Master Zel'eena n'Sappho, Hero of Tython, slayer of the Emperor and several Dark Council members, the most powerful Jedi in generations, one of the most respected and popular beings in the galaxy, assumed her seat. "All right, let's do this."

Jedi = sure about this? // T7 = never tried before

"It'll be fine, nothing to worry about. I spoke with several reputable mechanics and they all assured me that the upgrades would be great. Just take it slow to start off with."

T7 locked his wheels and started his secondary motor. Servos whined a bit, but quickly faded to a hum as they became accustomed to the motion.

"Yeah, just like that, that's good. Now a little faster."

T7's motor clicked over to a higher gear and the hum rose half an octave.

"There you go, now you're getting it, but I know you can do better than that, come on!"

T7 activated his primary motor, and the servos started whining again. His frame started rocking slightly from the strain.

"Oh, yeah! This is great! T7, you're the best droid ever! Woo!"

T7 = getting dizzy // T7 = needs new bearings + oil bath

"Hahahahaha! Wheeeeeeeeeee!"

Kira and Doc, peeking around the edges of the door, looked at each other, looked at the Jedi perched atop the droid's rapidly spinning head and laughing like a small child, then, in unison, sighed and walked away. The newest addition to their crew, Raina Temple, just stood there perplexed.

"She's really nothing at all like her sister, is she?"

I'm not sure if the visual comes across very well, but she's using T7 like a Sit'n'Spin, if they still have those, or any of you are old enough to remember them if they don't still have those. A mini merry-go-round for one.

Also, it's Stirge! t-i-r! Not Strige! That guy's a much better writer.

@Mrtwo: Thank you for the kind comment. Wrote the next part for Ord Mantell today.

That was a lot of emotions you put me through with your story, I like it very much.

@alaurin: Yes, interesting is fitting for Skadge's approach on diplomacy.

I read all your stories, liked them all but especially the ones with the children. And I am looking forward to more Tia and Jorgan!

@YoshiRaphElan: I like Treek and Crysta. Treek would be better than any cat or dog

And I like the interaction between Prudii and Tavus.

@EverSteam: Everything's ok, I didn't get it wrong, I actually wanted to make you a compliment, because I read a lot of your stories twice

'Only this, my Lord: though I know it is meaningless to express my deep regret-'

 

'Then shut up,' she simply replies.

@bright_ephemera:Glad you like Zal.

Just saying, the readers have needs.

@theStirge:

I needed more distraction, the juggling wasn't doing it for me anymore.

The second story reminds me of my son riding the vacuum cleaner. Being childish has to be healthy even for a Jedi.

@marissalf: Always amuses me to send Skadge on a diplomacy mission, even if it is a dark one.

@DarthSillyMonkey: Thanks, glad you liked it.

But I think, I'll send my Skadge over for lessons with your Khem'Val. Oh, btw, did you check your temperature? Are you sure we don't need to worry?

Nikeo was still trying not to fret over the way the debriefing went. Of course Jorgan wouldn’t stop trying to make his life miserable only because he had retrieved Bellis’ field box and had handled his killers who had been waiting in an ambush at Bellis’ home.

Jorgan brought up a picture of Zal on the monitor of the nearest console, a snapshot from Nik’s armor cam.

“Care to explain who she is, Sergeant Blue-Eyes?” Jorgan asked pointedly. Nik wasn’t sure whom he wanted to strangle more at this moment, Jorgan or Zal for calling him thus in the first place.

Fuse whistled softly. “I’d like to know, too.” Jorgan shot him an irritated glance.

Nik suppressed a sigh. “Zal Dal’Bo. Claims to be a freighter captain. Says her ship was stolen by separatists. Stays with some Viidu, owner of Rendia Freight. Nothing confirmed so far. I met her after my arrival. Helped me down in the village. Knows how to handle a blaster.”

“Damned good looking!” Fuse noted.

Nikeo raised a brow. “Really? Hadn’t noticed, sir.” He grinned at Fuse who grinned back. The Zabrak who already ranked as Lieutenant couldn’t be much older than he was. Right now he appeared to be even younger.

“Are you two done behaving like pubescent adolescents?” Jorgan growled. “We might actually have a connection here.”

“Sir, you think the seps stole the ship to transport the bomb?” Nik nodded. The idea wasn’t that far fetched.

“Something you might have thought of yourself if you hadn’t obviously been occupied with other things!” Jorgan snapped.

Like getting out of Talloran alive? Nik gritted his teeth, biting back any retort that might get him into any more trouble with Jorgan. The Cathar alone provided ample reason to hate Ord Mantell.

“So maybe they’re not planning to vaporize any major part of Ord Mantell, but want to get the bomb off planet. They‘d be able to trade it for a lot of other weapons.” Nik pondered.

“And they probably got the freight as bonus.” Fuse interjected.

Nik stared at him. Suddenly some things made sense. Zal had never so much as mentioned her cargo. “She’s an arms smuggler!”

“Very likely from what I know about Viidu. Either that or a delicatessen-seller, but the latter don’t tend to take a stroll in a war zone to shoot some separatists.” Jorgan said deadpan.

“So Viidu’s business is only a front for a smuggling ring? In the middle of Fort Garnik and nobody intervenes?” Nik asked incredulously.

“As much as some of us would like to, he keeps our supply lines open. Without him the Mantellians would have run out of ammunition a few weeks ago and the rest of the Republic troops wouldn’t fare much better. It pains to admit it, but we need him. Apart from this we got a bomb to retrieve. We got to tread carefully around Viidu. Sergeant, you’ll keep an eye on the captain!” Jorgan gave Nikeo a meaningful glance.

Nik coughed. “Sir, are you ordering me to do, what I think you’re ordering me to do?”

“I’m not ordering you to do anything, Sergeant. I’ll be only providing you with the opportunity to do what you probably wanted to do anyway.”

Nik suddenly felt like he had awoken in the middle of a bad spy movie on the holonet. He was no fancy agent. Of course he had been flirting with the captain once they had been safely out of Talloran. Kark, she had been flirting with him. With her looks, a stone would have flirted back. Ok, he knew a few guys who’d probably forget their mother tongue, if they ever were approached by a woman like her. But how was he supposed to act naturally around her now after Jorgan’s suggestion? He wasn’t sure he could do it. He was decidedly uneasy.

Fuse didn’t fail to notice his qualms. “Hey, I’d be happy to take over the task.”

“No need, sir.” Nikeo shoved his doubts aside. “I already got an appointment.” He decided that nothing had changed. He’d have met her anyway.

“Try to find out what she knows. Offer her your help in finding her ship. Your officially off duty for the rest of the day. Dismissed, Sergeant!”

Nikeo saluted and headed for the door.

“Hey, Blue!” Fuse called after him. “Let me know if you need backup!”

Blue? There were worse code names. “Keep dreaming, Fuse.” Nikeo tossed a small object at him. “Here, something to get your imagination going.”

Fuse caught the object. “What’s that?”

“My armor cam. See ya.”

@DSM, Your comment intros make me smile every time. And Khem Val: that’s how you do diplomacy! Hilarious.

@theStirge, Oh my gosh, T7 as a Sit ‘n Spin. That’s a mental image that will make me giggle for a while.

@frauzet, I feel for Nik. Jorgan’s given him a great opportunity to get close to Zel, but not the best circumstance for it. Still, that means more Nik-Zel together - yay!

After a full evening of sabacc wherein Mako took each one of them for all they had, the young slicer and the boys headed off for bed. Mel stayed behind to clean up the mess, and her mother smiled as she watched them go. Being aboard Mel’s ship with her crew kindled a warmth in Kinka’s chest, almost enough to chase away the alien remnants that still clung to her mind. Her smile spread to a grin that crinkled the corners of her eyes and deepened the tiny lines around her mouth.

“What?” Mel glanced up and caught her mother’s pleased expression. Even after a decade apart, she knew that look meant something.

“He likes you quite a lot, you know.”

Mel dropped the last of the empty bottles in the garbage and joined Kinka on the sofa. “Who, Torian? He’s a sweet kid, but I hardly know him.”

“Not the boy. The Devaronian.”

“Gault?!” Mel snorted and shook with laughter. “Oh, mom, are you sure you’re feeling alright? Because Gault...”

“He looks at you when your attention is elsewhere. Watches you. Smiles.”

“Look, Gault’s a riot. Really, his sense of humor is fantastic. And he’s got more seedy contacts than even Aunt K had, but he’s not somebody you get serious about.” Not that he isn’t fantastic in bed, she recalled with some sly satisfaction.

Kinka pursed her lips and studied Mel’s face. Expression bemused but guarded. Maybe even masking excitement at the possibility. But she was working hard to keep her face neutral.

“Torian—”

“Torian seems like a nice boy. But he’s Mandalorian. More than anything else, they’re fighters. They don’t back down when it’s smart, not if honor’s on the line. You don’t want a life of that.” She took Mel’s hand in hers. “Take my advice, sweet girl. Find someplace quiet and settle down with someone who’s not going to go looking for a fight. The boy might be prettier, but Gault’s got his wits about him. He knows when to run, who not to tangle with. That’s not something you want to discount. Leave the boy to Mako.”

Mel offered a tight-lipped smile. “What about the good doctor?”

Kinka’s lighthearted tone turned sour. “You know very well what my thoughts on Ellis are.”

But she’d called him Ellis, Mel noted. That was at least a small step forward. For the first couple weeks she would only refer to him as “that Lokin boy,” or if she were in a joking mood, “Professor Evil.” Calling him Ellis was practically the same as giving the man a hug.

“Come on,” Mel pressed, “you’ve got to admit, he’s a catch. He’s smart, good looking; a little awkward, but that goes with the territory.”

“I don’t trust Ellis Lokin as far as that cute little girl across the hall can throw him. He’s got his father’s genes; that’s enough reason for me.”

“Yet in spite of whatever he did, his father was the one you asked for when you were about to die several weeks ago.”

“Eckard Lokin was brilliant,” Kinka conceded. “There’s no denying that. But that doesn’t mean I trusted him. You father liked him — considered him a friend even — but he didn’t trust him either. Sometimes you rely on people when there’s no other option, and that’s precisely why you go to them.”

“People can change, mom. I’m sure you got your hands dirty when you were still working for Intelligence. But that doesn’t mean that that’s who you are forever. Maybe the man you knew turned things around in the end. And don’t forget, they aren't the same man. Just give Ellis a chance, alright. I trust him. That should count for something.”

Kinka frowned, but not over the doctor. Though she didn’t know it, Mel’s admonishment about change hit home. People could change, Kinka thought. She’d done it, fought hard for it. But it didn’t erase the uneasy feeling Ellis Lokin gave her.

She swallowed her fears and kissed Mel on the forehead. “For you, anything.”

“Thanks mom.”

“And Melodai,” she added, “I do hope I’m wrong.”

***

“Can’t sleep?”

Kinka muted the holovid and Gault joined her in the lounge some time after midnight. He sat beside her and they watched the silent holodrama unfold in front of them.

“You know, I’ve been declared dead more times than I can count," Kinka said at last. "The first time, I was 24, just accepted into the Intelligence program. They faked my death because my family was high-profile, well-off. Couldn’t take the chance someone would recognize a general’s daughter. Then there was the time on Corellia, and a couple more after that. One day I’ll actually be dead, and no one will care.”

Gault grinned at her self-deprecating nonchalance about what had been an incredibly dangerous life. Reminded him of someone else he knew. “I’ve been dead once. That’s where Mel got the idea for your body swap. If I hadn’t had the ‘ol spare on board, I’d be womprat chow right about now. Luckily I convinced her to shoot it instead of me. Thus Gault Rennow was born.”

Kinka chuckled at his anecdote. He was sly, that one, and equally droll. She pegged him as the type of man whose mind was always working, calculating. Yet beneath the scheming, he was harmless. Mel, she concluded, had good taste, even if she didn’t know it.

“You like my daughter.”

The comment caught him by surprise, and the Devaronian suddenly found himself without a quippy reply. It was an unfamiliar feeling he didn’t particularly relish. And this woman could disarm him with a single look. Now he knew where Mel got that.

“She likes you, too, she just doesn’t want to admit it.”

Gault raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t bother you that you and I are just about the same age? Some people might find that...creepy.”

Kinka laughed. “What does age matter in the end? It doesn’t. If two people love each other, they call tell the whole galaxy to f*ck off.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” he quipped. It was refreshing to have a mother’s approval for once, but that mattered little where Mel’s heart was concerned. “I think she’s only got eyes for the doctor. They’ve been nearly inseparable lately.”

Kinka had noticed. Mel had been cordial to the doctor up until a few days ago when she suddenly seemed quite friendly with him. There was no overt flirting, nothing to confirm that something had happened between them. But Kinka had her suspicions.

“He won’t last. He’ll reveal himself in time, and she’ll see that he’s his father’s son.” She patted Gault on the knee. “Be patient.”

The woman had it all figured out. Gault was amazed that she could be so unflinchingly certain. Some might call that stubborn; he couldn’t help but admire her. “You are a remarkable woman, Mrs. Hyllus.”

Kinka beamed at that. “You know, in all the years since I’ve been married, that is the first time I’ve ever been called by my married name. It was always ‘Cipher,’ or ‘Agent,’ or some fake moniker I had to tote around to keep up appearances.” She hugged her knees to her chest and smiled sadly to herself. In that moment she was someplace else, Gault’s presence completely forgotten.

“Mrs. Hyllus,” she murmured, “that is a lovely sounding name.”

“Are you happy?”

Vector lie flat on his back beside his wife, hands folded across his chest, his obsidian eyes fixed on the bedroom ceiling. His voice was quieter than usual, and more thoughtful; the question, and whether to ask it at all, had nagged at him for some time.

Kinka rolled over to face him. “Why do you ask?”

“We wonder sometimes whether you’re missing out on things that you might have had if you’d married someone human.”

The statement caught Kinka off guard. It was rare for Vector to express trepidation about his otherness. He carried it with unwavering grace, never cracking despite the disgusted stares and thinly veiled insults some would direct his way.

Kinka never understood how Vector could love an Empire that wanted nothing to do with him. That at best wanted to suppress who he really was and at worst sought to cure him of it. Vector may have been able to endure the slights from his peers, but Kinka couldn’t, not where he was concerned. After cutting ties with Intelligence, she’d kept them away from Imperial space when possible; it was easier that way.

It broke her heart that he feared she could come to regret loving him when all along the Joiner had been the man she fell in love with.

“You’ve got it wrong. Had I married someone human, I’d be missing out on you. There’s nothing else I could want beyond that.”

“No?” He was still uncertain. “What about children? It’s no guarantee that we could ever-”

“Vector.” She shifted slightly until she was on top of him. Kinka leaned over him to kiss his lips, her loose hair tickling his face. “That’s nothing you ever need worry with. Look at what we do for a living. Can you imagine having a baby on board the Phantom? Beyond that, I have no desire to become my mother.”

“We knew of the professional obstacles, but we thought maybe you would want to start a different life someday.”

“Is that what you want?”

“We want to see you happy. This life isn’t an easy one. Neither of us will be able to keep up with the demands of fighting this war forever. We thought that at some point we might settle somewhere, and then...”

“And then I’d be overcome with motherly urges and a nagging malaise that could only be cured by chasing after a toddling child?” She laughed. It all seemed so preposterous. And further, to want something greater felt like asking for more than she deserved. Especially when she had so much already. The laughter died away, and she turned serious. “You’re more than enough, Vector. You always will be.”

He smiled at last, contented with her answer. “We’re glad to hear it. We just wanted to be certain.”

@marissalf: hehe, glad you liked Risha's misadventures in babysitting! Also, there's a lot more fun in store for Tia and Jorgan......

Also, WOW, a mother telling her daughter that Gault is a good choice?!!! Never thought I'd see the day..... I loved it!!! Then, awww, Kinka and Vector.

@Yoshi: I'm really liking this storyline including Tavus, Kardan, and Fuse.......can't wait for the next part!

@DarthSillyMonkey: glad you like Val, but awww, poor Mallay. Val does have an interesting way of dealing with people......definitely the says it like it is type. Needles was creepy, but very fun to write.....I'm gonna miss him a little! Glad you enjoyed Tia sticking it to Jorgan and there's more of that ahead.

Also, HAHAHA, loved that bit with Khem!!!!

@theStirge: sit and spins still exist, my kids have one and my daughter loves it! Very cute!

@frauzet: hehe, I like Fuse in your story......and Sergeant Blue eyes just cracks me up!!!!! I can't wait for more! Your story inspired a naughty idea for me.....I'll post it after comments!

Mariella needed some alone time. The petite, snow white Cathar was three days into her mating cycle and so far that annoying farm boy wasn’t responding to her advances. Apparently he preferred long lasting relationships and didn’t want just a fling. That wasn’t a bad thing by any means, but Mari wasn’t interested in a relationship, she just wanted sex…..wild, passionate, no strings attached sex. She finally decided to ditch Farm Boy for the evening and headed to the cantina in the center of Carrick Station. She was supposed to be meeting her littermate there in an hour, but figured she’d head over early. Between being three days into her cycle without mating yet, having her ship and its cargo stolen, and the bounty on her head as a result, she really needed a drink.

Mari was in the mood for hard and strong, and not just for a drink either, but that’s all she was likely to get this evening. She took the small rocks glass filled with brandy, handed a cred stick to the bartender, and searched for a place to sit. Most of the tables were occupied, but she finally found a deserted corner. However, as she approached, she noticed it wasn’t so deserted after all. Well now, she thought with a smile, it looks like my luck’s about to change…..

Aric Jorgan was sitting in a corner booth in the cantina at the center of Carrick Station, brooding as he swirled his whiskey. It was only his second, but he wasn’t in the mood to get up for another and the server droid had yet to make an appearance. The past twenty-four hours had been rough and he was itching to vent his anger. He could feel his claws coming out as he thought about those traitors for the hundredth time. Not only had Havoc defected, but he ended up being the one to burn for it! After years of faithful service, brass hung him out to dry, demoting him down to Sergeant when he was expecting to be made Captain soon. If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d been thrown into the newly reformed Havoc under the command of the newly promoted Lieutenant Rydel, a young hotshot new to Spec Forces. Rydel had proven his worth in the field, but had no leadership experience what so ever and Aric was annoyed that upstart was given a CO position instead of him. This is such bull****, Aric thought, growling as he set his empty glass down.

“That kind of day is it?” a woman’s voice purred as she slid into the seat across from him, “Let me guess, problems at work? I know it couldn’t be woman trouble because you look way too delicious for a smart woman to pass up.”

Aric looked up at the intruder, about to tell her that he preferred to be alone when he got a good look at the very attractive, young Cathar. A slow smile spread across his face as her words sunk in, “work trouble,” he admitted.

“Ah, that seems to be popular,” she sighed, tucking an errant lock of dark brown hair behind her ear, “I got my ship stolen along with its cargo by some idiot. Now I’m stuck here for the night until I can get the shuttle to Coruscant where the bastard took it." She took a drink, "So…….got a name?”

“Aric, and that is bad,” he nodded, “I got demoted for something I had absolutely nothing to do with. The brass wanted someone to burn for it and I was handy, so there goes my ten year career down the ‘fresher.”

“I’m Mari, and wow, that sucks,” she replied, raising her glass to him, “however, try having a bounty on your head……yeah, that’s right, the guy that cargo was for, well he wasn’t too happy about it getting stolen and is blaming me.”

“Not good,” Aric admitted, snatching a whiskey off the server droid’s tray as it passed and tossing a cred stick onto it. He raised his glass to the beautiful young woman in front of him, “I got put under the command of someone who has no leadership experience at all, only about a year out of the academy, and who I’ve been butting heads with for the past week. Void knows what’s going to happen.”

“Oh, that’s rough,” Mari winced, “however, not only was my ship stolen, not only do I have a bounty on my head, but I’m three days into my mating cycle with no sex and the stupid guy who decided to tag along with me isn’t interested.”

“Ouch, you got me,” Aric shook his head, “Three days eh…..”

“Three days,” Mari repeated, a seductive smile curving her full lips, “You’re not a stupid man, are you Aric?”

“No,” he grinned, setting the half empty glass down, “No I’m not.”

A moment later, Mari was pulling him along the corridor to the elevators that went to the hotel level. She grabbed her datapad, typed a quick message, and sent it to her brother, letting him know that she couldn’t make it. They got into an elevator and seeing it empty, Aric brought his mouth down on hers as she began tearing at his shirt. The elevator opened and they made their way down the hall to her room, kissing and tearing at clothes along the way.

Early the next morning, a very satisfied Mari was awakened by knocking at her door. She sighed, figuring she'd better answer it in case it was Corso wanting something and quietly slid out of bed, careful not to disturb her new friend from his sleep. She heard another knock and grabbed a shirt off the floor to quickly cover herself.

Kian Rydel looked at his datapad, shaking his head as he read his littermate’s message again.

Hey Kian, not going to make it……day three into mating cycle and I got lucky, so I’m going to be busy for a few hours at least!!! I’ll call later……hopefully much, much later!

Love ya,

Mari

He’d gotten her room number from the hotel desk after slipping the clerk a few credits, and made his way down the hall, checking the room numbers. He sighed, hoping Mari had enough time to enjoy herself. He missed his sister and wanted to catch up. They'd been on Ord together, but had seen very little of each other, both being busy with their own tasks. He’d had a rough week and was a little nervous about his new position. He’d always been driven do his best, but a leadership position so soon wasn’t something he’d been prepared for. Mari was usually pretty level headed and a very good listener, so he wanted to talk to her before he left for Coruscant. He needed to vent and she was always there for that.

He looked at the time, and saw that he still had a few hours before the shuttle was scheduled to depart. He was a little concerned that he hadn’t been able to reach Jorgan for the past few hours, but figured the other Cathar was probably wallowing in self-pity with a whiskey bottle back in his room, refusing to answer his comlink out of spite. Kian would deal with his cranky a** later.

Kian found Mari's room and knocked on the door. A few minutes and another knock later, his disheveled sister answered, clad in a large shirt that looked a little familiar.

“Kian, what are you doing here?” Mari sighed, recognizing the large, dark grey Cathar, “I’m not exactly alone right now…..”

“Come on sis,” Kian pleaded, “I need to talk and it’s been hours since you sent that message……take a break. I’m sure the poor sucker could use some rest.”

“Fine,” Mari rolled her azure eyes, smiling at her brother as he came in, “He’s asleep anyways.”

“Stars, Mari,” Kian snorted, seeing clothes strewn everywhere, “Did you even make it to the bed?”

“Not the first couple of times,” she smirked.

“Hey, wait…….that t-shirt looks really familiar,” Kian studied his sister, “did you hook up with a military guy?”

“Yeah……and boy was he thorough,” Mari sighed, a dreamy smile crossing her lips as she recalled the past few hours, “They really condition you boys well at the academy, don’t they?!”

“Not sure I needed to hear that, sis,” Kian shook his head, then out of the corner of his eye, Kian spotted a familiar looking emblem. He picked up the jacket and stared at it, his jade eyes narrowing, “Mari, where did you get this jacket?”

“It’s his,” Mari pointed.

Kian turned to see a very familiar tawny furred Cathar coming out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a sheet wrapped around his waist, “Jorgan?!”

“Sir?!” Aric asked, confused at how his new CO found him in Mari’s room, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“This is my littermate’s room, Sergeant,” Kian growled, “You just slept with my sister!!!!”

A Rodian screams in the corner. Her hulking Gammorean attackers drag her away, ham-fists tight on her spindle-arms. Her lip bleeds.

Cipher Nine tries not to see. Two years, eleven identities, and seventy-three kills out of the Academy, Nine is not the righteous patriot she was at twenty-two. She’s battle-hardened, now, and she’s always been cool-headed. It doesn’t take a lot for her to stride past, screams no different to her ears than the clang of aging shuttle engines or the mutterings of jittering junkies.

Nar Shaddaa is a rotting world, and no amount of angst on Nine’s part will eradicate the stench. That kind of lesson is hard learned, that small kindnesses can lead to mission failures, big failures. The kind of failures that will land you dead. Or worse—the kind that will land you at the mercy of the Empire, glory to its dominion all the same.

Nine isn’t here to rescue starving Rodians. She’s here to recover an agent. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Please, lady, please,” a pale twi’lek says from the street corner. His teeth are rot, his eyes are rimmed with red and flies, and weeping sores pick a winding trail down his lekku. He reeks of piss and sickness. “Just a couple o’ credits. C’mon, lady. Please.”

Nine ignores him, too. As she walks past, deep sobs wrack his shallow lungs. Fat tears stain dirty cheeks. Nine’s own chest gives a sympathetic twinge. He is aching and desperate. Wretched. She thinks about killing him on the way out. It would be the biggest kindness she could give him.

He might make his red sand money reporting to some Hutt when times are good, though. Or the Republic. They don’t have a lot of influence in this sector, but they’ve been making a play for power of late. Someone might notice. Someone might see.

Someone might always see.

So Nine digs her fingers deeper into her favorite black leather jacket, ducking her chin between its high lapels. Escapist tendrils of ink-black hair creep in front of her ruby-red eyes. Her whisper-quiet feet carry her to a dim, smoky cantina, its less than savory patrons spilling onto the street. Nine slips among them. She shifts her feet in her boots, feeling the vibroknife against her calf. She wears her blaster on her hip—she doesn’t mind if others know that she’s armed, she just doesn’t want them to know about all of her weapons. Besides, the knife is quiet. Nine likes quiet.

“Juma,” she says to the bartender, tossing him a credit chip and a scowl. She’s a gangster, tonight. Dirty face, modified blaster, twitchy hands. Lots of eyeliner. It’s an easy disguise, one that she’s used a lot. She’s good at this.

No. Not just good. She’s the best.

The drink comes at the same time as a baby-faced human with a gang tattoo on the left side of his neck, his shoulder-length hair swept into a stubby ponytail behind his head. He gives her a beaming smile with his too-white teeth and his too pretty face.

“Well hey there, lovely. I ain’t seen you ‘round here before,” he says. “Name’s Jaden.”

He’s too charming by half. Too sweet, too young. Nine lets herself pity him for the barest of moments. A flash of real emotion, and she’s back to her hardened affect. She’s working.

“Well, I haven’t been around in a while. Name’s Lena,” Nine says. She lifts a dark brow at him, and glances from his eyes to the chair next to her and back to those wide, blue eyes. She sees the recognition, and the relief. Then, for a long second, she sees his fear. She smells it, wafting above all the sweat and smoke of the dirty cantina. His identity slips for too long. No wonder Keeper sent her in for extraction. Jaden isn’t stable here. He isn’t in control.

If Nine has seen it, others have seen it. If others have seen it, ‘Jaden’ doesn’t have a whole lot of time to get away.

“Buy you a drink?” Jaden says, slipping into the barstool next to her. He’s back to flirtatious eyes and big grins. Perhaps there is hope for him, yet. Leaving for a tryst is a good reason to make an exit with a stranger.

“Hmm. You could do that,” Nine purrs. She presses the glass to her lips, but doesn’t even let herself taste the rancid drink. Juma juice is Zen’s usual order. Cipher Nine thinks it’s vile. Those kinds of disconnects make the disguise easier. Nine is wearing her Lena-skin, and Lena drinks juma juice. Or at least she pretends to. Nine doesn’t drink on jobs unless she absolutely has to.

“Could do that? Got a better suggestion?” Jaden asks.

“Way I see it, we’ve got a couple of options. We could sit at this bar for a while, you could buy me drinks, and I could drink you under the table. Then we’d go back to my place, pretty thing like you. That sounds a little sloppy, though, and indirect.”

“And the other option?” Jaden says. He leans forward, putting his hand on the back of Nine’s stool. Nine paints a mock grin on her face, and whispers into his ear.

“Or, we could go back to my place right now and see where the evening takes us.” There’s a pair of Nikto in the corner, glaring at them. Nine doesn’t like the look in their eyes or the slant of their blasters. Jaden plays with her hair for a moment, as though considering his options, but Nine puts a hand on his leg. To the casual observer, it might be a seductive move. She digs her nails through the rough fabric of his pants. “I don’t think you have time to consider your options.”

Nine doesn’t wait for him to answer. She grabs his hand and abandons her drink, dragging him back into the relatively fresh air of the Nar Shaddaa night.

“Stop dragging me, ‘Lena.’ I’ve got everything under control, if Keeper—”

“I don’t know who the hell you’re talking about, babe, but if you want to get to my ship tonight, you’ll follow me quietly. Got it?” Nine snaps. Idiot boy, talking about Keeper ten yards away from a cantina crawling with Hutt lackeys. Crawling with the people he’s been spying on.

“Seriously, we can slow down. There’s no—”

“Shut. Up.” Nine keeps her feet moving and her face forward, but the Nikto from the cantina are following behind.

She puts her hand on her blaster.

Left, right, two flights up. Where is her speeder? Too far. Her landing pad is too far. Her heart rate remains steady. She’s been in worse spots. Much worse.

She passes the same Twi’lek from before, his sobs still heaving in his chest. She’s almost back, almost there. Almost, almost—

“Hey, Lena. Haven’t seen you in a while,” one of the Nikto says. The taller one. Jeedo. The short one was T’wagu. Nine has met them before, but not here. It takes her a moment to place them. Kessel. She knows them from Kessel.

Kessel did not go well.

“Hey, boys.” She does not hesitate. Her knife comes out of her boot. It lands in T’wagu’s throat. Jaden, for all his faltering bravery, shoots clean, and Jeedo falls to the ground. They weren’t bad guys for gangsters. Nine had almost liked them, once. A moment of emotion, a twinge of regret. Then nothing. She is empty as a dress-form, existing only as the meaty insides for her many identity-skins.

Jaden curses. He does so loudly and verbosely and in several languages while Nine grabs her knife and pulls it from T’wagu’s scaly skin.

“This is bad, this is really bad. Sithspit. Shavit. You’re—what am I gonna do? Ked’ro is going to know, shavit, shavit, shavit! I’ve made an enemy of a Hutt, and I’ve only been an agent for three frakking months. I have to get off world, I have to—”

“Look, kid. Jaden. Jaden.”

He keeps babbling, though, keeps cursing. He’s stuck. He’s panicking. He’s too green for failure.

“Mik,” Nine says. At the sound of his real name, the boy stops. “I’m taking you to my speeder, and then you and me are going home, you hear me? We’re going home.” This still isn’t the kind of alleyway where you speak words like “Dromund Kaas,” not if you want to walk away with your life.

Mik nods silently. Nodding is good. Silent is good.

#

The Phantom casts bright light throughout its holds and decks. Agent Mik Nauten sits cross-legged on his temporary bunk. Hyperspace streaks by his window, and his hair drips clean refresher water onto his borrowed shirt—Imperial gray, of course. Glory to the Empire, of course. Glory to the nation that made this too-young broken boy, may she conquer all her enemies with the stolen innocence of all her brightest youth.

“Hey,” Nine says, rapping lightly on the door frame. He looks up. Without his dirt-and-grime mask, Nine can see the freckles on his cheeks. He’ll need a specialized medical droid for the tattoo removal, but his Watcher will see to that. He looks like a boy named Mik again.

“Five,” he says. The word echoes off the metal and wood walls of Nine’s beloved Phantom. Its minimalist aesthetic feels cold for a moment, empty compared to the rough-edged emotion in that single utterance. “That’s my count. I’ve killed five people now. Five people are dead because of me, and none of them were the monsters I’d thought they’d be.”

Nine knows that feeling. Was it only two years ago that her count had been as low as five? Five had been a hard number. Ten had been harder. Fifty was the worst. Fifty is when the girl that used to live inside Cipher Nine died, the one who once wore pigtails and pink dresses, the one who made crowns of wildflowers in the summertime, the one who bore the name her parents gave her. Terraz’enia’naverrod.

She hasn’t heard that name spoken properly in years. When she entered the academy, she became the Imperial-friendly Zenian Averrod, and even that fiercely competitive, sharp-tongued patriot is gone. Zenian Averrod died first. Somewhere around fifteen kills. Maybe she limped along until twenty. It’s hard to be a patriot when you spend your whole life as the underhanded shadow of the Empire, the knife in the dark.

“The monsters are easy, and you’ll find some,” Nine says. “The thrilling heroics come around occasionally.”

“I always thought…I thought the thrilling heroics would be more common. They’re not, are they? I wasn’t trained to be a hero. I was trained to be a blaster on legs.”

It’s a sharp truth. Zenian has already been cut by it. Nine doesn’t feel the sting.

“Listen, Mik. You aren’t a Watcher. You’re a field agent. It’s not your job to know the big picture, and it’s not mine either. Sometimes…sometimes when you’re in there, when you’re talking to people and knowing them--even if you knew before--that big picture gets lost. The best way to deal with it, the best way to get through it is to just put your head down and do exactly the job you need to do. If that job is stealing weapons, steal weapons. If that job is killing a good person, you kill that good person. Stop being Mik. Build a self that would do what you have to, and be that self.”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I want to be Mik?” His eyes well with tears, but his voice is steady. Nine hears all that raw emotion, all of his loss and hurt.

“You don’t get to be Mik anymore. You don’t get to go back.”

“Can you really kill people without feeling anything? Can you really just put yourself away like that?”

“Someday…someday you won’t have to put Mik away anymore. Mik will just be gone. It’ll be easier, then.”

“Easy? Is whoever you were gone? Will all the kills blend together? Will I lose count?”

“That was a lot of questions,” Nine says.

“That wasn’t a lot of answers.” He stares at her with steady defiance, his shoulders still hunched.

“Get some sleep. We’ll be back in Kaas City tomorrow afternoon.”

Cipher Nine leaves Mik alone, and picks her way back to the cockpit. She can hear Kaliyo scurrying around the cargo hold somewhere, and from Mik’s room she imagines she can hear a soft sob.

He is broken, surely as that twi’lek junkie with his sores and his stench. He has the Empire to rebuild him, though, the same Empire that tore him apart. When they solder him back together, he will be scarred and hollow, but he will be stronger. That’s how it works. That’s how it always works.

An hour later, Mik knocks on the door of the cockpit.

“Cipher Nine,” he muses. “What’s your real name?”

“You just said it. It’s Cipher Nine.” Her word’s ring true in the sterile air, but Mik shakes his head.

“I don’t want to forget how to feel compassionate.” He and Nine lock eyes. He looks barely old enough to drink in a Cantina. He’s barely younger than Nine. He’s so much fuller than her. Some people fill up as they grow old. Not Nine. Probably not Mik, either. They’ll drain out of scars left by too many kills, their souls leaking through holes in their skin.

“It’s seventy-four,” Nine says. She speaks with the same steady cadence she always uses, her unmasked voice. It sounds hollow. “T’wagu makes seventy-four. You’ll lose yourself, but you won’t forget your count.”

“Seventy-four is a lot.”

“Yeah. Seventy-four is a lot.”

Mik settles into the copilot’s chair, and Nine stares out the window. For a split second, she is Zenian, she is Terraz’enia’naverrod, she is a girl who used to laugh. She is a girl who used to ache.

She feels the weight of seventy-four lives. It is a bittersweet agony, the kind that makes a person feel alive.

@Eversteam - I really liked your SW piece. Without getting into spoilers in here, it emphasized the shattering of what the SW once had and the painfulness/awkwardness of moving forward

@Bright - Pierce Jr. is a man after my own heart when it comes to storytelling with "that's how it should have happened". Also "Peace is a Lay" needs some kind of warning on it so innocent people don't read it at an office and crack up.

@ Yoshi - I like your take on a redeemed (Sort of) Tavus, even if the correct answer to "Where's Forex" is "winning the war, single-handedly". Sadly, in-game Ayrs ran up a rather large body count so he won't be experiencing the same (since it's close enough to what story!Ayrs would do

@DSM: Sorry, since you only wrote 1/100th of your usual amount you only get 1/100th of a response.

@TheStirge - I love your T7 (and I love T7 in general). I also applaud your knight's ingenuity - it's out-of-the-box thinking like that that makes her a true hero. Although I would say being with Doc at all is bad enough for her, let alone sloppy seconds (from your previous story)

@Frauzet: - Your story makes me really regret not featuring my smuggler yet, particularly since having her play off Ayrs on Ord Martell would have been fun. Oh well. I'm eagerly looking forward to more:cool:

@marissalf - I really liked the mom/daughter talk on Gault vs. Torian, and not just because I agree completely with Kinka And Kinka/Vector are always good for a smile or ten, even at this ungodly hour

@Alaurin

This is my sister’s room, Sergeant,” Kian growled, “You just slept with my little sister!!!!”

This strikes me as a "but other than that, how was the play Mrs. Lincoln?" situation Also, I've been enjoying your stories, particularly your take on Needles who I despised (then again, the only Act I 'bosses' I felt sorry for were

@Gaeriel_Averrod - Welcome to the thread! I really liked

Two years, eleven identities, and seventy-three kills out of the Academy

“Ready?” Elara’s voice contained a note of suspicion, as if she expected me to answer negatively. Maybe she was right, but she should have had more faith in me. I tugged furiously at my tie, willing it to tie correctly.

“Almost, sweetheart, just polishing my shoes.” I grimaced, tugging the tie again and staring at the dress pants that still needed to be ironed and cufflinks that I’d dropped on the floor. “Just a minute.”

“Hmmm. If you wish, Sir.” Her voice was smooth and gentle, but she knew that calling me ‘sir’ got under my skin. “I’ll be outside if you need me. Good luck!” I got the distinct impression she expected I would need that luck.

The struggle with my tie continued, a desperate life and death battle with the most evil piece of clothing that anyone had ever thought to invent. I fought against it, fought with every ounce of strength and courage that I had, but as time passed and sweat poured down my face, I realized it was a battle I was losing.

I heard her footsteps coming toward the room, the loud clack of heel against Klatooinian wood. I redoubled my frantic efforts, though I could already tell it was too late. Moments later, the door opened and my failure had been exposed completely. Elara’s wry smile was as crushing a sign of defeat as any I had ever experienced.

“Are you having problems getting dressed, Ayrs?” Teamed with that smile, her amused tone was a one-two punch to my ego. “Let me help you.”

I ducked away from her hands, shifting my weight so my body blocked her from reaching my tie. “I can handle it Elara, really. I was just distracted, or else I’d be ready by now. Trust me.” I gave her a goofy grin that flew about as well as a lead balloon.

“Let me help you!” Her voice was louder now, more forceful and insistent. I responded by trying to sidestep her, but she blocked my path. "Hold stil!" I threw my hands up in surrender as she pulled me back around so that I was facing her. She reached up, smiling tightly, and carefully went to work. When she was done, my tie was tied as properly as it was on the models that advertised them. Elara’s eyes were glittering with amusement and pride as we looked at each other.

“Looks good, Elara. I’m glad I’ll look my best for this dinner with the senator.”

She stood up on her tip toes and kissed me gently. “Come now, Ayrs, it won’t be that bad. Just be careful about what you say about his Huttball team this time.” She turned and walked to the door. Just before she reached it, she called out over her shoulder, her voice full of faux cheerfulness. “ Good luck!”

I scowled and picked up the cufflinks.

Your most dangerous enemy is the person you care for the most.

The words my father had drilled into me since before my first kill, before I had even fully grasped the potential of the Force. It was both a terrible and a beautiful thing to learn how dangerous trust and love were, as I found out the day I returned home with the news that I had been accepted into the academy on Korriban.

Throughout my childhood, my father had proudly displayed me to his peers, almost as a trophy. I was proof that his genetics were superior to theirs, that his and my mother’s blood was more pure, that his legacy would loom large over the Empire even as their families died out. I would have thought he would be quite proud of my achievement - I had been deemed worthy of training on Korriban itself, while my peers had been relegated to backwater academies or summarily executed.

Instead, he had struck me across the face and begun cursing me for failing him. I did not understand him at the time, but I did now.

Those you love will betray you.

Later, after I had completed the necessary cleansing of the house, I realized that I had become a threat to him. If I was trained on Korriban and became a great Sith, it might well be my legacy that reigned supreme, that supplanted the position of fame that he saw for his own name.

Love is a weakness

When he moved to strike me again, I had struck his arm off with the lightsaber I had constructed during my private lessons with Lord Raker, sending everything below the elbow flying in a spray of blood. My father screamed then, finally revealing himself as the coward that he was. He had always spoken of the greatness of the Sith but, in truth, he was merely playing a game he could not hope to compete in. He lacked the necessary discipline, fervor and strength to succeed in the way I would. It was with some measure of satisfaction that I removed his head from his body and ended his threat.

One can only be strong if you rely on no one else.

It became obvious that I could not leave matters as they were – my father had sufficiently powerful patrons and allies that would strike back in my mother’s name should I leave her alive. I found her in her private office, reading reports on some new recruits the overseers had found among the s lave population. To her credit, she was as unmoved as always when she saw me march into the room, blade activated. She knew what must be done, and though she could not possibly have wanted her life to end there, she wished me well and told me that she had always been proud of me.

Connections to others are not the foundation for success; they are the pillars of your undoing.

I purged the rest of my parents’ household that day. The first to fall was the butler, an aged Twi’lek that had once willingly accepted a beating on my behalf for a candy bar I had stolen from the kitchen. It proved…difficult…to do so, but I relieved him of his burdens with a quick and painless stab of my lightsaber through his heart. The maids followed soon after, screaming and squealing like my father had. It was shameful, and I had no qualms like I had about Nar’lu. The rest of the staff had alternated between futile attempts at resistance and various levels of whining and mewling; none proved any more difficult to deal with than the rest.

Worry not for others, focus solely on yourself.

When it was over, I called in for a cleaning crew to remove the bodies. In time, I would return as a newly-minted member of the Sith, and I would mold what had once been my father’s into my own image. My own legacy.

Beware the hand that clasps you from behind, lest it hold a knife.

I rolled over in bed to see Malavai sleeping soundly, his breaths as slow and precise as his speech was. It had taken some time to convince him to let go of his ridiculous concerns about propriety, but the effort had been more than worthwhile given the results.

Perhaps my father was wrong. Perhaps there was more to the galaxy than I had previously thought. Perhaps Malavai would be different, like Vette.

Some part of me hoped so.

I left Mako in the cockpit after we returned to the ship. Times like this required serious thought without outside interference.

'Mandalore the Vindicated', in all his glory, wanted Kellian Jarro dead for the terrible crime of being better at war than his precious lackeys on Coruscant had been. Even better was the implied offer to name me a Mandalorian should I succeed in taking the Jedi Master down. I am more of a Mandalorian than that rat bastard ever will be. I would have laughed had there been any real humor in the situation.

Taking down criminals and other bounty hunters was well within the guidelines I had set for myself when I joined the Great Hunt. The galaxy was a better place without them. Same went for the corrupt Imperials and their men. This was different. This was personal in the same way Kellian Jarro's continued existence was personal for the Mandalorans.

Rather, those that claim to be Mandalorians.

Once, the Mandalorians had held legitimate claim to being honorable warriors worthy of the traditions passed down by their predecessors. Now, they were petty thugs serving at the whim of sociopathic Sith. We had broken our vows, dishonored and disgraced ourselves. I wondered if we would ever have the opportunity to change that.

I sighed and dialed in the secure code to speak with my superior. Not my standard code, which Mako must have stored away, but the one that contained the secret sub-code written within, the one that could find the man that had disappeared from the galaxy years ago.

The bearded bald man with his all-too-obvious facial tattoos appeared on my holo. "News?"

As talkative as always, good. Best not to linger on this channel.

"They're sending me after Jarro. They still don't know, the cover is intact."

He smiled grimly. "Who are you now? Castillo, is it?"

I snorted. "Close, Uncle Jicoln. Cabrillo. I liked the sound of it better."

"Of course, need to focus on what's important after all." He huffed slightly. "If they're targeting Jarro, they'll be coming after me soon, too. Can't have Jicoln Cadera, the traitor that led an uprising against Mandalore the Vindicated, running around, can they?"

"Probably, they haven't said much. Figured you could use a heads up while I could get in contact."

Jicoln smiled tightly. "I'll be sure to be ready for them. The hut'tuuns won't know what hit them. You be safe too, ad'ika. Your father is watching over us both, he'll have my head if you get yourself killed."

I leaned back in my chair as his image faded out. Things were more complicated than I had intended, but I had also known this day might come. We were ready. We were prepared. We would do what was necessary to restore our honor. If we died in the attempt, so much the better - some day, somewhere, they would write songs of us and what we had done. So I told myself, at least.

Absent-mindedly, I reached for the antique case with my parents' mementos and removed the medallion they had been gifted. Our clan's symbol was there, the alien design that resembled the legendary Star Forge. I gripped the medallion tightly in my hand and closed my eyes, remembering the better times I had once enjoyed, hoping I might enjoy them again. Our clan was gone now - dead or humiliated into surrendering to those that had dishonored our people.

I would set things right. For the galaxy. For the future. For Clan Ordo.

@alaurin, Tia’s playing it close to the edge, isn’t she Fun to see Jorgan off balance, though. Not as surprised as he must be at the end of Mari’s piece!

@YoshiRaphElan, I like seeing some of the boldness that went into making the previous commander, well, a commander.

@DarthSillyMonkey, Khem Val: Graduate of the Tulak Hord School of Diplomacy.

@theStirge, T7 as Sit ‘n’ Spin…what a great image!

@frauzet, I like seeing the officials’ view of Viidu’s operation. It makes sense that they would be aware of it…and the advantages it grants to the loyalists on Ord Mantell.

@marissalf I like Kinka’s reasoning re: the boys on board. As for Kinka and Vector…d’aww, sweetness.

@Gaeriel_Averrod, welcome to the thread! You really drive home the way the lies and kills of the job can get to an agent, or how an agent must adapt to keep it from getting to her. Zenian can pass along her learned wisdom but she can’t really enclose any comfort with it.

@Lesaberisa, I love hearing Elara’s exasperation in her stock lines, now in context. As for Malicineve…she always knows just how to respond to things. Sort of. I like the angle you give Amurri…puts things in a much different light to start Act 2.

“Vector,” said Wynston, “we’ve got a job.”

“Oh?” said the Joiner.

“A Sith getting ideas she shouldn’t. I’ve looked up her file; she’s bad news. This won’t be a conversation. It’s a kill mission. She’s a formidable fighter by all reports; our previous assassination attempts have all failed.”

“But you have an idea.”

“I do,” he said. “Our Sith is a busy woman, but I think I’ve found the bait that will bring her out to a small unmanned satellite station that happens to belong to people we don’t care about inconveniencing. We slip the information to her master, she’s sent to the station.”

“And we’ll be there to confront her?”

“Oh, absolutely not. We’ll be sitting three sectors away with my finger on the detonator. Not exactly sporting, but it hearkens back to two major professional principals: One, if you know you can’t win a battlefield, rig it, and two, don’t be an idiot.”

It has always bugged me that “blow up the docked ship and/or the station, sans countdown” is so rarely a solution in SWTOR. And I know why – it short-circuits a ton of dramatic setups – but really, if you have your enemy in a metal pellet in space, and you know they can’t survive outside, blowing it up seems like the first and easiest way to score a kill.

@TheStirge: Haha! Love the idea of a fun-loving, child like jedi! And I get the vision of T7 tossing up his oil afterwards... much like I used to do after riding one of those d*mn things.

@Frauzet:

“Damned good looking!” Fuse noted.

 

Nikeo raised a brow. “Really? Hadn’t noticed, sir.” He grinned at Fuse who grinned back. The Zabrak who already ranked as Lieutenant couldn’t be much older than he was. Right now he appeared to be even younger.

 

“Are you two done behaving like pubescent adolescents?” Jorgan growled. “We might actually have a connection here.”

This, THIS is why Aric Jorgen gets sent into battle with just his underwear! I am really loving your Zal/Nikeo stuff! It's hard to pick out anything specific because it's all really good. Nikeo's dislike of Command but desire to be a great Trooper. His contrast with his brother. His interaction with Zal. All great stuff.

@Marissalf: Kinka is very quickly growing on me. "Prof. Evil", HA! And I love the talk she has with Mel. A lot of time our folks see more of the truth than we let ourselves see. And her catching Gault off guard was priceless. The Vector piece was great too. I can see Vector wondering that, his human side's insecurity coming to the surface.

@Alaurin:

“Three days,” Mari repeated, a seductive smile curving her full lips, “You’re not a stupid man, are you Aric?”

 

“No,” he grinned, setting the half empty glass down, “No I’m not.”

And yet, fate would try to prove otherwise. HAHA! Man, Jorgen's life is gonna be pretty damn interesting from here on out. Nicely done.

@G_Averrod:

Anyway, so many fun stories here! I've decided to join in Also, this story might have gotten away from me *just* a tad. It's a long one, 2300 words.

My name is DSM, and I approve of this message. Welcome aboard!, drinks are to the right, chips are on the table, and leave your pants at the door. Glad you could join us!

Nice first offering! I especially liked this:

She presses the glass to her lips, but doesn’t even let herself taste the rancid drink. Juma juice is Zen’s usual order. Cipher Nine thinks it’s vile. Those kinds of disconnects make the disguise easier. Nine is wearing her Lena-skin, and Lena drinks juma juice. Or at least she pretends to. Nine doesn’t drink on jobs unless she absolutely has to.

As a matter of fact, I loved this entire piece for the well written peek into the Agent's psyche. It was gritty, introspective, and it felt real. Definitely a character to keep a look out for!

@Lesaberisa: Ayrs: Great use of Elara's lines. Especially the "Let me help you!". There are times I'm screaming at my screen "NO!" because she's constantly on my back about helping me! Loved the battle with the tie, too. "a desperate life and death battle with the most evil piece of clothing that anyone had ever thought to invent" HA! Great line!

@Malicineve: Wow, NICE! A peek into her past and the the follow up with Quinn! The foreshadowing was awesome!

@Amurri: "For Clan Ordo." That was a sweet use of in game story there! And the description of what Mandolorians have become vs. what they were was awesome! I loved it.

@Bright: HAHAH! Nice plug there Jr.!

“And we’ll be there to confront her?”

 

“Oh, absolutely not.

That made me laugh out loud. I could almost hear his reply with a hint of "no, that'd be insane" tone behind it. I love his second piece of advice. So very true, once again affirming my love for the Wynston

“Drokk-man? Is that you?”

Drokk’it turned and saw a blond furred, female Cathar, with medium length dark hair flaring out to the sides and tiger markings on her face, grinning at him.

“HOLY KARK! IT IS YOU!” She ran and flung herself into his arms, hugging him tightly.

He grinned, “Heya Bastille. What’s shakin’?”

“What, you couldn’t tell as I walked by in these tight pants?” She winked at him. “Man, it’s great to see you again! What are you doing he—oh, no way. Noooooo way. Didyoucometoseeusplay?Really?!” The words flew from her mouth in one nearly incoherent sentence.

“Something like that. I’m here on business, but I had planned to catch the concert since I was lucky enough to be here.”

“HEINOUS! Hey, who’s the stiff?” She pointed at Vector, one arm still draped around Drokk’s neck.

Drokk'it introduced his companion, “Basti, this Vector Hyllus, one of the crew I’m currently working with.”

“A pleasure, Ms. Bastillie. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.” Vector bowed slightly.

The Cathar looked him up and down, then reached out and grabbed his hand, shaking it vigorously. “Any friend of Drokk’s is ok in my book. Seriously though, loosen up a bit! You stick out like a Gree at a beauty pageant.”

Vector smiled, “Yes, well, this is our first time attending a concert of this nature. We hope to learn much from the experience.”

Bastille looked at him as though he had sprouted another head. “Drokk, yer buddy here, he talks weird. No offense, uh, Vector was it?”

Vector smiled, “None taken, Miss Bastille.”

“Call me Basti, all my friends do, and like I said, if you’re a friend of Drokk’s, then that’s good enough for me.” She turned back to Drokk’it with a toothy grin, “C’mon Drokk-man, the girls are gonna die when they see you!”

Vector watched the Cathar and the hunter interact. She held onto his arm as they walked, and he could see by her aura that she was overjoyed by Drokk’it’s presence. He was just as excited as his friend, it seemed.

“So Drokk, I gotta tell you, we were pretty damn impressed. Grand Champion? Long way from Roadie/Bouncer/Manager, dude.”

“Yeah, well a guy’s gotta do something with his time, and knitting just ain’t my style, y’know?” He grinned at the Cathar woman. “How’re you guys getting along? I have all your holorecordings, but you seem to keep your touring to the outer rim and some Republic territory. I haven’t been able to get a chance to see you live.”

“Eh, y’know how it is, Drokk. You can sell out and make it big, or stick to your integrity and take a risk. We’ve got a loyal following, but nowhere in the range of Metallikat or CHISS. Being an all female metal band ain’t the draw it used to be, but we get by,” she looked up at him with a knowing grin on her face, “even without the help of our mysterious benefactor.”

“Oh?” Drokk looked away and scratched his beard, “So you have a benefactor? That’s a good thing, right?”

Bastille stepped in front of Drokk’it, stopping his pace, “C’mon Drokk-man. We all know it’s you. The deposits are all funded by one Mr. Peaches. I mean, really dumba*s, if you’re going to be all sneaky about it, don’t use the nickname we gave you!”

Vector was curious, as he could see Drokk’it's embarrassment rising. “Basti, we sense there is a story behind this. Would you care to elaborate?”

She looked around the hunter's large torso at Vector, “He never told you? Drokk you never told him?”

He shrugged, “Nope. I ain't really told anybody about that… just figured we could keep it in the family, if you know what I mean?” He gave Bastille a begging look.

"Ohhh, no. I believe your legend needs to live on!" She danced away from him and over to Vector. "Ok, how much do you know about my man, Peaches here?"

Vector smiled, "We know less than you do, apparently. Please, enlighten us."

"Basti, c'mon..." Drokk'it pleaded.

She gave him a mischievous grin, then grabbed Vector's arm and continued as they walked.

"He started out as security at a club we used to frequent on Nar Shadda. We got to know him pretty well after awhile. He was a harda*s with the patrons, but you know Drokk'it. He's really pretty laid back, so we got along great."

"Yes, he does tend to just accept things as is, doesn't he?"

She laughed, "Yeah, go with the flow, that's our boy! Tell you what Vector, I like you, and this story is better with a decent stout. Mau and the gals will kill me if I keep hogging Peaches here all to myself. What say we go meet the rest of the band?"

*******************************************************************

They were gathered in the band's dressing room. Drinks were poured, introductions were made, and a large fuss over Drokk'it's return was had. After it calmed down some, Bastille continued telling her story.

"So one night, we got a pretty rough crowd. Things get a bit out of hand and one of them gets up on stage and starts trying to manhandle Maffy." Bastille nodded at Maffdet, a large white furred Cathar with leopard markings, sitting next to the hunter.

"Ol' Drokk-man here gets in this guy's face and asks him to leave. He adds, 'I'm only asking once.' and smiles."

"Yes, that sounds like something he'd say." Vector looked at Drokk'it, who was sitting between Maffdet and another female Cathar they called Mau. She was slim and black furred with blond hair and white facial markings.

"Now this guy, he hauls back to hit Drokk, thinking he's some rent-a-cop or something. Drokk reaches down and grabs this guy by the balls, and squeezes, hard."

Another Cathar, this one with yellow fur, tiger stripes, and medium length brown hair, started laughing, "Man, I've never heard a guy squeal so much in my life!"

Mau chuckled, "Heh, don't matter your pain tolerance, Tefn'ut. Any guy will tell you, he'd rather take two to the face than one to the boys!"

"Oooh! That's a great song title! One to the boys..." Tefn'ut pulled out a pad and started writing.

Bastille continued, "So the crowd follows Drokk-man as he leads this guy out the door by his 'boys', boots him in the gut, and tells him not to come back. Then he makes his way back to the stage, takes the mic and says, 'Any of you nerf-smelling, Houk kissin', slimy Hutt wanna-be's harass my girls again, and I'm gonna hang you from the ceiling by your gol dam*ed peaches! And if you don't think I can, TRY ME!'"

The girls were laughing hard now, and Drokk'it grinned.

Maffdet finished the story, "So after that, we hired him as a roadie and started calling him Peaches."

Vector cracked a smile, "Peaches, we are impressed with your negotiating tactics. Perhaps you should accompany us on our next diplomatic meeting to hasten negotiations."

The door to the dressing room opened and a well built Cathar with golden brown/reddish fur walked into the room. Her white facial markings accentuated her red eyes. She wore her hair braids in a top knot.

“Sek'meht! Get in here and meet our former roadie/manager/songwriter.” Mau jumped up and escorted the new arrival to the couch, “Peaches, this is the lovely lead singer for KITTEN, Sek'meht.”

Drokk'it stood up and shook her hand. “Hey, I’m a big fan! You’ve got great range, kid.”

Sek'meht’s eyes grew wide with recognition, and she tensed up, before relaxing and shaking Drokk’s hand. “Wow, so you’re the Drokk-man Basti won’t shut up about, huh?”

Vector saw the Cathar's aura flash from a light red to a dull, muddied red, streaked with black.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He said sheepishly.

“Don’t worry Sek, he’s not back to try and take your place or anything. He’s in town and got a chance to catch our show.” Mau said.

Bastille jumped up, “OH! OH! Ladies, I just got a flash of inspiration!” She looked slyly at Drokk, then at Sek'meht, “Sek, how would you feel about singing a duet with the Drokk-man?”

The Cathar's face flashed anger and Vector saw the same colors as before, but then she mellowed a bit. “I – I don’t know. I’ve never even heard this guy live, I’m not sure if we mesh, y'know? I have a better idea, why don’t we give him the show’s end song? Maybe bring him out for the encore?”

“I think that’d be a great idea.” Maffdet said.

“That's an AWESOME idea!” Bastille jumped on Sek'meht, hugging her, “Sek, you’re a freaking genius!”

Drokk'it held up his hands, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Guys, I haven’t sung in years! The shower is about the best you’re going to get out of me, and that’s nowhere near good enough for a live audience.”

Mau walked over and leaned back into Drokk'it's chest. She reached up and stroked his hair, "Oh, I'm sure that a strong, talented man like yourself could pick it up again with a little practice", she purred and winked.

Drokk looked paralyzed with surprise. Vector noticed the energy around him change three different times.

"Uhhh, maybe." He diplomatically removed himself from her grasp. "Look, I'll give it a shot, but when the reviews come back, don't blame me!"

"You'll do fine, Peaches." Tef'nut said with a smile.

Bastille jumped up and grabbed him by the arm, "It's decided! To the sound booth with you! We have three hours to get you ready!"

"Basti! I got work to do!" He looked pleadingly over at Vector.

"We were unaware of this hidden talent you have, Drokk'it. We look forward to hearing it." He smiled.

"Thanks, Vec! You heard the man, go go go!" Bastille pushed him out the door and Maffdet followed.

Vector wasn't sure why, but he was quite enjoying himself. There was a pleasant energy here, not unsimilar to the nest, and yet very different. It had been sometime since he had felt like this.

The only person who didn't seem to be enjoying themselves was Sek'meht. She acted normal, but the electrons danced wildly around her, coloring her aura with dark reds and black spots. It was obvious she did not like Drokk'it.

Vector had seen this same aura many times in diplomatic summits, when one side felt his position threatened. It would most likely result in nothing long term. The rest of this musical group seemed to care a great deal for him. She would most likely learn to, at the least, not hate him.

Vector met Drokk'it backstage before the concert started.

"Fenn'rys instructed us to look for her contact in the throngs of the concert. Apparently, he is a big supporter of this band."

"Ok, then here's how we handle it. You stay on the floor. I'll keep an eye out from up here, until it's time for me to go out. Once I'm on stage, I won't be able to see a thing. Keep your comm unit open and set the external noise dampeners to max. You've never been to a metal concert before, Vector. These things get LOUD."

"We've already made the changes."

"While you're on the floor, remember, the crowd is like a living thing. It moves, it changes, it evolves. You're going to get sucked into a whirlpool of bodies. That's called a pit. You can ride it to different parts of the concert floor, just stay on the outside. Your 'sight beyond sight' ain't going to help you much here. You'll see nothing but joy and aggression. Listen to your instincts. Your human ones; I don't think your 'hive' will understand what's going on."

"We will... try. It is difficult for us to rely on being a unique entity, separate from the collective."

"Well, you're going to have to. It all seems violent, but it's not, so remember keep your hive instincts in check. And above all?"

"Yes?"

"Loosen up and have a good time, Vec!" Drokk'it's face lit up into a huge smile, "It's metal! You gotta feel it, man!"

Vector spent the next hours moving in and out of the crowd. Drokk'it had been correct in his assumption. The joiner instincts screamed danger and he felt aggressive energy all around him. While he could pick out the blueprint of the music, the chord crunching and throaty screaming was a far cry from the cosmic melodies he was used to hearing. It took a monumental effort to not combat his way out of the maelstrom of bodies Drokk'it had called 'the pit', when he was suddenly swept up in it.

Over time though, he began to notice a curious thing. While he was surrounded by aggression, there was no actual violence. When someone was getting crushed by the crowd, another would open up space for them. When a person fell in 'the pit', a bubble would form to protect them, and they would be assisted to their feet to join the maelstrom again.

People were excited, agitated, frenzied… but there was a courtesy of sorts extended to their fellows.

Once again, he was hit with the feeling of similarity to the nest, but still very different. These people, they formed a tight community, but in many ways kept their individuality. It was nothing short of intriguing.

About an hour into KITTEN's set, Vector found the person they were looking for. He made his way through the crowd and motioned him to the outer edge of the concert hall, where it was dark and a bit quieter.

“You are Jethal Themark?” Vector asked, music thrumming in the background.

The contact looked him up and down, “Maybe. You don’t look blue and yer definitely not female.”

Vector pulled out Fenn’rys’ Imperial seal, “We’re here on the Agent’s behalf. We are to procure a freighter from you. Do you have it?”

Jethal sneered, “Yeah, I found one that fits yer needs. More details after I see the cred transfer.”

“Of course.” He pulled out his datapad, punched in some things and turned the screen to face Jethal so he could watch the transfer take place. The weaselly little Rodian then checked his own datapad and confirmed it.

Vector and the Rodian looked to the stage. The music had stopped and the one known as Mau came to the mic.

“SCREAM FOR ME, ANAXES!! We’re gonna end tonight with a blast from the past! If you’ve been a fan of ours since the early days, then you remember this guy! He’s back to crank it up way past 11!! Give it up for the Drokk-man!!”

Jethal turned back to Vector, “Here’s the entry code, the key, and the coordinates. It’s off an isolated space lane, so no one will think to look for it. We done here? Because they’re starting the encore, and I don’t want to miss it.”

“Indeed. Pleasure doing business with you.”

The Rodian brushed him off as he dove back into the crowd.

Vector watched Drokk'it as he heard the music begin. He decided to not meet backstage as planned, but to watch the hunter as part of the crowd. Fenn’rys would certainly find this to be interesting.

The band began to play, at a slower pace than earlier, and with a sadder melody. As the music played, he watched Drokk'it's aura change. It started as his usual green, but began to grow darker.

I spoke to god today, and she said that she's ashamed

What have I become?

What have I done?

The hunter's emotional change carried through his voice. It hit Vector harder than the rest of the assembly as he watched the change occur.

I saw the devil today, and he looked a lot like me.

I looked away.

I turned awaaaaay!

The band seemed to feed into Drokk'it's sorrow, and played to match the power of his emotions.

Arms wide open, I stand alone!

I'm no hero, and I'm not made of stone.

Right or wrong, I can hardly tell.

I'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell.

Vector was amazed. It was as if he could feel the hunter's despair through the music. He understood at that moment, that Drokk'it had been through a horrendous personal tragedy at some point. It was both tragic and moving, something he'd not felt in years.

It was interrupted by another voice, one that lacked any sense of regret or sorrow.

"Vector, status?"

He walked out of the concert hall, into the foyer. "Yes Agent. The means to the ship has been secured. Drokk'it is still detained, as you requested."

"Excellent work, Vector. And how is our mighty Champion?"

"Hurting, Agent. Based on what we just witnessed, Drokk'it is hurting."

KITTEN finished the encore with an rocking number, that included a Bastille and Drokk duet. The crowd went insane as they took their bows, offered their thanks, and walked of stage.

Maffdet handed her bass to a roadie and then threw her arm around Drokk's neck, "I told you you'd be fine, Peaches." She playfully bit the top of Drokk's head.

"Ow! Thanks Maffy, but it was only a few songs."

Bastille grinned widely, "Yeah, and we killed 'em! You sure you don't need a managing gig again, Drokk-man?"

"Nah, I've got my own ban--"

One of the roadies walked up to Drokk and handed him a folded piece of paper, "Hey, someone asked me to give this to you."

Drokk looked at the folded slip. The word REAPER was scrawled on the top. He quickly opened it.

I don't think you know me, but I know you. Meet me in the props room on the fourth floor.

Maffdet noticed the change in his demeanor first, "Drokk? You ok?" she put her hand on his arm.

He tried to put on a relaxed face, "Yeah, I'm ok. I just have to take care of some business real quick. Tell Mau and Teff not to eat all the good stuff before I get back."

"Drokk," Bastille looked worried, "you sure? We could come with you."

He ruffled her hair, "Nah, I'm good, Basti. It'll be fine. I'll see you guys in a few."

As he turned and walked away from them, he let his false facade drop. People moved out of way quickly.

This osiik is just never going to end. All the more reason to get that third job done. Keep Mako and the crew safe.

****************************************************

Drokk entered the prop room.

Light from the full moon flooded in from the large storefront style window. He looked around for the mystery person, his only weapon a large screwdriver he had grabbed from the crew on the way off the stage. He was standing fully immersed in the light when he heard the door close behind him.

"Hello, Reaper." He turned and caught the glint of light off of Sek'meht's eyes as she walked forward, pistol aimed at his head.

"Heya Sek. You want to explain to me what's going on? I'm not here to take anything from you, y'know."

"You took everything away from me already! That's the kicker here Drokk'it. That's the knife in my side. You took everything, and you don't even remember who I am!" she snarled.

Drokk tossed the screwdriver to the side with a clatter. "No, I don't... but you know who I was, so I have to assume this about revenge."

"Oh you're karking right it is! My parents, you killed them right in front of me! You gutted them just for being high level Resistance officers, but me? All you offered me was the phrase 'I probably just did you a favor, kid', as if you'd just somehow rescued me!"

Drokk closed his eyes and bit his lip, grimacing as he listened.

"I went from a solid, caring family to being a runt in the Republic foster system's litter! I was on my own by the time I was 13! I was on Nar Shadda for 7 karking years after that! I did whatever I had to, to survive! You have no idea the things I did! If Mau hadn't found me, given me a chance, I'd be dead, or on a pedestal, chained to some Hutt somewhere!"

She walked forward, her eyes dark red and the fur around them moist from her tears. "If Mau hadn't saved me, I'd have never gotten this chance to kill you." She said menacingly.

"And you have every right to." He knelt down and spread his arms wide. His eyes boring into hers. "You're right, I don't know what you've been through... but I know what you're about to go through."

Sek'meht jammed the gun into his forehead, "Yeah? What's that?"

Drokk dropped his arms and exhaled heavily, "You're going to become like me."

"Hah! I doubt that, Reaper!"

"Sek, I can tell you've never taken a life. You done horrible things to survive, but you've never killed. You cross that line, it'll change you. Haunt you."

Her hand shook. A shadow of understanding crossed her eyes. "That song... you wrote that song, not Tefn'ut."

"Yeah."

"I've always pulled from my pain to sing, to create. I'm good because it's real. The pain is real." she said, her voice quiet with the realization that Drokk'it knew.

"Yeah."

Her face contorted in rage, as she pushed the barrel of the blaster into his head, hard. "I've suffered for years! My parents, my childhood, GONE! You don't get to rob me of this!"

Drokk looked her in the eyes, "I don't want to, Sek. I've earned this. Nothing I've done since, or will do in the future, will change that... but I don't want to haunt you more than I already do. You can kill me, but then what? You think you'll be happy? Your pain will end? It ain't that easy, kid. The hole is still there, only now you've tried to fill it by sinking down to my level. Trust me, it'll never end after that."

Sek'meht started to cry, "Then how? HOW DAMMIT?! Forgive you? I can't, you bast*rd!"

"... you walk away. You walk away and you let it go. It's harder than it sounds... but you've got people now. Mau, Basti, Teff, Maffy... they're good people and they'll lift you up, but you have to walk away."

She lowered her gun and covered her tear filled eyes. "GODS! Do you know what the worst part about this is? I hate you so freaking much for what you did to me! Now, I have to live knowing you're still alive, and I can't ever kill you because you're right, too? I... I just can't do that..."

She brought the blaster up to her temple.

"... but I can do this. I hope this haunts you, you son of a b*tch."

"NO!" Drokk tried to leap to the gun, but as fast as he was, her trigger finger was faster. He caught Sek'meht's body as it started to fall limp.

He screamed, a range of emotions pouring out. Rage, sorrow, regret.

It just never ends. It just never fraggin' ends! Fifteen years later, and the Reaper is still laying waste.

He felt soft, furry arms reach from behind his waist and squeeze him. Maffy had followed him, and seen everything. He felt the wet fur on his cheek. She was crying.

" I'm sorry, Maffdet. I didn't know she... I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, you know. You always think it's your fault, but it's not."She said between sobs.

"Yeah, Maffy," he said quietly, pain in his voice, "it is. You wouldn't understand why, but it is."

"Drokk, people make their own choi--"

"Maffdet. Stop. We need to get Sek cleaned up. That shot will have alerted people."

She nodded and they set about quickly cleaning the splatter, and covering Sek'meht's remains. As they were finishing, with his head down, Drokk began to explain what was going to happen.

"Maffy, something like this... the press will use it to tear you guys apart. Accusations of infighting and heavy spice use, all kinds of ugly things from her past; those vultures feed on that kind of thing. I won't let that happen. She's had enough tragedy in her life, I don't want her to be vilified in death."

Maffdet looked at him in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

He stared into her wet, blue eyes. "Maffy, you need to tell them that I shot her."

Her feline features warped into a horrified mask, "Drokk, no... NO! C'mon, you'd never--"

"The galaxy thinks I would. They think I do this all the time. I'll take the hit for this, Maffy. To honor Sek'meht, to save the girls--"

"Drokk, we don't want that! We don't need that!"

"Yeah, you do. You don't know it, but you do. Maffy, you guys are important to me, like little sisters. Big brothers protect their kid sisters. I need you to trust me, darlin'... do what I ask."

She sniffled, tears still flowing. She understood what this meant.

"... I'll tell the girls. Basti isn't going to be happy, you know. None of us will be."

Drokk smiled a sad smile, "I know... but it has to go down like this." He kissed her cheek and put his forehead against hers, "I love you guys, Maffy, and I'm always listening. Remember that."

She started sobbing as he walked out the door.

Vector met Drokk'it by the alleyway exit, as the hunter had instructed. He walked and spoke with a purpose.

"Vector, it's time to go. C'mon."

His demeanor had changed drastically. His rage was a palpable entity. His aura was greenish black, and extended out from him in waves.

"Drokk'it, is everything--"

"We need to move Vector, not chat."

They walked in silence to their shuttle. Drokk'it sat in the pilot's seat and fired up the engines, and prepped for takeoff.

"Drokk'it--"

"Not a good time Vector."

"I was only going to say, that we're to meet Fenn'rys at these coordinates."

Vector had known the hunter for a short time, so he found it unnerving that he would be so affected by Drokk'it's mood.

When they had reached orbit, Drokk'it turned the controls over to the autopilot, put his hands behind his head and just stared out into space. Vector could see that he was in pain, his aura, and wildly traveling electrons, only confirming what was obvious to the naked eye.

"Drokk'it... we are concerned. You are not... yourself."

"Some things happened."

"As an ambassador, we're considered an excellent listener."

The hunter looked over at Vector, "You're just not going to let up, are you?"

"We're told it's one of our better qualities", he smiled.

"Fine. Sek'meht shot herself. Fifteen years ago, I killed her parents while she watched and she recognized me as the Reaper. All this time, everything I try, and somehow I keep running into the bast*rd I was."

"Your first song... it refers to your past, doesn't it? How you felt in the past?"

"Yeah..."

"Drokk'it, you carry a heavy burden of guilt. That guilt causes you pain on a daily basis. What if I told you I could help you, that you could wake up and feel nothing but happiness and the support of millions. You'd never have to feel alone again."

"Wait," Drokk'it sat up, "are you offering to make me a joiner?"

"Yes. We are aware of your actions, and your personality. We feel without the negative energy you hold on to, you'd be a valuable addition to the nest. You could finally find peace."

Drokk'it laughed ironically. "Life don't work that way Vec. There's no magic eraser that cleans up your past and suddenly makes things right. One day, death comes calling, and you have to pay your dues. This joining you guys have? It's a sham. You throw away your responsibility, and your individuality, to escape the pain of living. To escape the consequences of your actions or inaction... but you'll have to pay up eventually."

Vector felt somewhat offended, "Drokk'it, it's not like that. Your sense of self is expanded, your sense of belonging fulfilled. Your consequences are shared amongst the collective, making them bearable."

The hunter reclined the seat and placed his hands behind his head again, "Other people can't carry my burdens, Vec, just like I can't carry yours. We don't really understand how heavy others' are. We empathize, but we don't know. We can't know."

"When you become of one mind, you share all with the nest. Your experiences become known."

Drokk'it looked over at Vector, "You can't experience getting your hands bloody if you've never done it. Let me ask you something. When was the last time some happy people asked to become joiners? Have you ever had people who were really content outside of joiner-dom ask to join?"

Vector felt the blow of the words against what he held as truth. "The song of the nest provides contentment. People do not realize how happy they can be. We gift that to them through the joining, so we have no need of that question."

"Didn't think so. You either forcibly assimilate folks, or you get people who're running from something. You take away all those emotions that you consider negative; anger, fear, sorrow, and then proclaim them content... but it's a funny thing, Vec. In the absence of negativity, there's nothing to measure the positive against. So how do you know you actually are happy?"

Vector Hyllus, the Dawn Herald, heard the voices of the nest, explaining that everyone would doubt and fear the change, but once spread across the galaxy, all would experience harmony and all would sing the song joyously.

Behind those voices though, he heard another voice. Vector Hyllus, the man.

His experiences with the concert, the words of this hunter, who bore more burdens than most accumulate in three lifetimes; these things awoke a long dormant need for individuality in him. To belong, but be unique. To experience sadness, so that he could know true happiness.

This would fade, of course. Being Dawn Herald allowed him to retain part of his self-awareness, but only as long as the devotion to the collective was remembered.

"I figured as much." said Drokk'it, after watching Vector's silence. "Thanks for the offer Vec, I do appreciate the concern, but I'll have to pass."

Vector smiled, "Drokk'it... you are truly an intriguing individual."

The hunter chuckled, "Basti was right, Vec. You talk weird."

He laughed, "So we -- I've been told, my friend. So I've been told."

"Excellent work Vector, as always." Fenn'rys smiled as she debriefed him, alone. She did so enjoy it when a plan worked as designed.

"Thank you, Agent."

She looked at the joiner with an arched eyebrow, "You seem somewhat agitated, Vector. Is there something you wish to add?"

"Actually, there is. While we appreciate that we may not be aware of all facets of your various schemes, we would request that you leave us out of anything involving the hunter from this point forward."

"Interesting. This is a defiance of sorts then? You no longer wish to work with me?" She kept an even tone and smiled slyly at him.

"Not at all. We fight for the nest, and we fight for you, Agent. However, we feel that Drokk'it has suffered enough, in his life. He is a good man, Agent. We do not wish to betray his trust any further."

"I thought as much. Drokk'it does have a tendency to grow on you, doesn't he?" Fenn'rys sat back and grinned across the table at her companion. "Very well, I'll grant your request, Vector."

********************************************

Lights out had come to the Phantom, and people had retired to sleep some time ago.

Fenn'rys walked towards the med bay, where Drokk'it 's makeshift bunk was. She could hear him thrashing, a moan escaping every now and then. He was having nightmares.

The door slid open as she walked in, a halter top and stretch pants her uniform for the night. A mattress had been moved to the floor, and she watched as his head jerked back and forth, arm reaching for something.

She smoothly and silently made her way over and knelt beside him. She gently took his hand and stroked his hair.

"Shhh, Drokk'it... darling, it's all right..."

The world burned, but it lacked any warmth as he ran from house to house, opening doors and screaming.

"RUN!! It's coming! You have to get out!"

Each time he was too late. Gruesome scenes of torturous, bloody death greeted his every attempt to prevent it.

Some people he knew. Some he didn't. Some not even old enough to ride a training speeder... and still he ran, the line of houses never ending, trying to save them. Trying to stop him.

But there was no end, he couldn't save anyone. It was hopeless. He fell to his knees sobbing. He saw a figure coming towards him through the flames. He recognized it. He wouldn't be harmed.

The figure was dressed in camouflage fatigues. A bandana covered his head. His face was clean shaven, but tattooed. He carried a grenade belt, hunting blades on each hip, and guns.

"You know who I am?" The face began to sprout facial hair.

"Yes..." Drokk knew. It was him. It was the Reaper of Balmorra.

"You can't save them. You'll try, but you'll fail. I'll always get them. Anyone you care about, they belong to me."

"No. No. No. No." Drokk rocked back and forth. Hope was los-- he felt a cool breeze on his face, it gently blew back his hair. The world was no longer on fire.

He looked behind the reaper and saw her.

"That's enough from you. BEGONE!" The female figure waved her hand and the cool breeze blew the Reaper to ash. She walked forward.

"Drokk'it, darling, it's all right now. I'm here, it's all right."

"Mi... Miri?"

"Yes, dear." She kneeled down next to him. He lay down and put his head on her lap.

"I... missed you. I thought you were gone. I thought he had taken you."

"No, I'm here now. Just relax darling, I'll protect you."

"I love you, Mirielle", he began to float up to the sky.

As he drifted out of the world, off in the distance he saw a petite young woman with blond hair. She sat on a rock. She didn't beckon him, she didn't call for him, but she smiled at him lovingly. Somehow, he thought he might want to go out to that rock. He knew she'd always be there, waiting for him...

Drokk's eyes opened slowly. As the world focused, he saw Fenn'rys stroking his hair and smiling.

"It's ok, Drokk'it. You were having a nightmare."

"Tell me something I don't know. Where'd you come from?"

"I heard you thrashing about. My mother used to do this for me, to chase away the demons. I thought I'd try it. How do you feel?"

Drokk knew he should get up. His gut told him he shouldn't be comfortable. Again, he ignored it. Something he was doing more frequently, the more time he spent around this beautiful Chiss woman.

"Tired. Really, really tired."

She continued to stroke his hair, his head resting on her lap. "I'll stay around for awhile, try to get some sleep."

"Fenn... thanks. I mean it." He looked into her eyes.

"Shh, get some rest. I'll protect you from the bad dreams."

In his eyes she saw many things; gratitude, security, comfort... love.

"Fenn... thanks. I mean it."

She smiled gently at him, "Shh, get some rest. I'll protect you from the bad dreams."

He closed his eyes and she could feel him give into sleep, as his head became heavier on her lap.

She traced his face with a finger, and he smiled unconsciously. She continued to stroke his hair, enjoying this secret time with him.

When she had informed the Cathar girl of who Drokk'it really was, Fenn'rys had expected that the hunter would be forced to kill her in self defense. She never expected this 'Sek'meht' to have the courage to take her own life. It was an unexpected change in the plan, but the outcome was as expected.

She gently stroked his hair and smiled down at him.

Everything is coming together nicely.

Ok, so this part of the story got a bit bigger than I had planned... again. There's two more parts to the story and it might happen again in the finale, but after that I SWEAR I'm done with 6150 word single stories! I thought about splitting it, but as it all intertwines with a few events here, I didn't think it would read well like that. Probably just writer's vanity or something.

My Vector interpretation is far from spot on, but I hope I at least got the spirit of the character. I think I may have given him super powers. I know he's talked about seeing the electrons dancing before, but I forgot if he ever mentioned actual auras. I thought he did at some point, if not then... SUPER VECTOR! (been a loooong time since I played the IA story)

The lyrics Drokk sings are from Wrong Side of Heaven, by Five Finger Death Punch. I heard the lyrics back in August and they really hit me as describing Drokk's early days, and even his current dealings with Fenn'rys.... and the dream may have been inspired by Oingo Boingo's Just Another Day

... yes, the possibility exists that I may be too much a slave to my music.

Malavai Quinn swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat as he stood outside the main hall of the Dromund Kaas capitol building. Methic, standing by his side in surprisingly formal Sith robes, frowned, reached over, and adjusted Quinn's collar.

"You look rather nervous, Colonel," Methic said with a grin.

Quinn swallowed again. "It's my wedding day, m'lord...weren't you?"

"I married Vette, Colonel. I was nervous then and I've been nervous every day since." He shot Quinn a sly wink. "You're lucky. Jaesa's beautiful, smart, kind, joyful..."

"Ahem," Vette hissed from nearby.

"Not as perky as Vette, though," Methic added quickly, "not nearly as perky. Or...blue."

"Thank you, m'lord," Quinn said.

He straightened, looked at the chrono hidden under the gray sleeve of his uniform, and nodded.

"It's time," he said.

He stepped out into the grand hall, standing at the front of the room with Methic. Methic moved to the center of the podium to officiate the ceremony, while Vette moved over to take her position as bridesmaid. Quinn looked over his shoulder at Agent Merok–his best man–and nodded. At the back of the room, ushers Pierce and Broonmark politely shoved last-minute guests towards their seats. Toovee Arrate, at a signal from Methic, began playing traditional Imperial wedding music.

The back door of the hall opened, and Jaesa stepped in, beautiful in her white-and-blue gown. Quinn fought the urge to beam–and failed. She grinned at him, practically dragging her father down the aisle. Her mother, tearfully, waved at her from the front row.

"Ladies, gentlemen, aliens," Methic said, "we are gathered here today for the joyous joining in hands of marriage to Colonel Malavai Quinn of the Imperial Army, and apprentice Jaesa Willsaam. This marriage is more than two people joining; this represents the relationship between the Sith and the military in the future. If any oppose to this marriage, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

At the back of the room, Kaliyo snickered and elbowed Pierce. "Sounded like he said 'forever hold your pee.'"

Pierce chuckled and covered his mouth with his hand. Merok, hearing this over his earbud comlink, glared at Kaliyo. She shut up. Quinn stepped forward and took Jaesa's hands.

"Do you, Malavai Quinn, take Jaesa Willsaam as your wife, to love, protect, and honor as long as you both shall live?" Methic continued.

Quinn grinned. "I do."

"Do you, Jaesa Willsaam, take Malavai Quinn as your husband, to love, serve with, and hold as long as you both shall live?"

"I do."

"Then, by the power vested in my by the Imperial Code of Law, and by the Force itself, it is my great personal joy to pronounce you man and wife."

Quinn surged forward and embraced Jaesa in a powerful kiss. She kissed him back, pressing herself against his chest.

"I present to you," Methic said, "Colonel and Apprentice Malavai Quinn."

The audience cheered. Quinn finally pried himself from Jaesa's lips, waved to the audience, and moved down the aisle, a bounce in his step. Yes, he thought, life was very good.

I've been trying to find a good way to write this piece for a long time now; I hope this did it justice.

@Gaeriel_Averrod, Welcome to the thread! That was a fantastic intro to your agent. I really enjoyed Zen’s insight into what the Empire does to people, and this

She is empty as a dress-form, existing only as the meaty insides for her many identity-skins.

sums up the agent perfectly. It’s no wonder they end up so damaged.

@alaurin, That might just be the very definition of awkward! I feel like Mari’s the only one coming out of that situation without a red face.

Yeah, I figure Kinka’s pretty cool about that stuff (unless it involves a certain Lokin). She probably had dozens of people who tried to steer her away from Vector because of his Joiner thing, so she tries to see past all the extraneous stuff like age and species. And even with all Gault’s scheming, she figures he’s mostly harmless, especially if he has feelings for Mel.

@Lesaberisa, Despite the carnage, I genuinely felt bad for Malicineve, both for her tough past and her future heartache. I liked getting more of Amurri’s backstory there. Very interesting. And a very good use of the canned responses with Arys and Elara.

@Bright, I do love a simple solution now and again. This makes me think of Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indy just pulls out the gun and shoots the sword swinging guy in the street. Sometimes you just need to cut the crap and get things done.

@DSM, The mere thought of Vector at a metal concert makes me giddy. I can absolutely see him trying to figure out the different dynamics and trying to reconcile all the bloodless aggression.

He laughed, "So we -- I've been told, my friend. So I've been told."

Very nice touch to have Vector shift to the "I" after he thinks about wanting to retain his individuality.

And Fenn’rys, I should have known her fingerprints would be all over what happened.

Edit: Yoshi snuck one in while I was posting! I'm so glad you wrote the wedding! Very nice, lovely ceremony. And then this:

At the back of the room, Kaliyo snickered and elbowed Pierce. "Sounded like he said 'forever hold your pee.'"

Oh my gosh, I laughed so hard at this.

*First off, a very big welcome to Gaeriel_Averrod!!! I love adding new people to the Index!!

*Also, to those that commented on/enjoyed my last bit with Mari, Kian, and Jorgan....thanks! I don't plan to write on those characters anytime in the near future, but frauzet's last piece put that crazy idea in my head. I'll probably use Kian to experience the Dorne romance and write more about those characters later......I mean come on.....that situation is just ripe for those 'Hey Kian.....I banged your little sister' moments!

*Now on with more specific stuff....

@Gaeriel_Averrod: I really enjoyed that story and you did an excellent job portraying the mindset of the Agent. It is both sad and scary to think that a person can come to that point in such a short time. Very nicely done and I look forward to reading more!

@Lesaberisa: I'm glad you liked my take on Needles.....it was a lot of fun to write. It was a no brainer for my trooper to take care of him.....the other two you mentioned, I agree with you completely.

Also, awwww, I really love Ayrs and Elara!! I really enjoyed that insight into Amurri's history and the connection to her future target. I like how you brought in the Mandalorians.....how they once were vs. what they are now. That was also a very insightful piece for Malicineve, nicely done! It will be interesting to see what happens when you know.....

@Bright: I really loved that Advice piece.....and I have to agree with you about blowing it up....really would be the easiest solution!

Also, Tia's going to be playing close to the edge quite a bit and that won't be the last time she has Jorgan off balance.

@DarthSillyMonkey: I don't care how long it is.....I totally love your stuff!!! I felt just awful for Drokk when Sek ended her life like that. That's going to haunt him forever! I'm glad Vector took a stand because that was a bad Fenn'rys!!! I really can't wait to see what ends up happening to them in the end.

Also, yeah, when I do end up playing out Kian for the Dorne romance, Jorgan's life is going to be very interesting....that is if Kian doesn't kill him for sleeping with his little sister!

@Yoshi: *sigh* weddings....you made me like Quinn for a moment.....not an easy thing to do!

@marissalf: yeah, definitely awkward......and you can bet that Mari is going to come out of that well, as for Kian and Jorgan.....it's going to be fun.

“Stars, I can’t wait to leave this planet,” Mako shivered as they walked through the Sobrik Spaceport, “I swear, I’ve been half expecting this place to get bombed at any second.”

“I can’t say that I’ll be sad to go,” Kat agreed, as they approached the rendezvous point, “I can deal with the warzone…..but some of the stuff we’ve seen, the lengths the Imperials will go to in order to completely take over a world…..it’s disturbing.”

Kat and Mako carefully entered the military hanger. Their target, Admiral Ivernus, would be arriving shortly and they were to meet Lieutenant Major Pirrell inside with his little ‘pet’ Murghir. Other than Pirrell, Murghir, Kat, and Mako, the hanger would be empty. Kat had dropped a hint that it would be better for Pirrell to meet the Admiral without an audience. That way, no one would take the attention from him. The scheming, overambitious idiot bought it and arranged it so no one else would be allowed in while Admiral Ivernus was there.

A few minutes after Kat and Mako arrived, a small military shuttle landed and an older, bearded man, with a definite no-nonsense attitude about him, came down the ramp flanked by two large Imperial soldiers.

“Admiral Ivernus,” Pirrell stood at attention, “I’m so pleased you could come down here and grace us……”

“Spare me the boot polishing, you incompetent fool,” Ivernus interrupted, “the only reason I came down here was for your head.”

“What?!” Pirrell cried, “Surely you don’t blame me for Colonel Sartius’ incompetence! I told him many times that his plans were flawed and…..”

“As head of Intelligence here on Balmorra, it was your responsibility to find and correct these issues before they caused a problem.” Ivernus replied, “Sartius’ failures are your failures and you’ll both be executed for your incompetence!”

“No….no.....you can’t,” Pirrell turned to Kat, “You, bounty hunter, take care of this for me!”

“What’s this?!” Ivernus barked, glaring in disgust at Kat and Murghir, “You brought these filthy aliens here with you, and a bounty hunter no less?! What were you thinking?!”

“Thinking is not one of Pirrell’s strengths, Admiral,” Murghir stepped forward, her heavy accent very familiar to Kat, who’d started to suspect she might be the other bounty hunter a couple of days ago. However, her accent made Kat uneasy, bringing back some memories…..bad memories.

“Murghir…..what?” Pirrell stuttered, in shock that his ‘pet’ was speaking out against him.

“My name’s Murghir and I’m a bounty hunter on the Great Hunt and you, Admiral,” she sneered, charging up a blaster, “are my first target.”

“I figured as much,” Kat nodded, charging her own blasters, “but you’re wrong…..the Admiral’s my first target and you’re my second.”

“How long have you known,” Murghir asked, curious as to what gave her away. She thought her performance had been flawless.

“I started to suspect a couple of days ago,” Kat admitted, “Having spent years living on the streets of Nar Shaddaa, I’ve seen plenty of slaves. You lacked that downtrodden, defeated aura that most slaves retain and you were way too outspoken. You were either new, which given your lack of fear seemed unlikely, or you weren’t really a slave.”

“No matter,” Murghir shrugged, “I fooled Pirrell and that was enough. Now I kill the target, deal with you, then I go on to win the Great Hunt and bring honor to my people.”

“I’m afraid the only one leaving this hanger alive is me and my men. Guards,” Ivernus ordered, “Kill them all!”

Unfortunately for Ivernus, he and his guards were too slow to react and were quickly taken out by Kat and Murghir. Mako hit Pirrell with a tranqulizer dart as the cowardly worm tried to sneak away. As soon as Ivernus and his guards were dead, Kat and Murghir turned on each other.

“Your turn to die,” Kat called out, her lips curving in a feral smile that bared her fangs as she charged up her blasters.

“Oh, I’m not going to die here,” Murghir insisted in her thick, old world accent, a smug expression coming over her face, “and neither are you……Katrynka Valeskanovaya.”

Kat felt her heart stop when she heard her real name, “What do you know about that?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough,” Murghir laughed, “I’m taking you home with me….after I kill your little friend.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Kat growled, firing off a round of shots, “Stay back, Mako!”

The fight was on, but this was no longer an ordinary hunt for Kat, she needed answers. Her life and possibly Tia’s depended on it. The two skilled hunters fought hard, neither pulling any punches. Kat felt one of her blasters overheating and tossed it aside, activating her flame thrower. She needed to subdue Murghir quickly and find out what she knew and if she was the only one. Kat could feel her back getting hot and hit the switch to vent the heat. Murghir pressed her advantage, firing off several shots, but Kat was fast and dodged them, charging the other woman. Murghir was unprepared for melee combat and was thrown off guard when Kat charged in, and Kat was able to land a low kick that shattered her knee. As soon as Murghir dropped, Kat immediately kicked aside her dropped weapon and shot her other leg.

“Now, Murghir,” Kat leaned over the wounded hunter, holstering her blaster. With one leg shot and the other knee broken, she wouldn’t be able to escape, “You’re going to start talking and if you stop, I’ll start cutting,” Kat warned, pulling a small vibroknife out of her boot and knelt next to the older Cathar, “First, how do you know that name?”

Murghir laughed in Kat’s face, so Kat cut hers and the laughter turned to a painful shout, “Do I need to repeat my question?”

“Kat,” Mako whispered, uneasy.

“You can leave if this bothers you, Mako,” Kat interrupted, “but I need answers and she’s going to give them to me.”

Mako nodded, and stayed, praying to the force that the other hunter talked. She hadn’t heard that deadly calm in her new friend’s voice before and it scared her a little.

Kat sliced open Murghir’s other cheek, leaving twin slits on either side of her face, “I repeat, how do you know that name?”

“You looked familiar that first day you came to Pirrell’s office,” Murghir admitted, an amused smile on her bloody face, “It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized where I’d seen your face before…..you look just like your mother. So I looked for information about the explosion from Nar Shaddaa. We thought you all had died, but after hours of searching, I finally found a record that mentioned two bodies from your family were never found…..Katrynka and Tiannya. There was a picture of your whole family when you arrived on Nar Shaddaa and I immediately knew who you were.”

“Keep going,” Kat ordered, uneasy pr*ckles settling over her body, “How do you know my family and what do you know about that explosion.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Murghir sneered coldly, “It won’t save you…..or your littermate.”

Kat snarled, baring her fangs as both fear and rage shot through her. She took the knife and slowly cut off one of Murghir’s ears, “Who are you and what did you do?!”

Murghir shrieked in pain as the knife sliced her ear away, “I….I’m…a clan mate……of Prince Shange’s bloodline.”

“What’s that nutjob got to do with this?” Kat asked, definitely not expecting to hear that name, “he died twenty years ago!”

“He’s not dead,” Murghir spat, “Republic SIS took him…..he’s in stasis on Belsavis….very much alive.”

“What does that have to do with my family?” Kat growled, backhanding her hard enough to break off a fang, “I’m running out of patience…..”

Murghir simply laughed, and an infuriated Kat stabbed her eye, causing the other Cathar to scream and Mako to be sick.

“Your….f-f-f-family w-w-was o-o-one o-o-of,” Murghir stuttered as Kat activated the vibroknife in her eye, the pain making her nearly pass out, “o-o-ones b-b-behind it.”

“How?” Kat asked, pulling the knife out, a cold feeling settling into the pit of her stomach, “My parents were diplomats!”

“Your father and your uncle weren’t diplomats!” Murghir growled, spitting blood at Kat, “Your mother was, so popular and loved by all, and your father used that as a cover. He and your uncle Mikhail were SIS! When Prince Shange started speaking out against Cathar joining the Republic, the prominent clan Elders decided he needed to be silenced, but not killed. Your father’s clan was one of the more prominent ones behind that decision and he and your uncle carried out the order, using their position in the SIS to take him and his followers away for good.”

“What did your family hope to accomplish by killing mine?” Kat demanded.

“Your family was the first target. If we wiped out enough of the prominent family bloodlines, our clan Elders would become more powerful. Then we’d be able to overturn the decision and get Shange released. None of you were supposed to survive. In the years since the hit on your family, we’ve taken out two more bloodlines, making ours highest ranking. We were very careful to make sure it couldn’t be traced back to us. Oh, people suspected our clan was behind it, but they had no proof and were too afraid to speak out.”

“You’re telling me that you slaughtered your own people, just for Shange?!” Kat cried, disgusted with the thought, “He was considering aligning with the Empire!!”

“Prince Shange is a great hero of our clan!” Murghir retorted, “but because he didn’t agree with the rest of the clans, he was punished!”

“No,” Kat shot back, “He was punished for trying to go against the decision of the Elders. He was trying to forge an alliance behind their backs. The Elders were right to stop him……the Imperials hate aliens! How can you not realize that?! I’ve seen plenty of this in my short time on Dormund Kaas and here on Balmorra……you heard Ivernus! To him, we were filthy aliens! They would’ve used us, then thrown us away when we were no longer useful……it’s what they do….what they’ve always done!”

“The Imperials wanted us!” Murghir insisted, “They appreciated our talents and our clan would have had the power and station we deserved.”

“No, your clan would’ve done the dirty work, then conveniently shunted aside or outright killed when they were no longer needed. They’d never give any real power to an alien,” Kat shook her head sadly, the thought of all of those people murdered, including her family, all for one clan’s stubborn pride and gullibility.

“You don’t know that!” Murghir argued, spitting more blood.

“Why were you going to take me instead of just killing me?” Kat wondered, narrowing her amber eyes at the other woman, “What purpose would that serve?”

“If people learn you survived, your family’s standing would be restored and you could become clan Elder,” Murghir gritted, as fresh waves pain washed over her, “I have clan mates here on Balmorra. They arrived yesterday and are to meet me in here soon to take you off planet. I needed to find out if Tiannya also survived and where she was. Then you both would be quietly eliminated and your bodies destroyed so no one would ever find out that there were survivors that day. The last of your father’s bloodline would be gone forever.”

“You failed,” Kat growled, backhanding her again, “You sick and twisted bi*ch! You’re going to die and you bet your a**, I’m going to make certain our bloodline is restored.”

“I didn’t fail! I was the one who killed your parents and Jakob. My littermate, Ekaterina, was the one watching over you and Tiannya that day……she’s the one who failed! Oh, you may live now, but you’ll always be hunted,” Murghir laughed, “You see, I put the word out that I found you and that your sister was most likely alive as well. It won’t be nearly as difficult to find her as it was you, surely you realize that…..Cathar with silver colored fur aren’t that common and you both have your mother’s facial markings.”

“You’re going to pay for that,” Kat whispered with deadly promise, “You know the punishment for betraying your kind and while I’ve managed to lose the accent, my father’s clan was one of the oldest and always kept the laws and traditions going. You’re going to die here…..slowly and your body will be left as a message to the rest of your rotten clan!”

“Do you have the stomach for it, Katrynka?” Murghir taunted, “Not many can handle what it takes to bring true justice and leave the warning…..”

“We’re about to find out,” Kat grunted as she dragged the broken hunter over to the distant corner of the hanger, knowing what she needed to do, “Leave now, Mako, you don’t want to be here for this…..go and get the ship ready for take-off.”

“What about Pirrell?”

“Leave him,” Kat instructed, “I need him for something after I’m done with his ‘pet’ here”

Mako nodded, tears in her eyes, and left. Kat took a deep breath, digging knives out of her backpack, and mentally prepared herself for the gruesome task ahead. She owed it to her parents, Jakob, and her father’s clan. It was up to her to hand out clan justice. The body would be left staked out as a message, a warning to all others, and Murghir had clan mates on their way to receive it. Kat peeled off Murghir’s gloves and boots. She pulled a large lid off one of the wooden crates and dragged Murghir onto it laying her on her back.

“Murghir of the Shange bloodline, you have betrayed the clans by executing your own people, a crime punishable by death,” Kat stated, “I, Katrynka of the Valeskanovaya bloodline, will carry out clan justice and leave your body as a message to those that would follow you.”

Kat used the knives to pin her hands and feet to the crate lid, Murghir screaming with each limb. Kat hovered over her for a moment, then stabbed her in the gut, leaving the knife in. She shoved a cloth into Murghir’s mouth to stifle her screams and watched one of her family’s murderers begin to die a slow, painful death. After a few moments, Kat couldn’t take it anymore and decided clan justice wasn’t worth the price of her soul, I’m sorry, Mom and Dad, but I just can’t. She charged a blaster and emptied it into Murghir’s head. She used Murghir’s blood to paint the Valeskanovaya crest on the dead woman’s face as a warning to her clan.

As soon as she finished with Murghir’s corpse, Kat walked over to where Pirrell was still unconscious. She dug out a stim and injected him with it. When he came too, he slowly stood and looked around at the carnage. As soon as Pirrell spotted Murghir, he began pleading for his life.

“You want to live?” Kat asked, fairly certain by the smell that Pirrell had just wet himself, “You’re gonna have to earn my trust. Take me to the monitoring station for this hanger.”

“S-S-Sure,” Pirrell stuttered and led Kat out of the hanger to a small room nearby, “I made sure no one was scheduled here today, just in case things didn’t go as I’d planned.”

“Smart thinking,” Kat told him, “I’m assuming it was still recording though.” Pirrell nodded and Kat continued, “That’s fine. Bring up the footage from the past hour……..good, now erase it.”

“Done,” Pirrell told her, “Will you let me live now?”

“We’re not leaving yet,” Kat told him, “Any minute, Murghir’s friends are going to show up…….and there they are.”

They watched the monitors as three Cathar in mercenary armor entered the hanger, “How did they get in?” Pirrell gasped, disbelief in his tone, “You need a code to access that door!”

“And Murghir probably watched you put it in and transmitted it to her friends,” Kat told him.

“Why…..just for this Great Hunt you’re on?” Pirrell asked, “I don’t understand.”

“No, it turned into more than that……it’s a very long and personal story. Let’s just say it’s a blood feud so to speak,” Kat sighed, then saw them up close on one of the camera feeds, “Can you isolate that feed?”

“I think so,” Pirrell nodded, “There…..now what?”

Kat pulled out her datapad, “Download it to this.”

Pirrell took the datapad and a moment later, the footage was on it. They watched as the mercs found Murghir’s body and one of them took out a Holo. As soon as he made the call, Kat turned to Pirrell.

“Sound the alarm and erase all this footage,” Kat instructed, “We’ll let them take the blame for the carnage in there and we’re home free.”

Pirrell quickly did as she asked, “That’s very clever thinking. You’ll let me live then?”

“As long as you can keep your mouth shut, then yes,” Kat nodded, “You know I’ll find you if you can’t.”

“You have nothing to worry about, hunter,” Pirrell assured her as they saw Imperial troops enter the hanger and subdue the mercs.

“Good,” Kat smiled, “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Lieutenant Major,” Kat turned to leave the room, then looked back at the still shaking man, “Oh, and you should probably change your pants……I think you might’ve had an accident.”

Kat returned to her ship to find a teary eyed Mako waiting for her. They needed to get going, but Kat considered Mako a friend and wanted her to understand why she did what she did to Murghir.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, Mako, but needed to find out what she knew…..it’s more than my life on the line,” Kat sighed, the events of the past hour taking their toll, “Our clans have strict punishments for betraying your own kind and I owed it to my family to carry it out. It was a matter of honor.”

“I understand…..I just…..I couldn’t watch,” Mako told her, “Is she…”

“Yes,” Kat nodded, her voice cracking a little, “I made it quick in the end…..clan justice wasn’t worth the price of my soul.”

“I’m glad,” Mako hugged Kat, knowing that her friend was upset at what she’d been obligated to do, “Sparing someone pain is honorable too you know. I know plenty of hunters enjoy what they do and even drag it out, preferring torture and death over bringing a target in alive. You aren’t like that at all, Kat. I hope you know that.”

“Thanks, Mako,” Kat said thickly, wiping her eyes.

“Anytime,” Mako assured her, “So what about Pirrell? What did you do with him?”

“Don’t worry, I let him slither off eventually,” Kat told her as they went upstairs to the cockpit, “I had him take me to the monitoring station and erase the footage from the military hanger for the past hour. Then we waited for Murghir’s friends to show. I got a nice close up of them when they did and had Pirrell download it to my datapad. As soon as I saw them make a Holo call, I had Pirrell set off the alarm and erase the footage again. Then we left and I warned him to keep quiet or I’d hunt him down.”

“Think he’ll keep his word?”

“Yeah, he knows he was lucky to escape execution,” Kat nodded, “He’s not going to want to rock the boat by having anyone look too deeply into Ivernus’ untimely demise. He was pretty shaken when I woke him…..he literally pissed his pants when he saw Murghir’s body.”

“Eeewwww, really?” Mako wrinkled her nose as Kat fired up the ship’s engines, “So….what now?”

“Tia’s in danger….Murghir was right about her coloring. I’m going to contact Val,” Kat explained, guiding the ship out of the hanger, “I need to find a way to warn Tia and last I’d heard, Val had found her.”

“I remember,” Mako nodded, “You ready to put Balmorra behind us then?”

“Yes,” Kat answered, “Our next target is on Nar Shaddaa and we should get there fast. I’ll contact Val before we make the jump to hyperspace.”

I hope people don't mind my taking liberties with Murghir and Prince Shange. There wasn't a lot of information about them, what I did find and include was on Wookieepedia. Hopefully the way I tied them into my story was believable.

http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e40/Stirge/eleeta-standing.png

http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e40/Stirge/eleeta-profile.png

Eleeta standing in the lounge on her ship. It had the best lighting. I considered doing one with weapon drawn, 'cause I lurve my bowcaster, but I just couldn't get it to turn out right. She's wearing the Unfettered Trenchcoat with the security key White/Deep Red dye, with the gloves from the Slave Dancer outfit. Forget what the pants are called. Zel and El both wear the (hidden) Karagga's Unyielding Helm, because it makes me laugh.

http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e40/Stirge/zel-action.png

http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e40/Stirge/zel-closeup.png

Zel on Corellia. Lighting was much better, and she looks a lot better with weapons drawn. This is the Republic Dancer's outfit from the Security Key vendor, with a Covert Energy Belt.

http://i36.photobucket.com/albums/e40/Stirge/kissyface.png

This was taken at one of the outposts on Voss, I somehow got Temple stuck on a mailbox and was able to join her up there, which actually let me put them face to face for once. I do keep Temple(and Kaliyo, for that matter) in the Slave Dancer outfit in game, but neither of them would ever actually wear those things in public in the story. Well, Kaliyo would on a dare. Or if she was drunk. Or if it was funny.

"Target, the Sith on the viewscreen." Wynston paced the length of the briefing room. "This isn't a conversation. It's a kill mission. I'll be luring him to a hulk drifting in deep space, supposedly with something he very much wants on board. Once there–"

"We can confront him," said Quinn, "and end this."

Wynston eyed him with something a little too jaded to be disbelief. "Wrong. We blow it up remotely."

"Then how can you be certain he's dead?"

"Getting blown to smithereens in open space is traditionally considered a guarantee of death."

"You've been mistaken about that before."

"That was an exception," grumbled Wynston.

"It's in our interests to extract what we can from him, then eliminate him. That requires a personal touch."

"So you want to wait on board to strike up a conversation?"

"I shall have safeguards in place."

"And what would that be, more droids? Quinn, safeguards can't save you from a straight-up Force choke. You won't always be so lucky about who's doing the choking."

Quinn’s nostrils flared. "I am aware of that, agent."

"But you still want to walk up and shake hands?"

"It's poor form to be absent at your target's death."

"No. No, it’s poor form to get killed by your target at their not-death. Obliterating his ship while he's on it, then moving in to blow up the wreckage afterward, that's ideal form. I’m pretty sure there are textbooks about it."

"You can't know what happens in those last minutes. He might have a means of escape."

"How many people have you succeeded in assassinating, Quinn?"

Quinn glared at near-laser intensity.

"Well?" said Wynston. "Do tell me what an expert you are in eradication."

"I have no doubt I've murdered fewer than you."

"Which makes me the resident murder expert, wouldn't you say? And I'm telling you, the only way I've survived to get my hands this bloody is by making sure I'm never close enough to get my hands bloody." Wynston paused, frowning. "Only part of that was literal."

"He should know who is killing him and why," said Quinn.

"Oh," said Wynston. "Oh. I know what this is really about. You haven't gotten to monologue in weeks."

Quinn started, but didn't deny it. "I haven't. All our work has been sabotage or..." his lip curled..."politicking."

"Don't look so put-upon, the female dignitaries of the galaxy love you. Look, we can capture some rogue Jedi and let you speechify at him for a few hours if it makes you feel better, but you're not mucking up this mission just for the chance to lord it over a problem Lord."

"I am not so easily distracted, agent."

"You'll deal." Wynston turned away. "Now I'd better find Hazard, we've got a space hulk to rig."

Hazard showed up to Temple’s room with a holovid, a big bag of popcorn, and a suggestion. “We could invite Holiday,” she said. “To make her feel welcome.”

Temple frowned. "That hologram who's been sighing over Quinn for the last month?"

"Yes. We have spoken with her; she is a very nice intelligence."

“I didn’t think she left her corner of the analysis lab.”

“We believe she can project elsewhere on the ship. She has integrated well enough.”

“Well, go on then. Invite her. Just…no Quinn-gushing here, please?”

Hazard stared serenely at her.

“Look, with anyone else in the galaxy I have to ask.”

*

Holiday manifested in a gentle whirl of pink. She looked at the larger holoprojector in the room. “Oh,” she cooed, “I’m coming in late.”

"Not very,” said Hazard, “they are just getting started."

"I see." Holiday settled on the couch between the Twi'lek Joiner and the human. "So what's happening now?"

"Well," said Temple, "these two aren't together even if it's obvious they should be. Right now he's saying that men and women can't be friends because sex will always get in the way, and she's trying to argue that he's wrong."

Holiday checked the holovid. "But that's ridiculous. Just look at her pupil dilation. Anyone with a little medical training could see that she already – hee – responds to him."

"You can tell that?" Temple said, alarmed.

"Everybody already knows of your attraction to Wynston anyway," Hazard reminded her calmly.

"Hm. Right."

"You, now, you’re harder to read," Holiday told Hazard. "Joiner physiology is something Tharan never really looked into."

"He tried, more than once, with certain youthful female Joiners," Hazard said. "The nest remembers."

"I'm sure he would have developed some amazing improvements, given the chance."

Hazard took that announcement with aplomb. “You must miss him very much,” she said gently.

Holiday sighed. "I do. That’s what nobody on the job here understands. Tharan had a sense of humor."

"Yes," Temple said distantly.

"And he loved to take me fun places, not just for work. He was brilliant even when he was just relaxing."

"Yes," echoed Temple, her thoughts clearly on someone else.

"And sure, he would flirt with a lot of girls, but I only had to rig his bunk to give him electrical shocks at unpredictable intervals to get him to stop bringing them home."

"Ye– you did what?"

"It doesn't matter anymore." She sniffled. "And I suppose, it's no replacement, but at least Quinn gives me something to do."

"Sure, if 'staring grimly at your problems until they go away' counts as something to do," muttered Temple.

Holiday straightened up further. "Quinn's brilliant."

"He's a walking sob story too self-absorbed to put aside his own ego and work with anybody."

"There's nowhere for him to push his ego to, Wynston's is taking up the rest of the Aegis!" Holiday's voice was as shrill as her breathy vocabulator would go.

Temple rolled her eyes. “So you’re Quinn Fangirl Number Nine Million and Fifty-Seven, congratulations. How special you must feel.”

“Don’t tell me he isn’t worth the attention.”

Temple turned up her nose. "I'm more of a Wynston girl myself."

"My, this popcorn is delicious," said Hazard.

“At least you know what I’m talking about,” said Temple, looking at the Joiner. “Honestly, you’re the luckiest woman I ever…”

“Sleeping with Wynston does not make one uniquely lucky,” said Hazard and Holiday both at once, in decidedly different tones. “But,” added Hazard, “we know we are fortunate to have his attention for more than twenty-four hours at a time.”

“Meaning you’re ganging up on Quinn, too,” huffed Holiday.

“On the contrary. We can recognize Quinn’s virtues. There is that exquisite blend of will-driven strength and veiled vulnerability that many find irresistible."

Holiday glowed. "Ooh, exactly!"

“Hazard! I never...” said Temple. “Does Wynston know what you think?”

“Of course not. We are of the nest; we are also tempted by trace amounts of pheromonic compounds, unusually shapely proboscises, and sugar water. We see no reason to distress him with such observations.”

“But you do like Quinn,” Holiday said triumphantly.

“We maintain neutrality. It is our purpose as a diplomat and our responsibility as an operative. Now look, the holovid girl is trying to get on with her life.”

“It won’t work,” said Holiday.

“Oh, we know.”

Rylon found an out-of-the-way bench on the observation deck to slouch in with his datapad. He read listlessly for a while. Then he just stared into space.

Pierce Junior, the image of his father as Rylon was of his, swaggered up and put a foot up on Rylon’s bench, setting forearm on knee and smiling genially. “Evening,” he said. “You’re looking glum. What’s up?”

Rylon shrugged. "Went out to dinner with Dad. It was kind of…one-sided."

"You always seemed ready to talk as much as he does. When you're not both brooding."

"It wasn't really that. Just the women showing up. Ever since…well, you know…I may as well be invisible when he's in the room. He's got the noble tragedy thing. I've got nothing."

"You've got a tragic air of your own," said Junior. "It's all blended in with this adolescent anger thing, but it's there. Dramatic. Stormy. Give it a couple years, your father won't be able to peel the ladies off you even if he wants to."

"You're just saying that because I look like him and if he's straight you'll bang the next best thing."

"Would it work? – If I were planning such a thing."

Rylon made a face. "Dunno. I don't usually let my father's fans near me."

"Haven't you been living with Lord Jaesa and her daughters since the Emperor thing?"

"Her underage and completely unattractive daughters? Yeah, I guess."

"Jaesa herself's not bad. Comfortably curvy, I hear. Very, very giving."

"Ew," said Rylon. "Just ew. I never met a girl in that whole household who…just no."

Junior eyed him thoughtfully. "So anyway," he said, "doesn't seem too smart for me to go after your father, since my father would shoot me on the spot for thinking it."

"Your father?" Mischief glinted in Rylon's turbulent blue eyes. "And you're scared of this?"

"Nah. I said not smart, didn't say scared. In fact…let me put it this way. You've always had an easy time of rebelling. Principled parents with rulesets. Want to make trouble? Step one, grab what's sacred, step two, shove a lightsaber through it. Me, I had Major General Pierce for a father. Rebelling against pure chaos is bloody difficult."

"You could be law-abiding, I guess?"

"You can, and I did, and it teed Father off no end when I worked my way up to Head Boy at Dullsville Military Academy, but let me tell you, it wasn’t worth the boredom. You got all the real chances for rebellion. Stars. Direct career boost from the Emperor to fly in the face of your parents' plans? Brilliant."

Rylon slouched further. "It backfired."

"Yeah, that'll happen sometimes. It – wow." Junior blinked a few times in rapid succession while looking at Rylon. "Stormy tragedy. Right on. Kid, you are going places with a mystique like that."

"It's not really a mystique so much as I feel bad about trying to stab my mom."

"I'm sure she understood. Still makes you very distinguished."

Rylon scowled. "I don't have a mystique."

"You really do. Just because the boring sods we're surrounded by can't see it..."

"Are you coming on to me?" Rylon accused.

"Quite possibly," grinned Junior.

"If we kiss or something my dad'll kill me."

Junior's grin widened. "That's rebellion for you."

Rylon drew back. "It won’t work."

"You thought about it, though."

"Did not."

"Stormy tragedy, emphasis on 'stormy.' Especially when you're lying." Junior leaned in and clapped Rylon on the shoulder almost hard enough to knock him over. "Like I said. Give it a little time – or maybe a little adventure, if you know what I’m saying – your father won't stand a chance." He struck up a jaunty tune and walked off whistling.

Rylon gave up on reading and went to find a practice dummy to beat on.

The apparition vanished, leaving Jealousy alone in the Dark temple’s shadows. An ancient holocron in her hands. No dust, no spiderwebs, it might have come from Darth Zash’s archives.

Jealousy felt power thrumming through her fingertips. So different from what she'd experienced. She knew power like Dromund Kaas' storms. Wild winds. Savage lightning. Howling thunder. Untamed and glorious in its fury.

Kel’eth Ur’s power was the strength of the pillar. The great ageless edifices standing tall and proud against the driving rain. A lone outcrop, wind-lashed, beset on all sides, yet still resolute, unyielding and firm.

She envied this power. Wanted it. Felt compelled to understand it.

As she turned the holocron over in her hand, she knew she would not surrender it to Lord Alaric. As she still held on to the mysterious Revan’s mask. There were secrets here. Secrets other Sith feared. Secrets even the Emperor feared.

Jealousy tucked the pulsing holocron into her robes. She would claim those secrets for herself.

@alaurin, That was a very intense story! I like how you wove the class mission in with the personal stuff. Very excited to see this coming together.

@theStirge, Love seeing character pics! I agree, the dark eye makeup looks great with those Chiss eyes.

@Bright, I could read entire books of just Wynston and Quinn antagonizing each other. It’s just too great.

Temple rolled her eyes. “So you’re Quinn Fangirl Number Nine Million and Fifty-Seven, congratulations. How special you must feel.”

 

“Don’t tell me he isn’t worth the attention.”

 

Temple turned up her nose. "I'm more of a Wynston girl myself."

 

"My, this popcorn is delicious," said Hazard.

This whole exchange is hilarious with Holliday and Temple getting defensive over their respective crushes. And Hazard is just so diplomatic about the whole thing.

And in Growing Up, well, it would be terribly difficult to step out of Quinn’s brooding shadow.

@Striges,

Jealousy felt power thrumming through her fingertips. So different from what she'd experienced. She knew power like Dromund Kaas' storms. Wild winds. Savage lightning. Howling thunder. Untamed and glorious in its fury.

This is a beautiful description. And a very intriguing story as well.

“Help us, Melodai Hyllus. You are child of the Dawn Herald. You were born for this. You must help us.”

Mel started awake and ran to the refresher. The whispers dulled with each moment of consciousness, but it didn’t change the fact that they’d been in her head. How were they in her head if... She rubbed her eyes and blinked at the reflection in front of her.

Eyes: normal. The same cool gray they’d always been. No trace of the black pits those Joiners had. First test, passed.

“I, me, mine...” Second test, passed. Mel exhaled slowly and turned on the faucet. She let it run until it warmed, then cupped a handful of water and gently splashed her face. The water soothed and dulled the memory of the voices, her pounding heartbeat reluctantly slowing as she got a grip on things.

She hadn’t been joined. It was just a dream. A really bad dream.

“Help us, Melodai Hyllus.”

Mel jerked back as the pleasant voice whispered again. But this time it was accompanied by a loss of vision and a stabbing pain between the eyes.

“Bloody, kriffing hell! F*ck!” She pounded the wall and waited for the pain to subside. It faded quickly, but the accompanying anxiety didn’t. Something was happening to her. Something bad. She pinched her arm to be entirely certain, as if the searing pain hadn’t been evidence enough, and promptly threw up in the sink.

This was no dream.

The BT-7 swept low over the ruins of the once-metropolitan city. Prudii stalked through the ship, pulling on his gloves. As he passed the holoterminal he picked up his helmet. He entered the drop room and looked at the two other squads of Special Forces troopers inside. Jorgan signaled that they were all ready, as did the Captains in charge of the other two squads.

"If I may, sir?" asked one of the captains as he walked by.

Prudii stopped and turned to face the captain. He was youthful, with close-cropped blonde hair, cleanly shaven, with bright blue eyes. His face was unscarred; he had obviously not seen much combat. In spite of that, however, he was highly recommended by General Garza.

"Yes, Captain..." Prudii read his badge, "Retrac?"

"Sir, it's just..."

"It's your first combat drop."

"Yes, sir."

Prudii patted him on the shoulder. "Keep your knees tucked close to your chest and make sure your helmet's sealed. As soon as you hit the ground take cover and activate a beacon for your squad to rendezvous around. Don't move in until they've all rendezvoused. Do that and I can almost guarantee you'll all survive long enough to begin the assault."

Retrac hesistated. "Thank you, sir."

Prudii nodded. "Any time, Captain."

He slammed his helmet on and the hatch slowly grated open. Prudii clenched his fists, blinked to activate his helmet's HUD, and prepared to jump.

"So, Raina, do you know the biggest difference between me and my sister?"

Temple looked the Jedi Master up and down, then smiled coquettishly and said, "Your fashion sense?"

Zel'eena smiled back at her. "Doofus. Try again. Try to be serious, if you can, and I know you can."

"All right, well, she's Force-blind and you're...not?"

"Well, that is a pretty big deal, yes, but not the biggest difference. Try again. Don't hold back, search your feelings, and be honest. I enjoy this role you've chosen to play, but you're going to have to be yourself eventually, whether you decide to be a Jedi or go back and become Sith."

Temple started, and looked at the Chiss Jedi with a touch of trepidation. "I'm not sure what you mean, My Lo--Master."

"Yes, you are. It's fine, keep your armor for now. You'll need to let it go eventually, but I guess it's still too soon. But anyway, answer the question. What do you think is the biggest difference between Ellie and me?"

"Well, My--Master, if I'm to be completely honest, it's that she's not afraid to get her hands dirty and doesn't let her feelings get in the way of the mission."

Zel'eena laughed out loud, her teeth shockingly white against the blue of her skin as she grinned. "You know, I had a similar discussion with the sergeant a while ago, not about my sister, but about getting the job done, and it makes me laugh every time someone looks at my frankly stunning bodycount and still thinks that I'm a pacifist or unwilling to do what is necessary. Do you know how many thousands of sentients I have personally killed? How many more I have sanctioned killing, or let die? Almost all of it was self-defense, and all of it sickens me, the waste of life, but I will do what must be done. And don't try to tell me that my sister gets the mission done 'at all costs,' she lets people go all the time that she wouldn't if she were as cold-blooded as she'd like to be."

Temple hesitated, clearly unsure of herself now. "...You're awfully well-informed about our activities, My L--"

"Seriously, Raina, stop with the My Lord. Go talk to Scourge if you want to Lord someone, he'll dig it."

"Sorry, Master."

"Don't worry about it. Hey, you're getting a lot better at controlling your fear, I can barely feel it at all. Which brings me back to my point. And yes I have had a point with all this. You know what the biggest difference between me and my sister is? I'm a coward."

Temple just stared at her.

"Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking, I've taken down all these high-powered Sith lords, I went up against the Emperor with just an astromech droid for backup, even if he is the best astromech droid ever. But he wasn't my only backup. I had the Force as backup. You know a little of what it's like, you can feel the Force, but, and I don't know if I can really explain this, I can feel the whole galaxy, all the time, living, breathing, flowing through me, all the hopes, the dreams, the fears, the love, the hate, the joy, the pain, all of it, all the time, surrounding me, filling me, flowing through me, moving me. It's very comforting, I almost always know exactly what to do, and I'm never alone. But more than any of that, the one thing I feel above all else, is my sister. The other half of my soul. So whenever I'm having trouble, whenever I'm up against all these horrible things, these wounds in the Force that call themselves Sith, that horrible place you call home that's a festering pustule of decay in the Force and the sickness at the heart of it you call an Emperor, spreading his poison through everything I love, and I want to run away and hide and close my eyes and cover my ears and deaden my heart, I feel my sister, out there, fighting for people who don't appreciate it, against the very things that make me want to vomit in terror, and she doesn't have the Force to hold her up, she can't feel me at her back trying to give her my strength, she doesn't even have anyone around her she can truly trust, and she does it anyway. She never gives up. She keeps on going, doing the best she can, standing against forces that should be able to crush her without a thought, trying to make the galaxy a better place, alone. I feel that, and feeling that, how could I possibly disappoint her by running away? So I stand, and I fight, and my knees are weak, and my hands tremble, but the Force moves for me, and I hear my sister telling me everything will be all right. And then everything is all right. Tissue?"

Temple reached out and took the cloth from the serenely smiling Jedi. She dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose and sniffled.

"All right, stay here and meditate on what I said for a while, then find Kira and see if she'll give you some lightsaber pointers. Try to decide on a style. Give her some hand-to-hand pointers, if you like. You're better at it than she is."

"Yes, Master."

Cadi walked into the back room incongruously, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She knelt and carefully removed her vibroknife and holdout blaster from her boots and shoved them into her duffel bag. Then, glancing around one more time, she reached up, pulled the clips out of her hair, and let it flow down over her shoulders. She reached down to her belt and unclipped her lightsaber, tossing it in the bag beside the other weapons.

She sat on a nearby stool and just froze there, for a moment. Truth was, she'd never done anything like this before and she was rather worried about it. She quickly removed her black uniform and put on instead a tight, button-up shirt and a short skirt. She licked her lips, a nervous habit of hers, and stood as a the sound of a slow, ****-wail music began to fill the backstage dressing room. She walked out on stage...

And into a dark room, lit by only the stage lights around her. She licked her lips yet again as a throng of cheers rang over the stage. My dad would have a fit if he saw me do this, she thought. Then she began.

She strode forward on the stage, her long, scantily-clad legs taking long strides toward center stage. When she got there, she stood with her hands on her hips, grinning seductively at her audience. She did a pirouette and raised her arms in the air as if to touch the sky. As she did, she stretched her body, her rear jutting out toward the audience. Then she swirled again, to face the audience, and stood quietly for a moment.

Cadi reached up and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt, ducking down to reveal her cleavage to the audience. Several males in her direct viewpoint cheered. She rose, unbuttoned the rest of her shirt, and threw it to the floor, revealing her tight bra. Then she put her hands on the sides of her skirt and did another twist, showing her rear again to the audience. Then she bent over and pulled the skirt down to her ankles, kicking it off. She waggled her hips seductively at a handsome Mirialan male near the stage, and then she walked off the stage, her performance over.

* * *

She could not change into her black jumpsuit quickly enough. She shivered, still feeling the lecherous gazes of the men in the audience on her body. She reached down and shoved her pistol and vibroblade back in her boots, and clipped her lightsaber back to her belt.

As an SIS agent, Cadi sometimes had to do things she didn't like to; acting as a stripper was definitely one of them. But her Force sensitivity had been an essential part of the op and there had been no other way for her to get into the cantina.

While performing, she had reached out with the Force, reading the audience for one particular mind. She'd found him, halfway through, and as she finished dressing she reached down and transmitted the confirm signal to her handler. Then she turned and, with her stripper's outfit again inside the bag, left the dressing room. She was halfway to where she would be picked up when she heard someone behind her clear her throat.

In a flash, she Force-pulled the blaster from her boot and trained it on the woman behind her. Clad in tight black pants and a black tube top, the woman had light skin, brown hair, and blue eyes. She had a cybernetic on one side of her forehead. She was of slightly less-than-average height and build and she had the air of a woman used to giving orders.

"You were too stiff," she said. "You should've been more loose, more alluring. You should've had the heart of every man in that room in your hands. Instead you got a few cheap cheers from men who'll go home pretending they've just come from a business trip."

Cadi frowned. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you," the other woman replied. "You're Cadi Carrick, SIS agent and liaison to the Jedi Order."

Cadi stiffened. "Actually, here, my name is Mystal."

The woman scoffed. "'Mystal.' A stereotype stripper name." She rolled her eyes. "That's not an obvious pseudonym."

Cadi slowly lowered her blaster. "Who are you?"

"Agent Rya'a Quinn, GIA."

"GIA." Cadi scowled. "That's lovely. Now if you'll excuse me, I have an arrest to make. There's a Sith Pureblood leaving the cantina right now and I'm already late to my speeder to intercept him."

"I'm coming with you," Rya'a replied. "SIS has a penchant for less-than-legal methods. It's my job to make sure you stay in the clear."

"I'm also a Jedi," Cadi noted. "We don't typically do illegal things."

"No, you don't. Still, I have my orders." Rya'a motioned toward the exit of the alleyway. "After you."

Reluctantly, Cadi nodded and walked to the speeder waiting for her.

Cadi is Jasin and Kira's daughter; Aaran's sister. Rya'a is Quinn and Jaesa's daughter.

@Bright: I love Wynston's advice, but if everyone was that practical, how would we ever have any interesting stories to tell? As for your later post -

"Oh," said Wynston. "Oh. I know what this is really about. You haven't gotten to monologue in weeks."

I think I love Wynston. Also, the Temple/Holiday stuff was great. Lastly, I am pleased to see Pierce Junior, who I've been strangely intrigued by since you posted that picture of your characters.

@DSM - Now that you've returned to appropriately long posting, I can give an actual reply! I'm really enjoying the interplay between the various PoVs and am looking forward to seeing where it goes next

@Yoshi: Somewhere, somehow, Khem Val opposes that marriage. Prudi's also a good guy to have around for the newbie soldier. Ayrs probably would have told a joke about pushing him out, ready or not.

"We don't typically do illegal things."

This seems to be the motto many of our characters live by.

@Alaurin - Oh Murghir.....if only your true nature hadn't been so blatantly obvious thanks to Bioware's camerawork in your first cutscene. As for your story - it was appropriately graphic and intense given everything that Murghir was responsible for. I'm looking forward to see what Kat does next

@theStirge - I like those screenshots. Striges already covered this, but I really liked your Jedi piece too, especially the bits with Raina using her Force ability; it's something that's central to her development as a character, even if it's not up front and center.

@Striges - I liked your short piece - that quest is one I wish had had some more direct follow up to, particularly if you chose the LS path. One of the consequences of this being a MMO rather than a single-player RPG, I guess.

@Marissalf - Moving down the family tree with making your characters miserable I see The idea of having the voices of the hive in one's mind is terrifying - I can easily understand (and sympathize with) Mel's feelings in your story.

“What is this thing?” Scourge’s grim intonation was wholly out of place with the image before me; Mr. Whiskers was mewling softly at the Sith’s feet, purring as he rubbed against the fabric of Scourge’s robes.

“He’s Mr. Whiskers,” I explained helpfully. “I was doing some research on the HoloNet, and it said that a black-furred spukamas was good luck for warriors and travelers, so I decided to pick one up. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

I beckoned the cat over to me, kneeling down and waving a treat in front of me to further entice him over.

“That seems…unlikely.” Scourge was apparently completely dead inside, unable to appreciate what I had done or what Mr. Whiskers was.

“You’re always so negative. I can understand some concern about things like having an omnicidal Emperor out to wipe out life in the galaxy, but what do you have against a cutie like Mr. Whiskers?” As the cat ate the treat, I rubbed him behind his ears and smoothed some patches of fur. I spoke to the spukamas next. “You ignore the grumpy old Sith, he doesn’t like anyone.”

Scourge’s eye rolling was audible.

“I do not think you have thought this through, it sounds like you’ve merely accepted superstition as truth because you find this animal….cute.”

“No.” I eyed the Sith suspiciously. “No, that’s not it at all. Spukamas cats are good luck.” I resumed petting Mr. Whiskers, straining with the Force to see if I could teleport Scourge somewhere else.

Scourge crossed his arms. “And what is the reliable source for that claim? The Jedi Order?”

I shook my head, refusing to look at him.

“The Galactic University?”

I scowled and shook my head again.

“Any kind of reputable academic organization?”

Enough is enough. I stood up, cuddling Mr. Whiskers in my arm to protect him from Scourge’s reproachful look.

“You leave him alone, you’re just mad because I won’t watch Sleepy Holo with you.”

Scourge simply sighed and shook his head, resting his face in his palm. As I left, he called out again. “You do realize that black-furred pukamas cats are reputed to be bad luck, correct?”

I stopped dead in my tracks, eyeing Mr. Whiskers suspiciously. “Really?” My chest was heaving slightly as my breathing became faster and more shallow. “No, that can’t be right.” I stared more intently at the cat, suddenly realizing how sharp his claws were.

"Of course it's right, I am a Sith. We know of such things."

Mr. Whiskers' sinister yellow eyes suddenly took hold of me, and I felt paralyzed, helpless. He opened his mouth in a mockery of his formerly cute yawning, revealing vicious fangs and a cruel smile.

What kind of monster had I brought on board?

Urlos had left the bodies hanging in the commissary, letting the flies and vermin run wild among the scraps of ‘food’ that he and his fellow overseers deemed appropriate for our consumption. He laughed as we attempted to eat anyway, futilely shooing away the annak rats and other creatures that invaded our space. Apparently his amusement was insufficient, though, because he dragged another ten laborers out from the building and had his bodyguards kill them with their electric prods set to maximum intensity. I could still hear their screams as I fell asleep that night.

”Beware the dark side, Veresia, always be wary of it. You will not recognize it has a hold of you until it has you fully within its sinister grasp and has consumed what made you a person worth corrupting in the first place.”

My father had always said that, and other things like it. He had always warned me that my temper was a danger to be contained, my patience a shield to be cherished, and my family a sanctuary when I needed it. I had lost two of those three, and I found myself with little more than anger and a desperate desire to strike back against Urlos and those that stood with him.

It wasn’t the beatings that had done it; they were easy enough to shrug aside once you got used to the bruises and cuts and inevitable infections that followed. I had been relatively fortunate with those, in any case. No, it was the dehumanization that occurred in the camps; the destruction of your sense of self-worth, of any notion that you were worth anything to anyone; that your existence meant anything at all. When people first arrived, they usually still clung to the false hope of rescue or ransom, that they were not doomed to some awful fate by being sent here.

As time passed, their faith was slowly eroded. It happened in slow increments, which could be marked off as the light in their eyes dimmed and faded away, as their backs curved into an ever larger slouch, and their speech slowed and softened until they sounded more like animals than the people they had once been. That they still are. I had watched it happen; to friends, enemies, strangers….I had seen them all destroyed even as their physical bodies remained intact. And then I had seen those destroyed as well.

I had resolved myself to not see it any longer. I had long planned for the day I would steal from the camp, but I had decided that I could not leave without completing one last service for my fellow prisoners.

Urlos was passing through one of the crafting areas, looking for the latest of his ‘prizes’ among the female prisoners. Had he known I was Force sensitive, or who I truly was, perhaps I would have suffered that fate, as well, but his ignorance had left him blind to what was in front of him. Today, it had left him blind to the death that was coming for him as well. He was wearing his ornamented armor and flanked on either side by two brutish bodyguards wearing rather ridiculous-looking helmets . Neither would do him any good.

The first bodyguard fell quickly and silently as I used the Force to slice through his neck with a saw abandoned alongside a table. His partner was only just reacting to the blood gushing into his face when I crushed his skull with a piece of machinery that had been discarded. Both lay on the floor moments later, their bodies moving ever slower as their lives slipped away.

That left Urlos and the remaining pair of guards. His Sith features were twisted in a mask of utter rage; it had been months since the last time a slave had raised their hand in anger to one of the guards, and that attempt had lasted all of three seconds and ended with the prisoner lying on the ground in pieces. Facing the power of the Force buttressed by my righteous fury, They must have known it, too, for they fled from the building, fleeing for the security post a half kilometer to the north. It would do them no good.

I caught up to them on the path along the cliffs where they threw the corpses of the slaves over after they were finished with them. The first bodyguard went down after I sent a jagged rock flying into his face, breaking his nose with a satisfying crack. I finished the second with a simple flick of my wrist – the Force was smiling on me, and his neck snapped against an outcropping behind him. That left me facing Ulros, the bane of my existence for the past eight months.

“You! Slave! Who do you think you are?” His nostrils were flaring, and he was twirling his lightsaber around as if prepared to easily do away with me, but I sensed his fear. It was…tantalizing.

I smiled and gave him the simple answer that said all I needed to. “I am right arm of vengeance and the hand of justice. I am your death.”

He managed a single step before I ripped his lightsaber from his hand and hurled it over the cliff with the Force. He managed another before I sent him flying after it. His screams echoed the entire way down.

As I stumbled back toward the barracks to record some final thoughts for anyone that might find them, I found myself shaking. What had I had done was exactly what my father had always said I should never even consider doing, yet it had felt so right. I was not quite sure what that meant. I was not quite sure I wanted to.

I was sent to the outpost to begin my term of service with the Empire, on loan from the Ascendancy. After I entered the complex, I noted that the Imperials seemed far more interested in maintaining the appearance of propriety and efficiency than actually achieving either, particularly with the nervousness of the young Intelligence officer assigned to be my guide. I was not sure if his nervousness was due to having never met a Chiss before, wanting to sleep with me, or both, but he repeatedly let slip tantalizing details about his co-workers that he should have kept silent about.

As we passed through the halls, I could not contain my curiosity about what I saw within the rooms on either side. I had not had much experience with other species prior to my training and joining the exchange program, and what time I had spent studying them had been in the same manner that other Chiss did – scientific, cold, and detached. I had always wondered if perhaps the Ascendancy was too quick to dismiss outsiders as nothing more than potential threats. I hoped my time in the Empire would help me determine if my suspicions were well-founded.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, the junior officer directed me toward a secure area guarded by silent Imperial soldiers in imposing black armor. I presented my credentials and was sent to a second checkpoint, which required me to prove my identity again, with the exact same documentation I had already provided. I quickly grew annoyed with the pointless waste of my time – unnecessary bureaucratic nonsense was aggravating enough coming from my fellow Chiss.

At long last, I was able to present myself to Commander Tyrus, the senior Intelligence officer. I found him seated in his office, hands folded over his desk as he tried his best to discomfit me with his eyes.

I saluted. “Provisional Agent Ayam’inalissa’kleoni reporting for duty. Mina, for short, Sir.”

He nodded disinterestedly and waved me toward the seat opposite him. “Yes, yes. The agent on loan from the Ascendancy. I noted in your record that you have very little field experience, so I fully anticipate you will fall flat on your face. You will be lucky to survive long enough to return to the rest of your…people.”

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him, hoping he would be intimidated by my red gaze. I had heard stories of the casual racism in the Empire, similar to that which existed back home. “I will prove you wrong then, sir.”

Tyrus simply laughed and hit a button on his desk, activating some kind of machinery in the walls. There was a loud noise, and the wall began to fold in on itself, revealing a second room attached to the office. Within it, strapped to a medical table that was itself attached to numerous, evil-looking, machines was an alien drenched in sweat – a Zeltron, if I remembered correctly. He was wearing little more than rags and mumbling to himself, displaying many signs of psychological distress; I guessed he had not been allowed to sleep for some time.

The Imperial glanced casually at the prisoner before focusing intently on me. “Tell me, Agent…Mina…what is your stance on the use of torture?”

I swallowed hard, remembering the appropriate verbiage outlined by my training in the Ascendancy. “The agent’s job is to secure any information relevant to security by whatever means necessary.” It was the answer we were meant to give, regardless of what we felt about it.

Tyrus tossed me a portable control for his machines. “Secure the relevant information.”

I felt my throat tightening as I activated the first of the torture devices. I tried not to see or hear what followed.

@Yoshi: Ok, it's probably just me...

At the back of the room, ushers Pierce and Broonmark politely shoved last-minute guests towards their seats.

but the irony of this statement cracked me up. Even when Pierce is busy M'lording me, I still feel like he's telling me "Yeah I did it/like it/plan on it. So what?!". I also love Kaliyo's line, and both her and Pierce snickering, and then getting caught. Like two bored teens forced to go to a function they don't want t be at.

Prudii offering some sage vet advice was pretty cool. You could see the small, but important, moment of time that was for Capt. Retrac (did you realize you spelt Carter backwards, or was that an accident? I ask because I do that sometimes when I need a quick npc name)

I liked the Cadi piece. The story world you're building with the children of the heroes of both sides of the war is pretty sweet. I really gives you a lot to make your own, and you're doing it well. Looking forward to more!

@Alaurin: I liked it! The marriage of two pieces of one-off information, or one-off stories from the game, that doesn't affect the overarching storyline as a whole is always one of my fave things to see. When you can weave that seamlessly into your background, it makes it even better. Nicely done!

@Bright:

And I'm telling you, the only way I've survived to get my hands this bloody is by making sure I'm never close enough to get my hands bloody.

I loved this line. It's really how an Operative should be in my mind. Deadly, but smartly waaaaaaay over here doing it. I also really loved this..

"Oh," said Wynston. "Oh. I know what this is really about. You haven't gotten to monologue in weeks."

 

Quinn started, but didn't deny it. "I haven't. All our work has been sabotage or..." his lip curled..."politicking."

I laughed so hard. As a reader of comic books for years, villains getting a chance to monologue, to avail the world of their brilliance, is paramount. Quinn is such a wannabe super-villain.

The 'Girls night in' piece had me on the floor too, especially Temple's line about no Quinn gushing, and her follow-up qualifier to that statement. And then this

"Sure, if 'staring grimly at your problems until they go away' counts as something to do," muttered Temple.

HAHAH! Ok, enough quoting, all three pieces were pure awesome!

@Stirges: Nice use of an in-game storyline there. The fact that she envied the power of the light side, I love the irony there. I like this Inqui you've brought forth!

@Marissalf: I KNEW IT! When Jr. slept with her, he totally impregnated her with EVIL! BURN HIM! Excellent piece of psych horror there, especially with the actual possibility based on her birth. Every great piece of horror is buffered by some science that it could be possible. I loved this entire short piece!

@theStirge: Like everyone else, I like that you're working the force sensitive angle with Temple. It's something she has, but doesn't get touched on enough (at least so far for me, I haven't finished my convos with her yet.). I really liked the way you showed how your Jedi deals with her fear. It's impossible to think warriors don't have it, but it's how they overcome it that make them great.

@Lesaberisa:

"Of course it's right, I am a Sith. We know of such things."

Oh man, I almost spit my water when I read this. Scourge totally playing on the steroetype, messing with her head! Funny funny piece.

Veresia is really intriguing me. I loved the Inqui pieces, because of how they show the depth of the characters. A promising origin story leading right into the main, but leaves you wondering if she fights to hold on to any light, or just let's go with the power. I absolutely loved it.

Mina's choice is why Agents are fun to write, to me. An Agent can't start a psychopath, or they'll be sloppy, so they always start out with some humanity intact. Over time, do you sacrifice that bit of humanity to become your job, or do you fight to keep it, knowing that's the more dangerous route in that line of work? I also love how you portrayed her guide, trying to impress her. Reminds me of one of the NPC convos you hear walking through the area on Hoth. On guy talks about how hot the Chiss females are, the other warns him about getting the knife in the back. Even though the Empire is speciesist (that's now a word, I bribed a guy at Webster's), they still find the Twi'lek's, the Chiss, the Cathar, etc. physically attractive.