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There is no death, there is only Wrath


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40. In which Nalenne witnesses a Republic operation

 

Spoilers for a Trooper’s Act 2 M1-4X companion quest.

 

 

A robot from old Nar Shaddaa

Held Republic ideals as law.

If Imperials dare

Show their face - M1's there!

Eat missiles! For freedom! Huzzah!

 

 

“Hey. Vette. How do I look?”

 

Nalenne twirled to show Vette her outfit, a segmented and fitted suit of black armor with a good threatening cape and a gaping (or, technically, swelling) chest cutout that marked it as purely social ‘armor.’

 

“On the raging-evil scale, I give you a ten. What’s the occasion?”

 

“Meeting a bigwig on Nar Shaddaa. The Ambassador. He’s a big recruiter for the Empire, diplomatic type. He’s invited the Wrath and any interested staff to talk strategy over dinner.”

 

“And you’re even faintly interested in this?”

 

“Quinn wants to go. Plus the dinner’s at the Star Cluster.”

 

“The place that snagged that exclusive contract with Gormon the Hutt for production of that really wacky blue vodka?”

 

“The very same.”

 

“Consider me 'interested staff.'”

 

And so Nalenne, Quinn, and Vette went to visit the glittering Star Cluster Casino on Nar Shaddaa.

 

A slave met them at the door to escort them up to the penthouse, where, under heavy guard, the Ambassador, wearing an enormously tall hat, was working on something or other.

 

He rose to greet the party warmly and sat with them to dinner. After Nalenne and he had exchanged about three words, Quinn jumped in with some policy question based on a propaganda speech the Ambassador had delivered the previous week two star systems over. Nalenne chatted quietly with Vette about the food…and the vodka, of course.

 

Two delicious courses, while the men exchanged impassioned yet somehow completely boring opinions. Nalenne tuned in briefly as Quinn stood beside her and gestured energetically: “The difficulty is in targeting a cultural message on these highly fragmented planets. Courting the high-value populations – the Hutts, the Annihilator network, the confectioners’ guild – must be handled carefully, lest their many scattered opponents unite against our message.”

 

“I’m sorry,” said the Ambassador. “The confectioners’ guild?”

 

“It doesn’t sound like much, but threaten their supply chain and you’ll find they are among the most brutal and cunning warriors in the galaxy, as we learned to our detriment in the last war. They would make invaluable allies.”

 

“This is really good,” mouthed Nalenne at Vette, pointing to the vichyssoise.

 

“I repeat, so is this,” whispered Vette, sipping more vodka.

 

A thump resounded on the door. Then another, then seemingly two at once, and then the metal door shattered, giving way to a massive three-legged battle droid. “Ambassador! Your lying days are at an end!” announced the machine.

 

A breathless pause. Then: “Havoc Squad,” spat Quinn, in a tone he usually reserved for deserters and men with nonregulation haircuts.

 

“None of that,” said Nalenne. She brought out her saber and jumped to intercept.

 

The droid tilted and headbutted her. “You will not stop the cause of freedom, Sith!”

 

She staggered back, but recovered. “Yes, I will,” she assured him, swinging to block his blaster fire and start hacking at him.

 

“I think not!” The robot skittered to one side, flung a couple of guards away, then made for the Ambassador at a dead sprint. “You’re under arrest, Ambassador, and you’re coming with me to face Republic justice!”

 

Nalenne stood stunned. “Wait, why is he the high-value target here?”

 

Without slowing for a moment, the robot scooped up a shocked-looking Ambassador, sending his big hat flying…and then made straight for the window. “For freedom!”

 

“Are you insane?” she yelled, rushing to get in an already-too-late blow on the robot’s trailing leg. Then it was gone.

 

But hey, if that stupid droid could jump, so could she.

 

She flung herself out into the warm murk of a Nar Shaddaa evening. The droid was already some meters below her, and when he saw her falling he did some truly interesting self-folding in an effort to streamline himself. Her cape wasn’t helping her cause. She kept her saber ready; she didn’t want a delay when she landed.

 

There was a great deal of nothing to land on beneath them.

 

They were coming up on a traffic lane. The droid slammed into a heap of junk on a passing garbage scow…that streaked off before Nalenne got close. She herself angled slightly to hit a sleek-looking red speeder.

 

She came down on the hood with enough force to knock out her breath and possibly several of her bones. That hurt more than expected. If the droid is still functioning after a fall like this I will not be happy.

 

Somebody was screaming a lot. Oh, probably the speeder’s driver. With an effort Nalenne raised her head – ooh, dizzy – and looked at the Devaronian behind the controls. “Keep driving or I will kill you,” she warned. Oh, but no way was she going to face a combat droid in this shape. “Just run me to Mezenti Spaceport.”

 

The skylane winds carried a distant cry: “For the Republic!”

 

Nalenne let her head fall. This, she thought, was why she tried to avoid networking dinners.

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41. In which Nalenne and Quinn have a serious talk

 

If you’re an Imperial son,

Two faces are better than one.

Lie and connive

To simply survive…

Just try not to think what you’ve done.

 

 

Nar Shaddaa. Smoke, noise, and neon lights, everyone going a mile a minute; self-contained worlds leaping from the murk thirty stories below to flashing glittering heights thirty stories up, monuments to every imaginable pleasure.

 

Nalenne, being fresh out of the inclination for pleasures at the moment, settled on the edge of a mid-level rooftop and looked up at the brilliant streaks of the upper skylane traffic.

 

Ghost-Quinn’s voice sounded without so much as a warning footstep first. “My lord. Permission to speak?”

 

“Yeah, sure,” she said absently.

 

“Nalenne.”

 

At the sound of her name she turned around to face him. He was neat as ever in his unchanging uniform, seemingly anxious now, though the shifting multicolored lights around them could throw any false expression onto a face. “What is it?” she asked.

 

“It seems you won’t answer this until I corner you. So here we are.” He settled in that formal parade rest, hands folded behind him. “Why?”

 

Nalenne blinked. “The guy who sprung an assassination trap on me wants to ask me why deadly force came into play?”

 

“You know why I was there. I had a duty, a responsibility to my cause and the champion of that cause. But I can’t explain you. You’re bloodthirsty, yes, unstable, yes, but you would do anything for the people you love, and even for people you merely sense potential in. You’ve spared Niselle, Jaesa, Broonmark. You would forgive Vette or Pierce in a heartbeat.”

 

“’Forgive’ is such a strong word.”

 

“Why them and not me?”

 

Something clicked into place. “You were counting on me making a kissy face and welcoming you right back, weren’t you? You were planning on it, if you lost. You scheming weasel. That’s why you’ve been so mad at me all this time.”

 

“That’s not an answer.” He sounded annoyed.

 

“Did you even have a plan A? Did you actually have any intention of killing me?”

 

“Yes. I had no choice.” He relaxed his pose and raised one hand to stroke his chin. “But you’re on to something. You’ve finally worked out the start of my contingency plan, in case I failed. Go on.”

 

She considered. “If you were counting on love, you must have considered it an exploitable weakness. Advantages: It kept me from killing you, and it kept you close to me. It was a huge blind spot in my defenses. Furthermore, if you really intended to kill me, then screwing up one attempt wouldn’t change that intent – you never give up, not while you have resources or raw will left to throw at the problem.” She stood up and paced. “So…if your trap failed, you figured I would welcome you back. You would wait for another chance to finish the job. You would do it. That’s why you needed me alone, too. Even apart from your odds in combat, you can’t recover a loss if my friends, who don’t share my weakness, intervene with deadly force.”

 

“Excellent,” he said. “Perfect. I had despaired of teaching you anything, but you do learn, eventually.”

 

“I was listening, Quinn. I was, all that time we were together. It’s just that smashing the problem has a 100% success rate, so why would I ever have to think like you?” Her higher brain, having lumbered into motion, kept going. “So basically forgiveness would’ve been fatal and you’ve been guilt-tripping me all this time for taking the only course of action that would have stopped you from murdering me.”

 

Quinn returned to a cool flat tone. “Ah. That is…a very coarse way of stating it, my lord.”

 

She crossed her arms. “Plans within plans to kill me. I was justified.”

 

“It still hurt.”

 

“When exactly did you go from ‘kill kill kill’ to ‘guilt guilt guilt’, anyway? You’re not still secretly on ‘kill kill kill’, are you?”

 

“No, my lord. You won. Baras lost. Your way is the Empire’s future. Therefore I am with you.”

 

Nalenne made a face at him. “Also you’re stuck in a hellish limbo within a limited physical range of me. Therefore you’re with me.”

 

He gestured impatiently. “The two conditions happen to coincide. That wasn’t the point. I don’t have to hurt you now, not anymore – and, impossible though you are, I wouldn’t want to. I just want to know….” Uncharacteristically, he had to take a moment to collect himself. “Nalenne, I want to know why.”

 

“Since ‘self-defense’ doesn’t satisfy your twisted analysis? It really, really bothers you that you didn’t see this coming, doesn’t it? Well, fine.” He had his motivations. She had hers. “You recall I was still stiff from a sprained ankle that day, and not happy about it.”

 

“Er, yes.”

 

"And you knew I was still puking from the aftereffects of that Voss spirit guy's body-snatching trick."

 

"Yes, I suppose, but - "

 

"And then the coffee maker and the freezer simultaneously broke the night before, leaving me without tasty beverages or worthwhile desserts?"

 

"I don't see how this - "

 

Nalenne stamped her foot. “If you were counting on my mercy, why the blazes did you spring that when you knew I was having such a crappy day? Honestly, am I the kind of woman who could hold my temper through such an unholy heap of annoyances just because amor’s supposed to vincit omnia?"

 

Quinn eventually managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. "I thought I rated slightly above 'boo hoo I had to settle for orange juice this morning'!"

 

"Well then, you miscalculated, didn't you?"

 

"The idea that you killed your husband because of dietary inconvenience is obscene!"

 

"Serves you right for timing the attempted murder of your wife so badly!"

 

"In the future perhaps you could recommend a better time for my being forced to hurt you?"

 

"Let me think about that: NO. I may be petty but I'm not stupid, darling."

 

They abruptly thought of interesting things to study off to opposite sides.

 

"Quinn. Petty but not stupid, Quinn."

 

"At least tell me you regret it."

 

"Occasionally," she said. "Maybe. When you're not acting like a jerk. If you’re stuck here either way, I wish I could undo the killing part. Our relationship doesn’t work too well without the anger sex.”

 

“I tend to agree.”

 

“But you really should’ve known better.”

 

They stood at the edge of the roof for a while, watching the incandescent rush of ten thousand unconnected lives.

 

In time, Nalenne spoke again. “And now I’m trying to get rid of you. Was there ever a time neither one of us was actively planning on destroying the other?”

 

“There was the brief interlude when you thought I was permanently dead. Otherwise, no.”

 

“Huh. Y’know, I worried about marrying a non-Sith, but you really did get the basics right.”

 

“Yes.” He let a few moments pass in a silence that was, if not friendly, at least not hostile. “It’s a shame you brought the rest of it to this miserable state.”

 

“Malavai?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Stop talking.”

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42. In which Nalenne catches Quinn conspiring

 

Our comms may inform and amuse,

Correspondents may gladly enthuse.

But behind that bright glow,

The cynical know

that the holo is rarely good news.

 

 

Nalenne woke up early and ravenous. She pulled on her dressing gown and headed out to the mess by way of the holo room.

 

The holo was active, and Quinn was there, standing before Servants One and Two.

 

Rage rarely swelled this high this fast. “Quinn! What happened to ‘I will be no one’s spy this time’?” she demanded.

 

He turned to face her. She raised her hand and tried to apply a Force choke.

 

She felt nothing in her mind’s grip, and Quinn was not physically affected. Only his eyes changed. Yeah, you remember what this felt like. Jack***.

 

“Release him,” said Servant One.

 

Nalenne dropped her effort and turned to the holo. “Five seconds. Explain. Or I will destroy you.”

 

Servant One looked meaningfully at ghost-Quinn. “Truly, I’m trembling,” he said dryly.

 

“My lord,” said Quinn, “all they do is give me the strategic guidance for our work. Since you are less than willing to take direction from them yourself.”

 

“The captain has more than septupled the Wrath’s productivity,” intoned Servant Two.

 

Not enough to wipe the thought of Quinn reporting to Baras. “There’s more. What have you been doing behind my back?”

 

“Only what is necessary,” said Servant One, “for you to actually earn that stipend of yours.”

 

“And you couldn’t have done this in front of my back?”

 

“You’re impossible to manage,” said Servant One. “You’re infinitely more docile when the orders come from the captain.”

 

“I’m not certain ‘docile’ is the most accurate term,” said Quinn.

 

“Comparatively speaking,” said Servant One, “it really is.”

 

“The Wrath if left to her own devices would be a worthless layabout and disgraceful drain on society,” said Servant Two.

 

“The Wrath is not amused!” said Nalenne. “This will stop!”

 

Servants One and Two exchanged looks. “Do you really want to be the one doing the weekly discussions of the optimal strategic stress points in the coreward Ilum sector?” said Servant One.

 

Nalenne looked at Quinn. He shrugged, ever so slightly, with a bland innocent look on his face.

 

“The complete and utter boring-ness of the work isn’t the part that matters,” she said. “This kind of stunt is practically calculated to piss me off.”

 

“I still serve you,” he said quietly.

 

“The Wrath pretty much hates you right now,” announced Servant Two.

 

“Would you stop stating the obvious?” said Nalenne.

 

“You may cooperate today, Wrath,” said Servant One. “But if we call again next week you will defy us. Quinn is a considerably more stable conduit for the Emperor’s will.”

 

“He’s supposed to be my conduit! Get your own!”

 

“You’ve been enjoying the work, have you not, my lord?” said Quinn.

 

She eyed him cautiously. “I suppose.”

 

“Then trust me to keep directing your efforts where you can do the most good for the Empire.”

 

“You’ll understand if I never accept ‘Trust me’ out of your mouth again.”

 

“Optimal stress points in strategically critical systems,” Servant One reminded her. “Mind-bogglingly boring conversations.”

 

“You’re really just saving me from the mission planning?”

 

“I promise, my lord.”

 

“Fine, then. Have your chats. But I’ll kill you all if you gang up on me.”

 

“You’re planning to kill me anyway, my lord.”

 

“Keep your logic to yourself! I hate you, I hate your secret making-me-do-work conspiracy, and you will BEHAVE YOURSELF OR I WILL MAKE YOUR UNLIFE HELL.”

 

“And you wonder why we don’t want to talk to you,” said Servant One.

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43. In which Jaesa’s extracurriculars draw scrutiny

 

The Jedi, as any can see,

Must feed all their knights and trainees.

Though all keep their eye

On what money can’t buy,

They’ll still take donations (tax-free!).

 

 

“My lord.”

 

“What do you want, Quinn?”

 

“Are you aware that the Jedi enclave on Alderaan has an active petition to be renamed after Nomen Karr?”

 

“Uh, why?”

 

“It seems one Nomen Karr has donated well over a million credits to its supply and upkeep. The vast majority of these credits can be traced to your account.”

 

Nalenne flushed. “Jaesa.”

 

*

 

“You told me a hundred times you didn’t care about which charity I donated to, master. Just as long as I wasn’t using my special power on behalf of the Jedi.”

 

“I thought you were rescuing orphans and feeding puppies! I find that whole business revolting, but at least it would’ve kept you clear of the war.”

 

“The Alderaanian enclave is clear of the war.”

 

“Apart from all the Jedi who train there and then go out to kill my friends!”

 

“Your evil Sith rivals, you mean. You should be thanking me.”

 

“Are we or are we not going to execute her, my lord?” Quinn said impatiently.

 

“I’m still ranting here, captain.”

 

“Of course.” He bowed and backed off.

 

“Jaesa, no more funding the Republic war effort or the Jedi with my money.”

 

“You never scrutinize Vette this closely. And she gets a bigger allowance.”

 

“Vette isn’t on an explicit mission to undo everything I am and stand for. Plus she’s better at guilt tripping me and she isn’t in bed with my mortal enemies.”

 

“Master! Even in jest, I’m not in bed with anybody! Except you on holovid nights.”

 

“Well maybe the not-in-bed is your problem. I should foist Niselle’s next handsome-Sith recommendation off on you.”

 

Jaesa’s eyes went round. “Please don’t.”

 

“Don’t convince me you need to be distracted.”

 

Jaesa bit her lip. “Captain Quinn, I know you like reporting this kind of thing, but I must request that you stop sabotaging – “

 

“Your treason?” said Quinn coolly.

 

“It’s not treason. I’m not even Imperial.”

 

“Ah, my mistake. Your act of war.”

 

Nalenne rolled her eyes. “Quinn, we all know you’re only saying that because you’re jealous of Jaesa’s and my relationship.”

 

“I’m saying it because she funneled over a million credits directly to the Jedi!”

 

“Jealous. You’re far from an impartial observer.”

 

“I’m not the one failing at impartiality, my lord.”

 

“Hey,” said Nalenne. “I’m not executing anybody for acts of war. I’ve learned my lesson there.” Quinn glowered. Nalenne continued. “Tell you what, Jaesa. I’ll go level the enclave, and then you don’t have to worry about sending them money or renaming it or anything. Also I’m cutting your allowance.”

 

“Master,” pleaded an anguished Jaesa.

 

“Jaesa, I love you.” Neither woman noticed the muscle near Quinn’s eye twitching at that. “But evil comes first. And – look, I wasn’t going to mention it, but the Alderaanian enclave was on my to-do list anyway. Really, Servant One brought it up last time we talked. Your friends were already doomed.”

 

Jaesa’s lower lip quivered. “I understand,” she said quietly, and ran to her quarters.

 

Quinn regarded Nalenne with that deceptively neutral expression of his. “My lord, Servant One has never said anything of the sort.”

 

“I was being tactful, Quinn. Have 2V block all outgoing transmissions ‘til we reach Alderaan, would you?”

 

Something approaching approval crept across his face. “That was very nearly subtle. It will be done.” And, with characteristic efficiency, he went straight for the bridge by way of the nearest wall.

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It's quite frustrating Quinn can not be hurt... I'd also want to choke him for his 'conspiration' with the hand. Oh, and I really would love to kill this arrogant Servant One - docile, phew! We are warriors, not dogs! :D Edited by Ayanka
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44. In which Nalenne kills time (and wampas) on Hoth

 

Hoth rejects science’s tools

And suspends ecological rules.

The fauna all eat

Exclusively meat

And declare all biologists fools.

 

 

Hoth. The Empire technically didn’t need Nalenne out this way, since the whole Hoth operation was supposed to be a matter of dribbling out a few resources to keep a lot of the Republic’s resources tied up.

 

But sometimes you just want a hot sweaty melee in the snow.

 

Through some argument process Nalenne could not divine, Pierce won and Vette lost such that Vette had to come down to the surface. Broonmark, of course, volunteered, as did Quinn. Jaesa was still mad at Nalenne and had holed up in her quarters with comic books. No matter; Nalenne just wanted to go kill some stuff.

 

She swept into Dorn Base with her entourage and was greeted by Captain Yudrass himself. The Chiss had dropped whatever his actual work was to scramble a welcoming party for the Wrath.

 

He bowed deeply in greeting. “My lord. It is an honor. Is there any way we can assist the Wrath?”

 

“Yeah. I’m looking for stuff to kill. High challenge, high population density if you can manage it.”

 

“…‘Stuff.’”

 

“Yeah. Whatever you’ve got. I’m just looking for a good scrap.”

 

Yudrass looked over at a fellow officer, then looked back to Nalenne. “Yes, my lord. Our strategic operations are currently in a tight balance; we have the Republic where we want them. A larger offensive would convince them to withdraw; a major loss would badly drain our resources.”

 

“Is there a fight somewhere in this line of thought?”

 

One of Yudrass’s entourage stepped up and whispered something. “Yes, Wrath,” said the Chiss. “There is a former White Maw cave some ways to the north that has been overrun by a very large number of small wampas. Whether it is a new breed or simply some strange pack of young ones, we cannot tell. But removing the infestation would be a great help.”

 

“Awesome. Carry on.” She ignored the baffled look on his face as she proceeded to the lift.

 

The party mounted their speeders – 2V-R8 had finally gotten the mechanical customizations to handle a speeder with some degree of finesse – and headed out to work.

 

Broonmark hesitated at the entrance of the cave. He waved a hand around and drew it toward his proboscis. “We smell many wampas,” he said.

 

“Double the wampas, double the fun,” said Nalenne.

 

“And hundred times the wampas, Sith clan?”

 

“A hundred times the fun.”

 

“I’m not sure I like that reasoning,” said Vette.

 

“Sissy. C’mon.”

 

The cave was busy, and Nalenne liked that. She carved on ahead with Broonmark while Vette held back placing blaster fire and Quinn moved around, scouting weaknesses to call and harassing the more dangerous beasts.

 

In time the cave opened into a large chamber that had signs of previous human habitation – some metal structure supporting the ice walls and ceiling, a few crates on the ground. And quite a few representatives of the beings that had driven the humans out. Nalenne sang a battlecry and jumped right in.

 

The little wampas were fast and vicious. It was fun. Nalenne wondered whether they were younglings. Not that it mattered either way; they died like any other enemy.

 

Three of them broke from the frenzy and started galloping toward Quinn. The sight yanked at her stomach a bit. “No!” she shouted, and instinctively vaulted away from her current engagement to take down the middle one. The other two wampas brought themselves up short and spun to face her. “Look at me, you overgrown rodents!”

 

“My lord,” yelled Vette. “Mad at him. Remember?”

 

Nalenne parried one wampa’s swing and coughed. “Right. I mean, yes, carry on, overgrown rodents!”

 

“My lord,” yelled Quinn indignantly.

 

“Oh, like you need the help.”

 

The beasts were savage and not a one was smart enough to die on the first four or five should-have-been-fatal wounds, but eventually Nalenne ran out of targets. The smell of blood and saber-scorched fur was heavy in the confines of the cave. It was good.

 

She cast off her outer coat and flopped down on the hard-packed floor. Cold, beautifully cold. Probably deadly with a few hours’ exposure, but for now the ice was the finest feeling imaginable against her feverish skin.

 

She opened her eyes to see Vette leaning over her. “You’re kind of weird, you know that?” said the Twi’lek.

 

“Bah. I bet Broonmark likes ice-lounging. He understands me.”

 

The Talz shuffled to her side and looked down at her. “No, Sith clan is weird,” he blorped.

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45. Mini-snippet: In which Quinn cleans house

 

A detailed maintenance run

May not sound like a whole lot of fun.

To freshen the paint

With same-color restraint

Is a drag. But it has to be done.

 

 

“Hey, Vette?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Where’s Quinn?”

 

Vette looked up from the coffee table console. “How should I know?”

 

“Well, he lives on the bridge. You’re sitting by the passage to the bridge. Stands to reason.”

 

“The man walks through walls. Me sitting by a doorway gives me zero special insight.”

 

“Both he and 2V are gone.”

 

“Wow, it’s like a dream come true.”

 

“Stop that. I need to talk to him.”

 

The crew quarters were quiet – though in fairness, Nalenne was never inclined to listen too closely when Pierce’s door was closed – and the cargo hold had only Broonmark, messing once again with biochemical compounds at the workbench. Adrenals, most likely. Mixing combat adrenals was his second favorite pastime, after combat.

 

The mess, the conference room, the med bay, all were quite empty. Nalenne made her way to the engine room and, on a sudden impulse, opened the door very quietly, intending to watch and wait.

 

Ghost-Quinn and 2V-R8 were kneeling by one of the sublight fuel injectors. 2V had an assortment of tools and bottles lined up neatly by his side, and he was currently working at some fine detail of the injector with a tool Nalenne couldn’t quite make out. He was chattering in a bizarre alternation between his “relevant, permitted-by-Quinn’s-modifications speech” mode and his “original programming, volume-suppressed” mode (*).

 

“Some scoring here, sir, and it’s absolutely terrible how much of this has been allowed to wear away, we should probably adjust the turn rod to prevent that rubbing during high-dynamic maneuvers. Master won’t like this unsightly mess at all

 

“Right you are. While we're at it we should replace the whole rod. Consider diatium alloy this time, with neutronium plating only on the contact. It will be much lighter overall. I imagine it could shave three tenths of a gram off this ship’s mass.” They were quiet for a moment while 2V worked. Quinn, out of some sort of corporeal habit, pushed his hands back through his hair. And then he smiled. “Good. There’s more scoring on this side, not more than two square centimeters, once you’re finished over there. Good. I believe we could get another point oh oh oh eight percent efficiency out of this.”

 

2V’s servos whirred with happiness. “I believe you’re right, sir

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46. Mini-snippet: In which Nalenne practices

 

A man with a suitable blaster

Can take any veteran master.

A saber won’t save

Anyone, howe’er brave,

As long as the man fires faster.

 

 

A long stretch of the Helicarrier’s hangar was cleared, and Pierce had his blaster rifle out. Nalenne stood at the ready with her lightsaber. She nodded. He opened fire.

 

Ghost-Quinn approached while Nalenne was busily deflecting the stream of blaster bolts. Up, down, side to side, ran the shots, but mostly up. The captain stood by Pierce and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for the barrage to end so he could speak.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Trying to shoot Nalenne in the face,” said Pierce. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

 

“It’s practice, Quinn,” added Nalenne. “I told him to.”

 

“Those can’t be live blaster bolts.”

 

“Don’t use any other kind, captain.”

 

Broonmark, standing off to one side, chortled.

 

“And yet he’s still breathing. This is what I’m talking about when I say you give preferential treatment, my lord.”

 

“Hey, shoot again,” said Nalenne. Pierce did so. Nalenne deftly turned and maneuvered to deflect the next four bolts directly through Quinn. “Look at that, eh?”

 

“I like it. Should’ve started that practice a long time ago,” said Pierce.

 

“This whole thing is fine, Quinn,” said Nalenne. “I asked him for it. And we do have a safeword.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Yeah. It’s something like ‘MRF ARG MY FACE.’”

 

Both Broonmark and Pierce snickered.

 

“Lieutenant, have you for one moment considered the consequences of successfully shooting the Emperor’s Wrath?”

 

“I expect she’ll get mad, scream a bit, and then we’ll go clean up at the nearest kolto facility.”

 

“And if she dies?”

 

“Someone’s badly lacking in faith here.”

 

“Oh? You yourself once said you were confident you could kill her.” (*)

 

“Walking up and shooting her wasn’t the idea for that, idiot. She can handle this, no problem.”

 

“C’mon, do it again,” urged Nalenne.

 

Pierce shrugged at Quinn and hefted his rifle. “Can’t disobey orders, now can I?”

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“Yeah. It’s something like ‘MRF ARG MY FACE.’”

 

I laughed so hard at this. I can imagine Quinn is crossing his arms thinking "That's too many syllables for a safe word!"

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I can imagine Quinn is crossing his arms thinking "That's too many syllables for a safe word!"

I can see Quinn's situational analysis now:

 

Pros:

- At least she's using a safeword

- And at least it isn't the one she and I used

 

Cons:

- It's four syllables long, for stars' sake, that isn't safe at all

- She's doing something with Pierce that requires a safeword

- And they're both really enjoying it

- How come she never let me do that, anyway?

- I hate my unlife

- This means I have to find a way to portray the scenario as bad for the Empire so I can put a stop to it.

 

Happily for him, "taking potshots at the Emperor's Wrath" is already an obvious bad thing for the Empire! Quinn's disapproval is clearly justified and, as always, has nothing to do with his personal issues. That's what I love about you, Quinn. You're my steadfast-denial-of-conflicts-of-interest man.

 

 

Reminds me of something I neglected to respond to a few pages back:

Also, I think Quinn is having a bad case of blue balls, as well as feeling a little rejected that he got killed and Jaesa didn't. *shrug*

 

Serves him right. Now he's as sexless as he always pretended to be. I think it's time to admit that this entire series is just one long elaborate revenge fic.

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47. In which Nalenne and Quinn review the paperwork

 

A lawyer on rules contentious

May seem pretty loud and pretentious.

But if you’re counting chads,

You’ll find yourself glad

To have someone so conscientious.

 

 

“My lord?”

 

Nalenne looked up from the latest Duranium Man issue to see ghost-Quinn standing before her. “What do you want?”

 

“The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Diplomatic Service continue to stonewall us on questions about Voss. The Empire appears to have made no progress in restoring relations. It seems evident that we will not be able to access the planet and our wedding setting, or any associated records, for some time.”

 

“Ugh. I guess so. You’re good to do the work thing until then, though, right?”

 

Silence.

 

“Quinn?”

 

“I am attempting to say that this is more…that this is…m-more imp-portant…this…”

 

“Something’s more important than work?”

 

“Thank you. It’s physically difficult to form those words.”

 

“Wow. That you’re even thinking it…” Nalenne set her datapad aside. “I don’t need you freaking out on me. Did you have some plan for not-Voss efforts?”

 

“I thought we might seek insight in the standard 621.b vows, even if we don’t have precise records on how we customized them.”

 

“Oh. Sure. Dwelling on broken promises with you is precisely my idea of fun.”

 

“I could return to ‘freaking out’ if you consider that more enjoyable to watch.”

 

“When you put it that way, it could be pretty funny…okay stop looking at me like that.” She sat up straight, patted the couch beside her, pulled an end table around in front of them, and activated the built-in console.

 

“Six-two-one-b.” Nalenne brought up the appropriate record. “You think some weird Voss effect interfered with what we were saying?”

 

“Perhaps. Overseer Ragate placed peculiar emphasis on how our vows were ’heard’ and how that holds me here now.” Quinn sat down beside Nalenne and scanned the console, reading and probably fully processing the contents in a quarter of a second flat. “It was simple. ‘I take you to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward,’”

 

“No end condition: bad,” said Nalenne.

 

“’For better or for worse’ – we certainly stuck together through a great deal of both.”

 

“’For richer, for poorer’ – ha! Poorer. That’s cute.”

 

“You never failed to earn a comfortable living. ‘In sickness and in health’ – no violations there.”

 

“You left me behind for close to a week when I was laid up with Rodian flu.”

 

“Those rebels weren’t going to crush themselves. Besides, you got better. My presence would not have accelerated that.”

 

“Abandonment. In sickness. Your fault.”

 

Quinn frowned. “’To love and to cherish,’ which you completely discarded.”

 

“I cherished the hell out of you!”

 

“It turned out to be conditional, Nalenne.”

 

“Conditional on you not trying to kill me? Yes, yes it was. I make no apologies there. I don’t think that counts as breaking the vow.”

 

“Fine. We’ll continue. ‘To honor and obey,’ for my part.”

 

Nalenne raised her eyebrows. “Who’s conditional now, smarty-pants?”

 

“You never ordered me not to kill you. I did obey all your orders.”

 

“You are a vile rules lawyer and I hate you.”

 

“Yes, yes. Now, after you promised that love and cherishing part that you were so vehemently asserting thirty seconds ago, you added something sentimental, didn’t you?”

 

“Yeah. Um, something like ‘where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay,’ which once again failed to have an end condition. But I think we’ve been following it pretty well. ‘Your people will be my people’. That’s on you.”

 

“How’s that?”

 

“You went all Baras-people.”

 

“I was allied with Baras long before you defected to those Servants. You were the one splitting people.”

 

“Hmph. I guess. Not that it really matters, right? We’re back on the same team. So, ‘My law will be your law.’ You went pretty well Sith code, all things considered.”

 

“It’s good of you to say so,” said Quinn. “Wait, we missed a part in the standard. ‘From this day forward until death takes us both.’ That’s imprecise, isn’t it? It might have been wiser to say ‘until death takes one of us.’”

 

“I don’t imagine the guys who wrote it thought they needed to pick that particular nit.”

 

“It becomes significant when otherworldly powers start dipping into contract law.”

 

“So that’s our end condition? You think we both have to be dead for your ghostliness to go away?”

 

“It’s possible.”

 

“That’s not okay. You think going back to serve divorce papers at the same spot might fix it?”

 

“That seems improbable, but no more improbable than the rest of this disaster.”

 

“Great.” Nalenne sighed and buried her face in her hands. “We probably shouldn’t have planned all this in such a hurry.”

 

“You were distracted at the time. Scrambling to gain the Emperor’s favor while evading Baras’s murder attempts.”

 

“Right, and you were a little preoccupied with planning out one of said murder attempts. Work, you know? Getting the ceremony done on Voss was just the fastest thing to do.”

 

“In retrospect I should have focused my efforts differently.”

 

“This just occurs to you now?”

 

He ignored her. “It is doubly important that we reach Voss, one way or another. Someone there must understand the nature of whatever was applying our vows so…concretely.”

 

“Quinn, I depended on you to get the paperwork right. If you had to pick one form to screw up, couldn’t it have been one of our expense reports?”

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48. In which Nalenne finds a smuggler (I/II)

 

This and the following entry contain Act 3 and endgame Smuggler spoilers.

 

A Smuggler’s lifestyle’s coarse,

Each day she fast-talks herself hoarse.

A customs disaster

With contraband blasters

Is pretty much par for the course.

 

 

There were elements other than Imperial ones that could be used in Nalenne’s search for a way onto Voss and the wedding records or spiritual answers thereat. And so, after a few days’ sniffing the holonews for proper information, Nalenne made an unannounced approach to an old converted dreadnaught now called Port Nowhere.

 

She managed hangar access, but the staff only pressurized the hangar so they could send in two dozen gunmen. Nalenne strode off the ship with ghost-Quinn and Jaesa flanking her.

 

The guards’ leader was a scrawny Rattataki faded well into middle age. “My lord,” he said with a very small bow. “What brings you here?”

 

“I wanted to talk to your leader. Nic, I believe?”

 

His pale eyes flicked over her, her companions, her ship. “I do not appear to be in a position to argue. Stand down, ladies, gentlemen. No one has to die today, I trust.”

 

“Well, if you’re going to take the fun out of it…” But she liked the cultured sound of him, not to mention the quiet confidence. “Lead on.”

 

He smiled thinly. “Please, come with me.”

 

*

 

“What is that?” said a dark-skinned dark-haired woman, warily watching Nalenne’s approach from where she reclined on her couch. Next to her was a low sabacc table, and across the way was a pretty brunette.

 

The Rattataki bowed. “The Sith asked to speak with you. I thought it inadvisable to put our people in her way.”

 

“Try calling first next time, ‘kay, Ivory? The dark-skinned woman swung her knee-high boots off the couch and stood, tugging to straighten the sleeves of her plain brown jacket. “I don’t appreciate being stormed in on.”

 

“I’m not here for your appreciation,” Nalenne told her.

 

Something moved behind them. Quinn turned first, but Nalenne was right after him: a scruffy-looking Mon Calamari stood in the doorway, brandishing a lightsaber hilt the wrong way up.

 

“You’ll want to keep things polite here,” squelched the Mon Calamari. “I’m a Jedi.”

 

Nalenne looked him over. He was all leather jacket and awkwardness. “A Jedi, huh? And I’m the treasurer of the Coruscant Senate,” she said.

 

“Really? Wow! I didn’t know they hired Sith!”

 

The dark-skinned woman spoke. “Guss, it’s okay. But you, Sith…do I get an introduction? I’m Captain Nic.” She strode right up to offer Nalenne her hand.

 

Nalenne looked at it. “I am Darth Nalenne, the Emperor’s Wrath.”

 

“Kick*** title! I like it.” There was a significant element of ‘must keep talking and conduct damage control’ running in that voice. “Is the Emperor, uh, wrathful at anything around here lately? ‘Cause I’ve been on good behavior. Promise.”

 

“I just need to get some people from point A to point B. It’s a difficult point B, but I heard that if anybody could do it, it would be you.”

 

“Name it and I’ll thread a starship in there before you can say ‘That doesn’t seem physically possible.’”

 

Before Nalenne could open her mouth, somebody else came running in. Nalenne turned, again, to see a well-built youth in some strange nonuniform kind of soldier-esque armor. He had a blaster rifle out.

 

Nalenne waved and it flew from his hands, across the room, to break against the opposite wall. “Captain, is there a way you could get your friends to all stop freaking out at once?”

 

“My lord?” said Captain Quinn, looking confused.

 

“Relax, Corso,” said Captain Nic. “The Emperor’s Wrath here was just telling me about a job, which is going to be very profitable and is not going to involve you getting yourself killed by running off half-cocked at Sith Lords.”

 

The youth looked at Nalenne with the most criminally adorable brown eyes she had ever seen, overlaid with a heavy helping of mistrust. “Then I guess we’d better hear the job,” he said.

 

“Voss.”

 

The smuggler’s face fell. “Ah. Well, now, see, that’s a bit of a problem. I…don’t do Voss.”

 

“’Don’t do’? Are you telling me there exists a planet that has nothing of economic interest to you or your empire?”

 

Nic exchanged uneasy looks with Corso. “There was some legal action, and things, and it just got really really awkward. I’m not welcome back there.”

 

“And your people?”

 

“I don’t think anyone else I’ve ever met could fly you in safely.”

 

“Even I wouldn’t want to try that run now,” said the brunette at the sabacc table.

 

“Because Voss is closed off and firing on everyone.” Nalenne crossed her arms. “Would that have anything to do with the aforementioned legal action you’re so obviously terrified of?”

 

“What? No! That’s ridiculous! Ha ha! Why would my misdemeanors, not that I’m saying there are any, have any bearing on Voss deciding it’s going to kill all outsiders who get close?”

 

“Nic?” said Corso. “Is there something else we need to talk about?”

 

* Note:

I wanted to have Akaavi greet the party here, but it turns out I can’t envision her offering a peaceful welcome. Ivory is canny enough to keep it civil. Sorry, Akaavi!

 

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49. In which Nalenne argues the job with a smuggler (II/II)

 

This and the preceding entry contain Act 3 and endgame Smuggler spoilers.

 

I’m really, really sorry for all the N-names in this story. It’s bad mnemonic practice, but apparently it’s one of my brain’s favorite sounds and my in-game characters reflect that. Hence Niselle, Nalenne, Nic…Nalang, who if she ever comes up in this story will have a different name…yeah.

 

A Mon Calamari named Guss

Was harshly thrown under the bus.

But lucky for him,

A smuggler’s whim

Made him once and for all one of us.

 

 

“Nic?” said Corso. “Is there something else we need to talk about?”

 

“No,” said Nic.

 

“Nah,” said the Mon Calamari. “There was just the handling Gormak monstrosities and then seducing her honores. Nothing that would ruin foreign relations…uh, foreign the other kind of relations.”

 

“Guss….” said Nic.

 

“I knew it,” said Corso. “I knew it! You told me the ‘corrupting an honores’ charge was about him giving security the runaround while you cleared your name of the false accusations! But you did sleep with him!”

 

“Oops,” said Guss.

 

“Oh, blast,” said the brunette.

 

“I am trying to detect a trace of reliability or competence in these people, master,” whispered Jaesa, “but…they are what you see.”

 

“I can’t believe it,” said Corso.

 

Nic gestured broadly. “We were apart, remember? Split? You were working out your frustrations on Hoth?”

 

“When you came back, I thought you were done lying to me!”

 

“I was! I haven’t lied to you about almost anything since then. Was I supposed to confess the full back catalog of my transgressions, too? Because, honey, we don’t have that kind of spare time.”

 

“Cool your jets, Nic,” said the brunette.

 

“Stuff it, Risha,” said Nic.

 

Nalenne waved. “Captain. I’m not finished here. You can fly me in or I can just kill everyone here. Starting with the boy.”

 

Nic’s head snapped to face Nalenne and, just like that, her blasters were out and aimed. “No.”

 

“Fly me to Voss.”

 

Corso stepped in and cut his hand across the space between them. “You’re not putting the captain in that kind of danger,” he said.

 

Nalenne snorted. Then she drew, activated, and swung her saber to within an inch of the guy’s nose. “I’m not, am I?”

 

He didn’t shrink back. “No.” Only the edges of her Force awareness showed her his fear. “You’re not.”

 

She lowered her saber. “They breed ‘em stupid where you’re from, I see. That’s actually kind of charming.”

 

Nic holstered her blasters and shook her head. “It’s okay, Corso. It’s okay. Go on down to the storehouse, all right? Get us some fresh fuel rods?”

 

“Nic…”

 

She fixed him with those big dark eyes and nodded, slowly. “It’s okay, love. Go on.”

 

Nalenne watched him go with some satisfaction. “That’s more like it.” Nic walked up to stand beside her. “Your man has nerve,” continued Nalenne. “I admire that.”

 

The smuggler was smiling stupidly in the direction Corso had disappeared in. “Yeah. He’s…you ever look at a guy and wonder what it is that keeps him with you, after all you’ve put him through?”

 

“More than you know,” said Nalenne.

 

“We’re lucky they do stick around.”

 

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

 

Nic gave her a funny look, then shook her head and looked to the Mon Calamari. “Guss, I’m gonna need you to go warm up the guns and shields, make sure everything’s in order. Don’t want anything going wrong when you’re operating it under fire.”

 

Guss opened his mouth and made a vague gagging noise. After a few moments’ struggle he gulped, hard, and flapped out of the room.

 

“Wait,” said Nalenne, “he’s your gunner?”

 

“And navigator. Tricky jobs, but I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

 

“That guy actually performs a function on your ship during smuggling runs.”

 

“Yessir, he does.” Nic nodded with a completely unjustified air of confidence.

 

“And he’ll be…?”

 

“Copiloting when I make the deadliest run in the known galaxy? You bet.”

 

Ghost-Quinn somehow sucked in an audible breath. Jaesa shifted and hugged herself.

 

“I…may go evaluate options elsewhere,” said Nalenne, “before I commit to anything.”

 

“You sure?” said Nic. “Guss has been off the juice for three days straight, if we hurry he just may hold out long enough to be sober when we lift off.”

 

“I am suddenly very sure.” Nalenne started edging toward the door. “Nice talking to you, captain.”

 

The quickly stifled sound she heard behind her as she left could not possibly have been a laugh.

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50. In which Vette speaks her mind to Quinn

 

Vette: Doesn’t pull punches.

 

Twi’lek plus captain won’t work,

Their qualities mutually irk.

She cannot abide

His disciplined side…

Or maybe he’s that big a jerk.

 

 

“Quinn. I have a serious question for you.”

 

“I very much doubt that.”

 

Vette perched on the pilot’s chair and turned sideways to face Quinn at his bridge console. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my very favorite fashion statement, the slave collar.”

 

“Yes, I always thought it suits you.”

 

“Cute, Quinny, real cute. So, Nalenne was never one to use it much, but then a couple of months after you come on board the remote disappears entirely.”

 

He didn’t look up from the scrolling console screen. “So I recall you saying, nonstop, for months.”

 

“Meaning that she can’t punish me, true, but she also can’t free me. And a wandering collared Twi’lek can’t get far.”

 

“Is there a point in all this?”

 

“Just that, if a really malicious person were to weigh keeping me around, knowing I want freedom more than anything and knowing that the remote release is my only hope for it, said person might quietly dispose of the remote.”

 

“And I ask again, Vette. Is there a point in all this?”

 

“Did you take the remote?”

 

“That’s absurd.”

 

“Destroy it? Lose it? Throw it away? Keep it on file, so after you murdered Nalenne you could have some fun breaking me in service to Baras?”

 

“If you think I would discard the only tool that could have gotten you out of my life, you profoundly underestimate my feelings for you.” He kept his eyes on the screen. “Now leave. I have work to do.”

 

“Oh, right, your eternal work! And how’s that going?”

 

“Very successfully.”

 

“That’s great. It’s interesting that you’re still completely obsessed with a system that’s already chewed you up and spit you out once. And that the one person who was ever willing to give you more – well, she did give you more. Her whole original reign of terror was one long love letter you never bothered to read. The one person who was ever willing to give you more, you stabbed in the back.”

 

“Do you actually lie awake at night composing these screeds?”

 

“I ad lib. You give me so much to work with.”

 

“You know what the Wrath’s biggest mistake was? Giving you permission to talk.”

 

“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

 

He still frowned at the console. “I don’t see why you’re so eager to defend your owner.”

 

“I do it because even she is better than you. And, honestly, she’s kind of incompetent as a slave owner. I’ve finagled it so I haven’t actually done any housework in weeks.”

 

“Noted for my report to the Wrath.”

 

“You….” Vette ground her teeth for a moment. “Hmph. Report. What, do you put it on official letterhead before you carry it into the other room?” She eyed the scrolling console for a moment. “You’re actually completely happy where you are. Aren’t you. No friends, no hobbies. Nothing can touch you, nobody talks to you – “

 

“I regret to say that that statement is manifestly false.”

 

“- you can just sit here crunching numbers all day and all night for organizations that don’t even acknowledge you exist. Like a droid that never needs maintenance. This must be your fondest dream.”

 

“My fondest dreams never involved carping Twi’leks.”

 

“Stars. Either she needs to stop caring or you need to die. I’ve been working on the first one for months with no luck, so…something’s gotta give.” She hopped to her feet and stretched. “Anyway, I’m due for a good stiff drink. Then I figure I’ll go outside, enjoy the warm sun, soft breeze, ridiculously oversweetened ice cream. Play around with my friends - because I have those, unlike some people - maybe meet some cute guy for some quick ‘n’ dirty makeouts – “

 

“Vette, that’s disgusting.”

 

“Maybe. But I’ll be loving every minute of it.” She rapped her knuckles on Quinn’s console. “Have a nice day, Quinny. Enjoy being alone.”

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51. In which Broonmark cheers Nalenne up

 

When facing domestic contention,

A Talz may resort to invention.

While some may conclude

His methods are crude,

He does have the best of intentions.

 

 

Broonmark walked up to the reading-nook couch and clicked to get Nalenne’s attention. “Sith clan kill today?”

 

“Um. Maybe later. I’m feeling kind of tired out.”

 

“Sith clan has had much tired lately.”

 

“Yeah. It’s nothing, I’ll be back up to speed after a good night’s sleep.”

 

Broonmark bubbled thoughtfully for a few seconds. “So Sith clan says.” He walked away. Nalenne kept staring at her Captain Kaas book.

 

A few moments later Broonmark was back. “Sith clan. We have found mandoviol musician clan will like.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. Mandoviol clan plays many things with similar harmonic inspirations to Green Nebula and other bands Sith clan likes. Furthermore mandoviol clan has classical training in Nautolan traditions that underlie many of Sith clan’s favorite songs.”

 

“Uh…cool. Let’s have a listen.”

 

Broonmark twisted, plucked a small black-haired human off the floor behind him, and thrust the little man in Nalenne’s direction. “Here.”

 

“You brought me a musician?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ee,” whimpered the little human.

 

“Did you even ask him first?”

 

“Mandoviol clan does not speak Talz. But they hardly resisted at all.”

 

“P-please don’t k-k-kill me, my lord,” stammered the human.

 

“Broonmark…”

 

“Sith clan has rough days. Many clan fights. Even killing does not comfort, no matter how much we kill. So we find other nice things. Mandoviol clan will play.” Broonmark produced a mandoviol case and shoved it into the trembling man’s hands.

 

Nalenne felt a little obligated to make up for her friend. “Um, hi. I’m Nalenne, this is Broonmark, and you should play a song.”

 

“Please d-don’t kill me.”

 

“Relax. Come on, have a seat on the other couch.” Nalenne tried gently coaxing. Broonmark opted to scoop the man up, carry him over, and dump him on the seat.

 

“Now play,” blipped Broonmark.

 

So he did.

 

The man was pretty good, Nalenne couldn’t deny that. In fact, she just closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and listened for a while. It was nice. It was really nice.

 

After some time the music stopped, for some reason. “P-please don’t k-kill me,” the musician repeated. She looked over to see that he was rubbing and stretching his fingers, looking half desperate.

 

“Relax. You’re in the fortunate position of having just put me in a good mood through a very nice concert. I’m almost certainly not going to kill you now.”

 

“P-please don’t,” he said in a very small voice.

 

“And just so you know, the kidnapping wasn’t my idea. Broonmark meant well. For me, anyway, I don’t think he cares if you live or die. Hey, do you have any albums out?”

 

“D-don’t kill me.”

 

“Is that the entire extent of your vocabulary?”

 

Broonmark growled in sympathetic annoyance.

 

“please don’t kill me”

 

“Fine, don’t answer, then. I like your sound, anyway. Send any albums you do have along once you get home, would you?”

 

The human gasped and shuddered a little bit. “Y-you’re not going to keep me enslaved?”

 

“Nah, my current slave is high-maintenance enough. I don’t think I could handle a second.”

 

“C-c-can I go?”

 

“Tasty though your terror is, yeah, you probably should. I’ve got places to be pretty soon. People to kill.”

 

“P-please don’t – “

 

“Yeah, I know.” She stood up and beckoned Broonmark to come with her. “Come on.”

 

She sent the musician on his way and let the ship retract the ramp again. As soon as the door was shut, Nalenne turned to Broonmark, jumped up, and hugged him.

 

“You’re the best.”

 

Broonmark hugged her back. “Sith clan should feel well enough to enjoy killing.”

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52. In which Quinn first extends an olive branch

 

A vessel of starship class A

Has useful transponders, they say.

- Of course, that’s a ruse,

Come aboard and you’ll lose.

But you knew that part anyway.

 

 

“My lord.”

 

“What?” Nalenne, having just finished a Talz lesson with Broonmark, tucked away her translation pad and looked questioningly at Quinn.

 

“I’ve located something that may be of interest to you and taken the liberty of having it delivered.”

 

“From you, I can’t even begin to guess what that might be.”

 

He beckoned her back into the cargo bay. “Czerka recently developed a novel storage and preservation system. You’ll recall that the current standard plastiform packaging doesn’t store well with certain comic book runs.”

 

“Yeah. There were some different inking and binding compounds Spectacle Comics had to use during the last war because of supply issues. Everyone knows those runs are just going to deteriorate faster, even in plastiform.” She narrowed her eyes. “I just didn’t know you knew that.”

 

“I do pay attention when you talk.”

 

“Yeah, but I always thought you only retained the irrelevant parts long enough to come up with angry one-off criticisms.”

 

“To return to the Czerka packets,” he said stiffly, “they’re supposed to be tremendously stable. Your Captain Kaas collection from those years will do much better sealed within them.”

 

“I guess so, yeah.”

 

“With your permission I’ll have 2V repackage them within the week.”

 

“Ah ah ah, I’ll do that myself. 2V doesn’t touch Captain Kaas. Or Scarlet Nexu, for that matter.”

 

Quinn grimaced. “I wasn’t going to mention Scarlet Nexu.”

 

“I know you weren’t. Still…I’ll wrap those up. Thanks for finding this.” Her smile faded. She tilted her head. “And why exactly did you do this?”

 

“My lord?”

 

“When you do non-professional nice things, or even just talk like a normal person, there’s always a purpose. So what’s the play, captain? If you don’t say it up front I assume it must be trouble.”

 

“I have no intention of causing trouble, my lord.”

 

“I can think of one glaring counterexample to that claim.”

 

Quinn scowled. “You really enjoy bringing that up, don’t you.”

 

“Can’t help it. The betrayal was an awfully memorable cap to all the nice things you ever did for me. So, you’re being nice without obvious motivation now, I assume you’re winding up for something equally awful.”

 

“Would you stop harping on that incident! Is that all you ever think about?”

 

“Is there something else I’m supposed to think about when I look at you?”

 

“I don’t see why you’re so bitter. You got the better of the engagement by far.”

 

“Oh, yeah, give me the resentful look. How is it that you try to kill me and then you’re always the one playing the victim card for it?”

 

“One of us still has a pulse, Nalenne, and it isn’t me.” Quinn rubbed his temples, then made an impatient slashing motion with his hand. “This isn’t what I came here for. I….” He paused, considered. Visibly clicked into his sharp calculation mode. “I meant to tell you that I have located a cell of anti-Sith rebels several parsecs spinward of Dromund Kaas. I thought we might go destroy them before they get any ideas.”

 

Nalenne’s irritation vanished. “Oh, yeah, that sounds fun. Rebels are always entertaining.” Her eyes lit up. “Are you going to do your abandon-hope, Empire-will-inevitably-win monologue? I thought your latest version was really good.”

 

“It did go over well, didn’t it?”

 

“Excellent stuff, watching the hope in their eyes die. Only you could make me look forward to attempts at surrender and conversation.”

 

He studied her face. “My lord, I must ask. Do you have any comprehension, whatsoever, of the fact that we were fighting fifteen seconds ago?”

 

“Well…yeah, sure. But then you brought up something that makes sense for you.” She considered. “You’re a jerk, and I found out the hard way I’ll never connect with you like I do with my family and friends, and I won’t put my life on the line trying. But I will say, your combat tips are always gold. I appreciate the fights you throw my way.”

 

“And that’s how it’s to be?” he said, very calmly.

 

“Well…yeah.” A longer pause. “Don’t make this weird.”

 

Before Quinn could reply, Broonmark shuffled back into the cargo hold, messily chewing the last of some snack. He walked right through Quinn en route to the couch.

 

Nalenne fixed her eyes on the line where the Talz had passed through the captain. “…er. Don’t make this weird-er.”

 

Nalenne hurried out one way and Quinn left by another, leaving Broonmark to wonder about the Czerka box lying forgotten on the cargo bay floor.

Edited by bright_ephemera
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53. In which we see the average day in the life of the Wrath

 

A villainous schedule’s packed

With evil on wickedness stacked.

The average day

Points a clear, nasty way:

The plan? To leave nothing intact.

 

 

6:00 – Sleep. What the hell else would anybody be doing at that hour?

 

10:00 – Breakfast. Usually cereal with a side of ice cream, and coffee poured into the ice cream. Jaesa still considers this process yucky and unnatural. Jaesa is stupid and wrong.

 

10:05 – Get pestered by Quinn over the day’s work. Swear at Servant One, Servant Two, and Quinn for being annoying control freaks.

 

10:11 – Run out of swears for the time being. Agree to go kill stuff.

 

10:12 – Finish breakfast, which at this point has finished melting, which is Quinn’s fault.

 

10:30 – Usually in hyperspace by now, en route to the day’s rampage location. Read comic books or shoot the breeze with the crew.

 

11:00 – Kill everybody in sight. Alternately, capture people alive as per orders while swearing at Servant One, Servant Two, and Quinn for being spoilsports.

 

12:30 – Lunch break. Talk loudly to Vette and/or Jaesa to drown out the sound of Quinn babbling about the next mission. Consider finding a spiritual muzzle for Quinn.

 

1:00 – Kill everybody in sight. Terrorize the countryside, if appropriate. Screw capturing people alive; let Quinn suppress swears while killing continues. High-five Broonmark and Pierce, a lot.

 

4:30 – Run out of things to kill. Talk or bludgeon Broonmark down from his blood frenzy. Figure out where to go for supper.

 

5:00 – Hot shower. Let 2V-R8 worry about getting the bloodstains out of the day’s outfit.

 

6:00 – Supper. Accompany the normal people to a good restaurant if there’s one within an easy hyperspace jump; otherwise, rations and ice cream and swearing at Servant One, Servant Two, and Quinn for selecting remote mission locations.

 

7:00 – Browse the latest holonet news, then pick a comic book or holovid for the evening. Share with Jaesa if it has a character she likes. Share with Vette if it’s one of those alien comedies she enjoys so much. Share with Pierce if it’s one of the Czerka Weapons Division-sponsored comic book issues that are basically thinly veiled product placement and prototype teasers. Share with Broonmark if there are few words and many ultraviolent action scenes. Never share with Quinn.

 

11:00 – Secretly muck around with the mandoviol for a few minutes. Get annoyed that it doesn’t sound amazing. Go back to comic books or, alternately, a Talz lesson and companionable chat with Broonmark.

 

12:30 – Get ready for bed.

 

12:35 – Remember how nice it was to have Quinn physically around.

 

12:35:05 – Snap out of it.

 

12:40 – Sleep.

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54. In which we reaffirm heroic opinions

 

Some subjects have prominent stamps

Which in turn make for polarized camps.

Emotions run high,

For the fans would all die

Before saying they picked the wrong champs.

 

 

Jaesa set down her coffee and gave Nalenne a strangely intense look. “Favorite Spectacle hero. Go.”

 

Duranium Man. No question.”

 

Pierce snorted.

 

Nalenne eyed him with her best hauteur. “What was that, Lieutenant?”

 

“That was the complete absence of surprise, milord. Ninety per cent of the women I’ve met who know what comic books are choose Duranium Man.”

 

“Nerdiness reaching critical levels,” said Vette. “I’m outta here.”

 

Pierce shook his head. "For my money, I always preferred the Remarkable Brute."

 

“Ha! You would,” said Nalenne. “Duranium Man has slightly more finesse."

 

"Didn't he level half of Kaas City in the last issue you showed me?"

 

"...yeah, but he used smart missiles."

 

"I just don't see the appeal. Look at the Brute. An unstoppable killing force with an advanced degree in astrophysics, and he becomes some kind of mascot or just a running gag in every hero team. Change the name, cut his power by 99% and hand him some shiny armor, and suddenly he's got a female fan club ten trillion strong."

 

"It's not just Duranium Man's armor,” said Nalenne. “Or the smarts. Or the looks. Or the fact that he's got enough money to buy the Core Worlds and still pay off his own bar tab."

 

"So what's that leave him?"

 

"It's the attitude, lieutenant. The swagger. Here's a guy who isn't intimidated by anybody or anything, because he knows that no matter what happens he's got the power or the connections or the sheer nerve to survive and win. He's always got an angle to play. He knows it. And that confidence is sexy. He could walk right up to a Sith Lord and give as good as he gets without so much as blinking."

 

Pierce didn't so much as blink. "And that's attractive," he said dryly.

 

"Irresistably so."

 

"Good to know you can recognize your type."

 

Jaesa had been slowly thinking something through. “The trouble with the Brute is, what’s the use of all that strength if you lack the discipline to control it? How can you admire that?”

 

Pierce answered Jaesa, but he was looking at Nalenne. “You tell me. Gets the job done most of the time, I’d say.”

 

Ghost-Quinn shook his head. “Duranium Man has every imaginable tactical advantage over the Brute, but Captain Kaas surpasses them both. He has all the necessary cunning, the resources, the keen sense for what tool to use in what situation. And he has the discipline Duranium Man lacks. Every time he crushes the forces of mercy and freedom, he does it with all the style of a true Imperial hero.”

 

“Spoken like the boy who probably wished for nothing but Captain Kaas’s military enhancements every birthday,” said Pierce.

 

“So, Jaesa, your turn,” said Nalenne.

 

“You know I like Professor X. You know, from the X-Folk.”

 

“He’s not a hero, dear.”

 

“He is to Jedi readers.”

 

“He’s pathetic. ‘Woo, I can read minds and lecture you on the virtues of a doomed effort to use goodwill and compassion to equalize a fundamentally unequal galaxy.’ There’s a reason Forcito and the other Unbowed cream him in every issue.”

 

“You always say that. But Professor X never gives up on his ideals, and that’s something to aspire to.”

 

“He picked some sorry ideals,” said Pierce. “You do know that if you put that lot in a room, the Brute wins. Every time.”

 

Quinn’s lip curled. “That depends entirely on how quickly Captain Kaas can call in his fire support.”

 

Pierce jabbed at Quinn’s immaterial face and sneered. “You would know, eh, slowpoke?”

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55. In which a distraction tactic is considered

 

When setups just can’t seem to budge,

Let colleagues and friends be the judge.

A push just might go

Where kismet’s too slow:

At times all it needs is a nudge.

 

 

Jaesa approached Nalenne in her quarters. “Master. I have a strictly hypothetical question for you. You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to. But if things were different…I mean, if you had never met Quinn…do you think you ever could’ve hit it off with Pierce?”

 

Vette cornered Pierce in the engine room. “Quick question. Would you do Nalenne?”

 

“Jaesa, that’s an…unusual question. I thought you were solidly on Team Quinn.”

 

“I was just wondering about what-ifs.”

 

“Vette put you up to this, didn’t she. Very well, I’ll indulge you.”

 

Pierce regarded Vette with eyes like highly amused rainclouds. “When you play with fire you don’t go halfway, do you? Hypothetically speaking, I’ll play along.”

 

“It’s just that Pierce does complement your style really well. And I know you like him.”

 

“I like him just fine. Whether he likes me is a different question. He’s crazy enough to treat me as an equal, and I would never try to override that if he’s not into me.”

 

“I like her just fine. But I’m not exactly the long-term type. Not like that. And she tends to get attached.” Pierce looked toward the bridge. “Excessively attached.”

 

“I don’t think I would want to stay with him like that. We work well as is. But….”

 

“But?” prompted Jaesa.

 

“Even if I had no intention of starting anything, I kind of wish he had come on to me. Just the once. Enough to register that I’m attractive, you know? His opinion matters to me. Is that tribute too much to ask?”

 

“But she could stand to make the snubbing a hair less obvious. I don’t think she fully appreciates the fact that she uses my body almost to its limits – almost – every day. Even if she had no intention of starting anything, it wouldn’t kill her to acknowledge that that’s at least as hot as sitting on the bridge thinking.”

 

“Still,” said Nalenne. “Another big STOMP HERE sign on my heart? Not me.”

 

“Still,” said Pierce. “Another moth to that more-than-a-little lethal flame? Not me.”

 

Vette gestured at nothing in particular. “It’s just that I’d love to get her unstuck on you-know-who,” she said.

 

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

 

“It’s just that the two of you are unstoppable, master.”

 

“Sometimes ‘unstoppable’ just ain’t enough.” Nalenne laughed, a little bitterly. “No, things are better as is.”

 

“But be honest, Pierce. In a consequence-free environment you would hit that.”

 

“Sure. Wouldn’t you?”

 

“…I don’t even know what to say to that.”

 

“Ask a loaded question, Vette, don’t expect me to play nice.”

 

“I think I’m done with this line of inquiry.”

 

“Thought so.”

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

 

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

 

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

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