting things. I would rather teach him to respect his father, and that means keeping my grievances out of earshot.”

“Why are you so careful with Quinn’s reputation again?”

“My son deserves better than a total disgrace for a father.”

“I see. About the parroting, is Quinn still visiting such that hearing repeated tidbits is a danger?”

“Yes. I’m never in town for it. I have Pierce or one of the others chaperon.”

“Ah.” Wynston laughed a little. “I see. I can’t decide what’s better, the notion of Pierce babysitting, or the notion of Pierce watching Quinn babysit.”

“Broonmark is the real winner there. I really ought to cut off Quinn’s visits entirely, but…it’s hard.” Then, very dryly, “You may have noticed I have a weakness for him.”

“I try not to hold it against you.”

She shook her head and poured herself some tea. “Anyway. You still fighting the top-secret good fight?”

“Saving puppies on a regular basis. Can’t tell you which puppies, though.”

“That’s good.” She didn’t talk about the kind of fights she had been fighting lately. He wouldn’t want to hear. “That’s good.”

May, 28 ATC – 16.5 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

The demands of the mission were accelerating. The real mission, the positive one. The one with the really annoying coworkers.

Ruth was finally ready and qualified to join them. She didn’t think she could afford to spend her nights at home (more than an hour from the spaceport and any emergency response) anymore. And she couldn’t handle certain risks.

So she sat Quinn down after dinner. Again. It seemed like she had just finished patching this together yesterday. “Malavai.”

“Ruth?”

“I’m afraid I need to leave. Indefinitely.”

He didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “I’m coming with you.”

“I can’t allow that.”

“I won’t leave you.”

“You leave me all the time. Work aside, we had a patch where every time we got into a screaming match and started throwing things, you walked out. Which was the safe and rational thing to do.”

“…all right, so that may be a flawed sentiment given our history. But I have no intention of giving up on you. Don’t tell me to go, or if you must, at least tell me why.”

“I can’t. Events are coming and I have to face them, and I have to do it without you.”

“If something poses a danger to you, my place is with you.”

“If you’re with me, you will be the greatest threat to me." Asking him to choose between her and a higher authority of the Empire? Certifiably awful idea.

“What could possibly happen that would cause me to threaten you again?” He stared at her, calculating, and then his eyes narrowed. “Are you going to do something to Rylon?”

“What? No! Stars, no! I’m doing this to protect him. And you.”

“From what?”

“I can tell you when it’s over.” She stood up. “I don’t have anything else to say.”

“Ruth. After all we’ve been through, have I earned no better than this?”

She hated the hurt in his voice. But picking a side, whether with or against her, would make him a traitor all over again. “It isn't just a question of physical safety. This would risk your legacy, your record, your good name. In addition to your life.”

“Is that what you’re giving up?”

“Not necessarily. I only know I can’t shield you from disgrace this time. Or from death.”

“I have never asked you to.”

That brought her up short. “No. I guess you haven’t.”

They watched each other for a little while.

“What if I told you,” she said slowly, “that the Emperor’s interests have diverged from those of the Empire. That he is planning to actively harm our people for his own glory. And that I have to stop him.”

“I would say I am with you.”

“Just like that?” She somewhat expected the words right away, honestly or otherwise, but the conviction behind them sounded surprisingly genuine.

“His assignments have grown beyond bewildering in their apparent pointlessness, my lord. More importantly, when you return from your audiences with the Emperor – except for yesterday, somehow – you’re…different. Faded, withdrawn. Like some part of you has died. You seem to recover once you’ve finished the mission, but…I don’t care for what he does to you.” He tilted his head. “Besides, I didn’t think much of him the last time I had to choose sides, either.”

“I can’t say there’s a great chance of success. I don’t even know exactly how to achieve success.”

“What’s the damage if we fail?”

“According to my reports? Every living thing in the galaxy. If you scale that back to the immediate effects of the preparatory rituals, we may only be talking a few planets, stripped completely of life. Not strategic targets, not by any standard the Empire cares about. Just selected for maximum death.”

He took her hands and squeezed. “I’ll need to arrange for my responsibilities to be covered. I know the right officers for it.” He frowned at the look on her face. “I told you, my place is with you. The war must continue. I’ll see to it that my people do that. But the war is being waged to win something, and I would be a poor servant of the Empire if I didn’t ensure there was something left to win.”

“It won't be easy. I’m working with a Jedi.”

He frowned, but nodded. “If it must be, it must be.”

“And with Wynston.”

She could have sworn his hands went a degree colder. “The agent? He’s alive?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve been corresponding with him? You didn’t tell me?”

“This was about once again forcing you to choose between me and a higher authority. Do you think I was in a hurry to bring it up?”

“You’re working with him again.”

“Yes. It’s the mission that matters, Malavai.”

“I am with you,” he growled. “I will stay at your side. And if he plays us false he will die before the first excuse makes it out of his mouth.”

“I trust him,” she said.

“You know what I think of that. But, you are my general, now and always. I will back you up.”

“You’re sure?”

He looked into her eyes for a long moment. “I’m sure.”