Edit - This fic is complete. Enjoy.

 

Opening Remarks: After much deliberation, editing, and frustration, I'm finally posting this. It's primarily a Sith Warrior story, so expect spoilers for that storyline throughout. Chapters in which other class stories are mentioned will be spoiler tagged, although I'm trying to avoid major spoilers for other classes as much as possible. EDIT: Uh, there are agent spoilers in here. Lots of them. Proceed at your own risk.

 

"Afterimages" officially begins six months after the conclusion of Chapter Three. Dates are noted at the beginning of each chapter, as we will be doing some flashing back.

 

Okay, enough notes. Here's the story. Please be warned that the prologue contains some rather messed up behavior by a Sith. Edit: To be clearer--trigger warning for child abuse in the first section of the prologue.

 

Prologue

Dhakar Estate, Dromund Kaas

8 BTC

 

Nine-year-old K’hera Dhakar held the training saber carefully in her left hand. Her golden eyes narrowed as she held the blade still for a moment, studying its length, as though imagining that it were a real lightsaber. Then she launched into a complex series of movements, her small face a mask of concentration.

 

As she finished the pattern, she looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway of the practice room. Safiel Dhakar regarded her with a critical eye.

 

“Passable,” the older Pureblood said dismissively. “I hope you’ve practiced with your right hand, as well.”

 

“Of course,” K’hera said indignantly.

 

“Show me.”

 

Obediently, K’hera switched the training saber to her other hand and performed another pattern. Despite her best efforts, the movements were noticeably less elegant.

 

“Not good enough,” her mother snapped. She walked towards her daughter, glowering. “Give me your hand,” she demanded.

 

K’hera warily held out her left hand.

 

Safiel took hold of her wrist and gave a sharp twist. There was an audible cracking sound as the bones snapped.

 

K’hera gasped in pain, dropping the training saber. It took all of her concentration to keep tears from welling up in her eyes—she would not give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

 

“There,” Safiel said with a small, cruel smile. She nodded towards the training saber. “Pick that up, and keep practicing until you’re just as good with your off hand.” She exited the room, robes swirling around her.

 

K’hera watched her go, pain and hatred surging within her.

 

Rage gives me power, she thought.

 

Her face settled into an expression of determination, and the training saber lifted off the floor and flew into her hand.

 

19 years later

Aboard the Fury-class starship Alecto

11 ATC

 

A’tro looked at her left hand, cautiously flexing her wrist. Thankfully, it wasn’t broken this time, just sprained. She did not have time to wait for a break to heal, and she fought far more effectively with two lightsabers than with one. A few kolto injections had set her well on the way to recovery, although her wrist was still a bit stiff.

 

She had left K’hera Dhakar behind two years ago—only two years, but it felt like a lifetime. There was no escaping the past entirely, however, as her injury could testify. She clearly remembered the first time she had broken that particular bone. Had her mother truly believed that she was doing her a favor, or was she simply being cruel to her least favorite daughter?

 

After that first break, and the injuries that followed, the end result was a left hand that was weaker than the right. It was almost funny.

 

A’tro remembered telling the story almost a year ago, back when Jaesa had first joined the crew. She remembered her audience’s reactions: Vette was horrified; Jaesa was uncertain, as always, tentative to offer an opinion; Quinn was elsewhere, silent. But he was watching, always watching.

 

A’tro scowled at her wrist. After two days of kolto it was mostly healed, but it still hurt. She was starting to regret her decision to forgo any pain medication.

 

Maybe it’s all in my mind, she thought grumpily. Either way, I deserve it. That’s what I get for being a fool.

 

“Master?”

 

A’tro looked up to see Jaesa hovering anxiously at the door to the medbay. The young woman could probably sense A’tro’s bad mood. Normally, the Sith was good at keeping her temper in check, but today she thought she just might snap if anyone dared push her.

 

“Yes, Jaesa?” A’tro said quietly.

 

“Quinn says we’ll be on Corellia in six hours, master. I thought you might want to know.”

 

“Thank you.” A’tro headed for the door. “I’ll be in my quarters until then. Don’t disturb me.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Jaesa said. She frowned. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but…are you all right? You don’t seem like yourself. Did something happen—“

 

“Everything’s fine,” A’tro snapped, cutting her off. She brushed past her apprentice and headed for her room. Once there, she locked the door behind her and sat down heavily on the bed, resting her head in her good hand.

 

“I’m a fool,” she whispered. “A damned sentimental fool.”

 

This is all my fault, she thought. I tried, but in the end I was too weak. Why couldn’t I just finish it?

 

With a flick of the Force, she turned off the lights, and sat staring bleakly into the darkness.

 

Rage gives me power. But I wasn’t strong enough to do what needed to be done.

 

 

 

Closing Remarks: Hope you enjoyed. Future chapters are longer. Updates will be sporadic, but I'll try to keep it going. Also, I may change the title once I come up with one that makes more sense. We'll see. I'm bad with titles.

Edited May 14, 2013 by Vesaniae

I don't want to burn through my backlog too quickly, but here's the first part. It sort of introduces a plot. The Sith Inquisitor is mentioned, but the only thing that could count as a spoiler is the mention of the Inquisitor's title at the end of chapter three, which I think is fairly common knowledge.

 

One – A Return, Changes

Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

Darth A’tro, the Emperor’s Wrath, strode through the halls of the Citadel in Kaas City.

 

She surveyed her surroundings carefully as she walked, partially out of habitual paranoia, and partially to reacquaint herself with the place. She had been too long away from Dromund Kaas.

 

At last, she reached her chambers, a set of rooms that had been given to her following her ascension as the Wrath. Stepping inside, she found Jaesa waiting for her.

 

The antechamber was dominated by a large picture window that gave a spectacular view of the jungle. Jaesa was looking out, and turned as A’tro entered.

 

“Hello,” she said. She nodded towards the window. “Quite the view you have here. I didn’t get a chance to look properly when we were here before.”

 

“You’ll certainly have the chance now,” A’tro said. “We are going to be here for a while. I’ve been away from the seat of the Empire for too long. I have a great many things to attend to.”

 

Jaesa looked at her inquisitively. “Including my further instruction, I hope?”

 

A’tro frowned. “Don’t get impertinent, apprentice. I am not in the mood.”

 

“I apologize, Master.”

 

“I’ve arranged for you to have an apartment on one of the lower floors. It’s small, but this way you won’t have to live with me.”

 

“I appreciate that, Master,” Jaesa said. She smiled wryly. “After a year and a half living with five other people on a ship the size of the Alecto, it’ll be nice to have some personal space, even if it is small.”

 

A’tro nodded. “I’m glad you approve. I have the key codes for your new apartment on my datapad. I assume you’ll want to settle in right away.”

 

Jaesa nodded. “Is that everything, Master?”

 

“For the time being.” A’tro looked the younger woman in the eye and said seriously, “You’re a Sith apprentice on Dromund Kaas, Jaesa. Feel free to enjoy the privileges that entails.”

 

Jaesa smiled eagerly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

A’tro nodded. “I have no more need of you this evening; go explore the city. I want you to come see me tomorrow afternoon, however.”

 

“I can come earlier, if you’d like.”

 

A’tro sighed and shook her head. “I’m meeting with Darth Nox in the morning.”

 

“She’s the new Dark Council member, right?”

 

A’tro nodded. “She ascended right after I did—only a few hours after, in fact.” She shook her head. “The way she fought… I don’t want someone like that for an enemy. Thus, our meeting.”

 

“I understand,” Jaesa said. “Can I go?”

 

“Yes, yes. Go on.”

 

Jaesa left, and A’tro collapsed into a nearby chair with a sigh. The prospect of everything that she needed to do loomed over her. Dealing with internal affairs was going to be more difficult than fighting a military campaign.

 

Vette would appreciate the opportunity for a vacation of sorts, even if Dromund Kaas was far from her choice of locales. A’tro would have to find something to keep Broonmark occupied; the Talz was never happy unless he was killing something. She supposed that applied to Pierce as well.

 

And then there was Quinn, whom she had been trying her best not to think about.

 

I’ll let him stew for a while, she thought smugly. Having nothing to do is probably worse than torture for him. Emperor knows, he deserves it.

 

She sighed and covered her face with her hands, massaging her temples. She could feel a headache coming on.

 

Nothing is ever easy, she thought wearily. I’m twenty-nine years old and I’m one of the most powerful Sith in the galaxy. I always swore I’d be a Darth before I was thirty, and here I am.

 

She raised her head and looked out the window. A storm was brewing in the distance; she could see lightning flickering within the dark clouds on the horizon.

 

She would sleep for a few hours, she decided. After that, it was time to get to work.

 

 

So I promised that after the prologue, chapters would be longer, and then I went and posted something shorter. It was long at first, I promise! But then I decided to cut a large chunk of it, and it shrank. But future stuff, some of which is already written, will be longer, I swear.

Opening Remarks: After much deliberation, editing, and frustration, I'm finally posting this. It's primarily a Sith Warrior story, so expect spoilers for that storyline throughout. Chapters in which other class stories are mentioned will be spoiler tagged, although I'm trying to avoid major spoilers for other classes as much as possible.

 

"Afterimages" officially begins six months after the conclusion of Chapter Three. Dates are noted at the beginning of each chapter, as we will be doing some flashing back.

 

Okay, enough notes. Here's the story. Please be warned that the prologue contains some rather messed up behavior by a Sith.

 

Prologue

Dhakar Estate, Dromund Kaas

8 BTC

 

Nine-year-old K’hera Dhakar held the training saber carefully in her left hand. Her golden eyes narrowed as she held the blade still for a moment, studying its length, as though imagining that it were a real lightsaber. Then she launched into a complex series of movements, her small face a mask of concentration.

 

As she finished the pattern, she looked up to see her mother standing in the doorway of the practice room. Safiel Dhakar regarded her with a critical eye.

 

“Passable,” the older Pureblood said dismissively. “I hope you’ve practiced with your right hand, as well.”

 

“Of course,” K’hera said indignantly.

 

“Show me.”

 

Obediently, K’hera switched the training saber to her other hand and performed another pattern. Despite her best efforts, the movements were noticeably less elegant.

 

“Not good enough,” her mother snapped. She walked towards her daughter, glowering. “Give me your hand,” she demanded.

 

K’hera warily held out her left hand.

 

Safiel took hold of her wrist and gave a sharp twist. There was an audible cracking sound as the bones snapped.

 

K’hera gasped in pain, dropping the training saber. It took all of her concentration to keep tears from welling up in her eyes—she would not give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

 

“There,” Safiel said with a small, cruel smile. She nodded towards the training saber. “Pick that up, and keep practicing until you’re just as good with your off hand.” She exited the room, robes swirling around her.

 

K’hera watched her go, pain and hatred surging within her.

 

Rage gives me power, she thought.

 

Her face settled into an expression of determination, and the training saber lifted off the floor and flew into her hand.

 

19 years later

Aboard the Fury-class starship Alecto

11 ATC

 

A’tro looked at her left hand, cautiously flexing her wrist. Thankfully, it wasn’t broken this time, just sprained. She did not have time to wait for a break to heal, and she fought far more effectively with two lightsabers than with one. A few kolto injections had set her well on the way to recovery, although her wrist was still a bit stiff.

 

She had left K’hera Dhakar behind two years ago—only two years, but it felt like a lifetime. There was no escaping the past entirely, however, as her injury could testify. She clearly remembered the first time she had broken that particular bone. Had her mother truly believed that she was doing her a favor, or was she simply being cruel to her least favorite daughter?

 

After that first break, and the injuries that followed, the end result was a left hand that was weaker than the right. It was almost funny.

 

A’tro remembered telling the story almost a year ago, back when Jaesa had first joined the crew. She remembered her audience’s reactions: Vette was horrified; Jaesa was uncertain, as always, tentative to offer an opinion; Quinn was elsewhere, silent. But he was watching, always watching.

 

A’tro scowled at her wrist. After two days of kolto it was mostly healed, but it still hurt. She was starting to regret her decision to forgo any pain medication.

 

Maybe it’s all in my mind, she thought grumpily. Either way, I deserve it. That’s what I get for being a fool.

 

“Master?”

 

A’tro looked up to see Jaesa hovering anxiously at the door to the medbay. The young woman could probably sense A’tro’s bad mood. Normally, the Sith was good at keeping her temper in check, but today she thought she just might snap if anyone dared push her.

 

“Yes, Jaesa?” A’tro said quietly.

 

“Quinn says we’ll be on Corellia in six hours, master. I thought you might want to know.”

 

“Thank you.” A’tro headed for the door. “I’ll be in my quarters until then. Don’t disturb me.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Jaesa said. She frowned. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but…are you all right? You don’t seem like yourself. Did something happen—“

 

“Everything’s fine,” A’tro snapped, cutting her off. She brushed past her apprentice and headed for her room. Once there, she locked the door behind her and sat down heavily on the bed, resting her head in her good hand.

 

“I’m a fool,” she whispered. “A damned sentimental fool.”

 

This is all my fault, she thought. I tried, but in the end I was too weak. Why couldn’t I just finish it?

 

With a flick of the Force, she turned off the lights, and sat staring bleakly into the darkness.

 

Rage gives me power. But I wasn’t strong enough to do what needed to be done.

 

 

 

Closing Remarks: Hope you enjoyed. Future chapters are longer. Updates will be sporadic, but I'll try to keep it going. Also, I may change the title once I come up with one that makes more sense. We'll see. I'm bad with titles.

 

Made me tear up. What a way to treat a nine year old. Anyway good stuff! Can't wait to see more!

I love A'tro so far from this story and the stuff you posted from the Short Fic thread. I can't wait to see what happens with her.

 

p.s. don't feel pressured to post, we'll read it when you're ready

Here, have another chapter. I've been writing this out of order, so this one's been sitting on my hard drive for months. References are made to the Sith Inquisitor's Corellia storyline, as well as the Inquisitor's chapter three antagonist. It doesn't get too specific so I'm not going to spoilertag this.

 

Oh, and this chapter also contains a few instances of VMTU (Vesaniae Makes Things Up) for flavor purposes.

 

Two - A Conversation Over Tea

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

The Overlook Café was named for its location just above one of Kaas City’s spectacular waterfalls. Owned by one of the Empire’s wealthy business families, it was a scenic destination for those Sith prestigious enough to be admitted, the even smaller number of non-Sith who could claim the same honor, and their guests. Due to the volatile nature of the usual clientele, a number of heavy war droids were strategically placed throughout the establishment to enforce the Sith’s good behavior.

 

Darth A’tro sat back carefully in her chair, one eye on the cliff’s edge less than a meter away. While she had to admit that railings would have detracted from the overall aesthetic, the lack of them meant that she had to keep an eye on two potential sources of death: the plunging drop, and the woman seated across from her.

 

Darth Nox smiled. The newest Dark Council member was usually smiling, and the expression could have meant anything. She was human, with ivory-pale skin and carven, angular features; high cheekbones and an elegant nose. She had jet black hair that she kept tied back, and gray eyes like cold mirrors of mist. She always dressed in white robes, a rather blatant defiance of the Sith stereotype. The only color on her person was her bright red lips.

 

A’tro subtly made sure that both of her lightsabers were within easy reach. She doubted that Nox would try anything in public, but it never hurt to be cautious.

 

“This is a lovely place,” Nox observed. “Have you been here before?”

 

A’tro shook her head. “I’ve been busy.”

 

“I noticed. You seem to be trying to win the war for us single-handedly.”

 

“I’m the Emperor’s Wrath. Destroying the Empire’s enemies is my job.”

 

“A job at which you’ve proven to be quite proficient.”

 

A’tro frowned. “Your point being?”

 

Nox waved a hand. “No point. An observation only.”

 

A server approached the table, deposited a tea tray, then bowed deeply and fled.

 

Nox poured herself a cup and eyed the contents. “Do you think this could be poisoned?”

 

“The staff know that we’d have their heads if they tried anything, no matter how much one of our rivals might be offering for our demise.”

 

“It would be difficult for us to take their heads if we were dead.”

 

A’tro raised a brow-ridge. “Aren’t you practically immortal?”

 

“In theory,” Nox sighed. “Oh, what the hell.” She reached for the sugar and dumped a prodigious amount into her cup, then stirred thoroughly. She examined the result, shrugged, and took a sip. “Hmm. Not bad.”

 

A’tro cringed. “How can you drink that after—“ She gesticulated wordlessly at the sugar bowl.

 

“You Purebloods have no appreciation for sweet things,” Nox grumbled.

 

A’tro shook her head and poured herself a cup.

 

“So,” Nox said after a moment, “You were just on Corellia, right? How are things there?”

 

“It’s a mess,” A’tro said grimly. “I think we could have taken the planet even with Baras trying to sabotage Vowrawn, but then someone had to fight a damn Kaggath and send the whole place straight to hell—“

 

“You can’t blame me for that,” Nox said indignantly. “The whole blasted thing was Thanaton’s idea. I tried not to screw up the war too badly, but he didn’t leave me much choice.”

 

“That idiot,” A’tro muttered. “If you hadn’t killed him, I probably would have eventually.”

 

“I’m sure you would have,” Nox said cheerily. “Unlike him, you seem to have your head on straight.”

 

“I’m all for Sith traditions, but not at the expense of the Empire as a whole,” A’tro agreed. “As Darth Sathra wrote, “The dark side is an ever-changing paradigm…””

 

“”Honor the past, but beware: stagnation is the enemy of passion,”” Nox finished.

 

A’tro blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know you were familiar with Sathra.”

 

“”The Sith are as tools forged in the fires of the dark,”” Nox quoted. “”It is through strife that we evolve, through blood that we are tempered.””

 

“I always liked that one,” A’tro said.

 

“I prefer Darth Xiarre’s Treatise on Darkness—have you read it?”

 

“Some of it. It takes more patience that I have to search for something valuable in the midst of Xiarre’s deranged raving.”

 

“Oh, I think that deranged raving is the best kind of philosophy,” Nox said with a smirk. “It allows a freer range of interpretation.”

 

“But if the reader’s interpretation is different from the author’s intended meaning, is it still a valid conclusion?” A’tro asked.

 

“Validity is entirely subjective,” Nox said dismissively. “Besides, I doubt that Xiarre even had an intended meaning half the time. She was insane, after all.”

 

“I never would have taken you for the philosophical type, Nox,” A’tro said thoughtfully.

 

The Sith Lord laughed. “You’re one to talk! When I first heard that the Emperor’s Wrath would be present for my little showdown with Thanaton, I pictured some hulking brute. Instead, I get you.”

 

“Thanks ever so much,” A’tro said dryly.

 

“Oh, you can be intimidating when you want to be. I saw a recording of your fight with Baras—that was damn impressive.”

 

“I didn’t know there were cameras in the Dark Council chamber.”

 

“Apparently there are, and good ones, too.” Nox raised an eyebrow. “You might not look like much, but I would not have wanted to be Baras that day.”

 

A’tro looked down into her cup. “I was…rather angry.” Angrier than she had ever been in her entire life, in fact. All of the frustration that had been building up inside her since Corellia had come to a boiling point, resolving into pure dark power.

 

“I could tell.”

 

A’tro glanced up at Nox. “Baras miscalculated, you see,” she said. “All that time I served him, all those times he tried to have me killed, and he’d never actually seen me fight. He underestimated me.”

 

Nox grinned. “If you stab your most promising apprentice in the back, it shouldn’t come as a surprise when they come back to bite you.”

 

A’tro nodded. “And if you keep stabbing, it only makes them angrier.” She was startled by the vehemence in her own voice.

 

“Precisely,” Nox concluded. She looked appraisingly at A’tro. “I’m surprised you’re not more paranoid, considering how your own master set you up to die—and more than once, if I understand correctly.”

 

“You don’t know the half of it,” A’tro muttered. Don’t think about Quinn, damn it. “As for paranoia, well…I just don’t show it. I admit, I’m surprised that there haven’t been any attempts on my life yet.”

 

Nox looked startled. “There haven’t? I’ve had four so far.”

 

A’tro shook her head. “None. I can’t imagine why.”

 

“The whole ‘chosen of the Emperor’ thing probably deters assassins,” Nox drawled. “Not to mention that the other Dark Council members actually like you.”

 

“Vowrawn supports me because I saved his life on Corellia, and he knows that he owes me. The others either respect my position, or they’re glad I killed Baras. I wouldn’t say they like me.”

 

Nox rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I think that Ravage can’t decide if it’s worth being rid of Thanaton if he has to put up with me instead. At least two of the assassination attempts came from him, I’m certain of it.”

 

“I think several of our fellow Sith are somewhat put off by your…origins,” A’tro said carefully. She honestly couldn’t care less if Nox had been a slave; she had proven her worth, and that was what mattered.

 

Nox sighed and rolled her eyes again. “Then they’re fools,” she said simply. “If they’re going to underestimate me just because I spent a few years wearing a slave collar… Well, it’s their funeral.”

 

Only ‘a few years'? That was interesting. A’tro supposed that it made sense, all things considered. After all, how many slaves were familiar with Sith philosophy?

 

She changed the subject.

Interlude - Flashback: Reinvention, Part I

 

Sith Academy, Korriban

9 ATC

 

Overseer Ravinia Dhakar was awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of her holoterminal beeping to indicate an incoming call.

 

She considering disabling the device with a Force push and going back to sleep, but curiosity overwhelmed her irritation. She climbed out of bed, grabbed her robe and wrapped it around her, then activated the holoterminal.

 

Blue light coalesced into the image of a young Sith Pureblood woman. She appeared to have been in a fight; her clothing was disheveled, her hair was in disarray, and there was a fresh wound angling across the right side of her face from forehead to cheek. She was lucky that the blow hadn’t taken her eye out.

 

Ravinia blinked at her. “K’hera?” Of all the people that she would have expected to call her in the middle of the local night, her niece was definitely not one.

 

K’hera nodded. “Ravinia, I need your help.” She sounded shaken. What had happened to her?

 

Ravinia raised one of her brow ridges quizzically. “My help? Whatever for?”

 

K’hera looked around nervously. “I’ve uncovered a traitor to the Empire. Problem is, she knows I’m onto her. If I transmit the evidence I’ve found to you, can you make sure it goes to the right people?”

 

Ravinia crossed her arms. “I’m going to need a reason.”

 

“You can pretend you found the evidence yourself, if you want. I’m sure you’ll be rewarded.”

 

“I’ll consider it,” Ravinia said dubiously. “Who exactly is this traitor?”

 

K’hera swallowed hard. “Darth Evendre.”

 

Ravinia’s eyes widened. “Your master?”

 

“I know, it sounds incredible, but it’s true. I have recordings showing her in communication with the Jedi.”

 

“You said she knows you’re aware of her treason,” Ravinia said sharply.

 

K’hera gestured towards the slash across her right eye. “We fought. I lost.”

 

“You fought a Darth and survived? That’s quite impressive.” Ravinia thought for a moment, ideas forming in her mind. “Very well. Send me your evidence; I will submit it to the proper authorities.”

 

“And what are you expecting in return?” K’hera asked warily.

 

“Is it too hard to believe that I would do this as a favor for my favorite niece?”

 

“Frankly, yes.”

 

“Well,” Ravinia said slowly. “You’re clearly in a tight spot. You might not even make it out alive. But if you do…you owe me a favor. A large one.”

 

K’hera nodded. “All right. It’s not as if I have a choice.” She grimaced. “I can get off Dromund Kaas, I think—but it’ll be tricky. If I crash my starfighter out in the jungle, everyone will believe that I’m dead. Then I can catch a shuttle to…somewhere far away.”

 

“I’ve heard worse plans,” Ravinia said, shrugging. “If you make it work, contact me. I’m interested to learn how this progresses.”

 

K’hera nodded. “If I survive. Transmitting the evidence of Evendre’s treason now.”

Two - A Conversation Over Tea

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

The conversation from this piece was beautifully done.

The conversation from this piece was beautifully done.

Thanks! As I mentioned, I wrote that particular piece quite a while ago, so after a couple of months of continuous minute edits I think it turned out pretty good.

 

Next chapter should be up later tonight. I write incredibly slowly--a 1000 word vignette often takes me at least three hours to produce, and I think I've spent about five minutes on this post by now. Anyway, there will be more. The plot should start to pick up in a few chapters. I see I've had just over 100 views, so thanks to everyone who's read this, even if you didn't comment.

Edited May 14, 2013 by Vesaniae

Three – Cleaning House

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

Killing Darth Baras had been one of the most satisfying moments of A’tro’s life. After everything that she had endured leading up to that point, dealing the deathblow was nothing if not cathartic.

 

Unfortunately, although Baras was dead, she was far from rid of him. As per Sith tradition, she had ‘inherited’ all of his possessions. Now that she was back on Dromund Kaas, she would have to go through it all. She had delegated the more irksome tasks to Vette and Jaesa, but some things she wanted to handle herself.

 

Exploration of Baras’ chambers had revealed several hidden rooms. It was in one of these that A’tro stood, examining the computer terminal in front of her. The monitor presently displayed an archive of all of Baras’ communications from 11 ATC, the year of his death. A feeling of unease was building in the back of her mind as she looked.

 

She scrolled down through the list, ignoring every instinct telling her not to do it. There it was—a call made to the Alecto’s holofrequency. And the date…

 

Don’t do this to yourself, she thought. You’ll only regret it. You don’t need to know the details.

 

A’tro looked around. The room was empty; Vette and Jaesa were elsewhere. She took a deep breath and played the record of the call.

 

The computer’s holoterminal flared to life, displaying the familiar images of Darth Baras and Malavai Quinn.

 

Quinn spoke first. “Lord Baras,” he said, bowing deeply. “To what do I owe the honor?”

 

“Your report of Lord A’tro’s activities on Voss has disturbed me, Captain,” Baras responded. “Are you aware of what her next move will be?”

 

“She has not yet reported to the Emperor’s Hand, my lord, but she has mentioned Corellia. I believe that will be our next destination.”

 

A’tro swallowed hard.

 

“She seeks to protect Vowrawn from my wrath, no doubt. She cannot hope to move against me openly without his support.”

 

“I believe that is her plan, my lord,” Quinn agreed.

 

“They cannot be permitted to join forces,” Baras said grimly. “I have plans in motion to eliminate Vowrawn, but my former apprentice cannot be allowed to interfere. I have a task for you, Quinn.”

 

A’tro’s hands clenched into fists.

 

Quinn stood slightly straighter. “I am yours to command, Lord Baras.”

 

“If A’tro reaches Corellia, it will mean the downfall of my plans there. She must not live to set foot on that planet’s surface. You—“ Baras pointed at Quinn, “—will see to it.”

 

“I understand, my lord,” Quinn said softly.

 

Baras leaned forward. “I trust dealing with this matter will not cause you any difficulty, Captain?”

 

Quinn hesitated for the slightest fraction of an instant. Then his expression turned stony. “No, Lord Baras,” he said in a voice as cold as space. “No difficulty whatsoever.”

 

Baras’ reply was cut off as A’tro reached forward and stopped the playback. She stepped away from the terminal, feeling dazed.

 

“I should have killed him,” she said in a low voice. “But I didn’t. Why?”

 

“I’m not even going to pretend I know the answer to that.”

 

A’tro whirled around. Vette was standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest.

 

“I take it you saw,” A’tro said after a moment of silence.

 

“Yeah, I saw.” Vette stepped inside the room. “I guess that explains why you were in such a bad mood on Corellia.”

 

A’tro said nothing.

 

Vette looked over at the holoterminal where the images of Quinn and Baras stood frozen. “So, he was secretly working for Baras the entire time?”

 

A’tro nodded.

 

Vette shook her head. “Wow. I think my opinion of Quinn just hit an all-time low, and that’s saying something.”

 

“You cannot mention this to anyone,” A’tro told her, trying to keep her voice steady.

 

“I guess I can do that,” Vette said slowly. “But what about him?” She gestured towards the holo display. “Because there are a few things that I’d like to say to that worthless piece of—“

 

“No,” A’tro snapped. “Stay out of this, Vette. I mean it.”

 

Vette held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay. No need to get angry at me.”

 

“If you had enough self-control to not eavesdrop, I would have no reason to be angry.”

 

“You left the door open,” Vette pointed out innocently.

 

A’tro sighed. “Just—just leave, please. I have things to do.”

 

“Far be it from me to disturb your agonizing,” Vette muttered. She gave A’tro an earnest look. “But seriously, you’d probably feel better if you talked about it—“

 

“I’m fine,” A’tro insisted.

 

No, you’re not, the small voice of truth at the back of her mind whispered. As always, she ignored it.

 

Vette shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Loving it so far. Your Voss/Guilty Pleasures prompt response over on the Short Fic thread grabbed me but good, so, I'm looking forward to reading more!

Four – Nostalgia

Sith Academy, Korriban

12 ATC

 

The Dark Honor Guards stationed in the corridors of the Sith Academy’s upper floors bowed deeply as the Emperor’s Wrath and Darth Nox passed them on their way out of the Dark Council chamber.

 

“It’s a perfectly valid question,” Nox was saying. The two women paused to wait for the elevator.

 

“And one that is completely irrelevant, given the current state of Council membership,” A’tro replied.

 

“It won’t last forever.”

 

“Even if we had the full twelve, not everyone attends the meetings.”

 

“Perhaps not. But what if they do?”

 

“I shall simply have to stand.”

 

Nox raised her eyebrows. “How…undignified.”

 

“Those chairs are blasted uncomfortable, anyway,” A’tro complained.

 

“Such are the tribulations of power, my dear. Besides, if you stand, it will only emphasize how short you are.”

 

“Your concern for my image touches my heart, Nox,” A’tro said dryly.

 

The elevator arrived, and the two stepped onto it.

 

“It’s not a question of solely physical presence,” A’tro said. “If I want to intimidate, I am capable of projecting an aura.”

 

“Auras,” Nox sneered. “Because causing everyone within fifty meters to keel over from sheer terror does wonders for productivity.”

 

A’tro gave her a skeptical look. “Are you speaking from experience, or…?”

 

Nox smiled faintly. “Experience. Don’t ask.”

 

The elevator touched down on the ground floor of the Academy, and the two Sith exited into the corridor.

 

“I’m off to poke around the Archives,” Nox said cheerfully. “Toodles, Wrath.” She strode off, smiling mysteriously to herself.

 

A’tro looked after her, frowning. I do not trust that woman.

 

She looked down towards the ground floor. As always, acolytes milled about. Less than three years ago, she had been a part of that crowd.

 

No, she thought. Not really. I was an acolyte when most of them were just children, when the Treaty of Coruscant was signed. Three years ago was a sham. It doesn’t count.

 

While the acolytes went about their business, a few older Sith stood at the edges of the vast room, watching the students with appraising eyes. These would be Lords, probably looking for worthy apprentices.

 

A’tro remembered—

 

Walking across the chamber, the lesser acolytes parting before me, a dark-haired woman in red robes catches my eye…

 

“I am Darth Evendre, acolyte. I have been watching you…”

 

Watching, learning, “Emotion is weakness, K’hera. Do not let your passions consume you.” Control, always control.

 

Uncovering the secret, searing pain across my face, running through the night in the rain with the knowledge—traitor, heretic, just like K’saria…

 

A’tro shook her head. It was all in the past, now.

 

One of the Sith down below turned away from watching the acolytes and ascended the stairs leading to the level where A’tro stood.

 

She watched him approach. He was a Pureblood, like herself, with dark red eyes and a handsome face that seemed strangely familiar—

 

Her eyes widened. I don’t believe it, she thought. How could I not have recognized him immediately? As he walked in her direction, she turned subtly, letting him get a good look at her face.

 

He stumbled to a halt. “K’hera?” he whispered.

 

Feeling suddenly mischievous, she drew herself up haughtily. “Do I know you?” she demanded coldly, drawing upon the dark side so he could not help but sense her power.

 

He immediately bowed. “My lord, your pardon,” he said hastily. “I mistook you for someone else.”

 

“Your deference does you credit, Savadar Ekari,” A’tro said in her best imitation of Darth Baras at his most grandiose. “I am Darth A’tro, the Emperor’s Wrath.”

 

“I—I am flattered that you know me, Lord Wrath,” Savadar said, dropping to one knee. “I apologize for my earlier presumption.”

 

“Indeed,” A’tro said. “You seem rather quick to recognize deceased friends in corridors.”

 

Savadar muttered something incoherent in an apologetic tone.

 

A’tro reflected that she was enjoying this entirely too much. “K’hera may be dead,” she said, dropping the overly dramatic tone, “but her body is very much alive. Hello, Savadar. Nice to see you again.”

 

Savadar looked up at her. “So it really is you,” he said in amazement. He frowned. “Your sense of humor is still rather lacking. Are you really the Wrath?”

 

“Do not question my power,” she said ominously.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered. “Can I get up now?”

 

“I don’t know…” A’tro said slowly. “I rather like you this way. Properly respectful, and I don’t have to crane my neck to look at you.”

 

Savadar sighed. “And they say that the Darth title changes people. K’hera—“

 

“My name is A’tro.”

 

“Right, sorry. I’m still trying to absorb the fact that you’re not dead.”

 

She smiled. “Careful, Savadar. I’m going to think that you missed me.”

 

“I did,” he said simply.

 

There was an undertone of emotion to the words that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. “You can get up now,” she told him.

 

Savadar rose gracefully to his feet and made a pretense of dusting off his knees. “You are most gracious, my lord Wrath.”

 

A’tro glared at him. “Don’t start my lord-ing me every third word. Bad enough that I never could get—I mean, that I get it from everyone else.”

 

“I believe it’s traditional for a Lord to address a Darth with some measure of respect.”

 

“You called me K’hera not five minutes ago.”

 

“I was referring to a dead woman I once knew. You, on the other hand, are the Emperor’s Wrath.”

 

“I am also your friend.”

 

Savadar looked at her intently. “Am I?”

 

A’tro smiled. “Yes, damn it. I haven’t changed that much.”

 

“Well,” Savadar said slowly. “I suppose that’s good to hear. A’tro.” He grimaced, as though the name carried an unpleasant taste. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

 

“You can call me Wrath, if you want,” A’tro said dryly. “Now, walk with me. I believe we have a great deal to catch up on. When did you become a Lord? Whose apprentice are you? I want to know…”

 

I‘m glad I ran into him, she thought as she walked. It’ll be nice to have someone I can talk to who isn’t high enough in the pecking order to be plotting my downfall. Someone who grew up Sith, like me, who sees the galaxy in much the same way as I do.

 

Yes, it will be nice…

 

 

Stream of consciousness flashbacks are the best kind of flashback. Oh, and in case it was too vague, at the very beginning Nox and A'tro are talking about how since A'tro isn't technically a member of the Dark Council, if all twelve Dark Council members are present, she won't have anywhere to sit.

A’tro glared at him. “Don’t start my lord-ing me every third word. Bad enough that I never could get—I mean, that I get it from everyone else.”

 

Love.

 

I actually really like all of it. But I found that tidbit particularly tasty.

Love.

 

I actually really like all of it. But I found that tidbit particularly tasty.

Yes, that chapter contains several veiled references to a variety of things. Well, two things.

 

Interlude - Flashback: Reinvention, Part II

Sith Academy, Korriban

10 ATC

 

Ravinia stood in front of her holoterminal, smiling to herself. Another day, another scheme brought to fruition. It was delicious.

 

After several moments, the holoterminal flickered to life, displaying the image of her niece.

 

“What is it?” K’hera asked.

 

“I have news,” Ravinia said. “Darth Evendre is dead. It’s safe for you to return to the heart of Imperial space.”

 

K’hera frowned. “And do what? As far as everyone knows, K’hera Dhakar is dead.”

 

Ravinia smirked. “Not to worry, my dear. I’ve taken care of everything.”

 

“Have you, now.”

 

“Indeed.” Ravinia made a sweeping gesture. “K’hera Dhakar is dead; let her stay that way. You’ve started calling yourself by a new name—A’tro, was it? Take the opportunity to start fresh, begin a new life.”

 

“A new life as a Sith apprentice without a master and no opportunity to acquire one. How very appealing.”

 

Ravinia shook her head. “Nonsense. You’ll have plenty of opportunities. As I said, I’ve taken care of everything.” She paused for dramatic effect.

 

“Just say it,” K’hera snapped.

 

“You—or rather, A’tro—will be receiving a message shortly from one of my fellow overseers summoning her to Korriban for training.”

 

K’hera stared at her incredulously. “And go through the Academy again.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Ravinia, I’m twenty-seven. Most new acolytes are teenagers.”

 

“You look young for your age, my dear. Besides, no one will dare question you. You’re going to be the top student at the Academy—“

 

“Again,” K’hera muttered.

 

Ravinia ignored her and continued, “—and you’ll doubtless attract the attention of one powerful Sith or another who will be more than happy to make you their apprentice.”

 

“That’s a nice proposition, Ravinia. What exactly are you getting out of it?”

 

Ravinia smiled. “Once you have risen to power—and I have no doubt that you will—you will owe it all to me. Imagine that.”

 

“Fine,” K’hera said. “Fine. I’ll answer this overseer’s summons, but don’t think this means I agree to do whatever you say.”

 

“Of course, of course. Just remember, you are in my debt. I expect great things from you.” Ravinia nodded slowly. “Now, you’d best prepare to leave whatever border outpost you’ve been hiding at. Farewell…A’tro.”

 

 

And that mostly concludes A'tro's long and convoluted backstory. I wanted a character who was older and experienced as opposed to being a prodigy, and I was willing to go to extreme lengths to explain how such a thing was possible.

 

And in my headcanon, when Baras asked her to recite the Sith Code, she recited the damn Sith Code.

And in my headcanon, when Baras asked her to recite the Sith Code, she recited the damn Sith Code.

 

Ha! When Baras first asked, I was like "Ooh, ooh, I got this! I remember this from KOTOR or someplace, I got this!"

 

But I wasn't allowed to get it.

Ha! When Baras first asked, I was like "Ooh, ooh, I got this! I remember this from KOTOR or someplace, I got this!"

 

But I wasn't allowed to get it.

That was my exact reaction.

Edited May 14, 2013 by Vesaniae

Five - A Problematic Individual

Aboard the Fury-class starship Alecto

12 ATC

 

The sun had set on Korriban as A’tro boarded a shuttle up to the orbital station. The Alecto headed away from what was now the planet’s night side, moving towards the edge of the gravity well to make the jump into hyperspace.

 

Out of habit, A’tro found herself moving towards the bridge. Halfway there she paused, then shrugged and continued.

 

Quinn was at his usual post. Focused on navigating, he did not notice her enter. She leaned against the doorway, watching the lights from the consoles play across his face. He gave the simple task of piloting the ship the same intense concentration he showed in life or death situations. She’d always found that endearing.

 

It was too easy to remember as she stood there. Memories of an earlier, simpler time, back before the fate of the Empire rested on her shoulders. Those had been good days, before it had all fallen to pieces around her.

 

There was no going back now. She had to live with the consequences of her actions.

 

Sometimes she wished that she had simply executed him. A punishment to fit the crime, a quick and easy way to rid herself of the feelings that lingered on in her heart despite her best efforts to purge them.

 

Even now, as she looked at Quinn, her body reacted to his presence; her heartbeat quickening, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. It was an instinctive reaction, one that she had been hard-pressed to quell. Was she still attracted to him on some level, or had it simply become a habit for her mood to lighten whenever she saw him?

 

It didn’t matter. On Voss, she had killed their romance, and his betrayal had cremated the remains.

 

She smiled bitterly. I broke his heart, and he tried to kill me. Star-crossed, indeed.

 

The engines rumbled, and outside the ship the stars stretched into lines, then faded into the familiar mottled glow of hyperspace.

 

Quinn glanced up and saw A’tro’s reflection in the viewport. He dipped his head respectfully, keeping his eyes fixed on the console as he spoke. “My lord, we will arrive on Dromund Kaas in approximately sixteen standard hours.”

 

A’tro’s face smoothed itself into a blank mask that rivaled Quinn’s for lack of expression. “Very good, Captain,” she said quietly. “That will be all.”

 

She turned and left the bridge, trying to shake the feeling that she was running away. She headed into her quarters and shut the door behind her.

 

One day, you’re going to have to face it, she told herself. You can’t dance around it for the rest of your life.

 

How exactly did one broach such a topic of conversation, anyway? ‘So, Quinn, let’s talk about that one time on the transponder station…’ Avoidance was simply not the Sith way, but she had never been a conventional Sith.

 

I should have killed him. The thought ran through her mind in an endless refrain, as it had ever since the moment when she had made the decision to leave Quinn alive. I can’t very well kill him now. I have to abide by my decision, otherwise I’ll look weak.

 

The last thing she wanted was to look weak in front of him.

 

She sat on the bed with a sigh. Sixteen hours to Dromund Kaas. Sixteen hours to attempt to analyze, yet again, her reasons for letting him get away with it without so much as a scratch. Every time, she came up with more and more creative ways to lie to herself.

 

No, it couldn’t go on forever. But for the next sixteen hours, she was content to let it lie.

Alternative title: In Which Vesaniae Messes Around with Narrative Techniques and Attempts to Write Action.

 

Six – Occupational Hazards

Kaas City Spaceport, Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

Anak’ar lay flat in the ventilation shaft, surveying the hangar below through the scope of his sniper rifle. The Sith ship had arrived right on schedule. Now it was up to him and his partner to see to it that its passenger did not depart the hangar alive.

 

Thinking of his companion, he turned the scope towards where Jiila stood below, pretending to sort through a pile of crates. She had gained access to the hangar by disguising herself as a slave; the shock collar on her neck was a fake, loaded with explosives and designed to be used as an impromptu bomb.

 

Anak’ar looked at the ship again. The boarding ramp was slowly descending. In a few moments, the Sith would emerge, and he and Jiila would kill him. The two Rattataki had done similar work in the past. They hadn’t been told who their target was, only where to go. Anak’ar didn’t much care. Credits were credits, and while taking on Sith targets was risky, the profit was considerable.

 

He trained the rifle on the boarding ramp. The anticipation was always the hardest part. He ran through a series of breathing exercises to calm his nerves and steady his trigger finger. With luck, he would be able to down the Sith with a single shot.

 

Any minute now…

 

At last, a dark-armored figure strode down the ramp and started across the hangar. Anak’ar zoomed in on the Sith’s face with the scope and was somewhat startled to see a Sith Pureblood woman. Age was always difficult to tell with Sith, but Anak’ar guessed her to be in her late twenties. She had coppery-red skin, red hair and golden eyes. The distinctive ridges on her forehead and cheeks gave her a predatory look.

 

She was moving, but slowly. Anak’ar focused the targeting reticule for a headshot.

 

His comlink twittered softly.

 

“Ready when you are,” Jiila’s voice whispered into his earpiece.

 

“Taking the shot,” Anak’ar replied quietly.

 

The Sith woman was right in the crosshairs. He eased his finger over the trigger.

 

“No, wait!” Jiila hissed suddenly—too late. He’d already fired.

 

Focused as he was on his target, Anak’ar hadn’t seen the Imperial officer exit the ship behind the Sith. The man had hurried to catch up to his commander, then slowed alongside her—directly in Anak’ar’s line of fire.

 

The shot aimed at the Sith’s head took the officer in the shoulder. He dropped to the ground, and the Sith shouted something. Anak’ar swore and readjusted his aim. So much for a quick and clean kill.

 

The Sith drew two lightsabers, red blades blazing to life. She deflected Anak’ar’s next two shots with ease, sending the blaster bolts ricocheting away with casual flicks of her wrists.

 

He zoomed out hastily as she stepped out of his sights. He continued to fire, not bothering to be precise; he only needed to distract her. From his vantage point in the vent, he could see Jiila creeping up behind the Sith, taking cover behind a large spool of hose, explosive shock collar in hand. Even a lightsaber couldn’t block a bomb.

 

The Sith made a gesture in his direction, and the grating covering the vent started to rip free of the bolts that held it to the wall.

 

“Now, Jiila!” he muttered tersely into his headset.

 

Jiila glanced up at his hiding place. He saw her manipulate the switches on the disguised bomb.

 

The grate in front of him tore free of the wall and crashed to the ground.

 

Jiila finished arming the detonator and made ready to throw it.

 

An invisible hand plucked Anak’ar from the vent and dropped him. The floor rushed up to meet him. He screamed.

 

 

The Rattataki hit the ground hard and did not move again. A’tro nodded in satisfaction and extinguished her lightsabers, replacing the hilts on her belt. She turned to Quinn, who was slowly getting to his feet.

 

Abruptly, her danger sense flickered. She whirled around to see a Rattataki woman emerging from behind a coil of hose, her face twisted in rage. She was holding something that A’tro couldn’t see clearly, but what she guessed to be an explosive of some sort.

 

Reflexes taking over, A’tro gestured, reaching out with the Force. The device tore free of the woman’s hands to fly across the hangar. Before it had gone very far, it exploded into a spectacular fireball.

 

The Rattataki let out a shriek and threw herself at A’tro, pulling a vibroknife from under her shirt as she went.

 

The Sith’s Force-enhanced senses were reeling from the sound and shockwave generated by the explosion. She reached numbly for a lightsaber, too slowly.

 

Quinn stepped in front of her, blaster in hand. His first shot took the assassin in the leg, making her stumble. With a snarl, she lunged forward, knife held high. Quinn grabbed her wrist with his free hand and used the leverage granted by her wounded leg to force her to her knees. She struggled wildly, trying to break his hold on her arm. Using her other hand, she pulled out another knife and stabbed him in the side. Quinn staggered, then collapsed as the assassin jerked free of his grip.

 

A’tro’s earlier disorientation vanished in a rush of adrenaline. She took several quick steps towards the assassin, igniting both lightsabers. The Rattataki raised her knives, and A’tro neatly sliced off both her hands with a single stroke of a blade.

 

“I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who sent you?” she asked. Cold rage seethed deep inside her, fueling her power.

 

“I don’t know!” the assassin gasped. “Didn’t see a face!”

 

“Was it a Sith?” A’tro demanded. With clinical precision, she drew the tip of her left saber across the woman’s torso, leaving a blackened furrow.

 

The Rattataki woman cried out in pain. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “A Sith.”

 

“I thought as much,” A’tro concluded grimly. She stabbed both lightsabers through the woman’s torso, then used the Force to send her flying into the wall. Her body impacted the permacrete with a dull crunch and slid limply to the floor.

 

A’tro paid no heed. Returning her lightsabers to her belt, she dropped to her knees beside Quinn. His uniform was dark with blood, his eyes had fallen half-closed, and he was breathing shallowly.

 

She cursed softly under her breath. The hangar was empty—no doubt the assassins’ mysterious Sith employer had made arrangements for the security forces to be elsewhere.

 

She looked down at Quinn. The dark side pulsed softly in her veins, keeping panic at bay. First priority: stop him from bleeding to death. She unclasped her cloak and wadded it up, then pressed the fabric against the wound in his side with shaking hands.

 

Quinn’s eyelids fluttered. “Sorry to…require such…attention,” he whispered.

 

“Hush. Don’t try to talk,” she said briskly. “And it’s your own damn fault. I could have handled that.” She carefully prodded his shoulder wound, wincing as he let out an involuntary gasp of pain. It didn’t seem too bad; the heat of the shot had cauterized the edges, and it was only bleeding a little.

 

“Security seems to be conspicuously absent,” she said. “So I’m going to take you to the Alecto’s medbay until I can find a real medic.”

 

Quinn gave a tiny nod.

 

A’tro took a deep breath to steady herself. She had the Force, but she was not particularly good with delicate work, and this was going to be tricky. She reached out and slid her arms around him. With a combination of the Force and her own muscle power, she stood up and half-levitated, half-dragged him over to the ship.

 

It was the most physical contact that she’d had with him in over six months, and it unsettled her so much that she nearly dropped him more than once. She managed to deposit him in the medbay, then stepped back hastily.

 

A’tro regarded Quinn’s still form. Her efforts to slow his bleeding had been largely successful, but his face was ashen and his eyes had drifted closed sometime during the trip back to the Alecto. Was he still conscious?

 

She found herself remembering the last time she had looked down on him, with him utterly at her mercy. She felt a strange coldness seeping through her, accompanied by small, whispering thoughts that hovered at the edge of her awareness.

 

Why not just let him die? He would have done the same to you, once. It’s only fair.

 

She hesitated for a long moment.

 

Then she shook her head. “Sith don’t do fair,” she muttered, and reached for kolto.

 

Once Quinn seemed stable, she had to pause for a moment and refocus. Her medical training had been extremely limited, and most of what she had just done was based purely on her observations of Quinn’s own work. She’d had to remove his jacket and shirt, and even covered in blood the resulting view was somewhat…distracting.

 

She smacked her palm against her forehead, leaving a bloody smear. You’re a Sith, for crying out loud. Do not let your thoughts go in that direction. Have a little self-control, damn it!

 

She sneaked another look—just to make sure Quinn was doing all right, of course. Fortunately, she had sedated him prior to the proceedings. It would have been far too awkward with him awake.

 

A’tro shook her head. You’re a fool. In an attempt to give herself something else to think about, she moved over to the holoterminal and entered Jaesa’s comm frequency.

 

Jaesa answered almost immediately. “Yes, master?”

 

“I’m at the spaceport,” A’tro said tersely. “There’s been an incident of sorts.”

 

Jaesa’s eyes widened as she took a good look at the older woman. “Master, you’re covered in blood!”

 

A’tro hadn’t even noticed. “It’s not mine,” she assured Jaesa. “But it would be very helpful if you could come to the spaceport straightaway…and bring a medic.”

Seven – What Friends Are For

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

The day after the assassination attempt, A’tro was sitting at her desk in her chambers reading bulletins from various warfronts when she heard footsteps approaching. She immediately rose partway out of her chair, hands dropping to her lightsabers. The attack had made her jumpy, and she was well aware that her ability to sense beings through the Force was extremely poor compared to that of most Sith.

 

A few moments later, the source of the noise came into view.

 

“Hey there,” said Vette. She perched herself on the edge of A’tro’s desk.

 

A’tro settled back into her chair. “Did you want something?”

 

Vette shrugged. “Just to chat. Jaesa told me about what happened yesterday.”

 

“Yes, it seems that one of my fellow Sith wants me dead. No more than I expected, considering my position.”

 

“Lovely,” Vette sighed. “You planning on trying to find out who was behind it?”

 

A’tro shook her head. “Considering that both the assassins are dead, we don’t have much to go on. Besides, if I find and neutralize one enemy, there will always be more.”

 

“What a life,” Vette muttered. “Anyway, I hear Quinn almost got himself killed.”

 

“Jaesa certainly spared no detail in her account,” A’tro said dryly.

 

“She just wanted to make sure me and Pierce knew what was going on. I think we have a right to know if somebody tries to off our favorite Sith Lord.”

 

“So I’m your favorite Sith, am I? I’m flattered.”

 

“Hey, I’d miss you if anything ever happened to you. You’re like a very scary older sister.”

 

A’tro smiled. “Thank you, Vette. That means a lot to me.”

 

“Careful on the niceness, or I’m going to start thinking you actually like me.”

 

“I do like you. You may be a nuisance sometimes, but you have spirit. And as little sisters go, you’re not half bad.”

 

Vette raised her eyebrows. “Oh? You never mentioned you had a younger sister.”

 

“Twin sister, actually,” A’tro sighed. “I’d…really rather not talk about her.”

 

“You don’t want to talk about a lot of things,” Vette noted.

 

A’tro started to feel suspicious. “This is about what you learned the other day, isn’t it?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

A’tro scowled. “I will not discuss it. That is final.”

 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

 

“I see no reason to resurrect events that occurred over six months ago.”

 

“Well, you should!” Vette snapped. She slid off the desk and moved to stand directly across from A’tro. “You can say that it’s not my business all you want, but I don’t agree. I’m a part of your crew—if Quinn had killed you, we would all have been affected by it. You should have told us.”

 

“I chose to keep it a secret, and I stand by that decision.”

 

“Why? Because you don’t want us to know that Quinn is a backstabbing ice-hearted son of a ***** who’d shiv you as soon as look at you? Because you don’t want us to know that he was working for Baras all along? Because you don’t want us to know that you let him get away with it?”

 

And there they were, the words A’tro had been waiting for from the moment Vette had discovered Quinn’s betrayal.

 

“I do not need to justify my actions to you,” she said coolly.

 

“I thought you respected us,” Vette said quietly. “Me, Pierce, Broonmark—even Jaesa doesn’t know, and she’s your apprentice! Because you chose to keep us in the dark, if Quinn had tried to move against you again, we wouldn’t have known. We could have watched him, made sure that he couldn’t do anything—“

 

“You would have killed him,” A’tro said in a low voice. “Regardless of any order from me to the contrary, it would have happened.”

 

“I don’t understand why you’re so insistent on keeping that backstabber alive. I’ve seen you kill people for far less.”

 

“I had my reasons.”

 

Vette put her hands on her hips. “Uh-huh. I’ll bet you did.” She pointed at the Sith. “You thought you could keep it a secret, didn’t you? Well, you couldn’t. Not from me, anyway.”

 

A’tro felt the blood drain from her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

 

“I overheard a few of your little chats with Quinn on the bridge,” Vette said smugly. “And I saw the way you looked at each other when you thought no one else would notice. I can put two and two together.” She shook her head. “You really had a thing for him, didn’t you? I’m surprised you didn’t put a lightsaber through his head after what he did to you. Never thought you were sentimental.”

 

If looks could kill, the stare A’tro directed at Vette would have left the Twi’lek a heap of smoldering ashes. “Did you tell anyone else about this?” she demanded.

 

Vette shook her head. “I figured if you were trying to be discreet, I’d let it stay that way.”

 

“Good.”

 

“I’m on your side, A’tro,” Vette said gently. “Your terrible taste in men notwithstanding.”

 

A’tro sighed, her anger draining away. “Vette, I appreciate your concern, but this is something that I have to come to terms with by myself.”

 

“If you really insist—“

 

“I do.”

 

Vette shrugged. “Okay, fine. But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” She raised her eyebrows. “Also, if you want me to sneak over to the medcenter and spike Quinn’s kolto with something nasty—“

 

“That won’t be necessary.”

 

Vette pouted. “You never let me have any fun.”

It just occurred to me, after looking at what I've written so far, what I've posted so far, and my outline, that this story basically consists of a whole bunch of conversations jammed together to make a plot. I guess there's nothing wrong with that. It's a character-driven story, guyz

 

I see this has almost 400 views! Does that mean people are actually reading this? Dear people on the Internet, whoever you are, who have looked at this story: Thanks. <3 Seeing that little view count go up does wonders for my ego. If this ever hits 1000 I may explode from an overload of hubris.

 

Oh, and by the way--I know that there hasn't been much of an overarching plot yet, but in a couple more chapters things will really start going. I have this all planned out. Just bear with me.

It just occurred to me, after looking at what I've written so far, what I've posted so far, and my outline, that this story basically consists of a whole bunch of conversations jammed together to make a plot.

 

I find your conversations perfectly delightful. Also, <3 Vette.

This is what happens when I'm struck with inspiration late at night: I start with an idea, and it morphs into something totally different from what I originally intended. Therefore, I feel that I must note that the following content is kind of disturbing. However, it's disturbing in kind of a funny way, so does that make up for it?

 

Eight - Unscrupulous

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

Darth Nox strode through the corridors of the Citadel. The Dark Honor Guards bowed as she passed them, and lesser Sith scrambled to get out of her way. She enjoyed every minute of it.

 

She paused near the Wrath’s chambers, seeing someone else heading towards that same destination.

 

This could be interesting, she thought, and approached.

 

“Captain Quinn,” she said. “How nice to see you.” Literally—the man looks simply delectable in that uniform.

 

Quinn bowed respectfully. “Lord Nox.”

 

“I heard about the events at the spaceport a few days ago,” Nox said. A’tro had mentioned it in passing, and she had…obtained…the relevant security footage. “I was glad to hear that the Wrath survived unscathed.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

Nox stepped towards him until she was just pushing the boundaries of what most beings considered acceptable personal space, putting a slight sway into her hips as she moved. “That was very courageous of you to stand between your lord and danger,” she breathed, gazing into his eyes; they were almost the same height.

 

“It was only my duty, my lord,” Quinn said uncomfortably. Nox had maneuvered him so that his back was to a wall, and he couldn’t step away from her without being obvious.

 

She drew upon the Force and delicately surveyed his mind. To her surprise, her mental touch slid away, as though his mind contained a series of glass walls. She had encountered minds like that before, but where?

 

Well, the mental probe wasn’t getting anywhere, but she could still have some fun with him.

 

Nox stepped even closer. “You’re very dedicated,” she purred. “I admire that in a man.” She reached out with a fingertip and traced a line from his collar to his rank insignia before adding in her most seductive voice, “Captain.”

 

Quinn appeared to be struggling for a way to escape the situation without being rude to a Sith Lord. Nox chuckled inwardly; what was the point of having power if you weren’t going to abuse it every now and then?

 

She kept her hand on his chest and leaned in until her face was only a few inches away from his. “Perhaps some time you can do some work for me...if the Wrath can spare you, of course…”

 

Someone cleared their throat loudly behind Nox. She turned her head to see Jaesa Willsaam.

 

“Pardon me, my lord,” Jaesa said innocently, apparently pretending that the throat clearing had been entirely accidental. “I hope I’m not interrupting something. Are you here to see the Wrath?”

 

“I was,” Nox said. “Then my attention was…diverted.” She glanced at Quinn, who had taken the opportunity of her distraction to move away from the wall and towards the center of the corridor.

 

“I’m afraid that the Wrath is not here right now,” Jaesa said apologetically. “I’m sure she’ll be back this evening. Would you like me to tell her that you wished to speak with her, my lord?”

 

“Please do,” Nox said. “I’ll return later.” She looked over towards Quinn. “Has anyone ever told you that you have lovely eyes?” With that, she swept away, feeling rather pleased with herself.

 

Jaesa watched her go, frowning.

 

“Are you all right?” she asked Quinn once the Sith had receded into the distance.

 

He nodded. “I appreciate what you did there,” he said quietly.

 

Jaesa shrugged. “Don’t mention it." She shook her head. "Some Sith have no shame.”

 

Quinn glanced past her at the entrance to A’tro’s chambers. “Is the Wrath really gone?”

 

Jaesa grinned. “Of course not. Go on in, she’s expecting you.”

 

Quinn stared at her. “You lied to a Dark Council member?”

 

“Yes, and quite a thrill it was. I should do this sort of thing more often.”

 

“That was an incredible risk. You shouldn’t have—“

 

“You’re not my master; you can’t tell me what I should or should not do,” she said indignantly. “Speaking of which, you shouldn’t keep A’tro waiting.”

 

“Of course not,” Quinn said, moving towards the door.

 

As he passed her, Jaesa said in a stage whisper, “You do have nice eyes, though.”

 

Quinn chose not to dignify that statement with any acknowledgment whatsoever.

 

 

This was supposed to be "Nox has a conversation with Quinn and messes with his mind a little", but it somehow turned into "Nox almost molests Quinn in the corridor." I'm...not sure how that happened. I blame Nox for being such an unscrupulous witch.

 

Also, it's a good thing that Jaesa was the one to stumble upon that scene, because A'tro probably would have flown off the handle and done something...Wrathful. Okay, I'm going to go sleep now before I write anything else that's either weird or a bad pun.

This was supposed to be "Nox has a conversation with Quinn and messes with his mind a little", but it somehow turned into "Nox almost molests Quinn in the corridor." I'm...not sure how that happened. I blame Nox for being such an unscrupulous witch.

 

In her defense, Quinn is both molestable and too fun to mess with.

...

I need to get out more...

There will be a new chapter today, but it still needs a lot of work before I deem it suitable for posting. So in the meantime, let's take a look at who we're dealing with! Spoilertagged because the pictures are pretty big.

 

Darth A'tro:

 

 

 

Darth Nox:

 

 

For once, this chapter takes place immediately during/after the previous chapter. Wow, narrative coherency! Wow, Vesaniae's using fancy words to try to sound like she knows what she's talking about!

 

Also, my life has taken a turn for the busy, so from now on updates will be much more infrequent.

 

This chapter contains stuff that I made up, because making up things is fun. Give me an NPC with no background and I will create one. Now, on with the story!

 

Nine – Unspoken

Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

12 ATC

 

Ever since returning to Dromund Kaas, A’tro had felt as if she spent all her time behind a desk. She almost wished for another assassination attempt, just to make things interesting.

 

With a sigh, she tapped on the computer screen in front of her to bring up the latest activity reports from Corellia. She looked over the topics, frowning in sudden confusion. Then she noticed the dates.

 

“Blasted database,” she muttered. “These are from last year.” In fact, they were from the time when she had been on Corellia, just before her ascension as the Wrath.

 

I wonder if I’m mentioned? She looked through the reports, feeling curious.

 

An explosion that took out an entire city block and killed an Intelligence operative…she hadn’t heard about that. A pity. A resistance base stormed…yes, that had been her handiwork.

 

There were a disturbingly large number of attacks reported as “friendly fire incidents”, which was another way of saying “Imperials fighting one another due to Sith power struggles.” A’tro shook her head as she read. Such a waste.

 

One entry in particular caught her eye: an entire unit of Imperial Guards ambushed by supposedly friendly forces.

 

The troops responsible for the attack, part of Darth Baras’ forces, blamed the incident on a communications breakdown. The Guardsmen suffered 92% casualties and four fatalities, including their commanding officer, Colonel Josrik Quinn.

 

A’tro’s eyes widened in sudden horrified realization.

 

It could be a coincidence, she thought. It’s probably not that uncommon a surname.

 

There were detailed records on every member of the Imperial military available to those with the proper clearance. A’tro searched through those records, until at last she found the relevant entry. The file itself was brief, but there was an image, which she accessed.

 

A’tro swallowed hard as she looked at the screen. Her instincts had been correct; it was not a coincidence. The man in the image had brown eyes, not blue, but apart from that she was looking at an older, battle-scarred version of Malavai Quinn. Judging by the birth date given in the file, this was Quinn’s father.

 

She closed the file and sat back in her chair. Quinn had never mentioned his family. She supposed that this explained a great deal about his obsession with his career; having a parent in the Imperial Guard was a lot to live up to.

 

Said parent was dead, now. She had always wondered why Baras had made no mention of Quinn’s failure to kill her. It seemed that he had not let such a failure go unpunished, after all.

 

A’tro found herself almost feeling sorry for Quinn—Baras had probably had his entire family killed. She quickly suppressed the feeling.

 

Baras could have picked a better form of retribution, she thought viciously. After all, Quinn doesn’t care about other people.

 

As if the thought had summoned him, Quinn stepped into the room. He seemed to be on edge for some reason, but he stood at attention in front of her desk with his usual stiff dignity.

 

“Reporting for duty, my lord,” he said.

 

Some of the anger that she had been directing towards him receded when she looked at him. He was a bit paler than usual, and his movements suggested that his injuries were still bothering him. He probably could have benefitted from another day or two of rest, but Quinn being Quinn, nothing short of complete incapacitation would stop him from reporting in.

 

“I’m pleased to see that you’ve recovered, Captain,” A’tro said.

 

Quinn bowed. “I must thank you, my lord. Your actions saved my life.”

 

“You are one of my people. I stand by all of you, as you have stood by me.”

 

“Nevertheless, I am grateful,” Quinn said quietly.

 

“And you should be,” A’tro said tartly. “What in the galaxy were you thinking, taking on an armed assassin when you were already wounded?”

 

He looked startled. “My lord, I was only trying to protect you—“

 

“I am a Sith,” she snapped. “I do not need ‘protection’. I could have handled the situation just fine without your help.”

 

“I apologize if I overstepped my bounds, my lord.”

 

A’tro glared up at him. “I understand that you feel the need to prove yourself to me, but getting yourself killed is not the way to go about it.”

 

Quinn met her gaze squarely. “I’m sorry, my lord,” he said in a low voice.

 

“I know,” she answered quietly.

 

There was a long moment of silence.

 

With an effort of will, A’tro tore her eyes away from his. “It’s all in the past now, Quinn. I see no need to discuss this further.”

 

“As you wish, my lord.”

 

“In the future, please refrain from putting your life on the line for no good reason.”

 

“I’ll do my best, my lord.”

 

If I wanted you dead, you would be. She almost said it, but that thought led to other, dangerous thoughts, thoughts that she did not dare express. So she dismissed him without saying anything more, and wondered, not for the first time, why those thoughts made her so afraid.

Edited August 27, 2012 by Vesaniae

Baras could have picked a better form of retribution, she thought viciously. After all, Quinn doesn’t care about other people.

 

And thoughts like this come up so very naturally after the incident...um, unless I just have an uncommonly mean-spirited brain. I sympathize, A'tro.