“It’s your last night. You get to pick first.” The barkeep groped the bottom of the black shimmer silk purse with meaty fingers in a way that struck Feravai as lewder than usual.

“Oh joy. I can hardly contain my excitement.” She drawled.

He held the purse up high enough that she couldn’t peek into it, and gave it a shake. The bobbles inside jingled and clinked together like coins.

“Remember you were the one showing off. Someone was bound to find out.”

“More like someone finally offered you more than you make from me.”

“I won’t miss that mouth of yours.”

“Yes you will.” Feravai smirked. “So who is it?”

Feravai reached up and into the purse and pulled out the aurodium pasties. She glared at the credit sized golden cones and snarled under her breath.

“You sure you don’t want it to be a surprise doll face?”

“Just what, in our illustrious time together, ever made you think I like surprises?”

“Fine. Some big wig Sith owns you now. They’re sending a shuttle for you in the morning.”

“The morning? And just when am I supposed to sleep?” She whipped the gold pasties at him.

The barkeep flinched and bent to pick them up. “Sleep on your way to Korriban.”

“And just what, am I supposed to do there? It’s a hole in the ground full of dead people.”

“Probably more than you’re doing here. The VIP is waiting. Put your costume on.” He whipped the pasties back at her. Feravai plucked them out of the air like a flying insect.

“You call this…a costume? I was born wearing more.”

The barkeep cranked his thumb toward the back room. “Oh and to make your last night extra special…he paid for full contact. I’ll let you keep the tip as a going away present.”

“Aren’t you the paragon of generosity.” Feravai stalked off to the dressing room, to stick on her ‘costume.’

The barkeep smirked and ran his dishcloth over a tumbler.

A slow grinding rhythm filtered into the private lounge. The lights pulsed like a heartbeat, and the VIP patron watched the nubile young woman slither down the aurodium post like a serpent. He sat forward on the sea of silky cushions, slack jawed and wide eyed. Her skin was a rich tan, and her dark auburn hair was swept back in a style that royalty favoured. He licked his lips, his breath shallow and his heartbeat quickening.

Without taking his eyes off her lithesome body, he reached for the glass of bubbly that floated toward him.

As she neared, he noticed delicate ridges accenting arched brows, a silver diadem, and a forked ring piercing the swell of her lower lip—the trademark jewellery and colouring of Sith, and yet most of her features were softly human.

She moved like the tide, teasing closer and closer before receding away again. All the while she played this game with him, his buttons and bindings unfastened seemingly on their own whim. He swallowed. He realized his mouth was as dry as a desert, and took a swig of the sparkling wine. He set the glass aside, and felt his clothing peel away to reveal the flesh beneath. He found himself grateful that he worked out.

When she finally settled over his lap, he found the nerve to touch her. She was soft and warm under his hands, and her lips brushed his just enough to make him shiver and want more. Her eyes were the feral grey of a nexu cat and vacillated between amusement and cruelty as she seduced.

“What do I call you?” He whispered.

She tugged his goatee and laughed. “Slave.”

Unable to control himself any longer, he pulled her against him, and rolled to hover over her, losing himself in the primal beat of the music.

*****

Morning arrived quickly and without mercy. Feravai yawned and padded into the barkeep’s office.

“Where’s my tip?”

“Not even a good morning?” He tossed her a sack of credits.

She arched a brow. “Good tipper…”

“He said you were positively depraved.”

“Wonderful.” She deadpanned and pocketed her money. “Well I can’t say it’s been a pleasure.”

“No, the pleasure was all mine,” he laughed. “The VIP didn’t actually order full contact.”

Feravai narrowed her eyes. “I hate you.” She flicked her fingers and watched him thrash and bend under her lightning.

“Feeling…is…mutual doll face.”

She released him and laughed coldly as he crumbled. Stepping over him, she chose his most expensive bottle and walked out, tucking it under her arm.

The ride to Korriban wasn’t as long as she hoped for. She woke up to the pilot jabbing her arm. “Wake up. We’re here.”

She glanced about sleepily and yawned. The other passengers were already marching down the ramp. She hurried after them.

“Urgh. Daylight. Are you sure this is Korriban, and not hell?” She called back to the pilot. The good looking Sith in ebony robes emerged from the shuttle last.

Feravai’s lips curled up impishly.

Mmm, hello there.

He shoved past her with no apologies.

Jerk.

She straggled behind the group, taking the time to blink the haze of sleep away. Her attention landed on the man taking charge of the group and her jaw tightened. She rubbed at her eyes, hoping it was just a trick of the fog she hadn’t cleared away yet.

Oh no. No no no. Not him.

“Ah, the last one to arrive is finally here. I hope you don’t think you’re special…slave.”

Feravai scowled.

I get it…Korriban is the Sith word for hell…

@josephinec & @Lunafox: So glad you joined the thread! It's fabulous, as I'm sure you've learned. =)

Also a Sith going "Did I say that out loud? I said that out loud!" is probably the funniest thing I've heard all week.

@frauzet: I'm pretty sure I choked at “Can’t say I ever had a Chiss, but if you believe the rumors…” Beautiful.

@AKHadeed: I miss alcohol, and Angie is demonstrating exactly why.

@Hadeedak... "Drunk" is a perfectly acceptable reason to ask personal questions and tell emotional stories. I think.

And re Animal Kingdom, BAAAAWWWWW. Adorable. Much better than the Superbowl ads.

And @Lunafox again: Oh. Snap. Why am I all the sudden imagining Lana from Archer going, "Noooooooope."

@Striges: LOL, definitely NOT like running into a teacher at the grocery store... At least I certainly hope not, having been the teacher in that scenario. Ewwww.

Thanks for the welcome, I'm having fun here. I did have a few moments of doubt there for a bit because of Harkun *glares at him for wanting off time* but it's all good. I can see he really squicks quite a few people (judging by the crickets chirping and what Striges said about him). So, it's not just me. And you're exactly right you know, poor Feravai is definitely like....nope nope nope, and almost ready to crawl back into the shuttle lol. I kinda looked at The Morning After prompt and thought, 'nailed it'. (in the worst way imaginable lol)

@frauzet, ah, a guy with relevant advice on the local food is always a welcome presence.

@AKHadeed, I am deeply enjoying the lack of unresolved sexual tension. Zeedor’s breakdown of why it wouldn’t work is beautifully phrased. And drunk Angharad is funny to watch. As for the akk puppy, the image of it chowing down on the nearest support beam is just precious. Precious in a “this will become alarming in future months” kind of way.

@Feldraeth, I am rapidly coming to classify your pieces as horror…ain’t nobody in a good place.

@Lunafox, I like your chapter title. Way to load the already fraught Inquisitor/Harkun relationship.

I wasn't expecting to see a familiar face. I was even less expecting it to be the King of the Squeaky Clean Perfect People, Kisheesh. He wasn't one I'd pegged for take-out, though I guess there's things a lot more surprising than a Zabrak with a weakness for the greasy, five minute version of Irodonian cuisine. He looked different than the last time I'd seen him, a bit more grown up. Oh, he wasn't any taller, because I'm pretty sure that's not physically possible. And he still took up about half the available air with sheer muscle and bulk. His scar had healed nicely, I noted, leaving just a dappling of burns across one side of his chiseled face. I felt a vague tingle of guilt run across my skin.

My fault. I'd gotten in over my head. I'd paid for it. So'd Kisheesh. I felt bad about how that job had gone. Part of my duties was to watch out for the rookies, not get them banged up by the Sith I'd been hunting. It'd been years since I'd seen the handsome Republic soldier, and it looked like they hadn't been too rough on him. He was wearing civilian clothing. I suspected he wasn't off duty often enough to mind a pair of slacks that looked to be a bit too loose, and a shirt that had the name of a blaster mod company that'd gone bankrupt maybe two years back. I guess I was taking advantage of the helmet to watch him.

Last he'd seen me, I was still going in for shiny armor. I wondered if I should say hello. He'd saved my life. It was a mutual thing. On the other hand, I could keep skulking in the corner and watching how nicely he'd grown up. He leaned on the counter, placing his order, and I noticed the curl of his bicep stretch against the fabric of that shirt. I wondered how far he'd advanced up the chain of command and what he was doing now. I wondered about the tattoos on his face and what they meant, and how far down they wandered.

I turned off my suit's air filter and took a deep pull of the hot, greasy air. It made my stomach gurgle with vague anticipation. Was there any reason not to go say hello? I couldn't think of one. I mean, I'm not great with people, but it would be polite. And the boss wasn't waiting for me. He was buried under a few thousand starcharts.

The question was, how did I announce myself? I'd watched for too long now. It'd be awkward if I just waved. I had to come up with an excuse. I tested a few. 'Hey, wasn't sure I recognized you' was my best bet. I suddenly wondered if he'd recognize me. It'd been years. And what was I expecting, anyway? That we'd catch up over drinks? More likely, he'd make a serious effort to drag me into Republic custody. Some of the people I'd worked for weren't topping the best friends of the Republic list. Granted, I'd taken bounties from the Republic off and on for years. But I'd also taken bounties from the Imperials. And my current employer was a Sith lord. Even if he was a delicate, fussy fellow who barely even ignited his lightsaber, let alone used it to terrorize an innocent populace, Kisheesh wasn't one to cut corners on his ideals. So maybe not. After all, what's a vague crush, dulled by years and engendered by a combination of guilt and physical attraction? Nothing worth skipping a meal over.

I settled back into the walls of my suit, rolling my shoulders into the solid weight of my jet pack. The padded durasteel wrapped itself around me. I watched the soldier leave with his meal, and waited for mine. I'd had just long enough to get bored when a voice hissed from behind my left ear, “Enjoying the nightlife, Angharad?”

Before my brain processed the words, my body was expressing its opinion on surprises. I flung a wild punch towards the source of the voice. I felt fingertips press blastfiber down against the underside of my right wrist, and twisted my weight out of the punch as a message came tearing in from my ears. I didn't particularly want to break Cha'tiro'yun's nose. He had a decent one, regal and aquiline. And if I did, he'd probably make me fill out six forms. “The hell are you doing, Roy?”

“Saying hello.” His cloaking field dropped, and his fingers squeezed lightly against my armor, so I felt the phantom of warmth from his grip. Over my flamethrower. I could have called it an accident... “I like making sure my assets are in good condition.”

“I'm not an asset,” I growled, more or less on reflex, and reclaimed my wrist with a twist. “We've exchanged favors a few times, I haven't set you on fire and you haven't stabbed me in the back.”

“Precisely.” He gave me a smile that didn't look nearly as friendly as it should have. The flash of white teeth against his dark blue skin was too sudden and predatory. “Being you was fun, but I prefer the real thing. More dangerous.”

I didn't feel dangerous. I felt annoyed and flustered. I probably looked it, too. Luckily, my helmet does a lot of hard work protecting my reputation from stupid faces. “One day, you'll figure out that no one likes your cloaking trick.”

“I do.” Cha'tiro'yun leaned against the wall next to me, just a hair too close. I tried to resent that, but it didn't take. Credit where credit's due, the Imperial intelligence officer is a very attractive Chiss, all dark curves and sharp angles with a fluff of wild black hair. And he was dressed like some sort of spacer again, with a long, partially-open jacket that drew the eye down the smooth line of his chest. Because I'm only human, I thought briefly about how much fun it'd be to tug that jacket all the way open. When it comes to Roy, half of me wants to run, half of me wants to break his neck, and half of me wants to see him with no clothes on. Too many halves by far, and it makes me jumpy.“Were you watching an old flame?” he asked quietly, leaning his head towards me.

“Nah.” There's not much harm talking to Roy about facts. He's probably seen all of what passes for my secrets written down in neat little columns. I shook my head. “Maybe it should have been, but more... something I never really got around to. Probably for the best.”

Roy grinned lopsidedly, a wicked expression on his face. My throat suddenly felt tighter than it should have. “Oh, probably.” He slid closer to me and muttered huskily against my helmet, “Want to get a drink, Angie?”

I thought about it for a second, then growled back in a whisper, “This is about selling a cover to someone, isn't it?” I pretty much hang out with thugs, Zeedor, and my kid sister. Roy didn't have the figure for my sister, and I've never seen a Chiss with decent facial hair, so he wasn't passing for Zeedor, either.

“Oh, probably,” he repeated, in a pretty good echo of his previous voice.

I rolled my eyes under my helmet. My life. Still, there's worse things. “Sure, but you're buying. And you owe me. Again.”

There were times that Nadia surprised herself with how quickly she had become accustomed to space travel. She’d only left her home planet for the first time one standard year ago, but was already used to the slow hum of the hyperdrive as her new home wandered the great void of space. It was no longer a strange, foreign sound to her ears. Rather, it was comforting and steady, like her own heartbeat. And it was still amazing to her that the technology contained in the small room just past the engine compartment held the key to passing from system to system in mere hours.

Nadia leaned in closer to the engines, closing her eyes and letting the hum fill her senses until there was little else to occupy her. This was as close as she had gotten to truly emotional peace in the past several months.

Of course, this new feeling of peace towards space travel did little to help her sleep. It had only been a few months ago that she had seen her father die at the hands of the Sith. The anger from that confrontation still seethed within her, no matter how her new Jedi Master tried to assuage it.

Jedi Master. Jedi! For all the anger she still felt, nothing could replace the wonder within Nadia’s heart at counting herself a member of such a renowned order of warriors. These past six months of learning had been nothing less than amazing. Already, she could count herself as proficient(though hardly impressive) with a lightsaber. In particular she favored the double-bladed style, similar to the combat techniques her father had taught her as a child. The weapon was far heavier and more unwieldy than it looked. But with practice and patient tutoring by both her Master and Qyzen, his Trandoshan bodyguard, she had learned quickly how to dispatch the enemies she now faced on these long journeys through space.

As formidable a weapon as the lightsaber could be, however, it was the Force that troubled Nadia the most. It was far more difficult to master, perhaps because now she was forced to use it, instead of being used by it. Before her training, her experiences with the supernatural power were instinctive and hard to initiate. Emotion led her to the Force, be it through wonder, frustration, anger, even sadness. Now, her master asked her to call on the Force when she was calm and serene. A far harder task than she ever anticipated. She could feel the power at her fingertips, but couldn’t command it like she could when she was emotional. Her Master said that it was far more powerful to do it his way. And Nadia believed him. She knew his experiences were far more expansive than hers, and she had decided to follow his instructions, no matter how frustrating.

Frustrating. Now that was an interesting term to use on her Jedi Master. It wasn’t that he ever did anything to cause her any anxiety. In fact he was the steadiest, most calming presence Nadia had ever felt. In all the time she had known him, he’d never raised his voice to her, or anyone else. Even in combat, he was the model of tranquility. Even when he spoke commandingly, it was a quiet command. As if obedience was both expected and asked for. Powerful, but respectful. Nadia had never met a man or woman like that before. Which may have been why he confused her so.

He was attractive, there was no way around that. He had handsome, distinctly masculine features, but they were graceful too. His hair was oddly silvery, though his face was undoubtedly youthful. Nadia doubted he was more than five years older than herself. And yet, he was already a Master of the Jedi Order, powerful in the Force and trained from a very young age. Through a lifetime of that training, his body had been well taken care of. Vital and healthy, lean without being too muscular. Taller than most, but not overly so. A true swordsman’s build. Everything a young Sarkhai girl was raised to value in a mate.

But for all of that, he kept himself at an arm’s distance, even when they were training. Never once did he look at her in a way that even a friend would. Nadia did not have so high an opinion of herself that she expected any romantic overtures or declarations of undying love. She respected him too much for that. But it was hard to learn from a man who didn’t seem to have any interest in even being friends. He was always dispassionate with her. And it wasn’t like he was that way with everyone. He and Qyzen seemed to have a way with one another that implied a deep respect and admiration. It was clear that he was friends with Lt. Iresso and Zenith as well. And with Dr. Cedrax and Holiday, he even seemed…content. Like he was around people that allowed him to be himself.

But the moment Nadia entered the room, he became cold, distant. Not like he was before she was his Padawan. Back then he’d been kind, warm, charming even. All in a quiet way, of course. Why he changed was beyond her. And the fact that she didn’t know why he changed his demeanor around her nor how exactly to approach him to address this issue, was keeping her up on nights like tonight. So she wandered the small ship, leaving her spacious quarters for the small conferene room where her father had sat for so long, or up in the cockpit to watch the stars fly by, or down by the engines to listen to them hum, like she was doing now.

Deciding that she had had enough of listening to the hyperdrive for now, Nadia stood up and walked out of the engine room, so silent Qyzen didn’t stir as she passed by his small nook he’d chosen for a bedroom. Her lessons in stealth were coming along nicely. Her Master had no great talent in that skill, but Dr. Cedrax did. He and Holiday had made great strides in teaching her what they knew of the art, and Nadia was improving much faster than they expected.

Just as she was about to head into her room, however, she felt something. A strange feeling that stopped her dead in her tracks. It wasn’t anger. Nor was it grief, joy or peace. No, this was a feeling Nadia was all too familiar with. This was fear. Not pure fear, like that of confronting a Sith assassin in a dark alley. No, this was a deeper, more emotional fear. Like the kind a person felt when they knew they had done something wrong and was waiting for someone to find out. Waiting for a parent to come punish them for disobedience or a peace officer to arrest them. It made Nadia uneasy, not just because she was feeling it. But because she knew where, or more accurately whom, this feeling came from.

Nadia’s Master, Gharas Tellick, Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order, was afraid. Of what, she wasn’t sure. But whatever it was, this was no small feeling. Nadia’s own nervousness at this discovery only heightened her awareness of her Master’s turmoil.

As her feet began walking almost of their own accord, Nadia felt like an observer trapped in her own body. Just down the hall from her room was the training quarters. She’d spent many hours in that room over the past several months, learning all she could from her Master. But what was he doing in there, alone? What training did he have to do on his own? And at 3am Standard Time, when he should be sleeping. That made Nadia crack a smile. She was hardly one to judge the man for being up at this time.

But the point remained. No one should be in the training room at this hour if they were doing as they should have. Only C2-N2 should be up and about, and he never went into that room. All the broken training droid parts seemed to set the fragile protocol droid on edge. And the only person besides Nadia and Gharas to be in that room regularly was Qyzen, and he only came along to assist with Nadia’s lessons.

And yet there was a familiar presence in that room. A presence Nadia hadn’t felt since the day she became Gharas’ Padawan. Sneaking closer to the training room, Nadia leaned against the wall, not wanting the automatic door’s sensors to detect her and give away her own presence to her Master. Closing her eyes, Nadia focused on the sounds from the other room. Then she touched the wall, letting the vibrations of the ship fall away as the motions of the figure beyond that door came through to her senses loud and clear.

There was woman’s voice beyond the door. She was singing to a steady melody that was both beautiful and haunting.

Two black SoroSuubs driving in a slow parade

Headlights shining bright in the middle of the day

One is for his wife,

The other for the woman who loved him at night

Two black SoroSuubs meeting for the first time

And as Nadia listened to the song, she became entranced. It was more than the words the woman said. It was the feelings of the other person listening to them. The fear was still there. The shame for that fear followed. The chorus of the song, sung multiple times, brought it to the surface.

And the Jedi said he was a good man

And his brother said he was a good friend

But the women in the two black veils didn't bother to cry

Bye Bye, Bye Bye

Yeah they took turns laying a rose down

Threw a handful of dirt into the deep ground

He's not the only one who had a secret to hide

Bye bye, bye bye, bye bye

The shame, it was so powerful that Nadia sank to her knees. She felt suddenly as if nothing mattered but her inability to conquer that fear she was feeling. It was a despair she’d never believed possible. How could anyone feel so ashamed of anything? To feel like there was no way to overcome it? To feel so hopeless.

It was the first and the last time they saw each other face to face

They shared a crimson smile and just walked away

And left the secret at the grave

At the end of the last chorus, Nadia felt the shame start to subside. It became a dull ache to the fear that still boiled within her connection to her Master. Deciding that she had to know what her Master was doing, Nadia crept closer to the door. She didn’t care if it gave her away, she had to know why he was putting himself through this.

But that was when the music changed. It became faster. MUCH faster. The strings of a guitar and a constant beat of a drum played so quickly Nadia wasn’t sure what to make of the music. There was nothing like it in the music of her people. It was a man who was singing now, and his voice was light and…happy?

Been working so hard

I'm punching my card

Eight hours, for what

Oh, tell me what I got.

I've got this feeling

That time's just holding me down

I'll hit the ceiling

Or else I'll tear up this town!

The music built up as Nadia wandered ever closer to the door. And suddenly, she was overwhelmed by a feeling of utter euphoria. All the shame, the fear, every feeling that was anything but sheer relief disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Tonight I gotta cut loose!

Footloose!

Kick off your Sunday shoes!

Please, Louise

Pull me off of my knees

Jack, get back

C'mon before we crack

Lose your blues

Everybody cut footloose!

Nadia found herself sitting down, her heart fluttering and beating harder than as if she had run ten miles. The emotions were too much. First the desolate fear, now the overwhelming relief from that fear. How in the world she was going to get to sleep now, Nadia had no idea. WHAT WAS THAT MAN DOING?! Seizing herself, Nadia concentrated on something her Master had only begun to teach her. Force Sight. He had told her that it was possible to see something behind walls or even miles away, if a Jedi was determined enough. Purging herself f anything but the desire to see what her Master was doing, Nadia’s whole world suddenly fell away. It was as if she could see the whole room, and not just from one perspective. She could see, almost feel, everything from everywhere.

You're playing so cool

Obeying every rule

And when the Force showed Nadia her hearts’ desire, she saw something she honestly never expect to see in a million years.

Dig way down in your heart

You're burning, yearning for some

Somebody to tell you

That life ain't a passing you by

He was dancing. Her Master, a man she respected more than anyone alive, a man more calm than the vacuum of space itself, was dancing. And not just a simple dance, swaying his hips or snapping his fingers. No, he was moving to and fro wildly, his feet moving in tandem across the floor in steps he had obviously done so often he no longer needed to think. His hands, meanwhile, were strumming the strings of an invisible guitar, his fingers a blur as he performed for an audience that was just as nonexistent.

I'm trying to tell you

It will if you don't even try

You can fly if you'd only cut loose,

Footloose

Suddenly, Gharas tossed the nonexistent guitar aside and open his arms and face to the ceiling. With an ease Nadia could only hope she possessed someday, Gharas used the Force to lift himself off the floor. Then he started spinning, twisting, flipping, turning in the air faster than anything Nadia had ever seen. And as Nadia focused on her Master’s face, she saw that he was smiling ear-to-ear. Laughing, in fact. Then screaming in delight. And she felt every bit as good as he did right now. It was truly astounding how wonderful it was to feel what he was feeling. Nothing Nadia had ever known could compare.

When at last the music ended, Gharas landed on his feet, a calm a serene look on his face once more. The face Nadia was used to seeing. And Nadia was sad to see it again. That smile had been so wonderful, she wanted to see it again. And again. As often as possible.

“Nadia. Please come in.”

Her heart stopped. How long had he known she was there? Had this all been a plan of his? Some weird Jedi test? Make her think he was normal for a minute before becoming the stoic teacher again? She sighed. It didn’t matter. One way or another, she’d been caught red-handed.

Sheepishly, Nadia stood up and walked through the door. The stoic Master was gone again, replaced by a man who seemed just as embarrassed as she was.

“How long have you been watching?”

Nadia shuffled her feet, “Somewhere around ‘Two Black SoroSuubs’.”

Gharas sighed, but seemed to have been struck speechless by the whole situation. Suddenly, Nadia felt…funny. A smile crept across her face. Gharas soon had one to match. She let out the first giggle. He started to chuckle. Her giggle turned to laughter. His chuckle turned to chortling. Soon enough, the two of them had burst into a collective fit of laughter, the kind that brought tears.

Once the two of them had composed themselves it became clear that little discussion of this manner would be appropriate in their respective states. At least, not now. So Nadia gave a quick bow of respect and left the training room as quickly as possible. But as she did, she saw a lopsided grin on her Master’s face. The kind that a man wore after he’d just made a fool of himself but felt pretty good about it. It was one Nadia genuinely desired to see again. In fact, by the end of the night she had several plans in mind to accomplish exactly that.

I love the chemistry between Angie and Roy. I was curious about what might happen if she approached the trooper (still am) but I enjoyed the exchange between her and Roy. It makes me wonder how long Roy was watching her, and trying to decide if he should say something, just like she was doing...

Footloose sure does bring back some memories. I loved the build up, and how it all turned out. It makes me wonder if they'll ever get together. Maybe I'm a habitual shipper, but I almost wonder if Gharus is deliberately distant, because deep down he um...likes her And I totally imagined him dancing like Kevin Bacon. That was awesome

HadeedAK: sorry about the confusion on the last piece. Thoroughly enjoyed this one and I agree with Striges: the Iron Wolf may have met it’s match with the puppy, assuming Ms Irons doesn’t conveniently leave Nar Shaddaa without it. Still, you have a dashing adventurer archaeologist who isn’t afraid of haunted tombs and has just gained a dog that needs a name: Indiana perhaps?

@Lunafox: A belated welcome to the thread. Great job with making the characters believable and realistic, if not necessarily likeable (Harkun cannot be likeable: it’s as fundamental a rule in the universe as gravity). Also, thanks for injecting a fresh take on the ‘Fem-Inquisitor was a sexy pleasure slave’ cliché I’ve seen a few dozen times already (typically in in-game RP). Feravai may have been a slave, but I suspect that pesky legal status didn’t really affect her all that much. Also, that ending: awkward doesn’t begin to cover it. Still, it gives an interesting twist on the contemptuous dynamic Harkun and the Inquisitor have.

I have a bit of a confession to make: I actually like Harkun. Okay, so perhaps ‘like’ is too strong a word, but I enjoy his scenes. I’m not entirely sure why, but I suspect it’s to do with the way the word ‘slay-ve’ rolls off his tongue.

Also, Ffon/Harkun Slash… is Striges finished with the bleach? I had the impression that Harkun was making the best of his situation, trying to place a no-talent pureblood from a noble family under a Sith Lord at said family’s behest. Overseers are beneath Lords on the totem pole, after all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from being the specesist that douche he is, but can explain why he deviates from the traditionalist rationale with the inquisitor’s group, when we see that he doesn’t with his next batch. He even goes so far as to insist on failing the last one standing rom that group and starting anew.

@Bright_Ephemera: It’s not my fault that the empire’s a horrifying place and doubly so for non-humans who aren’t in the Empire’s upper echelons . I just write it as I see it. However, to show I’m not that much of a sociopath, maybe I’ll start writing about the Republic side.

@AKHadeed: hey, it’s that guy, the from your Sith barbeque piece, apparently enjoying his native dish. Poor Ms Irons, trying to chat to, and possibly go or drinks with, tall, scarred and noble, and gets cockblocked (can women get cockblocked) by a concealment Op: the douchebags of PVP. I like Kisheesh’s description, especially his shirt, and Ms Iron’s conclusion that they are morally incompatible without having spoken to him for several years.

@CastonFolarus: I’m always a little leery about songs in prose, without the tune, but that was adorable. I liked Nadia’s serious worries and concerns at the start, how the crew have welcomed her and help Gharis teach and the contrast with the lightness and her happiness at the end. Oh, and Welcome Back!

I slowly became aware of a rancor thrashing around in my sinuses. Oh, this is worse than the time I drank a whole bottle of Jory’s Hutt tequila. He’d laughed it off after I’d gotten him another one, but he’d mixed up a foul smelling brew that kicked the pain away. He always had my back. Maybe he’d gotten that cure mixed up already. Oh: yeah.

Access Holonet, search “hangover cure”: no results? Am I connected? Signal’s coming in loud and clear. Maybe it just didn’t get through: you know how signals can get messed up if there’s a lot of traffic. Access Holonet, search “headache relief: still nothing? I must’ve hit my head or something knocking out the transmitter or something. No, that can’t be right, I still have signal. Okay, open diagnostic. Display all active programs! A list of a dozen programmes and several hundred subroutines flashed in front of my left eye. I knew pretty much all of them, and could trace the codes of the few I didn’t.

Huh, that one’s new. Properties? Hang on, I recognise some of the code: it’s for remote access. Okay, that was just plain creepy. I mean, who would develop jury-rigging software for implants? Okay, so whatever it was, it locked up my implants. I’d have to set up a malware scan later. What about the rest of my body?

I opened my eyes and really wished I hadn’t. Bright lights battered my brain. Oranges, greens, whites and reds wobbled on a sea of grey. Okay, so I’m still on the station. That’s good, I think. I can’t have been out for too long. A blue shadow wavered and slowly shrank over to my right.

I bet it’s that blue-skinned bi1ch! Why couldn’t she tell me we were walking into a trap beforehand, like you know, on the shuttle. Hey, maybe she could’ve put it in her whole ‘this is dangerous business, Mako’ speech before we even booked the tickets. With two days’ notice, I could’ve whipped up some decent safeguards instead of that slapdash mess.

Hang on, that’s a lot of blue. I focussed, and the blurs became a bit more distinct, enough to see shapes. Okay, why’s she naked and all hunched over like that? There was something silvery dangling from her neck, and cold pitted my stomach. That was a chain. Some sandy-haired guy in Mando armour held the other end. Hey, I know him.

“Blood! you backstabbing, murdering slime,” I snarled across the lot, or tried to. My mouth wouldn’t move. What the hell? Why can’t I speak?

“Ey Cherée, you figured it out, no?” a guy asked in a thick Devarorian accent. He was tall, with bright neon red hair and a face a sculptor would kill to make. Biggest thing though was his eyes. They were black, with pink irises. Y’know, he looked just like Remi La’Belle, Sabaac from the old Metamorphs animavids, only a guy.

“Be a darling, stand up,” guy-Sabaac commanded, and I did, not that I had a say in the matter, “and let de pretty lady take a look at you.”

I looked up and saw Kaliyo swagger up to me. This is bad: I’d seen her file. I knew she’d been worth at least fifteen thousand creds before they’d all vanished. You don’t get to be worth that much by minding your own business. Also, I’d seen her rip a guy apart for no reason at all at Nem’ro’s. She could end me, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Aw, looks like your Chiss friend sold quick,” she purred into my ear, prowling around me and Eep.

Clawed talons sank into my butt cheek, and I couldn’t feel any fabric to dull the nail’s edge. Uh, I’m not naked, right? I can’t be naked: please don’t let me be naked. I looked around, and saw a creepy looking old man in black staring at me. Stars, I am. Okay, don’t freak, freaking’ll just draw everyone’s eyes to my body. Stars, I’m gonna freak! The creepy old guy stalked across the bazaar, turning a coin over his wrinkled hands. Hey, that’s Nem’ro’s chit: that’s our ticket into the great hunt.

“Nem’ro’ll put a huge bounty on your head when he hears how you two lost him millions by failing to even qualify. I’m grabbing you while you’re nice and cheap,” she cooed into my ear, worrying my lobe with her teeth. Please don’t bite it off. A wrinkled hand clutched her shoulder, and it was whiter than her. She’s a Rattataki, so that’s something.

“Unhand her, alien,” the old guy growled, his voice deeper than a rift. The cruel smirk melted from Kaliyo’s face as she rounded on the old man and I could feel a stinging moistness where her fingers had been. She cut my butt!

“Beat it, Baldy. Intelligence wants her. One word and I’ll have you trussed up like the titless wonder,” Kaliyo growled from somewhere to my right. She sounded like liquid fire. Hey, I do have breasts; they’re just not as big as everyone else’s okay. Actually, I don’t, so there’s no need for anyone to look at me.

“Your thoughts claim otherwise. You work for Suudaa Nem’ro of Jiguuna, not my Intelligence. Lie to me again and you will sup upon your own heart; out-caste,” he sneered, levelling a baleful glare at her.

Her vibroknife slid out from a sheath I hadn’t seen in her sleeve. The guy balled his fist. Before she could sweep the blade through his neck, she collapsed to her knees, coughing heavily. Blood spattered the bulkhead beneath her and she clattered to the floor.

The guy, no, the Sith stepped over her bloody carcass, addressing guy-Sabaac directly. The Metamorph straightened out of his customary slouch, dipping a formal bow to the monster.

“This one will do,” he told guy-Sabaac. The metamorph pressed something against the back of my neck, and two prongs stabbed me on either side of my vertebrae. If I could have screamed, I would. Instead, I just stood there, bare before the Sith and utterly at his mercy. Walking around me, guy-Sabaac handed the Sith a collar control, my collar’s control. Stars, I’ve been collared; this is bad. This is very bad.

“Dis hokay, boss, she’s a geeft for you.” The Sith accepted my life with a curt nod, and perused me. Ugh, I feel like a droid or a piece of meat: something to be inspected and bought, not like a person.

“Perfect. Just one thing remains,” he noted, cupping his finger under my chin and tilting it upwards. My mouth popped open and I saw his ancient face close with mine. Stars no, this is just wrong.

He leant in close gently, tenderly even, and locked his lips against mine. It was just like I’d thought it’d be: cold, clammy and pain exploded in my mouth. I couldn’t move anything, but if I could, I would’ve screamed. He leant back, black eyes fixed on me.

Blood ran down his chin as he smiled at me and I saw his teeth. They were jagged like a sharkla’s and my tongue was between them. With weird ululating jerks, like that of an Orobird, he swallowed my tongue without chewing. I stared, transfixed at the weird, unrealness of it all. Then pain came back, and it brought friends. The world went all blurry and the Sith shot up, or maybe I fell. The Sith swooped down on me, and he changed.

The black of his eyes faded to normal green ones. Colour returned to his ashen skin, pushing his pallor to the living side of pale. Wrinkles, liver spots and blood vanished as his jawline became more rounded. Dirty ginger hair appeared on his head, swept back to show the red tattoo on his brow.

“Hi,” the kid greeted with a slightly too loud voice, “we got your message. Are you okay?”

My hand shot up to check my mouth. There was something over my nose and mouth, but I could feel my tongue on my teeth. My other hand flicked back, and the only metal on my head was my implants. Tongue, no collar and I could feel the synthweave of my jumpsuit against my arms. It had all been a dream, just a dream. Then I saw it.

It looked like something that crawled off the set of a horror flick. It had hollow cheeks, impossibly thin limbs and a distended stomach, noticeable even through the soulless grey tunic. Its skin was an ash blue and it was only because of the limp strands of flesh hanging from the back of its head that I recognised it as a Rutian Twi’lek.

It, no… she, I think, looked positively skeletal. Bandages swaddled her feet and she left a faint trail of clear-blue fluid wherever she limped. I didn’t need to see the oversized spark plug on the back of her neck to know that she had been a slave in life. I did what anyone with half a brainstem would do when confronted with a real life zombie: I screamed and wrapped my hands around my head. She’s not eating my brains!

This is why you don’t try to plot storylines before going to sleep. It also gets the Dreams and Nightmares prompt, but I didn’t want to spoil it.

The shuttle hissed as it landed and sprayed mist around it. We’re here! Vaiken station: a huge spaceship floating around a greeny-brown planet with dozens of ships standing watch from the little Terminuses all the way up to the monster Harrowers that dominate the galaxy, give or take a few sectors.

“Vette, wake up. We’re here! I announced, poking her arm. It felt papery under my finger, huh. Encyclopaedia Imperator never mentioned anything about that.

“Aww, five more minutes,” she grumbled, rolling over on the seat.

“No, come on, let’s go!” I insisted, and then remembered I’m meant to be her master, not her friend.

“I mean, Come along twi’lek, we are leaving now, and you will obey,” I commanded, puffing up my chest and using the best Kaas sneer Supernova used on Czez Czerka, uh, not that I watch anything like that when I’m meant to be privately meditating on dark side mysteries.

Grumbling something in Huttese -I don’t know what, I don’t speak Huttese- she undid her restraint harness and hauled herself out of her chair. Slowly, she sneaked towards the open hatch and I bounced out of the shuttle before her.

There were five Imperial slaves outside, standing in a chevron and they all wore grey armour. Huh, maybe the steward was telling the truth. The one in the middle took a step forwards, bowed and undid her helmet. She had a round face, green eyes and light brown hair tied back in a bun. She wasn’t Ragate old or Ragate old, but she wasn’t new to being an adult either. She looked exactly what I pictured a Mum as looking like.

“My lord, welcome to Vaiken Station. I am Leftenant Sarnova, of the 70th Battalion. My men and I shall be your honour guard.” She sounded clear, crisp but there was a softness in her voice, as if she was more used to quiet chats than barking orders.

“Hi Leftenant Sarnova, I’m Roan and this is Vette. She’s a slave,” I introduced us back.

“Really, that’s the first thing you open with? Not, Vette: the girl who helped me out in the tombs, or Vette: my trusted twi’lek? Nope, it’s the slave thing.” I ignored her whining. A Sith must be above petty concerns for they are distractions from the dark side. Leftenant Sarnova looked at Vette with a vaguely concerned face. Yes, I know, she’s a Twi’lek and she’s speaking back: I’m working on it, okay.

“I see. Shall I schedule an appointment with the medical bay, my lord?” Leftenant Sarnova asked, eyes pouring over Vette as if memorising everything about her. Why would we have to do that? I’m fine. I even said as much.

“Your slave, Vette, will need to be checked for biohazards and certified to enter to the empire. It won’t take long my lord, and if the doctors discover anything, they can treat most things on-site,” she explained, pulling her gaze to look at my boots. Is there something I’m missing? I mean, it makes sense. They don’t want anything to infect Kaas but we came from Korriban. There’s nothing on Korriban that’s not on Kaas.

“Okay, but I need to get in the register database so I can go to Kaas. Oh, and I need transport to get to Kaas,” I commanded and Sarnova bowed obediently.

“If you come with me, my lord, we shall get you started.” I followed her over to the lift, her slaves forming a diamond around Vette and me.

Glancing back at the shuttle, I saw that Vette left faint clear-blue footprints. Encyclopaedia Imperator didn’t mention that Twi’leks left slime trails. Looking at her, she looked all stiff and tense, like she was constipated: well, she did eat a lot on the flight here. Don’t worry, we’ll find a toilet on the way up, and if anyone says she can’t use it, I’ll smash then with my Sith authority.

We went into the lift, the imperial slaves fanning around us while Leftenant Sarnova stood at the front. The lift trundled up and showed us another room. There were two queues, a long alien one and a short human one, and both had metal doorways the queues had to walk through. There were big terminals and imperial slave ladies in the same grey armour.

“Step aside, Sith coming through,” Leftenant Sarnova called in a clear, ringing voice and the crowd parted. We advanced through the silent room, feeling them watch us with equal parts awe and terror. This must be what it’s like normally in the empire, when you don’t have hundreds of other Sith around you. One of the imperial slave ladies in grey armour tapped a button and the laser divider vanished. We all marched down the room, except for Vette, who hobbled a bit.

Something warbled from my robe pocket. I pulled the device out and recognised it as the holocommunicator Ragate gave to me. Huh, it’s never done that before: maybe I’d left something behind? All around me, people did the same, including one of my grey-armoured honour-guard. Maybe they’d all left something too. I looked the device over, trying to find the off button.

Vette swiped it from my hands, thumbed a button and a little blue girl a few years older than me appeared above it. She was doll sized and had spiky hair, a crescent of implants around one eye and wore a jumpsuit.

“Help us anybody out there, you’re our only hope. The customs agent is running an illegal slaving operation and we’re caught in his trap. We’re in the holding area for docking bay 26. Help us anybody out there: you’re our only hope.” Then the girl vanished, replaced by a boxy room. She was there, sprawled on the floor. There was another woman with her and she was naked and squatting over by one of the walls. Then the feed cut out.

“Help us, anybody out there, you’re our only hope,” she repeated, starting the loop over again.

I looked up at Vette. Uh, I mean, I turned to my servant for advice. We were at docking bay 26, it said so in big letters on the far wall. She looked down at me, and I saw certainty radiate from her. The customs agent was slaving people who weren’t captures, convicted criminals or part of the slave caste. That is wrong. Moreso, he’s using Imperial authority, granted to him by the Emperor and Sith like me, to break the Emperor’s law: not in my name.

I closed my eyes, focussed and felt a faint glimmer somewhere below us. Taking a long, steady breath, I opened my eyes and saw through the bulkheads. I don’t know what it is, but Ragate told me it’s more than the simple force-augmented sight all Sith can wield. I saw through the metal floor, picking out three shimmering lights. One was blue, with slight white fraying around the edges, one was a fading green and the last was a deep, strong red. Red is dead.

I moved, channelling power down to my legs. I’m only a kid, but I’m Sith: I can outrun swarms of shyrack under the open sky if I will it. There were three ways out, a lift down to the hanger, a lift up to the station, and a door halfway between them. I went for the door. It was locked, but that didn’t stop me. I lashed out with the power of the force, and cratered the flimsy metal sheet.

Two turrets rose out of the far side of the corridor and turned on me, just like in practice but a lot slower. I could blur past them, but I have an honour guard and Vette and they can’t bounce blaster bolts. My lightsaber snapped to life, staining the room red. I moved it as I’d been taught, keeping tight turns close to my body and heeding my instincts. No bolt got through. I’m not very good at bouncing bolts back at stuff, so they spattered over the bulkheads. I could keep this up for one or two hours, Ragate made sure of that, but I didn’t have time to waste. Even now, mister bad slaver agent could be abusing his power and selling them. Imperials don’t get to abuse their power.

I surged forwards, twirling and spinning my lightsaber through the tight turns and velocities Ragate showed me. The turrets tracked me, firing all the time, but they didn’t get through When I got to maybe fifteen metres away, I leapt at them, pointing my body like a missile. Landing right in the middle of the two, I spun up, slicing through their stalks. Carrying on the blow, I slashed through the door. Molten metal ran down in rivers as I smacked it with the force. Metal triangles shattered inwards, showing me a stairway. Blurring forwards I grabbed the railing and vaulted. It was only a five-metre drop.

Landing, I rolled down the last few steps, and came to a junction. Glancing around, I saw the fuzzy blue and greens in the first room to the left. Red was nearby.

I swept my saber through the door, throwing it open with the power of the force. Blurring in, I almost gagged from the smell, but it quickly faded away. All around me, the force went crazy, screaming and begging me to get out. I couldn’t see any bad guys to fight though: not in here, anyway.

Red was behind a glass window, and I saw yellow streaks strike through the red. He was behind all this. I punched the air, and a ram of power smashed his little window into bits. Red fled, vanishing through a door I hadn’t noticed before. Four or five clicks and the steady whines of charging blasters from the corridor told me the honour guard had caught up. Good, they can hold him and maybe fix these two.

Vette popped her head around the door, started coughing and ducked back out. The air’s bad but couldn’t she handle even a little bad air? Encyclopaedia Imperator didn’t mention any weakness to the air. Instead, I saw her jittery pale-blue presence head into the room mister bad slaver agent had hidden in.

The ceiling hissed again, and the foul smell slowly came back. Ugh, why Vette? The smell had gone away and you brought it back? Now she came back in, holding a few cylinders with cone shaped heads.

“Here, press it against her face and push the button on the top,” she told me, tossing me one of the cylinders and pointing to the girl. It was weird watching her give commands, like a Sith: her presence darkened, becoming a deeper blue. Huh, people go darker blue when they exert power, but I thought twi’leks were supposed to be white: utterly submissive. I don’t get it, but I don’t have time to get it. I slid down beside the girl and did as Vette said: put the cone thing over her mouth and pushed the button. The cone fogged up instantly, and the girl’s chest started moving again.

I glanced up and saw Leftenant Sarnova enter the room.

“Sir, we have captured the customs agent. What do you want done to him.” I knew what was expected of me, and I gave the command.

“Interrogate him on how far his abuse goes, then execute him and investigate his corruption.” The imperials devote their lives to the Sith and the Empire. If one of them puts himself before everything and breaks his oath, then he deserves to die. Ragate was adamant on that, and she went out of her way to execute any Imperials who broke their oaths.

I saw the fierce fire of determination sparkle in her green presence. I get it: he wasn’t just breaking his oath; he was insulting the honour of her battalion doing so. She would get to the bottom of all this.

“How’s Mako doing?” someone asked from over by Vette. I glanced over and saw the naked lady, her presence getting bluer with every puff from the rebreather.

“Um, she’d breathing but hasn’t woken up yet. Her presence is less raggedy though.” The naked lady nodded and the sharp edges around her softened. Then she quietly said something to Vette.

“Hey, I need your lightsaber for a moment,” Vette called from over by the force field.

“Ask politely slave, and I may consider granting your request,” I deigned to answer, putting on my best Kaas accent so she knew who was in command: no listlessness for her. She fixed me with the same look Ragate used when I was being obstreperous. I have no idea what it means either, but it sounds amazing: ob-strep-er-ous. Ugh, fine. I tossed her my saber.

Catching it with both hands, she held it as tightly as she could and pressed the power button. Red bathed the stark white room, turning the greenish floor a vomit purple-brown. The blade hummed and shook violently in her hands as she slowly pushed it into the wall around the force field. It flickered and died, as did my lightsaber a moment later. The naked lady pounced on the tray behind the forcefield while Vette walked over and handed me my lightsaber. Then the girl’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hi,” I greeted her cheerily, “we got your message. Are you okay?” She didn’t answer, not that I expected her to: she had a rubber mask thing over her face. Instead, she poked her mask, the back of her neck and looked around. Her eyes squinted as she focussed on something over my shoulder. I glanced back, and saw Vette heading back to talk to the naked lady who was putting on a jumpsuit.

Someone screamed and I sprung back, hand on my hilt. It was the girl, who was desperately clutching her head. I suddenly felt everyone’s eyes on me and it didn’t feel good at all.

“I didn’t do anything!” I insisted, to no one in particular, “she just started screaming.” The now-not-naked lady blurred past me, skidding on the floor to kneel beside the girl.

“Ssh, Mako, it’s okay; we’re safe. The hallucination will pass soon,” she consoled, her harsh voice soothing, but I could see the flicker in her presence. She was lying.

“Don’t let it eat my brains,” she squeaked, pointing a trembling finger at Vette. What? I’m the Sith, I’m meant to be the scary one, and she’s scared of Vette. I stared at the girl, then at Vette, then back at the girl, trying to understand what was going on.

“Uh Roan, you don’t really see things the way we do, do you?” Vette asked, and I stared at her. Did she mean not using the force to see? But then I couldn’t see the dark side, or through darkness or walls. I closed my eyes, and slowly pushed power out of my eyes. It was hard, like relaxing a muscle you’ve held tense for so long you’ve forgotten what it feels like relaxed. I opened my eyes and stared at the real Vette.

Her face was gaunt and hollow, with thin noodles instead of the thick lekku I’d seen moments before. One eye was bloodshot, stained a bluey yellow. Her lips had shrunk a bit, showing off-white teeth between them. She still wore the tunic and leggings Ragate gave her, but her tight leggings were loose against her arms and legs and the loose tunic was tight against her swollen stomach. Her feet were twisted, with lots of little cuts and scratches all over them from the desert sands. The left one was a darker colour, and a little puffed up, with a blue-yellow ooze seeping from her toenails. She held my gaze, refusing to let the grimace of torment contort her ashen face.

How had I missed this? I can see through walls, when someone is sad, hostile or lying to me, but not if Vette, my only real friend who’s not after my power or dead, is sick and dying. The encyclopaedia never said anything about this, about any of it. What have I done wrong? I stepped forwards, and buried my face in the flat bit over her stomach, wrapping my arms around her. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do this, I just wanted you not to die, like everyone else has.

“Sir,” a soft voice cooed not too far away. I looked up, my eyes all blurry, and saw Leftenant Sarnova stand not two metres away. She looked taller than I’d ever seen her, and as soft as a cloud.

“Uh, Miss Leftenant,” I sniffed, “can the doctors in your medbay fix her?” I asked quietly and my voice might’ve trembled a bit.

“They will try, sir: I’ll contact them immediately,” she answered softly, her eyes promising me that everything would be all right. Then she ducked back out of the room, a hand rising to her ear. Everything would be okay: Vette would be okay, the bad man would die and we had new friends. I turned back, to see Vette talking to the now-standing girl and oh.

“You’re blue!”

@AKHadeed, Angharad continues to be wonderful. And not one, but two handsome spacers! I really liked the "too many halves" line. Says a little about what she's talking about, says a little about her.

@CastonFolarus, long time no see! I absolutely love Nadia's conflicting impressions of her Jedi Master. Her emotional impressions through the Force were fun to follow.

@Bultitudes_Loke, a truthfully creative expense report is the most fun kind of expense report.

@Feldraeth, Roan's POV is stunning. Partly parroting his mentor, partly occupied in identifying the things he's learned, partly trying to make sense of a complex world. And he's nice to Vette which is automatic +50 points in my book.

“Sentence one. Hook. Get their eyes on you. Sentence two. Line. Convince them you’ve noticed them. Sentence three. Sinker. Invite them to interact in return.”

Wynston stood before the small classroom. He wasn’t here in his capacity as Cipher, only as a reasonably experienced field agent. Social maneuvers. Tricks of the trade, and of being a gregarious individual with an eye for detail. It was only manipulation if you didn't mean well. Now Intelligence asked him to pass some of that on.

*

“I’m sorry.”

The woman eyed the Chiss curiously. “What for?”

“I lost my train of thought right when I was about to say something clever to you. It was clever.” He grinned. “Trust me.”

Ridiculous, but ridicule was a potential in. It had worked at least once. It was both difficult and irrelevant to keep track beyond that.

*

“The apology is a versatile approach. One of the first things people will believe of anyone is that that anyone owes them something. Commit or invent a small infraction, follow it up with contrition: there's your opening.”

*

“I-I’m sorry, w-were you sitting here?” Easy work. He just needed to get the contents of his pockets into the contents of his mark’s, and let the man think it was his idea.

“No!" said the mark. "Not at all, sorry, no need to get up. I just thought you had the right idea here, these are some of the best seats in the house for watching the proceedings. I didn’t mean to bother you.”

A heartbeat’s pause. A shy half-smile. “No, I don’t mind.” All Wynston had to do, regardless of finesse, was be seduced. With that in mind he left himself wide open.

*

“Obviously this isn’t the best approach if you want to command a position of power. If you value your ego too highly to make an occasional exception you may as well leave this class. But asking forgiveness has its uses. And unlike setting explosives or firing rifles, the failure mode is no worse than a moment’s forgettable annoyance on the part of the target.”

*

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. Absolutely not. This woman was a monster ten times over, and worse, she wasn’t the Empire’s monster. “Nono, don't get up, please. I just need to reach past you here.” Before he was done talking he had the tracker in place. Thus did words create the opening, camouflage for the act. There were agents who had other specialties, but Wynston framed requirements around these social transactions. They could be messy, but at least they were bloodless.

*

“The ingrained desire to smooth things over will hook some people instantly. The flattery of attention will impress others.”

*

“I’m so sorry, miss!” She didn’t know why. Beautiful and bright-eyed as she was, she didn't know why. That he and his handcart had bumped into her, yes, that was obvious; that this stranger’s real target was her father, and that before the end of this mission that father would be dead, she had no way of knowing. She was the uninformed tool, her innocent attention the key. Wynston had plenty of reason to be sorry. The opening words were just a dash of irony in an already heavy dish.

*

“If you don’t have the luxury of sincerity don’t worry. Genuine remorse is a liability. Resist it.” How little subtlety in that advice. But exceptions aside, he pressed on with the correct lesson, the one endorsed for agents too young to have any real discernment. “We are not in this line of work to feel sorry. When you get a spare moment, say ‘sorry’ like you don’t mean it. Then say it like you do mean it. Consider the difference. It only takes a little practice.”

He didn’t really mean “a little”. But he’d said it often enough.

*

“Sorry to bother you, I couldn’t help but overhear you speaking actual Basic.” A tentative smile, all his attention on her pretty face. “Can I ask you something?”

Whoever she was, she had some natural charity in her. “Sure.”

“Where would you go for a lunch that an offworlder could pronounce?”

She over the presentation he had for her: an alien in unremarkable clothes but an alien nevertheless, and one radiating uncertainty at that. “You really are lost, aren't you?”

He bit his lips and nodded sheepishly. “A little.”

She seemed to come to a decision. “Give me a minute, we’ll get you sorted out.” She laughed at his budding alarm. “It’s okay.”

Yes. It was, as long as they believed it.

Thanks for the welcome and the feedback I can't tell you my relief that the pleasure slave take was a fresh take. I hadn't actually realized it was cliche because I don't rp, so I'm not privy to what the common themes and ideas are. I do find Harkun a bit interesting as a person, and what makes him tick exactly. I think I'd do well with him as a teacher, because my hatred would drive me to be better, so I can prove him wrong. I had teachers like this, and while under their thumb, I hated it, but once I was graduated, I realized, you know, they actually did me a favour. And I do enjoy how he says slave. His VA is very versatile. I wonder how many people realize that he was also Darth Arkous, Cytherat, and some other Sith I've noticed too.

Anyhoo, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your take on Mako. I could totally hear her in my head. I loved the characterizations. I also enjoyed Roan's struggle between being Sithy and being himself. I also liked how Vette called him on the slavery thing, when he introduced her. It sounded very much like something she'd say. Nicely done

Love Wynston, I was quite enjoying his class on manipul--I mean social manouevering. It made a lot of practical sense really. Good advice there, and common sense on how to be charming. I thought the 'hook, line and sinker' bit was very clever too.

I had the impression that Harkun was making the best of his situation, trying to place a no-talent pureblood from a noble family under a Sith Lord at said family’s behest. Overseers are beneath Lords on the totem pole, after all.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from being the specesist that douche he is, but can explain why he deviates from the traditionalist rationale with the inquisitor’s group, when we see that he doesn’t with his next batch. He even goes so far as to insist on failing the last one standing (f)rom that group and starting anew.

The idea that Ffon’s family basically ordered him to make sure their son succeeds is plausible. At one point, after watching (no audio) a playthrough of the Inquisitor’s interactions with Harkun later in the story, I thought Harkun was akin to a drill sergeant. He’s abusive and horrible to the apprentices because that’s what’s needed. Making them hate, making them despise his treatment of the favorite and resent his favoritism. Hate, anger, resentment, these emotions make a good Sith. Pitting the apprentices against each other is a time-honored way of weeding out the weak. If Ffon couldn’t survive apprentices plotting against him he’s never survive real Sith, so singling him out for special treatment (at his family’s request or no) served a purpose. I thought Harkun turned off the act when he wasn’t on stage, so to speak. He wasn’t snotty to anyone who survived the program, Lords and near-Darths in particular, because they didn’t need him to be.

Unfortunately, when my own Inquisitor got to that point, he was just a speciesist, elitist pr*ck. Not even as servile as he was with Zash--and my Inquisitor was a Pureblood. A shame, really, because I liked the idea that he’d treat anyone who survived their final exam as an equal. Or at least with a modicum of respect.

The safe house on Nar Shaddaa was minimal. In fact it was squalid enough to pass for a gang bolthole. Or an advertised charity plea about the awful living conditions of some nameless refugees. Wynston’s associate was already there. One Agent Fenn'rys, an actual Cipher. He didn't know her. Ciphers were like that. He was looking forward to seeing her in action.

When he got into the little rectangular main room there was already someone there, standing at a console in the corner: a Chiss woman, by the blue curve of her cheek. Now that was uncommon in Intelligence. Her black ponytail hung straight. As she turned he saw she had sideswept bangs, not a bad look for her.

"Come here often?" he said.

Her once-over was both deliberate and very, very quick. "We don't have much time," she said. "Did you hear about the target?"

"Yes, in some detail. Doctor Norbet, formerly of Nem'ro the Hutt's chemical concerns. I've seen the file. What do we want with him?"

"In a word? Blackmail. Our sponsor wants him photographed compromising himself with – an alien would do, to start with."

"Oh?" He tried not to make his scan of her crisp but not showy outfit obvious.

"He prefers men."

Oh. "Ah. Well, being male is a specialty of mine."

“I’m counting on it.” She reached backward to touch the console without looking. “Your holo has the location. Talk your way in. Take this camera. You know what to do.”

"And what will you be doing?"

"Supplying," she said briskly. "Traffic being what it is I may not be back until late. Then again, you may not be back until later."

“Very well.” He accepted the tiny device she handed him. Oddly she didn't break eye contact as they made for the door. He kept his eye on her, curious. Finally, while she swung her coat around and settled it over her shoulders, she looked straight at him and breathed "Keep him safe."

He didn't acknowledge. Those three words in that whisper said that they were being watched, and the entire briefing had not just been for their ears. Something to add to the job’s description, then.

On the rental speeder he ran the tiny program that would erase all route records for the next three hours. After that he programmed in one destination: a Cartel-owned building out of the major lanes. In case of emergency it was a place to go away from the good safe house, one that wasn’t traceable to any Imperial property.

From there he drove, not too quickly, to the rendezvous. It was an upscale hotel. He parked in the seedy garage in back and locked his utility belt and a few extra tools he couldn’t be seen with into the glove compartment, then slunk in the back entrance. He was here for one person. The rest of the planet didn’t need to see him.

Norbet answered the door himself. He was a large man in every direction, liver-spotted and nervous in his mannerisms. He looked Wynston over and smiled a palpably oily smile while he wanted for Wynston to talk. This part was practiced. He could talk his way into a secret military installation if he felt like it, a man’s bedroom – particularly a man who looked at him the way Norbet did – was no problem at all. He didn’t seem to have a problem with an unexpected visitor.

In fact he was quite accommodating. Wynston had the chance to place the camera while Norbet was in the other room “getting ready,” whatever that meant. Wynston eyed the picture windows – impossible to defend – and went looking for the bedroom instead. There he checked the angles in the room to decide where best to position to keep his face obscured while managing illustrative views of the overall…positioning. The output he didn’t worry about; it would beam home on a secure channel for filing and future use. The Empire would have its blackmail material with regard to anyone who actually cared about Doctor Norbet getting favors from some generically pretty Chiss.

Norbet emerged from the other room looking exactly the same as before, only with an open bottle of wine in one hand. His breath was aggressively spiced when Wynston got close. A few words, meaningless; whatever Norbet did in his spare time he clearly was not unused to the notion of being sent entertainers. Good. Some varieties of corruption made Wynston’s job so much easier.

Wynston was in a hurry for that first touch, and after that time slowed to the call and response of the moment. His target wasn’t a bad kisser. His hands roamed with the familiarity of someone who didn’t care who he was dealing with. Wynston leaned into him and made it good.

Was there danger? How close? Did anyone on his side know? He gasped softly and slid downward. Doing things with a man he didn't know with the heavy intimation that things might burst into mortal peril at any moment was...actually rather close to what he did for fun.

He succeeded in not biting down when the windows in the other room imploded. He surged to his feet, grabbed Norbet's shoulders, and levered him to the ground, relying on the moment’s confusion to avoid resistance. He stayed on his knees while he readied his holdout blaster. Sounds from outside indicated more than one attacker.

Limited tools, and he didn’t have much time before they adapted to the low light. He took the open wine bottle from the nightstand and, staying low, whipped it through the doorway toward the first blaster muzzle flash he saw. It shattered with a scream. Wynston fired in its wake.

One other, moving. Quiet. Something flying from him. Wynston slammed the bedroom door and scrambled back to lay himself over Norbet, who was messily gasping on the floor. Wynston reached up for the bed’s comforter and dragged it down with all the strength he could muster.

A metallic clack. A thump. Very fine things started drifting down over their shelter. Wynston squirmed in frenzied awkwardness to get, first, off of Norbet, second, out from under the torn comforter, and third, into an advantageous firing line with anybody who was left out there.

Door was dented, splintered, but still more or less closed. Wynston got up close and listened. When someone kicked through the rest of it it was a very simple matter to relieve him of his blaster and his life. Inelegant, but Wynston was in a hurry and there were more threats out there.

Movement behind the couch. Damn. There went his advantages. He felt at his belt for a grenade that wasn’t there. Then, curious, he dropped and felt at the dead man’s belt. He had no idea what the canister there did – maybe if he had light or time or a reprieve from deadly peril, but he didn’t, so he just threw it to the corner of the couch where the last man must be hiding.

And the man went for it. He darted out on hands and knees to flick the offending item away. Fast, but not fast enough for one shot.

The traffic at this level of the building was slow, and people were looking through the shattered window. Worse, reinforcements might show up at any time. Keep him safe, Fenn’rys had said. He couldn't do that here. She must have been referring to their safe house. She wanted him back there - even though if someone was listening there it was already compromised? All part of a bigger plan to fool someone. He could do that.

He returned to the bedroom, where Norbet was curled up, having finally refastened his pants. “My speeder,” he said. “We’re going.”

When Norbet went for the lift Wynston grabbed him by the collar to drag him towards the stairs. A long run down, yes, but better than the greeting they would get in the lobby if they took the main route out.

At top speed his rental speeder handled like a depressed pile of magnets, all sullen jerks at the wrong times, but he got it under control. Just in time for a beaten-looking grey speeder to pull up alongside. Wynston saw the gun being raised even before the window eased down.

He grabbed Norbet’s wrist and planted his hand on the controller. "Drive."

"Where?" wailed Norbet.

"Check the nav history," barked Wynston, and placed a shot through the open window of the other speeder. Then dodged. He would have to get Norbet to the safe house after these pursuers were dealt with; until then, the second destination, the neutral one, would have to do. He shot at the pursuer’s engine block and missed. The whole speeder shook. Norbet made a helpless noise. Wynston ducked, fired, ducked, and finally risked looking down long enough to unlock the glove compartment.

The concussion grenade was what he was looking for. He judged wind and speed and a lull in the firing, and threw.

Direct hit. The speeder veered out of the line of traffic while smoke obscured the insides and trailed from the outsides. He almost turned away before he saw the other, sleeker speeder roaring into the space left by their pursuer.

He pulled a canister out, soft at the edges, and threw as hard backwards as he could the moment their window cracked. His missile splattered and clung to their windshield. The driver faltered but got back to a straight line; now Wynston could only dodge.

“Down,” he ordered. “Left lane down in front of you. Keep pace.”

When they pulled into the alley, no one seemed to be following. “Keep the engine going,” said Wynston. “And hold still.” He hated to open comms, but he was out of tricks. So he jumped out of the speeder, counting on Norbet’s panic to keep him still, and called Fenn’rys. “I’m at location two. At least two vehicles in pursuit. I’m outgunned. If I take the land route –”

“Negative,” Fenn’rys said coolly. “Return home. There’s been a traffic blockage just where you passed through. By the time it clears you could already be here.”

Oh, you’re good. Wynston turned to his captive/rescuee/the wording wasn’t important yet. “How are you holding up?”

Norbet gulped. “They tried to kill me!”

“Yes, they certainly did. Let’s get you someplace where they can’t.”

“I don’t understand why–”

“My employers are full-service providers. We’ll have time to discuss later.”

He drove quickly but not recklessly; he didn’t want to find out whose side the traffic police were on in this particular gang stew. He parked a couple of blocks down, out of sight. “This way,” he said, and sauntered down the street, sticking close to the store fronts, until they reached the alley with house access.

He scanned the room. No threats here. Unfortunately he didn’t have the specs on this safe house. If Fenn’rys knew something useful she’d have found a way to tell him. Standard procedures said it was sterile, nothing to implicate Imperials. Well. “Stay calm,” he said. “I’m going to throw off pursuit and then we’re going somewhere safe.” Where that might be, he didn’t know. As long as this room was compromised he couldn’t even be told. Regardless, he darted back outside.

At the alley’s entryway he stopped, listening. And wishing he had a scout droid, either rolling mouse or floating miniprobe. Something. Instead he had very careful listening.

Then again, the next people who approached were not making any secret of their running.

Ready a flash bang, always a good start. Count before he throws. Four. A lot. Physical combat was one of his least favorite places to be, but disengaging meant opening himself to everyone’s blaster fire at once. So arm over his eyes, flash bang throw, out with the vibroknife, just had to stop them using their own weapons. If they were in no shape to follow, an empty safe house after his departure would do them no good.

The men were regrouping. Wynston managed a hard slash at the first swinging arm. A twist kick to get out of someone else’s grabbing arms, a wide swing to demand at least enough space to pick his next target. Where was Fenn’rys?

He had his answer scant seconds later. A blaster shot that wasn’t his dropped one of the heavies in a single hit. It became his job to set up for the sniper. The next man he darted behind, forced him upright, just waited for the smack and hiss. He saw the ledge where her shadow lay. Just get a clear line of sight.

He didn't have time to warn her about the three men who burst onto her ledge and aimed. She saw them, too, and threw something in a quick practiced motion. A smoke grenade. Rather than retreating she steadied her rifle with one arm and fired a rapid series of shots that started hitting home before the first echo of the explosion was away. He needn’t have bothered with a finishing shot on the last man standing. Fenn’rys had him.

And once he was down, she raised her gun in a silent salute and melted into the shadows.

Which left him alone with their...guest. Wynston made his way into the safe house’s main room. It took him a moment to spot Norbet trembling behind the couch.

“We’re clear,” said Wynston.

"Who...what was that?" he said.

What was he supposed to say? Well, it was obvious he was meant to show off saving him. Whatever the game was, it was supposed to be clear that Wynston was on the benefactor’s side. "You have friends in high places," purred Wynston. "Enough to counter your enemies,” whoever they were, “if you play nice. And I do hope you'll be nice.” A pause, and let him fill it with whatever implications he desired. Letting people believe what they wanted to believe was an easy job. “We could pick up where we left off."

Norbet gawped. “You…I can’t possibly…I almost died!”

“All right. Maybe sleep will do you more good. I’ll have a transport off planet for you before you wake.”

Somewhat to Wynston’s surprise, the big man immediately curled up on the couch and seemed to relax. When the man’s breathing had finally settled into deep slowness with the accompaniment of a low-level snore, Wynston stepped out into the hallway and pulled out his holo.

Fenn’rys answered right away.

“You shouldn’t call,” she said.

“I wanted to check in. Status?”

“I have a ride arranged for our mutual friend. Whenever he…regains consciousness?”

“He’s asleep. That’s all.”

“Drugging him might have been faster.”

“It’ll do for now, and I want him ready to move when it’s time. We don’t have a hoverpallet here. For now I have some cleanup to do outside, I think.”

“Already done. The authorities will only find the bodies at a place and time of our choosing.”

“All dead, then?”

“Of course. They saw you.”

Wynston kept a properly stoic face. “Such a minor capital offense.”

“Don’t worry. I have plans for their murder investigation. Until then – keep Norbet safe. If he’s ready to wake up now, use the secure terminal in there to get the coordinates.”

“I’ll do that.”

The trip to the spaceport was blessedly uneventful, despite Norbet’s residual whimpering. Wynston reviewed the pilot’s ID with a critical eye before letting the target out of his sight. Then, unsure of his next move, he returned to the main concourse.

Fenn’rys was there. The Chiss woman caught his eye for an instant before continuing with the flow of the crowd. Wynston drifted up as best he could beside her. Rather than acknowledge him she slanted her path towards a lift that led down to the lower hangars. They got on alone, conveniently enough. She picked a device out of her pocket and tapped it on. Some kind of privacy filter.

“You did very well,” she said.

“Did I? I couldn’t tell.”

“There wasn’t time to brief anyone. The Cartel was monitoring that safe house. Audio only.”

“Ah, good.” He had to try sorting it out. “They must know that Norbet got alien assistance, though they may not have an ID on those aliens.”

“Oh, searches on those voiceprints will bring up results. Just not us.”

“Norbet himself is ours, of course. If gratitude doesn’t capture him what footage I got in his bedroom will.”

“Exactly. Our people have him in hand now. And before the month is out, Drooga the Hutt will have evidence that his men were taken and gunned down by this mystery rival gang. We can pick our affiliation and feed it to them through channels. They’ll know all about what we did and attribute it to whomever we say.”

“You did an amazing job without actually showing your face.”

She smiled and tapped her collar. Her next words were in a different tone, subtly smoother. “Fake voiceprint, too.”

Wynston tipped an imaginary hat. “So she leaves as she came, completely unmarked. Bravo.”

“And you were seen only where necessary. I asked for an agent who could pick up on the fly, in light of our limited communication capability. Ops certainly delivered.”

“I asked for an assignment that would let me try something a little different. I dare say they’re laughing right now. Not that I hold it against them. Can I promise you a drink on the next planet we hit?”

“Oh, I have places to be. Your ship is waiting in Hangar E-47, one level down.” Even as she spoke the lift slowed to a halt. “Until we meet again, Agent. Be wary of phantoms.”

“Watch your back. If you want help with that, you know where to find me.”

“Not if you’re doing your job right. But I’ll let Control worry about that.” She smiled again and exited the lift with one parting wave.

Wynston watched her go, and continued until it occurred to him that the lift should probably be allowed to continue moving in one direction or another.

The dark haired Chiss entered Keeper’s office, cataloging every detail. This man had taught her many lessons over the years, the most important being to know your environment. People, item placement, accessible exits… they all told you a little something about what you were walking into, and allowed you to plan ahead to get out.

He had been known to quiz his operatives on the spot, and demote them from the field if they missed too much. To the man who essentially was Imperial Intelligence, a dull blade, a relaxed blade, was no asset at all.

"Cipher, you return," He didn’t even spare a glance, attention focused on his datapad. His voice held no hint of joy or excitement. Rarely did it betray any feeling, unless it was disappointment. "I trust you’ve come to deliver your field assessment?"

"I have." Fenn’rys handed him a data stick.

"Then report." The elder man remained seated at his desk. The stick he plugged into his datapad brought up video of the operation in question.

The cobalt skinned woman relaxed. He was eager to learn about this ‘Wynston’s’ performance. It had taken years of exposure to learn to read him. Only a select few could discern the subtle clues he purposely let slip. Every moment was a training exercise with the head of Imperial Intelligence.

"The operation was a success, although it did not go as smoothly as intended.”

"So I’m seeing. May I ask what happened, Cipher?”

"You wanted to see what he was made of," Fenn’rys said with a wicked grin, "so I alerted Fa’athra’s enforcers of times and places prior to our meeting, in order to gauge the Agent’s ability to operate under pressure.”

Keeper rested his elbows on the desk, hands clasped together in front of his mouth. His brow furrowed, “That was reckless, Cipher. If he had not been up to the task, months of selection and training would have been lost.”

"If he had not been up to the task, you wouldn’t have sent him to me for evaluation."

"Agent Fenn’rys," the grey haired man replied crisply, "I would remind you to keep your self-assured attitude in check. That specific trait has led to the downfall of Agents far more clever than yourself. Now, detail his strengths and weaknesses.”

She shifted her position as the man returned to perusing the holovid.

"Yes, sir. My apologies. Agent Wynston’s front end infiltration skills may possibly exceed my own—”

Again, Keeper stopped and looked up, but this time one eyebrow was cocked in curiosity, “That is high praise coming from you, Cipher.”

"It is, but fully deserved. This Agent has the ability to adapt to any social situation on the fly. I dare say he could act his way into the Dark Council’s chambers, if need be. He worked his way past the security and immediately into the Doctor’s good graces, with no one giving him anything more than a cursory glance."

“Hardly a challenge, knowing Norbet’s appetites, Cipher.”

"For Norbet, yes. For the men guarding Norbet, everyone is a threat.”

"Point taken. Continue."

"While he seems to dislike close quarters combat, his skills are passable. He held his own against thugs, but against a trained Operative, I doubt he’d last long. His situational awareness, and his ability to assess and react, are where his strengths lie. He quickly ascertained his position, his liabilities, and the likelihood of survival. He managed to devise a suitable escape route, placing both himself and the Doctor in a position to evade capture, during a surprise attack, all while under heavy fire.”

"By going out into the open, where the asset was exposed," the balding man studied the action in the holovid. "Foolish."

"Perhaps, but his chances of mission success were better out there than fighting his way outside the building. His fighting skills are passable, not exceptional.”

"Unlike yourself, is what I’m hearing. This isn’t a contest, Cipher. Weaknesses?"

The cobalt skinned woman frowned, “He lacks discipline, Sir.”

Again with the cocked eyebrow, “Explain.”

"In the extremely short amount of time we had contact, Agent Wynston hit on me at least twice, not counting the look over he gave my uniform before I informed him that he would be seducing the Doctor. Following preliminary debrief, he watched me walk away longer than he should have, drawing attention to both him and myself.”

"Yes, I noticed that as well."

"Our man has a taste for women, sir. His advances show a lack of will towards attractive members of the opposite sex, or a deep seated need to fill an emotional void. Either way, it could compromise his ability to stay emotionally detached in the field."

"And yet, it is that very quality that draws people to him. Allows him to exploit them. They trust him because he has a vulnerability, Cipher.” The grey-haired man regarded her coolly, “It’s a trait you would do well to emulate.”

"All due respect, Keeper, it’s a weakness," the Chiss’ expression hardened. "One that will get you killed in the field… or, make you a traitor."

“If you allow it to. One cannot fake real emotions, Cipher. Learning to flip the internal switch from attached to detached is crucial, of course. Something I’m sure you learned during your time in Psy-Ops at the Academy.”

"That’s different than this, sir."

"Is it?" The grey haired man fixed her with a discerning stare. "Since the Balmorran Op years ago, you’ve gone in the opposite direction. Too much emotional detachment is just as detrimental, Cipher.”

"Of course, sir," Fenn’rys replied coolly.

"We will rectify that by making you Agent Wynston’s field liaison for the next four weeks. Observe him, and how he works. Also, instruct when necessary, but allow him to grow on his own. Every Agent operates differently."

"Very well. Should I be grooming him towards a specific assignment?"

"That depends. What is your final assessment?"

The cobalt skinned woman stood at parade rest in front of the man’s desk, “I believe he has the makings of an excellent Cipher… special attention paid towards the aforementioned flaw, of course.”

"Then you would recommend him for the Hutta objective?"

"I was about to suggest just that. With his skill set, the operation would be perfect for him to prove himself."

"Very well. I trust Norbet has been dealt with?"

"Indeed," the raven haired woman smiled. "His craft exploded in hyperspace transit while returning to Hutta. Forensics will show the attack was a follow up from Fa’athra’s camp."

"And you have been stoking those fires, as we discussed?"

"Yes, sir. The Agent I placed in Fa’athra’s camp several months ago has worked his way up to an adviser role. He’s been suggesting that Nem’ro has become weak. Encouraged the Hutt to start absorbing his rival’s operations by force. Norbet’s death will require a response from Nem’ro, or he risks looking weak. A turf war is imminent. The resulting chaos should allow for placement of an agent with some ease."

"Good. You have done excellent work, Cipher, but you are hardly finished. Begin manufacturing a believable cover identity, and monitor Agent Wynston’s training. As his handler, I’ll allow you to choose his assignments from a pool of work I will make available to you. He is to be ready for the Hutta Objective within a month’s time, is that understood?”

Fenn’rys snapped to attention, “Yes Keeper. I’ll have him ready.”

"See that you do. Dismissed." The man returned to the work on his desk.

The raven haired woman turned crisply and left the office. She made the long walk out of the Imperial Intelligence building, and to a parked speeder bike waiting for her.

Arriving at Kaas spaceport, she boarded her ship, and made orbit. After setting the course into the nav-computer, she went to the communications room and began hailing a very specific, very encrypted channel. Vocal communications only.

"Yeah, yeah. I’m here, Agent. What? ”

Fenn’rys grinned. She could see Kaliyo’s face now. She did so hate to be bothered.

"I take it you’re enjoying the assignment I gave you?" A holoscreen opened and the Chiss began searching for something.

“Believe it, Agent,” the Ratattaki’s voice was smooth, seductive. “The planet’s a dump, but whatever you’ve been up to? It’s driving Karrels up a wall, and has that idiot Toth’lazen foaming at the mouth. They made me head of security about two weeks ago, just like you planned. They’re ready for war down here, and that means I get to make things explode. You know how much I enjoy that. Plus, there’s no shortage of pretty boys running through here, so my nights aren’t boring. You really know how to treat a lady right, Agent.”

"I’m glad you approve. It will make the next part easier."

"Oh yeah? Seems kind of soon for you to be moving. Usually, I’d be here for another month or so."

"Normally, you would be correct. In four weeks, Keeper will be sending a man down there undercover. You’ll recognize him right away. He’ll be Chiss."

"Hmmm," she could already hear the wheels of smut turning in Kaliyo’s head. She was nothing, if not a slave to her passions, "Sounds full of possibilities. So, what? You want me to help him? Sell him out, like I did to the moron who was in this job before me?”

"How do you know I’m not sending him to sell you out?” It was said with a grin, but there was a humorless quality to it. “Create more instability and mistrust during a time of chaos?”

"HA! You’re funny," the Ratattaki said laughingly. "I’m not stupid, Agent. You’re good, but we both know you don’t like to do high profile work. You’re a ‘behind the scenes' type of gal. Me? I get off kicking faces in. You need me.”

"Fair enough," she let the grin into her voice. "For right now, I need you to go to Fa’athra’s. Stage a raid, make it look as though Nem’ro is getting restless. Do as much damage as you desire, but there is a target. The image you’re receiving is of a Zabrak considered to be one of Fa’athra’s top aides. He is not to see the end of next week.”

"Aww, Agent! I’m crushed! I thought I was your only plant on this scummy little planet. How come you never told me about him before?”

"Because, Kaliyo, you never needed to know before. Now that he’s fulfilled his purpose, I need him eliminated.”

She heard the amusement in the Ratattaki’s voice, “Dead men tell no tales. I can get behind that. Probably doesn’t hurt that it pokes Fa’athra in the eye either. So is that the deal with the geek you’re sending? He’s going to replace this guy?”

"No. He will have his own mission."

"Then why tell me about him?”

"To prepare you. At some point, you need to become part of his crew."

"Oooooh, sounds fun. Why am I doing this again?”

"This particular agent has a certain flaw. One that could turn out to be detrimental to Imperial interests. I find that unacceptable.”

"So, I’m going to infiltrate his crew, aaaand kill him?” the Ratattaki sounded confused. “Not that I mind or anything—”

"No, Kaliyo," the Chiss’ tone was sinister, "I want you to break him.”

“Mmmm, Agent,” the chalk skinned woman’s voice turned husky, “you really do know how to show a lady a good time. And when I’m done, then I kill him?”

"Everything doesn’t always need to revolve around killing,” Fennrys said with a hint of exasperation. “If the Agent breaks and cannot recover, I’ll take care of it. Your only objective is to break his will, if you can. I leave the methods up to you. When you’ve completed your task you are to leave him, without a trace, and return to me.”

"Oh, I’ve wrecked stronger than what Imperial Intelligence kicks out… present company exempted, of course.”

"This will be a long term assignment, Kaliyo," Fenn’rys’ voice was soft and measured, menace lacing the undertone of her words, "so let me remind you, even you have secrets you’d like kept hidden. Things even an anarchist such as yourself holds dear.”

"All right, all right! Leave the knife out of your back. I get it! I suppose you’ll have a way for me to offer up reports on this guy?”

"We’ll deal with that when necess—" the cobalt skinned woman stopped momentarily, staring at the results of her holonet search. A set of names, but one jumped out at her.

"Kaliyo, what do you know about a pirate called ‘Red Blade’?"

"The Blade? I ran with him once or twice, why?"

"Tell me everything you know…”

And that’s the story of how two Cipher Nines had an adventure and a decidedly worrisome afterparty! Big thanks to DarthSillyMonkey for offering to play.

“All dead, then?”

 

“Of course. They saw you.”

 

Wynston kept a properly stoic face. “Such a minor capital offense.”

Wonderful dialogue. I read Keeper’s in his voice. Nice setup as well as setup for the Agent story as a whole. Wynston being himself and Fenn’rys’ spot-on analysis. Great read, both of you. (*waves to DarthSillyMonkey* we’ve missed you!)