[Too creepy.]

use the hallucinations. I've no doubt that was complex to write but it came off very smoothly. And my gut totally twisted up when Quinn found out about the levels of serum in her blood. This is one of those stories that keeps me constantly on my toes, hoping for a happy ending but knowing that it really may not happen.

Rixik paused, leaning against the grimy portside building. Across the way was a diner, all dingy chrome and sputtering neon. Kirya touched his shoulder, “Surprised it’s still there. Still operating.”

“Plenty enough vultures on this planet. Can’t be too squeamish to buy a place where there’s been a murder. Not on Nar Shaddaa.” Rixik replied.

“Hey,” she said, turning his face to hers and breaking his stare at the diner, “that’s not you anymore.”

“Yeah, it is,” he objected, “I killed a lot of people, Kirya. Sal’s the only one I knew was wrong. Even then. He was a good guy. He tried to give me a chance.” Haunted eyes returned to their stare, “He didn’t deserve what I did to him.”

Kirya interposed herself between Rixik and the diner, “You know what I remember?”

Blocked from his obsessive view, Rixik looked instead down at Kirya, “What?”

“The kid,” she said.

“What, the spicehead kid?” Rixik replied, “Idiot got himself shot and killed.”

“That’s the one,” she said, “When he dragged himself back to our place, who was it used up all the kolto trying to patch him up, even when you knew it was useless? Gave him painkillers so he didn’t know how bad he was hurt? Stayed with him until the end? I never asked you to do all those things, Jesp.”

Rixik brushed his hands over her head and down her lekku, “Was after that you said you wanted to buy a ship,” he said.

She ran on finger over the scar on his cheek, “Because we’d tried my dream, and it wasn’t working out the way I thought it would. That kid wasn’t ever going to go straight and we both knew it. We weren’t helping people. Not enough. It was never enough. I couldn’t put you through that again. It wasn’t fair. It was time to try your dream instead. Maybe we’d find a way to do both.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against his chest, “I love you, Kirya,” he said.

“I know,” Kirya replied, returning his embrace.

I thought Baras died in the confrontation chapter. However, people seem to be acting like he's still alive.

This is in fact set before Baras's trap-and-death. After Voss, after negotiating with Ekkage, before Baras dies.

AU in which Ukaita, a Chiss Sith who in another world would have been a Jedi, allies with the Emperor's Wrath, Lord Scourge, (who she thinks is pretty smexy) to stop the Emperor from destroying all life in the galaxy (and hopefully come out on top of the pile at the end).

Ukaita ticked off the list on her fingers. "Darth Lamia?"

Lord Scourge crossed his arms and surveyed his ally irritably. "Is being undermined by her apprentice. None of her staff are loyal to her anymore."

Ukaita paused a moment to appreciate the way the muscles in Scourge's arms flexed as he scowled at her before continuing with her list. "Lord Gaddra?"

"Is occupied by a slave revolt on her home estate, which is being led by her apprentice."

"Darth Morlak?"

"We are wasting time on these plots."

She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. "Darth Morlak?"

He glared at her. "Currently under attack by his apprentice, who has apparently commandeered a star destroyer to kill his former master."

"Darth Baras?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Is obsessed with destroying a former apprentice, something about stolen cookies."

"So that leaves Lord Fornar."

"That is correct. Lord Fornar is as powerful as he is because he has honed paranoia to a fine art."

"No apprentices then?"

"Never, and his compound is nearly impenetrable."

"Are you sure it's really necessary for me to infiltrate his compound through the swamp tunnel?"

"The tunnel is the only way in or out. Even that entrance has defenses that would require an exceptionally powerful Sith to defeat."

"Surprised he didn't think of that."

"I doubt he considered that a Sith would lower him or herself to muck through the swamps," he said with slight amusement in his red eyes.

Ukaita wrinkled her nose at the Sith. "The things I do to become Empress."

***

The wrath that rolled of Ukaita preceeded the stench that announced her arrival. Vette poked her head around the corner with her nose covered only to duck back into hiding at her mistress's face. Ukaita stalked into the conference room of the ship where Lord Scourge sat at his leisure, studying an ancient text. She left dark brown slimy footprints in her wake and a ship droid that was babbling about cleaning solutions and Alderaanian nectar.

"You!" she snarled, pointing at Scourge, igniting her lightsabers.

Lord Scourge raised an eyebrow at the woman at the door. Her skin appeared to be varying shades of brown rather than its typical bright blue, but her eyes were firey red.

"You didn't tell me the swamp tunnel was a sewer," she seethed, nasty gunk dripping off her soaked robes.

"You wanted a way to enter Lord Fornar's compound. Your difficulties are not my concern. If you are quite done wasting our time, we can continue to more important things," he said dismissively, turning back to his text.

Ukaita raised her lightsabers and then paused. Scourge glanced up when she resheathed them, his eyes widening at her look of unholy glee. "What are you doing?" he said as she began to walk steadily towards him.

Her grin widened, white teeth flashing through the grime as she picked up her pace. "Lord Ukaita..." he said warningly, standing and backing up warily. She launched herself through the air and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, kissing him on the cheek with a loud smacking sound.

She leaned back, still wrapped around him, grinning evilly at his frozen shock. "I think you got a bit right..." she reached up and rubbed a bit more grime into his cloak with gloating satisfaction, "...there."

His brows dropped in a ferocious scowl, and he peeled her off him as fast as possible, dropping her on the floor. He breathed heavily as he struggled to find words.

"What's the matter Scourge? Have some difficulties?" she said as innocently as she could manage, surveying the dirt smeared on his armor with satisfaction.

He growled at her and stormed out of the room.

Ukaita looked at her filthy hands and grinned at the door the Sith had disappeared into. "Oh, yeah, totally worth it."

Male Quinn in-game seems conflicted about the romance, and players tend to assume rational reasons for his behavior, while the F!Warr is being aggressive. Swap gender, and suddenly s/he's an ice maiden while the M!Warr is A Typical Guy. How is this fair?? I'm terribly curious to get the reaction after the Big Betrayal. Does Anders chuck her around the room, and is that even more spousal-abusive creepy? Does he take her back? Does that make him a wuss? Does she want to go back, and is that even more creepy?

Rixik turned his head toward Corso, “Poodoo?”

“My one Huttese word,” Corso said, “seemed appropriate.”

Rixik scooted several meters back from the edge, “Poodoo?” he repeated.

“Not everyone knows a hundred and seventy two languages, smarty.”

Rixik snickered, “Poodoo? Really? I need to teach you some new profanity, kid.”

“I think we need to get new Merr-Ox,” Corso countered, glancing behind him at the cliff in the middle of a building.

“All right, okay,” Rixik struggled to his feet, “Where?”

Corso backed away from the edge and stood, “I dunno. You’re the guy with all the shady connections. Where would you go to get Merr-Ox?”

“Told you. The base keeps all that stuff laced up tighter than a Jedi’s trousers,” Rixik replied, “Besides, that’s back in Olaris and we’re not.”

“Scavengers?” Corso asked, “they had some of that old rakghoul virus medicine.”

“I seem to remember they were kinda hostile,” Rixik muttered.

“So? Didn’t bother you none before.”

“What’s the plan, then? Wander on into their encampment and ask?”

Corso coughed, “They might be reasonable if you didn’t go in shooting everything. You’re the smooth-talking guy. Ask nice-like.”

Rixik cleared his throat, “Pardon me, criminal scum,” he declaimed in a fair facsimile of an Imperial HoloNet newsreader, “but do you have any Merr-Ox?”

Corso broke out in laughter, “Oh yeah that’ll work,” he said.

“They’ll hand it right over,” Rixik replied, chuckling, “then invite us in for tea.”

“Okay, maybe not such a good idea,” Corso admitted.

“Speaking of rakghouls,” Rixik continued, “have you seen any?”

Corso looked around, “Uh, no, not recently.”

“Cause I think this is pretty good building for them to fall off of. You don’t think they can swim, do you?” he asked, “when they hit the water down there?”

“Like I’m the expert on rakghouls,” Corso countered. He glanced over his shoulder, down into the pit, “I sure don’t want to test it.”

“Hell no,” Rixik agreed. “We should mark it, though. Remember where it is.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s why we’re out here, remember?” Rixik declared, “If we run into any soldiers, shinetific research souns better than we got loca-loca drunk and went over the fence. Probably a fine for that.”

“Yeah,” Corso agreed. There was silence for a moment, “You bring a map?” he asked.

“You’re the Junior Mandalorian Savrip Scout,” Rixik retorted, “Don’t you have one?”

“Mantellian,” Corso countered. He fumbled with his clothing for a moment, “I have a brochure here from the spaceport on the dangers of Taris.”

“It got a map?”

“Uh…” Rixik heard a crinkling sound as Corso thumbed through the flimsiplast leaflet, “It shows the off-limits areas.”

“Which are?”

“Pretty much everything outside Olaris. Says you’re supposed to have an armed military escort,” Corso looked at Rixik, “do you count as an armed escort?”

Corso seemed genuinely ignorant of his question’s implications. “Sure. I have a blaster, and I asked you out,” Rixik said with a snicker, “Peace Brigade counts as military, right?”

“Pretty much,” Corso agreed.

“So we’re covered. Mark something that looks like a building.”

“Okay.” More fumbling. A pop as something punctured the flimsiplast, “I don’ think we’re on this map though.”

“Deh,” Rixik replied with a shrug, “hard to tell one wreck from another.”

“Let’s get out of here before we fall off something,” Corso replied, crumpling the brochure back into his pocket.

Rixik shivered, remembering his close call, “Let’s. And hope we don’t find a nest of sleeping rakghouls on the way out.”

It was Corso’s turn to shudder, “Ick. No thank you,” he said, moving past Rixik down the gradual slope of the floor.

“Wait. Have some,” Rixik unscrewed the top of the water canister. The familiar solvent-sweet-vegetal odor wafted out. He took a sip and handed the flask to Corso, “bet this stuff leaves a schutta of a hangover. No Merr-ox, so venom of the worrt, okey-okey?”

Corso took the flask, “Thought you said we were too drunk already,” he said, taking a sip. He handed the canister back.

“That was before we lost our only Merr-Ox tablet down a hole,” he replied, putting the flask away, “Now I want to push off the hangover until I’m back in a civilized place.” Fluffy was back. In staves.

Corso coughed once, “I, uh, I guess that makes sense,” he agreed, “there’s a passage down this way.” He headed down the uneven slope toward the deeper darkness of what had been the building’s wall.

After meandering around in deserted hallways for what felt like hours, they emerged from the structure in an open, rolling meadow. The surrounding towers all fell away in other directions and trees had not yet taken over. Starlight streamed in, giving everything a wan, omnidirectional glow. Scrap piles dotted the meadow, the grass encroaching on their sides, like metal rafts afloat in a sea of quicksilver.

Rixik took another drink from the flask, “Where the kark are we? I don’ remember this.”

Corso reached for it, “Leas’ there’s no rakghouls,” he said. He sipped and replaced the cap, then gave the canister a quick shake, “Down about half,” he said.

Rixik took the container back, “Hope we make Olaris by the time we run out. So where do we go?” he asked, spinning around to look in all directions. Then overbalanced and fell in the grass.

Corso laughed, “Well, it’s kinda brighter over that way,” he said, pointing off to the left and giving Rixik a hand up. “So I bet that’s either Olaris or one of the scavenger settlements.”

Rixik brushed the vegetation off, “Not real good odds.”

“Got a better idea?”

Rixik looked off where Corso pointed. It was lighter, and the scavengers probably couldn’t afford to burn that much power. Plus it attracted attention, especially at night, something else scavengers wouldn’t want to do. Rixik waved him on, “Nobata. Let’s go.”

Coros—still wearing his monocular goggles—led the way across the meadow. A vague breeze set the grass waving. Like water. But the ground was solid. Rixik felt his stomach churn in nausea and closed his eyes. Another of Taris’ unpleasant night creatures screamed somewhere not far distant. Rixik’s eyes snapped open, but in this bowl it was hard to tell where the sound had come from. Ahead of him, Corso glanced about. Then he turned to Rixik and shrugged in defeat. He didn’t know what it was either.

The breeze freshened, blowing with it the smell of old meat and animal musk. They both froze. They were in a little hollow, ahead lay a pair of the scrap-rafts atop a small rise. The breeze came from that direction. The pair of them dropped down into the dubious cover of the long grass.

Rixik crept close to Corso, “Rakghouls?” he whispered.

“Maybe,” Corso whispered back, “Whatever it is they don’ know we’re here.”

“You figure?”

“They ain’t chewing off our faces yet,”

“Lovely. Go around,” hissed Rixik.

“We gotta find out where they are before we can go around,” Corso countered.

Making their way up the hillock to the twisted metal, Corso took a peek over the wreckage then retreated, “Nexu! Lots of nexu.” He snuck another glimpse, “They look small. Small-ish. Kittens maybe. Like a nest.” Ducking back down he continued, “Sure are a lot of them though.”

Rixik passed Corso the flask, “Just nexu?”

Corso downed another gulp and handed it back, “All I saw were nexu.”

Rixik took a sip and screwed the cap back on before peering through a gap in the metal. Beyond lay another hollow, not quite so deep as the one they were in. The grass was flattened and dead, gnawed bones of larger animals strewn haphazard about the space. A number of fluffy white mounds crowded the center. Nexu. Small nexu. Rixik leaned his back against the heap, “They’re all sleeping.” He sloshed the rapidly-emptying canteen of moonshine, “Doubt either one of us could hit ‘em even like that.”

Corso squelched a burp, “Betcha I could.”

“No-pa.” Rixik said with a snort.

“I could so!” Corso objected.

Rixik peeked over the scrap heap and slid back down, “Jee nu you a hunnerd credits you can’t hit more’n half of them.”

“You’re on, mister smarty uh, head-tail thingy guy, getcher credits out,” whispered Corso, pulling a handful of chips from his pocket. Rixik did the same, placing two fifty-credit pieces on the edge of the scrapped girder. Corso drew his blaster and flattened himself against the outcropping, “Let’s get ‘em. Three, two, one, go!” He whipped around the corner, weapon blazing.

His first shots must have connected, because Rixik heard the unmistakable whine of wounded nexu. Followed by the unmistakable growl of angry wounded nexu, pitched higher from smaller throats. Many smaller throats. The weapon discharge lit up the night, Corso laughing maniacally. Rixik crouched behind the metal, listening to the one-sided carnage.

Except that is wasn’t so very one-sided. The heap shuddered as a pair of the young nexu leaped on it, snarling. Rixik glanced up, blaster in hand. The two cats grinned at him, tails switching.

“Uh, little help here?” Corso said from over the barrier.

“Over there?” Rixik yelled, firing at one of the nexu, “how about back here?” Miraculously, the shot grazed the animal and it snapped and backed away. The other, however, pounced. Thirty kilos of angry fur, claws, and teeth bowled him over, knocking him to the ground and throwing the cat into the hollow. Rixik scrabbled back against the wreckage, firing randomly toward the beast, squinting his eyes against the bright flashes. He slid sideways, edging his way to Corso. He slipped underneath a bent beam just as the second nexu dove into the spot he’d been a moment before. Inertia rolled the cat over and it tumbled off into the darkness.

Rixik whipped around the corner. Corso was well inside the nest now. Green flashes from his blaster blinked like a rapid-fire strobe light. The remaining nexu paced around him in eerie stop-motion animation. Rixik blasted a hole in the circle, killing two of the animals by sheer luck. He charged through the gap and staggered into Corso.

“Where were you?” yelled Corso, “I thought we were going after the nexu!”

“You were,” Rixik replied, firing at another cub and missing, “I was staying out of your way.”

“You were—“ blaster fire cut off Corso’s question as they fended off the encroaching nexu. Several went down in the battle. Their numbers dwindling, the remaining handful scattered into the night. Rixik and Corso both wasted shots on the retreating creatures, hitting nothing but too keyed up to stop.

The nest was deserted. Blue and red afterimages filled Rixik’s vision. Everything else was utterly black. He heard Corso shuffling around nearby.

Corso chuckled, “Now you’re dumb, ugly, and dead,” he laughed, “Whoo-ee, I ain’t had that much fun in a long time.”

“Jee can’t see for poodoo, Corso,” Rixik said, disoriented. He stumbled toward the sound of Corso’s voice and tripped on something on the ground. Falling, he slammed into Corso and knocked the both of them over. “Kava many chuba killee, Corso?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Corso said, scooting away.

Damn. Mixing languages too much again. He felt less drunk; must be from something else. All the blaster fire, maybe. Rixik rocked to a seated position, “You killee, killee,” what was the Basic word? “How many? For the buttmalia?” Oh, that wasn’t any better.

“You sayin’ something about my butt?” Corso asked.

“Credits,” Rixik said. Definitely the blaster fire. He was finally able to make out dim shadows in the starlight as his eyes readjusted.

“The bet?” Corso asked.

“Bet. Buttmalia, yeah,” Rixik agreed.

“All of them,” Corso crowed.

Rixik glanced around at the corpses, pale lumps in the night, “Wait. Chuba cheeta, some ran off.”

“’Cause I hit them too. I only had to hit ‘em, you dint say nothing about killin’ ‘em,” Corso countered.

Rixik struggled to his feet and staggered to Corso. He tapped the Human’s chest with one finger, “Chuba…you…you…you’re learning,” he said with a laugh. He uncorked the canteen and took a sip of the moonshine before handing it over to Corso. Rixik brushed past Corso, slapping him on the back. Kid was all right.

A shadow slipped between the two large lumps of twisted durasteel. Fast. Big. Rixik froze.

“Yeah, I got ‘em,” Corso announced into the night, “That’s right, I got ‘em.”

“Corso,” Rixik hissed.

“Where’d you leave the credits?”

“Corso,” Rixik hissed a second time.

“What?” he asked.

Rixik turned slightly, unwilling to take his eye off the space where he’d seen movement, “If these were cubs, where’s the mom?”

“She’s…uh,” Corso began looking around.

There was a low growl in the night beyond Rixik’s vision. A feline head moved into view, its four eyes gleaming. Sharp bristles on its spine flexed with its breathing. Thick claws dug into the ground. The adult nexu took another step closer and bared its teeth.

“Poodoo,” Corso whispered.

“If she eats me,” Rixik whispered, backing into Corso, “I am going to be so mad at you.”

…to be continured…again…

Loca-loca: It seems that Huttese repeats a word for emphasis. Loca means “crazy”, so loca-loca would be “very crazy” or “insane”. For a language used often by the scum of the universe for all kinds of vice, I can find no word for “drunk”. Or common English variants: “Blind,” “Falling-Down,” or “Staggering,” So “Insane” it is.

Deh: Again, very limited info on just plain, ordinary interjections along the lines of English “Meh” or “Whatever”. Profanity didn’t seem to fit here. So, another invention, hopefully clear from context.

Schutta: B*tch, whore. Expletive.

Okey-okey: Okay.

Nobata: No.

Nopa: Not.

Jee: I

Nu: Wager, bet (verb).

Kava: How.

Chuba: You.

Killee: Kill.

Buttmalia: Bet (noun).

Cheeta: Cheat.

Other note: Staves is one of the four Sabaac suits, the others being Coins, Flasks, and Sabers. Adapted from the English idiom “to have (something) in spades”.

More Huttese for the nerdy.

All animals portrayed by literary stunt doubles. No animals were harmed in the writing of this episode.

Lord Scourge paced the abandoned building alone with his senses extended to the force. He waited for the inevitable whispers of attack, the subtle change of energies that would tell him when and where. He did not need see the attack, indeed his eyes were not fast enough to warn him of danger, but he looked anyway, there was more than one way to assassinate a Sith, and his opponent while unsophisticated was obviously deadly.

A whisper of prescience at the edge of his perception, his body reacted drawing his lightsaber and deflected a blaster bolt then several more, all aimed at his head.

“Not bad,” said a voice in his ear. He tapped the com device so that he could reply.

“Are you really attempting to kill me?”

“Well, it wouldn’t prove anything otherwise.”

“Does it prove anything now?” He still felt this exercise was ridiculous, he already knew there would be an attempt on his life, there was no other fighting to distract him, he had agreed to prove the Force’s superiority to blaster weapons, but he did not think the current test was well designed.

“Well, not the sniping,” the voice agreed, “but this might.” It was his only warning, she had herded him to the spot she wanted with her shots, and then distracted him with conversation, the final bolt was too far for him to block and hit a large fuel tank hidden under some rubble. He threw up an arm to protect himself, focusing his will in front of him, then everything went dark.

He woke in a clean, sparsely furnished room on a narrow bed. His skin felt tight but not painful, most of his armor had been removed and he felt kolto bandages on the arm he had used to protect himself. A small woman with red hair sat on the edge of the bed with her back to him and her rifle aimed at the door. He wondered why she sat that way until he realized she was guarding him while he slept.

He shifted slightly, still assessing the damage done to his body while trying to determine where they were. His reluctant apprentice turned to look at him, he made to get up but she put a restraining hand on his chest and pulled out a medical scanner to check him. She finished her analysis and grinned, “Well, you’re alive and your brain isn’t jelly, maybe this Force thing is worth learning after all.”

I'm not sure if it was obvious but this stemmed from an argument between Scourge and Coremi (that I am not sure if I should write about ) regarding using the Force over her more conventional weapons. He believes the Force is superior and she believes that mundane weaponry should not be overlooked in a fight.

Cold red eyes were all she saw. The whip cracked, the instincts she had relied on to survive for most of her life pushed her body to the side, Scourge told her it was the Force and that she used it without knowing. He was teaching her to use it consciously, or he was just whipping her in a dark room for revenge. It was hard to tell.

“I have been remiss in teaching you, little rebel.” The eyes said, “It was foolish to think I could win the trust of one such as you. I should have taught you to fear me.” She felt a twinge of regret, she was always trying to see how far she could push people, apparently that was not a good idea with Sith.

The eyes disappeared.

“Whips can be used for other things you know.” She said trying to get him to make a sound, she strained her ears and extended her senses including the other one that she had grown more conscious of since she began training. She sensed nothing. A sharp crack and the tip of the whip laid open her cheek. Gasping with pain and anger, she crouched and poured her energy into her senses. She would find him and then she would kill him.

His amusement at her pain leaked out of whatever he did to shield himself, she dropped a shiv into her hand dodging the next crack of the whip, she focused her energy into speed and leaped at him. Red eyes stared back calmly, unsurprised. A wall of force stopped her in mid-air then grabbed her and threw her to the ground.

He pinned her there as he walked calmly to her side, her hands desperately scrabbled at her neck in a futile attempt to dislodge his force choke. For a moment, the room flared as her untamed power tried to help her. She saw the outlines of things, parts of her body, the bugs and rodents scuttling in the darkness. All life glowed to her newfound senses, she looked up at the Sith, tears blurred her true vision but this new sense remained sharp. His power burned with almost painful intensity and at the core of him, a swirling darkness spiked with pain. His power dimmed, or so she thought, but it was only her senses as she lost her grip on consciousness and everything slipped away.

Scourge looked down at his battered charge lying on the narrow bed. He had nearly killed her, but she was as wild and untamed as her connection to the Force, she would bend to his will and learn or she would break, and she must not break. Her eyes fluttered open, she froze as she met his gaze. There was something different about the way she looked at him now, she had seen something of his power, and she feared him. Good. She tried to move and found herself secured to the bed. Anger joined the fear in her eyes, not broken. Very good.

Scourge sat at the edge of the bed and removed her wrist shackles. He felt the fear and anger warring within her, finally anger won.

“I’ll run.” She clenched her jaw and balled her hands into fists.

“Perhaps,” he said, amused at her bravado and leaned over her, she struck at him, her emotions overcoming her self-control. He caught her wrists easily and pinned them down. “But know this, little rebel, I will find you.”

She stopped struggling at his words and to his great surprise, she giggled. He released her as she curled on her side and shook with mirth, when she looked back at him the anger was gone though some of the fear remained this time perhaps tinged with respect.

She smiled at him crookedly, “You remind me of my mom.”

Aboard Fury-class starship

10 ATC

K’hera somehow didn’t find it surprising that Malavai’s ship didn’t have a name.

He was all business, all duty and efficiency, and giving a name to a starship that he would only ever see as a tool would be overly sentimental. Yes, it made perfect sense.

She was standing in the cargo hold, pretending to sort through the supplies they had picked up on Nar Shaddaa but really just trying to get away for a while. Being around Malavai was…frustrating, to say the least. It wasn’t that she disliked him, not exactly. Indeed, as far as Sith went, he could have been far worse. He was a model of competence and exactitude, always putting the interests of the Empire above his own. He was powerful, capable, and no doubt would go very far in the ranks of the Sith.

In short, he was exactly what she would have been, if not for Evendre’s treason. The thought grated on her, salt in the raw wound left by her absent Force-sensitivity. She was a Pureblood, heir to an ancient lineage, and he was only human. It should have been him serving her, not the other way around.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

K’hera whirled around, gasping in surprise before she could stop herself.

Malavai stood in the doorway, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. “Catch,” he said, and tossed an object in her direction.

Instinctively, she caught it out of the air.

“Your reflexes and hand-eye coordination are excellent,” Malavai observed coolly. “It seems your body has adjusted to compensate for the lack of the physical abilities granted by the Force. Good.”

K’hera suppressed the urge to glare at him. She had managed to avoid telling him exactly why she had lost her Force-sensitivity, and she wanted to continue doing so for as long as possible.

She looked down at the object in her hand. It was a lightsaber hilt, simple and elegant in its design. Although it was markedly similar to the one Malavai usually carried, it lacked the signs of frequent use that were visible on that particular hilt.

She looked up with a frown. “Why did you give me this? My lord,” she added hastily; he got grumpy when she left off the title, and she wanted to indulge her curiosity, not annoy him.

Malavai advanced into the room towards her. “I don’t believe that your Force affinity could have vanished completely. According to what I’ve read on the subject, with the proper stimulus, your sensitivity should be able to return.”

He did research on this? she thought incredulously. For me? No, surely not, he must have looked into this before for some reason…

“That’s a pleasant thought,” she said dubiously, “but where does the lightsaber come in?”

“You’re a Sith,” Malavai said matter-of-factly. “You’ve probably been trained in lightsaber combat from an early age. If you let yourself go enough during combat, your reflexes should take over, and you should touch the Force instinctively.”

K’hera raised a brow ridge. “I suppose it’s worth trying, my lord,” she said skeptically.

Malavai nodded. “Force-sensitivity doesn’t just disappear, K’hera. Your ability is locked away inside of you somewhere. I will not allow this waste of potential to continue. We will find a way to restore your power.”

The intensity in his words startled her, and she looked uncomfortably away from his gaze.

Malavai drew his lightsaber in a single smooth motion; no flair, no flourish, not from him. “Shall we begin?”

“I—um—now?” she spluttered.

He flashed her that small, smug grin that made her want to slap him for being such a handsome bastard. “No time like the present,” he said, and lunged for her.

She barely managed to activate the blade before he was on her. It was apparent to her almost immediately that he was holding back quite a bit. That was good, because she was barely holding her own. After only a few passes, he disarmed her.

“I must admit,” Malavai murmured, “I’m rather disappointed.”

This time, no amount of self-control was enough to keep her from glaring at him angrily. “I’m specialized with two lightsabers,” she snapped. “I’m not nearly as good with just one.”

“You could have mentioned that before.”

“And when was I supposed to do that?” K’hera demanded. “You tossed me the damn thing and attacked me!”

“I—“ Malavai stopped, took a breath, then started again. “You’re right. I…I apologize.”

The words sounded as if they pained him. She savored every moment of it.

“I don’t have another lightsaber with me at this time, but I will obtain one as soon as possible,” Malavai said firmly. “It is imperative that you find a way to restore your power as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my lord,” K’hera muttered. She knew better than to argue; she’d already seen enough of how Malavai’s mind worked to know that once he got an idea in his head, there was no stopping him.

“In the meantime,” he said briskly, “I see no reason not to work on your skills with a single blade.”

“If you insist,” she murmured grumpily. Emperor’s blood, does he have to treat me like an acolyte?

Malavai seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts, as he regarded her with another small smirk. He stretched out a hand, and the lightsaber she had been using flew into his grasp. Reversing the hilt so the emitter pointed towards him, he proffered it to K’hera.

She took the weapon with a mumbled thanks. Why did he have to be so difficult to figure out?

"Well," said Wynston, "I thought that went well."

"I'm more than a little surprised at how cooperative Keeper is," said Hunter. "You two were practically cuddly."

"Cuddly? Please. That was on the far professional edge of my range." Then, sarcastically, "I'll be rude next time if you like. I wouldn't want you getting jealous."

"That wasn't 'far professional.' I've seen you much cooler than that."

"It doesn't matter in any case; Keeper won't play. That woman taught me everything I know about rejection." He leaned back and half-smiled. "She's not the only one who ever turned me down, but she was certainly the most enthusiastic about it."

"And she's still willing to help us out with this? And you can work with her?"

"Of course. I don't hold grudges." He grinned at the look on Hunter's face. "Not unless the person really deserves it, anyway. You're on a very select list. But Keeper and I both know it's the mission that matters, besides which I have a strict policy of not letting women hurt me. Especially not the ones I happen to want." His smile vanished. "You might look into it."

"Ah, right, you never let women get to you." Hunter quirked an eyebrow. "How's Kaliyo these days?"

"Fine, so far as I know," Wynston said airily.

They sat in silence for a little while.

The voice Wynston spoke in next was very different. And very cold. "I should call her up sometime, let her know I've met a ***** even more vicious than she is."

"Oh, don't do that. I wouldn't want her getting jealous."

"You are very, very lucky that you're critical to the mission and it's the mission that matters."

What if, in the end, Ruth really could bring herself to trust Quinn all the way?

July, 28 ATC – 17 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

Pierce’s command ship

Vette finally called in to report the location of a cloaked space station hidden in the vast black shadow of a nameless gas giant. Pierce took the destroyer Big Brass (which had everything to do with musical instruments in military bands, he insisted) and brought the seekers to the coordinates Vette reported.

The boarding party crowded onto the Scorned: Ruth, Quinn, Larr, Scourge, T7, Wynston, Kira, Vette, Pierce, Jaesa.

Quinn declined to pilot for once; he sat beside Ruth and watched the wall. They didn’t say much on the way over. Vette and T7-01 took them into the hangar firing; the initial wave of red-robed guards was cut down in moments, and the Scorned settled down.

“Ready?” Ruth asked quietly.

“Absolutely,” Quinn replied. He stood and offered her an unnecessary hand up; she took it, rising to meet him. Under the bustle of the crew’s movement he whispered “I love you.”

“And I love you. We’ll bring Rylon home.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

The crew gathered on the station floor. “Listen well,” said Lord Scourge. “Myself, Ruth, and Larr Gith must face the Emperor alone. We can resist his will. We will bring the Rakatan mind trap, kill him outright if we can, lock him away if we must. T7, you may accompany us but would be more valuable outside. The rest of you must see that we are not disturbed. Clear out his guard and wait for us to complete our task.”

Imperial guardsmen, both Sith and Force-blind, contested them at every intersection as they worked their way into the austere grey station. At length they reached a long curved path that seemed to form a full ring of the place. A little ways along that they came upon a radial corridor leading inward to the center of the station.

“That way.” Lord Scourge nodded. “Our quarry is within. The rest of you, secure this ring, see that we are undisturbed. Larr, Ruth, with me.” He strode down the radial corridor to the great chamber that was dimly visible beyond.

Quinn leaned in after them. T7-01 rolled up to the access port by the door and plugged in a data line.

“I see five other doors in there,” reported Quinn quietly. “The way they’re set, there may be a total of eight evenly spaced doors around the chamber. We need them guarded, sealed, or both. Teeseven, anything?”

Eight doors = confirmed // door controls = encrypted

“Jaesa, everyone, go on,” said Quinn, his eyes locked on the center chamber. “I’ll monitor the room from here.”

“Quinn, if you go in there, he’ll have control of you like that.” Wynston snapped his fingers. “Go with Jaesa. Clear out any outer guards.”

Quinn shook his head “I see Rylon in there. I won’t step inside, but neither will I walk away.” He readied a high-power blaster rifle. “Go.”

Wynston seemed ready to argue, but Jaesa raised a cautioning hand. “It’s his son,” she said softly. “If Parvin or Grega were in there I wouldn’t budge, either.”

Wynston scowled. “No time to argue. You and Teeseven need me, call.” He followed Pierce and Kira down the curving hallway. Jaesa and Vette went the opposite way. Quinn braced himself against the wall of the inner corridor and watched.

*

Rylon greeted them, as Ruth had feared he would. The station’s center chamber was a huge open space, round, shadowy, with a dais in the middle and a throne on the dais and a monstrous, vaguely man-shaped shadow on the throne. Rylon stood at the base of the dais and smiled. “Hello, mother.”

“Rylon. Step away.”

“My son,” rasped the shadow. “I sense your mother is nearly ready to join us. Why don’t you keep her busy while I deal with these two.”

“With pleasure.” Rylon saluted the Emperor and turned back to Ruth.

“Lest you get any ideas,” said the Emperor conversationally, “the boy doesn’t get a choice this time. I enjoyed our previous session, but today you will submit or you will die. You’ll find he’s quite incapable of accepting any other solution.”

Rylon seemed curiously unaffected by this announcement. “Let’s do this, mother.” He saluted her.

She raised her sabers and instinctively returned his salute. “Don’t do this, Rylon. No grudge is worth this. He’s going to kill you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said simply, and charged.

*

Larr Gith tossed back her hair and turned away from that confrontation. “The distraction will not avail you,” she with her best proud confidence. “We two can take you.”

“Are you so confident, little fool?”

Scourge said nothing. He raised his saber.

The Emperor stood and half walked, half floated to the edge of the dais. He lifted one hand, palm outward, and Scourge and Larr Gith both froze mid-movement. A film of shadows sprung up to cover the two fighters, holding them in place. This battle would be in the mind.

*

Ruth tried to control her racing thoughts as she deflected her son’s attacks and tried to land an immobilizing blow. “Rylon, why are you doing this?”

“You have to die,” he said. “I’ll be a great Sith, mother, you’ll see.”

“I can’t see that if I’m dead.”

Rylon’s brow tightened briefly. “Be quiet! Fight!”

Control. Control. She summoned up her love, her focus, her need to protect and her need to prevail. She met her son’s attacks with precision, with a steady strength that countered his furious aggression. She could disarm him. Knock him out. Leave him someplace safe. Then get to her work against the Emperor.

Ten Sith in crimson armor charged in from one of the outer hallways. “Ignore the others. Preserve the young Wrath,” called one. “There are plans for him.” They drew sabers as one and rushed to engage Ruth. She gestured toward them with her off hand saber; a little movement, a little will, and the whole group blew back like leaves. She had to keep this fight between her and Rylon, contain his violence, perfect her guard.

Rylon sneered. “I suppose that means my master doesn’t think I can destroy you on my own.”

“He doesn’t think much of either of us. Help me eliminate these before they turn on you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Rylon kept fighting, and Ruth felt the angry stares of the regrouping Sith at her back.

*

“Damn it, droid,” whispered Quinn as he watched the red Sith guard pour in, “we need those doors sealed now.”

Command protocol = almost cracked

Quinn was at the outer end of the throne room corridor, staring in at the battle between Rylon and Ruth. He didn’t see exactly what happened when something surged from the computer interface. He only heard a long crackle, a pop, a hiss, and then T7-01 stopped so much as whirring.

He looked over to where the droid was still and slightly smoking. He kicked T7-01 free of the wall plug, but it didn’t revive. Quinn shook his head, turned away, raised his blaster rifle, braced himself against the wall of the corridor, and watched.

*

Lord Scourge remained frozen, arms raised to hold his saber before him. His every muscle trembled. “Larr Gith,” he shouted, with some effort. “Ruth. Attack. Now.” Something shuddered through him, an impact no one but he and perhaps the still silent form of the Emperor could see. “Larr! Ruth!”

The Emperor did not turn his head when Larr Gith charged. He simply raised his other arm and she, too, froze in place, shadows leaping up to wrap around her like a second set of armor.

*

Quinn couldn’t afford to get in closer. If the Emperor noticed his presence he would die or, worse, immediately be coerced into attacking his allies. He could only stay at a distance and fire.

When Ruth flung the ten red Sith back, Quinn took a shot on the nearest one. A second shot, then a third, before the Sith stopped moving. The others didn’t seem to notice; they were entirely focused on regrouping around Ruth and Rylon.

They formed up in a half circle around the fighters. Two Sith stepped in to join Rylon in active fighting. Five waited for an opening.

The remaining two actually walked to where Larr Gith stood suspended and attacked her. Their sabers glanced off the darkness that coated her. Wherever Larr Gith was, her physical presence here was protected by the same shadows the Emperor held himself in.

Which just meant that the red guards returned to watching Ruth face Rylon plus backup. Quinn’s heart sank. Ruth fought with the power and grace she always did, but some kind of Force push from one of her opponents threw her off balance too early. Though her face spoke only of focused determination, he knew she must be terrified. She could make something of that fear. She always did. But she might not be able to make overcoming a full Sith squad plus her beloved son out of it.

He needed to get Rylon away from the Emperor. He needed to get Rylon out of that room.

He took aim and downed one of the waiting Sith guards. The Sith’s fellows saw the fall, looked around, spotted Quinn. Two started running towards him. As they got closer, the one in front extended his hand for a Force push that took Quinn in the chest and knocked him flat on his back, several meters away; but the push that hit Quinn’s chest missed the thermal detonator he had tossed in the direction of his attackers. He recovered from getting knocked over faster than the two red Sith recovered from taking a thermal detonator explosion to the face.

*

Lord Scourge stood in an emptiness apart from the physical world. He leaned into the lightless void of the Emperor’s presence, directing hate and will like twin blades against the ancient being’s spiritual form. Opposite him he finally felt Larr Gith joining them. She burned with a purpose he hadn’t sensed in her in years. For perhaps the first time she seemed to have it under control: a brilliant, fine control, as she took up her place and began to oppose the creeping darkness.

“He calculated that reveal to weaken you,” Scourge said.

“He calculated it for a teenager who never saw what devotion looks like. Mighta gotten me to melt down last time I faced him.” She flared brighter, and Lord Scourge sensed the Emperor’s pain and anger at the attack. “Not now. Let’s clean this up.”

“I am not convinced the two of us can. But if we can weaken him enough, the Rakatan trap may work.”

*

Ruth was outnumbered and already wounded. But she had to fight. She had to protect Rylon, and that meant subduing him. The Force would show her the way, if she were careful, if she listened. She struck at the Sith around her, blocked their own attacks, leaped, descended, remembered at every moment that this fight, this necessity was born of love.

A saber thrust white-hot pain through one shoulder. Ruth cried out and struggled to spin free of her attackers, to regain some defensive footing. She sensed their hate and she sensed some of their strikes in advance. There, another guard down. But Rylon was pressing the attack again, striking fast and hard, and still she was surrounded.

*

There were four guards pressing Ruth around Rylon and another one standing by, saber drawn, eager to go in. She had lost one saber. Six people trying to kill her, where Rylon by himself was very nearly her match, and she was losing both blood and power by the minute.

There was no way Quinn could clear the rest of the guards fast enough. He had to get them away from Ruth so she could go on to fight the Emperor, but no demonstration he could make would distract more than one or two. He had to get Rylon clear, too, if he could. Rylon. The guards had talked about preserving him. They valued him. Rylon was the center of these guards’ mission. The Emperor had plans for Rylon.

Ruth took another hit. One of the Sith slammed down against her guard and bore her to her knees. Another brought his saber down on her right arm. Rylon himself prepared for what was to be a finishing blow. No time left.

Quinn took careful aim and shot his son in the back.

Once, twice, thrice. Rylon cried out in shock. Everyone in the melee looked over to where Quinn stood. Then several things happened at once: Rylon fell down, Lord Scourge roared “Ruth, NOW!” and several of the guards yelled things and Ruth herself, wounded, staggering, howled something he couldn’t make out. “Trust me,” he shouted, as loud as he could, but he didn’t know whether she could hear.

*

Ruth struggled, but she was holding. She would not break. The Force would guide her, and she would preserve what had to be preserved. Even through Rylon’s overpowering hit, the strike that burned feeling out of her good arm, she could hold on to something. She could manage.

Then Quinn shot her son.

Not you. Not you. She poured her awareness in his direction, a cry, a question. “Trust me,” she felt or heard him shout.

She could feel the guards around her losing their focus, turning away from attacking her. Lord Scourge called out again, desperate. “Ruth!” She remembered then that that was the bigger fight. She had to trust Quinn would look after Rylon. Quinn had just saved her from him. Now she was needed to save them both.

She limped to join Larr Gith and Lord Scourge in surrounding the thick dark mostly man-shaped cloud. Here she would make her stand.

*

“Get the young Wrath to the medbay!” one of the red Sith was repeating. Ruth, too wounded to lift a saber, limped off toward Lord Scourge and the Emperor. Quinn aimed and gunned down the guard who followed her. The remaining four were clustered around Rylon, who was suddenly, furiously fighting them, struggling to get free of their restraining hands. “Let me go! Let me at her!”

“Kolto pack here, somebody, now,” yelled one of the guards. “He’s bleeding hard, he’ll kill himself at this rate.”

Not what Quinn had intended. The injury was meant to be alarming, yes, but something that wouldn’t kill Rylon outright. Just enough to grab attention and stop combat temporarily.

“Come with us, my lord,” said another guard. “He wants you alive and whole.”

“I’ll kill her,” yelled Rylon, twisting and kicking while they dragged him toward the far door.

Quinn could do no more good from back here. Ruth was covered by the dark film of the Emperor’s engagement; the red guard was about to carry off Rylon, he didn’t know where. It was possible the Emperor would be too distracted to pull additional people under his command. Quinn had to hope. He raised his rifle, shot one of the guards clinging to Rylon. The boy freed an arm, seized someone’s lightsaber, cut down a guard himself, practically foaming in his fury. “Let me go! I’ll kill her!”

Quinn kept walking. Two guards left, and Rylon was armed and furious. Wounded, not quite standing up straight, but armed and furious. Quinn shot another of Rylon’s opponents.

Rylon ran the last guard through and then smiled a bright brittle smile. “Father,” he said in a scratchy voice, “much obliged.” He turned, seemingly only a little inconvenienced by his gaping injuries, to pursue Ruth.

Quinn was faster. He took another few rapid steps, raised a dart gun at short range, delivered a shot of a sedative. Not much, but enough to temporarily inconvenience. Rylon kept on toward Ruth. Quinn grabbed his arm and hauled back. The boy seized his wrist and nearly snapped it forcing it away, but in a few more seconds he would be weak enough to work with. Quinn pulled Rylon’s saber from his hand, eased him to the ground, and brought out a kolto pack to tend to the blaster wounds.

“I’ll kill her,” Rylon said groggily.

“I can’t let you do that, son,” said Quinn. “Hold still.”

*

Ruth’s awareness fell into a place that felt separate from the physical throne room. Larr Gith’s presence was bright gold here, imbued with something stronger and steadier than Ruth had ever sensed from her before. Scourge was a hungering darkness with a tinge like dried blood. The Emperor was deeper than black, a cold hole in the world.

She pressed her will at him with all the strength and purpose she had been preparing for so long. She sensed a warm thick disgust that turned to concern before she had even brought her attack to full pressure. For Rylon, for Quinn, she fought in a glow of unstoppable will.

His counterattack lashed at her, cutting her with a pain more than physical. His will was ancient, malevolent, strong as the ages. Hers joined with Scourge’s and Larr Gith’s, determined. They felt small here. Almost insignificant. No matter. She could protect them, too. This was what she had been made for. And even for all their mistakes, her allies had helped her back to this path. This fight. This darkness that could surround but never drown her.

“Be careful,” cried Larr Gith.

“Burn him,” urged Lord Scourge. “Burn him to ash.”

The Emperor was weakening. Ruth could feel it. He tore at her and the others, but it had the feel of desperation as she bore down on him. Piece by piece, layer by layer. She had to finish this. Any time she thought the pain was too much, she only had to remember who she was fighting for.

*

Quinn was half satisfied that Rylon was stabilized when the flash blinded him. When he could see again – which took far too long – he found Ruth, Larr Gith, and Lord Scourge slowly folding around a quivering, still slightly glowing Rakatan trap.

Larr Gith was the first to recover enough to talk. “There,” she gasped, staring at it.

Scourge struggled to raise himself and gave up for the moment. “Not enough,” he sneered. “This will only be a holding measure.”

Ruth didn’t move.

Quinn sprinted to take her in his arms. She leaned into him, breathing rapid shallow breaths.

“We almost had him,” Larr Gith said softly. “She did ten times her part.”

“And half of what was needed,” spat Lord Scourge.

Quinn ignored them. “Ruth? Can you hear me?”

“Rylon?” she whispered.

“He’ll be all right. I had to–”

“I know, love.” She took a few seconds before talking again. “But don’t ever scare me like that again.”

“Never.”

Rylon was crawling a little unsteadily towards the two of them. “Mom?”

Quinn gave him a look of wide-eyed warning. “You’re wounded. Keep still.”

Ruth and Rylon made identical faces at him. Rylon came up to squeeze Ruth’s hand. “You okay, Mom?”

“Just tired. You put me through a bit of a workout.”

His lips paled nearly white. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…the Emperor…I’m sorry.”

“It's all right. I love you.” She smiled at him. “We’ll talk.”

He nodded and looked nervously at nothing in particular. For a few seconds the three of them just stayed close to one another.

“You fought different this time,” Rylon said to Ruth. “Even losing, it was…it led right to what you did in there, didn’t it? What you did to stop him?”

“It did,” she said.

“Can you show me someday?”

“It’s not the Sith glory you wanted, Rylon.”

“I want to learn.”

“It’s simple once you’re sure of it,” she said. She looked into Rylon’s dark blue eyes and smiled. “First, you love something.” She let her gaze drift over and up to Quinn. “Everything else follows.”