56. In which Vette badgers Nalenne to try something new (I/II)

 

It seems Tatooine never rests

‘Til it asks for all personal quests.

The desert out there

Demands all you can spare

And gives little for passing its tests.

 

 

“Hey, Nalenne.”

 

“We’re out of Corellian whiskey, Vette. I checked. I can’t magically produce more if you ask again.”

 

“Nah. I was going to offer a bright idea.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Remember your vision questy thingy on Tatooine, with the smelly demon bath and stuff?”

 

“What is it with you and blood rituals?” (*)

 

“I get the impression that they’re second only to the holovid industry in providing educational materials. You think if you went back there you could get a little insight into certain metaphysical disturbances?”

 

“You would have to come enjoy the stench with me.”

 

“Hey, it’s not my ex we’re trying to get rid of here.”

 

“I doubt I’ll get anything useful out of it. My first Tatooine vision turned out to be a long morality lecture…I mean, it did change my life, but it was basically one long lecture…followed by three seconds of useful information.”

 

“Information you couldn’t have gotten any other way, though.”

 

“Smartly managed aerial surveillance would eventually have gotten it.”

 

“Information needed. If I come do the sand demon blood thing, will you try for your vision thing?”

 

Nalenne sighed. “I guess.”

 

*

 

Ghost-Quinn looked up at Tatooine’s twin suns without so much as squinting. “This planet is much more pleasant when one can’t feel the heat or sand.”

 

“Tell me you’ll at least be smelling the sand demon blood when we get there,” said Vette.

 

“I don’t believe I will.”

 

“Darn it.”

 

“It’s a good thing we found a way to bleed the demon without killing it last time,” added Quinn. “I don’t know how many are ever alive at a time.”

 

“I was younger then,” said Nalenne. “A lot less killing-everything-in-sight.”

 

“Less effective in many respects, as I recall,” said Quinn. “Though the modicum of self-control was an advantage that you have since lost.”

 

“I still won, didn’t I?” said Nalenne.

 

“With my help.” Nalenne and Vette exchanged looks, then glared at Quinn, who shifted uncomfortably. “Until those later parts, anyway.”

 

They made their way to the cave way out in the Jundland Wastes where they had first encountered the sand demon. “You think anybody else would’ve killed it by now?” said Nalenne.

 

“They better not,” said Vette. “This one’s ours.”

 

The cave wound deep into the sandstone plateau, but it opened into a broad chamber with a half-open top. There, standing guard exactly where Nalenne remembered, was the great insectoid sand demon.

 

“Let’s do this right,” said Nalenne. She activated her saber and leaped.

 

The monster was actually pretty tough. Nalenne remembered the last time she was here, when she just faced it down until it passed out…this was harder. Amusing, though. And she did have Vette’s combat support.

 

“My lord,” yelled Quinn, “it’s possible we’ll need to reuse this demon in the future.”

 

“Couldn’t have mentioned this earlier? Blast.” She dodged, slashed, Force pushed. “Got a really potent sedative?”

 

“No. I suggest hitting it really hard.”

 

“Thanks, master strategist.”

 

“I work with what you give me, my lord.”

 

With enough head trauma, the sand demon went down, unconscious but still breathing. Right on cue its outer skin started shifting and cracking.

 

And there came the blood.

 

“Come a little closer, Vette,” called Nalenne. “You should enjoy the fruits of your suggestion.”

 

“Ew,” said Vette. “You're going to owe me new boots.”

 

“Impressive,” said Quinn. “I think this is the first thing I’ve smelled since I died. It’s faint, but it is just as vile as I remember.”

 

The liquid was close to black, and there was an unholy amount of it, flowing over Nalenne’s boots and sloshing up her calves. She let it come. If the smelly fluid of life was what it took to get answers…well then, it was a good thing she was the galaxy's foremost expert on spilling it.

Edited June 27, 2012 by bright_ephemera

57. In which Nalenne talks to herself (II/II)

 

Some magics spend more than they save;

They’ll give something less than you crave.

These efforts, you see,

Use laws one, two, and three:

At best, you get out what you gave.

 

 

Further into the wastes now, to a remote Sand People village. The natives fled at her approach, as they had done once before. She passed through their shady valley and into a grotto with a green improbable lake.

 

Ghost-Quinn and Vette held back at a respectful distance. Nalenne knelt at the edge of the lake and meditated.

 

The figure that materialized on the water and walked towards Nalenne was different from last time. Then, it had been a disfigured woman wrapped in clingy tendrils of black mist. Now it was a fresh-faced girl wreathed in light. She walked right up and waited for Nalenne to stand.

 

“You,” said Nalenne’s mirror. “Stars, I didn’t think I was ever getting let up for air again! You unmitigated b****!”

 

Hostile much? “Get mad later. Work now.”

 

“On bailing you out of your own mess?”

 

“Our own. Are you sure you’re my good side? You seem a little…”

 

“You would be pretty mad, too, if you had to ride around watching yourself wreck your life.”

 

“Very nice, light-side. I don’t recall my base instincts ever being this angry.”

 

“Your base instincts were watching me operate, and I wasn’t botching our every life decision so royally. You, on the other hand….what do you want?”

 

“I’m supposed to ask you whether you know anything, on any subconscious level, about why our vows are keeping Quinn around, and what we can do about it.”

 

“I know nothing you don’t, okay? I may have a healthier perspective, but I don’t have a metaphysical-quandary cheat sheet with me.”

 

“Demonstrating once again that the light is lame and stupid and I was right to convert the last time I was here.”

 

“Oh, because the dark side has been so helpful? Let’s take your murder policy. If it weren’t your first resort, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

 

At some point Quinn had drifted up to stand at Nalenne’s shoulder. “That may be the first time I have ever agreed with you, my lord.”

 

Light-Nalenne gave a ****-eating grin. “Thanks. You look amazing, by the way. This one refuses to say it, but – “

 

“Hey! You’re embarrassing me. Quit it.”

 

“This is the first time your nicer side has gotten to talk in well over a year. I’m taking full advantage of it.”

 

“We’re mad at him. Remember?”

 

“He did what he had to do. We loved that same courage and consistency, didn’t we?”

 

Quinn studied the opposite wall of the grotto with a curiously intent expression.

 

“Ex-husband not open for discussion!” said Nalenne. “Since you have nothing to say, we’re done here.”

 

“Hey,” said light-Nalenne. “Just remember, you don’t have to react to everything by killing it.”

 

“Oh, I shouldn’t kill him? And how exactly is keeping him this close but untouchable going to help?”

 

Light-Nalenne made a face. “Oh. I hadn’t really considered that.”

 

“I don’t do chaste restraint.”

 

“I don’t think even I would.”

 

“So you see my problem,” said Nalenne.

 

“Reincarnation?” suggested light-Nalenne.

 

“Into what?” She looked over at a very still Quinn. “If you think things are weird now, just imagine having to see a different face on him.”

 

“Just consider the possibility while we’re researching, okay? We have a choice. I think we have a chance. It’s not all about destruction. We can be better than he had to be.”

 

“’Better’? I did what I did for honor,” said Quinn, giving up on his statue impression.

 

Light-Nalenne smiled at him again. “I know what brought us here. And I don’t hold it against you.”

 

“I bloody well do!” said Nalenne.

 

Light-Nalenne ignored her. “Hang in there,” she told Quinn. “You and I have done the impossible plenty of times before. We’ll find a way now. This must be incredibly hard for you, but I will do anything it takes to make sure you’re okay.”

 

Nalenne gagged loudly. “Hey. Promises-you-can’t-keep girl. Are you done?”

 

“With him?” Light-Nalenne never took her eyes off Quinn. Her expression got even sappier. “Never. I l-”

 

“Leaving now!” yelled Nalenne, and sprinted for the exit, beckoning Vette to follow. She felt light-Nalenne fading back into the air behind her; all the same, even though the image was gone, it was a long time before Quinn rejoined them beyond the Sand People village.

Edited June 27, 2012 by bright_ephemera

58. In which Nalenne calls someone

 

Numerically, Sorcs can’t be topped.

By the dozens their foes will be dropped.

Though thousands of ‘Pubs

Cry “OP” and unsub,

The sorcerer cannot be stopped.

 

 

Stupid Light aspect. What a gross disgusting stream of incriminating and obviously false information.

 

It’s not like that. It’s nothing like that, and I will not allow him to get that idea. I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago.

 

For the first time, Nalenne took her wedding ring off.

 

She stuck it in a box, shoved the box way behind the footlocker under her bed, then headed back out to activate the ship’s holo. “Get me Servant Nine.” (*)

 

It took close to a minute for Servant Nine to respond. He looked as gorgeous as ever: well-cut Servant’s robe, noble Pureblood face, a shoulder-length spill of unreasonably good-looking black hair. “What do you want?” he asked cautiously.

 

“Don’t make this into a thing, but are you doing anything tonight?”

 

*

 

Servant Nine was a hell of a fighter. Lightning, smugness, and glory seared the battlefield while Nalenne danced between Force bolts in her unstoppable saber play.

 

“It’s so rare I get to carve up a Jedi temple this big,” she told him. “I love my boys, but they’re awfully…mundane, you know?”

 

“Force-blinds are a waste of your time, and the things that challenge them are a waste of your talents.” That cultured voice had a melody all its own. Servant Nine casually reached over and toasted three approaching Jedi without looking their way. “You are beautiful when you’re winning, you know that?”

 

“Thank you. Anything left to kill around here?”

 

“Let’s look. This way.”

 

They stalked through the stone halls of the Jedi temple, checking room by room, watching and listening for any sign of surviving Jedi.

 

“So how did you get away from the desk?” Nalenne asked as she skewered an oncoming padawan.

 

“Willpower. And a great deal of complaining. Eventually Servant Three volunteered to cover my domestic duties just to shut me up.” Servant Nine flicked a small subtle gesture that brought the ceiling down on several surprised-looking Jedi in a side room.

 

“Well played.”

 

“I get restless. I envy you your job.”

 

“It really is an enjoyable gig.” She turned and Force pushed a lurking knight into his consular friend’s high-speed rock storm. “Ever consider trying out for Wrath Two or something?”

 

His smile and his golden piercings gleamed in the darkness. “The Wrath swings lightsabers. Always has, always will. People with my talents are not considered proper for the job.”

 

“Bah. I could use a whole lot more of people with your talents, from what I’ve been seeing.”

 

“Stick around, then. I’ve barely even started.”

 

Not many people left in the complex, but the holdouts included three certified Jedi Masters among their number. There had to be some kind of bonus points for that. The challenge of it was intoxicating. Nalenne couldn’t help but notice that somehow, in spite of the torrents of raw power flying around, Servant Nine’s hair kept its clean flattering wave.

 

Servant Nine laughed out loud when the third Master hit the wall mid-admonishment and crumpled between his fellows. “This never gets old.” He beckoned her on into the next room. “Perhaps we might do this again sometime?”

 

Her stomach turned, but it was in a pleasant way. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s worth calling, at least.”

 

They reached a big stone chamber at what must have been the center of the temple. They had already completed a circuit around the outer halls. “I think we’re out of Jedi,” Nalenne said regretfully.

 

“They really ought to up their recruitment numbers,” said Servant Nine.

 

“Agreed.”

 

“Of course, this was only the test run. I wasn’t sure what you liked. I can find us something much more exciting for next time,” said Servant Nine.

 

“Mm. Y’know, I get annoyed at being ordered around, but it does bring me some incredibly fun assignments.”

 

“Admit it,” said Servant Nine. “As manipulative tools of the establishment go, I’m a good one to have on your case.”

 

“Much better than some I could name.”

 

“Anything else you want to take care of before we call it a night?” He pushed her lightsaber-bearing arm aside as he drifted closer.

 

Her heart fluttered. “Oh yes. Just…not on my ship.”

 

He backed her in the direction of the nearest wall. “I had no intention of walking that far.”

 

*

 

She didn’t try to face her crew when she got back to the ship. Which meant that she was still in a floaty good mood when she reached her quarters and laid her aching body down to rest.

 

The sex: mediocre? Undeniably. In classic Sith form Servant Nine had expostulated at length on his requirements and boasted about all the reasons he deserved them while completely disregarding the needs of his ally and at times seeming to forget that his ally was there at all. The rough and ridiculously cold stone floor and wall hadn’t improved the experience.

 

But, hey, it was sex. And a selfish egomaniac for a partner didn’t have to be a dealbreaker. To put it bluntly, she wouldn’t be Sith if she couldn’t fend for herself.

ROFLMAO! I never thought I'd see Pierce turning down sex. It's a smart man who comes to that realization, though....

 

“Vette, I’m a capable man, but even I couldn’t bang that much crazy out of a woman. Things are better as is.”

 

Works on so many levels. TY! I am so enjoying this.

 

Lieutenant Pierce laughs in the face of death. That's one of the reasons I adore him. But the face of whatever the hell happened to Nalenne's last boyfriend, that's enough to give even him pause. He's no fool. That's another one of the reasons I adore him.

 

And now I find Nalenne's ship coming to a status that I may rest on for a while, assuming Extremely Flaky Creative Mind agrees to get back to generating fluff instead of turbulent plot. The Wrath’s everyday life and character interactions are still open for suggestions/questioning!

 

As ever, thanks for reading, and I hope you all enjoy!

Edited June 22, 2012 by bright_ephemera

Very much enjoying! I have to agree with Quinn though, I love me some Cap, lol. Very curious to see how the Quinn situation is resolved - I'm hoping for destruction, but then I'm terribly unforgiving on big stuff. (Little things, I'm pretty merciful on.) Wants to know! Wants to know!

59. In which Jaesa and Vette talk it over with Nalenne

 

A padawan watching the fray

May see many a dubious play.

While Masters dispute

Via combat or moot,

The minions must just watch and pray.

 

 

“So the awkwardness factor today was pretty remarkable.” Nalenne set aside her fork and looked up at the girls.

 

Vette tossed her lekku. “Ignore it. Meeting somebody in this galaxy who can show you a good time is not a cause for awkward anything.”

 

Jaesa moped into her soup.

 

“And Pierce and Broonmark are just mad they didn’t get in on the Jedi-hunting,” added Vette. “No worries, they got the job today and they’ll get another one tomorrow.”

 

“At least Quinn seems pretty professional.”

 

“By which you mean he’s shut down and withdrawn into the shell he hides in when he can’t stand being hurt by you any more, master?” said Jaesa.

 

“No, I meant he’s being pretty professional. He doesn’t get to feel hurt, it’s not like he could be fulfilling these functions.” Nalenne attempted to hide a giggle by sipping her wine. “Look, I know you wanted a less seethingly evil, Dark Side-marinated monster for me, but Servant Nine isn’t anything serious, okay? It was just a thing.”

 

“For what it’s worth,” said Vette, “I haven’t seen that gleam in your eye since you and Lord Draahg bumped off Darth Vengean. If this guy is half that good…well, we probably better post a full-time guard, because the inevitable treachery is going to be epic.”

 

“I’m hoping I can avoid that if we don’t make this a relationship. He’s just fun.” Nalenne considered. “Inevitable…stars. Now that I think of it, you don’t think Quinn jumped on the backstabbing bandwagon just to impress me, do you? It isn’t…that’s not his place. He’s not Sith, I never wanted him to be. He should never have felt like he had to change that for me.”

 

“No,” said Vette, “I’m pretty sure he stabbed you in the back because he’s a grasping, clueless, and morally bankrupt snake, even by Imperial standards. Fitting his idea of what you expect in a guy didn’t enter into it and would require more sensitivity than he possesses anyway.”

 

“Okay. Good.”

 

“So let’s stop talking about him. At this point I would ask you to elaborate on how the date with Servant Nine went, but I’m pretty sure it was all blood and evil.”

 

“That’s just about correct.”

 

“You going to crush any Core Worlds next time around?”

 

“Don’t know yet. There’s no guarantee there’ll be a next time around.”

 

Jaesa perked up. Vette rested her elbows on the table and looked skeptical.

 

“I’m not going to call him first, Vette. The last thing I want out of this is a reputation for being needy.”

 

“Okay. Sith mind games? Stupid.” Vette started fumbling in her pocket. “I should call him up right now, get something scheduled for – “

 

Nalenne Force-knocked Vette’s holocommunicator from her hands. “You will do nothing of the sort!”

 

Vette stuck out her tongue. “You’re chicken.”

 

Nalenne drew her saber. “You’re toast.”

 

Jaesa slammed her hands on the table. “Would you two stop!? I can take the horrific insensitivity, or I can take the needless violence, but I won’t take both in the same meal.”

 

“I’m not being insensitive to anyone who matters,” said Vette.

 

“I’m not being violent to anyone who doesn’t deserve it,” said Nalenne.

 

Vette looked sidelong at her. “I give your Servant three days, okay? After that, if you don’t call him, I will.”

60. In which Nalenne follows Jaesa into trouble

 

I had no idea, when I started writing this, that I would find LS Jaesa this interesting! She first caught my eye in-game when I tried to not be a douchebag and she replied with “WE WILL REMAKE THE EMPIRE IN OUR IMAGE, MASTER.” Ever since then…well, our relationship hasn’t always been easy, but it’s always fun.

 

A Sith is a secretive sort,

Truth is only a final resort.

It’s doubly so

For the light-side, who know

That a slip-up will cut their lives short.

 

 

A cave complex on Dromund Kaas. Jaesa Wilsaam ghosted through the shadows, avoiding the odd shaft of blue light from breaks in the ceiling.

 

She reached a snug dry room, squared off by sentient craftsmen, well lit, comfortably furnished.

 

A robed Twi’lek stood up quickly at Jaesa’s approach. “Thank you,” he said in an unsteady voice. “He’s coming.”

 

Someone was loudly walking up the cave corridor. Jaesa drew and activated her double-bladed saber. The Twi’lek drew and activated his. It shook noticeably in his grip.

 

Nalenne strode in with arms spread wide. “Jaesa, are you offering aid and succor to light-side Sith again?”

 

“Master! Darth Larnik is on his way to kill this man just for the crime of following the Light’s way.”

 

“And more power to him, says I.” Nalenne grinned at the Twi’lek. “You know, you would be in a much better position to deal with this stuff if you just joined the winning side. The Dark Side.”

 

“Is this the best time for this, master?” said Jaesa.

 

“Do you know this person?” said the Twi’lek.

 

“I used to be a Light Side Sith like you,” said Nalenne. She started pacing, gesticulating enthusiastically as she did so. “I was confused. I thought, hey, I can change this bad old Empire. It was a rough time, you know? It’s very hard. Because you can’t do it. You can’t turn the system upside down, but you sure can kill yourself trying.”

 

“Would you please stop crashing these meetings?” said Jaesa.

 

“There’s a way out of that dark…uh, light…place. I’m telling you. I gave in to the siren’s call of passion and hatred, and it turned my life around. I made that change. You can, too.”

 

A stunned silence.

 

Nalenne shrugged. “Or you can die someday, likely someday soon, with your pathetic, deluded friends. Your choice.”

 

Another step sounded in the passageway behind Nalenne. “Stranger,” came a deep voice. “I hope you weren’t planning on stealing my kill.”

 

“I’m the Emperor’s Wrath,” said Nalenne, turning to face the burly cyborg who must have been Darth Larnik. “Every kill I want is my kill.”

 

The cyborg started. “My lord! I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

 

“I take it you’re here for the alien?”

 

“And his friend, if he can claim one,” said Larnik, giving Jaesa a distinctly uncivil once-over.

 

“Great! You first,” said Nalenne.

 

“No!” said Jaesa.

 

“Ha!” said Larnik, prepping his saber and Force charging Jaesa.

 

Nalenne gave it two seconds before she drew her own saber, then leaped in and stabbed Larnik in the back. “Upon careful consideration,” she informed him, “you’re the funniest kill in the room. Also, you took a swing at my girl, and that won’t do.”

 

Nalenne let the man fall, then straightened and stretched. Jaesa’s face was white. “What was that?” demanded the Jedi.

 

“I wanted to see the look on your face when I let him at you. Priceless.” Nalenne beamed, then turned to the Twi’lek. “Lucky for you I’ve been in a good mood all day. Stay safe; I don’t want my friend’s efforts wasted. Just think about what I said, okay? It’s never too late to turn to the Dark Side.” She hooked her saber back on her belt and walked off whistling.

 

The Twi’lek gaped. “Whose side is she on?”

 

“Evil,” said Jaesa. “Mostly. It’s complicated.”

61. In which Nalenne corresponds with Lord Grathan and complains about love

 

The world’s most dangerous sound

Is a scientist mucking around.

Howe’er nice they are,

They may reach too far

And find something best left unfound.

 

 

Nalenne rarely bothered to return cold calls, but every now and then she got an interesting one. And so one day she went for the holofrequency of Lord Grathan of Dromund Kaas.

 

A slim, masked cyborg answered almost immediately. “My lord Wrath! I’m honored you had the time to call me.”

 

“For an old friend, Lord Grathan? I was curious. Tell me, how are things on Dromund Kaas?”

 

“You know. Slave rebellions all over the place, completely inexplicable enemy spy activities that I know nothing whatsoever about, major traffic delays on Kaas City’s west side as they continue to botch the development plan. How is the forefront of the war?”

 

“Glorious, glorious. You left a message saying you might have something of use for me?”

 

“Just a little development my scientists came up with. One of them was talking about that time you rampaged through the lab, scared him half to death, and yet declined to kill anybody. Got me thinking about the old days.”

 

“Like when I killed your father and – “

 

“Careful!” The man in the holo image tapped his mask. “Recall that I remain Lord Grathan.”

 

“And Lady Grathan remains in charge.”

 

“Don’t remind me. Mum’s impossible. Anyway, I wanted to offer you our lab’s latest device. Most comfortable chair you’ve ever seen. Makes sitting at a console a breeze, and you wouldn’t believe how little strain it places during tight piloting maneuvers.”

 

“I didn’t realize you had stayed in the ergonomic chair business.”

 

“These concerns have critically important implications for my entire operation. I’ll send a few chairs along for installation, if you want them.” A pause. When he spoke again his voice had a decidedly different tone. “I’m glad we had this time to talk. Don’t forget me, Wrath.”

 

Nalenne crossed her arms and disapproved as hard as she could. “You know, Grathan, I can’t help but notice that when I was on my way up, no man in the galaxy would even consider flirting with me. The most receptive man I ever met was the one who

when I told him I was done flirting.” She raised her voice to yell toward the bridge for a moment. “Thanks for that, by the way, Ice Man.” Then she returned her attention to Grathan. “And yet now that I’m the most feared killing machine in the Empire, suddenly they’re falling all over themselves to be ‘remembered.’ Boy, I remember that the last time we spoke I beat you into submission in three seconds flat.”

 

“You enjoyed it, though.”

 

“Not really. It felt like an unfortunate necessity at the time. All the same, thanks for the chairs.” Nalenne turned the holo off.

 

“That’s not entirely true,” volunteered Vette from the reading nook couch.

 

“What isn’t?”

 

“Guys not flirting with you. You remember FimmRess, Duke Kendoh’s big Sith guard on Alderaan? He liked you. A lot.”

 

“What? No, he didn’t.”

 

“He couldn’t exactly drag you off scene in the middle of the mission, but he totally would’ve if he could’ve. That vibe was so strong the local geomonitoring stations probably picked it up.”

 

“Vette, he called me ‘sister’ when we parted.”

 

“That’s not necessarily frowned upon in all cultures.”

 

“Ew.”

 

“I’m just saying. The way FimmRess rolled over every time you fluttered your eyelashes at him? If he hadn’t been so serious about his job he would’ve jumped you then and there.”

 

“You just summarized every lover I’ve ever had. And several I didn’t.”

 

“Yup. Your life gets pretty sad. At least you finally got Servant Nine going.” Vette shrugged philosophically. “Anyway, dibs on the best chair when they show up.”

Edited June 23, 2012 by bright_ephemera

Those ergonomic chairs have to be one of the most unexpected additions to a list of evil interests ever. I nearly spit my drink at my computer.

62. In which the crew drinks, drinks, and makes merry

 

A melting-pot serves, every shift,

Many liquors to charm and uplift.

So raise up your stein,

Or spirits, or wine,

And cheer for diversity’s gifts!

 

 

Nalenne waved vaguely. “So then I said to him, - Hey, more Tarisian death-juice!”

 

“I’m pretty sure you never said that to Servant One,” said Vette.

 

“Talking to the waiter.” The crew was unwinding in a booth at a restaurant on Nar Shaddaa. Nalenne was feeling good. “Look, guys, I know we’ve been working hard. For a long time. Days, probably. Maybe even weeks. So, I think, we should have more outings like this.”

 

“Hear, hear,” said Pierce, and shotgunned another quart canister of some unnameable substance.

 

“Because you’re all awesome. Even the lame guy who won’t drink.” Nalenne looked at Broonmark.

 

“Talz clan does not metabolize alcohol like that,” clicked Broonmark. “Instead we will guard Sith clan.”

 

“Yup. Exactly so. Ex-act-ly. I need guards.” Nalenne chortled. “I’m dangerous. Rrrrrawr.”

 

“That’s sounding like weapons confiscation time,” said Vette. She signaled Jaesa to get Nalenne’s lightsaber.

 

“Why do you keep doing that?” said Nalenne, ignoring Jaesa while the girl took her weapon. “If I’m going overboard I can kill you all just as easily unarmed. Here. Allow me to demonstrate.” She reached in Vette’s general direction and attempted to engage a Force choke. It fell a little ways to the left of Vette’s actual throat. Nalenne frowned and tried again, straining to focus. She missed. Again. Just as Vette was starting to laugh, Nalenne finally found the Twi’lek’s neck. “No, weapons, necessary.”

 

“My lord,” snapped ghost-Quinn in the tone he only used for high-priority in-combat updates. “Remember yourself.”

 

Nalenne reflexively complied, but she did make a face. “You’re no fun.”

 

“Yech,” said Vette, and reached to soothe her throat with more Corellian whiskey. “You clearly need to push past this point on the drunkenness scale.”

 

“Oh, that’s rich,” growled Pierce. “You do realize you just saved Vette’s life, captain?”

 

“Don’t mention it,” said Quinn. “Ever. It’s just that it would be disastrous to get the Wrath started in a crowded public space like this.”

 

“I knew it,” said Nalenne. “Depriving me of fun is even more important to you than hating Vette.”

 

“Depriving you of fun is one of the foremost public safety challenges of our time, master,” said Jaesa. “It’s just that you’re Sith so usually nobody does it.”

 

“You’re no fun, either, Jedi.”

 

“That’s not what you said last night.”

 

Pierce choked on his drink. Quinn returned to his calm pretense of scanning the room for trouble, while a single muscle near his eye twitched, violently. Broonmark made a whirring noise nobody could identify. Vette laughed out loud and managed to be the first to speak. “You’re learning malicious implications, Jaesa, I like it.”

 

“I am?” Jaesa hiccupped and looked at her fourth wine glass. “I just meant we were playing peanut gallery for Annihilators 3: Rise of the Shyracks, and she said I was fun to, to, you know, with.”

 

“Talk?” suggested Pierce blandly.

 

“Yes! That’s it exactly,” said Jaesa gratefully.

 

“Times like this,” said Pierce, “I understand why milord keeps you around.”

 

“Times like last night, you mean,” muttered Vette.

 

“Love you, babe,” said Nalenne.

 

“All night long,” rumbled Pierce with a wicked grin.

 

“Not all night. Two and a half hours, give or take,” said Jaesa. “Do we have more of this wine?”

63. In which Nalenne and Pierce test Broonmark’s work while Quinn disapproves

 

The Biochem pro takes a haul

Of plants for effects great and small.

A flower, a leaf,

A root, and – good grief!

That didn’t look healthy at all.

 

 

Morning of a mundane op, as Nalenne had taken to thinking of the assignments that came from Servants One and Two by way of Quinn. Broonmark intercepted Nalenne on her way to the bridge. “New batch of adrenals up,” he blorped.

 

“Sweet! This the new formula?”

 

“Yes. Many blibbblg rgoggrblp. Should be good.”

 

Nalenne might have taken the translator datapad out to get that – most of Broonmark’s biochemical vocabulary was well beyond Nalenne’s Talz knowledge – but sometimes it was more exciting not to know.

 

The Talz set down a small carrying case on the reading nook’s coffee table. Inside were six syringes filled with a dark blue liquid. “We expect speed-power effects, but we cannot be sure.”

 

“Well,” said Nalenne, “we can’t go into the field with this untested. Safety first.” She grabbed a syringe and prepped it.

 

Ghost-Quinn showed up from the direction of the bridge. “My lord, we will be arriving shortly at – what are you doing?”

 

“Broonmark’s latest work. I’m using it.”

 

“Has that even been tested?”

 

Nalenne lined the needle up and injected. “Sure. As of right now.”

 

Quinn stared at the needle. “My lord, you’re going to kill yourself!”

 

“And see, this is why I never tell you anything.”

 

Pierce jogged in. “Hey, heard the new batch was up. You’re not going without me, are you?”

 

“Never ever.” She gestured toward the case. “Broonmark made enough for all.”

 

Pierce called in the direction of the mess. “Vette, you in?”

 

“Answer is still no,” came Vette’s voice. “Answer is always no.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re missing.”

 

“With each new batch, nobody in existence knows what I'm missing. That’s the scary part.”

 

“I’d rather you limited yourself to testing it on those two, my lord,” said Quinn.

 

“Relax.” Nalenne was already feeling a little…pleasant. Hyperaware. Good. She activated her saber and ran through a few practice forms. “Wow, I feel like I could cut my way out of the ship right now.”

 

Quinn rubbed his temples. “Please don’t.”

 

“Not to worry, captain. I’ll be nice. I’ll still be following your lead today.”

 

“Your interpretation of ‘follow’ has always been…loose. And someday you may jab yourself with something that suspends what few inhibitions you do have.”

 

“Maybe not,” blipped Broonmark.

 

“I could take her,” said Pierce. “If I had to. If she was a problem.”

 

“Lieutenant, you would be rampaging right alongside her. With glee.”

 

“Ha. Right, that’s true.”

 

“We join rampage,” quorked Broonmark. “Inhibition-smashing only a problem for Sith clan’s dumbest.”

 

“I’m thinking this’ll be good,” said Nalenne, stretching and enjoying the odd sensation racing along her muscles.

 

“Even better news: We made second-stage reaction to inject when we reach the field,” buzzed Broonmark.

 

“What did he say?” said Quinn.

 

“Nothing you want to hear, captain.”

 

Vette emerged from the mess. “We better get out there. When they decide to start breaking stuff, I want it to be not-my-stuff.”

 

Quinn quickly scanned the ship in general. “For once I agree,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Those ergonomic chairs have to be one of the most unexpected additions to a list of evil interests ever. I nearly spit my drink at my computer.

 

I can just see Lord Grathan buying off the powers of the Empire with comfy chairs. Speaking of which, if you're familiar with Monty Python's Spanish Inquisition torture scene sketch, this is the kind of diabolical use to which such chairs are put: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CSe38dzJYkY#t=118

 

Come to think of it, the earlier segment of that sketch has a pretty decent listing of proper aspirations for the Imperial armed forces:

Edited June 24, 2012 by bright_ephemera

64. In which Pierce cleans up after Servant Nine

 

I think I’m hitting the 2/3 point on this series. It is so weird to be putting together the last scenes…I write out of order, so I’m not there, yet, but still. Weird feeling.

 

Today’s entry has spoilers for the Imperial Taris planetary line.

 

A Juggernaut, Thana by name,

Sought by violence and terror to claim

Old Taris’s soil.

Alas, she was foiled:

A stronger Sith wanted the same.

 

 

Pierce answered his holocommunicator to find Nalenne’s image stretched out on some floor, one arm pressed tight to her side. “Hi,” she said.

 

“Coordinates and I’m there,” he said.

 

“Keep it quiet, okay? Servant Nine had to bail, you’re just picking me up.”

 

*

 

The pickup spot turned out to be on an upper floor of a big office building on the planet Nalenne and Servant Nine had gone to ravage. Pierce made the entry with a rifle in one hand and a kolto pack in the other.

 

Nalenne had crudely bandaged the worst of the vibrosword wounds. Pierce scanned the room, then knelt and opened the medpac to do things right. “’Had to bail’, did he?”

 

“I screwed up. Got cut bad. And then you know how Sith are, he gave me some stupid the-weak-will-fall speech and strutted off, because he’s too macho to help an ally out.”

 

“Hope you realize you Sith are all insane.”

 

“These are proud cultural traditions we’re upholding.” She directed his hand to a higher-priority wound than the one he was about to apply kolto to. “Let’s just get enough so I can walk to the ship under my own power, okay? The local backup will be arriving at some point and for once I’m not looking forward to another fight.”

 

“Milord, you called me ‘cause you know I won’t talk. And I won’t. But you are aware that hiding things like this is pointless? Everyone on the ship already knows Servant Nine would leave you to die the moment anything goes wrong.”

 

“I don’t want to be carried in dripping confirmation of that.”

 

He snorted. “As you like. Surprised he didn’t take the chance to finish you.”

 

“Same here. I’m starting to suspect he likes me. So we’re still on for next week.”

 

“Sith. Insane.” Pierce suddenly cocked his head, listening. “Sounds like someone’s on their way up. I’ll have to finish the fine work later.” He scooped Nalenne up and carried her to the nearest inactive lift, ordering it up to the roof landing pad. “Anyway, goin’ halfway like that will be his funeral, sooner or later. Remember back on Taris, when we were starting out? That Thana Vesh girl, the one you left locked in an underground prison with three meters of durasteel on every side?”

 

“Hard to forget,” Nalenne grinned.

 

“Leave a woman like that alive, that’s a mistake. She’ll just keep coming back.” Pierce raised an eyebrow at Nalenne. “Thana had all your fire. And to be blunt, milord, she had all your brains, too.”

 

“I don’t like where this is going. She’s dead now.”

 

“Well,” said Pierce, “she didn’t have me.” He nudged the lift door open and carried her toward the waiting Helicarrier’s ramp.

65. Mini-snippet: In which Nalenne and Jaesa analyze a military attitude

 

Imperials train, drill, and raid

For the tools of their villainous trade.

They all have to run

Arrogance 101

Else they’ll never make officer’s grades.

 

 

“Good morning, master. How’d last night’s mission with Captain Quinn go?”

 

“Okay. It was a joint op. Not much fun; those military guys are always giving me the stink-eye.”

 

“Something to do with the ghostliness of their comrade?”

 

“Yeah.” Nalenne scowled. “He starts a fight, I finish it, everybody blames me. It’s just like with Duke Kendoh.”

 

“Or Nomen Karr.”

 

“Or that General they wanted me to capture.”

 

“Or Vowrawn’s entire elite guard.”

 

“Or that village on Balmorra.”

 

“Or that district on Corellia.”

 

“Or that moon in the Manaan system.”

 

“That one was excessive, master.”

 

“They started it.” Nalenne huffed. “Sort of. I wish these officers would stick with abject terror. Eau de disapproval doesn’t suit them.”

 

“It’s one of their defining characteristics.”

 

“Not against Sith! I’m in charge!”

 

“I think they just don’t like the nonstandardness of Captain Quinn’s death.”

 

“Yeah, I guess they would consider that disturbing. Wow, wouldn’t it be cool if I could do it to them when they displeased me?”

 

“Master! No!”

 

“I’ve had just about enough of your decency and compassion, Jaesa.”

 

“I’ll swear off it when you swear off completely senseless massacres. Here, coffee’s ready.”

66. In which Nalenne subcontracts to Imperial Intelligence (I/II)

 

Today’s entry has spoilers throughout the Imperial Agent line.

 

Non-game-spoiler, yes-the-rest-of-this-post-spoiler synopsis for those who wish to follow Nalenne’s main plot without Agent details:

 

 

A secretive glamour surrounds

The Agent. Her skill set astounds.

Her lifestyle’s fine

‘til it’s down to the line,

Then it’s less sexy fun than it sounds.

 

 

The Diplomatic Service had turned up nothing, but, Nalenne thought, there were other organizations with other methods.

 

And so she requested support from Sith Intelligence for a sensitive mission on Voss.

 

The agent they sent offered to visit Nalenne on her ship on Dromund Kaas. Hey, convenience was nice. And so one day ghost-Quinn escorted a slim human with dark hair and yellowish skin tone into the holo room.

 

The woman entered the room in a graceful, oddly flowing gait. She looked Nalenne over with zero sign of fear, then smiled a small ironic smile and bowed. “My lord. Agent Dahlia, Sith Intelligence. You’re the Emperor’s Wrath.”

 

“I am indeed.”

 

“I just wanted to say up front, I’m a big fan of your work. So is Darth Jadus. He sends his regards.”

 

“I’m flattered. I heard about his Eradicator scheme. Great work there. Aren’t you the girl who pulled the trigger on that first strike?”

 

“Guilty as charged.”

 

“I can only imagine the look on your old bosses’ faces. That whole story may have been the funniest thing I’ve heard in my life. Thanks to the personal touch my work requires, I don’t think I’ll even come close to your body count.”

 

“Not many will. I admire your style, though. I’ve seen the holo footage. So, what does the Wrath want with me?”

 

Quinn emerged from the crew quarters corridor. “My lord, there is a stranger sniffing around your quarters.”

 

“Isn’t that interesting,” said Nalenne. “Broonmark, want to fetch him here?”

 

The Talz disappeared down the hall and came out a moment later walking behind a kindly-looking older man, bearded, bright-eyed, wearing nondescript casual street clothes.

 

“Now, there’s no need to get unfriendly,” he said.

 

Nalenne walked up to him and activated her saber. “Explain.”

 

“My lord, I was simply running a security check on Dahlia’s behalf. You realize she is an extremely high-value asset – “

 

“I realize you’re full of s***, stranger.”

 

Dahlia strolled up and seemed ready to push between them, lightsaber or no lightsaber. “My lord, this is my colleague Doctor Lokin. He may be a bit enthusiastic in his security-sweep duties, but there’s no call for violence here.”

 

“You leave any presents for me, Lokin?”

 

“Of course not,” said Lokin, looking wounded.

 

Nalenne brought the saber to within millimeters of his nose. “It’ll go badly for you unless you tell me about any bugs or other surprises now.”

 

“I left nothing, my lord, I assure you.”

 

Nalenne jerked her head toward her quarters. “Quinn, check the place. Bugs, bombs, unfamiliar dust, if you see anything I want to know.” Lokin blinked and looked inoffensive. “Broonmark, kill this one.”

 

“It is our honor,” bubbled Broonmark, and prepped his vibroblade.

 

“You had a job for me, Wrath,” said Dahlia, very quickly. “I have a feeling you really want it done. And I suspect I’ll need every tool I have for it.”

 

“Broonmark, don’t kill this one,” said Nalenne.

67. In which Nalenne and Dahlia chat (II/II)

 

Today’s entry has spoilers from the Imperial Agent line.

 

Non-game-spoiler, yes-the-rest-of-this-post-spoiler synopsis for those who wish to follow Nalenne's story without Agent details:

 

 

A mutual fan club can sound

Like a party. The sweet vibe astounds.

Two villains conspire:

There’s much to admire,

And much to kill next time around.

 

 

“Lokin, go on home,” said Dahlia to Doctor Lokin. Broonmark all but shoved the old man out the door.

 

The black-haired Imperial agent settled back on one of the reading nook couches. “You want something,” she told Nalenne. “Very much.”

 

“Access to Voss.”

 

Dahlia giggled. “Voss is a mess. You know they’re determined not to take sides for another eight years? ‘Til then they’re probably paralyzed by the Gormak bombshell.”

 

“I don’t care about their sides or their bombshells, I need to reach the Shrine of Healing. Or a spot near it, anyway. I got there once before.”

 

“You were lucky, then. It was limited access even before Voss started shooting down all outsiders.” She gave a little half smile. “Something you need patched up?”

 

“In a manner of speaking.”

 

“And yet you can’t even enter atmosphere. It’s maddening when you can’t get close enough to the problem to stab it.” Dahlia produced a little vibroknife and twirled it between her fingers. “Isn’t it?”

 

“That’s why I’m asking you to find a way to get me close enough.” That smile was really grating on Nalenne’s nerves. “Why are you so damn cheerful about this?”

 

“I just find it funny,” purred Dahlia, “that two of the greatest killers in the galaxy are stuck here discussing how to reach the ultimate kumbaya drum circle.”

 

“The drum circle wasn’t my first choice.”

 

“Oh, I understand. Still, it’s difficult, right? You ever wish you had the early-career stuff back? Understandable boss, whole planets laid out with nothing to worry about but where to stash the bodies?”

 

“I was never in the habit of hiding bodies.”

 

“I see your point.” Dahlia stretched and laced her hands behind her head. “I think I first heard of you on Alderaan. Friend of mine was absolutely horrified by you. You know, what you did to the Kendohs. And the Aldes. And the Organas. And the Rists. That was just a great time for you.”

 

Nalenne smiled, a little proudly. “Don’t forget the Ulgos. Yeah, those were good times.”

 

“I never understood why this friend I mentioned was so mad over it. He and his friends slaughtered and/or brainwashed House Cortess without a second thought, but apparently when non-Killiks do it it’s a crime or something.” She shook her head. “Ethical nitpicking. I hear some people in the galaxy make allies instead of killing, but more allies always means less action for the likes of us.”

 

A movement caught Nalenne’s eye. Vette was looking toward Jaesa, and Jaesa toward Vette. “Crud,” mouthed Vette.

 

“But,” said Dahlia. “There’s a job now. You need to get access to the Shrine of Healing, and the kind of access that doesn’t involve blazing guns. Or sabers. I need you landed, I need you – any additional staff you’re bringing?”

 

“Guards if I can. If I can’t, I only need to bring one other.”

 

“Okay. Landed, clearance or at least smuggled transport for two, plus a sympathetic healer contact. May not be a wetworks job, but it’ll still be my pleasure to assist you.” Her smile twitched just a tiny bit. “Those Voss kids are completely insane. Could be a while, even with me on the job, but rest assured, you’ve got the best working for you.”

64. In which Pierce cleans up after Servant Nine

“I don’t like where this is going. She’s dead now.”

 

“Well,” said Pierce, “she didn’t have me.” He nudged the lift door open and carried her toward the waiting Helicarrier’s ramp.

 

Swoon

68. Mini-snippet: In which Nalenne checks her romantic status

 

The news from the front of the war

May surprise or excite: much and more

May be gleaned from the ‘Net

If you watch. Don’t forget,

What you read between lines, don’t ignore.

 

 

Nalenne strolled into the holo room from the direction of the ship’s entrance. She stretched luxuriously. “Today’s work: brilliant,” she announced to Vette.

 

“So I hear. You’re getting downright notorious on the holonews, you know. You and Servant Nine, as an item, striking terror into the hearts of Jedi everywhere.”

 

“Really? That’s…kind of cool. But I don’t know about the item part. We haven’t exactly had that talk.”

 

“Haven’t had that talk? My lord, the Emperor’s Hand has been officially balancing your workload between Servant Nine and Quinn for weeks.”

 

“Basic work-life balance. Doesn’t mean anything. ‘Sides, I’m still taking orders from Quinn at all. So I’m not exactly on the exclusive page.”

 

“Sith don’t do exclusive. Let’s face it, Servant Nine’s your boyfriend.”

 

“Recurring booty call,” said Nalenne.

 

“’Recurring booty call’ twice a week with an itinerary laid out in advance.”

 

“Not true! He surprises me a lot of the time.” Nalenne giggled.

 

“I am proud of you, girl. Not only do you have a love life, you’ve found someone even more terrifying than you are to get it on with. I’m just really, really glad you keep it all off the ship.”

 

“That’s another thing. Boyfriends come home with you.”

 

“He doesn’t have to,” Vette said quickly. “He can be a ‘safe distance away from me’ boyfriend.”

 

“You really think I should talk to him?”

 

“May as well. Everyone who tracks major Imperial victories already knows it.”

69. In which Nalenne has a full life and avoids Vette’s latest idea

 

A Sith in defense or attack

Must recall that the clothes can draw flack.

And yet, it takes passion

To keep up with fashion:

It’s simpler to wear off the rack.

 

 

Vette leaned up against the console where Nalenne was downloading the latest round of Coruscant Comics bootlegs to her datapad. “Hey, Nalenne. We took a vote. You officially have to update your wardrobe. Not only is your armor way out of date, it’s been taking a beating with the high-intensity work program. You’re going to see a synthweaver for fitting, stat.”

 

“Can’t. I’m booked solid ‘til next week.”

 

“I highly doubt that,” said Vette.

 

“It’s true. Tomorrow, Servant Nine. There was some Jedi war hero, Ako Domi. We captured him for a while, broke him down but good. Then the Republic broke him out again and now he’s some inspiring shining paragon. We’re to bring him down more permanently. Then Wednesday, girls’ night out. Dahlia, (*) Kaliyo, and I are going to…you don’t want to know, but the bloodshed should be awesome. Thursday, assignment with Quinn, you, and the rest of the crew.”

 

“You can blow his orders off.”

 

“And break Pierce and Broonmark’s hearts? I think not. You know how neglected they’ve been feeling. Anyway, Friday, girls’ night out, thanks to you. Goin’ to pretend to be your owner, Miss High Maintenance, on Nar Shaddaa, so you can hang out with your friends without the collar getting you in trouble.”

 

“Drinking and loud music will be involved. You’ll like it.”

 

“Come to think of it, I won’t be pretending to be your owner so much as being your owner.”

 

“Nah, think of it the other way.”

 

“Smooth. Saturday, meeting up with Servant Nine for some vigorous activity of as-yet-undecided nature. I’m hoping it’ll be combat, because the sex is less than stellar.”

 

“I thought you wanted to finally get laid again,” said Vette.

 

“That was before I met him.” Nalenne grimaced. “Never mind, it is technically better than nothing. And the fighting’s beyond amazing. And wait a minute, what do you mean, my armor’s out of date? I look fine.”

 

“For the spring five-years-ago collection, maybe. I’ve been waiting for somebody to say something, but everybody you work with is either too clueless or too cowardly. That weird bib plate you’ve got going on? Gross.”

 

“I like how it keeps things from breaking my collarbone.”

 

“Il faut souffrir pour etre belle, hon. Skip the bib. You know how Jaesa’s got some of those mad V-necks?”

 

“Jaesa dresses like a ballerina!”

 

“And guys love it. You’re the Emperor’s Wrath, Nalenne, be bold. A little slinky, a little fitted, some slightly more interestingly placed nips and cutouts. I know a guy on Hutta, he can work wonders with cortosis weave and some other stuff. I’ll set you up.”

 

“Sorry. Busy this week. And next. And the week after.”

 

“Then we can just cancel our girls’ night out and do it then.”

 

“I hate you.”

70. In which Pierce pays his debts

 

In black ops, the rules rarely hold;

As they say, fortune favors the bold.

The cleanup gets rough

From the messier stuff,

And leaves much of the damage untold.

 

 

“Morning, milord.”

 

“Pierce, you’re invading my sanctum.”

 

“Saw the door open. Couldn’t help myself. Wanted to talk. You recall that time you killed every Cathar civilian on Taris?”

 

“I remember it quite fondly, yes.”

 

Pierce took a couple of steps into Nalenne’s room and let the door fall shut behind him. “I’m here to report that you missed a spot.”

 

“Nonsense. I don’t miss spots.”

 

“Knew some Cathar back on planet. They’re alive, and they’re looking to collect certain debts from me.”

 

“Debts? To Cathar?”

 

“It was a game I had with the locals. I’d go lose all my credits to ‘em at pazaak, then go wipe ‘em out in the next Imperial sortie. Take the credit chips back, all’s well. Or they would lose and then try to wipe our boys out, not that that ended well for ‘em. Anyway, started betting big when you came through town. Had an overwhelming feeling none o’ these guys would be alive to collect. For a long time I thought they weren’t.”

 

“So pay up or kill them now. No trouble.”

 

“Well, they recruited some friends. Something about revenge for their murdered families, blah blah war crimes, gambling debts with some stupid interest rate piled on top – like I signed that kind of paperwork at a card table in a bombed-out ruin in a Tarisian swamp, right? – and it’s getting bothersome. Figured I might go to their trap – ah, meeting – and sort things out.”

 

“Sounds great. Have at it.”

 

“Thought I would graciously offer you a piece of the action.”

 

There may have been the faintest trace of actual concern in his voice. “Crew?” she asked.

 

“Just as soon not. Don’t know what’ll be said. Thought this could be just you and me.”

 

The thought of Pierce being worried shocked her into full-on distraction mode. “Setting it up with a fight teaser like that? You just want to get me alone.”

 

He grinned. “Can’t let those other two have all the action. Hutta, tomorrow night.”

 

“I’ll clear my schedule.”

 

“Wear something nice. Something you won’t mind getting messy in.”

 

*

 

Nalenne needn’t have bothered wearing her most spikily intimidating black body armor. She was outclassed by the eight-foot-tall Cathar cyborg monstrosity who greeted them in the patron-free cantina they entered.

 

“Pierce?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You told me you were in debt to a Cathar, not a medium tank.”

 

“Lieutenant Pierce,” said the cyborg in a voice like the beginning of an earthquake. “We told you to come alone.”

 

“You tell me a lot of things, Rashade. How’s the old home guard, by the way?”

 

“You know the answer to that.”

 

Others were filing into the round room. Cathar, mostly. A couple of Devaronians. A few sketchy-looking humans. Nalenne counted, and waited, and reflected that when Pierce decided to show a girl a good time, he went all-out.

 

“It’s past time we brought you to justice,” said Rashade.

 

“Justice? I thought this was about lunch money.”

 

“I knew what would draw you, Imperial.”

 

One of the Cathar around the edge of the room raised his rifle. “I am Bentak. Your debt to me is blood.”

 

A second Cathar next to him took aim as well. “I am Aidan. Your debt to me is blood.”

 

A Devaronian. “I am Tayz. Your debt to me is a hundred thou, give or take. I figured I would talk exact numbers after you’re dead.”

 

“They’re pretty pissed, huh?” said Nalenne, as the recitation continued around the room.

 

“Spent a lot of time on Taris, milord. Seems the survivors stayed mad.”

 

“Very well. Where do you want to start?”

 

“Should’ve just rigged the building to go. Can you keep Rashade occupied?”

 

“Depends how fast he would get bored of stomping on me. Kidding, I can hold him for a while. Think you can clear the sides?”

 

“Keep Rashade between you and the lot if you can. Thermal detonators will be involved, and it’ll be the ones I’ve modded to skip most of the countdown.”

 

Their opponents kept lining up their weapons and reciting their grievances.

 

“Love the drama. I never get fan clubs like this,” said Nalenne.

 

“Give it time,” said Pierce. “Let’s not give the big guy the chance to talk. On your mark, milord.”

 

Nalenne took a deep breath and summoned up a sweet swell of hatred. “Mark this, lieutenant.”

 

*

 

One thing Nalenne could say for Pierce, his idea of a tough fight didn’t disappoint. She used the powerful but slow Rashade as armor and shelter while Pierce’s explosives took out most of the room; then it was time to worry less about positioning and more about beating the hell out of an angry half-metal man two and a half feet taller than she was.

 

Conveniently, Pierce’s explosives helped there, too.

 

When the Cathar went down he went down hard. He recovered, partly, raising himself to his hands and knees, dripping blood as he glared at Pierce. “You. Everything you did, the way you laughed at us. I should’ve expected it from a man named – “ he coughed.

 

“Wait,” said Nalenne. “Named? Named what?”

 

“A man named –“

 

Nalenne was fumbling with a medpack. “He has a name? A not-Pierce name? Talk, damn you!”

 

“Milord, we want him dead,” said Pierce from over her shoulder.

 

“Shut up. You! Don’t you dare die!”

 

But the only sound Rashade made was a last rattling wheeze.

 

Nalenne let him drop. She stood up. “He knew your name? What was he to you?”

 

Pierce shrugged. “Dead. We good to go?”

 

“No! How dare you end a date with a tease like that!”

 

He just looked at her. “Milord, someday if you’re lucky I’ll tell you exactly what you did here today. ‘Til then, I’ll just say thanks. Wouldn’t have trusted anyone else for this.”

 

“So this really was significant? In that case I think you owe me something. Like, say, your name.”

 

He smiled. “You wish.”

71. In which Nalenne questions Quinn’s behavior

 

A Sith, if she fits the cliché,

Breaks a rule or three every day.

For each regulation

A fresh violation:

The Sith will dictate their own way.

 

 

Nalenne caught ghost-Quinn in one of the rare moments when he wasn’t on the bridge. She intercepted him as he passed by the reading nook: “Hey.”

 

“My lord?”

 

“You’ve been awfully…docile…lately.”

 

“I’m not sure what you mean, my lord.”

 

“You haven’t volunteered a lengthy editorial on all the things I’ve been screwing up in a couple of weeks.”

 

“I haven’t seen the need for it, my lord.”

 

“Uh, my behavior hasn’t changed.”

 

It took him a moment to answer. “Then stating my criticisms would be redundant, my lord.”

 

“Stop ‘my lord’ing me.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

“I don’t get it. Things have been going great. We’re working together brilliantly a day or two a week. You’re free to do your desk jockeying the rest of the time, and I hear only good things from the military about your contributions. So if it’s all so perfect…why aren’t you finding fault?”

 

“It wouldn’t make a difference, would it, my lord?”

 

“I said stop ‘my lord’ing me! My original threat to assign you as Vette’s personal servant stands, if you don’t dial down the frequency on that.”

 

“I apologize. I meant to say, it would make no difference, so I refrain.”

 

“It never made a difference. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss it.”

 

His brow contracted. “How is it that you still manage to baffle me on a near-daily basis?”

 

“I’m just trying to make things normal around here. Your failure to participate in the overall sense of contentment is seriously impacting my enjoyment.”

 

He regarded her solemnly for a moment, then turned and started walking away. “I have work to do.”

 

“Don’t give me that!” She grabbed at his shoulder, but her hand just passed through him. “How is it you’re still blowing me off every time we talk? Stars. All my friends are happy with how things are, except you. You stupid killjoy. You’re just…not with us.”

 

“I’m dead, my lord. It makes solidarity more difficult than you might expect.”

 

“Well, get with us. That’s an order.”

 

He stopped. Looked up at the ceiling. “I shall endeavor to do so, my lord.” He really did have a thousand vocal shades of ‘you’re being unreasonable.’

 

“You have a place here. Just tell me what I’m screwing up, okay? Transgressions aren’t half as much fun when nobody’s calling me on them.”

 

Quinn looked back, frowning. "There's demanding, there's imperious, and then there's you. I really have no idea how I managed to take orders for so long from someone so insistent on such irrational, capricious nonsense."

 

"That's better." She smiled. "I wouldn’t know how to live in a galaxy that didn’t have you disapproving of it.”

Edited June 25, 2012 by bright_ephemera

Maybe you could just make up a name for Pierce? Any name?

72. In which Nalenne finds a change vis-à-vis Servant Nine

 

For a sister who’s eager to share

It gets quite expensive to care.

A user enjoys

With the easiest ploys

Far more than her sister can spare.

 

 

“Evening, milord,” said Pierce. “You’re very…here…for a Wednesday night.”

 

“Yeah, plans didn’t shake out. Servant Nine hasn’t answered my calls the last few days.”

 

“Think he’s dead?”

 

“Not likely. Guys at that level don’t have much threatening competition.”

 

“Might be plotting against you.”

 

“Possible. It might’ve been too good to last.”

 

Vette wandered in. “Trouble?”

 

“Nothing much. Servant Nine won’t take my calls.”

 

“He’s probably just brushing up on his ego. He’ll be back for blood soon.”

 

“Possibly literally,” said Pierce.

 

Just then the ship holo blipped. Nalenne rushed to answer it. Her sister Niselle came up.

 

“Lenny!”

 

“Nis! What’s up with you?”

 

“Exciting news.” Niselle reached out for someone, and none other than Servant Nine strolled into view of the holo. Buh? “I finally talked Andronikos into a semipermanent ménage a trois.”

 

Buh. “That just may be the classiest thing you’ve done all year,” Nalenne said stiffly.

 

“Isn’t it, though?” Niselle beamed. “You wouldn’t believe how potent an enforcer this one is.”

 

“I would know better than anyone.”

 

“Better than anyone? I’m already getting a pretty good idea.”

 

“Not only is your sister more amusing than you ever were, Wrath, she doesn't whine about friendly fire incidents when we're out working up a sweat," said Servant Nine. “Thanks for the memories.”

 

“I’m dying to know who started this,” said Nalenne.

 

“Lenny. After hearing how much fun you two were having, I just couldn’t restrain myself.”

 

“Yeah, well. I’ll come up with a really good retort and get back to you.” Nalenne cut the line.

 

“That was cold,” volunteered Vette.

 

“No kidding.” Nalenne should've seen it coming; it had been close to three years since Nis had poached one of hers. That skank. “It’s fine, though. It’s fine. I don’t even care. You know Servant Nine and I had our differences. A lot.”

 

“He was a complete monster,” said Vette.

 

“I didn’t even like him that much. - 'Whining about friendly fire incidents'? Me? Yes, I called him on it. Did that seriously make me not evil enough for him? What a jerk!"

 

“And he’s stupid enough to get it on with Niselle, of all people.”

 

"I'll take her pirate. I will seduce her stupid pirate."

 

"Don't do that," said Vette and Pierce in unison.

 

"You're right. Not even worth it. Servant Nine, that's nothing. There were a ton of things he could never do anyway. Good sex. The feeling that he had my back. Encyclopedic knowledge of what rules I’m breaking.” Nalenne rubbed her temples. “That selflessness. That stupid way he gets so excited over the slightest Imperial advantage. That unspeakably weird need to iron his socks…stars, I’m such an idiot.”

 

Pierce rolled his eyes. “And I see we’re back to a familiar classic.”

 

Vette stared. “Stars. Karking stars.”

 

“That ability to command the scene without even needing stupid Force pyrotechnics,” said Nalenne, tears rising. “Did I mention the sex?”

 

“No. Argh. I've seen disruptor beams disintegrate people slower than this. Close to year and a half of progress, completely undone.” Vette looked up at Pierce. “Back to square hysterical one. Where am I supposed to find another guy horrible enough to keep her attention?”

 

“I’ll get the ice cream,” said Pierce.

 

“I’d rather get an axe,” said Vette.

 

“One thing at a time.”

Edited January 18, 2013 by bright_ephemera

73. In which Quinn extends a second olive branch

 

A tragical air can forestall

Any joys, once you’ve taken a fall.

For heroes Byronic,

It ends up ironic:

It hurts to feel nothing at all.

 

 

Nalenne was busy tapping her fingers next to her useless console when ghost-Quinn walked up beside her.

 

“Good evening, my lord. If I may ask, what’s giving you trouble?”

 

“It’s a White Star Comics distribution node I run. Couple of Republic companies have been conspiring to block ‘em. Not even content censorship, just pure market blockading. I can’t seem to keep my files available to everyone.”

 

“So obfuscate the routing.”

 

“What the what now?”

 

It’s simple enough. Bring up the node control and follow my instructions.”

 

He talked her through the configuration, which was only ‘simple’ according to some bizarre Imperial supergenius definition of the word. But eventually they managed a roundabout setup that would circumvent the Republic slicers’ blocks, at least for the time being. The comics would flow.

 

“Thanks, captain. So why are you being helpful here instead of working?”

 

“I wanted to see how you were. Outside the context of fighting.”

 

“Oh? But talking to you is always a fight. You do that.”

 

“Fascinating. I have actually made a minor game out of counting how many words it takes you to initiate hostilities in our conversations. You make single digits some days.”

 

“Sith. It’s a talent.” She felt a small incredulous smile forming. “Would you rather just talk?”

 

“If you have time.”

 

“Color me surprised.” A thought wandered to mind. “Remember how long it took before the first time you blew off the console-jockeying night shift to talk to me?”

 

“Tatooine,” he said immediately. “The hangar bay had collapsed in the last windstorm, we were stranded. I was furious.”

 

“Really? I couldn’t tell the difference from normal you.”

 

“That would be because I was always furious after three seconds of trying to deal with you. I simply had three seconds’ head start that night.”

 

“I see. I don’t even remember what we talked about.” Nalenne smiled wryly. “To be honest, I only remember I was with you.”

 

“We talked about staggeringly inane things. I remember, for example, you asked me how my uniform felt, how comfortable it was.”

 

“Oh! And you said something uninformative, like ‘it was adequate to cover you.’”

 

“It was a stupid question.”

 

She decided to let that slide. “What about now? How’s your unchangeable uniform feel?”

 

“I don’t feel anything.”

 

Nalenne sucked in her breath. “I’m sorry. That was also a stupid question.”

 

“At least you’re reliable.”

 

“I can’t imagine going without all that. When’s the last time you even felt…I don’t know, pleasure?” Definitely the first feeling she would miss if half her world fell out from under her.

 

He considered. “Last week. Cornering that Republic squad on Kashyyyk.”

 

“Ooh, that was a good dramatic entrance. Getting 2V to rig the whole platform like that? Great. But you know I hate it when you don’t tell me in advance about the cleverly constructed trap that will stylishly finish off a fight.”

 

“Half the satisfaction is in surprising and impressing my superiors. The effect is lost if you know it’s coming.”

 

“I can’t deny it’s a pretty sexy move.”

 

“Is that really what you’re thinking about in the middle of a sensitive operation?”

 

“Every time. Does that surprise you?”

 

“No.” He half smiled. “That hunger tested my restraint for the longest time.”

 

“Glad you finally gave in.”

 

In spite of the singing tension, they did not touch.

 

“Um,” said Nalenne, “except for the part where it made the disastrous downturn the most unspeakably painful experience of my life. Not so thrilled about that bit.”

 

“Not now, please. That battle would be a waste.”

 

“But slinging blame is our favorite subject.”

 

“It doesn’t have to be.”

 

“You’re being reasonable at me. On a nice topic, for once.” Nalenne nervously ran a hand over her face ridges. “I would appreciate it if you could just let me hate you all the time, instead of three-quarters of the time.”

 

“Yes, well. I’m sure we’ll start fighting again any moment now.”

 

“Yeah. You’d better go.”

 

They looked at each other for a while instead. He seemed terribly serious. She wanted to reach out and inform him that with a face like that, he was still an insufferable wet blanket.

 

“Malavai?” she said instead. “I should say you do the surprise and impress thing all the time. If that’s half the fun, consider tonight’s maneuver successful.”

 

“If you put it in those terms, I am obligated to point out that the other half of the fun is in breaking my opponent’s spirit as a prelude to crushing them utterly.”

 

“Yeah, that part’s pretty familiar, too. Now go, before we jinx something.”

Edited September 11, 2012 by bright_ephemera

74. In which Quinn compromises his principles

 

The bigger bureaucracy goes,

The worse its efficiency grows.

A man cannot sign

On the right dotted line

When where that line is, no one knows.

 

 

“My lord.”

 

“Captain?”

 

“I don’t wish to bother you, but I must request your approval on a form.”

 

“Oh? What is it?”

 

“Nothing very interesting, my lord. Please stamp here.” He handed her a datapad.

 

She checked it, looked up at him, looked back at the datapad. “Renewing your pilot’s certification?”

 

“Yes, my lord,” he said uncomfortably.

 

“But you can’t pilot anything.”

 

“Perhaps not, but the pilot’s license is a prerequisite for maintaining the second-degree captaincy – “

 

“Which you deceased your way out of over a year ago.”

 

“ – which in turn is absolutely required for the IRRP certification – “

 

“I have no idea what you just said.”

 

“ – which in combination with regular DIF-12 training is necessary for cleared access to the heavy munitions and prototype armor we’ve been requisitioning for the last year.”

 

“Just tell me where to sign.”

 

“It’s appreciated. I shall make an effort to get the other expiring dependencies put in order soon.”

 

“I can skip straight to forging the final approvals on the whole list if you want, Quinn.”

 

“My lord! That would be fraud!”

 

“But you’re already objectively disqualified for every step of the process.”

 

He glowered. “If you don’t want to help, just say so.”

 

“Of course I want to help.”

 

Vette paused mid-stride on her way through the room. “Mad at him. Remember?”

 

“Hush, Vette. I’m preserving our ability to make things go boom.”

 

“And I’m in favor of this because, why?”

 

“Because I’ll get you another spa day at that mega-exclusive place on Manaan if you buzz off and never mention any irresponsible paper filing I may do here today.”

 

“Make it three days.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Quinn frowned at Vette as she left. “My lord, you are a walking cautionary tale of corruption.”

 

“Says the man calling in favors with me to pretend he can physically fly a spaceship.”

 

“I would go quite mad if I couldn’t do the work I have now, my lord. That means I need the clearance. And that means I need someone as ethically flexible as you to get the irrelevant prerequisites out of the way. It’s still a net benefit for the Empire.”

 

“See? Reasoning like that shows me you’re developing as a person. I like that.”

 

“Please. Just sign.”

 

“I’m just really enjoying this moment.”

 

“My lord….”

 

“I love it when you show signs of seeing it my way.”

 

“There is no love,” yelled Vette from the other room.

 

“Shut up, Vette,” yelled Nalenne.

 

“I never get tired of hearing you say that,” murmured Quinn.

 

“What’s that, captain?”

 

“Nothing, my lord. If you would affix your approval here, I’ll be out of your way.”