W1: Look, if you want to get your husband into the Appropriations Committee, come to the flute recital tonight.

W2: I don't really like flute recitals.

W1: Of course not, dearie but everyone who's anyone will be there. They'll be bored, eager to make new friends...

W2: How is that going to help?

W1: Dear girl, you've a lot to learn about politics. let the men bicker. Someone has to get things done.

S1: Six more votes, and the Outer Rim would have had a dedicated patrol. Just six.

S2: Nothing gets a majority these days. Everyone's looking out for their own interests.

S1: It's not even election season. We can't accomplish anything without a unified body. Do they think they'll get to keep their seats if the Empire comes back?

S2: The posibility doesn't seem to scare certain Senators whose names and planets I won't mention...

Mellekor was forced to seek Vette out in her quarters when he reached the ship.

"Hey," she said when he opened the door.

"You should not have left," he told her.

"I can tell where I'm not needed. Plus I can tell when I'm only needed for really ghoulish entertainment."

"It was a meeting with allies, Vette, and the safest place for you to be. If you insist on leaving the ship in the first place–"

"Which I kind of do, because in spite of my prize-winning houseplant impression I prefer to have something to do with my time–"

"–you had best stay with me. Vowrawn's men were only trying to sting a reaction out of you."

"Well, you can tell 'em they did a great job."

"I will do no such thing. If they wished to direct talk of the political situation to Darth Malgus, there is much that is relevant to discuss in our current atmosphere."

"Yeah, because they had to bring up his girlfriend every thirty seconds?"

"What does it matter if Vowrawn and his apprentices bring up the Daru girl? They can speak of her all they want so long as they do not dare act, and they do not dare act so long as I am Wrath." He scowled. "You should not have left. What they cannot do in my presence they may attempt when we are separated. The only thing worse than your walking out would have been your walking out and my following." He gritted his teeth. He had very nearly followed anyway, which would have told Vowrawn and his friends all they needed to know about Vette's value.

"So everything about Darth Malgus that wasn't 'grr argh galactic conquest' just blew right by you, no problems."

"Correct. So he killed his lover. You are neither my lover nor being killed; there is no cause for concern. No one would be foolish enough to draw that parallel."

"Already done, and probably by a lot more than Vowrawn's guys. Just saying, it isn't all that comforting that you keep pointing out Malgy's a personal hero of yours or something, when he killed his Twi'lek."

"You are not my Twi'lek," he snapped. "We have been over this."

"Still enough to qualify as…whatever it was he killed her for. You know, being too connected or something." She paused, seeming to gauge his reaction. He tried not to give her one. "I'm pretty sure by Sith standards I'm what they call a liability."

He folded his arms across his chest and glowered. "Then why aren't you running?" She was perfectly capable of it.

"Historically that hasn't worked out for your targets."

"My targets?" he said, hearing his voice raise itself and not wishing to stop it. "You are in no danger from me! Perhaps there are those who will pursue you to get to me, but they will not succeed. If you don't believe that, then you, too, are underestimating me. You will not come to harm here."

"Okay. Say that's true. Who's gonna use that fact to distract you at the wrong time?"

"Anyone who tries to use you against me will find more than they bargained for before I even reach the scene."

"That's really flattering, but kind of high-pressure for me."

"This is a waste of time, Vette. Yes, there are those who will pursue you. They will perceive you as defenseless compared to other people of value to me. But this can be controlled, minimized. I will not allow the galaxy to believe that you are the nearest person to my heart."

"Uh," said Vette. "Does anybody believe that?"

He met her gaze and immediately understood the question. "It is a hopeless thing to believe," he said in a lowered voice. "Not to say foolish." She had already walked away once. Besides, he reminded himself, she was beneath him. A warrior's spirit could only raise her so far. "Do as you will," he said sharply. "You are safer here, but you've never let that fact stop you before. I have work to do now; rest assured that I will not ask you to deal with Vowrawn's boors again."

He walked out without waiting for a response. This was a stupid argument to have. He hated what he had felt when Lord Qet's last vicious verbal jab had pushed Vette to walk out. Hated that he'd wanted to go with her. Hated that everyone at that table had been watching for his reaction, watching to see what the little Twi'lek meant to him.

She meant nothing. A worthy ally, perhaps, but nothing more. She was wrong for his ambitions and wrong for his plans. He was Sith. He deserved far better.

Besides, she didn't want his world.

Politics left them little choice. He couldn't leave her out of the realm of his influence, someplace where any enemy of his could easily pick her up and use her against him. He couldn't imprison her here in his shadow. Perhaps all he could do was designate a higher-value target.

Darth Malgus's enemies had struck at Eleena Daru because she was his lover. Lovers were expected, obvious. Easy.

*

Even standing outside Jaesa's quarters Mellekor could feel the inchoate storm of Dark Side energy that she called meditation. Smoke and cacophony where there should be fire and music; today, for once, he didn't care about the distinction.

He let himself in. She stood quickly to greet him. "Master, what is it?"

"It's time," he said, and let her make of that what she wanted to. He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her, hard, until she struggled a little for the space to breathe.

She gasped and looked up at him from beneath lowered brows. "I can taste your disgust, master."

"You want it," he snarled.

Jaesa smiled. "I didn't say it was a bad thing."

Then, for a time, mercifully, she shut up. He swept her to her bed and held her there to mark her as sacrifice and first line of defense for a better woman, and she was fierce and triumphant in being, for once, exactly what he required, though she did not understand what that was.

P.S. Mellekor, you're vile. At least this approach doesn't involve murdering the Twi'lek? The notion is that when the person with zero discretion becomes your lover, next week every Sith on the grapevine knows it and takes it into account when planning strikes. So long as it looks like he gives a damn about Jaesa she becomes the highest-value weakness in sight. Vette's still a viable target, the more so because she looks defenseless compared to any Sith potential target, but having it known that she isn't close to the center of Mellekor's world will help a little. His less thorough enemies wouldn't bother with her.

It's hard not to see Jaesa as a tragic figure when you reflect on how hard she snaps. The Warrior hunts down and destroys everything that ever mattered to her, then breaks her personally, and the kind of Warrior who would have done it the DS way isn't the kind who would have the patience to rehabilitate her. So she gets used instead.

There is nothing in this Galaxy that I love more than my son. Not his mother. Not myself. Not even the Empire. Yes, it is blasphemy to speak such words, but, in my head, such thoughts are safe so long as I never betray them. And I won’t for I love my son and value his safety. I value his future. I have the means to make his future bright and it is impossibly so.

He’s Force sensitive and guaranteed a place on Korriban because of who I know. I don’t have to pull strings, or draw rank. I have an in with someone I daresay I never thought I could call friend again. But she is my friend nonetheless and my son’s future is assured.

There is something, something small gnawing at the back of my head. I must prepare. Whatever this feeling this, is grows everyday adding to my dread.

The end is near and I can feel it. I must ensure my son is safe. He is the future of the Empire and he is all that matters.

When I look into the mirror anymore, I don’t see me. Not the me I’m used to. My eyes aren’t as sharp, my hair’s not as dark. I look tired. I look old. I do this once a week, at least. Stare at myself. Look into my own eyes. I do it to remember who I am. Who I was. Who I am beneath this mask. Who I was before the mask. Who I still am.

I still see the echoes of the man I was. I still have the mark on my cheek. I’ve considered removing it recently, but, well, it’s part of me. I’ve grown used to it these last few decades. I’m almost fond of it. Almost.

Before the mask I was someone else entirely. I never dreamed of becoming this. I had killed before, but it was always a mission to further the Empire. Now I kill to further my wealth. I kill to buy my son’s freedom. His freedom, his return to the Empire will further it. He is the future.

He will return to the Empire and receive the recognition he deserves. Even if he never recognizes my efforts in the shadows.

I don’t need it, I decide. I can barely recognize my own face, let alone any accomplishments this… Ucles has made. That is my name, my alias, my mask.

I bring the mask over my eyes again and feel the silver locks engage over my temples. When I look up, the face isn’t mine anymore. There are scars that never were, eyes that never see the light of day in its purest form, and me, still with the contours of my old face, but forever changed by this tiny mask.

When I step out for the day, I am recognized as Ucles the Bounty Hunter. No one knows my past. And if they look, I am a man who came from the mists. To shoot them in the face.

Such is life.

Aboard Defender-class starship Mistchaser

35 ATC

Rhysven D’Anshir made his way into his cabin, trying not to stagger. His armor seemed to have grown progressively heavier until it felt as though he was draped in neuranium. Tossing his gloves across the room, he rubbed his aching eyes, the room spinning around him.

The sound of the door closing behind him made him turn, instinctively wary, his hands going to the lightsabers on his belt.

“Hey, relax,” Kira said softly as she stepped into the room, smiling at him. “It’s just me.”

Rhys relaxed his stance with a sigh. “Sorry. I’ve had a very long day.”

A somber expression flickered across her face for an instant. “I know. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Can you do it while I lie down? I think I’ve killed more Sith today than most sane people encounter in a lifetime.”

Kira glided up to him and ran her hands across his chest plate, her long fingers making quick work of the straps and buckles. The pressure on his body lessened slightly when she removed the heavy armoring and set it aside. He reached for her as she turned back to him, but she took hold of his hand before he could slip an arm around her waist and draw her to him for a kiss.

“You need to rest,” she told him firmly. “And I need to tell you something very important. No distractions.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

She didn’t answer, instead towing him over to the bed and giving him a small Force push. Taking the hint, he lay down, his overextended muscles savoring the sensation of being horizontal. He tried to pull her down next to him, but she neatly dodged and circled around the bed, seating herself gracefully on the edge of the mattress and regarding him with a grim expression.

He folded his hands over his stomach. “So. What has you looking so gloomy?”

Kira looked down at the pillow next to his, the one she normally occupied when they thought they could get away with it. “This isn’t easy for me to say,” she murmured. “But I can’t just ignore it any longer.”

Rhys had a sudden sinking feeling.

“Over the past few months,” she continued, “there’s been a growing darkness. In the whole galaxy, really, but I can’t help but notice it in—in you.”

A chill washed over him. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged.

“I wanted to believe that it was just a coincidence, but after all this time, I just don’t think it is. You’re getting ruthless.” Kira swallowed hard. “You’ve been killing. Killing where it’s not necessary, where there were alternatives clearly present.”

He frowned at her. “Surely you don’t expect me to show mercy to our enemies?”

“Not when those enemies used to be our friends!” she snapped. “Warren Sedoru, Tol Braga… Neither of them were past redemption.”

“I couldn’t take that chance.”

“Why not?”

Rhys shook his head. “They were touched by the dark side. Even if I’d let them live, they would have been forever tainted by it.”

Kira looked at him pleadingly. “Do you really believe that?”

“Would I be saying it if I didn’t?” he snapped, feeling tiny sparks of annoyance start to flicker inside him. “We’re at war. Mercy is a luxury I cannot afford.”

“Stars, Rhys, can’t you hear what you’re saying? You’re not acting like yourself. You haven’t been for months, now.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he demanded, sitting up. “Let the Sith trample across the galaxy unchecked? If we’re going to win this, we have to meet them force for force. We can’t show weakness.”

“Since when is mercy a weakness?” she cried. “You sound like a Sith, yourself!”

The sparks ignited a flame of anger, and he lunged around to sit on his knees in directly front of her. “Do not call me a Sith,” he growled.

She remained calm under the force of his glare, despite the fact that his face was only a few inches away from hers. In the Force, she felt very sad. “You’re falling,” she whispered. “You’re falling, and I can’t bear to sit back and watch it any longer. I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything anymore?”

Rhys stared at her for a long moment, his anger slowly draining away as the full realization of what he had just done registered with his brain. He shifted away from Kira and bowed his head, unable to look at her. “I… Stars, Kira,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You need to talk to Master Satele.”

“I don’t have time,” he protested. “We’re en route to Dromund Kaas. In a matter of hours, I’ll be facing the Emperor.”

She put her other hand under his chin and directed his face upwards. “I know. I wanted to say this to you earlier, but I couldn’t get you alone… Scourge was always skulking around nearby. I don’t trust him.”

“Frankly, I don’t either, but we need him.”

“We do,” she agreed reluctantly, then sighed. “I just want all of this to be over.”

“So do I,” Rhys said. “I’m so tired…”

Kira smiled faintly. “You’ve been carrying the fate of the entire galaxy on your shoulders for months now. That’s more than any one man should have to carry, even a man as capable as you.”

“I know I’m close to the edge,” he admitted. “I just didn’t want to realize it.” He shook his head. “I would gladly sacrifice myself to defeat the Emperor. Whether that means my life, my sanity, my place in the light…”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she whispered, caressing his jaw.

“Whatever I have to do,” Rhys said determinedly, “I’m going to end this. And when it’s all said and done, I—I will go to Master Satele. I’ll get help. I promise.”

Kira kissed his cheek. “I believe you. Now, you should try to sleep a little.”

He let her push him down onto the mattress, then caught her wrist as she started to rise. “Stay with me?” he asked plaintively.

She grinned and crawled up next to him, letting him snuggle her into his arms. “I suppose I could use a nap too.”

Rhys pressed his lips against her hair. “I need you, Kira. I need you to help me get through this.”

“Of course,” she said, nestling into his hold. “I’m not about to abandon you. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

“No matter what,” he echoed softly, then closed his eyes.

In-game, the disconnect between Kira's reactions to Rhys' increasingly dark-sided choices in the storyline and the way they interacted in Kira's conversations was so huge it was mind-boggling. How the woman managed to be in a relationship with him even as he ended mission after mission with negative Kira Carsen affection is beyond me. Thus, this scene, which enables things to make a little more sense. At least, I hope it does.

Edit - Oh, and the 35 ATC at the beginning is not a typo. There are reasons that this takes place so far down the line.

11 BTC

My dearest Dolarra,

I received your note dated the third. I’m glad you’re all right, ‘if a little tired’.

Nothing short of a black hole slows you down, and so when you admit to being a little tired I start to wonder. I hope things are already looking up for you. I know I can’t exactly be there for all the hard days, but I hope you know I’m thinking of you, and I certainly hope you know that you’re going to be all right.

I’m guessing some demand of the job has you down on yourself. You can tell me the details, or not, as you like, once we’re together. For now I will only say that I love you, and you’re not nearly as awful as you probably feel right now.

In fact you’re not even a little bit awful. And, wherever you are, whatever you have to deal with, you do have friends and people willing to support you. People respond to you, Dolarra, and gladly. They do it because you’re wonderful. They do it because you make every world you visit a better place. I can say that without knowing every little detail of what you’ve been doing and saying because I know you. I know how good your intentions are and how very good you are at bringing them about. I know your kindness, your humour and your strength. I know the way you never saw a problem of the heart you didn’t want to fix.

And I know the way you see people, sometimes better than they see themselves, and help them find what they need. Like you did for me, dearest, when I was sure my whole life was going to be sterile study in someone else’s house.

Take care of yourself. Rest if you need to. Help yourself to the best comfort food you can find; if you need permission for that you officially have mine. Practice the tune you want to get stuck in my head when next we meet: such are the weapons you take home with you. And remember always, ‘Lara, that you are good, you are worthy, and you are loved. Read that sentence as many times as it takes. It won't wear out.

Yours, no matter the delay and no matter the distance,

Colran

Jedi Knight Sydin hurried down the hall and reached the refresher just before the squad of Dread Forces came around the hall. Quickly he glanced in the mirror and pulled out the traditional braid he'd kept in his hair even after graduating from Padawan to Knight.

Then he stripped off his tan and brown shirt, stuffed it in a bag, and put on a black-and-red robe. As he left the refresher he clipped his double-bladed lightsaber to his belt, wishing he'd had time to take a red color crystal before he had been sent to infiltrate the Dread Guard. Still, it wasn't a disaster; a fair amount of Sith, even amongst the Dread Masters' forces, used purple blades.

"There you are," rumbled a frighteningly calm voice.

Sydin whirled and saw a Dread Guard commander standing behind him, arms crossed. His face was, as usual, covered with the expressionless appearance of the golden scarecrow-visage of the Dread Masters' Sith followers. Sydin decided to say nothing.

"Come, then," growled the commander.

Sydin nodded, followed the commander. He wondered if they were on to him. The Dread Guard commander led him into a dark chamber that resembled a throne room. Sydin fingered his double-bladed saber instinctively.

"No need for that," an amused voice rasped. "Step forward."

Sydin did so, and shuddered as he passed through a field of dark side energy.

"Stand before me now," said the Dread Master Raptus, "and be reborn."

Sydin is not my canon Barsen'thor. He is a Jedi Shadow who, obviously, infiltrated the Dread Masters.

"Sir, I was checking our report logs, and I…I didn't mean to pry. But while I was looking for something else I saw you were applying to a…program, after this mission is done."

"Yeah," I said. We were alone in medbay; it had been a quiet evening. I didn't really want to talk about this, but it was about her. May as well come clean. "Just some counseling stuff, when I get the time."

"You've always seemed to deal very well with the symptoms of trauma. It can't have been easy. In fact, I didn't expect…that is, you've always spoken so dismissively of any kind of therapy."

"If it were just me I'd still be ignoring it." Her look was questioning. I took a deep breath. "It's you. If…when we get the chance to stay the night, together. It's…it's been a long time since I stayed. With anyone." I tried to fit words together for a minute. "If I…dream, it's not because of you."

"I know that," she said.

I took her hands. They were so slim in mine. Slim but strong, callused. Beautiful, like everything about her. I took her hands and decided that for her I could admit it: I was scared. "If I'm seeing something, remembering. When I wake up." I looked at our hands. I looked at her face. "You should never have to dodge."

I'm not sure anything I ever said touched her like that did. I could see it in her eyes. "Vierce," she whispered, and squeezed my hands. "I do trust you."

I wrapped my arms around her, loose enough not to trap. I shouldn't have worried; she leaned into me anyway. So I held her, drawing my steadiness from hers. "I mean to live up to that trust," I said. "Whatever it takes."

For her? Whatever it takes.

Imperial Intelligence Headquarters, Dromund Kaas

11 ATC

“I’m mounting an operation against the Republic Strategic Information Service,” Keeper said briskly. She had to keep things moving, had to focus on the mission at hand and not how tired she was. She had to give the information required and not think about the fact that she was giving it to a man who had somehow convinced a Dark Council member to stand down and go into exile… Stars, how had he managed it?

She shook head quickly; she was letting herself get distracted. “Our concern is this man,” she said quickly. “Ardun Kothe.”

Cipher Nine stood stolidly in parade rest on the other side of the desk as Keeper moved to activate the holo. She stared at the buttons without seeing them for a moment, then returned to her senses and brought up the image, resisting the urge to yawn with every bit of willpower she possessed.

“SIS for nearly a decade, responsible for sixteen covert projects in the Mid Rim,” she explained. “The best spymaster our enemies have.”

She waited for Cipher Nine to respond, but he remained silent, staring at the holo with pale green eyes that burned like marsh lights.

“Cipher?” Keeper asked softly. Perhaps the turmoil of the past few days was getting to him, too.

He turned that cold-fire gaze on her. “Tell me what you want me to do. Sir.”

She blinked, feeling as if there were two jade-green targeting lasers fixed on her face. “This plan has been in motion for some time,” she said, a bit unsteadily. “Ardun Kothe’s division recently received a classified sanction from the Republic Senate. Complete autonomy; no restrictions on their activities. The Republic believes Kothe can win the war. We need to know what he has planned.”

“So it’s an infiltration mission,” Cipher Nine murmured.

He wasn’t usually so…abrupt. “Yes, that’s correct,” Keeper said warily. “I want you to make contact with the SIS and offer to be their spy inside the Empire. We’ve arranged the background.”

“Objective, sir?” Cipher Nine inquired coolly. He had gone back to staring at the holo somewhere in the middle of her explanation.

Keeper frowned. “Is something wrong, Cipher?”

“No, sir,” he said blandly. “Please, carry on.”

This was all very strange. “Your objective is to earn their confidence, uncover their plan, and eliminate Ardun Kothe himself.”

Cipher Nine’s face remained deliberately blank, but his eyes lit up with an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint. If only she were better at reading people...

“Are you sure you’re all right, Cipher?” Keeper found herself asking.

One corner of his mouth quirked upwards in an expression that was equally attractive and chilling. She forced herself to disregard the first variable and focus on the second as he replied, “I’m perfectly all right, sir.”

“I should warn you now,” she told him, “this sort of work can be psychologically taxing. It’s a long-term, deep cover mission. You will be isolated—even most other Intelligence personnel won’t know the truth.”

“I can handle it, sir.”

Keeper nodded. “I have faith in your abilities. We’ve set up a meet with one of Ardun Kothe’s men. You leave for Nar Shaddaa within the hour. You understand your mission?”

Cipher Nine smiled fully. “Pose as a defector, infiltrate the SIS, and…” His eyes flicked to the holo. “Kill Ardun Kothe.”

“Bury whatever loyalties you have,” Keeper advised. “You’ll know when the time comes to strike.”

“Yes,” Cipher Nine murmured. “I imagine I will.”

Why look, it's a bunch of setup and subtext! DUN DUN DUN

Hadock's consciousness soon faded after his words to his departing brother. He awoke in a daze what felt like several hours later, in pitch black the entire warehouse had caved in around him.

"Great. Fantastic. I'm half dead stuck in a caved in warehouse covered by ten meters of sand. My brother left me here to rot. I'm rather sure that my life can only get better from here! " he said remembering his brothers cold look as he turned away , leaving him to die.

Hadock had almost resigned himself to his fate when he heard voices from somewhere above him.

"Move that rubble out the way! We need to find out what tech was left here in this place and take it back to Intelligence HQ immediately!" A loud voice with a very heavy Imperial accent barked out.

Soon the sounds of heavy equipment moving rubble and sand from over him arose like a great symphonic orchestra, lead by the galaxy's finest maestro.

"Help! I'm alive under here! Someone get me out!" Hadock yelled out several times, desperately for what seemed like an eternity each time he could feel more and more of his life slowly draining away from him.

Soon the sound of equipment stopped crushing him even further than the weight of the rubble on top of him. Yet again as he lost hope a small beam of light cast from Tattooines two suns shone through the rubble over him lighting his face up and returning hope to the helpless man.

Soon more light appeared through the rubble along with the sounds of people moving debris and the occasional small talk between the work crew.

"Hey Ravness you gonna need help movin that pebble or are you gonna rough up your pretty lil hands?!" a deep baratone voice spoke it's owner barely stressing as he moved the final few layers of debris by hand.

"Well fixer twenty two you are the one who indeed volunteered for the heavy lifting portion of this job. I believe you were to Manly for documenting any of our sure to be interesting discoveries. So keep on lifting big boy!" a woman responded from nearby her snide voice cutting through the air.

With his final bit of energy Hadock yelled once more "Help me! I'm trapped under here! Someone anyone I don't care who! Just get me out of here!" His usual calm and smooth voice strained with fright as it reverberated through the air.

"Ravness get the boss! Tell him we got a survivor here! " The man sounded almost elated at his discovery and now was rummaging through the rubble with a renewed vigor.

The full light of Tattooines sun's nearly blinded Hadock as the last layer of debris was pulled from over him a huge set of hands emerged from the light and pulled him from the darkness, lifting him up and carrying him over to rest on the scalding hot sands.

"Deros you blasted idiot what are you waiting for?! He's more injured than the weakest kath pup in the litter after a brawl for their mothers milk! Get some kolto in him now! The boss just called for a evac shuttle the others will finish up the search." The woman's voice rang through the air like two large symbols hitting each other at a high rate of speed.

Hadock felt the pr*ck of a needle on his skin and smiled weakly as the kolto worked it's way into his system. His smile stayed on his face as his eyes slipped shut and he faded into a state of unconsciousness.

Though I'm not entirely sure if this qualifies as something to go under life and death. I just couldn't find any other prompts that really would work well with this piece.

Talos and I had been sharing loft space in the two hundred block of Kaas City for a little more than a week. We were both private people and did not share the same social circles, or more accurately I did not have a social circle. I had stopped for a drink one night, after another fruitless search for something to occupy my time, choosing the cantina for no reason other than proximity to my new lodgings. I was surprised to find Talos there with what appeared to be a gathering of current and former Reclamation Service Officers.

My entrance did not go unnoticed and the conversation surrounding him ceased as all eyes focused on me. It was more than apparent that I was the topic of discussion. As I approached, the small circle surrounding Talos excused themselves with friendly words of parting. Several of them granted me strange looks as they passed, some fearful, some accusatory, and none friendly. I looked to Talos to gauge his temper. He smiled at me welcomingly enough but there was an uneasiness about his eyes that had not been there previously. I would have felt disappointment, but I had long grown used to looks of mistrust even from my closest companions. It was not entirely undeserved.

I gathered my wits and found an empty seat next to my new lodgemate. I decided then that no matter the cost to myself he deserved to know the unvarnished truth about my past. Perhaps the truth would not be as terrible as the rumors, though I was uncertain how that could be.

"Talos," I greeted and waived to the serving droid.

"M-malavai," he returned nursing his glass.

I raised a brow at his use of my given name, "I apologize for chasing off your friends."

"No," he laughed weakly. "They were already leaving." He looked around us as if he too were looking for a reason to escape but found that we were entirely alone except for serving droids.

"Is something wrong, Talos? You seem a bit distressed."

He opened his mouth then closed it, then opened it again to swallow the rest of his drink. I waited for him to find the right words. "It's nothing really. My friends just told me some things about you, some things about the end of your service with the military is all. I'm certain it's just a silly rumor, too silly to even repeat really."

I would not lie to him. "I'm afraid it's true, Talos. I did help to kill the Emperor."

"You killed the Emperor!" He squeaked and looked around fearfully. Fortunately there were only droids that had been programmed to ignore drunken maunderings.

"It's complicated," I tried to explain. "It really was for the good of the Empire."

He stared at me for a moment longer before managing to say, "That's not what they were telling me about." He fiddled with his glass and the serving droid refilled it. "They were telling me about your activities during our Corellia offensive."

"Ahh, yes." I said with resignation, once again reminded of one of my greatest regrets. "I conspired with Darth Baras to kill the Wrath."

"You tried to kill the Wrath!" He screeched the latter part of his statement muffled as I clapped my hand over his mouth. He pulled away from me, wide eyed and bewildered and for once I was terribly confused.

"Talos, if not that, then what in the galaxy did they tell you?"

"They," he trailed off as words failed him. "They told me that it was you who infiltrated the Republic Foundation Museum with the Wrath. It was you who destroyed priceless Republic artifacts while taking out the Green Jedi."

I stared at my friend and housemate while recalling the offensive clearly. I advised Lord Ninka at the time that the destruction of the artifacts would indeed be a punishing blow to Republic morale. I downed my drink and narrowed my eyes.

"I would never," I said sternly, "destroy artifacts of such import regardless of whose history they represented."

Talos's face transformed from fear to relief. He beamed and waived at the serving droid to pour us another round. "I knew you couldn't be as bad as they said."

In my longer Remi story the part about the Emperor has more meaning than it does here, but it still fits with the Voss events so I left it vague so that it still makes sense to people who don't know the full version.

The Emperor is dead; at least that's what the galaxy says. Only his voice is really dead. Methic, his Wrath, uses the Emperor's absence to change the Empire how he can; for the better. Malavai Quinn, who has earned his forgiveness, begins a romance with Jaesa Willsaam. Methic's brother and cousin, Jasin and Gareb, are Jedi Knights, and he often collaborates with them to take down Sith he considers a threat to the order of the Empire.

Darth Nox, formerly Lord Tran'thar, is the only alien on the Dark Council, being a Twi'lek. He is ruthless and vies for power, sending his personal apprentice Xalek to kill Darth Rictus, an elderly Dark Council member who is a threat to Nox's machinations. He discovers Methic's ties to the Jedi and tries to use it against him. However, in the process he is injured and becomes amnesiac.

Agent Merok, formerly Cipher Nine, is secretly a Republic SIS agent. He still pretends to be a loyal Imperial agent, but wherever possible he sabotages the Empire. This is not to say he is blindly loyal to the Republic; his true loyalties lie with his people, the Chiss Ascendancy. However, he now considers the Empire unworthy of the Ascendancy's cooperation, and he now tests the Republic for the same conclusion.

Dha, Grand Champion of the Great Hunt, is not a fugitive of the Empire, as he expected he would be by killing Darth Tormen. He continues taking contracts for both the Republic and the Empire, though he prefers not to work for the Empire due to his past, in which Tormen launched an attack on his homeworld Mandalore, killing his parents. His wife, Mako, becomes pregnant and he returns to Mandalore with his crew to build a home where Mako can be safe.

Jasin, Hero of Tython, has become more and more prominent among the Jedi. As the supposed slayer of the Emperor, he is renowned throughout the galaxy, and he tries to avoid public appearances whenever possible. He is just one man, he insists, working for the good of the galaxy. He, along with his cousin Gareb, attempt to help the Revanites rise up against the Empire. He knows that Methic is trying to change the Empire for the better and helps him when possible.

Gareb is the Barsen'thor of the Jedi Order, the leader of the Rift Alliance. He takes his place on the Jedi Council reluctantly, and takes whatever opportunity he can to be on the frontlines with his cousin. He knows Methic, Jasin's brother, is a Sith, and resents him for it, though he still goes along with Jasin and Methic's schemes to better the Empire.

Havoc Squad's commander, Prudii, has received an HK-51 unit, and has reprogrammed it to be an effective Special Forces soldier. Prudii joined the Republic after his family's farm was razed by the Empire.

Dankin, the Voidhound, leads his smugglers' alliance to help the Republic, though this is only so they overlook his shadier activities. Despite this, he is somewhat of a patriot; at least, he hates the Empire. His parents, Chernan and Dinua, are Mandalorians, and his brother, Backblast, is a Republic soldier.

It is not happenstance that brings Dankin, Backblast, Merok, and Dha to Mandalore at the same time. Chernan is injured in a hunt, and Dankin and Backblast come to help him. Merok is spreading discord against the Empire on the planet. While there, the planet is attacked by the Dread Masters. Backblast, Dankin, and Merok send separate calls for help, Backblast to the Republic, Dankin to his smugglers' alliance, and Merok both to the Republic and Empire.

Dha calls back to his forest home, ordering Torian and Gault to protect his pregnant wife. The crew comes to Keldabe, where the Dread Masters' attack is centralized. With Jasin, Prudii, and Gareb leading the Republic and Methic and Darth Nox–still amnesiac–leading the Empire, the Dread Masters are quickly put at a standstill. However, Mandalore realizes the attack was a diversion, allowing the Dread Masters to enter the beskar mines.

The battle goes there, and Raptus, the Dread Masters' leader, is injured before they are forced to retreat, in the process causing a cave-in. All but a few escape the collapse, and Malavai Quinn and Gault are badly injured in the collapse. Darth Nox and Khem Val are also caught, and Nox regains his memory when a rock strikes his head. Khem breaks them out, and Methic and Dha retrieve Quinn and Gault.

Soon Dha's baby is born, and the march to Makeb begins...

I’d heard about Dravis Tallin from about fifteen different people before I’d ever even laid eyes on him. The picture I’d created of him was like one of those scoundrel types from the holovids that you watch as a kid and pretend you don’t know exist or that you never liked when you’re an adult.

Detailed stories of being able to charm the parts off a droid, rumors of a forbidden romance with the headmaster's daughter, having a never-ending supply of escape routes, both literal and figurative, for his schemes, even a campus-wide story about some sort of escapade in the headmaster’s office. Dravis had them all. One library aide had even told me a rather graphic story about a rancor liver, two gallons of Corellian brandy and the garbage disposal unit in one of the dorms, but I wasn’t sure about that one yet.

Today, I would join him.

Dravis Tallin wasn’t just another person who enjoyed his nose of those in authority, you see. The guy was a legend in his first year at the Academy, and the leader of fearless individuals who sought to liberate their fellow cadets from the tyranny of upperclassmen, the Code of Conduct, and the terror of Chef Rupert McKenzie’s cooking in Mess Hall Four.

Depending on who you asked, his powers were either unnatural from his Sith upbringing on Dromund Kaas, the natural result of his Jedi training on Tython, or some unholy combination of the two. However he did it, he had worked his way to be the shadowy puppet-master of all that went on in our class.

It was a perfect opportunity, I was sure of it. I'd done everything I could to prepare, even joined forces with one of Dravis' pals to try to worm my way into his good graces. Admittedly, my successes in the library and the music room had benefited from the fact that my huttball status helped alleviate suspicion from authorities, but I had talent too. Talent I hoped Dravis Tallin could put to good use, as it'd beat the hell out of practicing huttball all the time.

I turned the corner into the Gizka Union Hall, and nearly walked face first into five and a half feet of human perfection.

“Hey Ayrs!” Rissa beamed at me. Bless her soul, she even kept smiling through my stupified silence.

"Uhhhh, hey Rissa," I responded. To enhance my charming response, I also started to shuffle my feet and began sweating profusely. Romance came naturally to me.

“Sorry, I'd love to catch up with you, but I’ve got a presentation for Battlefield Medicine. Maybe I’ll run into you later, and I can tell you about it."

She smiled again, winked, and continued on her way. I stood there, mouth wide open like the dumb farm boy I tried so hard not to be. At least I'm not drooling.The next intelligent or charming thing I said to Rissa Harvin would be the first. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I felt an arm around my shoulder, and heard a cool voice in my ear.

“Hey there, chum. I heard you were asking around for me. I realize I’m a popular guy with hordes of admirers after my precious time, so I figured I’d save you the trouble. Wouldn't want someone of your skills to get lost in the shuffle.”

Dravis Tallin favored me with a toothy grin. His smile was famous for its effect on everyone from a newborn babe to the elderly woman who processed the inventory for the laundry. He steered me carefully through the crowd and towards a relatively quiet study room, where two other cadets were waiting.

The male, a Zabrak who looked like he took guys like me apart for breakfast, merely grunted. His companion, a diminutive woman with close-cropped red hair and cute freckles, smiled cautiously. Dravis leaned his trim frame against the wall and crossed his arms in front of him.

“Tell me, Ayrs, why is it you want to join the Gizka Union Liberation Front?”

Thoughts raced furiously through my mind, as did uncertainty about what he wanted to hear. Intramural huttball and academics were fine, but this was my chance at some real fun. Dravis and his people had successfully pulled off pranks years of cadets had failed at. These weren’t amateurs like Avir and Tom back home. Working with someone like Dravis would push me to be my best…maybe not in the most constructive way, but not like Mom would ever know. Hopefully. Maker help me if she did.

“Some people like to be tested physically, some people intellectually. I can get all that in the classroom or playing huttball. I’m looking for the real Corulag Academy experience, and I’m willing to work to prove my usefulness. I’m here to be the best of the best, and that’s what you guys are.”

The Zabrak grunted again, the girl gave me the same noncommittal smile. Dravis looked faintly amused. He leaned forward, his gangly frame looking completely incapable of keeping him upright.

“Look, chum. If I had any real questions or concerns about you, you wouldn't be here. I run a tight outfit....as far as outfits like mine go that is. I think me and you will get along famously, as long as you answer this next question”

I nodded. “Go for it.”

“What do you think of that Mon Calamari, Ortola?”

Excerpt from The Turning Point: An Oral History of the Corellian Campaign

Before being relieved by forces from Labor Valley, a ragtag, extemporized force made up of three companies of the 1st Battalion, 776th Infantry Regiment (91st Division), and about fifty native Corellian irregulars, held on to Republic entrenchments in Axial Park. The 91st had been recruited almost entirely on Anaxes, such that it was nicknamed the 'Azure Division'. Anaxsi heritage was a point of pride for the men and women of the 1/776, who had bonded over local culture and songs ever since boot camp. Daily challenges would be the names of Anaxsi sports teams or pop culture figures, a custom that bemused the CorSec officers attached to the battalion - but which also helped make the unit's security watertight against Imperial infiltrators.

The night before Republic reinforcements were due to pass through the 1/776's lines was somewhat hectic, and many of the Azure troops were on edge. Privates Luke Notaras and Nick Xiphias were manning an outpost in a bombed-out building on the edge of the park, taking shelter from the rain, when they heard movement to their rear. Notaras recounted,

Nick and I, we'd been hearing about friendly-fire incidents with the guys coming up with the 54th that night. [The 54th Division made up the bulk of the forces transferred to Axial Park by General Aves.] Fifty-fourth guys, they weren't gonna be Azure, so we didn't know if the challenge would work, if they'd been told about it or anything, but we talked it over and decided to call it out anyway and figure things out from there, you know?

 

So Nick sings out, 'Himerios', and a few seconds later the voice comes back 'Kalekas'. It was the right answer, and right accent, but we didn't know the voice, you see. It was a woman's voice, and weren't many of them left in the Seven-Seventy-Sixth, not by then.

 

So anyway, she walks over, and get this, who do we see but the kriffing Hero of Tython herself. Now, I mean, everybody with an Azure patch knew Master Sunflash. [At this point, Marade Sunflash, while she was commander of all Jedi forces on Corellia, had not yet been made a Jedi Master.] Lotta Navy guys from Anaxes, everybody knows about them, but us Azure dogfaces, we didn't get the pub. Marade Sunflash, though, she was from Anaxes, so the dogfaces kinda claimed her as one of us, you know? She was a Jedi, but she was doing the same stuff any grunt was doing, down in the mud, except with a glowstick instead of a rifle. Hero of Tython, shee, anybody in the Seven-Seventy-Sixth would say 'Hero of Anaxes' instead.

 

So me and Nick, our mouths are hanging open as she walks over. She just smiles and says she's there to get out of the rain, asks us if there was anything we needed. Now, I'm not gonna go complainin' to a galactic hero or anything, but Nick, he gets all cheeky and says we could use some caf. So, get this, she reaches into her belt pouch and hands him a caf packet. Then she stands watch with me while Nick brews it up. Spent the next few hours sharing it out with us until the watch was over and we were relieved.

 

Shee. Master Sunflash wasn't our commander or anything, but she was definitely Azure. One of us. Our whole unit, we rotated out of Coronet after that, but we were watching the surrender broadcast, and I'll tell you, we all cheered our kriffing lungs out when we saw her on the holocam.

In later years, at unit reunions, Notaras frequently told his story by prefacing it with, "The Hero of Tython saved my life one night."

Referential stuff and humor:

Marade Sunflash is the name of a character in Matt Stover's Acts of Caine series, played by the Actress Olga Bergmann, a "real hero" (in contrast to Caine, the main character), a Knight of Khryl, a human endowed with superhuman strength and stamina by the god Khryl, the Lord of Battles. Khryllian knights represent medieval European chivalry's popular perception in both its most positive aspects - the "save the innocents, does not make war on women and children, etc." stuff - and negative ones - basically codified under the TVtrope "Knight Templar". Marade is basically all hero, no villain, unlike other Khryllians, but during the Adventure Retreat from the Boedecken, largely because of Caine, she has to endure some...pretty bad things, leaving her with psychological problems that ultimately lead to her death by torture and...abuse in Yalitrayya during the Adventure Race for the Crown of Dal'kannith.

So when I made my Jedi Knight, I basically wanted to create a Marade, but with a happy ending.

The anecdote in the story is adapted from one told by veterans of the 82nd (US) Airborne Division about General James Gavin during the Normandy campaign, as recounted in Guy LoFaro's The Sword of St. Michael.

First Battalion, 776th IR is a pretty blatant reference to "1776", a year with some significance in American history, apparently.

Due to my interest in military history, I've always sort of liked the idea of Anaxes, a world that produced some of the finest soldiers and admirals in galactic history, home of the Anaxes War College, and possessor of its own fierce regional identity due to the Azure Imperium, an ancient pre-Republic empire centered in the Axum system. I've sort of headcanon-ed that a lot of Anaxsi have Byzantine Greek names, because I'm goofy like that. (In the actual EU, notable Anaxsi include Wullf Yularen of TCW fame, and Tyber Zann from Galaxy at War.) The privates in the story got their names from Loukas Notaras, a statesman under the Palaiologoi, and Nikephoros Xiphias, a general officer during the reign of Basileios II Boulgaroktonos.

Dha turned and fired a snap-shot behind him, cutting down the Cartel Regulator soldier. These guys had been on his tail ever since he'd left Makeb, just days ago. Now, they'd found him in his old stomping grounds, the Club Vertica casino.

Sighing, he holstered his blaster and glanced around to make sure he was clear. Then he removed his helmet and wiped sweat from around his cranial horns. Then he put his helmet back on, glanced around, and moved for his rented speeder.

He was sick of those kriffing Regulators getting in his–

Suddenly a blaster shot knocked him off his feet. Wincing, he rolled with the blow and reached for his blaster. Stupid, stupid! Who...?

Turning, he pumped the Regulator behind him full of blaster bolts. These dikut'la morons were really getting on his nerves now. How many were there? He scanned the area? There: one hiding behind a slot machine, and another in the prominently-displayed speeder that was always awarded as a grand prize for winners, and another up on the balcony.

He jetpacked into the air and shot the one in the speeder, a clean headshot. Then he landed with his boot planted in the face of them man behind the slot machine. As the guy started to stand, Dha rammed his knuckle vibroblade into his gullet.

By then, the one on the balcony had a bead on him.

Dha never had a chance to move. The blaster bolt whizzed through the air, took him in the shoulder, and spun him around. He landed in the ground, grunting in pain. His armored shoulder plate had taken most of the bolt, but part of it had gotten past his armor and through the jumpsuit underneath. Wincing, he tried to stand, knowing even as he did that he was dead.

Yanking his blaster off the ground, he turned and started to fire–

And took another bolt in the chest. He was thankful for his beskar'gam–he would be dead right now without it.

He tried to get up; saw even as he did that it was too late. The sniper on the balcony had his weapon trained on Dha's forehead. His helmet was strong, might even take a glancing blow, or even a direct one on the temple or cheek. But the visor was fragile; the bolt would shear clean through it and kill him.

Suddenly there was a single shot, and the sniper fell off the balcony, dead. Dha frowned in surprise for a moment. Then a man came down the balcony and grinned at Dha.

"Need a hand?"

Dha winced, nodded. "Yeah."

The man grabbed Dha by the wrist and hoisted him up. The two looked over each other for a moment, Dha tracing the man's brown jacket and dart-shooting gauntlets, the other man's cybernetic gaze taking in Dha's Mandalorian armor. At once they both realized they were looking at someone who was technically supposed to be an enemy.

"Dha," he introduced himself.

The other man replied, "Strategic Intelligence Service agent Theron Shan."

Dha nodded. "Well...thanks."

"Couldn't let a guy be killed in cold blood. Not even a Mandalorian."

"I'd do the same," Dha responded. "I'm an honorable warrior, not a cruel murderer, though some may argue."

Theron nodded. "Well, I know about your connection to Havoc Squad."

"My brother."

"Yes. It was a favor to you as well as him."

"Well, I'll return it someday. Or he will, more likely."

Theron smiled. "Looking forward. Take care, warrior."

"You too, spy."

They parted ways there, a Republic spy and a Mandalorian warrior, both honorable, both considered heroes by their people. Maybe one day, Dha mused, the Republic and the Mandalorians could be on the same side. But until Mandalore said so...it was a sad thought, but Dha had just been saved by an enemy.

Miriah lay still, eyes closed, relishing the sensation of her husband’s hands traveling down her back. She’d finally warmed up from their travels on Hoth, searching for a seed that was corrupting the wildlife there. Blasted thing should have just frozen, like everything else on Hoth, she thought. She sighed when Corso used his thumbs to gently massage the soreness in her lower back. She was silent for a while, then asked the question that had been on her mind since the howling wind on the ice planet had given her a headache.

“Sugar, are we getting too old for this game? I mean, we’re doing good things for the Republic and all, but I wonder if I’m as needed as I used to be.” She still had her eyes closed but she knew he was frowning, and his hands had stopped their soothing whisper over her skin.

“Hmm, feeling old, kitten?” he chuckled. “I think you just hate being cold, and void knows there’s no other way to be on Hoth.” He resumed his massage, feeling her sleek muscles shift under the velvet soft skin. “You know those folks on Makeb are sure glad we were there. Still, I suppose if you want to join the retired smuggler community..” He chuckled again at the sidelong glare she gave him. “You know, you never opened the package that you got from the requisition office.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said thoughtfully, grabbing the robe she’d put near the bed and stood, wrapping it around her body. She followed Corso out of their quarters and into the hold, watching as he used his tools to open the crate. She grinned as he pulled out the armor it contained.

“Whoa, that’s excellent stuff, Mir. That blaster alone is worth, well, a lot!” He turned the weapon over in his hands, noting the writing on the grip. “Look at this. It says, ‘Captain Miriah Chantalle-Riggs, Hero of Makeb’. I’d say they took a great liking to you there, love.” He watched as her face showed what she was thinking, that maybe she wasn’t ready to lay down her blaster after all. The smile started slowly, and grew across her features, making her eyes dance.

“I suppose it would be a waste to leave this stuff in a crate,” she said slowly, fingering the weave of the material. She giggled as she gathered up the items and ran to their quarters, Corso followed, the new blaster looking like a toy in his large hands. She turned to him after putting the gear away, and threw her arms around his neck. “You have this uncanny ability to read my mind, sugar. Any idea what I’m thinking now?” She smiled and took his hand, leading him to their bed.

Later, when they were nearing sleep, she looked into the dark brown eyes that she loved, and asked, “Ready for more adventures, sugar?” He smiled and kissed her, knowing that as long as they were together, he was ready for anything.

When he joined the Imperial Reclamation Service he knew the risks involved. Escaping his father’s ire was the least of his concerns when weighed against the constant threat of death during discovery. But the prospect was too exciting to pass up. Over his many years in the service he made many significant discoveries all culminating in his most exciting, yet equally frustrating, assignment.

Perhaps frustrating was incorrect. Then again, it was likely more correct than any other term he could think of at the moment and thinking was ever so hard with her so close. And the way she smiled up at him as they swayed through the crowd. He hadn’t felt his knees shake this hard since the first time he entered a tomb. That seemed so long ago.

“You’re frowning,” Aldria said quietly.

He started at the sound of her voice. Oh, dear, he had spaced off. He smiled a bit shyly and focused his eyes on her.

“Just thinking, my Lord,” he replied cheerily.

“What about?”

“My first tomb. I was nervous and shaking, but confident and sure. It was the strangest mix of emotions I had ever felt.” Until now.

She smiled up at him and his heart fluttered.

“May I ask you something, my Lord?” he asked quietly.

“Aldria,” she said, still smile.

“I cannot take such liberties, my Lord.”

“And if I allow it?”

His cheeks flushed pink. “If – if that is your wish. I – Aldria, we – I – dear me, I have no idea what I am trying to say.” She continued smiling at him. He inhaled deeply. “What am I to you?”

If her wide-eyed, slack jawed stare was any indication, she was not expecting him to ask that. Anything else, but that it seemed.

“I – I – forget I asked, my Lord, I – apologies, my Lord,” he stuttered, backpedaling.

He moved to release his hold on her and let another take his place, but found himself unable to move. She was holding onto him as if her life depended on it. He waited for her to speak and, when she did, her voice was quiet and strained.

“Talos, you are… important to me. You are my friend, a member of my crew, and my academic partner. I enjoy your company and often find myself seeking you out for inconsequential chatter. It’s not like me. I’ve never – you’re different, though, and I like it. I meant to – to explain my reaction on my birthday, but I have been too ashamed to tell you. Now isn’t the right time, of course. We’re dancing, or were, we seem to be standing still. We are… at a break in the stream. If we go one way, we will remain friends and nothing more, but, if we turn toward the rapids and take the risk, I think we can be something more. Together.”

His joining the Imperial Reclamation Service over the Imperial Navy was a break in the stream and he had never regretted the choice. Yes, the road was rocky and full of traps, but it was also filled with rewards of academia, of knowledge. Here he was again at a break in the stream, as Aldria had called it. Dare he take on the rapids?

“I find that a very exciting prospect,” he replied.

He dared. And his first rewards were her brilliant smile and her delicately soft lips pressed shyly against his.

Joining the Imperial Reclamation Service was the best decision of his life.

Kinka fidgeted in her seat as the transport grew closer to Kaas City. For one thing, she was out of her combat gear and dressed much more formally than she was accustomed to. The loose white garments were much too foreign and free. And she desperately missed the weight of her sniper rifle on her back. She counted at least a dozen points of vulnerability, and that was a lax estimate. But the fancy clothes were a necessity on this occasion. One does not visit a Sith lord in battle gear if they can help it, less so if that particular Sith happens to be your mother.

Hence, the second reason for the nervous demeanor. She tried to remember how long it had been since she saw her parents; she couldn’t come up with a number, but she knew the memory well.

It was the day before she left for Hutta, and it was predictably tense. The Sith lord didn’t approve of her daughter dirtying herself with lowly Intelligence work. In fact, she used to tell Kinka of the agents she slaughtered in her prime.

“Sith consider Intelligence operatives as beneath them. I don’t want you becoming one of them,” Lord Rissia had said.

Kinka rolled her eyes after making sure her mother had looked away. “To be fair, mother, Sith consider anyone who isn’t Sith beneath them.”

“Even so, your father has military connections. Between he and I, we can secure you and your sister very respectable jobs away from the front lines. Name a planet, we can get you stationed there.”

“I don’t want to join the military. I’m an agent, I’ve been through training and tests, and I’m good at it. Or, I will be good at it. And I can serve the empire in ways most people never dream about.”

“You can save the speech, Kinka. You won’t convince me that this is good for you.” Lord Rissia’s face was once youthful and vibrant. Years of heartache had dimmed the life in her eyes; she looked weary, and Kinka didn’t want to argue with her mother further.

“I’m leaving tomorrow at dawn,” she said quietly as she headed for the door. “Dad’s already said he’ll see me off at the spaceport if you want to join him. If not, I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.”

###

General Malavai Quinn stood perfectly straight as he watched the transports putter about the hangar. He looked around for his wife, hoping that she would change her mind and see their daughter off on her first mission with Intelligence. But she was nowhere to be seen, and he tried to hide his disappointment.

“She decided not to come,” Kinka guessed. The agent had gotten her directness from her mother, her level-headedness from him.

“She...no.”

Kinka shrugged as if to indicate she couldn’t care less. “Just as well. She never was the type for showing emotions. No need to start now.”

“She was once,” Quinn said absentmindedly, immediately regretting his slip of the tongue.

His daughter eyed him the way his wife would, with a stare that could burn through plastoid. “Right, mother was once a human with a soul. One of those fables you guys never talk about. Just forget it, dad. I’ve accepted the fact that she has no use for regular people like us. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t sting nearly as much as it once did.”

“She loves you,” he corrected gently. “She can’t show it the way she’d like, and that’s my fault. But that’s between your mother and I. If she wants to explain further someday, that’s her decision, not mine.”

“I wish she treated you better, dad.” Kinka knew the goodbyes were coming. Suddenly she felt conflicted about going, mostly because she didn’t want to leave him. He had always seemed so lonely.

“Your mother is a Sith lord, and she treats me exactly as I deserve. Leave it alone, Kinka,” he said sternly.

She started to protest, but a porter came by to announce that they’d be departing in minutes. With a nervous smile, she hugged her father tightly.

“Take care.”

“And you. Remember: don’t be rash, keep your wits about you, don’t let anything cloud your judgement-”

“Yes, yes, and don’t let anything interfere with the mission. I’ve heard this a million times, dad.”

“No, not that last bit,” he said quietly. “Learn from my mistakes.”

“Dad?”

Again he could have kicked himself for his sudden candidness. He really was getting old. “You’re going to miss your transport. You’d better go.”

Kinka mustered a slight smile, gave him a little wave and climbed aboard the cramped vessel; he stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back.

###

“Sir?”

The voice brought Kinka back to the present. She had been so lost in thought she hadn’t realized the transport had arrived in Kaas City already. She had made the slog through the city on many occasions, most often for debriefings at Intelligence headquarters; excursions into the Sith citadel were more rare, and always unpleasant. She had no expectations that this time would be any different. Though one can hope for less lightning this time, she thought, only half-joking.

Dark clouds hung thick and low, and the faint breeze stirring the air was somehow humid and bone-chilling. Has this place always been so gloomy? she wondered. No matter, this wouldn’t be a long visit. She planned to quickly see why her mother had summoned her and spend the rest of her day visiting her father. She hadn’t been able to get him on the holo, but she was certain he’d make time to see her.

“Hello, mother.”

Lord Rissia was a small woman but imposing nonetheless. People often made the mistake of underestimating her because of her diminutive stature and almost always walked away bloodier for it (assuming they were walking away from the encounter at all). She turned to face her daughter and scarcely recognized the woman in front of her. Had it really been so long? And where had she gotten that scar on her left cheek?

“Kinka, you came.” The way she said it sounded surprised.

“Of course. You don’t hear from someone in four years, you figure when they finally contact you, it must be serious.

Have you heard from Vekkz lately?”

“Last I heard she was with a group on archeologists on Hoth,” she said stiffly.

The agent nodded. “How’s dad?”

“He’s dead.”

Kinka’s heart broke. It felt as though the air had been siphoned from the room. “Dead,” she repeated.

“Heart attack last week during a briefing. It was quick.”

She was all business. Typical. How could she have no emotion at his death? Her mother had never exhibited warm feelings for her father, but this was too much. “Don’t let the grief take too much time out of your busy schedule,” Kinka growled, surprised to have said it aloud.

“What is that supposed to mean?” The Sith’s voice shook almost imperceptibly. Kinka mistook it for anger, but Rissia was struggling to hold herself together.

“You never loved him. And he was so good to you — to all of us. You really are a monster.”

Kinka’s face stung. She scarcely realized her mother had slapped her, it happened so quickly. For all her rage, Rissia had never struck her before.

“Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me all these years with you and your sister always favoring your father? If you knew what kind of man he was, you’d have hated him as I did.”

“Dad at least showed us love, showed us some kind of affection. You walked around ten feet above everybody else our whole lives. What did you expect?”

Rissia silently strode across the room and fished a crisp white envelope from her desk.

“Here, he left this for you. I didn’t look at it.”

Kinka stared at the perfect paper, not a wrinkle in sight. No doubt he had written it. This was really happening, she realized. Fighting back tears, she opened her mouth to say something to her mother, but Lord Rissia beat her to it.

“There will be a ceremony tomorrow morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finalize the arrangements.”

The BT-7 Thunderclap moved quietly through space, awaiting its next destination. Prudii sat, arms crossed, in the cockpit, looking out into the serene darkness of space. He smiled to himself, tiredly closing his eyes. Maybe a nice nap could pass the time...

He frowned. The ship was too quiet. Elara was asleep in their bedroom–which she had happily moved into immediately after the marriage, so she didn't have to share quarters with the likes of Tanno Vik–and Yuun and Vik were off on reconnaissance missions. Forex and HK-51 were shut down in their respective rooms...where was Jorgan?

Frowning, Prudii stood and walked out of the cockpit. He peeked in on Elara–still asleep. Forex and HK were still shut down. He checked the armory...no, Jorgan wasn't there. He checked the bunkroom. No Jorgan. The war room, the medbay, and the cargo hold turned up similar results. Prudii went into the mess.

Jorgan was leaning back in his chair, feet on the table, eyes closed, a peaceful smile on his face. Prudii frowned. There was a half-eaten pulled nerf sandwich on the table in front of him. And he had his helmet sitting on the floor beside him, earbuds removed from their sockets and currently in his pointed ears.

"Captain?" he said.

Jorgan, surprised, jerked upright and nearly fell out of his chair. Embarrassed, he chuckled and reached up to pull out the earbuds, then put them back in the helmet's circuit. Prudii put his hands on his hips, trying not to let an amused smile cross his face.

"Jorgan?"

"Sir."

"What were you listening to?"

"Uh...Mon Cal opera, sir. Soothes me."

Prudii did grin now. "Well. Who'd have thought. The hard-edged bad-shebs has a soft, sensitive side."

"Sir. Please, do not tell Vik. You know how long it took me to whoop him into shape. He'd lose all respect for me now if..."

Prudii, still grinning, nodded. "All right, all right, I won't tell. Hey, finish that sandwich, will ya? It's not good to let food go to waste."

Jorgan breathed out a sigh, gave a thankful nod. "Yes, sir."

Mando'a lessons:

Shebs - backside

I figure Jorgan is just the perfect character to have this moment with, though I could see something similar happening with Corso, if you switched opera with country. Torian is too manly–or stubborn, in that eighteen year old I'm-too-big-for-that way–to listen to anything but the latest Mando'a war chants. Iresso probably does listen to Mon Cal opera, but it's so obvious who cares? Doc would never be caught dead doing that. Quinn; again, too obvious. Pierce? Not gonna happen. Talos? Too obvious. Andronikos? Maybe, but not likely; he's probably into rock or something. And Vector? Yet another "too obvious." You know, it now occurs to me that this game has tough guys and sensitive guys, but very few tough and sensitive guys, like Jorgan and Corso.

Plasmajack didn't even tell Vette he'd arranged another artifact pickup from Ananz – from Darth Imperius – until the day of. Vette wasn't going to hide and leave her friends to deal with him alone. So she went with them to the usual handoff place by the little promenade, and Ananz was waiting there, wearing plain pants and his regular beat-up jacket, looking for all the world like a normal guy.

And even though he wasn't normal at all, it felt sort of good to see him.

"Hi, everyone," he said awkwardly as they approached. He pulled a silk-wrapped bundle out of his pocket. "I got the Leyan Daystones. Complete set. The collector actually had some other items that he was not qualified to hang onto, so I snagged them, too." He shrugged. "This one's on me."

Taunt stepped forward to accept the bundle. "Thanks, Ananz. It's good to see you."

"You, too." He smiled briefly, cast a look around at all of them. "Well, I should…"

Vette hadn’t been planning on issuing invitations, but Taunt’s look said Vette’s life would soon be made very difficult if she didn’t get at least a little bit gracious very soon. That, and one supper couldn’t hurt that much. "You can stick around to eat if you want," Vette said. "Though we get to pepper you with questions now that we know what you actually do in your spare time."

"You sure?" he said in a quick breathless way that screamed of the desire to say yes. "I don't want to get my Sith Lordiness all over your dinner plans."

Plasmajack yawned loudly. "There a reason we're still talking about this here instead of heading down to Gingram's?"

*

"So explain to me," said Flash. "You do your Sith thing, kill a lot of other Sith, finally get to be mayor of Sith City, and your first thought is…grub up some rocks for a Twi'lek gang on Nar Shaddaa?"

"It wasn't quite that…I'm from Nar Shaddaa almost originally. Born on Ryloth, but I was too young to remember anything about it. So I've lived here, I saw a lot of what it was like even for the people who weren't slaves. I know I never got a chance to see my own home planet, I wanted to do something. When I heard there was a gang that dealt straight returning Twi'lek works to Twi'lek hands, well, that's pretty well suited to the fact that I'm good friends with an enterprising pilot and a master antiquities expert. I thought we could arrange something."

"In plain clothes," said Vette. "Really, really plain clothes."

"Yeah, well. Would you guys have taken my calls if I were Darth Imperius issuing a summons?"

Plasmajack and Taunt smiled. "I guess not," Vette said dryly.

Ananz looked elsewhere. "That, and if I walked around here as Darth Imperius the higher-ups might start acting nice, trying to butter me up." He recovered a small grin. "I'm not sure I could hold my temper through that, and I'm under strict orders not to start a war with the Hutt Cartel, so…better not start."

Plasmajack looked skeptical. "You're on the Dark Council. Who's giving you orders?"

"Everybody who's been there longer."

"Given the average replacement rate you'll probably have seniority over most of 'em by next month," Vette said cheerfully. "Just try not to die."

He smiled at her. "That's the backbone of most of my plans."

*

Ananz kept on as he had started: self-deprecating, a little bashful. But he seemed to settle in some, get a little more relaxed. Not all bad. Vette was a little surprised that she felt disappointed when he got up before dinner had even been cleared away. "I'd better be going," he said. "Thank you, all of you. The meal was good." His green eyes met Vette’s blue. "I'll try to get you guys something decent soon."

"Careful out there," she told him.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks," he said. Then he headed out.

I’m not thrilled with this, but...eh. Anyway, Vette’s friends really do seem pretty chill in-game, even having a Sith around.