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YoshiRaphElan
01.01.2013 , 11:32 PM | #5
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Chapter 5

Carrick Station
40 days ABDK


Jasin stood in the entrance to his docking bay and waited to hear from Kotone. He had changed from his black-and-bronze robes into the light Jedi armor that had become somewhat of a trend since the first days of the Great War, and had been worn by great Jedi such as Kao Cen Darach and Ven Zallow.

Gareb, arms crossed, stood beside him, wearing a loose brown and yellow robe. They glanced at each other, and Jasin probed him with the Force. Yes, he was worried, too.

Finally, a cloaked figure entered the hangar and lowered her hood. She was not wearing the mask this time–it was not Jedi tradition to wear such things and it would’ve drawn attention.

But it wasn’t Kotone.

She had wheat-blonde hair in a style that reminded Jasin of Kira’s and her eyes were a bright blue. She had a slave brand on her left cheek, but she did not appear to wear it with shame.

“I am Imindra,” she said. “Kotone apologizes for not being able to meet you herself, but unfortunately she was required to remain on Dromund Kaas. Lately there have been security breaches among the Order of Revan. As chief security officer, she must ensure the safety of the Master.”

“Of course,” Jasin said politely.

He touched his hand to his chest and bowed, and Gareb did the same. The two Jedi stepped back, and Jasin motioned toward his ship. Imindra inclined her head and followed them in.

“Oh!” Doc said as they entered. “We have a guest. If I’d known, I would have…cleaned up.”

Jasin choked in surprise at Doc’s appearance, as the man was usually impeccably dressed, even when that clothing was only a combat uniform.

Now he was in a scraggly gray set of bedclothes, his sleeves rolled up and one pant leg higher than the other. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were shot through with blood and sleep-bleared.

“Doc, this is Imindra,” Jasin explained. “And of course you know Master Gareb.”

Doc bowed to Imindra in a way that came off as polite yet roguish, and then pressed his fingers to his eyebrow in a casual salute to Gareb.

“Always delighted,” he said. “Just keep that stuffy scientist away from me, Master Gareb, and we’ll get along grandly.”

Doctor Tharan Cedrax was, in Jasin’s–and many other beings’–opinion, highly annoying, to the point that he tried to studiously ignore the man whenever he visited Gareb’s vessel. Gareb, however, seemed to have reached an agreement with the man, and in fact they got along well, both as friends and battlefield comrades.

“If it helps, he feels you’re a helpless rogue,” said Gareb.

Kira came around the corner, a toothbrush in her mouth. Her eyes widened a little bit and she grunted.

“Hi,” she said. “Mm Krr-uh. Ncce t’ mtt y-uh.”

That probably should have come out as ‘I’m Kira, nice to meet you,’ but the point came across. Swiftly, she ran out of sight. There was a loud spitting sound and she returned.

“Master Gareb!” she said kindly. “How’s Nadia?”

Nadia Grell, Gareb’s Padawan–and, as only Jasin, Kira, and a few others outside Gareb’s crew knew–wife. She was also a government representative of the Sarkhai species.

“She’s doing well,” Gareb replied.

“Good.” Kira glanced at Imindra. “And who are you?”

“Imindra,” the girl replied.

Jasin cleared his throat. “Imindra represents our, ah, allies among the Empire.”

Kira paused a moment and then gave a small nod of understanding. She walked back to the main hold and prepared a sitting area.

“I’ll tell Sergeant Rusk and Tee-seven we have company,” she said.

Jasin noted that she did not mention Scourge, and he sent her praise through the Force. It probably was not wise to let anyone, even allies, in the Empire to know that the former Emperor’s Wrath was allies with a Jedi and not, in fact, dead.

“Now,” he said. “What can we do for you?”

Imperial citadel, Dromund Kaas
40 days ABDK


Lord Methic, second Emperor’s Wrath, entered the halls of the citadel and instinctively blocked his mind with the Force. Though it was probably not necessary he did it whenever entering a place with fellow Sith Lords. They must not sense his true feelings.

Of course he was utterly loyal to the Empire, but its leader and his representatives–the Dark Council–left something to be desired. Indeed he only served as the Emperor’s Wrath because the Servants had saved his life.

Scowling, he thought of the frail purebloods with contempt. Saving his life was well and good, but he could not muster anything but disgust at the behavior, mannerisms, and indeed, appearances of the Servants. They were frail, and yet they were spiteful and even degrading of other beings in a disgustingly unique way.

So he planned to make the Empire better from the inside, whether by taking down the Emperor himself, or by providing weaknesses within the power base of the paranoid maniac.

His brother, Jasin, was best placed to bring down the Emperor–as he had once already. Methic had not been in contact with Jasin much, as he could not risk the Dark Council or the Servants finding out about him contacting someone in the Jedi. Still, when he had been informed by Servant One of the death of the Emperor’s Voice, he had somehow known Jasin had been the killer.

“Lord Methic,” Quinn said quietly. “Are you all right, my Lord?”

Methic shook himself free of his reverie, knowing it was a dangerous state of mind in a place such as this.

“Apologies, Quinn. Is Lord Marr ready to meet with us?”

Quinn nodded. “Indeed, my Lord.”

“Good.”

Methic led the way to Darth Marr’s private office, and they waited outside. Quinn reached for his badge subconsciously and adjusted it to perfection.

“Enter,” Marr said.

Methic walked into the room. He had only met Darth Marr on one occasion–when he had dueled Darth Baras in front of the Dark Council–and he had been impressed by the power radiating from the man. He bowed.

“Lord Marr.”

“Lord Methic,” Marr replied. “You do not bow to me, for I would not presume to have the Emperor’s right hand at my feet.”

Methic stood and clasped his hands in front of his stomach.

“You wished to speak to me,” Marr said.

Methic nodded. “It is about Captain Quinn, here.”

Malavai Quinn had, just months ago, betrayed Methic’s trust by programming a pair of battle droids to kill him, declaring his loyalty to Darth Baras. Methic was not a man given to anger, but after that, Quinn had been forced to wear temporary cybernetic implants on both eyes, and a respirator over his nose and mouth. His jet-black hair had also been seared to whiteness.

Now, however, Captain Quinn had fully recovered and he had removed the cybernetics and respirator. In addition, he had dyed his hair black again.

Quinn seemed happier than he had in months, and that probably had a great deal to do with the fact that he was now in a relationship with Methic’s so-called apprentice, the Jedi Jaesa Willsaam.

“What about Captain Quinn?” Marr probed.

“I have been satisfied completely with his service, and I request that he hereby be promoted to colonel.”

Quinn seemed taken aback for a moment, and then he smiled in joy. He had not expected this, if his countenance was indication.

“Very well,” Marr said. “I will send it through the proper channels. With my name on it, the petition will likely be accepted.”

Methic turned to Quinn. “Captain, please wait outside for a moment.”

Quinn saluted crisply. “Yes, my Lord.”

When the door was closed, Methic took another step toward Marr’s desk.

“Another thing,” he said. “Lieutenant Pierce is, in my opinion, more than worthy of promotion. I want him elevated to captain. You can send that petition along with Quinn’s.”

Marr nodded. “Anything else, Lord Methic?”

“One. Overseer Tremel, the man who brought me to the Sith Academy on Korriban, has not been seen since my battle with Darth Baras. I want him found.”

“I’ll send the request to Darth Jadus, head of Sith Intelligence,” Marr said.

“Thank you. A pleasure, Darth Marr.”

“Always, Lord Methic.”