I've been writing and rewriting political tracts ever since I saw your post and I still don't have anything I'm happy with. Of course Wynston realizes that the Empire, as a relatively young thing that has been denied the resources of the core worlds, can't have built a city-world as such. The lack of diversity is, in its own way, also a symptom of the same immaturity: a civilization fighting to establish itself at all isn't going to have the most liberal domestic mobility. New opportunities in active service are opening up now for the alien population, especially with the loosening of restrictions at Korriban Academy and probably certain branches of the Imperial military; as this generation gets established and/or the war upheaval calms a bit, we'll see more of the alien population settling in population centers.

Coruscant got its awesome population blend and then...sat there getting fat and developing hypocrisy to an art. There must be a better way to handle things.

As for Sith volatility being most of the reason for the Empire's cyclic implosions and relatively primitive state...matters are improving. The Empire as a whole got further than ever by reaching Coruscant. And in an era when a Force-blind can drive a Dark Councillor off the stage and lay preparations against his return, there's every reason to hope that the Empire, which for better or worse Wynston believes makes a better starting point, is getting better all the time.

Also hmm maybe he should edge away from hard analysis and start finding something concrete and useful to do, because for all his good intentions Wynston still can't give the Empire an impartial look at the uppermost levels. He's invested too much of his own identity with it. In canon Ruth!verse I think the decades nudged him to a neutral viewpoint, or at least one equally critical of all systems; in Lodestone he has a pocket Sith who tends to keep him optimistic about the potential good of the Empire.

(...by the way the Empire would totally ruin Coruscant, and could never develop a comparable planet.)

I never thought about it much while I was writing Lodestone, but it's a marked contrast to Sith!land and Baras and Quinn and canon angry!Wrath that Lodestone!Wynston actively encouraged Ruth's femininity and some of her pointless frivolous preferences. Like lilies and dancing and all that stuff she shoved aside in canon. I went back to check; he's one of two people in any Ruth continuity to call her beautiful, and the only one to make a point of doing so. ('Pretty', 'friendly', or, for a hostile audience, 'cutesy' are all the natural descriptors most non-hopelessly-intimidated people apply to her appearance. On the occasions Wynston waxes rhapsodic? Wildly biased.)

Just little things that alter the flavor of life.

Rixik and Risha paused outside the mid-level Coruscant hotel. It was about as nondescript as possible. Bland exterior, hundreds of levels of identical windows, standard holographic trees flanking the standard automatic door. Even the neighborhood was nondescript. Not wealthy, but not so run down you wanted an armed escort. Bland, middle-of-the-road everything. Risha’s contact choose Generic Coruscant Hotel number fifty-three.

“How’s the makeup holding?” Risha asked.

Rixik grimaced, “Itches. I think I’m allergic to it.” Kirya’s elti-stain temporary tattoos on his lekku (and eyebrows—he’d never been worth enough to bother tattooing eyebrows on, and later on he hadn’t cared) ought to hold for another week at least, and Risha spent the last several hours in the transport shuttle renewing the embellishments of his facial scar. And adjusting the optical scanner in his eye socket. Five days of wearing the disguise and the fake scars itched. Maddeningly. It was taking almost all of his willpower to leave them alone. In short, he was irritable and nauseated from the monocular vision and the graphical overpaint from the scanner.

According to his current identity record, he was Khatketla Suul, a Twi’lek architect on contract to examine some of Coruscant’s damaged buildings prior to reconstruction. Risha was his secretary. The record wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny, not least because the company he supposedly worked for didn’t exist. Customs or a typical random security check only wanted something reasonable listed for ‘employer’. He’d much rather be a trigger-happy mercenary. That persona fit his mood better. Unfortunately, trigger-happy mercenaries didn’t get to breeze through customs or security checks.

Rixik stopped, taking in the tall building, “You know what? Forget this. Let’s move right to plan B and go for some of Dodonna’s enemies. I shouldn’t be in the same room as Jedi.”

Risha sighed, “Sumalee was my friend and I wasn’t squeaky clean. It’ll be fine.”

“Risha, Nok Drayen was your dad. Probably owned half the senate. He could have bought the Jedi Temple and turned it into an exotic dance hall if he’d wanted to,” Rixik said, “Sumalee wouldn’t want to wind up waiting tables or dancing around a pole. Who the hell am I? Some nobody, that’s who.”

“The Jedi will help, Rixik,” Risha insisted, “That’s their job.”

“The Jedi are walking lie detectors,” Rixik objected, “And they don’t get involved with anything. I should stick with what I know works.”

“Calling authorities works. Jedi count as authority,” Risha shrugged, “She’ll help. You can always move on to plan B if it doesn’t work out.”

“All right, all right,” he said, “feels weird being on the other side, that’s all.”

The door whisked open at their approach, admitting them to the building. Inside Generic Coruscant Hotel number fifty-three was Generic Coruscant Hotel Lobby, staffed by several non threatening employees and tastefully furnished with standard hotel décor in shades of beige. A half handful of guests milled about, clustered at the wayfinders and tourist displays. Rixik almost wished there was an obnoxious drunk at the hotel bar, just to feel more at home. He glanced around. Generic Coruscant Hotel number fifty-three didn’t appear to have a bar. Now that was suspicious.

Rixik worked himself into being an architect, as bland, boring and forgettable as the hotel itself. He approached the front desk, “Afternoon. Reservation for Suul and Takurr?” Generic Core-ward accent? Check.

The desk clerk perused his listings, “Ah, yes, here you are,” he said. He retrieved a scanner pad, “Identification scan please?” Rixik placed his palm on the scanner while the scrambler tucked up his voluminous sleeve fed the device his false identity. Sabacc cheaters had infinite uses for the creative mind. “Thank you, Mister Suul. And your companion?” Risha did the same, and the clerk’s scanner confirmed her as Liidra Takurr. The desk clerk beamed. A happy day in dullsville. “Excellent. Your employer has authorized an expense account for your stay and I have you confirmed in rooms 3528 aurek and besh. The doors are keyed to you. Luggage?”

“Got it,” Rixik said, lifting a small case.

“Excellent, sir. Please enjoy your stay at the Star of Coruscant. Feel free to holo the staff or concierge if you need anything. The terminal in your room will connect you automatically. Be advised that all holos and meals charged to your account will show on the invoice we forward to your company.”

“Thank you,” Rixik said, fighting the impulse to order something ridiculous. Like four bottles of Whyren’s reserve, a auto-massage chair, and a live holofeed of all Falohrar Bizzeks’ daytime game shows. Just to see the look on the clerk’s face. Instead, he and Risha headed for the lift. One of the tourists, a female Togruta, followed.

The lift began its upward journey, all three passengers staring at the floor counter above the door. The Togruta cast an eye at Risha, "Been a while," she said.

"More than a while," Risha replied.

Rixik rolled his eyes at their exchange. A nod would be sufficient acknowledgment if they recognized each other. The gesture adjusted his cybernetics display so it showed him the lift's speed vector. Great. At last it slowed to a stop and the door opened on a Generic Hotel Hallway the same shade as the lobby. Exiting, he followed the ascending room numbers to the suite. It opened for him with no issue, revealing a room filled with Generic Coruscant Hotel Furnishings in a neutral green color scheme, complementing the bland brown of the hallway.

Once inside, the Togruta tourist set a tiny sculpture on the Generic Hotel Table. As her hand left the device the picture from Rixik's implant went white with static. He winced. In a way the static was easier to ignore, but he now was very aware of being blind on one side. He didn't want to let Risha's contact know about it. And he didn't want to pull it off--it would take too long to replace. Damn.

The Togruta stood and turned to Risha, “I must say, I was very surprised to hear from you, Risha. This is your...employer?” she asked.

Risha gave her a crooked smile, “Close enough. It’s complicated. Sumalee, Jesp Rixik.”

“Charmed,” Rixik said, “nice little toy you have there.”

Sumalee shifted her weight, “How refreshing. I guess ‘pleased to meet you, honored master’ does get old after a while.”

Rixik bristled, “I don’t call anyone ‘master’,” he snapped, shutting up before he said something worse.

“I see that,” Sumalee said. “Where do you find such pleasant colleagues, Risha?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Risha replied.

The conversation was not starting well. Rixik took a deep breath. He shoved his misgivings and concerns into a little mental box. He didn’t need them right now. Time to play. “We’re all on the same side, here, right?” he said, maintaining the core accent he’d assumed for Suul. Nice and familiar for Sumalee. “Have a seat. Give me a minute to find the minibar. What do Jedi drink, anyway?” he asked.

Sumalee almost smiled, “Jedi, or me?” she asked.

Was that a hint of amusement in her voice? “You’re the only Jedi here. I already know what Risha likes.”

“Jedi like tea,” Sumalee said.

Yes, that was a bit of amusement. “Of the Nar Shaddaa Iced variety?” he asked. That was Risha’s preference. He didn’t think Sumalee would like anything alcoholic, but he wagered she’d like the suggestion.

Sumalee smiled, “Hold the spice,” she said.

Risha giggled and Rixik blinked once. Not a stereotypical Jedi after all. “Two Nar Shaddaa Iced teas, then, as soon as I figure out where they hide the liquor. Why don’t you two get reacquainted while I look.” Plus he could overhear their conversation. Electronic jammers didn’t stop ears. Rixik explored the compacts kitchenette while they talked, finding glasses and ice. Powdered stimcaf in the familiar insta-mix packages. Mass-market likewise dehydrated tea, utensils, and a miniature radioven, smaller than the one on board Sirocco. An interface on the wall of the kitchenette listed a variety of beverages available through room service. All the good stuff was by order only. What the hell? Best he could do was squeeze a joke out of it and hopefully put everyone at ease. He poured three glasses of plain water and returned to Risha and Sumalee.

Their conversation had been informal but stilted. Both maneuvering around the topics they really wanted to discuss. He passed out the filled glasses to puzzled looks, "Sheesh, charge me for the whole bar, but at least have a bar,” he complained, “I have this rare transparent beverage, cheap instant stimcaf, or cheap instant tea. Or order from room service, but personally I'd prefer to keep public interaction to a minimum."

Sumalee swirled her glass, "Water?” she asked.

Rixik took the seat across from her, “You and Risha have Nar Shaddaa Ice Tea, hold everything but the ice, and I have my favorite whisky on the rocks, minus the whisky. You’ll have to use your imagination.” Sumalee actually laughed. Perhaps he had a chance here after all.

She took a sip then set the glass down, “To business then. The holomessage from Risha was vague. She said you had some information I’d be interested in but you’d only hand it over in person, is that correct?”

Rixik set his glass down as well, “More or less.”

“Enlighten me, then,” she said.

Here goes nothing, “You’re familiar with Senator Bevera Dodonna?”

Sumalee sat back on the celery-colored sofa, “I wouldn’t say familiar. I’m aware of her. I know she has a new project involving Republic-leaning private transport captains but I’m not informed of the details.”

"You don't sound enthusiastic about it," Rixix countered. Warning lights on the console.

Sumalee glanced at Risha, "Let's say I'm not convinced many beings can rise above self-interest. Especially in that occupation."

Ouch. She was going to be a tough sell. "If self-interest coincides with the Republic's interests, what's the harm? Everyone wins." Rixik said.

The Togruta Jedi reclined against the stiff cushions, "Funny. Dodonna's reasoning was much the same when she proposed the measure. Your wife Kirya is one of her 'privateers,' isn't she?"

"She is," Rixik admitted.

"So what is this information you're so eager to share, but won't trust to the holonet," she asked.

Rixik opened the small case. It contained a pair of datapads. He removed one, keyed it on, and handed it Master Sumalee. "First things first," he said.

Sumalee took it with a scowl and began reading. The scowl soon changed to puzzlement, "What's this supposed to be?" she snapped.

"My price," Rixik replied.

"I assumed as much with that introduction," she said, "but I don't understand these demands. This reads like an anti-slavery manifesto." Sumalee set the datapad down.

“That’s about right.”

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Sumalee asked.

Rixik shifted on the sofa. Was he the only one who thought through these things? Weren't Jedi supposed to see the future? “I’m used to dealing with commodities, not information. So I’m a bit new at this. Commodities you can see. Inspect. Decide if you want to buy and whether the price is reasonable. If you don’t, no harm done, I can find another buyer. Information, though,” he paused, wishing he didn't have to spell the whole thing out, “I let you have it, then it’s yours. You don’t like my price, you still have the information and I have nothing.”

Sumalee’s frown returned, “I still don’t see the relevance, “ she said.

Rixik fidgeted again, “This is my price,” he reiterated, “I don’t have the kind of influence to do any of this,” he nodded toward the datapad, “Senators aren’t going to be interested in it. Most of ‘em won’t see a benefit. But they have more influence than they know what to do with. Lots of factions, all looking for an edge. I bet there are a lot of senators who would be willing to trade political favors and influence in return for my information.”

“Uh-huh,” Master Sumalee said.

Not going well at all. Risha said Sumalee hadn’t always been a Jedi, she must remember how the rest of the galaxy worked. “But I thought, hey, Jedi are all against slavery. And they have more influence than a whole shipload of senators. Maybe I should give you first shot at it before I take it elsewhere.”

Sumalee snorted, “I think you have a very warped idea of how the Republic Senate works.”

Rixik rubbed his temples, “Let’s just say I forgot to sign up for civics class. As near as I can tell, the Republic Senate works a lot like the Hutt Cartel but with more paperwork and better publicists.”

Risha snickered, “He’s not far off.”

Master Sumalee shook her head, “Be that as it may, officially, the Jedi don’t involve themselves in Senate decisions. We do not dictate.”

“Well then,” Rixik said, standing, “This discussion is over. Sorry to have wasted your time. Come on, Risha, let’s go.”

“Wait,” Sumalee said. She addressed the sculpture on the table, “This does change things a bit. Shariss, you have been listening?”

A voice crackled from the device, “Of course.”

“Who’s that?” Rixik asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. There could be only one answer, and he didn’t want to hear it. If he didn't hear, it wasn’t real.

“Shariss Kartur,” Master Sumalee said, “You remember Shariss, don’t you, Risha?”

Risha had gone very pale, “I remember. What did they call us back then, the Triple Threat?”

“Together again,” came the disembodied voice.

“Someone I should know?” Rixik asked. So. Apparently there could be two answers to his earlier question.

“I thought she joined the SIS.” Risha said, rolling right along and ignoring Rixik’s inquiry.

“She did. One of their top agents,” Sumalee said, “I contacted her...recently. She’s in the adjoining room.”

Bad. Bad in so many many ways. He had a sinking feeling he was going to be staying on Coruscant a whole hell of a lot longer than he intended. Rixik glared at Sumalee and Risha in turn, “Fantastic. Why don’t you join us for a drink,” he said to the jammer-transmitter, “I’m sure I can get you something so long as it involves water and not much of anything else.” No security. Not yet. Maybe they had Dodonna and Pollaran under surveillance already, in which case his information was worthless.

The interior suite door slid open, revealing a slender Mirialan woman. Her clothes and hairstyle were typical of what Rixik had seen all over this level. She could walk into a crowd or a store and disappear. A trait he could well appreciate, since he picked his wardrobe the same way. Under the circumstances, her dress and demeanor screamed spook.

“Hey, Risha,” Shariss said.

“Shariss,” Risha acknowledged.

Rixik fixed his face in a bland, noncommittal look, “You people take unpaid docking fees seriously around here. In my defense, I wasn’t exactly responsible for Sirocco at the time. But in the interest of demonstrating good intentions, I’m prepared to pay in full plus any attendant fines. No arguments.”

Shariss joined the party, “Nice try.”

“Drink?” Rixik offered, “I think you know the menu.”

“No,” Shariss said, taking a seat, “Business. Sit.”

Reluctantly, Rixik regained his seat, “Just out of curiosity, do you speak in sentences, or are SIS agents limited to a word budget?”

“Funny. Nice disguise, you don’t match your picture at all. I don’t think anyone would recognize you,” Shariss said, “lucky thing.”

Rixik kept his breathing regular. He was missing something, some vital puzzle piece, and he wasn’t going to be happy when he found it. “Any particular reason for your visit besides the docking fee issue?”

Shariss smiled. Rixik did not like the look of that smile at all. “As a matter of fact, yes.” She flipped a mini datacard on the table, the compact kind proprietary for law enforcement, used to distribute instant alerts and other vital information. Heavily encrypted, not sliceable. It displayed his picture along with DNA trace and a rather extensive list of his extra-legal activities on a crawl below in bright red. Considered armed and extremely dangerous. Under other circumstances he might have been a little flattered. Not now. Because it also displayed his real name. And his real history. Not everything, but more than enough. Pollaran had made his move.

Rixik stared at the crawl as though mesmerized but his mind was racing. This wasn’t faked and planted, it was real. Both the source and the facts. How had he tipped off the gambler? Had Darmas spotted him despite the disguise? Guessed his plans? Figured out he’d been snooping?

Didn't matter. Ponder later. Minimize damage now. Get the hell out.

Sumalee was talking again, "I already agreed to talk to you as a favor to Risha, then this showed up a few days ago. It’s a silent alert, not broadcast on the main feeds. With pretty much every Republic authority looking for you, I was concerned. So I contacted an old friend in SIS. Care to explain why you’re really here?”

Minimize damage. Get out. “Risha didn’t know,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Kirya?” Risha asked, peering over at the card and its damning words.

“Kirya knows. So does Corso,” he said, “Kirya’s known for ages. No one else needed to know. Wasn’t important.” He glanced at Risha, who was staring at the feed. She of all people couldn’t complain about deception.

“True, then?” Sumalee asked.

Truth. Might work. Minimize damage. Get out. “Friend--” Sal had been a friend, back when he didn’t appreciate what friends were. His voice cracked on the word as if he’d planned it, “fixed it for me. Long time ago.” He hoped he sounded sincere. Jedi liked sincere. He gave Sumalee a patented contrite look, “rest it still on the level. What you called a manifesto? That’s what I wanted. For Kirya. In trade for some rather damning information on Darmas Pollaran and Senator Dodonna.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the tableau. Nothing but the low hum of air recirculators and the distant whine of traffic. “So,” Shariss began, “I have a bit of a problem.”

Rixik risked a look at the room’s green-shrouded windows. The room was far too high up to risk running for it. He was going to have to talk his way out of here and fast. “Not much of a problem,” he said, “for you. I presume, since the door to the room is still intact and I don’t hear any sirens, that you have a proposal of sorts?” Hear them out. Beg for time, hit the spaceport. Hope the makeup holds.

Shariss continued, “After reviewing your file and talking to Master Sumalee, my best offer was going to be not handing you over to the Hutts, assuming your information was worth the trouble.”

“Which you’re now reconsidering,” Rixik quipped.

“You still haven’t shown us anything,” countered Sumalee.

Rixik opened the case and retrieved the second datapad. He couldn’t stay in Republic space. His carefully crafted files sure weren’t going to do him any good now. He handed it to Shariss, “Read it. Pollaran’s an Imperial spy. Has been for some time, I’d wager. There’s copies of the ciphers he used to mess around in my identity record, as well as everyone else flying with us. Flagged it right before Dodonna holoed Kirya with the privateer nonsense.”

Shariss perused the file, “There’s more.”

“Yeah. I’m not stupid enough to slice Pollaran's files myself so I called in a favor from Miel Muwn. Sullustan Constable Brigade. Figured another government would have better sniffer programs than anything I could get a hold of. He sent a detailed report, but he didn’t get much.” Rixik wondered if that was it. The little Sullustan was smart enough to cover his tracks but it was the only thing he could think of. The fact that this Republic-wide alert hadn't also gone to the Sullustan Constable Brigade was his only clue. Surely Miel would have holoed him had he known. Wouldn't he? “Talk to him if you want. He’ll corroborate my story.”

Shariss looked up from the stream, “You realize this isn’t admissible in court?”

Rixik regained his feet, “I am well aware of that, but then it doesn’t have to be, does it? You know where to look now. You can find all the nice legal stuff on your own in nice legal ways,” he said with a scowl. All that for nothing. Never deal with government. It will almost be a blessing to be stuck in the dim outer rim for the foreseeable future, where everything ran on credits and blasters. “I have a transport to catch. Can’t say it’s been a pleasure.” He strode to the door.

Master Sumalee stood, “For once in your life, Shen, don’t run,” she said.

Rixik paused, his hand hovering in front of the door controls. He balled it into a fist. “Would be the second, not that I’m counting,” he said.

“You don’t really believe in this cause, do you?” Master Sumalee asked.

Rixik turned a bit, giving the Jedi and the agent his profile, “You people in the Republic make a big show that your people are free. You want to know something? You can’t eat freedom. Can’t wear it. It don’t keep out the weather. For people at the bottom, it’s the only thing they have that’s worth anything. Slavery will exist in some form for so long as that’s true.”

Sumalee gave a sad sigh, “Kirya believes otherwise?”

“Kirya is an optimist,” he said, “and before you ask, she knows how I feel.”

“Have you ever believed in anything?" Shariss scoffed.

He caught her in the corner of his eye. Safe answer or true answer? "There was this one time," he said.

"And what happened?"

“Kirya let me back in the apartment.”

Master Sumalee stepped forward, “Pollaran expects you to hide. To retreat,” she said, “go public instead.”

Rixik spun, “Are you insane? Every authority in the Republic is looking for me! You said it yourself!” His safe, core-ward accent was slipping in favor of a coarser dialect. He hadn’t noticed yet.

Sumalee continued, “Pollaran also expects you want credits. But that’s not what you asked for,” she said.

“Well, credits would be nice,” he muttered, “but this is for Kirya.” He felt a wave of calm envelop him like a warm blanket. He drew his blaster and aimed at Master Sumalee, “Knock off the Jedi poodoo, or I’ll pop both your montrals and we’ll see what’s inside.”

The calming influence vanished as quickly as it appeared, “Shen—“

“Don’t push it, Jedi,” Rixik growled in Basic that came straight from Nar Shaddaa’s alleys, “you don’t want me to be Shen, you really don’t. Shen’s dead. Sal killed him, then I killed Sal. You did read that part, right? Just business, you understand.” He heard it this time. He cursed the slip and worked on pulling his act back together. So much for minimizing damage.

“Rixik,” Master Sumalee began, choosing her words with care, “This is a good cause. As a Jedi, I would be honored to help, even without the additional information on Darmas Pollaran and Senator Dodonna.”

“Right.”

“It is the truth. But I see something else, perhaps something that you do not see. Will you please have a seat and listen?” she asked.

Rixik holstered his weapon. Stupid idea, drawing on a Jedi. She’d bounce the bolt back at him and then he wouldn’t need the fake scar. He promised Kirya that Pollaran wouldn’t win. Just hadn't expected the price would be so high. On the other hand, Shariss still hadn’t called in the security forces. Yet. He stalked away from the door and regained his seat on the couch, “All, right, I’m listening.”

Master Sumalee sat as well, “You wish to end slavery.”

“Kirya does,” Rixik shrugged, “I just want her to be happy.” Which was true. Besides, it kept the Jedi on the hook since it sounded so wholesome and nice.

Master Sumalee smirked, “Beings have had better reasons for worse causes. I appreciate your honesty. May I tell you what I see?”

Honesty? More Jedi nonsense, “Sure, go ahead, I got nothing but time. The rest of Coruscant Security won’t vector in on my flimsy false identity before you finish your speech.”

Sumalee ignored his sarcasm, “I see an ambitious man, someone unwilling to accept his situation. I see a man who learned the rules of his world and exploited them. And I have to wonder, given how far you’ve come from nothing, what might you have been able to do if you’d started with something.”

“You’re the Jedi.” Rixik grumbled, “you see the future. You tell me.”

“I also see a man who risks everything for the woman he loves,” Sumalee continued despite Rixik’s scorn.

If he’d known about the silent alert, he would have thought twice about this trip. Or three or four times. At least. “Get to the point.”

“Rixik,” Master Sumalee began, “Anti-slavery bills hit the senate every session. They die. But that hardly matters because they only propose more of the same. The same things that haven’t worked in generations.” She set the datapad down on textured resin table, “You’ve been inside the business. So has Kirya. You understand what would really shut it down and how to help the people trapped within. Because of that, this proposal can’t die the same death in the senate. It needs a spokesperson. Someone the public can look at, sympathize with. A slave then reformed slaver. Someone who made money on the miserable enterprise, then realized the error of his ways.”

Rixik blinked twice, “Oh no. Oh no no no no no no. No way. This is Kirya’s dream, not mine.”

“People adore a truly reformed villain,”

“You know what they like even better? A villain getting his just desserts,” Rixik snapped, “and who said I reformed?” His accent was slipping again, moving further toward the rim. He struggled to bring it under control.

Master Sumalee switched gears, “If you come forward, supporting this legislation with agreeable senators—“

“I get arrested and sent to jail.”

“—Darmas Pollaran loses his leverage. His information can no longer harm you, because you acknowledge its truth.”

“I show my real face outside that door and I get picked up before I hit the lobby,” Rixik objected, “Maybe that kind of thing works for Jedi with your amazing, mind-clouding powers, but it sure don’t for the rest of us.” She had a point. Pollaran sure as hell wouldn’t expect it.

Master Sumalee kept on, “Let the SIS worry about getting Pollaran and Dodonna. That’s our part of the deal. The price for your information was Jedi support of your proposal.”

“Kirya’s proposal.”

“Kirya’s, then. I said the Jedi do not dictate. If we ran the senate we would be no better than the Sith. So I promise the Jedi will help, but behind the scenes,” Master Sumalee continued as though he hadn’t interrupted, “Using our influence in subtle ways. There are those who would oppose you simply because the Jedi support you. A short-sighted objection, and one I would prefer to avoid.”

Rixik leaned back. It almost sounded like she accepted his trade. Despite the security alert. “Let’s say I agree. Pollaran’s going to come after me. And Kirya. You see what he’s capable of. I want guarantees. Of pardons, of safety. Your Republic doesn’t get to eat me or the people on my ship.” He felt odd, being responsible.

Shariss exchanged looks with Master Sumalee, "I can work something out. This is my job,". Shariss said, "I like to think I'm good at it."

"Yeah," Rixik drawled. Maintaining the proper dialect was getting almost as distracting as the static in his eye, "You get pinched, the Republic buys your new name and face. I don't get that luxury. The last one cost me plenty.". He was still paying for it.

"I need to talk to my superiors. See what I can swing," Shariss said. "You'll have to stay here for a bit. I can't let you leave Coruscant."

Fantastic. "What about the hotel?"

"For you, it amounts to the same thing," Shariss said.

Rixik’e eye narrowed, "You arresting me?" That would alert Pollaran and it would all be for nothing.

“Not exactly,” Shariss squirmed, “consider yourself in protective custody.”

"I want to talk to Kirya. Get a message to her. Without letting Pollaran know. Got it?" This was Kirya's dream. He wasn't going to take that, too.

"That might be difficult," Shariss said with some hesitation.

"You're good at your job, right?" Rixik quipped, "Make it happen."

The screeching chiming ripped him out of his slumber, cursing he shot up out of bed, slamming his head into the bunk above him. Cursing Aric rubbed his forehead as he fell back into his pillows. Uggg he ran his hands over his face blocking the blinding light filling the room. The persistent chiming echoed off the walls, building, competing with the deep pounding that filled the base of his skull.

Growling he fumbled on the ground next to his bunk, grabbing the first sold heavy object his fingers found. Gritting his teeth he concentrated on the location of the damnable chiming and hefted the object in his hand. It was a boot, felt like a boot, nice heavy boot. With as much force as he could muster he flung the boot at the chiming.

He was rewarded with a satisfying thunk, a metallic clatter and a dull thump. Then the chiming worsened, shrill peals of discord reverberated off the walls. Groaning he groped for another projectile. His claws grabbed another large object, his boots mate. He brought the other boot up and concentrated on the sounds source. This would be so much easier if he could actually see but it was to bright, his other hand was still firmly clamped over his eyes.

The boot flew from his hand, he heard an extremely satisfying crunch as the boot impacted with the shrieking's source. Pieces of metal fell clinking as the boot rolled across the floor.

Ahh blessed silence. Slowly he parted his fingers, cracking his eye to peer out. Bright yellow light assaulted him. “Ow,” he growled as he clenched his eye shut firmly clamping his fingers across his eyes again.

"Wonder what the chances are I can find something to break the light panel with," he grumbled. Searching along the floor his fingers rested on something cool and metallic. Running his hand over the item it felt like a piece of armor... "That 'ill work," Aric muttered. He picked it up and launched it at the panel near the door. A crack echoed throughout the room when it impacted, the lights faded. A rolling thud echoed through the common area of the ship as the armor piece came to rest.

Much better, he thought as he cracked open his eye. The room was engulfed in inky blackness, barely illuminated by the floorboard lighting. Slowly he rolled his feet off the bed and onto the floor, his head protested the movement, spinning, a complaint seconded by his stomach as it lurched and rolled sending acid up his throat.

One hand gripped his head the other clung to the overhead bunks frame to attempt to steady his world. He tried to swallow, to rid his mouth of the vile taste in his throat, but his tongue was dry and seemed determined to stick to the roof of his mouth.

Gritting his teeth he let go of the bunk, he was not greeted with any new protests. Slowly he brought his hand away from his head, still seemed to be ok. Bracing himself on the bed he slowly stood, the world tipped and wavered a bit but seemed content to remain solid. Moving toward the doorway he slammed his right foot at full strength into the side of a very heavy very inflexible wooden crate.

Pain flashed through his foot, he heard and felt the sharp CRACK as a toe-claw cracked and broke. Stumbling he fell over the crate landing on his hands. “Son of a Shutta,” he muttered as he looked at the box. It was a case of whisky. What is that doing in here?

His foot started to throb, staring at his foot he growled, “damn it,” blood was starting to seep through the crack on the claw on his big toe. The damn thing ran the length of his claw disappearing into his toe, the bottom third of his claw snapped off. “Fracking son of a …” he hissed inhaling. Gritting his teeth he extended his claws. Pain shot through his toe. Peering at his broken claw he scowled, the crack stopped just inside where his claws rested when retracted. “That's going to be fun while it heals,” he muttered.

Pushing himself to his feet he staggered against the door frame, waiting for the world to stop spinning. The pounding in his head grew, it pulsed in tempo to the pain in his foot. “Lovely," he muttered, "just lovely.” Growling he limped out of the room and slowly headed toward the galley.

As he neared the room, he heard movement inside, and the smell of brewing caf reached him. “Well that's a plus,” he muttered. Dorne was already up. Limping into the dimly lit room he headed to the table.

Easing himself into a chair he watched her. Clad in soft pink fuzzy sleep clothes Dorne's back was to him while she searched the cabinets. Judging from her slow jerky movements her morning was not a very pleasant one either. She pulled another cup from the cabinet and poured two cups of caf. Bleary eyed she sat down next to him offering him a steaming cup.

“Thanks,” he took a tentative sip. She nodded to him her bloodshot green eyes focused on her cup. Her blonde hair was disheveled and he was surprised at its length, it actually reached the small of her back once liberated from her bun.

“Sir," she muttered into her cup, "the Lieutenant is not on the ship, I think she stayed with Jonas.”

He grunted in response.

The caf was good. She looked miserable and he mirrored her discomfort, each cringing as they drank, their heads propped up on their arms. As he drained the cup she stood holding her hand out. He placed his empty cup in her hand. She quickly refilled them and returned to the table.

His head started to feel a little better as he worked on his second cup. He was surprised when Dorne knocked back the second cup in short order. She looked at him, “How bad is your hangover Sir?”

He gave her a tired smile, “You look like how I feel so, pretty terrible.”

"That bad Sergeant?"

“Dorne," he sighed, "when you are this hung-over who cares about rank?” He ran his fingers over his throbbing head.

She smiled at him. “Then I will get some for you too.”

“Get me some what?” he was curious.

“I have a small cocktail that helps with hangovers.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Really? When have you been hung-over?”

She frowned at him, “When I was in the Academy we used to celebrate, especially after difficult quarters and exams. We came up with the cocktail, actually.” She smiled her eyes distant lost in the memory. Blinking she looked at him, “Jorgan I will be right back.” As she headed out of the galley, her slippers shuffling, she stopped staring at the floor.

“Blood! Are you injured?” She followed the bright crimson drops to his chair. “What happened.”

He scowled, “I found my case of whisky, with my foot. Broke my claw.”

She knelt next to him gently picking up his foot moving it away from the small pool of blood that had accumulated. Bending over his dripping toe she made a surprised noise in her throat, “you have four toes?”

“Of course I have four toes,” he grumbled scowling at the back of her head.

She looked back at him eyes wide, “I thought you …” she trailed off muttering under her breath. Turning her attention back to his foot her finger cautiously touched his toe. He jumped from the pain pulling his lips back from his teeth and growling at her.

“I'll be right back,” she gently placed his foot on the floor. She moved out of the room with a bit more urgency, her shuffling slippers almost left the floor as she walked.

Scowling he closed his eyes and drank his caf, waiting for her to return.

When she returned her arms were laden down with … stuff. She set a scanner on the table, followed by kolto strips, jars of something, stims, a datapad whose blinking screen was playing back information and two small pieces of metal. She organized the stims into two neat identical rows.

“Your hangover cure?” He gestured to the small vials, she nodded as she pushed his sleeve up and then hers. He watched her pick up a small puff of white, holding it against a small jar, inverting it. She grabbed his arm with her free hand, separating the fur with her thumb and forefinger. After wiping his uncovered skin with the ball she began to depress the small vials against his arm until his three were consumed. The relief was almost instantaneous. The pounding in his head lessened, the nausea in his stomach disappeared, he actually felt moisture in his mouth.

She smiled at him. “Feeling better,” she asked as she disinfected her skin and depressed the first stim into her arm.

“Yeah much better, thank you.”

“Do you want to know what they are?”

“I would love to but not right now,” he grimaced as his foot twitched, he felt his toe spasm.

“Right, let me see to that foot.” She moved a chair closer to him as she bent over to examine the datapad. “Can you extend your claws and put your foot on the chair?” He grunted but complied. She skimmed the information on the pad picking up the scanner. The scanner beeped and whined causing her to crinkle her nose. “Well," she muttered, "aside from a cracked claw you have a broken toe.”

“Wonderful,” he muttered, staring at the ceiling. “Just wonderful. What a lovely morning this has been. Just do your thing Doc.”

She knelt next to him obscuring the view of his foot, it was just as well, he didn't really want to watch, he just wanted the throbbing pain to go away.

“So how was your night?” He asked her.

“Oh, it was enjoyable I really could of done without the fourth cantina though.”

“Fourth?” He stared at the back of her head, “I only remember three.”

“Yes,” she nodded, grabbing a bottle from the table, he smelled saline as she touched his claw causing him to jerk. “Jonas took us to four but I can't recall the names of the last two. Apparently I made a friend last night, I have a strange holo number in my slacks. I think you did too, you left the cantina for a while, when you returned you had a funny look on your face but you kept smiling.”

The slim metal rods disappeared into her hands, he felt cool metal touch his toe. “Easy,” she murmured as she referred to the datapad beside her. Tightness wrapped around his toe and foot. Growling he frowned at the back of her head. “There all finished, you should be able to take it off in a couple weeks considering how fast you guys heal. Good thing we are on shore leave you need to keep your weight off of it. Just don't get it wet if possible.” She stood gathering the medical materials off the desk.

“Then I claim the 'fresher first,” he grumbled. He stood testing out his foot. It felt better the claw no longer radiated pain, it was just a dull ache. Limping back to the crews quarters growled at the whisky crate as he made his way into the refresher, turned on the shower and started to strip.

He peeled off his dirty dress shirt dropping it on the refresher floor. Leaning against the wall he managed to negotiate removing his slacks over the temporary splint. As he pulled his pants off his other leg something black fell onto the floor. Bending over he retrieved it, he turned the sleek black stick over and his stomach dropped. It was an Imperial credit stick, what the hell was he doing with an Imperial credit stick?

Dorne stuck her head into the crew's quarters, “Are you going to need any assistance Jorgan?”

He slammed the credit stick against his leg covering it with his palm. “I think I can handle it.”

“Alright I’ll check on you in about ten, see if you are ok.”

“Sounds good, you said I made a friend at the fourth cantina Dorne?”

“Yes.”

“Did you by any chance get a look at them? Or remember what cantina we were in?”

“Nope and nope. You wandered back in by yourself smoking a cigarra. You didn't talk the rest of the evening just stared into space drinking whisky and smoking until we returned to the ship. You would have to ask Jonas to get the names. Why?”

“Oh,” he peaked at the stick, "Never have liked gaps in my memory that entire part of the evening is missing. Don't happen to have a cure for blackouts do you?” He asked. He was actually hopeful she did, he wanted to know how in the hell he ended up with this credit stick.

"Afraid I don't Jorgan."

“Hey Dorne.”

“Yes?” her voice echoed back to him.

“If anyone ever again suggests going out anywhere with Jonas you have my permission to shoot them. I can't handle his idea of a good time.”

“If anyone ever suggest going out with him again, I will suddenly be down three field reports and have a medical paper I need to work on.”

Her voice faded as she walked away. He shoved the credit stick back into his pocket moving his pants with his foot. He stared at his pants waiting for them to bite him. Where in the hell had Jonas taken them and how did he get that fraking stick, better yet how was he going to get rid of it.

September, 14 ATC – three years six weeks after the confirmation of the Wrath

Wynston's personal ship, the Ministry of Corrections

Hyperspace always felt like dead time. With limited comms and only rare company, Wynston spent most of this time reflecting on mission analysis. Or just watching hyperspace, one of the commonest, most mundane views in the galaxy but one that few people appreciated for what it was – the hidden underpinnings of the galaxy made visible. Inner workings given use and meaning by sentient ingenuity. A tool was only as good as the use it was put to; in his career, hyperspace travel was a good one.

And it was his last chance to relax before he reached Dromund Kaas.

Care in pitching the mission, that's the important thing. Again. I need the raw force and the Wrath is abundantly qualified to provide it, but she won't like the application. I'm glad she does still want the Empire's good and the war's end. That makes Republic targets easy, and that's good. But she'll see no immediate stake in hitting some apparent side project like a shadow Czerka operation. I need it gone, for humanitarian reasons as well as sensitive strategic ones. That isn't enough for her. She'll be skeptical if it seems to benefit only my side of things.

Sometimes I think dealing with her takes more strategizing than the damned mission does.

But I'll sell it. I needn't even lay out the truth, only the advantage. I can offer something to her advantage. She's desperate for companionship, no matter how paranoid she gets. That's the usual trade, whether she realizes it or not: her fire support for my (occasional, nonthreatening) attention given to her and her son.

Her bloody reminder of a black-haired, blue-eyed son.

It's difficult teasing out the shreds of her good intentions. She belongs to a harsher master now. I think the chance to stabilize her is long gone; the conditions she set won't bend for me or anyone. I liked our old friendship better. She used to trust me. Not many women of her caliber grant me respect beyond what I force by demonstrations of usefulness; perhaps that's as it should be, but it was pleasant to have the benefit of that bright, generous affection of hers. And then Corellia happened. The difference between Voss and when I called her on Corellia, when she shut me out, that's…well, it's an old story and not a unique one in history. But it was a bloody loss to us all when she was broken.

I won't give up entirely. At least I can still call it a friendship. At least she's still friendly to me most of the time. From lonely desperation, perhaps, but it's enough to work with. Stars, she should have been more. She should be putting her heart in the noble principles she still espouses in theory. But now when she talks about preserving things, she only means shredding threats. We've lost everything else.

That's how matters work out sometimes. I still think she had the potential to be the greatest force for good I ever worked with. Instead she's hanging by a thread and all I can do is try not to be the one to snap it.

The girl is dead. Long live the Wrath.

I should decide who to call in Kaas City once I'm done at Ruth's place. I'll want the company. Even if Ruth's in a good mood the balancing act will wear me out. And if I can get her to cooperate, that'll be accomplishment enough for me to justify taking a few hours off in the city.

Well. Mission parameters set. No use getting irritated at what I can't change; I'll just have to fix the situation with the tools I have.

My job would be easier if other people didn't keep breaking said tools.

September, 14 ATC – three years six weeks after the confirmation of the Wrath

Dromund Kaas

So. Wynston's shadow play had another scene written for her.

Ruth liked working with Wynston, mostly. He made her feel like she was doing something constructive, which was what she meant to do in between the power plays necessary for survival. He had his own agenda, though. He had ever since the start. That she should retain any kind of affection for him surprised her; he was the walking definition of untrustworthy. Just because he hadn't turned it on her yet didn't mean she should get comfortable with him.

He made a strong case for me helping him with his Czerka raid. He can't get firepower like me anywhere else; nice, that I should have a friend who so values me. Nice of him to take some time out of his usual lying, killing, bedding strangers, and flicking deceits every which way to concentrate on me. Not many people of his ilk dare to demand my time. If it weren't for our old friendship, the one he had with the stupid girl, I wouldn't bother with him now.

I suppose it's nice that he should be good with Rylon, too. I know exactly what esteem he must hold Quinn's child in. But he covers that well and acts kindly, and that does make a difference. I wouldn't let many other people near my son.

As for his mission, it's something to do, and it's likely to do some good for the Empire. Then he'll be out of my way and I won't have to deal with him again for a while. The company is very nice…it's enough to make me miss the old friendship…but I could do without the using. I'm sure he will never tell me the whole of what he's using me for.

Well. Time to get ready. There's killing to do. There always is.

L + 3 years 2 months

Hyperspace always felt like dead time. With limited comms and only rare company, Wynston spent most of this time reflecting on mission analysis. Or just watching hyperspace, one of the commonest, most mundane views in the galaxy but one that few people appreciated for what it was – the hidden underpinnings of the galaxy made visible. Inner workings given use and meaning by sentient ingenuity. A tool was only as good as the use it was put to; in his career, hyperspace travel was a good one.

And nice enough to look at. What's better is that I'll see Ruth when I get there. A little work for mercy's sake and for strategic reasons I'm not free to explain, but I'm doing the right thing with them. If we tie this task up early I can probably come back to Dromund Kaas with her for a while. It's been a few months now. I wonder how Cole's doing?

Cole. I still think it beggars belief that such a father as Malavai Quinn could have produced such an adorable son. Then again, he's Ruth's, too. Hard to turn out wrong with her there. Stars, they're wonderful together.

I'll definitely arrange to go with her after this.

There's a child there I can come home to. He knows me. In his rowdy way, he likes me. I like him. I have this, and a woman who wants me, whom I want, not just because she's there. A woman I think of after I leave, one I go out of my way to come back to. She welcomes me, even when I'm tired and can't give her the image she wants. She trusts me. She loves me so much it hurts. This is what a family is supposed to be like, and every time I turn around it's still there.

Wynston stared out into hyperspace for several long minutes.

What the hell am I doing?

This isn't my specialty. I'm not the man who does this, I never was. My work is what matters. That's the only skill set I've ever maintained, the only one I ever had any talent with. This, what I feel for her, it's one long delirious fluke.

I should have stopped it at sex. And maybe the professional alliance. The friendship, and admiration, and common aspirations and more…I don't have the substance for those things. She's tried hard to tease some realness out from under my fakery but there's nothing there. The only thing that makes me useful is adapting to be the temporary measure that adjusts a situation and then vanishes.

I was glad to go to her on Corellia but I should have stayed away after. I helped her through the hard part, helped her get back on her feet and remove her enemies. Now I have nothing more to offer her. That's why I'm away working nine weeks out of ten and why I ought to be away the tenth. If I really had half the decency I pretend to I would just end this and let her forget me. Let her love someone who can commit to her and her alone.

Would she come with me if I asked her? Leave the master I can't serve, come make some kind of life with me? But she can't. Even she wouldn't survive saying no to the Emperor. And she does so much good even with her current job, sometimes almost in spite of her current job. The Wrath as a warrior of protection is a force I could never have imagined when I first started in this business; she has made it hers and she's perfect at it. Besides, my organization is all about skulking in the shadows. It's no place for her light or her child.

And, if she had to see me all the time, then for all her patience she would tire of me. Worse, I might tire of her. That's what I do. Get bored, stop caring, walk away. I saw her heart broken once; I can't let it happen again. I won't be the one to disappoint her.

But that will happen either way, won't it? And if we're to be separated I don't have to be so blunt as to just abandon her. She'll give up on me anyway under the conditions I've set. Merely the difference between fast heartbreak and slow, maybe, but it'll be easier for her if she comes to the decision herself. I can't give her what she needs: constant companionship, complete unity of purpose instead of the game of shadows we play on those occasions when even she can't quite reconcile her employer's Sith orders with the people's interest. Personal openness – I try for her sake but let's be realistic, this is me, the opportune lie will always be my first instinct – and then physical fidelity, and a real father for her son. A genetically compatible father for more children. She would like that.

I'd like to be that.

She never counted the advantages she might or mightn't get from me, but she does always insist on the truth. The relevant truth is this: she deserves all these things, every possible good thing, and I can't give them to her. I won't abandon my work, I made that clear from the start. She has held on for a long time, but sooner or later she'll accept that and find a better man. A decent Sith who can at least match her in power, or a servant who can match her in dedication, or somebody.

It's for the best. And it can be done without my just walking up to her and breaking it off suddenly enough to wound her again. I don't have to be cruel to lose her. I just have to be myself.

She'll come to that conclusion in her own time. I can stay for a few days anyway. I've missed Cole. I've missed her. Being with them makes everything ten times better. And she does like seeing me. Just as long as I don't make promises I can't keep, it'll be all right to let this go on. But wishing things were different, wishing I could stay for her to wake up beside me morning after morning without interruption or end, so I could give her something worth calling…something worth calling…

Bloody hell. I have a job to do.

Wynston consciously suppressed the smile that snuck up any time he was thinking of Ruth, even during these familiar, somehow perpetually postponed worries. He reeled back toward analyzing the dynamics surrounding the Czerka strike he had planned. Before him rolled the hectic brilliance of hyperspace, and whether he let himself think it or not, it was doubly beautiful because it was taking him to her.

L + 3 years 2 months

Ruth meditated alongside Jaesa on the way to the rendezvous point. Jaesa was establishing her own household back on Dromund Kaas nowadays, but she still came out for some missions, and Ruth was glad for the company.

Half of Ruth's meditations weren't really communion with the Force at all. Just quiet times to think. She was going to see Wynston, and it was hard to keep anything else on her mind.

It's been a few months. The time flies, with Cole, with my friends, with everything. It'll be good to accomplish something with Wynston; it always is. Maybe he can come stay with me for a few days once the job's done. Obviously we both have things to do. His work is important. So is mine; I can't just walk away from my job. But everything's ten times better when we can arrange to be together.

I won't trouble him with the words, but he must know by now that I love him. I've tried not to, for his sake. It wasn't supposed to happen. We were just friends. And allies. And lovers. With common goals and tastes and other things. And if he thinks I could have all this and see so much of his character and not love him, that's…very much a blind spot he would have, actually. Given the relationships we were staggering out of on Corellia I can't blame him for being wary of the word. It never did either of us any good.

In theory, even leaving love aside, I shouldn't trust him for such on-faith-alone gestures as this matter I'm helping with now. Don't trust: that's the chorus of being Sith, isn't it? Of having any kind of power. I tried to ignore that condition once and it failed, spectacularly. And yet, Wynston knows that influence is the currency of my world and he doesn't try to deal in it, not with me. It is such a relief to come home and be no one but myself, with someone who is no one but himself. Maybe it's unfair of me to ask him to do that, but he's worth knowing like this. I'm not sure when he'll figure out that he doesn't have to be useful for me to want him. He just has to be himself.

I've missed him. I wonder what his schedule looks like…at best we'll have a few weeks before he leaves again. The job needs him. He has his work, his secrets, the ones that do and must exist entirely outside my role as Wrath under a dark Sith. I understand that. And admire his courage in doing it. Could I even care for him this much if he weren't committed to something greater than himself? If he weren't, he wouldn't be him.

Still. Sometimes it seems like duty in the Empire exists for nothing other than to drive people apart.

Well, I can hope the Empire can spare him for a few days. Cole will be glad to see him. I was so afraid at first that he would hate Cole because of his father, but he doesn't. Wynston is so affectionate, so happy, around my son…he would've made a better father in every way. If it were possible I would ask someday about…

No. Even if we could, Wynston wouldn't want a family. He can't be tied too closely to one place. That he even comes back to me is more, I think, than he's ever attempted with anyone.

For that I'm the luckiest woman alive.

I can tell part of him wants to stay, every time I offer. He'll only turn me down again if I ask. I know he doesn't want to get too close to the Emperor's service, but we're both resourceful people, surely we could work something out. I'll respect his wishes, always, but…I have to wonder, sometimes. Is it that there's something else for him? Is it that there's someone else? A lot of someones I can ignore, because what he offers them during a job isn't the man he is with me and can't possibly be the depth I adore, but one…one would hurt.

He told me that's not the case. I believe him. He works hard to keep nothing but truth between us, in this, in everything. I'm not sure he has any idea how important that is to me. Just as long as he keeps being honest, as long as that look in his eyes when he comes to me is genuine, it's enough.

In fact the distance is easier in some ways. I work my work without having to slow down for a Force-blind – he's worth all the galaxy and more, but there are physical limits to what he can do – and I can have tired irritable off days without inflicting them on him. I'm not sure how much he would like me if he had to see me all the time. I worry for him, but at the same time he's safer from some things when he isn't near me. The target my enemies have to fire at is smaller when he's far away.

So he's out there instead. A cynic could say he's out there lying, killing, bedding strangers, flipping through deceits like some people flip through their wardrobes in the morning. He admits all of that freely. He isn't sorry for it. If there were ever a kind of man I shouldn't be with it's this.

Is there something I'm supposed to prefer? They don't make squeaky-clean innocents in this galaxy and I'm not sure I would know what to do with one. So should I seek a Sith who'll play the miserable power games I remember from Korriban? Or an agent who never sets a toe out of line, one so blindly obedient that any suitably impressive authority's order might sway him? Wynston answers only to his conscience, and I trust that conscience. I have ever since the start. It's why I'm here for him today and why I'll always be here for him.

In the end I don't have to justify it. He makes me happy.

When Ruth opened her eyes Jaesa was sitting opposite her, smiling at her.

"What?" said Ruth.

"You're very emotionally loud when you're happy," said Jaesa.

Ruth made a face. It didn't quite succeed in clearing her smile or her flush. "That's allowed."

"While I take our work very seriously, you should know that half the reason I clear my schedule for these is to see the Emperor's Wrath melting when you-know-who shows up."

"One of these days you're going to meet someone, Jaesa. I'll have my revenge then."

Jaesa dimpled. "If I ever find something as sweet as you two, I don't think I'll mind."

Okay, iterating through those four to attempt to contrast clearly while making sure that they focus on what would matter to their respective situations rather than running down a standardized checklist was…fun.

How do these things always end up so sad? I swear there's happiness in their Lodestone dealings. Truly silly amounts at times. It's just that idle thoughts, and serious questions, can sound bad, I guess.

Part 1: Starts and ends with talk of tools. Goes on to focus on the other person involved in Wynston's operation and the practical considerations thereof. That kind of pragmatic and manipulative alliance qualifies as friendship by the definitions he recognizes.

Part 3: Starts and ends with talk of beauty. Goes on to focus on his self-doubt and inadequacies – considerations he never would've thought of in canon universe, doubts he never recognized and never had to think about because he never cared enough about someone else to check himself for their sake. (By the way, he gets around to deciding the L-word might be both applicable and acceptable in another, oh, half a year or so.)

We had our hellish scavenger hunt on Hoth done. We recruited our slicer Yuun. Him, along with Tanno Vik for specialized demolitions and the Safecrackers to break down the vessel's planet-based shield, added to M1-4X and Jorgan and me for a full team. Or as full as it was going to get. We were ready for the assault on the dreadnaught carrying the prototype Gauntlet weapon.

We approached in in quick hyperspace jumps, no step long enough for the Gauntlet weapon itself to lock onto us. Then it was boarding time. I sent Jorgan and Forex go for the enemy ship's bridge to download anything we could get from the shipboard computers. I went with Vik to rig the whole vessel to blow – we wouldn't be leaving salvage except for scrap metal.

We hit heavy fire from the start; only a lot of line of sight tricks and the use of narrow side corridors kept us from getting mowed down outright. Vik knew his stuff, though, and so do I. We split from Jorgan and Forex and cleared our own way to the locations Vik had picked out. My main job was just to cover him. Busy job, but I could do it.

"Last one," he said at last, turning away from the doorway he'd been fiddling with, and he grinned at me. "Ready to go?"

"More than ready." All we had to do now was get out before the place blew.

We had to pause in a cover-free corridor to clear some troopers behind us. The place was heating up, and badly so. It reminded me of other places. No. I had to keep moving. My vision started to narrow like it did when combat got bad; that was sort of common. Not a problem by itself, just a warning. If I wasn't running full tilt before I was now.

We rounded the corner and saw another trio of Imperial troopers. I fired. So did Vik. It seemed that everything slowed…and then I stopped.

The crazed chorus of blasters kept going. On and on. You've got no right, Imperial. Blaster fire everywhere, but I wasn't doing anything. I wasn't doing anything. Vierce, please. The flash and biting smell was all around; this was where men and women died, and kept on dying. I wasn't doing anything.

"Captain!" Someone was bellowing. Not her. Not her, because I – "VIERCE!"

I looked around. Where the hell was this? Blaster fire looks just about the same anywhere. The Gauntlet slammed back then. Mission. Ship. Explosives. Run. I knew where to move. Vik was holding his side and still desperately firing; I waved and we got going.

He only made it a few steps into the next hall before yelling and stumbling. I sprayed fire over him and braced my rifle to haul him up with one arm. All that mattered now was speed.

My steps pounded twice as loud now. Vik was hurting, but he did what he could to keep moving. I did what I could to clear the way, trying every now and then to shoot down any kind of loose ceiling piping to cover our retreat. Had to go faster.

Jorgan, Yuun, and Forex were at the airlock. "We done?" I barked.

"Yes, sir. Ready to go," said Jorgan.

"Take us out." I reeled onto the ship, hauled Vik toward the medbay. If he died because of my freezeup…

Well, that wouldn't be anything new, would it?

I laid the big guy out and tried to keep it together. Vik was out cold; Yuun helped me do what first aid we could while I cursed the lack of a real medic. A lack I could only blame on myself.

I had to keep it together.

I got Vik, unconscious but at least not actively bleeding, into the kolto, and went on to the bridge, ignoring whatever M1-4X yelled on my way past. I had to make some kind of showing with the squad but I wanted to make it quick. Don't screw this up.

Jorgan was at the controls, watching the vast bulk of the Gauntlet. A few spots were already blowing, and the explosions were starting to rip along straight lines as critical systems ignited.

Jorgan looked to me. "We downloaded a huge collection of plans from their main computer. Our techs'll have a lot on their hands just reading it, much less building any of it themselves."

"Yeah. Good." I stared out at the big breaking ship for a few seconds. "I'll be in my quarters. Take us home, Lieutenant."

Jorgan gave me a funny look, but he let me go.

I didn't even shut the door, I just sat down on the bunk and…stopped. Again. I don't even know when I got moving, but next thing I knew I was showering. Better be more or less ready to talk to Garza when we returned to Coruscant. Better be ready. Better not freeze.

I wanted so badly to rest.

While "just willpowering through" would be a nice idea, I feel like the strain on him in this continuity is harsher than it would otherwise be and that has consequences. Even if he manages to keep going, it's not smooth sailing.

Also I like how this accounts for somebody getting hit in the Gauntlet run.

We holoed a med team to take Vik straight off the ship to the nearest medcenter. The rest of us made straight for Garza's office. I had to keep it together. I would.

She was waiting at the door of her own office. She waved us in, looked us over. "Specialist Vik?"

"Injured, sir. He's getting medical attention now."

She nodded sharply. "Good. He got the job done. Good work, all of you." She got back to her usual frown. "Senator Zian and his associates are determined to place Havoc Squad under review now that its urgent mission is finished. We've got a lot of work to do."

"We just dismantled the weapon that would've shut down our fleet's hyperspace travel. What more do they want?"

"What they want is to wipe out anyone who had anything to do with Sergeant Dorne's alleged treason and bury the entire incident. If we have no other evidence-based explanation for what happened on Nar Shaddaa, we can't get around that."

"I'm looking, sir. Or I will now that the Gauntlet's down."

"We don't have leads," she said sharply.

"I'll find them."

"I can only give you a couple of days. Take the time off. Preferably off planet. Then I'll be sending you on another mission, one that should appeal to you if you're interested in clearing names. Not coincidentally it's also going to distance you from Coruscant when Senator Zian comes knocking." She frowned harder. "I'm looking into matters, too, Captain. We might be able to force Zian off our backs, but I can't guarantee that any time soon."

"Then I'll move fast, sir."

Okay, this positions me for where I want to go.

We left Garza's office and made for the Senate plaza. I guess from there all we could do was go rest for a bit. The only thing I wanted to do more than rest was do something to help.

My holo beeped before it mattered. "Hold up, people," I said wearily. If this was a political thing I really didn't know what I was going to do.

Whether Balkar of the SIS counted as political…well, I guess that depended on what he was going to say.

He smiled sunnily. "Vierce! I'm glad you're in town. A little surprised. The atmosphere's less than healthy for some types right now. But I'm glad. I have some news."

"So spill."

"We should meet up at Kalyn's old place. You don't need directions, do you?"

Of course he could never say anything straight. I remembered Kalyn, though. A young woman I'd found imprisoned on Coruscant, caught up in a crazed cyborg-modification scheme she wanted no part of. I knew the way to where I'd found her and the others. I guess it was the best meeting place Balkar could think of without naming the location for listeners to recognize.

The thought that he might have news got me going. "Jorgan. You ready?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir."

*

Balkar was lounging against a pillar near the building we were going for. He waved or possibly just lazily stretched without making eye contact and then sauntered down the way, finally ducking into a different building. Jorgan and I followed.

By the time we reached the little lounge within, Balkar was already lounging on a couch like he'd been there all day. He grinned up at us. "Hi there. Have a seat." After half a second's pause, "You really do want to be sitting down for this one, Vierce."

I crossed my arms and frowned down at him. "Look, I don't mean to sound ungrateful but I've had enough of games for one decade. Do you have something for me?"

He examined my expression and sobered a little. "Yes. I have a suspect for our Captain Raznic. Imperial for sure. I wasn't free to chase him because, as far as anyone could tell, he came to our side."

"Our side?"

"He came to the SIS. Said he'd reformed. We do let these guys do that, especially if they've got valuable information to offer, and he was pure gold."

"The SIS let him in!?"

"It's a risk we take that does more to hurt the other side than almost anything else we can do. Bad risk in this case. His supervisor was convinced he had him under control. He was the sticking point in my getting information at all." Balkar crossed his arms, looking grimmer than I've ever seen him. "His name was Ardun Kothe. He was the guy who recruited our double agent code named Legate, and he made absolutely certain that I couldn't touch Legate for anything he did. Including the hit on Sergeant Dorne."

Legate, huh? "I notice you never gave their names before now."

"I'm free to give them now. Ardun Kothe is dead. Mission gone wrong on Quesh. Reports say his entire team is down. Including our man."

"Reports? Do we have bodies?"

Balkar shook his head. "An Imperial air strike was called in on the site, and our forces on the ground were given no reason to investigate further."

I felt my fists clenching. "I want to know he's dead, Jonas."

"That's something I can't answer from here. Water-cooler-chat questions are really more the kind of thing I can sneak in. But, I did get coordinates for you."

"Then it's a good thing I've got a few days off." I looked to Jorgan. "Are we good to move?"

"Any time you're ready, sir."

On the one hand, if I didn't get my act together I was completely unfit for command, here or anywhere. On the other, the site on Quesh wasn't getting any fresher.

"All right," I said. "Coordinates. Jorgan, call Yuun and Forex. We're shipping out."

Space Station, Neutral Territory

12 ATC

Malavai hadn’t known what to think when he received the call. The Jedi who looked so heartbreakingly similar to K’hera had told him things that made his head reel. He wasn’t sure if he should believe her—even over the holo, he could practically feel the hostility emanating off her. But in the end, curiosity and hopeless longing had won out over caution, and he had traveled alone to the coordinates indicated.

His heart pounded as he made his way to the medcenter. If only he hadn’t given in to his anger, if only he had been more rational… He was Sith, but he was not without honor. He would never have executed a woman who was with child—stars, his child!

K’saria’s voice echoed in his head. I only made the call for her sake. She’s been asking for you.

Malavai turned a corner and there she was. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat as he looked at her, at the elegant lines of her copper-skinned face. But then his brain caught up with him, reminded him that this woman had black hair, not red, her face lacked K’hera’s scars, and she was dressed in Jedi robes.

“Wrath,” she murmured. Was that a touch of mockery in her tone? “You made it.”

“Knight Dhakar,” he said, inclining his head politely. “I came as quickly as I could. Where—“

“This way,” K’saria said. She turned on her heel and started walking without bothering to see if he was following.

Malavai trailed along after her, surveying his surroundings. “This place seems empty,” he noted.

“This wing is for patients whose security status is…delicate,” K’saria explained as she walked. “The station will offer aid to anyone, regardless of affiliations, but it is necessary to keep some individuals separated from the rest for their own safety.”

“Of course,” Malavai said. “That does make sense.”

K’saria made a noncommittal noise. A few moments later, she stopped in front of a door. “Here we are.”

Adrenaline shot through him as K’saria opened the door and ushered him inside.

It was a small, stark room typical of what one would expect in a medcenter. Malavai’s gaze skimmed rapidly over the background, taking in none of it, before coming inexorably to rest on the bed that stood against the wall opposite the door, and the woman who lay upon it.

K’hera slowly turned her head to look at him. She looked…worn. Worn and beaten, her cheeks hollow, her hair limp, her eyes dim.

She also did not look particularly pregnant.

“What…” Malavai started to ask, turning towards K’saria.

The Jedi sighed softly. “She gave birth two days ago. Prematurely. There were complications.”

His eyes widened. “Are you telling me that she’s dying?”

K’saria looked at the floor. “She kept asking for you… I hoped that seeing you might give her the strength to push through.”

Her failure to answer his question was an answer in and of itself. He slowly made his way over to K’hera’s side. She looked so fragile laying there, a sheet tucked up over her body.

“Malavai,” she said, so softly he barely heard.

He knelt beside the bed. “Yes. It’s me.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. I should never have—I should have thought. I should have realized, should known…I should have done so many things, but in the end I did none of them.”

The corners of her mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly. “I forgive you.”

He reached up and took one of her hands in both of us. “I love you,” he told her firmly, looking into her eyes. “Stay with me.”

“Malavai…” K’hera whispered, her lips barely moving. “It’s too late for me.”

“No,” he insisted, shaking his head, holding her hand more tightly. “No. It’s not too late. You’re going to be fine.”

She shook her head weakly. “I’m sorry.”

“What kind of a medcenter is this?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “Women don’t just die in childbirth in this era! There has to be something that can be done to help you.”

“Maybe not in the Empire, but…we’re not…in the Empire now.”

She was fading. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in the Force.

“K’hera,” Malavai said softly, desperately. “Please. You’re strong. You can make it through this.”

“I was never…as strong as you…thought I was,” she murmured. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Don’t blame yourself…for this. Take care of…our daughter.”

“I lost you once,” Malavai said grimly. “I won’t do so again, not after finally finding you.”

K’hera smiled up at him. She took a breath, then another, and then she was still. In the Force, her life-light flickered, then went out.

Malavai bowed his head, his throat constricting. His whole body quivered as emotion poured through him, threatening to blind him, drown him, burn him alive in his own skin. She was gone. He had been too late.

He couldn’t hear K’saria’s footsteps behind him through the roaring in his ears. He had no idea that she had approached him until he felt sudden, searing, physical pain, and looked down to see a bar of white plasma edged with blue extending from his chest.

K’saria withdrew her lightsaber from his back, and he fell sideways, catching himself on his elbows.

“You did this,” she said coldly. “My sister is dead because of you.”

Malavai coughed, trying vainly to breathe through the pain. Her blade must have gone through one of his lungs. He saw K’hera’s hand hanging over the edge of the bed where he had dropped it as he fell, and reached up to take it in his own.

K’saria kicked him in the side, and he collapsed to the floor on his back. “She was too good for you,” she said contemptuously. “You used her, you sick bastard. You destroyed her.”

He tried to answer, but he just couldn’t seem to breathe.

“The child, if Force-sensitive, will be raised as a Jedi,” K’saria said. Her voice sounded as if it were coming from a long way off. “She need not live in the shadow of her parents’ shame.”

There is no shame in the dark side, he tried to say, but his mouth wouldn’t move.

If K’saria said anything more, he did not hear it.

Now that's how Revenge of the Sith should have ended.

There will be happy endings for this AU, I promise! I just need to write them. And, uh, think of them.

The thing that I really like about this particular piece is its open-endedness. There are a lot of different possibilities working in the background here. For instance:

- Did K'hera really die of complications from a premature labor, or was foul play involved? Alternatively, did she pull a Padme and give up on life?

- Was the station really a medical facility, or did K'saria deliberately take K'hera there to die? Was she really trying to help her sister, or was she setting a trap for the Emperor's Wrath?

- Why did K'saria kill Malavai? Was it out of a desire to avenge K'hera, or was she taking the opportunity to dispose of a high-ranking Sith? Either way, she's skirting dangerously close to the dark side.

I have no solid answers to these questions one way or another. Any of these is possible; it's a fluid universe. I leave the details open to your interpretation, O reader-peoples.

When I got back to the hangar where I'd left Havoc Squad's Thunderclap, I found the big door to the spaceport's maintenance passage open. There were workers everywhere, including two squatting on the wing, prodding at something they had cracked open.

I started toward it but didn't get far. "Sir! Sir, hold on!" One of the mechanics was running up to me from the side, and I was more than ready to hear the explanation for the guys swarming my ship.

"What's this?" I demanded.

He stopped in my shadow, peering up at me. "We've got orders for engine maintenance, sir, it's already under way. It's going to be at least forty-eight hours before she checks out. Were you not notified?"

"No," I snapped, still staring at the ship. "No, I wasn't notified."

"We'll clear it as soon as we can, sir. I realize your squad has places to be."

"You have no idea."

"Three guesses who ordered this one," Jorgan said darkly.

"I don't even...it doesn't matter who ordered it, they've already pulled the damn thing apart." I turned my attention back to the foreman. "You lock down this hangar and call my holo when this is finished. Understand? Nobody else's holo, and nobody else's orders."

Whatever I looked like, I had his attention. "Uhh, yes, sir. I'll do that, sir."

"Good." I took my holo out and spun to leave. "Guys, there's one other private ship I can try."

*

Not only was Kirsk in town, he was docked in the Senate Plaza spaceport, on the grounds that he knew who would be getting first crack at us as soon as we got back. He may be an idiot, but he's clever sometimes.

When we reached his hangar we found him busy talking to a pretty Mirialan girl dressed up in something slick and about a size too small. I wondered how long it'd taken him from touching down on planet to buying drinks for her, whoever she was. I swear he'll make point four past lightspeed if left unchecked.

He pushed off the crate he'd been leaning against and beamed as we approached. "There, what'd I tell you?" he said.

His friend turned to us and stared, her mouth forming a little 'o'. "Who's this?"

"This?" said Kirsk. "Just the guys dragging me away from you. The shore leave contingent, here for me to haul 'em off planet to escape military life. This is my brother, Vierce. Vierce, meet Loora."

I didn't have time for this. I reminded myself not to let loose on the bystander. "How do you do," I said tensely.

"And, more or less in order, Sergeant Jorgan, the inimitable M1-4X, and this must be Sergeant Yuun."

"Charmed," said the Mirialan in a girlish voice. "Gee, there wouldn't even be room for me on board. Have fun, won't you, boys?"

Kirsk smiled. "Fun won't start 'til I'm back in town, gorgeous. I'll call you." That finally got her to wave and trot off.

I spent a moment watching and waiting for her to get well out of earshot. "Thank you for not taking her with us," I muttered.

He looked after her with a cheerful smile. "I'll call her later. I should introduce you to her sister. Great girl."

It was never at any time a good idea to go anywhere near my brother's setups. Even if I wanted to in the first place, which I didn't. "I've got other things to worry about, Kirsk."

Sympathy glinted in his eye. "You won't always," he said breezily, and clapped my arm, turning toward the ship. "Come on."

We all piled onto the little freighter; outside the cargo bays the place was not spacious. M1-4X had to hunch up and walk crabwise to get anywhere; Kirsk directed him toward the nearest cargo hold.

I explained to Yuun as we walked, "Kirsk is nonstandard but he's with me. It's all right to cooperate." I considered calling my brother trustworthy and decided that might be going a bit far. "But if he gives you some harebrained idea, run it by me first, all right?"

"Understood," said Yuun. I wondered what Gand calm sounded like, because he only ever sounded one way and I suspect calm was it. Lucky bastard.

"I owe you a rundown of what we're doing, for that matter. I need to sleep first." Stars, did I need to sleep. "We'll meet up in the workshop in a few hours, all right?"

"Actually, I sort of need you or Jorgan driving," called Kirsk from down one corridor. "That is if I can get some work done in the cargo bay." He trotted back around. "Can I borrow some of your droid's processing cycles for this trick I've been trying to get my central computer to do? Nothing illegal, promise."

I gave him a skeptical look.

"In our current jurisdiction," he amended.

I rolled my eyes. Kirsk probably needed whatever-this-was to bail him out of yesterday's trouble, whatever that might be. And I did owe him a serious favor for this ride. "It's authorized," I told Forex.

"Acknowledged and understood. But I look forward to reaching our objective and continuing our mission!"

"I think we all do. Kirsk, don't make me regret this."

"Absolutely guaranteed," Kirsk said sunnily. "You're the best, big brother. – By the way, if you need a knockout shot there's some in the little side room near the bridge. I actually labeled these ones. Accurately, even." He didn't mention the nightmares, just made sure I knew what solutions were on hand. He can be good like that. I nodded acknowledgment and got out of his way. I needed dreamless sleep.

*

I woke groggy and sore a long time later. I guess the ride to Quesh takes a while. When I hit the bridge and found Jorgan and Yuun, Jorgan reported that we had only about an hour left to go.

"I've explained the situation, Captain," said Jorgan. "We all realize this is pretty much off the books."

"The books don't care until we've got something more to tell 'em. So yeah. If the side trip's a problem we'll drop you off for actual leave, but…if you're a Findsman, Yuun, I could really use that skill."

The Gand held still for a few moments. Then: "Sergeant Dorne sounds like an admirable soldier."

"Everything a Republic soldier should be," I said, nodding.

"And she is the one we seek now."

"No," I said flatly. "She's dead."

"This is true. You seek her anyway. What you seek at the end of her path is not this Legate. It is justice."

"I'm figuring once I find the one, the other won't be far behind."

Yuun leaned back against the wall. "Legate walked with both SIS and Imperial Intelligence? Spies leave confusing trails. Sometimes many, sometimes none. All of them have patterns that careful watching will reveal. This is a challenge, Captain, but Yuun will try."

What's that? Routine maintenance suddenly called in when politicians want to cause trouble? ATTACK OF THE PAPERWORK. This is mostly death by annoyance, but it's death nonetheless.

Unless you know someone who's good at weaseling his way out of things.

We saw the wreckage of the Shadow Arsenal facility from over a kilometer away.

Balkar had forwarded us what details on the place he had managed to pull or reconstruct. As we approached the wreckage I thought that if this was meant to be a collection of city-killers the warheads clearly hadn't managed to detonate. I wasn't sure what would've happened to the planet if they had. I've seen bombs that went off if you breathed on 'em wrong; I guess when you're building explosives with an actual budget you build 'em not to blow accidentally.

Still something to be careful of. You never trust unexploded ordnance. Ever. Treat it like just another rock and it will kill you.

I would stay away entirely, but the man responsible for Elara Dorne's disgrace and death had been here when the bombs were falling. Whether he got out alive or not, I intended to get my hands on him.

We had a lot of mess to pick through to get there. The beaten path was strewn with shredded metal and churned-up dirt as we got close. There had been a few buildings in the compound, it looked like. All wrecked by bombing, more thorough than I'd ever seen near my hometown. They wanted this place burned.

I signaled our speeders to stop. Kirsk, as usual, pulled up closer to me than safety would recommend and leaned over to comment. "And I thought the South Side got it bad."

"They wanted to leave some of the South Side to hang onto after," I said. "Not so here."

The important part of Balkar's advice was this: SIS agents were implanted with special transponders for emergency situations. They were set to total silence during operations, but supposedly they would switch to responding to a certain query code if left still for long enough. Short-range, unfortunately. There was still legwork involved.

We split up: Yuun and Jorgan, me and Kirsk, M1-4X by himself. Then we started picking through the wreckage.

Kirsk's holo, set to the frequency Balkar had specified, picked something up soon enough. He and I started in on the mess of scorched cargo crates, looking in every direction at once as we homed in.

Kirsk was the first to point. "There." He looked green.

The body had been a Twi'lek woman, now half buried under a fallen crate. I walked up to kneel and start searching for any signs left to glean.

"This one wasn't killed by the bombing," I told Kirsk. My throat was a little dry.

"How do you figure?"

"Check her neck." Burned and cut-up though the body was, none of the large-scale destruction could account for the way her head was turned. "Someone took her out before the fires came through."

"Oh." A pause. "Think the others might've been?"

"Most likely. Whatever real job the SIS had, our guy must've had a reason to be a hundred per cent sure these people were dead. The bombing was just covering his tracks."

"Maybe. That's some kind of messed up."

I found a card in her pocket and took that. Then, keeping my mind as still as I could, located the shallow implant I had been told to expect by her hip and took out my vibroknife. Just like emergency combat surgery. Dirty but quick, pull the shrapnel out, and I didn't have to bandage this one. Just the same, I arranged her coat to cover her as best I could when I was done.

Kirsk had stepped away and was staring elsewhere. He turned back when I faced him. "Listen," he said. "Vierce. If you need the extra pair of eyes I'll keep going, but this…" he looked at the woman's contorted body…"isn't really my specialty." His gaze flicked to me, and his eyes were pleading.

A body search specifically was something he'd never liked. I mean, nobody does, but Kirsk really, really hated being around any death he wasn't cheating. He was our slicer, thief, infiltrator, tech…never the cleanup crew if he could help it. "Can you find me a console, if there's a usable one left?" I said. That'd have him covering the same ground but with a much more comfortable focus. "You can go with Forex, hunt for databanks, datapads, anything that'll tell us what happened here."

Kirsk swallowed and nodded jerkily. "Yeah, sure." He grinned weakly. "With any luck our guy left his diary lying around."

"You tend to carry a bit more luck around than I do. Holo if you find anything."

Jorgan checked in via earpiece minutes later. He and Yuun had already found one transponder near the outskirts of the destruction. With it there was a jacket, a blaster…and nothing else. No body in sight. "Huh," I said. "I guess we look for the other three now."

I worked my way further in. The place was eerie. A few unstable pieces of wreckage fell just from my passing near. I was in the ruins of a more or less central warehouse now; fallen roof chunks and huge stacks of cargo were everywhere.

Way at the back of that vast broken building I came upon the edge of a massive crater. The wreckage of a forcefield generator was scattered around nearby. What was inside was less smashed; the field might have held out for a while.

Less smashed, but a lot more slagged. If there were warheads in there…well. UXO is bad enough when it's just grenades. Missiles on this scale I didn't want to get near. I took a holopic for the SIS's benefit and then started to scan again, hoping I wouldn't have to go further forward. There was a transponder hit off to one side, nearby.

The body was charred beyond recognition. His implant was both partly exposed and partly melted, but I managed to separate it from him. I also picked up, from the ground couple of meters away, a damaged lightsaber. That sure as hell wasn't in the inventory I'd expected. I pocketed it and moved on.

But there wasn't a lot more to see. Yuun and Jorgan called in with the other two transponders and we arranged to meet where M1-4X and Kirsk had stopped.

That turned out to be near a blackened overhang where an outer wall had been. "Anything for me?" I asked Kirsk.

"No. Every holo and console here got completely wrecked." He scratched his head. "You find your guys?"

It was Jorgan, picking his way toward us, who answered. "Five SIS transponders if we include the two the captain called in. Only three bodies."

"Now isn't that interesting," he said, raising his eyebrows. "I guess that means we're not done?"

"No," I said. "We're not." In a way I was a little relieved to think I might get the kill on Legate after all. In another way I felt heartsick. I wanted this over and Legate stopped. "Those two are out there," I added. I turned to Yuun. "Any way you can tell where our survivors went?"

"Some equipment scattered in patterns. Few paths here lead to territory that is not hostile to Imperials. This may be enough. Let us take our speeders. Yuun does not know how far our quarry went."

He led the way, a quarter of the way around the ruined complex before he dove onto a side path that wound down across a valley. It wasn't even a path so much as a narrow less swampy strip.

He pulled up at the top of the next ridge. Ahead of us stretched a broad flat field. Yuun looked around, blinking slowly.

Jorgan surveyed the area. "Big enough for a shuttle to take off?"

"Looks like it," I said.

The Gand tilted his head. "There is a scent here. Strong. New. Unique."

"The shuttle?"

"No. Pheromonic. It departed with the ship."

"Friend of Legate's?"

"This is likely. Yuun will remember it. Two who stay on one path are easier to track than either alone."

I looked at the trampled area where Legate's shuttle might have been. "He was here, then," I said. "We've got something."

"Yes, sir," Jorgan said, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

"We're not nearly done yet."

"Yeah," said Kirsk, "but at least you can say you've seriously started."

"Yeah, thanks. That's an inspiring way to think of everything so far."

"This is huge, big brother. Plus I expect you already have a plan for the dramatic thing you're going to do about it."

I was going to kill the bastard. 'Dramatic' could go hang for all I cared. "I think we've done all we can do here," I said. "Let's pack it in. Maybe Balkar can make sense of it."

If the Shadow Arsenal had actually detonated, it would have been a planetary event for Quesh. Therefore I assert that the warheads didn't go off.

Kirsk doesn't really have more luck than Vierce so much as a much higher variance on the luck he does possess.

Vector, you smell! Seriously, one of your DPS stances is "walk around in a cloud of green fumes."

Balkar on holo, once again. "Five transponders, three bodies, huh? Nice work. Interestingly incomplete."

"Talk to me," I said. "I'm sending transponder ID codes now."

"Receiving. Let me just run these by…" he sobered. "Right. Ardun Kothe. Saber. Wheel."

"And the two I don't have bodies for?"

"This transponder was assigned to Legate, all right. If this was physically clean when you found it, he probably had it out in advance and just dropped it. That suggests he had a plan apart from Kothe's, and that may mean he knew to get out of there."

"That's what I figure. So who's the last?"

"He's an agent named Hunter. He was on Kothe's team, I'm not surprised he was there. He would have a little less reason for ditching the tag."

"More moles, Jonas?" I was starting to wonder whose team Kothe had been on.

He shook his head. "I don't know. Hunter has been a solid recruit for a long time. He'll never win any prizes for Mister Congeniality, but he got the job done. He might be working with Legate. We can hope instead that he worked out Legate's plan and dropped off the map to get a discreet chase going. At this point we have no way to be sure."

"We know what to watch for now. Right? Questioning Hunter if he comes back home. Or watching for Legate."

"Yeah. I really hate to see a coworker leave without saying goodbye, we'll have to fix that if anyone runs into him." Balkar smiled a little. "I'll have to hand you over to your real boss for now. But we're making progress. Again, good work. I knew there was a reason we hired you in the first place."

Back on Nar Shaddaa, in our first partnership retrieving M1-4X? "Garza dumped us on you. You were actually surprised at the time."

He shrugged unflappably. "I knew there was a reason I put up with that treatment from the good general, then. Be careful out there, Vierce. Balkar out."

Oh, hon. You have no idea what the guy you're messing with is messing with.

We set course for a spot not far from Coruscant where we couldn't be detained with Senate security but we could get in close if we had to. The trip was long enough for all of us to get some rest on the way. So I rested.

When I opened my eyes I was on the landing, peering 'round the door into the living room. I'd been struggling in silence for close to a minute to squirm out of Mama's arms so I could see the Imps who were yelling and laughing in the living room.

And my father, in the middle.

I was taller this time. I froze in the doorway when I sensed Dorne on the far side. "No. You can't be here for this. Not this one."

She didn't budge. She was studying the scene. "You were very young," she said.

"Seven." When they first came.

One of the Imp soldiers surrounding my father spoke up. "No, no, there's some juice left in him. Or rather, we can add some." He pulled out a stim. This crew...this was one of the worst I ever met. They knew how to keep somebody alive and it took them a very long time to get bored. That was my introduction.

"Too young," I said bitterly. "But I guess nobody schedules for that when they conquer planets."

She made a face and winced as they closed in to punch him again. "He looks like you," she said softly.

"Yeah. I don't know if that was good or bad for Mama, after today."

"It was good. I'm sure of it."

Da cried out hoarsely under another hit. It only seemed to egg them on. "Can we stop this?" I snapped.

"It's done," she said softly, watching.

I punched the doorframe hard enough to split off a couple of splinters. "Dammit, I know that! Can I stop it?" I didn't wait for an answer. I made for the closest Imp, ready to kill. When I got near the soldiers froze in place, one of them midswing. As I got closer their frozen images faded. Da remained; when the Imp holding him up disappeared Da sagged in place. I darted in to catch him before he fell. He was light in my arms, his eyes open a little and staring blindly. Already as close to dead as makes no difference. Again. Still. I turned my head toward Dorne. "Leave."

"There's no place for me to go, sir. The best I can offer is a few moments." She turned away and fell silent.

Then her not watching would have to be enough. I knew what to do. There was damned little but I could do it. I closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," I told him. For not being old enough, strong enough, smart enough. "I love you, Da." Something I never really got the chance to say in all the times I had watched this. "Goodbye."

The merciful cool that sometimes sets in when some sharp and sudden and final change happens closed over the mess of feelings in my chest. I laid him the rest of the way on the ground and looked around. The old house was still here, Dorne looking the other way through a doorway. It wasn't ending. Apparently I wasn't done yet.

I walked up behind her shoulder, but she didn't stir. She was staring down a hallway lit in dusty shafts of sunlight from the far window, neat and empty but for a stray shoe of Kirsk's halfway down the rug. "You've lost a great deal," she said softly.

I had no real answer for a statement that obvious. That obvious and, at the same time, that private. "Yeah," I said gruffly.

"I'm so sorry."

"So am I." I looked around. I hadn't seen the memory from this angle before; at least, not in eighteen years. I slipped past her to walk down to the window, check the vegetable garden outside, the fresh construction a little ways down the road past our property fence. It was all there. I was just always rooted in place for the dream before. "How come you can change these?"

"So far as I can tell, sir, I'm not. I think you're doing the work."

"Me, doing the work? The only thing all of these have in common is that I wasn't doing what needed doing." I shrugged nervously. "That, and I was the one who survived."

"Do you blame yourself every time an ally dies?"

"'Ally'? How about my friends? How about my father? I'm alive, they're not. I don't see how much clearer it gets." But, I thought to myself, I kept going. I always kept going, because that was the only way to set things right. I didn't want to think about the rest. But here I was in Mama's house, and here was Dorne, and, no matter what happens, I don't forget.

She turned around and, with a gentle touch on my elbow, guided me to look back at the living room and its sole, unmoving occupant. "You weren't at fault here."

I swallowed. "I didn't stop the ones who were."

"You couldn't have."

I couldn't have when I was seven and rooted in place. "It's different now. Can I change this?"

"More than letting him rest? I doubt it." She kept her hand on my arm. "I'm afraid I've been caught without the rulebook for this place. But I don't think we can back up to change that part. And you'll need that strength for the waking battles in any case."

I slumped. "Right. That. I don't...I'm not…I don't know if I can keep this up. And every time I screw up somebody else gets punished for it. Seems I'm getting a lot more practice at failing than at the other thing."

"You can do it. Fulfill your responsibilities, that is. Go on with the life only you can make. But right this minute, perhaps the best thing for you to do is rest." She squeezed. "It'll be all right, Vierce. You've had to go through more than most of us, but it will be all right."

I didn't believe her. I shook her off and went back into the hall, to the room I shared with Kirsk. Maybe going to sleep here would get me out of this place. My old bed should've been way too small for me, but it seemed enough when I lay down.

She leaned in after me and looked around thoughtfully. Then she unslung a rifle that hadn't been there before. "I'll guard the house, sir. Get some rest." Then she shut the door, leaving me in darkness with the smell of Mama's house and the distant sounds of the old city.

I didn't sleep that night eighteen years ago. This time, after a while, I dropped off.

Yes, because additional memories are going to be super comforting right now. At least some of it's different. And I sort of like exploring his old place.

I've never really thought through the layout of the Savins house. They probably had a fairly traditional place suited to semirural America: snug, probably single-story with a low speeder garage and roofs angled against the winter snow. West Ford City expanded a lot during the occupation – it was a desirable transit hub – and the city sort of grew around the Savins property. Plenty of residents in a similar position sold their land at a very advantageous rate, and a few were booted via eminent domain for infrastructure projects; Mama Savins just went right on living in the house she and her husband bought when they were newlyweds. She's still living there now.

When I got up nobody else seemed to be moving. There was a tall bottle of something strong sitting on the mess counter as a centerpiece to the clutter. I set about looking for something edible in the multicultural mishmash strewn all over Kirsk's counter and cupboards and a couple of the chairs and, in the case of some dry goods, the floor.

Kirsk himself swung in looking way too alert for the hour. Left without the prospect of a nightlife he fell back into a morning person's schedule real quick. He squinted a bit at me and said "You look terrible."

"I'm actually feeling kind of rested." Surprising but true.

"Good. If this guy keeps jerking you around you're gonna need it." He went for the nearest cupboard.

I was thinking about Dorne and the sunlit house. "There've been dreams," I said abruptly.

He stopped in place. "Oh?"

"Just talking." I dreamed I trusted her to guard the way. She was right at home. "I think I could've liked her."

"Ah. I was wondering when you would come around to that. It, ah, worked out less well than I'd hoped."

"You knew?"

"Oh, yeah."

"It…." I made myself stop. "I wouldn't have listened."

"Yeah, I knew that part, too. I am sorry, Vierce."

"Yeah."

"Wish I could offer more than a ride and a dramatically less classy date back on Coruscant. Every now and then I get this very slight feeling that you accomplish more'n I do."

"You do all right."

"Nice of you to say so. Listen, I don't even know if I'll be authorized to go to whatever hellhole your dragon lady sends you to next, but…you know. Call me if anything comes up."

"I will. First I have to get my ship back anyway."

A sudden twinkle gleamed in his eye. "See, now I feel more like we're on even footing."

*

I called to give my action report to General Garza. She should be informed, even if she didn't have much of a history of acting on it.

She listened to the whole thing in silence, then nodded grimly. "You have a knack for finding bad news, Captain. Do you have any way of locating this Legate now?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Then we'll have to move on. I've freed up your ship and had it moved to a space station a little ways off planet. Do not return to Coruscant. It took quite a lot of finesse to keep the Senate inquiry from closing in on reports that Havoc Squad's commanding officer was out of commission. The good news is that the success of the Gauntlet mission has bought us some political capital. But we're not out of this yet. I'm sending you on another job we can show off as directly contributing to the war effort. And if we get any news of Legate, you'll be the first to know."

Her image winked out. Kirsk turned to me. "I probably go once you get your ship back. Wherever they're sending you I doubt I'll want to get caught without paperwork or a bigger gun than I really know how to handle."

A combat assignment wouldn't suit him. "Yeah. I'll be in touch, all right? The second we hear anything…"

"Sure."

"Thanks, Kirsk."

"Any time, big brother." He very briefly frowned. "Assuming I'm not in some kind of showstopping bind at the time you happen to call. I'm pretty sure that won't happen in the next week, though. Almost sure."

"I can just bust you out again if it does." Stars knew I'd done it before.

"All right then. Any time."

"You want me to free what?"

"You heard me," Garza said sharply. "We were forced to incarcerate the pilots of Dagger Wing because of their bombing run over Imperial civilian territory; whatever the mission plan, results matter more than intentions. Regardless, the need for them in the war now far outweighs anything they may have done."

"We can find better than men who killed thousands of civilians, sir. This is what you decided would be a good thing for Havoc Squad to do while we're out?"

"What you're doing is giving these men another chance to prove themselves, Captain. I would expect you to approve."

"They're war criminals. They don't need another chance."

"They're needed. You'll see to it." She cut out.

Because what I really wanted to do when waiting for news of Legate was help out soldiers who had slaughtered civilians. Imp civilians, but we were supposed to be better than that. Wasn't that the point?

So Havoc Squad flew to the top-secret planet called Belsavis. What I thought was that we would land, talk to the warden, and extract these bastards, invoking military authority if necessary. What we found? Chaos. Turns out the Imps got planetside a few weeks before Havoc Squad did. The first thing they did was start freeing prisoners to start a cascade of riots. It was all Republic HQ could do to keep its own compound intact.

Strangely enough, the guy I spoke to on the ground indicated that one of the best remaining security forces the Republic had on the surface was Dagger Wing. They'd volunteered to keep certain critical points in the prison clear of Imps and escapees.

Great. War criminals with a sense of civic duty.

The commander of Dagger Wing was one Commander Gall, but he was far into maximum security areas. It was his XO Tobin Harlan I was sent to find near the Republic base.

He turned out to be dug in at the entrance to some manmade tunnel outside the main minsec compound. The man gave me one cold look and told me to get firing or get out. The reason for that showed up not long after we did: a wave of Imperial troops. I didn't know what was down this tunnel but they clearly wanted it.

The Dagger Wing men had been armed by our guys back at base, and for all that they were pilots first and foremost they knew their stuff on the ground. We cleared the area in almost no time at all.

Then Harlan straightened and looked at me. I glared right back.

He looked me over raised his eyebrows. "Havoc Squad?" Something in his expression changed and he saluted. "Didn't expect you here. Sorry if I was short with you earlier. Men still in uniform…well, it's good that Command wants us back, but they burned us pretty bad." Several of the former soldiers around him nodded agreement.

I crossed my arms. The man wasn't showing an ounce of anything like remorse. "Were you expecting not to get burned after what you did?"

"What we did? We never would've made that bombing run if we'd known there were civilians down there! Our target was a Sith lord, Ondorru. A real sadistic bit of scum. He's razed dozens of Republic colonies and left no survivors. Intel put him on Fest with nothing but soldiers and factories for company. We launched at full burn, dropped everything we had. Now we're here."

Really? "Somehow that part got left out in my briefing."

"I don't know how that works. Unless they sealed all records after they tucked us away."

"I don't know about that. But I know a thing or two about faulty intelligence. If that's what's going on…" Then there were a lot more agents who had a lot of explaining to do. Or just paying. "I guess we'd better get out of here. There's a lot to catch up on."

"I'm inclined to agree, Captain. We're no murderers. And we're ready to come back if the Republic needs us."

Well. Maybe I could do something here after all.

Hmm, not actually approving of killing civilians, even Imps? You're going soft, mister.

Day four on the ground and we hadn't even finished securing the prisoner recreation grounds on this madhouse of a planet. We didn't have to, technically, as long as we found the officers of Dagger Wing that had been stationed further in.

We found a couple of their men in a ward not too far off the beaten path. They had actually set up a decent defensive perimeter against the madness around them. And they knew where to find the prisoner manifests that would direct us to the rest of the wing.

Somewhere in there my holo beeped. I picked it up right away. Any news from HQ might be an attack on the admin center, and that'd mean I had to get back immediately.

But it was a stranger, or at least, a guy I'd never met before. Blond hair, pale eyes. I never met him, but I knew him from studying files since Quesh. Studying and wondering.

"Hunter," I said. "It's you, isn't it? The guy who survived."

He smiled broadly. "Vierce. I'm flattered that you know my name." His voice was too smooth by half. "How are things with the exalted Havoc Squad?"

"They're coming along." On to the question that mattered. "Where's Legate and what are you planning on doing with him?"

"I was planning on seeing that he's brought to justice at last. I thought you might be able to help with that."

"And what's your stake?" It wasn't SIS, not if his disappearance on Quesh was any indication.

He smiled. "Does it really matter? I think we can agree he needs killing."

Should I be taking more hearsay tips? Even the shadow of a chance to get at Legate was too good for me to care. I knew what face to shoot at when I got there; that part wasn't in question. "Point me at him."

"Have you heard of a world called Belsavis?"

My everything tensed up all at once. "Yeah, some. Is he there?"

"On planet and deeply isolated. I know he landed at a certain Imperial base camp, I don't know where he went from there. Only that if he's wandering the prison planet he's way beyond most people's reach. But I think you have a chance, and I know you want one." He paused, gave me an obvious once-over. "Can you do it?"

"Someday we'll have to sit down and you can tell me what the hell happened on Quesh." But that didn't matter right now. "Maybe we can meet up at Legate's funeral."

He smiled wider, and then his image cut out.

I turned to Yuun. "We've got a secondary objective. You think you could pick up anything based on what we found on Quesh?"

"Possibly. If Yuun is not required here, the path may be sought now."

I hesitated. Splitting the squad further was…but it might be the only way to find him before he got away again. "Be careful," I said. "You find anything, call me."

In Act 3 Hunter does start sending old enemies Cipher Nine's way.

Yuun came back that evening with no results. I hadn't made much progress on my side of things. If this turned into another Hoth I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

We were eating at what camp we'd managed to set up when I got the holo. I stepped outside to see General Garza's image come up.

"Captain. Report."

"Dagger Wing got scattered pretty badly, sir, but we're gathering them. The commanding officer is further into the prisons, deep in what's currently enemy held territory."

"You won't have time to extract him. I'm canceling the mission. You and the rest of Havoc Squad are returning to Coruscant immediately."

No. My stomach dropped flat to the ground. "General, I can't do that. This is–"

"Not my choice either, Captain. Come home. We'll resolve this. Then you'll be back on your way."

I snapped my mouth shut until I was sure I wouldn't say anything stupid. "Understood, sir."

I ducked back inside and nearly ran facefirst into Jorgan. "You guys hear that?" I said.

"We did," Yuun confirmed. "We are ordered back to Coruscant."

"Like hell. We're staying," I said. "At least I am. We're clearing Dagger Wing and we're…we're following any signs we find. Anyone want out? Speak up now."

Jorgan crossed his arms and looked at me.

"Yuun will stay," said Yuun. "There is too much hidden here."

M1-4X clanked a bit as he shifted from side to side. "Sir, I must object! Our orders are clear!"

"Forex? What I'm doing is serving the Republic's interests, too. You must see that."

"When serving the good of the Republic I am programmed to respect the chain of command, sir. …Except."

"What was that?"

Forex sounded a little embarrassed. "Upon reviewing my directives, it seems that I must comply with your orders over those of your superiors."

I frowned, unable to account for that stroke of good news. "You must?"

"Also Kirsk is the greatest and you should listen to him more often."

Jorgan laughed out loud for about half a second before he managed to clamp his mouth shut. I could only say "I…I think I owe him a drink for that one."

"I can't believe he vandalized Army property like that, sir," Jorgan said, his voice not quite steady.

"Yeah, we'll fix it after. Cleaning up after him is my second job anyway."

"Good call."

When Kirsk remembers to plan something in advance, he makes it count. This code was planted while M1-4X was on his ship on the way to Quesh, having been thought of the moment Kirsk realized Vierce's hunt might be resisted by some level of Republic authority.

Yuun split off to search while Jorgan, Forex and I continued with the lieutenants we had found from Dagger Wing. We got their commander. We got evidence that might start to unwind the lies that'd brought them there. If I had time I would've helped further, but I had my own job to do.

Yuun returned to us that night. We had to put ourselves up in a more or less intact building that wasn't swarmed by either animals or escaped prisoners. "There is a clear trail," said Yuun, "but travel by night is not safe here. For us or for them."

I didn't want to agree, but he was probably right.

I woke us all up at dawn. Forex was ready to go, of course; Jorgan looked tired but he was good to move, as was Yuun.

The Gand led us out to the speeders. "Yuun found a likely earlier camp less than five kilometers from here," he said. He clearly had a direction in mind. He pulled up every couple of hundred yards to take a look around; at what, I couldn't really tell. But it seemed to work for him.

The metal structures of the prison complex fell behind. We came upon a bridge over some hot dark canyon…the bridge was of stone construction like I don't usually see. There was a passageway built into the mountain past that, also of big square ancient stones.

"You sure about this?" I asked.

"The signs do not lie," Yuun chittered. "Let us continue."

The tunnel twisted and turned, always at rigid right angles. I never knew something so strictly designed could seem so aimless. Yuun never hesitated; he led us through the darkness, holding up a hand lamp, and finally brought us out into a sunlit courtyard. The air smelled funny here. Old, if that makes any sense. But Yuun walked right up to one of the little buildings in the courtyard. "Here," he said. "Yuun cannot tell what is inside, but our quarry has been here."

"All right," I said. "Let's breach."

The lever mechanism for the stone door was obvious, and it worked. M1-4X stood front and center with the rest of us standing ready to fire, but the room beyond was empty but for a stone table and a device on it.

Jorgan and I stepped in and scanned the corners. "Nothing," reported the Cathar.

"All right. Yuun, Forex, take a look around the outside, make sure we don't get any surprises, all right?"

"Yes, sir!" said Forex, and the two of them left the doorway.

"Holo here," said Jorgan. He was looking at the thing on the table. "Brand new. Probably Legate's."

"Rigged?"

"Vik would know. I don't think so, though."

I took a look myself. The thing seemed thoroughly ordinary. Right case, right buttons. I lifted it. Right weight, not like it'd been hollowed out for something else.

"I guess we click this," I said. I had a bad feeling about it.

"Ready when you are, sir."

I pressed the button. And almost instantly, a dirty-blond guy of bluff features familiar from my files appeared. My stomach clenched so hard it hurt.

Legate's hazel eyes widened. "If it isn't General Garza's attack dog! I wondered whether Hunter would invite you to this party! Don't tell me you're still sore about the blonde."

"She has a name," I said. "Elara Dorne. She still hasn't gotten the justice she deserves."

"Hm. Yeah. Pity, that."

If I could get my hands on his neck just then I'd take a moment to thoroughly wipe the smug insincerity off his face before he died. "You have no idea what you started when you messed with her."

"Are you joking? I was the only person on planet that day who did have an idea." He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back a bit. "I was just doing my job, you know. It was very satisfying to welcome the old Havoc Squad into the Empire's arms; we couldn't let the Republic just build a new one. And a new, effective one? Oh, no. You had to go."

It should've been in a straight-up fight. The squad should've had to chance to face the Empire's worst together. "Why her?"

"Because a guy as unstable as you wasn't nearly as valuable a target. Blondie gave the opportunity to send shock waves through Havoc Squad, Personnel Division, and the SIS, in addition to making the kind of political-threat statement that your Senate will just lap up these days. She was perfect."

Like he would know what that meant. Somehow I didn't mind the 'unstable' label for myself; he'd be getting a demonstration of that as soon as I got close. Never trust unexploded ordnance. Treat it like just another rock and it will kill you. "She's the reason you're going to die."

"Ah, bravado. I'll let you in on a little secret, Vierce: You're outclassed. Still, I'm impressed you made it this far. When I left the comm I hoped it'd give me some forewarning on who's coming for me next; I truly did not expect it to be you."

It wasn't the only surprise he had coming if he still thought I was no threat. "You can't outrun me forever. And by the sound of it I've got plenty of company in tracking you."

"I do have a lot of fans. Did Hunter happen to give you a message for me?"

"No."

"Ah, it must've slipped his mind. How disappointing."

My hands itched. "I'm not here to talk, Legate. Anything else you've got to say you can say face to face."

He laughed heartily. "Wrong again. Do you even know what that code name means? In the sabacc deck, Legate is a trump."

"I don't gamble," I growled. Not on matters like this.

His grin never wavered. "Well then. You can just call me by my old name: Cipher Nine. One of legions, grunt, but I'm the best of 'em."

My comm sounded too loud in my ear. "Explosives were set," said Yuun. "We disarm." I mumbled acknowledgment under my breath.

Cipher Nine kept talking. "What I really appreciate here is that our wayward child is still coming in handy. As long as you're holding on to this I own you. I've had better hangers-on, but…you think you're setting the galaxy right, but in truth all you're doing is dancing when I pull your strings. That's power, Vierce. And power is the only language, the only currency, and the only justification that's ever going to matter. You and your girl don't have any. That's why the Empire wins. That's why I win."

"You're not nearly as powerful as you think, Cipher. And you don't have a whole lot of time left."

"Hmm." He tilted his head. "Were you really not banging her? Because all this seems a little extreme for duty's sake."

I didn't think the son of a b*tch could get worse, but he was clearly enjoying digging. "You be quiet," I snarled.

"I'm just saying, you were notoriously hostile throughout her assignment with her. Unless there was some major secret advantage here I really am kind of stumped as to the motivation."

"Shut up." The bastard just laughed. "You want to know my motivation? Scum like you is still sucking air. That'd keep me on your case from here 'til doomsday, but I'm betting you won't last that long." He'd been here recently. I could make it the rest of the way.

"That's where you're wrong again. See, our brief passionate relationship is over." With a dramatic flourish he raised and clicked a detonator.

I heard a muffled thump off to one side. M1-4X and Yuun must have missed a spot. Just the same, the room did not blow like it was probably meant to.

I crossed my arms. "Was that supposed to do something, Cipher?" I gave it a second to sink in. "I will find you."

I wanted him to look scared, but he didn't. "Bring it on, Captain. My only Havoc Squad kill so far was disappointingly hands-off."

I punched the holo seconds after his image vanished. Then I tapped comms. "Yuun, tell me where we're going next."

Okay, I rigged this whole thing just to give them a chance at a conversation without blaster fire.

In the battle of clichéd posturing…only one man realizes he's doing it. And boy, does he ever think he's superior for leading the other guy through it.

We got going with our strange jerky pace, stopping and waiting while Yuun followed signs I couldn't even see. I was glad to have him but I wasn't doing a whole lot of good here.

A few klicks along Yuun stiffened. "A fresher trail. The return path crosses here."

"So they came back this way?"

"Yes." Yuun pointed. "On their way back they left pheromones leading that way."

"So what were they after?" said Jorgan.

"Doesn't matter," I said. "We need to catch up with them. Any idea how old these...pheromones...are?"

"Yuun does not know the strength of its original source. Perhaps half a day, perhaps even less."

"That close?" I brought the speeder around. "We're going."

*

The trail led to a burned-out courtyard and a little tunnel complex built beneath. There was a big room with a still-working screen showing pale violet nothing. Two-way blaster fire marred the area around the entrance and a point near the console control panel.

And there were dead, two of them.

Lying near the door was a young dark-skinned human woman. Further in lay a Gand – a sight that got me looking in Yuun's direction just to make sure he was still there. They looked about the same to me, but only Yuun was in uniform.

Yuun clicked excitedly. "Look. The weakest one was killed like the Twi'lek of Quesh." We all saw what he meant: she was marked by a grotesquely overdone broken neck, not blaster fire.

"That's sick," I muttered. A habit of bare-hands killing when shooting would've done just as well was...well, I guess I already knew this guy was bad. I shook my head and knelt to search the young woman's pockets for her identicard.

"Patterns converge. He was on Quesh with the scent and the dead. The scent and the dead are here as well. Legate's signs confirmed." Yuun was quickly pacing through the room, looking around. "He leaves little else. We should continue."

"Get the other guy's card. We'll run it through the prisoner databases when we get the chance." Only if our current trail didn't pan out. I hoped we wouldn't need it.

We got back outside and followed Yuun until he seemed satisfied with the direction. Within a klick it became clear that we were headed for the Imperial base camp in the area. All right, so he hadn't just snuck into a private landing pad. Pros: There would be documentation of his passage. Cons: It was in the middle of an Imperial base.

Not quite the middle, as we found. "We need to get to their landing control," I said when we stopped just over a ridge's top from the Imperial facility. "Shut things down if we can; if Legate's already gone we at least need his docking and ID codes."

"Perimeter check, sir?" said Jorgan.

"Yeah," I said reluctantly. It felt like a delay, but it was smarter than just charging in. "I'll take a look. Forex, go around the other way. Jorgan, Yuun, keep an eye out. If you can get a tap on wireless comms, do it."

A big wall ran between me and the base. The courtyard itself seemed like it was recently inhabited, but the equipment all around had been shredded, and a few piles of refuse were still smoldering. A riot, then, one that had forced them to fall back.

There might be a data line in here.

I was the one to find it, a still-working terminal tucked into a little indent. I called everyone else in. Yuun started chittering the second he was in earshot. "Captain," he reported. "Ships come and go, but an altercation was reported in one airlock. Three dead."

"Him? Or just the day's whimsical Sith? With Imps it gets hard to tell."

"No Sith mentioned, sir. The pattern fits. The ship has departed, but if slicing here grants Yuun access to the Imperial systems Yuun will find its identification and boarding codes. Then no port the Republic monitors will be safe for Legate."

I would rather have caught up with him here. "I don't know how much that buys us, but it's sure as hell better than nothing. Do what you can."

*

"Slick field work, Captain. Very slick."

"Credit that one to Yuun. He's a tech and then some."

"My compliments," said Balkar. "I'm putting out a general alert for that docking code; the SIS wants to take this guy down as much as you do. He pulls up anywhere in Republic space or half the neutral planets in the galaxy, we'll know. And that means you'll know."

"Thanks. I mean it."

"No trouble. We take out Legate, we all win."

"Cipher Nine. That's what the Imps call him."

"A Cipher." Balkar's eyebrows drew together a little. "And you tracked him halfway across Belsavis? Very, very nice field work."

"Like I said. Sergeant Yuun. Once we're done being AWOL I'm putting him up for a commendation."

Jorgan, behind me, coughed in a choking kind of way.

"That reminds me," said Balkar. "I don't know where you are. Certain elements in the Senate are furious at Havoc Squad's disappearance. For that matter, so's the Army's leadership."

"Comms are hell on the Outer Rim, you know that. So we dropped out of touch a while. We'll be back soon enough, and with Republic victories to spare."

"Looking forward to it, Captain. Take care out there."

Hi, guys from Alderaan who hunt you down! During my own playthrough I was nice to House Cortess and there were still scions who did so. Oh, also, hi, Agent contacts on Belsavis.

After that we waited.

There's times when there's nothing else you can do in an operation. The slightest change might blow up in your face, but if things aren't changing they're just sitting, and you sit, too, and watch.

So we set our ship around the inner edge of the Outer Rim, and we waited.

I was sitting outside the holo room a day or so later, thinking or maybe just blanking out, when Jorgan walked in and sat opposite me. He met my eye, his expression grim. "So what do we do when this is over?" he said in a low voice.

That was one of the things on my mind. "Best case? Court-martial and a transition to civilian life a lot earlier than I ever thought. Worst-case, transition to something less nice."

"Didn't think I would go out this way." His jaw tightened. "That wasn't an easy call."

"Yeah. I'd walk away from those orders again, but then, I was the one who made the call not to help out that got us into this mess. Also I guess I don't have anyone else depending on me to keep a real job."

He grinned for a second. "Sraana isn't what you could call dependent. Still, that's not the kind of record you're proud to take home. Frankly, sir, I'd rather be just back in the field shooting Imps for reasons we know on orders we can trust. We're soldiers, not policemen. Or spies."

"I don't see anyone else setting this straight."

"Yeah. That's the thing." He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. "I can't think of an objective we could have that's higher-impact than taking out the kind of guy who can just pick off a member of the top squad in the Republic. But Command won't see it that way. You know if we tie this up right she'll be the only member of Havoc Squad with a clean record?"

"Well, there's Vik…I can't believe I just said that. Never mind."

Another fleeting grin. "Heh. Yeah, he may not be here with us but he had a head start on the disgrace. At least we're doing it for the right reasons."

"Listen, when we finally do report in for the disciplinary hearing, I made you do it. All right? I'm not getting out either way, I've got no intention of dragging the rest of you down with me."

He glared. "They'll never buy it."

"What, you don't think a maniac like me could strongarm the rest of you into it?" It was worth a try. "If I don't have Forex fixed before we go they'll have hard evidence of the lengths I'll go to."

"That wasn't even you."

I felt my mouth twisting. "Nah, just more of the stuff I let happen in my great personal wisdom." I was responsible through and through, now wasn't I?

Jorgan gave me a long gleaming look. "I told you you did what made sense based on what we knew."

Why did he bother? "You wanted to go after her. Didn't matter what we knew." And he'd been right.

He shrugged. "That's what some would call an insupportable gut check that no responsible person would go for. I'd do it, sure. But no one in their right mind would say that the outcome of Cipher Nine's setup was your fault."

"He won. She lost and she did it while I wasn't even trying to help. I don't see how much clearer it gets. Everything we've done since then is my fault. Don't forget that, now or when we get back to account for ourselves, all right?" I shook my head. "Thought I'd be doing a little more for the Republic than this, back when I signed on."

"Can't help but notice that the Republic hasn't been working too hard to enable that. I do know what you mean. But I think this is right."

"I think you're way too inclined to follow an idiot."

"You find a squad composition that works, you hang onto it. For any assignment that makes sense and maybe some that don't, so long as you trust the directions."

I hopelessly rubbed at my neck. "Have I mentioned how much I wish somebody better than me was handing down the directions?"

"We'll get things back in place, sir. If we ever get back to regular duty, General Garza's good when her hands aren't bound. That's something. And we've got other good commanders. All I'd ask, after this is done, is the chance to be good soldiers."

Poor Jorgan's girlfriend. I guess he has to drop out of contact all the time for this job, but…poor her.

"Lord Scourge," Servant One inclined his head at the Wrath. Neither of them had a defined rank, they both served their Lord directly and at the moment their Lord was missing.

"One." The Wrath took his usual seat. They held the meeting on board the Emperor's station. The Voice had not been seen by his servants for months and there were whispers growing amongst the Council and the military that there were changes in the offing. The members of the Hand searched the Force for signs of their Lord, in the meantime the Wrath would be sent to punish those who would take the Emperor's seat in his absence.

"Where is your apprentice?" Servant One was well aware of the numerous assassination attempts on the young Sith's life.

"She's dead." Scourge answered shortly and turned to the first item on the agenda.

Lieutenant Pierce sat on board a transport ship carrying more than fifty Republic troops to Corellia. His eyes followed a Jedi as he made his rounds talking to the troops. His manner was easy, his questions casual, but no one on Pierce's team was fooled. Jedi General Corin Tok had a reputation, he was a hard man, the killer of far too many Sith to still be walking. A good man by all Republic accounts but not one to socialize. He was looking for something.

Someone must have tipped him off. Pierce thought. He should have known the Captain would not have left things as they were. The man cherished his grudges as much as he cherished anything and he had always maintained that the Bastion was a waste of resources. Any other man would have been easy for Black Ops to take, but this Jedi had a reputation for blaster bolts simply splashing off him. He wished Lord Ninka were here, he wished he'd gone with her on the station, he wished a lot of things.

Pierce made a hand signal for his team, he knew they'd be watching. We've been discovered, be ready.

Jaesa eyed the Captain from her seat in his office. She had tried to fight Lord Baras upon waking from sedation and found herself thoroughly outmatched. He spared her life and gave her over to Quinn's command with a warning to obey, and advantage the Captain had wielded quite ruthlessly.

Her current task was aiding him in interviewing Darth Baras's servants and staff. She was to use er powers to identify traitors. She studied the Captain's profile paying little attention to the conversation, the current slave did not require her talents.

Vette alternately glared at both of them but remained silent. She was not loyal to Baras, yet neither the Sith nor Quinn considered her a threat. She would be sent to work with the rest of the slaves once Baras's power play was made. Until then, Quinn wanted to make sure she would behave herself.

"I know of your sister," he began, "I know that Lord Ninka freed her on Nar Shaddaa. Control yourself and she will not be harmed."

"You rat." She whispered but made no further protest.

"Lord Baras can be a rewarding master." Quinn continued as though he had not heard. "Should you notice anyone who would seek to disrupt his plans and point them out, he is willing to divert some of his network to search for your mother."

Vette's lekku twitched throughout his speech until he mentioned her mother. She lost the façade of composure she maintained since Lord Ninka had been defeated. "I had a rewarding master, we both did, you Imperial punk. She was good to you too, she liked you, maybe even loved you, how could you have killed-" Vette's angry torrent of words were cut short when Quinn activated her shock collar.

"That's quite enough. I do not need to explain myself to you, slave." Quinn said over her strangled cries. "Darth Baras is my true master and I follow his commands. Soon so will you, so will everyone." He dismissed her with a wave and watched as she dragged herself from the room.

"Well, isn't that interesting." Jaesa drawled from the couch in the corner.

Quinn turned slowly to face her saying nothing.

"You don't always follow his commands, do you, Captain?" Her eyes danced with vicious amusement, she had been studying him with her powers as he questioned Vette, something she should have done long ago. "You let her live." His face showed no trace of fear, but her powers laid him bare, pain, terror, shame. "Delay the next interview, Captain, I believe we need to renegotiate our relationship."

Lord Ninka watched the Jedi circle the transport from behind a darkened visor. While she was wary of him detecting her presence through the Force, she kept her focus on one man. When Baras turned on her she had been lost, but with Quinn's betrayal she found her rage. She would speak with Pierce and find out where he stood, he could help her on her road to revenge or be the first to die.

Doctor Godera and his recently acquired assistant, Vector entered the small medical bay. The room had been meticulously set up for an experiment of some kind, the monitors were still on displaying a number of biological readouts. His instructions had been vague, collect a body and prepare it for transport to the deceased’s home world. The old scientist had never consented to work for the Empire and now that Keeper had disappeared the foreman took pleasure in assigning him tasks meant for drudges and slaves.

"Blasted Sith." He muttered ignoring the woman in the tank in favor of her readouts. She was technically alive, but the equipment detected no brain function. The Sith had left her in the tank to keep her preserved until the cleaning crew could deal with her properly. He peered at the customized console looking for a way to shut down the numerous pumps and devices that kept her breathing.

"She dreams of nothing, her aura tastes of rain." Vector said softly staring at the floating woman in fascination.

"Dreams of nothing would be correct," Godera said absently, "she's brain-dead, I'm going to shut it down."

"She still dreams," Vector said earnestly, "Her dreams are nothing. Shutting the machine down would kill her."

Godera eyed Vector speculatively, "You can still see that? Even though you're not a killik anymore?"

"We… I can." The former joiner stared raptly her face, "Can we save her?"

Godera grimaced sympathetically, the young man had a good heart but was far too kind to survive long in the Empire. He joined Vector in front of the tank and looked up at the woman. He blinked twice and stepped closer.

"Selena?" He whispered.

Drabbles are good for skipping past things that don't want to work but need to be put out there.