There was a slight breeze. He could feel it, tickling the back of his neck, giving him a chill. His hair had been shorn short and neat; a perfect military cut.

"Isn't he a bit old, Mr. Windthorpe?"

"His mother insisted on some private tutelage. She handpicked his lessons, teachers... it's all here."

Rochester did not look up. Instead he stared at his shined boots, keeping a firm grip on his bag. He was a long way from home now. The Drake Military Academy was prestigious, having produced many Generals and Moffs in its years.

"Ah yes. I see."

Grigor inclined his head to the woman, the closest he could muster to a salute. She nodded in return. Grigor left without even glancing at his son. The woman walked over to Rochester, her stride imposing, a mark of her station. She towered over him, tall and whip thin.

"You have been left to me, Windthorpe," She scowled at him, finding only contemptible things. The way he huddled against the chair, the look of apprehensive fear in his eyes, the compulsive chewing of his lip. "Are you not the son of a Sith?" He nodded, not taking his eyes from hers. "Then why do you not act like one?" She brought her gloved hand down, slapping him viciously across the face. The blow nearly knocked him from his chair. "You will learn. There is no one here to protect you. You will not be a mummy's boy any longer."

Rochester gently touched his cheek, feeling for any bruising. He glared at her, taking in everything about her as he did so. Major Selvienna Maccorl, old and battle-hardened. He noted her missing eye and the cybernetic that replaced it, a set of three blinking red lights.

"Do you understand?" She put her hands to her hips, worryingly close to her sidearm.

"Perfectly." Rochester was alone, on a strange planet, far away from his family. It was all his father's fault. This was Grigor's way of attempting to be rid of him. His mother had prevented him being sold into slavery, so why not have him killed in a military academy? Accidents happen, after all.

"Good. Then tell me, why are you here?"

"To defy all of your expectations of me, and to crush you underfoot."

"You arrogant little brat!" She moved to slap him again. Rochester avoided it, flinching away and deflecting her hand with his own. Emboldened, he stood up, chucking his bag on the floor.

"I am of Sith blood and you will not treat me as a slave." The Major moved to grab him again. Rochester expected this and used her height against her. He ducked forward, under her reach and grabbed the pistol. She screeched, bringing her elbow into his head. His finger twitched, firing off a single shot.

Major Selvienna lay on the floor. Her inside thigh had a gaping, smoking hole. If it weren't for the laser's cauterising effects, she would have been dangerously close to bleeding out. An alarm sounded somewhere in the distance.

"Fine, I get it," She gritted her teeth against the searing pain. Anger flared in her eyes, but it did not seem to be directed at Rochester. "You're strong, pretty fierce. Stop looking so *********** surprised! You never fired a gun before!?" Rochester shook his head, fixated on the wound. "Thirteen and you've never shot someone? Yours must've been a cushy life," All formality was gone between them. Major Selvienna seemed almost friendly, despite the circumstances. Yelling could be heard in the corridor beyond. "You shot me. Tell them that."

Rochester nodded. "They'll kill me, won't they?"

Major Selvienna laughed, but there was no mirth in it. "Holster the gun. It's there, built into the uniform," Rochester did as she said, still wary. Fists started to pound on the door. "Put some pressure here, where my hands are," Gingerly he touched her thigh. "Pressure, boy."

"Major Maccorl!" Two young men fell through the door, looks of justified horror on their faces.

"Stop gawking you worthless piles of crap! Get a medic." She waved the two students away.

"But Major--"

"Yes, he shot me. Now get a *********** medic!" Selvienna turned to Rochester as the two students fled out the door. "You'll go far, you keep shooting officers. Don't shoot the wrong ones though, don't tend to like it. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Sir."

"Yes, sir."

I stumbled back onto the Aimless Renegade, holding onto the wall as I boarded the ship. I'd taken a bad wound in my left leg, but I was still a lot better off than some of the other crew members. One of my crewmates, Kelisa, grabbed my arm to help me onto the ship. "Captain!" she cried.

Captain Blackthorn followed her up onto the ship and bolted the door behind him. I sank to the floor, pressing my jacket to my bloody leg. I was our ship's medic; I was just a beginner when it came to combat, and I didn't think I'd exactly proven myself today. Looked like I was going to be stuck in the medbay for the extent of my career as a gangster.

"Barton's dead," said Kelisa. Our pilot. We had no way off the planet without him - and our rival syndicate was on their way. They'd ambushed us at a drop-off point and were making it their mission to wipe out the Renegade's crew.

Blackthorn swore. "We don't have anyone else who can fly."

A haze settled around my head. I was losing blood.

"Ayang, patch yourself up," he told me. "I'll see if I can find someone to help us out."

I knew it was a lost cause. Who was going to drop everything and fly a small-time smuggling gang off Corellia? I focused on mopping up blood from my wound. The blood was beginning to clot, but I still felt light-headed.

"Ayang," Kelisa grabbed my arm and gripped it so tightly I thought she might break it. She'd knelt down next to me and was talking to me in a whisper. "I know you've been learning how to fly."

"Just from books," I said. "I've never touched the actual controls."

"Don't tell me you haven't been up there poking around," Kelisa hissed. "Look, you're the only hope we've got, so at least you've got to try."

Truthfully, I'd been up there - using trysts with the captain (and sometimes the pilot) as a way to get a closer look at the ship's controls. But I had never been able to try them out. I'd never even done a simulation. I wasn't anywhere close to being a pilot.

Before I could protest any more, Kelisa pulled me up and hauled me toward the bridge. I tried to ignore the pain in my leg as she dragged me down the hall. Kelisa meant well, but when she had her mind set on something she didn't always take the easiest path to get it. "Ayang can fly," she announced, clearly proud of herself for coming up with a solution to our problems.

"You can?" the captain asked me. His eyes were locked on mine, assessing me. "I never knew that."

"I-I've just been reading," I stammered. "But I think I can do it."

I wasn't sure if I was being honest. Did I really think I could fly this thing, take us off-planet, get us somewhere safe? I ran over textbooks in my mind, text I'd read so many times I'd practically memorized them. The diagrams were imprinted on my brain. I knew what to do. I might actually be able to pull this off.

"Everyone's aboard?"

Kelisa nodded. The captain looked back at me.

"Take us out, Ayang."

I hobbled over to the pilot's chair. For a moment, I panicked - the ship's instruments were different from the ones in my book's diagrams. I'd never seen controls like this before. I took a deep breath and cast my eyes over the instruments, taking each one in. Once I remembered what I needed to look for, I could figure out what I had here.

Hesitantly, I picked up the radio and called the control tower. "This is Aimless Renegade, requesting urgent takeoff clearance."

I heard some static, and then a male voice said, "You are clear to depart, ma'am."

I'd never been called ma'am before. I shivered. This was fun.

I swallowed and put my hands on the console. This was it, either I was going to kill all of my crewmates or save their lives. I felt the engines come to life, and started to guide the ship out of the hangar. I expected to feel us crash to the ground, but instead we glided out into the air. I heard myself giggle like an idiot. I was doing it!

I pulled on the throttle and guided the ship into the air. If I could get us out of the atmosphere, then I knew we'd be fine. From there, flying was easy. I felt the ship rock violently; I couldn't get a good handle on it. I panicked and adjusted the controls. Cardani ancestors, I know I haven't been worshipping like I should, but please let me do this! I prayed, feeling the ship pitch upward and accelerate - faster than I felt like it should. I promise I will never forget again! Please don't let me die!

And then everything outside was darkness and stars.

I had done it. I'd broken atmosphere. I pressed a few buttons and the ship slowed down, cruising lazily. I had gotten us off Corellia. I had flown.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see the captain, smiling at me. I returned it, feeling giddy and high. "I guess we don't need to look for a new pilot, huh?" he said.

And at that moment, I knew what I wanted to be. I knew who I was meant to be. I'd thought that healing had been my calling, but what was really calling me was flight. I wanted to fly, forever. Whatever else I was in the future, I would always be a pilot.

My first love would always be the sky.

This is how I felt when I took my first plane ride...I want to be a pilot SO BAD!

Broan kicked the covers away. He was starting get to uncomfortable in the warmth. The smell of slight burning jolted him fully awake. A faint buzzing sound was coming from the other room. He rolled out of the bed and called out. Rochester greeted him good morning and then the buzzing continued.

"Ah, there you are," Broan smiled at the sight. Rochester was standing over the sink, a personal laser-shaver in his hand, removing small reds hairs from his neck and chin. Broan walked over and wrapped his arms around the other man's waist. He had been disappointed to see Rochester was wearing a vest, but feeling the man beneath was pleasant enough. "You're a bit chilly, how long have you been up?" He kissed Rochester's neck and squeezed his waist.

"Not long. You're just warm." Broan stroked the vest, marvelling at how soft it was.

"Why are you wearing this?" He pulled gently at the fabric, smirking slightly when a bit of pale skin was revealed.

"Don't." His tone was soft. Broan gave another playful tug, this time fully pulling the front of the vest out the shorts. "Don't." Rochester grabbed Broan's wrist. His skin started to discolour to a much paler green.

"Rochester that hurts. Let me go," Rochester relented, but still held a defiant look in his eyes. Broan rubbed his wrist, using it as an excuse to put some distance between them. "They're just scars. Everyone has them." He gestured to the scar marring his chest. A training sabre had malfunctioned in his youth, costing him his left n*pple.

"These are not just scars." He dropped the shaver and walked out of the bathroom.

"So you've got a few bits of metal under there as well. It doesn't matter," Broan followed, reaching out to touch Rochester on the shoulder. His heart cracked just the tiniest bit as Rochester pulled away. "I still..." He trailed off, unsure how of how to express his feelings.

"Just get out," He sounded far away, even weak. Broan rested a hand on his shoulder and Rochester merely slumped. He started to shake slightly, the tremors rippling through his body. "You don't... you wouldn't understand."

Broan gently turned him around, pulling him into a tight embrace. "I can try."

Rochester collapsed, sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Broan held him as they sunk to the floor. He stroked Rochester's back, idly noting where the little metal ridges of the spine implants started. He was mumbling beneath the tears. Broan did not try to make out what was being said. In time, he mused, Rochester would tell him. They sat there for a long while, Broan gently moving his hand up and down, trying to soothe and not really knowing how.

"I love you." His voice was barely above a whisper. Broan sat there, waiting for Rochester's reaction, but the other man had fallen into a deep and troubled sleep.

Because the key moments in a relationship are moments when your partner is comfortable enough to cry around you and when you say 'I love you' for the first time.

That scene was supposed to end in an argument, but these boys have a way of being overly sweet with each other, in spite of what I keep telling them to do.

“My lord, the shuttle is ready and your sister is... impatient,” Malavai Quinn said quietly. Everything was said quietly when Vol'vikis was in this kind of mood. Quinn was also thanking every star that his mouth had cooperated and the word beautiful hadn't snuck out over the word impatient. He was relatively sure that that would earn him a lightsaber through the gut. But he still nearly jumped out of his skin and let his insides melt into a pile of goo when she danced up behind him and leaned into his back to speak to her brother over his shoulder.

“Vik! Vikis! Let's go, let's go. Adris said if he beat us there I was going to have to buy the first three rounds of his choosing. I don't want to drink what he chooses, Vik. Please don't make me.” Her golden eyes were shining, her cybernetics were polished and she was wearing a flouncy shirt that let Quinn see, from his angle when she leaned around him, straight down the front of it. He looked away quickly and fixed his eyes on Vol'vikis, not allowing any sign of discomfort or desire to show outwardly.

Ellivian let out a gusty breath of impatience in Quinn's ear and shook him in her frustration, even if it was directed at her brother who stared coldly and silently at them. “I will go alone and... I'll be taking Quinn with me then,” she said. “It just won't be the same without you!”

“My lord,” Quinn began uncomfortably, but silenced himself when Vol'vikis fixed that single eye on him. There was an appraisal in the Sith Lord's gaze that Quinn wasn't sure he was comfortable with. But then, when Ellivian was anywhere within twenty meters, he was usually uncomfortable is some way.

Finally, Vol'vikis rose from his chair. He handed a slim datapad to Quinn and looked the other man hard in the eye. “You don't open this, you don't let this out of your sight. While I am gone, you guard this. And when we reach Hoth, you will deliver it.”

“My lord, you honor me with your trust,” Quinn started to bow at the waist but realized that would push his back end into Ellivian, who was still practically pressed against his back. He held the datapad tightly and with some reluctance, moved aside so his lord could exit.

“And we're out!” Ellivian cheered. She blew Quinn a playful kiss as she dragged her brother toward the shuttle. “What was on that pad, anyway?” she asked as they set course for Dromand Kaas.

“Correspondence to a contact on Hoth. Quinn needs something to feel important. The ship and that datapad couldn't be safer with him guarding it.”

Ellivian laughed. “I thought you were going to say it was the grocery list.”

Kaas City was always as it always was. Ellivian ignored the sights and sounds of people; dignitaries, Sith apprentices, law droids, and merchants meandered, stalked, or owned the streets. She and Vol'vikis navigated their way directly to the Nexus Room Cantina mid city where Ellivian paused at the door and surveyed every face in the room.

“He's not here!” she crowed and gave a little jump of victory. “Rounds on him and it's whatever I want! What are we going to have?” She began to wander toward the bar but Vol'vikis grabbed her arm and pulled her back to him.

“Stay close to me,” he commanded.

Ellivian rolled her eyes. “I'm Sith too,” she said. “I'm just as capable of dismembering people with my lightsaber as you are.” She eyed his blood red tunic and pants, the shiny black boots. His cybernetics were black alloy with red lights, his right eye completely replaced with the machine. “Though I'm going to guess I don't look anything near as scary as you.”

“Nothing is as scary as me,” Vikis said absently as he scanned the room with both his eye and his Eye.

“I hear that. Table. Over there. Go get it, I-” she squealed with laughter as she was lifted off her feet from behind and crushed against the thin chest that could only be her other older brother.

Vikis spun, his lighsaber out in hand but not activated and he looked into his twin's eyes and scowled darkly. “Adris, you idiot.”

“What?” Adris Westan asked, still holding Ellivian to him, her feet dangling as she giggled like a six year old. “I can't say hi to my little sister?” He shifted her slightly so her legs swung.

“Put her down. She's a Sith Warrior in service to the Emperor, not some cantina dancer. Show her some respect,” Vikis snarled.

“She's always going to be my little sister and you, dear brother, are always going to be an insufferable prat.” But Adris put Ellivian back on her feet. “Table, there. Let's go.”

As they settled and Adris paid for the first round of girly Corellian Sunsets Ellivian wanted, the talk flowed easily between older brother and younger sister, with Vol'vikis sitting in defiant silence.

“You know, and I should have thought of this, but you shouldn't really be here, Adris. Considering you told Imperial Intelligence to go shove it,” Ellivian said in a low voice.

Adris shrugged his slender shoulders, sending the thin cybernetics on his face winking. “I may not exactly be welcome but I am freelance now. And my older brother is the Emperor's Wrath. What exactly are they going to do to me?”

Vikis sniffed derisively.

Ellivian tossed her angry brother a look which he ignored. It was one of the mysteries of the universe why Adris and Vol'vikis had turned out so differently. Vikis was eldest by three minutes and had always had a surly demeanor and been attuned to the Force. His Sithyness had been nurtured by their mother and right before he had been sent to Korriban, their dignitary father had granted him, and by reluctant extension his non Force sensitive twin, their first cybernetics.

Adris had been content with his life despite being practically ignored by his mother for not being Sith. Their father had had a larger role to play in his life, even though it hadn't been a happy one. He had joined the Intelligence Program young but had impressioned himself enough on his younger sister that she turned out more like him, despite her Force affinity.

Ellivian was often the bridge between brothers who she idolized and loved dearly. Adris wasn't stingy with his affection the way Vol'vikis was. And she knew she had a standing invitation to join Adris and his rag tag crew. But it was Vikis who needed her. He had been erratic after his promotion, dark and merciless. She knew most of it was just how Vik was, but she had brought her sunny disposition and total nonchalance of carnage to his ship to help even him out. So far, it was working.

Adris considered his little sister as they talked. Vol'vikis had taken right to the Sith line of nurturing hate and anger to gain power. Ellivian had been fed that line as well, but she chose to nurture passion. Whether it was a hateful passion or one born of love, Livvy had managed to stay quirky like he had known her in childhood. He was sure it was what was holding her back.

Adris worried about his Sith sister, who chose to smile over gutting an enemy like a fish. Not that he wanted her to change exactly, but he wanted her to live. Which is why he didn't quarrel when she went to Vol'vikis. His twin would die to protect her, as he would.

So deep were his thoughts that he missed what Vikis grumbled to him entirely. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said,” Vikis said unhappily, raising his voice a notch, “Do you still have that crazy agent girl on your ship? The one you were on assignment with on Alderaan?”

“I assume you mean Brei'yu,” Adris said. “That assignment was a long time ago and yes, she's still with my crew.”

“Really,” Ellivian said, her eyes taking on a shine that Adris could only laugh at.

“It's not like that. In fact, I'm actually.. well, never mind. Let's just say there's a better candidate than me on board.”

“That's a shame. You should have someone in your life.”

Adris thought of Raina and smiled. “I'm working on it.” Another round was set on the table and Adris poked Ellivian's arm. “And you? Are you beating men off with your saber?”

“With him around?” Livvy jerked her thumb at Vikis. “Please. They pee themselves in terror and I never see them again.”

“If you would stop teasing my Captain and either drop it or do something about it maybe I wouldn't need to do something about anything,” Vikis said with a pointed look. The alcohol was loosening him.

Ellivian fought the blush that spread on her cheeks. “Quinn? Oh, he's adorable when he gets all uncomfortable. But there was that whole, yeah. With the droids that one time and... whatever. I'm not really looking anyway.”

Adris and Vol'vikis shared a look. “And you Vik? How's that going?”

Vikis looked into his glass. “It's complicated,” he said with finality.

Adris turned to Livvy. “It's complicated, trust me.”

The conversation ran all evening, never sputtering or stalling. And when it came time for family to part there were hugs all around and a promise that in six months, it would happen again.

“What would Mom and Dad think if they saw us now?” Ellivian wondered as Vol'vikis docked the shuttle.

“They would think nothing because they were heartless and distant.”

“Maybe,” Ellivian said as she poured herself out of the shuttle and up the ramp to the ship. Quinn was waiting for them at the hatch and she tripped into his arms.

“Had a wonderful time, Malavai” she said with drunken glee and a giggle. “Now help me to bed.”

Quinn looked helplessly at his lord, who only gestured like 'Duh go help her' and watched them stumble off. He did love his family.

Wynston dismissed his friends before he entered his local contact Bas-Ton’s teahouse. His mission wasn’t going well. An old enemy, tipped off by Hunter, had tracked Wynston down and killed Bas-Ton. Wynston had finally shaken the guy off, but he was no closer to getting the mysterious Voss carvings the Star Cabal had had business with than when he first touched down on Voss.

When the Chiss entered the teahouse he saw Bas-Ton’s daughter Yana-Ton, his son Phi-Ton, and his brother Therod-Ton. The three Voss were engrossed in conversation about Bas-Ton’s recent kidnapping.

“Perhaps it is destined,” said Phi-Ton.

“The Mystics haven’t spoken,” said Yana-Ton.

“Not to us. We may hope,” said Phi-Ton, but his tone was hopeless.

Wynston entered the middle of the teahouse’s space and waited.

Therod-Ton noticed and took several steps toward him. “Outsider. Where is my brother?”

The Imperial spy who despised you all, the one who just got killed serving my mission? “I did everything I could, but it was too late. He died thinking of his family.” End tact, begin utility. “He was also…helping me with something. With his dying breath, he told me to go to you.”

Yana-Ton frowned a little. “You were Bas-Ton’s friend. This is your time to mourn.”

Therod-Ton motioned for her to be quiet. “You would see the Nightmare Lands,” he told Wynston. “Bas-Ton asked about the sacred carvings. The carvings are protected heritage. Only a Voss may study them.”

Damn you people. You’re beautiful, but I bet even the Ascendancy wasn’t this difficult. “Please, there must be a way. Bas-Ton thought you could show me.”

“Bas-Ton prized your friendship,” Therod-Ton said hesitantly. “We must honor that. Only Voss see the carvings…you must be Voss.” He seemed to come to a decision, nodded. “Become one of our family.”

Now we’re getting somewhere. “Nothing would please me more. I think Bas-Ton would say the same.”

Therod-Ton turned to his niece. “Yana-Ton. Are you willing?”

Uh-oh.

“I am,” said Yana-Ton in her soft voice. “Bas-Ton was to choose my husband,” she explained. “He never did.”

Uh-oh.

“Join our family in marriage,” she said calmly.

“Is that the only…you don’t have to do this,” he said, and kicked himself for saying it. Remember the mission, man. You use people all the time. “Not for me or for your father,” he said anyway.

“It isn’t real,” she said simply.

“We mourn later,” said Therod-Ton, just as if the previous exchange had settled something. “Make preparations. Go to the Sacred Flame in the city. You will be married today. You will see the carvings of the Nightmare Lands. Bas-Ton’s wishes, fulfilled.”

Great, that’ll make one person in this setup satisfied. Wynston hesitated. Or two, if I get the answers I need. That was the thought that got him moving.

*

The Sacred Flame was a tall gracious building done out in crimson and gold. Anywhere else in the galaxy Wynston would’ve called it gaudy; here in the warm brilliance of Voss it seemed to fit.

He kept analyzing, predicting. He couldn’t help it. She would be married. Publicly, legally. He doubted this culture had divorce. She would be damaged goods. Denied a real husband, denied children. Stars only knew what social status and job opportunities would be out of her reach because of him. The years would come and go, his jobs would fade and blend into each other, and she would stay, alone, carrying the consequences of this one night.

The mission, man.

She didn’t hesitate. I’ve wrecked a lot of innocence, but I’ve never ruined a flower quite like this.

Vector leaned in as they entered. “We’ve never seen a Voss wedding. It should be an experience.”

“I am astonished I don’t even have to pay to see this circus,” said Kaliyo.

“Don’t screw this up for us,” Wynston told her.

“With Voss? You can keep the screwing,” said Kaliyo.

Yana-Ton greeted them in a broad echoing room with a big glowing square in the middle of it. She seemed…happy, though those speckled blue eyes were hard for even Wynston to read. “A veil is for women when a family member is lost,” she said. “But what we do today defies custom. No veil is right.”

I thought the point was to avoid defying custom? That’s why I’m going Voss? Never mind. “You’re too beautiful to hide anyway.” Laying it on: Never a bad move.

Yana-Ton handed him a scroll. “Our oaths. Read, and I will begin.”

The ritual itself made precisely as much sense as anything else Voss: a large number of assertions that came out of nowhere and connected to nothing. But he promised to walk with the Voss to their destiny, walk before the flame, and do a great deal of other walking. No. Sense. Whatsoever. The glowing ritual stone had some neat flame effects when they started their ritual waving near it. That was interesting.

“So long as prophecy allows,” said Yana-Ton, “we are one. Only the word of a Mystic will break our bond.”

This whole immeasurably costly move. She’s doing it without hesitation, because she thinks it’s right.

It won’t be for nothing. I promise.

For the first time, a little uncertainty clouded her expression. “The ritual is now over, except for the Rite of Ardor. We don’t need to participate.”

“Rite of Ardor?”

“A Voss’s passions are suppressed until marriage. This first night awakens them, creates a bond between husband and wife. If you wish to see the rite through…I would be with you.”

Please stop telling me how significant this is for you.

But Wynston let Yana-Ton lead him away. Kaliyo restrained herself to a low whistle as they passed out of the hall. The newlyweds went to an upstairs room within the Sacred Flame and locked the door behind them.

Sumptuous furnishings, again in crimson and gold. A million opportunities for listening devices, concealed weapons; no viable escape route but the door. His habitual security check came up very displeased.

That, and the sheer discomfort of his thoughts, deprived him of his usual calm. “Yana-Ton…it was courageous of you to do this.”

“I did what must be done. My father’s wishes must be fulfilled. This is my duty.”

“I have to leave, after I’ve studied the carvings. You know that.”

“I know.”

“For what it’s worth…what I’m seeking out there, if I find it, and I think I will…it will save lives. Millions of them. People you and I will never know, but they’ll be safe because of what you gave up today.”

She regarded him blankly. After a moment she said, very softly, “Thank you.”

He forced himself to smile. He came closer to her, reaching up to touch her cheek. “Just so we understand one another. No matter what else happens, Yana-Ton, what happens next is real.”

ok girl, you can do this, they know it's just a token gesture. Remember how fragile the relationship is between voss and empire. You MUST honour their traditions. Vector seems cool about this so far, and he LOVES it when i honor traditions and be all diplomatic wise... okay okay so lets just do this.

yadda yadda yadda walking paths flames and stuff, yeah yeah yeah right of adour ok ok keep agreeing-

WHAT WHAAAAAAAAAT?!

ohcrapohcrapohcrap

be cool girl, try not to be caught lookin behind you, ok he doesn't seem angry...i think. doesn't seem happy ether? damnit why does he have to be so hard to read. ohhh i sing the song of the shameful wife.

wait...is it even cheating if it's your OTHER husband... and your first one knows about it?

oh well, you'll look like a kath hound b***h if you back out now.... might as well make this kid's day... you did kinda get his dad killed.

*sigh* you big, dumb, smurf.

....at least the naive ones are the funnest to break in....

please forgive me, honeybee

“Malavai!” A familiar voice called from the doorway. Malavai Quinn turned to see his friend Donner Park holding a datapad. “Did you see?” He asked, “We’re partners on the final trial! No way we fail now.” The final trial would be a live field investigation. They would be given a base to infiltrate, they would gather any data they could find and upload it to the Academy.

Malavai was relieved that Donner would be his partner. He did not work well with most of the other cadets. Other cadets did not care for his compulsive need for thoroughness and precision. Donner was the exception. They had joined the Academy on the same day and while Quinn’s aptitude in his classes made him the star pupil among his instructors, he did not know how to negotiate the political structure among the students. Many of the cadets were the sons and daughters of officers and high-ranking officials. Donner smoothed things over; he had a way with people. He was being groomed for Cipher training, he said he looked forward to it, especially once he heard about the seduction lessons that advanced cadets were taught.

Donner tossed the orders to Quinn, “Plan it will you? I’m going to scout I’ll patch you in when I’m there.” He ran off without waiting for an answer. Quinn reviewed the datapad noting the building schematics, likely points of entry, surveillance areas, and guard positions. This would be a live investigation, the building was owned by a civilian corporation with suspected Republic ties. Quinn was eager to see if they could find proof of wrongdoing. The traitors would be punished.

Donner worked quickly, he found a high vantage point and set up surveillance cameras and patched Quinn into the feed. “I see,” Quinn said mentally calculating the differentials between the building schematics and the actual building construction. “Point a range finder through the east window.”

Donner complied, patiently waiting for his friend to ensure that everything was perfect.

“Point the infrared sensor three-point-two-three meters up and two-point-five-four meters left from the south corner.”

Donner adjusted his surveillance equipment double-checking his settings, Quinn got testy when he was even one centimeter off.

“There,” Quinn said, sending back coordinates. “That’s our entry point.” Donner looked at his datapad, Quinn had found a poorly covered vent that led straight into the main datacenter bypassing most of security.

“You’re a genius! We make entry at first dark eight hundred hours.” Donner said happily.

“Eight-oh-three,” Quinn replied. “The guard patrol will still be able to see our entry point at eight hundred.”

“Right, sorry.” Donner said grinning. He hurried back to the Academy; this was going to be easy.

The plan went perfectly; Donner and Quinn entered the datacenter without a single hitch. The lights were off but Quinn knew exactly what they were looking for. They began slicing terminals and uploading information to the Academy. Technically, cadets were not required to read the data. However, Quinn was thorough; he wanted to make sure that they did not miss any other clues.

“There’s another set of data here.” Quinn said, scanning the entries. “It’s encrypted. I think the codes are on that terminal over there." Donner finished his upload and walked over to help his friend. They patched the two terminals together and were rewarded with a new set of files.

“This is a list of instructors at the Academy.” Donner whispered, looking around. He had not expected to find anything like this. “Schedules, ranks, students, classes,” he listed. “Do you think the Pubs would try to get one of theirs in?”

Quinn did not answer, his eyes sped through the data that streamed past. Who gave them this? He thought. It’s not exactly top secret but there certainly is a lot of information about social structures and personal observations, exactly what the Republic would need to infiltrate one of the Empires most important institutions. The end of the file was a company personnel list. Quinn skimmed the record, only one stood out.

Information specialist, male, age 18, hiring date D3Q3, tenure 4 years, code name NN.

Four years ago on the third day of the third quarter. Quinn thought. That’s when I arrived at the academy. Donner too. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Donner stood very still. Quinn’s mind raced remembering the times Donner had gone off for ‘intelligence training.’ How he was always quick with a lie to smooth things over. He looked at Donner’s terminal to see what he was reading. He was looking at the same file. Donner’s eyes were wide; his hand went for his blaster.

Quinn drew his blaster and shot him in the heart. Donner fell, the surprised look never leaving his face. Quinn stood a moment, staring at the still form of his best friend. An alarm sounded and the lights came on. Quinn raised his blaster readying himself to fall back to his planned escape route. The door opened and Commander Hillard, head of the final year cadets walked into the room.

“Stand down Quinn.” He said looking at the body on the floor. He checked the terminals and nodded at the technicians as they entered the lab.

Quinn holstered his blaster and started to explain, “Sir, I found evidence that…”

“Yes, yes, we know. It’s part of the test.” The man waved his hand vaguely. “You passed with flying colors. Congratulations Quinn, or should I say Ensign?” He slapped Quinn on the shoulder.

“Test?” Quinn repeated watching the technicians put Donner’s body into a bag. “But, he really was a traitor wasn’t he?”

“Now’s not the time to start asking questions Ensign,” the Commander said sharply, then he laughed. “Look at it this way, a few more seconds and he would have shot you. Now come on, let’s go celebrate the Empire’s newest Junior officer.”

Quinn thought a moment longer then straightened into a salute. “Of course, sir.” He said, and followed the Commander out of the room never looking back.

I swear, I was not trying to be mean when I wrote this. I'm actually starting to feel sorry for him.

You do get options in her conversations to tell her to be less crazy-impulsive-bloodthirsty, and that being a Sith isn’t all just ripping out entrails. She doesn’t like them (you lose affection) but they are there. Depending on how you handle certain conversations she does learn a bit of self-control. Regardless, her ‘battle commentary’ doesn’t change (for obvious reasons), and it is pretty over-the-top.