Vector carried in the latest supplies requisitioned by Doctor Godera and set them on a table. He found the doctor fiddling with the settings of a life support unit connected to a kolto tank. Godera had ordered a steady stream of supplies, but was careful to keep each order under Imperial budget thresholds to avoid scrutiny. He had worked night and day in the week since they had been assigned to collect the woman in the tank and while her condition had not changed outwardly, the doctor was downright gleeful.

"Did you know her?" Vector asked softly so as not to startle the old scientist.

"Hmm, what?" Godera said absently looking up from the console where he fed a steady supply of chemicals to the sleeping body in the kolto tank.

"You called her Selena when we first saw her."

"Oh, that." The scientist turned back to the console. "I thought she looked like someone I knew long ago, the daughter of a former colleague on Balmorra. It can't be her though, that was decades ago and the subject can't be much older than twenty."

"Subject, Doctor?" Vector asked hesitantly his brows furrowing. "She is a person."

Doctor Godera stopped what he was doing and turned to face the former joiner his expression serious. "You have a good heart, Vector, but make no mistake, this is not a person. This is a weapon."

Vector frowned, the expression felt strange on his face but he kept it there. He moved between the doctor and the tank. "She is still a person," he called up the work order on his datapad. "Her name is Coremi, she was an apprentice to a Sith Lord."

Godera sighed, "You're not at all like the Imps I've known, Vector. Let me explain. I've been studying her bloodwork and her bioscans. I've seen this kind of chemical programming in the Intelligence archives, only this is far more extensive. It’s as if all of her autonomy was forcibly removed. Now, there may still be something left of her in all of that, but we won't know until we wake her up."

Vector considered his words then nodded, "Do you know what is wrong with her?"

"It's fairly complicated, but to put it simply, whatever they did to her, there was no programming to connect between her conscious and subconscious. Her conscious mind accepts commands but her subconscious is free to do whatever it wants. That might be the only way for her to survive the process but now her subconscious is keeping her from waking."

"Will she be dangerous when she wakes?"

"Possibly, especially if she wasn’t a willing participant, but I have a plan for that. Did you get the supplies?"

"Yes, it is all here."

"Good, now from the looks of her chemistry she's already been programmed. That means she won't follow my commands. However, with these implants I can circumvent some of her programming and..."

Vector let the man chatter on about the specifics of what the implants would do and how they would give him limited control over her. It would be enough to wake her, enough to keep her from harming them, and possibly enough for her to function. The sound of his voice was often punctuated by hums and exclamations reminding Vector of the buzz of the hive.

"Once we complete the surgery and stabilize her we'll need to transport her somewhere safe."

"Transport?" Vector said, the doctor's words calling back his attention. "Do you mean to leave Dromund Kaas?" His expression a mixture of fear and disapproval.

The doctor approached him his expression urgent but earnest and he spoke in a whisper. "I’ve never said anything before, but over the years I had grown to respect my captor, the man known as Watcher One then Keeper. He followed his own code as much as he could. But now he's gone and the Sith have taken over Intelligence. Whatever you might think of them I know they will only use this woman as the weapon she was intended to be. If you want to save her, we cannot keep her here."

Vector turned and stared up at the sleeping woman. He did not know why he wanted to help her. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of himself. He had spent many days alone in a tank. Insane with the pressure of a million screaming minds, they induced a coma and performed unspecified surgeries on him. He was no fool; he knew that the surgeries to 'help' him were only more experiments to see how a man could be separated from the nest if necessary. While he loved the Empire, he had begun to doubt that the Empire could love someone like him back.

"I've been studying your files." Doctor Godera said breaking into his thoughts again.

"Yes?"

"I know what they did to suppress your connection to the hive. It can be reversed."

Vector stared at the doctor, "But the nest..."

"Alderaan's peaceful now. According to the HoloNews the killiks have signed several treaties agreeing to stay away from human settlements and it seems they've replaced the queens. Hardy species you killiks."

Vector's mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged.

"As I said, I can reverse the procedure, but I need you to remain human for a bit to help me move our friend here.” He hesitated, “And well, I don't think you'd be welcome in Kaas City as a joiner anyway."

"No, we would not." Vector said after a moment of thought. "What is your plan?"

"The supplies are already ordered, I just need you to pick them up and follow my instructions.” The doctor began draining the kolto tank in preparation for the surgery. Vector opened the door and carried the woman to the surgical unit. “Oh, and Vector?” The former joiner looked up after laying the woman on the operating table, “Hold off on speaking like a joiner until we're gone."

Coremi grew up on Balmorra and like practically everyone on that planet her maternal grandfather designed weapons, I figure someone like that would have met Godera at some point.

I like Godera. He's a horrible scary guy with a strong dose of "you're really dumb for a smart guy" but he's basically a Republic version of every Imperial scientist ever so his hatred for all things Imp is really funny to me. The timeline right now is a mottled chapter 3 so I figure IA is dissolved and Godera would use the opportunity to escape. He would also use Vector, Coremi, and just about anything else to get his way.

“Hey stupid!” Kaliyo shouted at the armed former slave.

The redhaired woman turned and fired at her. Shen took aim while Kaliyo yelled more profane taunts. Boring-a** hand-me-down op. Keeper didn’t know what to do with him since Darth Jadus vetoed the Tatooine mission. Taking out his frustrations on rebelling slaves and the occasional soldier for hire was a poor substitute for real action. Not to mention ironic. The situation in the quarry was beyond control, beyond recovery, beyond mop up. It was full-on slaughter. He had to find ways to keep himself interested. For example, today was redhead day.

Shen felt a shuddering whump. Much bigger than the occasional water storage tank going up or scaffold demolition. Golden light bathed the worksite. The ongoing violence at the quarry paused like a holonet freezeframe. His current target’s eyes joined hundreds of others turning skyward. Shen blasted her in the back. Only then did he bother checking the scenery.

A ship exploded in low orbit. A big one. The fireball filled nearly a quarter of the dawn sky. Pieces of burning wreckage rained down over Dromund Kaas' jungle, catching the wet canopy on fire in places. The largest sections along with the bulk of the debris fell toward the north of Shen's location. Smoke and flames erupted on the horizon. It was glorious.

The quarry’s weathered address system crackled to life. Scattered holounits that survived the riots displayed a human image; most of them had long gone audio-only. He straightened, surreptitiously joining a mixed group of slaves and mercenaries clustered around the nearest unit. He caught the message in progress.

"...you’ve just witnessed our successful attack on the dreadnaught Dominator..."

Shen’s earbud pinged. “Cleaner, report!” That didn't take long.

He tapped the acknowledge signal and meandered toward the lee of a large rocky outcropping. Out of the crowd’s earshot. Also out of earshot of the broadcasting message, unfortunately, “Lovely morning, Fixer Twelve,” he said, “I didn’t do it.”

“Shut it, Cleaner,” Fixer Twelve growled, “Keeper has new orders for you, so listen up. There’s a ship in the Kaas City Spaceport bucking for departure clearance. Several dissidents from the watch lists are on it. You need to be too, and Keeper don’t much care how you get there.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, by the way, military units are converging on the spaceport,” Twelve said. There was real mirth in his voice now, “you might want to hurry.”

“Keep this comm open,” Shen said. He whistled sharply for Kaliyo, knowing he just gave Twelve an earsplitting whine through the feedback, “You, skiff, now,” he barked. Kaliyo ran for the light aero they’d hidden in the bushes above the quarry. “What’s he want, Twelve? Blast ‘em all?”

“He wants them alive, Cleaner,” Fixer Twelve said, “Stay with them through their hyperjumps and find out where they come from and who they’re connected to.”

Kaliyo zipped up in the skiff, “I’m driving,” she said.

Shen jumped on behind her, “Damn straight you are,” he said. Kaliyo rocketed the aero up to full speed and zoomed over the boulders. “Fixer,” Shen shouted over the wind, “Reactivate my profile as Syad and file Documents of Fugitive Property, backdated one week,” Kaliyo whooped and he ducked a low branch, “Leave Kaliyo alone but she didn’t leave Hutta with anyone who looks like me--”

“I need approval for that--”

“You fix it. You’re a fixer, stoopa, that’s your job,” Shen shouted, “If you don’t, I will find your house and eat your children.” The line hissed. Twelve muted his input. He was either cursing at him or trying to get approval from Keeper. “Just do it. Get approval later. If Keeper doesn't like it you can switch it back and probably get me killed like you always wanted. Fix it, damn you!” he bellowed into the comm.

A click, “All right. On it.”

Kaliyo swooped into a muddy arroyo. Shen clung to her waist as they swept past the rocks. One wrong move and they were paste. Rattataki woman was crazier than he was. “I love you too, Twelve. Cleaner out.” He removed the earbud and tossed it into the slipstream while Kaliyo took another turn at insane speed. He saw the telltale puff of annihilated electronics in a quick backward glance.

They ditched the skiff in an alley and rode Shen's security overrides to the docking bay. Before breaching the blast door he grabbed Kaliyo's arm, "I'm Syad, slave agitator and general troublemaker. You're you. We met about a week ago after you dumped your ride from Hutta."

"Why'd I dump him?" Kaliyo asked, a mischievous grin on her face.

"He was boring," Shen said. Kaliyo's continued grin told him she was going to twist that directive into some insult. Most likely a dig at his sexual prowess or something equally embarrassing. "Otherwise follow my lead. Don't shoot first." There wasn't time to explain any more. He hoped her background as an anarchist would sell the show.

Shen overrode the door controls as well as shorting them out so it looked like a quick and dirty slicing job. The door slid open and the sentries leveled their rifles at the pair.

Shen held his hands in the air, "Don't shoot! I'm on your side!" he panted. One of them fired anyway, hitting the wall above his head. Kaliyo drew but he pushed the muzzle down, “No!” he shouted, “Wait!”

“Don’t know you,” one of them rumbled, a male human the size of a small asteroid. He lumbered forward and pointed his rifle at Shen, “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Name’s Syad,” Shen gasped, “Syad Baaht. This here’s Kaliyo Djannis. Saw your show. We want in. But you got bigger problems. Military’s in the port already. You’re gonna get grounded unless you lift now.”

“Hrumph,” the rifle came up, “And you know this how?”

Shen bent over, breathing hard as though still out of breath, “I been here a week looking for a ship to jump. Right after the explosion, saw a girl run for the hangars. She was the only one not looking at the sky. Port security was watching. They must have sent out an alert.”

“Mia never pays attention,” growled a voice form the back of the pack.

Human Asteroid hesitated, “Convenient.”

Good guess. Safe bet several of their people came in late and even odds one of them was female. “I want on your ship. I’m sick of this planet,” Shen said. Absolute truth, too. “Would I call security on you if I wanted a ride?” Asteroid shifted his rifle in indecision. Shen rolled his eyes, “How’s this. You take us with, stick us in a cargo hold or an airlock or whatever you want, someplace you figure we can’t do any damage. When we’re clear atmo and the planetary defense grid, you run whatever checks you like. But if you don’t move now you’re going to get nabbed. I just busted out of a slave camp, I am not going back in.”

Asteroid Man finally lowered his weapon, “Thought I heard of a Kaliyo on Brentaal IV.”

“That’s me,” Kaliyo agreed.

“Alright,” he grumbled, “Kissiae, escort these two jokers to the starboard airlock and seal it. Everyone else get on board, we’re leaving now. The Old Man can decide what to do with them.”

Shen’s heart leapt at the name. The Old Man meant Nar Shaddaa. The Old Man would vouch for him, this was going to be easy. Until he remembered that Sal’s Old Man had to be dead by now. And Sal with him. Their Old Man was somebody else.

Shen wedged himself between a bulkhead and some very important looking conduits. Kaliyo wormed her way in beside him as the little bulk freighter skipped through Dromund Kaas' atmosphere. The ship jumped and twitched left. She fell across his lap and he seized her arm before she slipped away. They groaned into a steep climb. Shen wheezed with the added mass as Kaliyo’s weight squished into his gut. His spine felt permanently flattened. Abruptly the ship reversed direction. For a moment Shen was glad for the extra weight as his organs tried to climb out his throat with negative g's.

The freighter leveled off. The ends of his lekku floated in the brief moment of zero gravity before the ship’s generator kicked on then they thumped to the deck. Kaliyo winked at him, "This could be fun," she said.

"Later," he grunted.

"Great idea. Did you forget they don't put acceleration couches in airlocks?" Kaliyo asked.

“Shut up.”

Having Vector with Vierce and Co makes for some REALLY interesting dynamics. Vector's loyalty to the Empire vs his..well..goodness.

Also, 4X vs Temple made me clap for real. Awesome! I adore the working title for this. Cause I entirely agree with Estelindis - Temple horrifies me. To be honest, this entire fight scene had me alternately sitting with my hand over my mouth and giggling. SCORPIO in particular, giggles.

It is entirely scary that Cipher Nine is actually a worse person than Hunter. Entirely.

Ok...that drabble is possibly the best thing EVER!!!!! OMG, seriously...EVER.

Vierce's speech to Hunter gave me goosebumps and stung my nose a little bit. Good man, Vierce, good man.

Ok, and Vector and the Nest remembering Elara seriously had me teared up. As did Vierce's dream. (Thank god for canon, cause *whimper*)

I liked the role reversal here, where in canon you can have the Black Codex going to an loyal Imperial agent and here it goes to a loyal (and awesome) Republic agent. <3 Balkar

The What If at the end...yep, through this all I've been on the verge of tears, but that one actually made them fall. Just. Mmph. Sniff. Sniff. Where are my tissues?

Ruth wasn’t in town at the moment, but Vette had called Wynston from Nar Shaddaa, offering lunch if he happened to be in the area.

Wynston didn’t usually allow calls from personal acquaintances like that, but a couple of months back he had given Vette his real frequency. Just in case of emergency. Or to coordinate things with Ruth. For that matter, Pierce had it in case emergency backup was required in the field. And Jaesa had had it for a while because she was Ruth’s closest neighbor – again, the emergency contact was critical, that was all. Anyway, he and Vette were in the same neighborhood, so he went to meet with her for lunch.

Vette was looking well – a new headband, a truly pretty jacket-and-skirt combo. She waved him to her table. “Hey there,” she said. “Been a while.”

“It has been.” He settled opposite her. “I trust things have been well with you?”

“So far, so good. Ruth tells me you’re the guy who fixed things up with the port authority in Hutta a few weeks back.”

Ruth had called with genuine fear in her voice when that little difficulty had snared Vette. “Yes, the fellow in charge owed me a favor or three. It was nothing.”

“Thanks anyway. I know I’m a big deal when I manage to get a share on Secret Agent Man’s time.”

He exaggerated his grin. “Anything you need for as long as I’m in town, sweetheart.”

Vette pulled something small and hard out from her pocket; that was all the description Wynston could process before he had to dodge its whizzing flight. “You are awful,” Vette informed him.

“You really are my very favorite Twi’lek. Honestly, I’d be happy to–”

“Awful.”

He laughed. “So apart from the annoyances of customs and me, I hope your day has been going well.”

“It has. I owe you one for the port authority thing.”

“Forget about it. If anything high-stakes comes up again, you can call me directly; I’m not always available but it’s worth a try.”

“I’ll try not to have to.” She kicked back to lean against the pillar behind her chair. “Anyway, I’ve got some connections of my own these days. If you ever need anything that certain captains of free enterprise could help with, give me a call.”

“Thank you,” he said. It was the fastest way to get the awkward offer out of the way. “I’ll try not to overuse it.”

She studied his face. “You really can’t, you know. Don’t know if you noticed that part about your girlfriend yet” – Vette’s sarcasm was screaming – “but you’re with us. So if anything ever comes up that somehow manages to be big enough to force-feed you your own pride…we’ll be there.”

He had heard similar sentiments from other people hundreds of times. Four or five times it might’ve been really sincere. Here, from one of Ruth’s best friends, treating him as if things couldn’t be any other way…

Vette was still watching him. She gave him a lopsided grin. “Wynston...anybody ever tell you you’re kind of a mess?”

That set him back in the familiar channel. “I thought telling me was your job.”

“Oh, it definitely is. I was just wondering if I’m stuck doing it alone.”

“And here I thought you would want me to save myself for you.”

“Awful.”

Coremi first runs into Watcher X after he's defeated by Agent Vero on Nar Shaddaa. Vero thinks he's dead but really he's just employing the same technology that made Vero appear to be a droid. Coremi saves him hoping to get more information about Vero (who helped put Sanju in charge as Gray Star which eventually led to her mother's death).

Later, Watcher X helped Coremi develop a serum that might allow her to resist the Emperor's commands. She defeated the Agent Vero on Belsavis to take blood samples (The Imperial Agent is shown to be immune to Mind Control drugs because of her reprogramming at the end of chapter 2) In the process Coremi destroys SCORPIO and takes her core (all droids have cores where all their data and things are right?) Watcher X takes it before he leaves Belsavis.

The design of the droid's memory core was centuries beyond any technology he had seen. The parts, however, were modern and easily traced to several shell corporations. From there it was simple to obtain the fragmented diagrams and keys necessary to decrypt the droid's databanks. The information it held implied a vast conspiracy of hundreds of men and women in power over a thousand years.

It would have been shocking, but not to him.

"An interesting machine, SCORPIO," he said conversationally, "She was far more interested in improving herself than hiding your little conspiracy."

"SCORPIO, command theta, execute non-Cabal." Hunter managed as he slumped against a terminal.

The droid ignored the command and circled the room checking the bodies. Hunter was the only one to survived their attack. Satisfied, she nodded at Watcher X.

"I removed those protocols. Restraining bolts are so primitive, something like a bomb in your head." He stared at the dying man. "All that time I spent on Nar Shaddaa reviewing my downfall. Insane, they called me. Unstable. All for seeing conspiracies where none existed." A mirthless sound escaped his lips. "Then one day I run a perfectly planned op that goes horribly wrong and I wind up in Shadow Town with a persistent headache. Your idea?"

"Couldn't have someone finding us." Hunter gasped, then chuckled. "Now you're the only one left. Just one more thing, before I go."

Watcher X drew his blaster and shot Hunter before he could reach for his wrist module. The holo-disguise flickered as his body fell to the floor, revealing a woman where the man once lay.

"Why would he think I cared?" He asked no one in particular.

"Humans place a great deal of value in others knowing their true identity. His or her revelation to you could be considered a compliment." SCORPIO checked Hunter's body and waited for Watcher X to respond. “What will you do with the Star Cabal now?”

“Study it, learn from its mistakes. It may or may not be worth keeping.” She watched him shrug and take the black codex, pocketing it without the reverence other humans would have shown. Her programming registered approval, her face approximated a smile.

Her latest chassis was more humanoid than her previous incarnation. Watcher X had integrated holo-technology allowing her to look any way she wished. She had expressed her satisfaction with his intelligence and disposition. Together they would discover and grow more than they could apart. For now.

Watcher Two talks about how X saw conspiracies where none existed. I always wondered if he was seeing the machinations of the Star Cabal. I might also be a Watcher X fangirl.

Ruth and Quinn parted after the class line; they met and acknowledged their still-strong attraction some fifteen years later, but ended up parting on barely-civil terms. Apart from a joint custody arrangement with their son Colrand (Cole) they avoided each other thereafter.

This splinter is set at least twenty years after their second separation.

Quinn was dressing in his and Pettal's quarters when she let herself in. From the corner of his eye he caught her uncertain look; he had given no word so far that they would be doing anything but idling in orbit.

"You're getting ready to go?" she said. "Where to?"

"A funeral," he said, and the words were neat, so simple as to seem ridiculous. Too small for the thought they described. "For an old commander."

"Who?" Pettal had been in the service for many years herself; she knew many of the Empire's top officers, by reputation if not in person.

"The Emperor's Wrath," he said. The title was safe; he minimized Ruth's personal significance out of habit now. He had for a long time.

"Oh! Malavai, I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"Nor could you have," he said gently. He finished buttoning his shirt and started securing his cuffs, his motions calm and precise.

Pettal sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. "I hadn't realized she was still alive."

Quinn didn't discuss Ruth much, not even with Pettal. "She retired from public life some time ago. But she survived until recently."

"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

He closed the distance between them and touched her face briefly, looked into her dark brown eyes. Once, long ago, he would have mistaken her private compassion for weakness. Now he welcomed it; this was his life, and having it did lessen the pain. "I won't be long," he told her. Then he turned away to find his uniform.

"How did you know? Through Cole?"

"No, he and I both received messages from one of her associates. I haven't been in regular contact with her people since…well. Since before I met you."

"I always wondered. You credit her with a lot for someone you never see." No rancor there. It took an unusual sort of person to accept as much of a past as Quinn had, but Pettal did it. He valued that.

He filed through the closet. "The galaxy is poorer for her loss. On a more immediate level, she and I did not correspond but it is an open secret in High Command that my career and strategic orders fell under her protection. The freedom I have to operate, and the resources I can bring to bear – they exist not because I am free from Sith, but because I was indebted to the right one."

"Oh. One that's no longer in a position to offer such protection."

He turned back to her to offer a reassuring look. "I have not been idle these past years. I anticipate political inconvenience, but not disaster, and we likely won't even see that until the next crisis appears."

"Good," she said warmly.

He pulled on his dress uniform jacket and straightened it out. Pettal was studying the closet, giving him time and space for his thoughts. And there were thoughts. He had thought he had finished losing Ruth decades ago. It was strange to feel the pang of it again. "With this goes the last of my old life," he said.

Pettal smiled at him. "Cole might disagree."

True. A comforting aspect when she brought it up. He relaxed a little. "Go on," he said. He loved her, but today was his to bear. "I will return before the day is out."

As soon as she left instinct drove him to take off his dress jacket and return to the closet. He pulled out a much older piece, one that was pale grey and very plain with grey insets in the black collar. It hung a little differently now, closer in places than it once had been, but it served. From a small drawer he pulled a long-disused captain's rank insignia. He fixed it in place and looked in the mirror. He was older now, much older, and a different man. But the uniform seemed right for the occasion.

So Malavai Quinn walked forth to say goodbye.

I’m headcanoning that his uniform wasn’t painted on to begin with and thus gaining a few pounds over the years wouldn’t render it unwearable.

I never meant Lodestone!Quinn to have a blighted life. For years it might be rough; but after the resolution of Lodestone’s late timeline he ends up free to be anything alongside being Cole’s father. In time even he could stop punishing himself.

It was a funny set of circumstances that brought him to this place. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t funny haha. No, it was more funny blinding-pain, funny she’s-going-to-kill-me, funny he’s-going-to-kill-me, funny where’d-that-Twi’lek-come-from. Funny anything, but haha.

He wasn’t sure if he was actually conscious or dead. He could feel pain, which could mean he was dreaming. He was almost positive his eyes were open as he could see some sort of grey ceiling and he could hear the muffled sounds of conversation somewhere nearby.

“Don’t Sith sort of thrive on this kinda stuff?” asked one voice.

“From other Sith maybe. Directly. Not through pawns,” replied a different voice.

“Aren’t all Sith pawns? I mean, the whole Master/Servant thing is how the Empire works.”

“I thought you hated him.”

“I don’t hate him enough to watch you suffer over killing him.”

“Oh, I won’t be killing him,” said the second voice, “I have other plans for him.”

“What, will you slap a slave collar on him, stuff him into his quarters with no food or water, and hope he starves to death?”

“I’m almost positive Jaesa would slip him food. She values life or something strange like that.”

“Ugh,” sighed the first voice. “That is so not the point. If he suffers, you suffer. I know you still like him, despite your sexnanigans with Pierce. Don’t give me that look.”

He was sure the conversation continued, but he wasn’t sure if he heard anything. Or saw anything. Or felt anything. For a while, at least.

When he came to, the chronometer across the room indicated he had been out for five minutes. Which wasn’t correct at all. It must be a new day, he surmised. He started to take stock of his facilities when a bolt of pain lanced through his right arm. He hissed and reached for the arm. He probably slept on it wrong. He was almost sure of it. A small set of hands grabbed his reaching arm and tugged gently. He relented, opened his eyes and looked toward the source of the hands. Whatever he was expecting to see, it wasn’t Vette.

“Hey, there,” Vette chirped softly. Which… he wasn’t entirely sure how one could chirp and be quiet about it, but this was Vette. The strange, former slave turned best friend to the soon-to-be confirmed Wrath. The Wrath. His eyes widened. Vette looked at him with something akin to sympathy. “Welcome back to the waking world.”

He drew his eyebrows together in confusion and attempted to talk. His throat was dry and sore and nothing came out, but a croak. Vette raised the bed to an incline, grabbed a glass of water from a tray, and raised it to his lips. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Hey, I didn’t go through the trouble of saving your life just to poison you with a glass of water. Come on, Quinn, drink up.”

Saving his life? He wanted to laugh at her. Instead, he gulped down the water, which was still cold, and waited for her to explain.

“What, no thank you?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“If you’re going to be kind, you shouldn’t seek validation for your efforts,” he shot back hoarsely, his throat still sore and his voice rough from disuse.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Look,” she said, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed, “Syla was fit to kill you. I talked her out of it, got you patched up enough so you wouldn’t die before we got to a hospital, and convinced Syla to let you get the best care. I think that deserves a little thanks.”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m sure your entire plan was to save my life so that I would be indebted to you.”

“I’m not petty like you,” she shot back. That both surprised and disarmed him. He must have been beaten over the head harder than he thought. “Are you going to be a jerk anymore or can I finish talking?” He didn’t reply. “Good. Now, to business. You were pretty messed up. Had your chest sliced open, your right arm nearly cut off, various broken bones, bumps and bruises of course, and a nasty head wound. You’ve been out for about a week. The doctors induced a coma when I told them how damn stubborn you are and how you’re a medic of some sort. Anyway, I’ve got some pain killer I can add to your drip, if you’d like.”

He blinked slowly at her. It would be a waste to save his life just to poison him. Then again, watching him writhe in pain for days on end while he slowly died would be far more pleasing than poisoning a man who was mostly dead to begin with. But, she was right, she wasn’t like him at all. He would have let her die and not just for betrayal. For any reason, really. She annoyed him to no end. He really wished Syla had left her collar on. That would have handled her mouthy curiosity quite quickly. As it was she was a “free Twi’lek” who was still in-service to a Sith. Not very free in his opinion, but his opinion was never valued by the Twi’lek. And he didn’t value hers.

Vette stood and moved around the bed to his IV line. He followed her movements with his eyes.

“I know you’re suspicious,” she said quietly as she injected the contents of a syringe into the port, “but I’m no Sith. I don’t kill for revenge or to get my jollies.”

“Didn’t you kill that creature with the artifact you wanted?” he asked.

“That’s different. I was protecting my culture. Self-defense if you think about it.”

He wasn’t going to. “What do you want from me?”

Vette rolled her eyes and sighed. “I didn’t save your life so you had to pay me back anything, but, hey, if you’re offering, loosen up a little. You’re such a buzzkill.”

“Shut up, Vette.”

Vette snorted a laugh and turned to the door. “Glad you aren’t too affected by what happened. I’ll check on you later.”

That said she left and he was glad. Whatever she had injected into his IV had kicked in and he was delightfully numb. Without pain blurring his vision or clouding his mind, he took stock of his injuries. It was as Vette had said. If only he could see his chart. He looked around for it, starting first on the chair Vette had vacated. Strange, there was a blanket draped over the arm of the chair. It wasn’t that cold in here, but he did always run a bit warmer than others. It was probably nothing. He continued looking around for a few more minutes before exhaustion took over his remaining senses. He fell asleep looking at the blanket draped over the arm of the chair, wondering just how it got there and why it mattered to him to figure it out.

There was a short someone wrote about Quinn's birthday, him writing in his journal, and his secret desire to be with Vette. It inspired an idea of my own for a Vette/Quinn, but my brain absolutely refused to let me write it. Whether or not this will turn into one... well, we'll see, I suppose. I hope I didn't make too many mistakes, of which I will likely need to fix later. I need a nap!

In the meantime, spot the reference!

Minalde

Minalde woke. Its was not the gentle waking where you drift from sleeping into awareness, it was a jolt that had her bolting upright. Though her eyes were open,she could see nothing, the room a seeming black void. She was confused. Where was she?

Slowly the memories began to trickle into her mind. She had been on a ship, bound for Tython when they were attacked. Pirates. She and all the other females had been separated from the men and boys. Thank the force there were no babes, small children or elders.

Without even a trace of light leaking in from anywhere she couldn’t make out a thing. She heard some soft whimpers, a muffled sob, and even a light snore. She cautiously stretched out her senses but could not feel any rumbles or noises that might give her any clues. The lack of rumble though made it likely that they were not on a ship any longer.

A door was suddenly flung open, the light streamed in, blinding her. There were some shrieks and sobs, but most of the women were quiet,likely in shock. Minalde felt a hand slide into hers and looked over at a young Nautolani girl with large black eyes. She could feel the other girl's quiet terror though that touch, and that inspired her to square her shoulders and pull on an invisible mantle of confidence, though her stomach was actually feeling like a ball of ice.

Letting go of the other girls hand she stepped forward. “You have no right to hold us, we are free citizens of the Republic. The mocking laugh of the Houk filled her ears as he casually backhanded her to fly into the wall. Dizzily she slid down,fuzzy thoughts filling her mind, foremost was she needed to push her fear away. Reaching out with her mind, she touched Randall's, the other force sensitive that had been with her. She felt him try to grasp at her thought but easier to grab an handful of sunlight, and she slipped back into darkness.

Randall

A wisp of warmth,reaching to capture it,closing on darkness

Getting away once they landed at the spaceport was laughably easy. He had willed himself to not be seen, something he had always done naturally as breathing, and slipped away from his captors. The only person who had not been fooled by this ability was the Jedi Master who then arranged for him to go to Tython for training. Randall's astonishment when he was discovered had made the Master chuckle, but brought him to the attention of the right person. Master Jenn taught him many of the basic force skills Randall often used. He admitted he was not a warrior, that Randall needed special training beyond his own.

He forced himself to focus on his current situation. He had spent the night casually drifting around the spaceport to gather information. Knowledge was power. As badly as he felt for the other passengers his own sense of survival was always his priority. Except for her. He wondered if she was okay,if he could find her. Like many working spaceports this was an area of chaos, he needed a quiet place to concentrate.

He found a small cantina tucked into the corner of the building. Slipping into a table in the corner, he closed his eyes and focused, picturing her green eyes in his mind. She had touched him once, briefly. He had to find her.

There he could just sense something. He opened his eyes to see a ship lifting off. He watch in despair as it hovered for a second before breaching the atmosphere. That tentative touch broke off and he slammed his fists on the table in anger.

Taking a deep breath, he vowed he would find her, never questioning why he felt that way. Plan. Knowledge is power, he had an ability. He needed the knowledge to use it. He mulled the teaching of the Jedi he had learned so far. No this would not suit his need. There were other places to train. He would go there. He would learn. Destiny would not shape him,he would make his own destiny.

The setup was perfect. The slavers didn’t know the merchandise they were to pick up was a Force user, but that was half the hilarity. And if they survived, well, then Niselle would be out of Nalenne’s no-longer-extant hair: perfection.

Steps sounded behind her vantage point. She turned to see two burly men and her twin standing between them, looking monumentally smug. A little serving droid wheeled around and sprayed something directly at Nalenne’s face.

The last thing she heard before darkness closed was “There seems to have been a mixup in the paperwork, Lenny. You’ve just been sold.”

“What do you mean, I have to use Force lightning?”

“It’s perfectly elementary, apprentice, everybody who’s anybody can do it.” Zash beamed benevolently from behind her desk.

“Yes, but why bother? I could just beat the problem to death.”

“Apprentice.” Zash’s smile faded and she raised her hand. “This is my lesson plan. Don’t disrupt it.”

Lightning sprang from her hands in a long brilliant arc that landed directly on Nalenne’s face. It was like one of Niselle’s temper tantrums only executed by someone competent. Nalenne hunched over, covered her face, and made a blind rush at Zash; traditionally the administering of a good beating would get the lightning to stop.

A force pushed back to stop her. Yet another thing Nis could never get right. This Lord Zash might get really obnoxious.

“Fine,” she yelled over the crackling of the scorching stream. “Maybe Force lightning is useful.”

The painful annoyance stopped at once. Zash smiled radiantly. “I’m so glad you think so.”