Rixik staggered up the ramp to Kessel Won’t Have Me’s entrance and leaned on the bulkhead beside the airlock codepad. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the spaceport to stop spinning. And listing to the right. Lousy place to build a spaceport. Ought to have leveled it off before pouring ceramacrete.

He bit the inside of his cheek again. Concentrate. Medkit in the medbay, just get the airlock open and you’re home free. Rixik opened his eyes and focused on the codepad. Entered the code. Flubbed it once, twice. Stupid fat fingers. Might be easier to pull the pad off and hotwire the thing. He’d done that often enough. Not on his own ship though. Just need to be more careful than usual. Probably wire it even better than it was and add an extra layer of security. All he needed were some tools, should be some around here, this was a spaceport, after all…

Rixik bit down on his cheek yet again. Enter. The. Code. He took a deep breath and focused on the codepad to the exclusion of all else. Lining up his hand and index finger with each digit in turn, he managed to input the proper sequence. The exterior pressure door opened, followed by its mate on the interior. Rixik stumbled into the ship and the doors closed behind him.

“Welcome back, Master!” exclaimed Twovee-Arreight, “You’re looking fit and deadly as ever!”

Rixik punched the droid in the head. Then cursed as the pain of striking a heavy metal object screamed up his arm. He cradled his abused right hand with the other and added painkillers to the list of things to retrieve from the medkit.

Arreight picked himself off the ground and approached more cautiously. “It seems, Master, that you are not in a good mood,” it said, “how may I assist you?”

The cargo bay began revolving and Rixik braced himself against the rear bulkhead. With his right hand. He cursed a blue streak and slipped onto his back. Might have really broken something there.

“I’m sorry, Master, but that is anatomically impossible,” replied Arreight, “especially for a droid.”

Rixik glared at the droid. He stood there so perfect, in defiance of physics with the deck slanted at an angle. That wasn’t fair. Then a chuckle bubbled up from his interior. Arreight had interpreted his epithet as a command. The droid…Rixik couldn’t stop laughing.

Arreight stood impassive, “I am pleased to have aided in improving your mood, Master,” it said, “May I be of further assistance?” it asked.

This set off another flurry of uncontrollable snickers. Rixik put pressure on his injured hand and the pain cut through his hysteria, “Yes,” he squeaked, then giggled again at the sound of his own voice. He coughed to clear his throat, “Tagwa,” he repeated. Was that Huttese? Didn’t matter, the droid had translators, “Gib mi wa medkit the..uhh,” Rixik paused. What had he wanted from the medkit again? Oh yeah, “te naba Merr-Ox and some Nyex. Or Symoxin. And a stim,”

“Begging your pardon, Master,” Arreight began, “but in your current condition I do not think that would be wise.”

Rixik stared at Arreight, “Chuba doctor now?” he asked. Ouch, that came out mangled.

“I do have rudimentary medical programming, Master, if you’ll recall,” agreed Arreight, “As well as behavioral restrictions that do not allow me to harm sentient organics.”

“Chuba na yoka,” Rixik slurred.

Arreight shook his head in denial, “No, Master. I am not programmed for humor. Your behavior indicates you’ve ingested a variety of pharmacologically active substances, some of which may have been of questionable legality. It would violate my internal directives to administer more.”

Nausea rose and Rixik closed his eyes again to exclude the slowly rotating cargo bay. He worked through what Arreight had said, processing every word. “Nobata?” he said finally. A shudder ran through his right arm and he hissed.

“No, Master,” replied Arreight.

Rixik’s stomach gurgled ominously. Behind his left eye, a tunnel excavator growled to life and began chugging its way into his brain. The droid had a point. More Merr-Ox and stims would only postpone the inevitable crash. And by the way he felt, he was already well into atmo with busted repulsorlifts.

Sedatives, on the other hand…little bit of Dipill, couple shots of whisky, cushion that with a nutrient bar…His stomach roiled in protest. Scratch the nutrient bar, unless he planned on wearing it. And Nyex, definitely Nyex. Turn the HoloNet to one of Falohrar Bizzeks’ idiot game shows and just drift off…yeah, that would work.

He rubbed his eyes open, “Tenn viila neeba—“ crap, that was Twi’leki. Really in bad shape if he couldn’t keep languages straight. He started over, “Chuba gib mi wa from the medkit te…te Dipill. Untu wa Nyex—“

Arreight inturrupted, “Master, I think you misunderstood me. I couldn’t possibly administer any medications to you. It would be irresponsible and potentially dangerous.”

“Nvtuta bork te ptu motta,” Rixik growled.

Arreight took a step backward, “I apologize, Master, but that language is not loaded in my databanks. If you reiterated your earlier request, however, I’m afraid I still cannot comply.”

The tunnel excavator in Rixik’s brain moved merrily along into his left lekku. He could count his pulse by it, beating in time with his throbbing hand. Really, really wanted that Nyex. “Tenn viila neeba mi to the medbay and leeska ree alermo,” he said. Twi’leki again? Better than Rodese at least. His Rodian vocabulary consisted almost entirely of profanity.

“No, Master, I am afraid I cannot aid you in self-administering medication either. Such an action would likewise violate my behavioral directives,” said Arreight, backpedaling again, “I could, however, assist you to your quarters…”

Rixik’s right arm twitched of its own accord, “Ittu! T-te jacta. Fna ho koru gep.” Ah, perfect time for Rodian. Such inventive obscenity.

“I’m sorry, Master, but that language is not in my database. Analysis suggests it is of the same family as your earlier outburst. I presume you would like to converse in this language. If you would be so kind as to identify it, I will update my systems so as to serve you better,” replied Arreight.

A brief, spastic thought crossed Rixik’s mind. His protocol droid holding a conversation in Rodese profanity. ‘Skrek ta, Master.’ Rixik snickered, then choked off the outburst. Focus, dammit. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Internal…internal behavioral directives. Internal. His own internal systems lurched. Rixik levered off the bulkhead and leaned on the stair rail. He didn’t trust himself to make it across the cargo bay. “Chuba…chuba gib me the droi repair hachta na bota and a hydrospanner.” Time for an adjustment to Arreight’s systems.

Arreight hesitated, “My routine diagnostic yesterday morning indicated I am operating at peak efficiency,” he said, “But if you insist, Master.”

Rixik coughed once and swallowed hard, “Get te hachta na bota. Now.” The droid turned and headed for the engine room, giving Rixik one last concerned glance before disappearing.

Mako hummed an upbeat tune from the show as she entered the ship’s passcode. Nice, relaxing day off. She yawned. There would be plenty of time to peruse the bounty boards tomorrow morning. The exterior pressure door opened, followed by its mate on the interior. The restraining cell bathed the cargo hold in pinkish-yellow light.

Mako drew her blaster at once. Her hum cut off mid-note. The cell was powered down when she left early this morning. Rixik went out the previous afternoon and hadn’t returned yet. He hadn’t canceled her micro-vacation for a job. A knot of anxiety twisted in the pit of her stomach. She crept through the airlock, almost afraid of what she’d find.

She crossed the threshold. Her toe kicked a hydrospanner and she glanced down. Tools lay scattered all across the floor. A shadow moved in the hallway behind the cell and she fired at it. Her shot hit high on the bulkhead and the ship’s internal weapons discharge alarm sounded. “Hands up, buster and get out here where I can see you!” she yelled over the klaxon.

“Oh thank the Maker you’ve returned!” exclaimed Arreight. The protocol droid emerged from the passageway with his hands high. Several panels were missing from his chassis and wiring trailed out of the gaps like stuffing from a mishandled toy, “Please, Miss, you’ve got to help!”

“Arreight?” asked Mako.

“SKREK TA, DROID!” Rixik sprang to his knees from the floor of the cell and leveled both blasters at the offending protocol droid. Bolts struck the interior of the cell’s security field and dissipated, the screen shifting through orange and red as it absorbed the energy. Arreight squealed, a high, girlish sound, and retreated back into the corridor. The overload warning flashed on the cell’s control panel. Rixik overbalanced and tumbled over on his side. Bolts splashed against the shield in a wide arc, stopping when he came to rest again.

“You see, Miss?” said Arreight from his refuge, “I’m not built for combat, Miss, please help me!” he cried.

Mako took in the tableau. “Why is—hang on,” she said. She crossed to the control panel by the stair and disabled the alarm. That thing would wake the dead. Peering around the corner, she fixed her gaze on the holding cell. Rixik lay balled up on the floor, both hands pressed against his ears, moaning. Her brow knitted and she turned her attention to Arreight, “What’s wrong with Rixik?” she asked, “and why is he in the cell?”

“Ah, yes, Miss, well, that was a bit of an accident. But fortunate, given the circumstances—“

“Who else is here?” she demanded.

“Why, no one, Miss,” replied Arreight, peering from around the corner. Rixik snarled something unintelligible and fired from the floor. The bolt would have vaporized the droid had the shield not intercepted it. Arreight ducked back, “I fear my Master is not thinking clearly at the moment. He keeps trying to destroy me.”

Mako rubbed her forehead, “I almost don’t want to know,” she said with a sigh, “but I’ll bite. What happened in here?”

“When the Master returned to the ship earlier today,” Arreight’s disembodied voice echoed through the cargo bay, “he was rather out-of-sorts. I believe he may have ingested several mind-altering substances. He tried to disassemble me. It was a fortuitous accident that he entered the cell space. I was concerned he might harm himself further, so I activated the cell,” Mako heard unhappy gears protesting as Arreight shifted his weight, “I did not know of any other way to contain him safely.”

“Uh, right,” said Mako. “Arreight, do we have any Merr-Ox in the medkit?”

“Begging your pardon, Miss, but I really must counsel against additional medication at this time. I suspect Merr-Ox and stims are contributing factors in the Master’s erratic behavior,” replied Arreight, “He requested both on his return, and I’m quite sure he had already exceeded the maximum dosage.”

“I remember Jory took four stims at once on a bet,” Mako said, giving Rixik a wary glance, “but he didn’t get so…weird. He just ate everything in sight and didn’t sleep for two days.” She approached the cell. Rixik had maneuvered himself into a seated position, one blaster held steady on his knee and aimed at the passage to the engine room. “Uh, hey there,” she began. Rixik spun to face her, then doubled up with dry heaves. She grimaced, “Wild party?” she asked.

Rixik recovered and looked at her with a cockeyed grin, “H'chu apenkee, meshla-meshla Sin-Supisy,” he slurred, “I got a job chit here. Make sure to cash it in.”

“You went on a job like this?” she exclaimed.

Rixik winced at her volume, “Charged Korjonos the spook rate.”

Mako put her hands on her hips, “I can’t believe you went on a job in this state,” she reiterated.

“Job was grancha it’s the aftermath that hurts,” he growled. A violent tic swept through his right arm and the blaster clattered to the floor. “Chuba pawa nesh to the cell now? Please? Meshla-Meshla Sin-Supisy?”

Mako shook her head in disbelief, “I’ll think about powering down the cell about the time you’re not using three languages in the same sentence,” she said, “And I’m not your ‘pretty, mysterious girl’. So what did you take anyway? Besides the stims and Merr-Ox.” she asked.

“Stuff,” he replied without looking up.

“What kind of stuff?”

Rixik gripped his right hand and squeezed hard, “The kind of stuff that already wore off. Just power down the karking cell please? This is really embarrassing.”

Mako sighed, “Promise you won’t blast Arreight.”

He kept pressure on his hand, “Promise you’ll wipe his memory of the last two days.”

She considered, “All right. But put the blasters in the pass-through first.” Rixik grumbled but shoved the weapons, one at a time, into the exchange slot. Mako retrieved them and handed them off to Arreight, “Lock these up in the armory,” she said.

“With pleasure, Miss,” he replied.

Mako listened for the sharp sound of his footsteps at the weapons locker, then she reached for the cell controls. She paused for a moment, “That wasn’t the kind of job I’m going to hear about on the Holonet, was it?”

“No,” said Rixik. Mako disengaged the cell locks and opened it. “If you hear anything about a power conduit overloading and frying half a sector, I had nothing to do with it.”

I used words in the non-Basic phrases mostly for ‘look and sound’ rather than the literal established translation. I wanted them to read like their respective languages as well as being distinct from one another.

"Two weeks! This happened two full weeks ago, and if Mags hadn't run into Obo yesterday, I still wouldn't have known!" Miriah was beyond mad; she was livid at the thought of Mina being roughed up. She slammed her data pad onto the table in the lounge and stormed onto the bridge, where she put the coordinates in the navcomputer for Tatooine. Her finger hovered over the "launch" button, but the red haze cleared enough for her to realize that Bow and Corso were still loading supplies and cargo. She sighed as she sat heavily in the captain's chair, waiting for the loading to be complete. She smirked as she thought, I wonder if Obo is still experimenting with his "look". Last time she'd seen Obo, he'd had a fascination with facial hair.

Corso bounded up the ramp after Bow and hit the control panel to shut it. As he walked into the lounge area, Risha motioned for him to follow her. When they reached the engine room, Risha grabbed his arm and pulled him into a corner, her face filled with an odd mixture of worry and aggravation.

"What did you do, farm boy?" she said through gritted teeth. "What exactly did you mess up that has Miriah ready to take on the world?"

"Nothing, I swear it," he stammered. "She was fine, happy even, when we started loading cargo. What did YOU do?"

Risha looked at her feet, then said,"We were sitting in the lounge, chatting. She picked up her data pad, checking holomail, and all of a sudden she jumped up, swore, and ran to the bridge. If I were you, I'd steer clear for a bit—she doesn't lose her temper often, but it's epic when it happens."

Miriah's voice came over the intercom, "If you don't want to get thrown around, strap in. We're headed to Tatooine right now!"

Corso took off for the bridge at a run. He'd just gotten seated and his harness fastened when he felt the ship lift off the deck. He didn't turn toward his captain, but said, "I don't know what's going on, but you know I've got your back, whatever it is."

Miriah wanted to tell him, wanted to be able to talk to him about it, but she knew if she tried right now, she'd just end up yelling, so she just nodded and tried to smile, but she knew it was a cold one. It would take hours to reach Tatooine, and she just hoped she had a handle on this before then. She guided her ship to the hyperlane, set the nav system, jumped to hyperspace—all second nature for her. She then took her harness off and went back to the lounge to retrieve her data pad. She'd said nothing to anyone for almost 3 hours at that point, which Corso would have said meant she must be sick or dying, since he'd never seen her stay silent that long before.

Corso watched as she paced, round and round the holoterminal. He wanted to go to her, comfort her- or at least, find out what she was so upset about, but something in the way she was moving held him still. He'd seen her this angry only once before, when she'd seen a child being denied medicine on Ord Mantell. He'd actually felt sorry for the Republic soldier who'd told her to stay out of it, but didn't offer to help him to his feet once he'd realized his mistake.

Miriah stopped and entered a series of numbers into the holo. The image flickered, then she saw her other cousin, Mina's brother Obomonus, appear in his Jedi robe- with what appeared to be a womp rat pelt on his face.

"Miriah, what a surprise!" Obo said.

"Why didn't you tell me that Mina had run into trouble?" she spat out. "And what in blazes is that on your face?"

"Mina did have some trouble, I got there in time to force push the guy out of the door of the cantina, problem solved. And, I'll have you know, this is a fine beard," Obo replied.

Miriah suddenly was hit with an attack of the giggles, and had to turn away for a moment to compose herself. She turned back to the holo, "So you didn't punish this guy? What was his name? And how is poor Mina now?"

"She's fine, I took her to the med center and they fixed her up. I'm still working on getting her ship and wookie back though. That girl is going to be the bane of my existence, I tell you. She has the mistaken idea that Jedi have lots of money and…."

Miriah cut him off, "Her ship and wookie?? What is going on here?" she sighed. " I wish she'd just come work for me. And I wish you'd let me know she needed help. You know she's like a little sister to me."

Obo hesitated, then spoke, "well, she's fine, still on Tatooine, which, by the way you're pacing, tells me you will be also very soon."

They signed off the call after Miriah made Obo promise to let her know next time something like this happened. Corso admitted to himself it made sense now, but he was sure glad he wasn't that guy in the cantina. Miriah walked back to the bridge, calmer now but no less angry. She sat, then turned to Corso.

"I'm going to settle a score in Tatooine. You probably figured that out by now. Corso, you have to promise me that you won't interfere. In fact, you should probably stay with the ship since we have a full cargo load on board."

He sputtered, trying to get a protest out, but she stopped him with a look. He knew that look, and there was no getting around it. He figured, what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her though.

They landed without incident in the Anchorhead spaceport, and Miriah checked her blaster and shotgun, satisfied with their condition. When she left the Stardancer, she saw Mina's ship with guards posted around it. She sighed, she'd deal with that later, she thought. She struck out towards the northernmost cantina, already hating how hot it was. Her speeder created a little breeze that helped. When she reached the alley that she figured Mina had gone down, she stopped the speeder and applied the security locks, then slowly walked toward the end where she could see the cantina door. As she walked, she noticed several shady characters in doorways, looking at her. She hoped, no, she dared them to come after her. Of course, a couple of guys who'd seen better days were weaving up the alley. One of them looked up at her, and decided he had business elsewhere. Disappointed, Miriah reached the cantina door without incident.

Once inside, she looked around for a small hairy guy. Ah ha! She spotted the likely culprit at a table in the back corner. She settled herself at the bar, but didn't order immediately. She was a little afraid to put anything in there in her stomach, since she wasn't sure the alcohol content of the drinks would kill the germs she was sure were running this place. She had only been sitting a few minutes when the target, who called himself Chuck, wandered up to the bar.

"Buy you a drink, pretty lady?" he asked her.

She looked at him and wondered how long she could hold her breath, as he was pretty smelly as well as hairy. She nodded, and he relaxed. She was just wondering how she could get him outside, when he made the suggestion himself, inviting her to his apartment where, he said, he had much better drinks. She followed him outside.

"Say, did you happen to see my cousin here a couple of weeks ago?" she asked Chuck.

"Hmm I think maybe I did, looks a bit like you, she was waiting for her Jedi brother," he responded. At that point, she grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, placing a well-aimed kick directly to the area Chuck was most proud of. He immediately bent double, eyes tearing and strange gargling sounds coming from his throat.

Miriah looked at the pitiful sight, then smirked at him. "Maybe next time, you'll *kick* be more respectful of women, and never *kick* never *kick* mess with my family again." At this point, Chuck was unconscious and drooling. She turned and made her way back to her speeder.

Corso, who watched the whole thing from the rooftop of the building across from the cantina, winced and felt a little sick. He couldn't even imagine the pain that guy was feeling, but then again he supposed that was the point. He hurried back to the ship, hoping he could beat her back.

Ruth stretched and yawned when she reached her personal chambers in Kaas City. A long-planned assignment had fallen through, and she found herself with a day off.

Her aide looked up from his desk as she passed through. “My lord. I thought you would be off planet today.”

“Plans didn’t work out.”

He licked his lips nervously. “General Quinn will be visiting with Rylon within the hour.”

“Oh. Ugh. That’s just perfect. Let me know when he’s gone, I’ll be in my room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Ruth retreated to her sparsely furnished bedroom. Ever since Rylon’s birth, she had managed to be a sector or more away from Dromund Kaas during her former husband’s visits. If he was already in the city, though, hiding was safer than fleeing.

She tried to calm herself into a Force meditation. Eventually she managed an unquiet approximation thereof. It was enough to dissolve time for a while.

A wild stirring two rooms away brought her out. She sensed a powerful gathering of the Dark Side, something no one around here could manage except her son.

She strode out to the den and threw the door open.

Rylon Niral had his father by an invisible Force grip and was raising him off the floor, choking him. Perfectly matched faces, except one was a purpling red and the other was pale and smiling.

“Stop!” Ruth rushed forward and slammed the teenager’s hand down. “You do not raise a hand against your father. Not now, not ever.”

“Let him defend himself if he’s so great,” said Rylon.

“Wrong answer,” snarled Ruth. She turned to check on Quinn. He was slowly pushing off the floor, breathing hard. She gave him a hand up without meeting his eyes.

“What good is he to you?” said their son.

“He gave you life,” said Ruth. “Isn’t that enough? He does more for the Empire in a week than most people you’ll meet do their whole lives. I can’t believe I even have to say this: you will not harm him.”

“Strong words from someone who hates him. You know this is the first time I’ve ever seen you two in the same room, and you can’t even look at him? Are you going to pretend you haven’t despised him with every breath since before I was born? I can tell him some of the things you’ve said about him.”

“Believe me, everything I’ve said about him, I’ve already said to his face.”

“You will respect your mother,” Quinn ordered. “And stop this line of questioning.”

“You’re a worthless traitor,” recited Rylon with something approaching glee. “Even by Sith standards you’re a vile backstabbing snake. You never loved her for a minute, but you gave her every false promise you could think of to keep her close. You took the best of her for profit and for pleasure, and then you tried to break her. That’s her favorite song, father. Do you know all the verses?”

“Stop it, Rylon,” hissed Ruth.

“Even you wanted to kill him. Why blame me for starting?”

“Because as your father he deserves your loyalty, and as your mother I’m telling you to stop it.”

“Loyalty.” Rylon scoffed. “To him. Why you bother defending people who hate you so much, I’ll never know.” He flipped an obscene gesture at both of them as he stormed past Ruth and out the door.

Ruth held very still for the space of three breaths. They were supposed to be calming breaths, but they failed. Reluctantly she looked at Quinn.

At some point in the years since they had last spoken, grey had taken over at his temples and started scattering back through the rest of his hair. He had gained weight. He was still impeccably groomed and dressed. He held himself with pride, and the lines beginning to set in his face did nothing to mar the handsomeness she so hated. He looked well older than forty-four, but strong as ever.

(And what was he seeing? She hoped she didn’t look tired. She was wearing appropriately imposing Sith robes, so that was good. If she could have concealed the scar on her lip, she would have. He had always hated it when she failed to get injuries tended to in time to prevent scarring. But no, surely he had seen her face a thousand times on the holonews anyway. No point in hiding.)

By unspoken agreement they took another moment to reinforce their composure and hide their frustration at how little a few seconds’ examination could really tell them about each other.

Then they both talked at once: “He was inaccurate in saying I hate you,” he said. And she said “I didn’t teach him all that on purpose.”

Both of them broke off. Quinn recovered first. “I appreciate you taking my part,” he said.

“I try to cultivate respect.” The statement seemed laughable under the circumstances. “What he said, I didn’t – “

“Nothing, I, haven’t, heard, before, my lord,” he said quietly. “No explanation is necessary.” Then he shook his head. “I didn’t know you were in the area today.”

“Plans changed at the last minute. I was meditating when I…felt. What were you fighting about?”

“Nothing significant.”

“He isn’t always like this with you, is he?”

“No. We get along on most topics. That was by far the worst outburst I’ve seen.”

Did you earn it? she didn’t ask. “I’m sorry. I try to teach him patience, but he’s difficult some days.”

“He is fourteen years old and Sith. Neither factor is conducive to the development of self-control.” Quinn shifted to parade rest, as he often did when he was uneasy. “If he were like me, I would ask you to send him to the officers’ academy. That would straighten him out quickly enough.”

“He’ll be going to the Sith Academy soon enough.”

“He should have gone years ago.”

“You’ve never been there. It’s a slaughterhouse. I’m in no rush to throw him into it.”

“He has everything it takes to survive. And he must go, sooner or later.”

Quinn was right, of course. Ruth stared at him and tried to get her heart to catch up to her head. “Rylon is my son. If I were to lose him, too…”

“The decision is yours, of course, my lord. But there is no better place for him. If he’s half the warrior you are or half the tactician I am he will thrive. And butting heads among his own kind will teach him a thing or two about his own strength and how to wield it.” He clenched his jaw for a moment. “We could go on as we have been. But you won’t be there to stop him next time.”

And that was the deciding factor. “I know.”

Now that they were face to face, she could think of a great many things to ask or say. Most of them would invite a needless fight. So instead she lifted her chin and reminded herself that she was the Emperor’s Wrath, the greatest warrior in the galaxy, and not easily hurt.

“It was you,” he said.

“What?”

“Rylon and I were quarreling about you. I pressed him about your status, perhaps more than I should have, and it escalated. A great deal. He’s very protective of you.”

That was news, but not unpleasant. “Yes. He is.”

“Perhaps I didn’t have the right to ask about you in the first place.”

“No. You didn’t.”

He was definitely frowning at her scar. She wondered, very briefly, whether he was just annoyed that she hadn’t kept herself pretty enough for his taste. He had always been distressed about the injuries that left marks. Until he decided to try his hand at it himself.

“Let’s keep this about him,” she said. “I’ll talk to him and I’ll make the arrangements for Korriban. I can keep you updated, if you wish, when he goes.”

“I would appreciate that, my lord.”

“Very well.” And then, just like the day she had banished him from her life: “Dismissed.”

He looked hurt this time, too.

She didn’t know what to say to Rylon just yet. She didn’t know what to say to herself. Quinn was necessarily a part of her son’s world, but he was never, never supposed to cross her path. She couldn’t name what she had felt the moment she saw Rylon hurting him. She only knew she had felt a lot of it.

Had Rylon really picked all that up from her?

It didn’t matter. If her son hated Quinn, it was because Quinn deserved it. Even though Rylon wasn’t supposed to have overheard all those condemnations for all those years, they were all true, and Quinn had personally earned every word of them.

But that back there, beating on a man who for all his cruel strength couldn’t defend himself against a Sith, that was unacceptable.

It would seem she had a lot to take care of.

I don’t know that “catching up” is the term, but Quinn hasn’t seen Ruth in quite some time, and the encounter abruptly reels in a small boatload of stuff that had been trailing behind in denial territory for close to a decade and a half. So there’s that.

I’m surprised at how much I struggled with this one. It is by far the latest entry in the Niral timeline, and I don’t know where it goes from here.

Remi sat by the waterfall above the training grounds. She was not meditating, she did not do that anymore. If she did, she could accidentally reach for the Force, and if she did that, she would go insane. She leaned against the sun-warmed rock and looked at the sky. She wondered where Scourge was and what he was doing. She was not allowed to use the Holonet or any communications devices. Now that she was sane again, all she wanted to do was leave Tython and go back to being Grey.

“You are thinking of leaving?” A soft slightly accented voice asked. Remi turned to see a familiar Jedi, Bengal Morr standing beside two other Jedi, Sajar and Ako Domi.

“Is this the former crazy dark side user club meeting?” Remi asked.

Bengal blinked his large Nautilan eyes. “What do you mean former?”

Remi chuckled despite herself.

“Do you remember when you saw me on Corellia?” Bengal asked. “I suggested that what I did here helped to make you who you were.”

“Yeah I told you to stop being full of yourself.”

He nodded, bowing a little. “I thought that I had found healing, I thought I was better, but I was still quite insane wasn’t I?”

Remi frowned.

“You think you are healed enough to leave. You think you are sane. Can a crazy person really know if they are sane?” Ako Domi asked.

“If that’s the case then I’ll never know, will I?”

“True healing must be tested.” Sajar replied. “When you met me on Quesh I had failed my first test. I was not ready. I did not realize I was mad when I threw the corpses of those Imperials at their comrades. Can you say you have tested your sanity?”

“You guys really aren’t helping.” Remi said leaning against the rock closing her eyes, the peace of the afternoon disrupted by this well-meaning group of slightly creepy Jedi.

“Let me ask you this then,” Bengal said very gently. “Are we really here?”

Remi opened her eyes. She was alone.

“Crap.”

Bright's Awesome Index

6/29/12

First Impressions

iamthehoyden

Morgani // 2 // 3 // 4

Crezelle

Tatile

Earthmama

kabeone

bright_ephemera

elliotcat

Striges

Health

RepublicGurl

RodericHawker

kabeone // 2

Striges // 2

Tatile

iamthehoyden

bright_ephemera

Magdalane // 2

Earthmama

Crezelle

7/6/12 Communication Breakdown

iamthehoyden // 2

Magdalane

GhostriderHawk

bright_ephemera // 2 // 3

kabeone

RepublicGurl

tatile

Striges

elliotcat // 2

Morgani

Earthmama

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

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

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

"Cipher," said Quinn.

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

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

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

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

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

Quinn was subdued. Aware, professional, quick to answer Wynston's questions, but subdued. The years seemed to have changed the angry but would-be-expressionless drone into a slightly older expressionless drone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wynston chose the 'rogue' option in endgame, but I figure he maintains high awareness of relevant Intelligence operations both official and un- and is relatively free to step in where he wishes, taking up the old mantle of the Cipher agent.

I figure he spends this decade going about his business and cautiously seeking to cultivate Ruth's interest in not being a jerk. He doesn't visit all that often or get all that close – but then, Quinn doesn't know that, does he? Quinn has rare, heavily supervised visits with his son and doesn't see his son's mother at all.

Wynston's working to benefit the Empire's people, and Ruth is sympathetic to that but ultimately loyal to the Emperor, so any day they might finally become enemies. They are allies, he likes her, and he would very much like to help her out of the dark place her Act III led her into...but any promise or reassurance he gives her must evaporate the moment the mission demands it.

With anyone else he would lie about that and get close anyway. But that's what Quinn did to her and it almost broke her. A repeat would send her off the deep end. Quinn: Screwing up the Ruth situation in every possible way. Often by being too similar to Wynston. Like Wynston didn't hate him enough already.

Wynston was passing through the spaceport of a small out-of-the-way colony. He had been there before, some years ago; it wasn’t much to look at, but he was in town to trade for a couple of rare resources.

A voice cut through the noise of the spaceport’s main concourse. “Ryce!”

A small process in the back of his mind ran a quick check and decided he should answer to this name. He turned around.

He knew the short slim blonde pushing through the crowd. Leena, last name never specified, it hadn’t seemed relevant at the time. Very sweet girl.

“Leena,” said the Chiss, smiling. “I had no idea you were still in town.”

He stuck out a hand to clasp hers so she couldn't close the distance for a hug. She squeezed his hand and beamed. “Long as trade comes through here, here's where I'll be.”

“How’ve you been?” Even with former flings, he liked friendly conversations to go slightly longer than ‘Hi, gotta run.’

She gave some gushing update, and he gave some vague statement of satisfaction with his vague work, and then she got started. “So how long are you in town?”

Before he could answer, a shout sounded from not too far away: “Hey! There you are!”

Oh, good. Kaliyo had thus far been pretty good about giving Wynston an inarguable out in these situations. She seemed to enjoy hanging on his arm and watching the hope die in other women’s eyes.

The Rattataki ran up and twined her arms around his neck, then looked over at Leena. “Is this the tramp you said might be up for an easy threesome? I see what you mean about the flat chest.”

That was new.

“What?” said Leena.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” said Wynston.

“Wow, no need to get weird. I thought we were here for an easy score, but if you’re gonna play innocent on me, we may as well just leave and go on to the you-know-what clinic you needed to hit up.”

“I don’t know this woman,” said Wynston. He jerked his head sideways to knock Kaliyo’s head off his shoulder. “Hey, woman I don’t know, go away before I’m forced to make things unpleasant.”

“Either she’s crazy or you’re actually a creep,” said Leena slowly, “and either way you’re threatening her now.”

“Yeah, he’s a pr*ck, but hey, he’s a dynamo in the sack, wouldn’t you agree?” Kaliyo flicked Wynston’s ear with a fingertip. “I don’t think she wants to play. Why don’t we hit up her sister like you said, and then if she’s a b*tch too we’ll just bounce.”

“Kaliyo, get out of here. Leena, it’s been great talking to you, but I really need to go.”

Leena backed away. “Since, apparently, I’m not up for what you’re here for?”

“That’s not it at all,” said Wynston.

“That’s exactly it,” said Kaliyo.

He elbowed Kaliyo, hard. She stifled a giggle.

“Stars, Ryce, leave her alone,” said Leena. “I don’t know why you’re back, but keep me out of it.” She fled.

Kaliyo laughed a rich laugh.

Wynston scanned the scene. A few people were giving them curious looks. He touched Kaliyo’s elbow and went for the nearest side room. She strolled alongside him, willingly, cheerfully.

He shut the door and rounded on her. “What the buggering hell was that?”

“I was giving you an assist in shaking off one of your old girlfriends. You know, like we talked about?”

“I asked you to help me pretend I’m taken so I can let them down gently, key word gently!”

She opened her eyes wide. “Did you write that down somewhere? You know I get lost with the subtleties of your sneaky agent ways.”

“You’re a monster. And how did you even know about her sister?”

“Lucky guess. Why do you even care what these chicks think of you? They don’t know your real name or who you are. Who cares if last year’s girl thinks you behaved badly?”

“I know when I’ve behaved badly,” said Wynston. “I don’t enjoy leaving that kind of heartache.”

Kaliyo yawned. “That’s sweet. Look, I got her out of your hair. And you have to admit it was funny.”

“I don’t have to admit anything. Psychopath. What’ll it take to keep you amused long enough for me to finish my business here without attracting an angry mob?”

“I might be convinced to behave if you bribe me with favors tonight.”

“I’m not spending the night with you, Kaliyo.”

“What, you would turn all this – “ she ran her hands down her sides and over her hips – “down for spite?”

“Well, yes.” Even if it was really, really difficult when she looked at him like that.

“You’re an idiot. Also I’m gonna follow you around all evening wrecking your prospects with anyone else.”

“Possessive, are we?”

“Spiteful,” she said happily. “I’m going back out there for now. With any luck she’ll come back with armed, outraged menfolk.”