Draahg 2.0 shortly before Draahg attacks Ruth on Corellia.

The busty dark-skinned woman knocked once on the door to Vector's quarters before palming it open and, laying one hand on the doorframe, swaying halfway into the room. "There you are," she said in a husky voice.

Vector looked up from his console, stood quickly, and stared for a second. "…Wynston? If it weren't for your aura we would think you were Hunter's latest disguise."

"No, I got my own toy. Never fear, I've come up with the perfect visuals-only distinction." Wynston reached into her purse and pulled out a springy filament no longer than a hand's breadth. She popped it in her mouth, worked a few seconds, then pulled it out. It was tied neatly in a knot. "A simple demonstration to prove my identity to my non-pheromone-sensitive friends. I'm not actually sure what Hunter can do with his tongue, but I doubt he knows that many party tricks with hwotha stems."

Vector eyed the knotted token and smiled slightly. "Unique identifiers formed by taste? We'll make a Killik of you yet, agent."

Wynston tapped the device on her wrist. "I'm sure I could arrange something like it."

"Perhaps, but it wouldn't be the same without the experience of the auras."

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"Have you taken your disguise into the field yet?" Vector asked.

"Oh, yes." Wynston pushed buoyantly off the doorframe, tossing her shoulder-length hair. "We made for Dromund Kaas the moment I had this in hand."

"We assumed you had some business with Imperial Intelligence."

"I had 'business' walking down Main Street Kaas City as a human being." Wynston laughed out loud. "It's incredible. Some very unusual attention from men, I'll grant – it might be quite useful, it might get terribly obnoxious – but everything's different. Everything. They don't look at me like an alien. They all of them look me in the eye – " she laid a hand on her bosom, which offered generous exposure from her half-zipped jacket – "well, almost all of them, and they're so…so friendly." She pushed up the jacket sleeve to reveal the wrist-mounted controller. "It's like being a whole other sort of citizen."

"We remember," Vector said softly.

"Ah. Yes, you would." Vector, after all, hadn't always been a Joiner, and his eyes hadn’t always been full glittering black. "I could prevail upon Hunter to have another of these made."

Vector smiled. "That seems more like the tool of a 'covert assault operative.' We make alliances and build trust with this face and this voice. Any other would undercut our mission."

"Wouldn't you want to seem human sometimes? You and I can act, change our accents, change our manners, but this – we've never had a tool like this."

"We have never needed it." Vector inclined his head. "By this we mean the nest. You can make good use of it, we are certain."

Wynston smoothed her jacket over her fake hips. "I certainly intend to."

"It has been some time since we saw you this excited over a new device."

"It's been some time since…no, I've never had something open up possibilities like this."

"There is an off button, we hope?" he asked mildly.

"Vector." Wynston half wanted to scold the Joiner for the reproof. And it was a reproof, because Vector did that; he always tried to drag Wynston back from the possibilities of erasing himself. It was the closest thing to an annoying habit Vector had. But Wynston could afford to reassure her friend. She pushed the controls and blinked at the quick close flash that accompanied the drop of the disguise. Now he was just Wynston with his jacket unzipped a little more than usual. Short, slight, blue, alien.

He met Vector's eyes for a second. Stars, the man knew how to worry. "Here I am," Wynston told him, and gave him another second's eye contact while he let a smile spread. "But you already know that part." Wynston touched the controls to transform himself back into the dark-skinned woman. "I'll be seeing you."

Ruth AU: RMC Fix Fic: Teachers and Heroes 1

Ruth AU: The Sword of Mercy (Ruth's line): Short Fic What If?, Friends and Allies 1, Friends and Allies 2, Friends and Allies 3, Loyalty and Betrayal 1, Loyalty and Betrayal 2, Goals and Ambitions 1, Goals and Ambitions 2, Goals and Ambitions 3, Life and Death 1, Life and Death 2, Life and Death drabbles, Memories, Best Day Ever 1, Worlds Colliding

Ruth AU, The Sword of Mercy, Twin Stars (Wynston's line): Loyalty and Betrayal 3, Life and Death 3, Backfired Plans 1, Culture Shock 1, Teachers and Heroes 2, Disguises

Wynston AU: Screw the Sword of Mercy: Backfired Plans 2, Culture Shock 2, Best Day Ever 2

Screw the Sword of Mercy chronology:

Wynston behaves nicely on Taris

Wynston kicks back after Taris

Wynston helps change Ruth's crew

Sword of Mercy/Twin Stars chronology:

Ruth discovers the conditioning

Vette is re-collared

Drabble: Taris

Ruth meets and seeks help from Rho on Hoth

(Twin Stars) Wynston changes course

Ruth gets conditioned a second time; side effects suck

Pierce declares his intention to help

Baras seeks to kill Quinn; Quinn makes a power play

Pierce teams up with Vowrawn

Ruth negotiates with Darth Ekkage

Ruth receives a serum course from Doc on Voss; Scourge learns something

Ruth starts seeing Lord Draahg

Drabble: Investigating Baras's records

Ruth negotiates with Darth Vowrawn

Drabble: Scourge's Vigil

(Twin Stars) Wynston ends the traditional class line

Ruth faces Darth Baras

Justice is served

(Twin Stars) Wynston attempts to set terms

(Twin Stars) Wynston's partner has a different idea

Ruth goes home

(Twin Stars) Wynston makes contact with Imperial Intelligence and is needled by his partner

(Twin Stars) Wynston gets his disguise generator

AU in which the Chiss Sith, Ukaita, (who has kind of a jk/sw mash-up history) has teamed up with the oh-so-hot Lord Scourge, the Emperor's Wrath, to keep his vision of the Emperor destroying all life in the galaxy from coming to pass. The fact that she can torment Scourge and plot to become Empress while saving the galaxy - awesome bonus!

"What are you wearing?" Scourge's voice had as close to a note of horror in it as Ukaita had ever heard.

She grinned evilly and sauntered over to him, the barely-there top and peek-a-boo bottom moving interestingly as she put some extra sway in her hips, "Like it?"

"Why are you dressed as a whore?"

She pouted, put her hands on her hips, pushed out her chest a bit more. "A dancer! Get it right! We're meeting with this inventor guy at the Star Cluster, right? I want to fit in! Besides, it gives me a chance to wear this again!"

Scourge looked as though he were in pain. "Again?"

She grinned, "I used to pretend to be a dancer at this little cantina near the center of Kaas City. Fake slave collar makes you practically invisible. Amazing the stuff people will say around slaves."

He frowned. "You would be merely a distraction dressed thusly. Proper clothes, if you please."

Ukaita ran a finger down his arm as she passed him out into the hall towards the shuttle. "A distraction, huh? I like the sound of that."

She winked back at Scourge as she turned the corner, her grin widening at where his gaze had slid to. This was going to be fun.

***

Scourge's jaw tightened as Ukaita giggled and draped herself across his lap, running a hand down the center of his chest. Gharl Deduun's eyes were fixed on the bubbly Chiss rather than on the seething Sith Lord seated across from him; clearly the man not only lacked the Republic zealotry of his uncle, he also lacked the intellect.

"Your prototype?" Scourge prompted.

Deduun dragged his eyes away from the way Ukaita's top always seemed a millimeter away from slipping off. "Right, it's uh, back at the lab. Used my uncle's specifications, well most of them. Had to do some rewrites on the conversation protocols...he had some weird ones set up."

"I am not interested in the droid's conversation," Scourge said coldly, twitching only slightly when Ukaita leaned back on him and reached up to stroke one of his face tendrils. He snatched her hand before she reached her goal, his grip implacable although his focus was still on the psuedo-inventor seated across from him. Ukaita pouted.

"Uh, yeah, well, it's a top of the line combat droid," Deduun said, "So...credits?"

Scourge raised an eyebrow and pinned one of Ukaita's wandering hands to the bench seat. "After we have the droid."

"Of course," Deduun said, pulling out a datapad, "here's the address of the lab, if you'll meet me there, we can finalize the sale."

Scourge nodded his head once.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to sell your slave," Deduun said, his eyes fixed hungrily on Ukaita, "I'd give you a good price." His throat was suddenly caught in a crushing grip, and his panicked eyes shot to the Sith. "I'll take that as a no," he choked out. The vise on his throat loosened. He quickly fled the room, heading for the exit.

"That went well," Ukaita whispered to Scourge, sliding off him, "he didn't even think twice about giving us the address. See? I told you lust was useful."

Scourge was silent as the two of them walked towards the exit. The glowing blue lights of the Ceruleun Lounge were nearly in sight when Scourge gripped Ukaita's arm, pulled her into one of the side rooms, and shut the door with a blast of Force energy. Ukaita raised an eyebrow at the door and then her eyes widened as she looked up at Scourge. The man's eyes were practically molten.

"Scourge?"

He yanked her to up against him and captured her mouth in a scorching kiss that blasted any thought out of her head. He gripped the back of her head with one hand while the other splayed wide across her bare back. His lips were firm and hot, taking exactly what they wanted with no complaint whatsoever from her. Ukaita gasped in shock when he lifted his head and stepped back, stumbling slightly as the mountain of muscle shifted away from her.

Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, both of them breathing heavily. "Wow."

Scourge turned towards the door without saying a word.

"You kiss a lot better than most Sith," Ukaita said to his back, stung slightly by his lack of response, "You should do it more often."

He glanced back at her from out of the shadows. "Maybe I will."

Oh heck yeah.

Kirya emerged from the ‘fresher and twirled for Corso, tiny bells and beads tinkling brightly as she moved, “So, how do I look?” she asked.

Corso coughed. Kirya wore skin. Pale green skin, glowing in contrast to the colors she'd chosen for her outfit. The skimpy dancer’s bra clung to her, its thin translucent material not exactly covering anything. A matching wine-colored veil trailed from the thin golden links serving as her belt, fluttering in the slight breeze from the ventilators. Her shapely lekku dangled down her bare back. The line of spots decorating their length made their subtle movements more obvious—and mesmerizing. Especially since she’d glued a bright purple faux gemstone in the center of each spot.

“Real, uh, real nice,” Corso choked out.

“Real sexy, you mean,” Kirya countered. She sized him up, “You’re not bad yourself. Good thing we picked up that formalwear on Alderaan. Here, fix the slave collar for me, I can’t reach it,” Kirya handed him a mockup of an Imperial slave collar, “think you can play the snooty son of a Balmorran Imperial sympathizer?”

Corso took the collar and fumbled with it, sticking it to the back of Kirya’s neck with double-faced adhesive tape. It brought him into uncomfortable proximity to Rixik’s wife. “I don’t want to hurt you, Kirya.”

“You won’t,” she assured him, “Jesp made up the collars, they’re dummies. Just don’t accidentally press the activation switch on your controller, or you’ll get a nice capacitor discharge and wind up kissing the floor.”

Having affixed the collar, Corso retreated to a more appropriate distance, “I mean, you know, with words. I don’t like the idea of treating you like a slave, even for a little bit. Especially since you’re the one paying me,” he said with a crooked grin.

Kirya sighed. Poor Corso, he was the weak link in the whole scheme. “You won’t really have to do much. We wait in the queue at the Sobrik spaceport with Risha. She’s a visiting arms dealer returning to Imperial space. You’re going offworld for the first time with your daddy’s birthday present to you. After Lord Dakron lands, you pick a fight with Risha and Jesp.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Corso mused, “he was in a pretty bad mood.”

“Might be harder than you think. Consider this your one chance to be a jerk to him and he won’t be offended,” Kirya said, “He’ll chalk it up to your act.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“He will,” Kirya reassured him, “SIS says we have a real opportunity here. They know exactly when and where Lord Dakron will be and we’re new here. The Imperial garrison doesn’t know us. We can get close to him. He and the rest of them won’t suspect a thing. It’s perfect.”

Corso straightened his suit, “Sure wish we’d just shoot our way in.”

Kirya handed her blasters to Corso for safekeeping, “I’d like to make it past the sentries on the main road, thank you. There’ll be enough shooting for you, Corso, trust me. Our part is getting Lord Dakron. With luck, he'll go for one of the fake controllers and make our job a lot easier. Then we can help Risha keep the security forces off Jesp while he slices the spaceport mainframe. Once the security field is offline, Bowdaar swoops in with Sirocco and the Balmorran resistance and we’re home free.”

Corso tucked the extra blasters discreetly into his suit, “Still think it would have been better if you and Rixik played a couple. More natural.”

Kirya gripped Corso’s shoulder. He tried to take a step back but she held him firm. Bells jingled, “Sobrik is Imperial territory. Fake ID for anything but Humans is a waste of time. This is my ID,” she pointed to the fake shock collar, “And you have to be convincing as a brat with more hormones than sense, got it?”

Corso nodded, “I’ll do my best, Kirya. This kind of thing doesn’t come natural for me.”

Kirya softened, “I know, that’s why you’re Corso,” she patted his shoulder, “Look, you remember those guys back on Ord Mantell? The ones in the cantina who pinched all the servers and tried to get me to dance on the table?”

“Those jerks? Yeah I remember them.”

“Just act like them. With a dash of the most obnoxious Imperial you can remember from being in the Peace Brigade.”

Kirya was right. She and Corso breezed through the checkpoints. The men—and more than a few of the women—spent most of their time ogling Kirya. They gave Corso’s ID only a cursory glance. Like she’d told him, the fake slave collar was all the ID she needed. Corso’s cover story, and he grew more confident in each retelling, must have been common enough. No one, Balmorran or Imperial, questioned it.

She began to understand what Jesp liked about this kind of deception. Knowing what everyone who saw her thought—and knowing it was dead wrong—gave Kirya a secret thrill. She’d played the flirting game often enough before, but not like this. Never on this scale. Never for these stakes. And it was going so well.

She hung on Corso’s arm as they entered the spaceport, leaving the dull sky behind. Their fake shuttle passes were for the hangar where Dakron was scheduled to land. Risha and Jesp arrived earlier. If they hadn’t been stopped, they should already be inside.

They rode the lift to the hangar and entered the passenger waiting area. There was a casual queue, a dozen or so beings waiting for the shuttle. The majority looked like businesspeople, like Risha was supposed to be. A couple more lower class, technicians maybe. No families, no children. All Human, save a shock-collared Bith secretary attached to the first person in the line. No military other than the ubiquitous Sobrik spaceport security forces, and not many of those.

Risha waited, last in line, an open, dun-colored long coat covering her figure. Rixik stood three paces behind her, eyes downcast. Corso choked on a breath. Rixik wore nothing but the fake shock collar and a pair of painted-on shimmersilk shorts. Very short shorts. Electric blue with a silvery waistband and piping. Kirya, hanging on Corso’s arm, let out an appreciative whistle, “He didn’t say they were blue,” she whispered. Corso flushed again and tore his gaze away from Rixik’s one article of clothing.

The ship had just landed in the hangar beyond, if the offgassing from her landing gear and engines were any indication. Corso and Kirya made their way toward the queue. Heads turned at the sound of Kirya’s bells. Some kept staring, but most turned away just as quickly. Kirya kept her smile to herself. Perfect.

They fell into line behind Rixik. Risha ignored them completely. Rixik gave Kirya a quick look, then returned his eyes to the floor. As per their script. Corso looked about, his nervousness coming across as impatience.

The gangway to the shuttle dropped. A single passenger emerged. Tall, cloaked, flanked by four Imperial troopers. It could only be Lord Dakron. He strode across the deck toward the waiting area.

Corso saw him too. He waited until Dakron was within earshot, then he shoved Rixik, “You leave her alone,” he barked.

Rixik looked bewildered, “Sie batha ne beechee, Lorda?”

“And speak Basic like civilized people,” Corso said.

Risha turned around, “He doesn’t know Basic,” she said in a bored voice, “What did he do now?”

“I don’t like the way he’s staring at my girl,” Corso said, tugging on Kirya and setting the bells off again. “Makin’ eyes at her. Blowing kisses. She’s mine.” Kirya clung to his arm. She turned her head away from the confrontation so she could watch Lord Dakron’s approach. Fifteen meters, she signed.

“They are the same species,” Risha replied with a yawn, “Besides, you want people to stare, that’s why you dressed her that way. That’s the point, isn’t it? Showing off what you have?” She tipped her head toward a similarly attired Rixik. He translated Kirya’s lekku, flashing a one and a five with his fingers.

“Oh, so it’s my fault your boy toy is getting all uppity?” Corso growled. He stepped forward toward Rixik, dragging Kirya with him. Her costume bells jingled. Perspiration dotted Corso’s forehead. Kirya could feel the tension in his muscles. He really wasn’t comfortable.

Rixik backed away, “Gooddé da lodia, ma lorda!” he said, cringing. His hands said one and zero.

“Hey, you leave my property alone. You damage him and you’re paying for it.” She patted Rixik’s bare shoulder, “Chut chut, ma bukee,” she said, as though speaking to a frightened child.

Five, he signed, slinking into Risha’s shadow. The rest of the waiting passengers moved subtly out of the way, not wanting to get involved in the confrontation

“That’s how you keep him in line?” Corso yelled, “bein’ nice to him? No wonder he thinks he can get away with anything. I demand you punish him for uh, for insolence!”

Corso’s accidental hesitation sold the show. He sounded like a kid trying too hard to be an adult. Lord Dakron broke step and headed toward the tableau. Now it was her turn. Kirya wrapped her arms around Corso and clung even tighter, “Please, Master, don’t hurt him. He meant no harm,” she squealed.

“Is there a problem here?” Lord Dakron’s voice was a light tenor, almost amused. He was taller than Kirya had guessed, armored, with dark hair and skin. She would have pegged him as of Alderaanian descent, but his accent was pure Imperial. An air of menace surrounded him the way another man might radiate confidence or courage.

Kirya squeaked and put Corso between herself and the Sith Lord, reaching under Corso’s coat for her blasters. Her abrupt movement set off a cacophony of tinkling bells. Corso glanced at Dakron, “Nothin’ I can’t handle,” he said with a slight shiver.

Dakron’s eerie golden eyes narrowed, “I beg to differ,” he said, “it appears you are having a bit of a discipline problem.” His cold gaze fell on the two Twi’leks.

Kirya’s blood froze. This wasn’t the kind of salacious stare she’d been getting ever since arriving in Sobrik on Corso’s arm. She wasn’t a person to this man. She was a thing. A pretty thing. Not even a droid, a malfunctioning piece of equipment. Suddenly, her plan that had sounded so simple back in Bugtown felt very, very dodgy.

To his credit, Corso plowed ahead with the deception, “I know how to deal with slaves that don’t know their place,” he said, reaching for Risha’s dummy shock-collar controller.

“So do I, boy,” Lord Dakron growled. With a sweep of his hand, an invisible force shoved Corso and Kirya back toward the wall, several meters distant. They stumbled, barely keeping their feet. Kirya’s costume jangled and she wished she hadn’t added all the stupid little noisy bits. So much for the trapped controllers. In the next moment the Sith’s hand formed a tight fist. Kirya expected to feel his power close off her breath.

But it was Jesp who sputtered and choked. His hands flew to his throat. There were no fingers to pry off.

She didn’t think. She already held her blasters. She fired both at Lord Dakron, straight through Corso’s formal jacket. The bolts impacted Dakron’s armored side, burning holes in his cloak. Lord Dakron lost his concentration and released Jesp. Her husband fell to his knees, gasping but alive.

The Sith turned toward Kirya. That cold stare turned to fire in an instant, “Insect.” he snarled. One of Risha’s bolts struck him as well. She knelt on the floor beside Rixik, her rifle in her shoulder. Dakron’s head whipped around. He scowled and barked an order to his retinue. The troopers rushed at the pair, leaving Lord Dakron free to deal with Corso and Kirya.

The civilians in the queue scattered. Corso tossed his dummy controller away. He drew his blaster and activated his shield with the ease of long practice. He held his ground, not backing down as Dakron ignited his lightsaber. Kirya ducked behind Corso and fired around him. Dakron deflected her bolts, caring not at all whether the plasma struck a fleeing noncombatant or dissipated against the durasteel walls. He drew nearer, inexorable as gravity.

The handful of Sobrik spaceport security personnel stationed in the hangar shook free of their paralysis. Two herded the panicked civilians to safety. The remainder converged on the fight. A high whistling siren sounded, calling more. Their window was closing fast.

Kirya tore her eyes from the slowly advancing Sith. “Jesp!” she cried over the din.

By now Jesp had regained his feet and stood at Risha’s back. He’d recovered his blasters as well and was helping Risha pin down the security forces entering from the Sobrik side of the port. His head turned at her call.

“Upstairs!” was all she said. Balmorran resistance, former spaceport employees, said each hangar had its own nav station overlooking the landing zone, all tied to the central mainframe. If they didn’t want to end up slaves for real—or worse—Jesp had to get up there and drop the security field over Sobrik. But he didn’t want to go. He took in her situation and wheeled to bring his blasters to bear on Dakron.

“Go! We got this!” she insisted with more confidence than she felt. Jesp took a potshot at Lord Dakron anyway. It struck his knee, but he shook it off, wading through the blaster fire as though it were rain. Kirya couldn’t shake the impression that Dakron was toying with them. Waiting to get in melee range so he could cut them down with ease.

“Go!” Kirya repeated. He hesitated, glanced up the stairs. Lekku-talk, right before he ran: love you. The troopers peeled off in pursuit. Withering fire the color of Risha’s rifle charge forced them under cover. She saw no more of Jesp’s blue bolts.

Kirya turned her attention back to the situation at hand. She retreated a step behind Corso. She had to let Jesp to do his part. Her part was taking out Dakron. She pressed her lips into a determined grin. Blue milk run.

Then Lord Dakron was on them. He brought his saber down in a sharp vertical stroke. It struck Corso’s shield with a bright flash. Ghostly blue hexagons glowed at the absorption interface. The saber screamed at the prolonged contact. Dakron leaned in, “My escort will take care of your confederates,” he hissed. He broke off and took a vicious swing at Corso’s head. The shield intercepted the blow and flashed again, a warning yellow. “I think I’ll keep your pet, boy. I’ll enjoy teaching her some manners.”

“She ain’t my pet, Imp scum,” Corso grunted, “she’s my partner.”

“Partner?” Dakron laughed, a heartless cackle that set Kirya’s teeth on edge, “With a slave race? Such a foolish notion. This is a waste of time.”

Kirya rolled out from cover, sending a spray of bolts at Dakron. He sent several back in her general direction without even looking. The rest pattered on his armor. If they hurt, he didn’t show it. Corso used his flagging shield to push against the Sith, “Then kill us already. Or is it too hard?” he taunted.

Lord Dakron snorted and waved his free hand. Another wave of force slammed Corso back against the wall supporting the stair. Kirya heard a low thud and groan as he hit. But he kept his feet and brought his favorite blaster to bear. Torchy barked out a greeting to the Sith, again slowly advancing.

Kirya skittered behind the shelter of a listless holotree. Incongruous decoration in the spaceport. The long veil on her belt smoked; at least one of the reflected blaster bolts had pierced it. She peeked out to see Lord Dakron closing on Corso. She sent more fire his way. One hand shot out from beneath his cloak and the pot-shaped base of the holotree imploded. Shards of plastic and bits of fragged circuitry sprayed outward with a shower of sparks. Shrapnel cut; her revealing costume gave her no protection.

An ear-splitting klaxon sounded, dull bass notes reverberating off the solid durasteel hangar. Kirya ignored it. Lord Dakron closed again with Corso. He slammed his saber against the ever-weakening shield, finally pressing hard against it. The shield phased from yellow through red. “Better men than you have failed to kill me,” Dakron gloated, “I’ll take good care of your partner.”

Corso grinned a madman’s grin, “Sure you will,” he said, “meet Hewie.” Corso let Torchy drop and pulled an oversized vibroknife. His finger switched it on with the draw. One quick slash cut the straps securing Lord Dakron’s heavy cuirass. It gaped open, leaving Dakron’s whole side exposed. Kirya fired both blasters. Dakron reeled with the impacts. He spun away from Corso. Kirya continued fire. A sharp crack rang out from the stairs above.

Lord Dakron wobbled and fell. The lightsaber slipped from his grasp, red blade vanishing as soon as it left his hand. Several more bolts struck his prone form, but he didn’t move. Kirya stood and cautiously approached the body. Before she reached it, Jesp vaulted over the stair safety rail and shot it several times.

“He’s dead, Jesp,” she yelled over the klaxon.

Rixik looked up from the corpse, “Yeah? Well now he’s deader!” he shouted. Dropping his blasters, he ran to Kirya and pulled her into a tight embrace, “You hurt? He hurt you?” he asked breathlessly, “You’re bleeding. E-chu-ta I don’t even have any karking wound gel in this ridiculous getup—“

“Just, just scratches, Jesp,” she inturrupted. “I’m fine.”

Rixik pushed her away, gripping her bare shoulders tightly, “The next time you decide to kill a Sith lord, remind me to tell you no,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her again, “That’s what Jedi and soldiers are for. I can’t lose you.”

Kirya gave him a squeeze, “Even for a good cause?”

“You are my good cause,” he said.

Risha sauntered down from the second floor, eyeing the body, “I don’t know where Sith think they go when they die, but I’m pretty sure that if they get killed by a Twi’lek woman in an outfit like yours, Kirya, they don’t get in,” Risha quipped.

Corso staggered over to the others, “Spaceport Security gone?” he gasped.

Rixik nodded, still holding Kirya, “Risha got a bunch. The rest ran off when the security field dropped.” He patted a lump in his silver waistband, “SIS man’s data spike worked. I am so keeping this.”

Corso cocked an eyebrow, “I don’t think he’d want it back now anyway.”

“Bowdaar on his way?” Kirya asked.

Rixik released her, “Yeah, he’s on the beacon. Ought to be here any minute,” he said, scooping up his discarded blasters. “Resistance can have Sobrik, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Rixik carried Kirya to Sirocco’s acceleration couch in the common room. He spun once and flopped on the cell-foam cushions, “That was, without a doubt, the craziest thing I have ever done in my entire life. And I’ve done a lot of crazy stuff.”

Kirya curled up in his lap, giggling, “What about Taris?”

Rixik held her tight, “The craziest thing I have ever done in my entire life when I wasn’t loca-loca drunk.” He nuzzled her neck right behind her ear, “You can wear this for me anytime,” he murmured, plucking at her damaged costume, setting the remaining bells ringing, “You look fantastic, babe.”

“Mmm, so do you,” she replied, drawing purple painted fingernails down his bare chest.

“These pants are too tight.”

“I can take care of that,” Kirya said, her hands drifting to the waistband.

Rixik turned his attention to the rest of the crew gathered in the main lounge, “Ok, kiddies, that’s your cue,” he said waving them off, “little privacy here? I need to check my lovely wife for injuries. There’s kolto packs in the infirmary for the rest of you, you know how to use ‘em.”

“Oh, right,” Risha grinned, “Kolto packs.”

Corso flushed, “Uh, yeah, I’ll just, yeah, the infirmary.” He bumped into Risha on his way toward the stern, apologizing profusely.

“Bowdaar?” Kirya called. There was an answering roar from the cockpit, “How about you check the balance calibration in the sublight engines by running a couple slow orbits? Land back at Bugtown in about an hour?” Another roar of assent. She shifted on Rixik’s lap, “Now, where were we?” she asked.

“You were trying to get into my pants,” he said.

“You really ought to check Corso,” Kirya said, tracing his collarbone.

Rixik shifted Kirya on his lap, “Believe me, mesh’la-mesh’la, Corso understands.”

“Hmm?”

“Discussion for another day,” he murmured. “He’ll be fine for an hour. Kid did good.”

“You should tell him that,” Kirya said, snuggling.

“Later,” Rixik said.

“Feels good to be the hero, mm?”

“Feels good to be alive,” he said, “You have any idea how glad I am you’re not dead?”

Kirya listened to his heartbeat, still faster than it ought to be. For all his reservations, he’d gone along with her plan. And why? She smiled, pressed tight to his chest. Because he loved her. And he’d never leave her. Even when she wanted to do crazy things like kill a Sith lord. “Show me,” she said, pulling him into a deep kiss.

~what if~ the Knight legit killed the Emperor? The Dark Council, including courtesan-turned-Sith Meenah, convenes to decide who should take over.

"The Emperor is dead."

There was a heavy solemnity in the room. We all knew it already, of course - the news was flying through the Empire at the speed of light - but to hear it in person made it real. The rest of the Dark Council seemed to be experiencing a mix of sadness and agitation - after all, succession was no easy matter. They sat perfectly still, rigid and upright, afraid to make a move.

Except for me. I was, as usual, draped lazily on my chair like a fine silk dress. I was reading a datapad that I claimed contained Council notes and Sith texts, but was really full of bad erotic literature. I didn't look up at Darth Marr when he made his announcement; I simply said, "How very sad. Send my condolences to the family."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him staring at me. He narrowed his eyes into a sharp glare. Several of the other Council members turned their heads to look at me in surprise and disdain.

"What? I never met him; you can't really expect me to be broken-hearted," I said, shifting into an upright position. I rested my elbow on the arm of the chair and my cheek in my hand, looking toward the Darth with what I hoped was a challenging gaze. His eyes met mine for a long moment, but then he looked away. I knew he didn't want me to reveal to the entire Council that in my pre-Sith life, as a courtesan in Kaas City, he'd sought out my services more than once.

Not that he had to worry, because every member of the Dark Council had visited my bed at least once. But I wouldn't tell him that. It was hilarious to me that they all thought they were the only ones who'd been to see me, that they all thought I was their personal dirty little secret. If only they knew.

"We must choose the next Emperor," Darth Marr intoned. He held up a small object; I squinted at it and saw that it was a purple crystal. "This crystal is imbued with Force power. We will perform the necessary ritual, and it will show us who should succeed to the throne. It will travel around our circle and stop before our successor."

I sighed. Darth Marr turned to me. "If you are bored, Darth Imperius, you may leave."

I waved a hand. "Oh, I wouldn't miss this."

We all stood in a circle, and Darth Marr put the crystal on a small altar in the center. He began to chant, and we all meditated quietly, contributing our own power to the ritual. At least, that was what I assumed everyone else was doing. I was daydreaming. This meeting was boring. What did it matter who ended up as the next Emperor? I really didn't care. My position was perfectly secure, what with my blackmail material and my lovely purple lightning. Whoever it was, the Empire would just be more of the same. Boring. Things were much more interesting back at the ship, with my entourage, with Andronikos...I began to drift off into a pleasant daydream about the two of us, letting a soft haze come over me like I was just a bit drunk. I certainly wasn't drunk enough for this meeting.

"Oh!"

The noise startled me out of my daydream right when it was getting good. Annoyed, I looked over at the offender, who was staring in shock at me. Had I been caught daydreaming? I cast my eyes around the circle and realized that they were all looking at me, their faces a mixture of surprise and disbelief. I became aware of something touching my foot, and I looked down at the floor to see the purple crystal had come to rest right before the hem of my robes.

"Hmm," I said idly. "Would you look at that?"

"She's a Twi'lek - a slave! And she's drunk all the time!" one of the Darths cried. I think it was Jadus. I turned my head enough to see Jadus and his stupid mask gesticulating wildly. I rolled my eyes and shot a jolt of purple lightning at him. He quickly shut up.

"You're so annoying and stupid, Jadus," I said. Now that I fully outranked every one of them, I could say exactly what I really thought. I wondered if he was crying under his dumb mask. Idiot.

"Nobody knows what happened here," spoke up someone else. "We could kill her and choose another."

I laughed. "Try it! My Dashade will come running to avenge me. My spirit will be standing in the corner, laughing at the whole thing. I'd like to see it."

He dropped his gaze and bowed his head a little in submission.

"We must accept what the Force has shown us," Darth Marr said, though he sounded less than pleased. His tone was even, masking his anger. In measured tones, he said, "Glory to the Empress."

The rest of the Council echoed him: "Glory to the Empress."

"You can't show some more enthusiasm?" I asked. Then I waved a hand dismissively. "You'll get the hang of it, I'm sure." I whirled around and swung open the door, allowing the Honor Guard to take a step inside. "Tell them," I said.

Darth Marr's steely gaze was fixed on me. "She is the new Empress."

The two Sith looked at him, then at me, then back to Darth Marr in disbelief. He nodded in assent. "Take her to the Citadel. Inform the people that they have a new Empress."

I felt like I could dance. I broke into a huge smile as the Honor Guard prepared to escort me out. Before I could leave, I spun around again and addressed the Council.

"By the way, before I go," I said, "I slept with all of you." I cackled maniacally, then sashayed out of the room - not before catching a glimpse of their shocked faces.

Finally, I'd really won.

Fixer Twenty-three took the corridors at a leisurely stroll, her dismay mounting with each step. No sensors, no checkpoints, no sentries save one young man who was far more interested in attending to his grossly substandard rifle than in watching for the telltale haze of her stealth generator. She’d realised things would be somewhat... primitive, out here on the front line, but she hadn’t expecting such egregious lapses in security. Her new project was waiting for her in the room at the end of the hall; she hoped, for his sake as well as the sake of his career, that he had suitable answers for the inevitable questions.

The door slid open with a rusty squeal of protest, and the young man inside looked up from the array of datapads scattered on the table before him. Fixer eased her way inside, clinging to shadowy corners as she crept soundlessly toward her target. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the War Room, then widened as his gaze fell directly on Fixer’s pale, wavering shadow. That, at least, was some small reassurance; he’d found her sooner than she’d expected him to. The young man’s hand fell to the pistol at his hip, and she stepped forward, deactivating her stealth generator. “Sanju Pyne?” she asked, her hands held up at her sides, palms outward.

Pyne blew out a relieved sigh that drained all his tension out along with the release of air. A shy half-smile tugged at his lips as he stepped forward, one hand extended in friendship. Her right hand dropped to her hip, drawing out her own sidearm in a quick, fluid motion; fumbling at the controls for his shield generator, he never saw the tranq dart coming. Fixer’s estimation of her mission success plunged to undreamt-of lows.

The single light in her cell flared to life, and the child squinted against the brilliance of its merciless white glare. “Sixteen,” a voice barked from across the interrogation table; her head snapped up at the sound of her name. Before she could pick out any details from the dark man with his backlit halo, his hand shot out in a backhand that left her seeing stars. She heard her neck crack. “Sixteen,” the man said again. She flinched; he slammed her head down against the sharp-edged durasteel table. “Sixteen.” Blood trickled down into one eye, the only movement she allowed as she glared at her interrogator. The man stood up and stepped aside, no longer eclipsing the the light; she recognised him finally as the man who had raised her and her fifteen sisters. Immune to the heartbreak on her face, he looked to the camera tucked into a high corner of the cell. “Subject Sixteen demonstrates unacceptable levels of identity permanence. Further reinforcement necessary. Schedule follow-up testing as per standard operational timetable.” The light was extinguished; she heard the sound of receding footsteps, followed by the whispering hiss of the door, and then she was alone again.

At the sound of Pyne beginning to stir, Fixer hopped lightly down from her perch on the conference table. “Slowly,” she cautioned him as he tried to sit. “Takes a bit for your balance to catch back up to the rest of you.”

“You shot me!” he yelped, then winced at the sound of his own voice.

“Consider yourself fortunate it was only a tranquiliser,” Fixer retorted. “You deserve a damn sight worse for the lapses in security I’ve seen so far.”

“Whuh...?” Pyne put a hand to his temple, as if he expected to restore his equilibrium by main force. “Wha'd I do?”

“Tell me, Pyne: Do you have the slightest idea who I am?”

Fixer watched as Pyne ran his gaze blearily over her, struggling to focus. Blue skin, black hair, red eyes, scar stretching from right temple to left cheek. Battered formerly-white longcoat unbuttoned over utilitarian grey leatheris. Sidearm at one hip, vibroknife at the other, carbine stock peeking up over one shoulder. His face fell as he finally saw the test and, in the same moment, realised he had failed. He shook his head.

“Then why,” Fixer asked, “did you break cover and admit to being anyone but Gray Star?”

“I thought that anyone who knew my name would be an ally, either from the old cell or from... before.”

“You thought?”

Pyne hung his head. “I assumed.”

“Well, you know what you’ve done wrong,” Fixer sighed, “which is more than I could say for some. It’s not much of a blessing, but I suppose we’ll have to take what we can get.” She stepped in close, offering him a hand up. “Come on, then.”

Pyne scooted back, crab-walking on his hands and heels. “Not until you tell me who you are.”

“Well done, Pyne,” Fixer said with a small, thin smile. “Fixer Twenty-three, Imperial Intelligence. Since Cipher Nine was unable to provide even the basic rudiments of operations training before his departure—” She didn’t even bother trying to hide the contempt in her voice. “—I’m to mentor you until such time as I am satisfied that you are competent to conduct a long-term field operation without assistance.”

Pyne lifted a hand, but rather than taking Fixer’s, he held it out flat with the palm up. “Credentials.”

Fixer’s smile widened as she pulled a datapad from her pocket and placed it in Pyne’s hand. “I’ll make a Cipher of you yet.”

Bless him, Sanju's a sweet kid, but he really wasn't ready to be dumped in the deep end. How fortunate for him that Intelligence has arranged for such a personable and flawlessly patriotic mentor. There's no way this can go wrong. NONE.

Scourge did not feel emotions the way a normal man could. They were cold, distant, and only ever anger, disgust, or contempt. He felt no pleasure or affection, given or received, the closest he had found since his transformation to immortality was mild amusement. A woman slept in his arms every night, a situation he found mildly amusing.

He woke her from her nightmares, often before they had properly begun. When he was too late he held her, drinking in her terror until it subsided. It was almost a fair exchange. Looking down at his sleeping charge, he could make out the thin scar that marred her cheek, he raged at how near it had been and silently cursed her for risking everything for a worthless man, a man who abandoned her for another without apology. Anger, disgust, and contempt he felt those frequently for her unwillingness to let go of childish connections, but he hid those thoughts lest she sense them and run away.

She had not run since their success on Balmorra and he wondered now if her newfound loyalty was gratitude for keeping his promise or because she had no one else. Mild amusement, she provided it in plenty. He would be pleased, if he could feel such a thing, she proved her power in the final moments of their most recent battle, he could see now that her full connection to the dark side required an intensity of emotions she was not normally capable of. He wondered how powerful she would be using the light side of the Force, he dismissed the thought as irrelevant, she was not the Jedi of his vision, but perhaps she could still save the galaxy given the proper motivation. It was still hope, if less than before, it was all that he had.

She shuddered in his arms, whimpering in her sleep, another nightmare. He drew her closer, stroking her arms and back, remembering a time when offering comfort to a woman would have greater meaning to him. Her eyes fluttered open and met his.

“The dream again?” He asked.

“No, not that dream.” She whispered and went silent, tears leaking out of her eyes. He thought she would fall asleep again but after a time she spoke. “He faced me.”

There was no question of whom she referred to. “And what does that tell you?”

“He was protecting her not me.” The tears still fell on his arm, they both ignored them.

The last of the Republic soldiers slumped over unconscious. Too late they realized that the Imperials found a way to pump knockout gas into the building. Only the Jedi could resist the toxin long enough to don masks.

They watched the monitors as a pair of figures approached the entrance. A pureblood Sith wearing a mask against the poisonous atmosphere and a small woman clad entirely in mercenary armor. Kira knew the lead figure and guessed the second, the Sith that helped retake Balmorra and his apprentice. She glanced at the Jedi Sajar, he was pale behind his breather, his hands shook as he struggled to control his emotions, and he radiated shame. Kira motioned for him to stay out of sight. They watched grimly as his executioner advanced.

“Traditionally a Sith will choose his armor to strike fear in his opponent.” Scourge remarked casting a sidelong glance at his apprentice.

“I think you’re scary enough for both of us.”

“You cannot hide behind me forever if you are to aid me.”

“Are you saying this greater enemy will fear a fifty kilo woman in a black bathrobe and a feather mask?”

“He will not, but we face more than just him. A Sith, no matter the size is always to be feared. A small mercenary is not.”

“You don’t recognize the value of being underestimated,” she considered his size and the predatory grace with which he moved, everything about him spoke of menacing power. “Then again, I doubt you’ve ever experienced it. Besides I can get power from making my enemy angry.” Her voice changed and despite her helmet he knew she smiled. “I seem to be good at that.”

“Anger will also help your opponent,” he replied, correcting her assumption. “Fear weakens your enemy while giving you strength. You gain a greater advantage by inspiring fear than being underestimated.”

She snorted, “Tell that to the Darth I killed with berries and a steak knife.”

“You were fortunate I recognized you from my vision. I could have stopped you had I wished.”

He had seen her in a Force-vision, she learned that much from his conversation with the Jedi, but he refused to elaborate. She did not bother askingnow, instead she teased him, “Aww, soft spot for Lachris?”

“Hardly.” He learned to ignore her teasing.

“That figured into my calculation as well. A Sith wouldn’t move to protect her unless you had something to gain, you’d probably let me kill her then kill me and take the credit or whatever it is you people do.”

“You would throw your life away for a single worthless target? That is hardly a sound strategy.”

“She wasn’t worthless to the resistance, and tell me my odds against your foe is better than my odds against Lachris.”

He could not answer that, he did not know what would happen to her, especially now.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He looked at his young companion with something bordering on humor. He was often surprised to find their conversations no longer irritated him. Now that she had stopped running away he found she was more disciplined than her flippant demeanor would suggest. She studied and trained with all the dedication he could have asked. Her views and observations of Sith life were interesting and oddly insightful when she chose to share them, like the perspective of an insect or a small creature. Someone who could not see the greater picture yet maintained the uncanny ability to survive.

He would have said more but they were almost at the entrance to the building, they could see that most of the soldiers had fallen where they stood. The Jedi Knight, Kira, approached the shield that spanned the entryway.

“I knew you weren’t one of the good guys.” She said fixing him with a cold glare.

He stood comfortably with his hands behind his back. “I have come for the Dark Council traitor. Turn him over and no one else will be harmed.”

“I won’t let you have him.”

“I smell his weakness. He will die by his own hand given the chance.”

“Well why don’t you stand there and wait for it. Meanwhile the Republic is sending reinforcements. Even asleep we can wait you out.”

Scourge sensed Coremi step back and activate her stealth generator.

“I guess your apprentice is smart enough not to wait with you.” Kira taunted, “It’s a shame, with the right training she could have been a halfway decent Jedi.”

“A waste, as Sith she can fulfill her destiny.”

“Being Sith is a waste.” Kira snapped, “I know who you are, Wrath. Do you really believe she has a destiny in the Empire or that she can be anything but pawn to your master?”

“You would be surprised at what I believe.”

A whisper of sound and a familiar presence marked Coremi’s return. A cloud of green vapor began filling the building. The unconscious soldiers closest to the vent began to choke.

“This time the gas will kill them.” He raised a brow, “Is one man’s life worth so many?”

“No.” Sajar said striding forward. He tapped the console dropping the shield. The gas began to disperse and the Imperials stopped venting it into the building. “Will you kill me here or take me in?” Scourge drew his saber at the former Dark Council member’s approach, but he heard the resignation in the man’s voice.

“My instructions were only to kill you if you resisted. My master would rather speak to you himself.” He smiled darkly as he felt the man’s despair intensify.

Sajar glanced over his shoulder at the young Jedi who tried to help him, “There is no death, there is the Force.” He quoted, “Tell Master Braga that I’m sorry.” He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and offered it to Scourge. The Sith motioned for the soldiers waiting in the distance to come forward to take Sajar into custody. No one noticed a Republic trooper regaining consciousness. Confused and sick, he only saw the Jedi surrendering and Imperials approaching. He panicked and opened fire.

Scourge stepped back easily avoiding the wild shots, a few of which found their way out of the building. The approaching Imperials saw the oncoming blaster bolts and returned fire. Forced to fight, Sajar engaged Scourge while Kira defended the entrance.

Kira leaped at the small line of approaching soldiers, expecting to land near the lead and cut him down, instead, she found herself swatted to the side by a wall of air. She rolled as the Imperials fired on her and deflected their shots at the invisible presence she sensed. She focused a blast of power in a wide cone hoping to disrupt her foe’s stealth field.

Coremi had been expecting such a move, she noticed both Sith and Jedi seemed to require a good deal of arm waving to focus their powers. It was an easy tell and she leaped high above the blast area. She drew her saber at the last moment becoming visible behind the Jedi and sliced through her personal shield generator.

Sparks flew from the small device with the added benefit of shocking the wearer. She did not waste time laughing as the Jedi shrieked and rid herself of the malfunctioning gear, much as she wanted to. The girl was not stronger in the Force but she was far more experienced and better trained.

Coremi felt the anger rising in the other Jedi, there had been unspoken animosity between them while they worked together on Balmorra, as a Jedi it was understandable that she did not like Sith, but this woman hated them, something Jedi were not supposed to do.

“I’m glad to see you two are still together,” Kira said sarcastically as she flipped over a sweeping kick only to be force pushed against a wall.

Coremi snickered, “Glad to see Doc still likes redheads.”

“Jealous?” the Jedi asked spinning toward her with a flurry of attacks.

“Ew, no. He dated my mom.” She timed that revelation to surprise the Jedi and followed it with a kick. Kira had been expecting an attack of that sort and feigned losing her balance, as the Sith pressed her advantage she whipped her doublesided lightsaber around, a killing strike. She felt triumph but also guilt. In another life, she thought, they might have been friends.

Doc lay behind a terminal where he had been trying to revive one of the first soldiers to succumb to the knockout gas. He shook his head and regretted it instantly. He forced himself to a crouching position behind the terminal, he could hear fighting all around him. He took a risk and peeked toward the entrance. He saw Kira fighting a mercenary with a lightsaber. In the distance the Sith from Balmorra fought with the Jedi they were sent to help save.

They fought, evenly matched, he did not know whom he wanted to win. Ever since abandoning her on Bamorra, twice now, he was consumed with guilt. He wished he could take it back, and help her, but the Jedi insisted she was Sith now and his feelings for Kira were real, what was more, he knew she returned them. His watched, torn and still confused from the poisons. Kira stumbled backward, she was vulnerable. Doc ran between the two fighters, hoping his old friend would pause long enough to be talked down or disabled. He trusted that Kira would not attack once Coremi stopped fighting.

Coremi saw the Jedi’s next attack whipping toward her, she smiled at the girl’s deception, in another life they could have been friends. She prepared to parry the blow when Doc stumbled between them. He held his hands up to her, his eyes pleaded for her to stop. Unable to reverse her current strike she deactivated her blade, twisting desperately to avoid the strike that was meant to kill her. One side of Kira’s saber cut through the front part of her helm, grazing her face, the other side went straight through Doc.

He glanced over his shoulder at the surprised Jedi, “Hey beautiful,” he mumbled as he fell.

Coremi yanked off her helm and went to her knees beside the doctor. “Doc?” she cried ignoring the burn that scorched her cheek. She ripped open his shirt to get at the wound, the Jedi’s saber had burned a massive hole in his gut, he was already dead when he hit the floor. She bandaged him anyway not knowing what else to do, hardly noticing the lightsaber aimed at her neck.

“Surrender.” The Jedi demanded as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Scourge was enjoying this fight. The battle had whittled away the façade of calm Sajar built at the behest of his Jedi masters. Now it crumbled revealing the dark power that gave him a seat on the Council. Unlike most Jedi, Sajar did not bother trying to convince him to change his ways, they fought in grim silence, the power of the dark side swirled around them. A surge of despair from the Jedi distracted the former Sith, it was his last mistake.

Sajar fell, his head neatly severed. Scourge turned thinking the Jedi’s despair meant his apprentice had prevailed, but instead she knelt unarmed before the Jedi. He cursed as the Imperial forces faced an increasing number of Republic troops slowly waking from their poison induced slumber. They would all die but he hated the messiness of Force-blind combat.

He studied his apprentice from a distance. She faced the Jedi, ignoring the soldiers Imperial and Republic alike. A mirthless smile crossed his lips as he felt her anger rising, he wondered how the Jedi was able to stand her ground in the face of it or perhaps she too grief stricken to notice.

Kira blinked back tears watching the girl attempt to help the doctor. His empty stare was still aimed in her direction, he tried to save her, and worse still she was the one who killed him. The Sith before her risked herself to avoid hurting him. It infuriated her, she hated this girl who was supposed to be special, whom her master allowed to go free because his instincts and the lying Sith’s vision. She was still armed, she had her duty, and she demanded the apprentice surrender. She met the girl’s eyes and realized her mistake.

A wave of force blasted from Coremi in every direction, it sent soldiers flying and damaged the building entrance, but the brunt of it was focused on the Jedi. Kira was lifted off her feet high into the air and hurled to the concrete floor. She landed with a sickening crunch and did not move, but Coremi was not finished, she grabbed parts of the damaged building and buried the girl, trying to break every bone in her body, to crush her very essence until nothing marked her existence but a smear.

Scourge traced the scar on her cheek, she flinched though not from pain. “You took a grave risk trying not to kill him, I almost lost you.”

She searched his face trying to understand him. “What is it that you face that forces you to put up with me?”

“What do you dream of?” he replied.

Back and forth, always the same questions but this time she chose to interpret it differently. “A time when the war is over and I can stop fighting.”

He understood her desire, she had never known anything but war, she could not know that life without it was no easier, not for people like them. “The war is not close to ending and we are living weapons, any other pursuit would be a waste.” Her body tensed briefly and she fell silent again.

“You are planning to run again.” He let his irritation show.

She frowned equally irritated. “Well what’s your plan? Keep me in the dark then shove me in a room with your enemy and hope your vision takes care of everything? What about after? If I can kill someone that you can’t, won’t you kill me because that’s what Sith do? Or will you keep me as your weapon and point me at your next target? Just,” She sighed frustrated, “just, give me a reason not to run.”

He frowned at her avalanche of words but she was not wrong. If they were to succeed she would need to prepare herself beyond what he could do for her. It was time that she discovered her destiny, he composed his thoughts to tell her the entire story, only then would she truly understand.

The com beeped.

He rose and went to the next room to answer it. The Emperor’s image appeared.

“Lord Scourge.” He intoned, “I have need of you, come to me.”

“Yes, master.” Scourge bowed.

“Bring your apprentice.” He commanded, “Your first in three hundred years, she must be quite special, I wish to see this woman for myself.” The transmission cut off leaving Scourge staring at the empty holoprojector. He looked up at a small sound, Coremi leaned against the doorway to his bedroom.

“So, I get to meet the boss.” She made a face, “Something tells me I shouldn’t be honored.”

“Indeed not.”

She walked to where he stood, and narrowed her eyes. “You still haven’t given me a reason to stay.” In his long life he had never met someone more stubborn, but she was not adept at hiding her thoughts or emotions, and if the Emperor suspected she was an assassin, he would kill them both or worse. He could not tell her the reason.

He kissed her instead.

This thing just didn't want to come together :/ Also, dead people!

“Stop that,” Scourge muttered under his breath.

“What?” Coremi replied innocently.

“You are glowing.” He growled. “Stop it.”

She had stopped pestering him about his vision, she stopped pestering him entirely, she even accepted his reasons for not furthering their relationship, that she could be used against him. She was young and susceptible, alone and vulnerable. He had not wanted to use those particular weaknesses but given the timing he had little choice. He watched her slip behind an expressionless mask. She stared back at him but something about her eyes seemed particularly bright. He looked away wanting to be done with this introduction.

The Emperor waited on his throne at the end of a long walkway. Some thought the room was built for intimidation, but it was really for security, there were few places for assassins to hide and only one way to reach the Emperor. Intimidation came from the Sith himself. His face was hidden by a grotesque mask and while this body he wore was thin and average in size, even a force blind could sense the power he wielded.

She knelt properly before him, moving only when he motioned for her to rise.

“My servant’s new pet.” His voice a harsh monotone, he touched her mind, he could not read thoughts, but he could sense emotions and he was very perceptive. He turned to Scourge, “All these years and you still manage to surprise me. Did you take her because she loved you? Did you hope to feel love again vicariously?”

Scourge had expected this line of questions, his expression did not change. “Of course not.”

A cold chuckle in response, “Did you tell her that you feel nothing, that you can never return her love?” Her eyes flickered between them betraying her surprise. “I see you did not. Were you saving that cruelty for another time?”

“She lacks the passion to become a true Sith, this was one way to unleash her anger, I simply would have waited longer.”

“Then I apologize for ruining things for you. Though I must thank you, her despair is quite powerful, I have not been so entertained in years.”

Scourge inclined his head.

“I would send you away so that you may torment her further but I need you here.” The Emperor continued, “Child you may observe so that your anger can fuel your master’s next battle. I have foreseen this day, the Jedi are planning an attack.”

Coremi turned and walked away stiffly. She rode a lift to a guarded observation deck. Even at a distance he felt her emotions spiking sharply, anger and shame.

They waited as the first alarms informed them of the intruder’s presence. “Alive if possible,” The Emperor intoned, “I have plans for them.”

“As you wish.” Scourge replied without taking his eyes of the entrance where four Jedi, kel dor, human, zabraak, and nautolan, appeared.

“Surrender, Sith.” The Kel Dor Jedi paced forward. “You and your master cannot stand against all of us.”

Scourge drew his saber at their approach. “You violate the Emperor’s sanctum. There is only one punishment.” With that he leaped among them.

Coremi watched the fight from her secure platform. She wanted to run but she could not move. She stood in a haze unable to focus, she could only feel her rising anger, burn with humiliation, and wonder how much of what she had been told was a lie. Was Doc dead because of a lie? How much of what she had done was because the Sith was toying with her, how much had she done because she wanted his approval.

She could only grip the edge of the cold metal railing high above a gaping chasm and watch her master fight. The Jedi were strong, but most were no match for Lord Scourge. Only the last, the kel dor alien drove him back. The Emperor observed dispassionately as he did everything, he leaped from his throne high above the platform where his servant fought. The Jedi sent a wave of Force that knocked Scourge away and charged the Emperor.

The ancient Sith raised his hands gathering a stream of purple energy and casting it at the last Jedi. The master caught it with his saber and tried to force his way forward, but eventually he fell. The Emperor surveyed the fallen Jedi. He laughed coldly, then he did something. Coremi watched in horror as the Jedi stood despite their injuries and shambled away. When they were gone he turned to her, for a moment his mind was open, and she sensed his thoughts. That brief glimpse of horror would have driven her to her knees if something else had not forced her to remain standing. She whimpered instead, the brief glimpse had shown what the Emperor had done, and worse it showed her what he planned to do. She watched Scourge struggle to his feet. He seemed to be looking up in her direction, and there was no doubt that her task was to stop his master.

She fell to her knees, released from whatever thrall had held her upright. She used the balcony to pull herself up, and for a mad moment considered jumping over the railing into the core of the fortress far below. Instead she made her way to the exit, Scourge having already been taken by aides to tend to his wounds.

They had not spoken since the battle in the throne room and while Scourge recovered she observed the Jedi. They were not the same as they were when they invaded. They no longer recognized each other, behaving as novice Sith. She stole medication from the infirmary to avoid her nightmares, she sensed that having them would call attention to herself, and that would prove fatal here. Now she felt calm and detached, it allowed her analyze recent events without the cloud of emotions Lord Scourge constantly stirred within her whether by accident or intent.

Scourge was not yet well enough to leave the medical station, but he left anyway. They docked at the Dromund Kaas orbital station. While they waited to refuel, he stood in the medical bay changing his bandages. Coremi wordlessly pushed his hands away and tended to his wounds. He could not sense her emotions and for once he was grateful for her medication.

He looked down at her as she checked a particularly deep gash, something about her had changed, she had seen the Emperor for what he was. “You saw him.”

She looked up but only met his eyes briefly before turning back to her task. “I did.” She worked quietly, she could have been rougher and used the time to inflict pain on him but she was gentle and efficient. “Tell me about your vision.”

He nodded. “Centuries ago, I discovered that the Emperor’s plan was not rule the galaxy but to consume it. I worked in the shadows opposing my lord Emperor in secret, until my vision: Jedi, shining with the Force, lined up to destroy him. All were swept aside. Then out of the shadows one Jedi emerged to cut the Emperor down. That Jedi wore your face.”

“I’m not a Jedi, I’m not a Sith either, you keep telling me my connection to the Force is flawed, and,” she hesitated, “I fail.” Her last words were a whisper. She continued to change his bandages but she felt his body tense. Without her medication she probably would have been terrified, if she was not the one from his vision, he would kill her. She thought that perhaps he should then he could find the Jedi and save the galaxy.

“Your dreams?” He asked finally, “Tell me about them.”

She shuddered. The memory of the dream stirred emotions stronger than her medication could counter, “The galaxy is dead, every star burned out, every planet cold. I don’t know why, I only know that it’s because I failed.”

Scourge watched her work remembering what the Jedi had told him about visions centuries ago and all he had experienced since. He knew she expected him to kill her but his conviction had weathered more than just nightmares. “The Force is still a mystery, but I do not believe your dreams were a vision. Perhaps they were a warning.” When she did not answer he cupped her face in his hands forcing her to meet his eyes. “The future is fluid, many things can change it, but I know you are the one from my vision, you can defeat him.” She only stared at him. He could not guess what she was thinking. “I do not regret my deception,” he said into the silence, unsure why he felt the need to explain. “Had I told you your destiny he would have sensed it and you would have fallen with the rest.”

She pulled away from him and returned to his numerous injuries. “I understand.” She pointed at her head, “In here I understand and when I can’t feel anything like now, I know I would have done the same.”

Her words surprised him. “Would you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first man to use his body to get what he wanted.” She glanced up at him and smiled at his reaction. “My mother did it, so did I, and we felt the same contempt and disgust.” She reached for a new roll of kolto strips and re-bandaged his arm. “It’s just different to be the mark, to realize you’re so easily manipulated, to question your every action and decision.” She hesitated, “Knowing that you loved someone and it was all a lie.”

He considered her words, wondering as he often did how he would feel if things were different. “The Emperor spoke the truth. I feel nothing truly, neither pleasure nor remorse. It was the price of my immortality, I accepted it so that I may find you.”

She completed her task and looked up at him intently. She reached up and brushed her hand against his cheek studying his reaction. “What can you sense?”

He covered her hand with his. “I know that your hand is on my cheek, I know that your skin is soft and cool, I know these things with my mind but I do not feel them. Taste, smell, touch, color, emotions, I have felt none of these for three hundred years.” She tried to pull her hand away but he held it and her gaze. “I still remember the feel of sunlight on my skin, the scent of my favorite foods, the color of my first love’s eyes. To experience those simple pleasures again would be worth anything. But I am no longer mortal; my only purpose now is to stop him.” He released her hand but he saw a spark of hope in her eyes.

“Would killing him bring your emotions back?”

He would not lie to her again. “No,” he answered with a sardonic smile, “but revenge is not without value.”

She nodded, bowing her head as what little hope she had faded. When she looked up her eyes blazed with anger no drug could suppress, she smiled grimly, “Then we will kill him and I will have revenge too.”

Borrowing heavily from scourge conversations.