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Afterimages: Dawn


Vesaniae

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An Imperial-centric story of politics, romance, and galactic strife. SW, SI, IA, and JK spoilers to follow. Departs from established game canon following the end of the class stories.

 

Those who frequented the forums around summer and fall of 2012 may remember a little story of mine called Afterimages. Three years later, I've decided to redo the whole thing. The main characters are the same, but the plot is different and the writing is better. Hopefully, the result is something that I can reread in three years and not want to burn to the ground and start over. Reading the original thread is absolutely not necessary, but it may be found here.

 

I hope you all like it too!

 

One

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

13 ATC

 

 

Her boots were loud on the polished black floor, each step cracking the foreboding silence of the Citadel. Although she was a slight figure, standing only a few inches above five feet in height, she moved with a confidence befitting the one who held the title of the Emperor’s Wrath.

 

She was Pureblood Sith, with skin the color of burnished copper and dark red hair pulled back severely into a tail behind her head. Her face, marked with the ridges characteristic of her species, had been called beautiful in the past. Now, however, only a few beings dared meet the golden eyes of one of the most powerful Sith Lords in the Empire.

 

Her name was A’tro. Darth A’tro now, though most only knew her by her title of Wrath. She found that she rather preferred it that way. Reputation was everything for a Sith, and hers was made all the more fearsome by lack of a name.

 

And so she walked through the dark corridors of the Citadel, occasionally passing red-armored Imperial Guards, who bowed deeply as she passed. She had been on the front lines for almost six months, and it was pleasant to be back on Dromund Kaas, at the heart of the Empire’s power. After months of fighting, she was coming home.

 

When she reached her destination, the entrance to an apartment located about halfway up the Citadel, she was not surprised to see a young human woman in plain black robes waiting outside the door. A’tro greeted her apprentice with a nod and approached the apartment’s keypad, entering in the code to unlock the door.

 

“Master,” Jaesa Willsaam said with a graceful bow. “I’ve been waiting here, as you requested.”

 

The door slid open with a soft hiss of motors. A’tro stepped inside, gesturing for Jaesa to follow.

 

The apartment was situated on one edge of the building, and one wall of the antechamber was solid glass, giving a spectacular view of Kaas City and the jungle beyond. It was only mid-afternoon, but the sky was obscured by thick clouds, shrouding the landscape in darkness. As A’tro watched, droplets of rain began to splash against the window.

 

“Did you deliver my request to the Ministry of War?” she asked abruptly.

 

“Yes, Master.” A pause. “If I may,” Jaesa said carefully, “I mean no disrespect, my lord, but…why me?”

 

A’tro turned away from the window to face her. “A Sith Lord of my rank does not waste time on errands. You are my apprentice, and as such, you represent my interests in matters that are too trivial for me to address personally.”

 

Jaesa’s brows drew together slightly. “I understand, Master.”

 

“If these assignments bore you, I suggest you bear in mind that we all serve the Empire in our own way.”

 

“I thought I served you.”

 

“Do not get impertinent with me, apprentice. The Empire is the Emperor, and I am his Wrath. You will find it is all very much the same thing.”

 

“I apologize, Master,” Jaesa murmured.

 

At least the Jedi taught her to be respectful, A’tro thought sourly. Sith apprentices tend to need the arrogance beaten out of them. “You’ll learn soon enough. It is my intention to remain in the capital for some time. As long as we are here, you must never forget your place in the order of things."

 

“I’m not sure I understand what that place is,” Jaesa admitted. “The Sith are…more complicated than I expected.”

 

“As my apprentice, you are on equal footing with most Sith who bear the title of Lord. Sometimes it will be necessary to remind them of that fact. Be bold, but not overconfident. Understand your own limitations.”

 

“I think I can do that.”

 

“Good.” A’tro turned away and started walking towards the door leading to the rest of the apartment. “You may go.”

 

“Where am I supposed to stay?”

 

“Figure it out.” I’ll teach her to be self-sufficient if it kills her.

 

“But I—yes, Master.” A strong current of curiosity surfaced in her Force presence, and was quickly suppressed.

 

A’tro paused and turned around. “Was there something you wanted?”

 

Jaesa’s gaze darted away from her and she bit her lip, something A’tro had come to recognize as a sign of nervousness. “I just wondered why—” She shook her head. “It’s none of my business, Master. Forget I said anything.”

 

A subtle chill ran down A’tro’s spine and settled in the pit of her stomach, where it quickly turned to a hot ember of anger. “Tell me.”

 

Jaesa visibly steeled herself. “Why did you have Captain Quinn reassigned? I thought the two of you were—worked well together.”

 

“I have my reasons,” A’tro said flatly. “And you were right to say that it is no business of yours. That will be all.”

 

“Yes, Master.” Jaesa swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I brought it up.” She bowed quickly and fled.

 

A’tro took a deep breath and laced her fingers together, cracking her knuckles one at a time. Outside, there was a distant peal of thunder.

 

Hopefully, Jaesa’s acute perception had failed to detect A’tro’s doubts on the matter. The old adage of keep your friends close and your enemies closer kept coming to mind. Whether Quinn was a friend or an enemy, however, was the question that continued to press irksomely at the back of her mind. Or perhaps that was too complicated a way of looking at it, and he was simply a liability. And liabilities had to be removed, no matter the cost.

to be continued.

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Thank you all for the comments! :) It's nice to be back.

 

Two

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

13 ATC

 

 

"I'm ever so pleased that you agreed to meet with me, Wrath," Darth Nox said cheerfully.

 

The newest member of the Dark Council was a fair-skinned human woman with long, midnight black hair and pale gray eyes. Her face, while not conventionally beautiful, was nonetheless quite attractive, with a tapered jaw, prominent cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose. She had chosen to forego traditional Sith robes in favor of a high-collared white dress with embroidered gold accents.

 

A'tro had been present during Nox's climactic duel with Darth Thanaton in the Council chamber. Her conduct then made A'tro inclined to like her, but she definitely didn't trust her. Nox was dangerous.

 

That danger, however, was why A'tro had agreed to meet with her in the first place. "The pleasure is mine," she said smoothly. "I was eager to once again offer my congratulations on your victory over Thanaton."

 

The corners of Nox's scarlet mouth turned upwards. "Thank you."

 

They were meeting in one of the public seating areas of the Citadel, an array of chairs and couches arranged in front of a large window giving a grand view of the city. Such places were good locations for Sith to hold meetings, as one could carry on a private conversation if one was quiet, but it was public enough that only the boldest would try for a violent power grab.

 

Nox moved over to a chair by the window, floating across the floor like a ghost in her white dress. A’tro took a seat across from her, folding her hands in her lap, but taking care not to intertwine her fingers too tightly in case her lightsabers were needed. This was a public space, but this was also Darth Nox.

 

"I must admit," Nox said, "I'm curious as to what you intend to do with your new position."

 

A'tro studied the metal plate on the back of her right gauntlet for a long moment, contemplating her answer. "I defeated Darth Baras in single combat," she said finally. "By rights, his seat on the Dark Council belongs to me."

 

"Ambitious," Nox said admiringly. "To be the Emperor's Wrath and a member of the Dark Council... I doubt the others will like it."

 

"I'm not giving them a choice."

 

Nox chuckled. "I like you, Wrath."

 

"I'm flattered. Might I ask what you intend to do with your own position, Nox?"

 

"Oh...this and that." Her enigmatic smile returned in full force. "The Sphere of Ancient Knowledge will keep me satisfied for the time being."

 

"I must admit, I look forward to seeing where you go."

 

Nox's smile widened. "You may be the only one. I get the sense that certain members of our illustrious Council are not overly fond of me."

 

"Such things are to be expected."

 

“Still, it’s dreadfully inconvenient when one is trying to get things done. Especially inconvenient for the assassins, since they’re all dead now, but…I’m sure you understand.”

 

“As it happens, I haven’t had many difficulties in that area,” A’tro admitted.

 

Nox raised a thin black arch of an eyebrow. “You haven’t? No, of course you haven’t. You’re the Emperor’s Wrath; trying to assassinate you would be tantamount to a declaration against the Emperor himself. Sheer foolhardiness.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“No wonder you’ve been so productive of late. You do impressive work, Wrath. Our colleagues had best be on their guard. I assume now that you’ve returned to proper civilization, you will be attending our meetings?”

 

“Yes. It’s time I became involved.”

 

“Good, good. I daresay you won’t have any difficulty finding somewhere to sit. There have been so many chairs open of late. It’s a little troubling.”

 

“The loss of Council members is a blow, to be sure, but they will be replaced soon enough.”

 

Nox pursed her lips and frowned. “Will they, though? I can’t help but notice that the Sphere of Imperial Intelligence has remained leaderless for some time.”

 

“Imperial Intelligence is dissolved, now. I imagine that complicates things.”

 

Nox’s frown deepened. “I am well aware. Whose foolhardy idea was that, anyway?”

 

A’tro shrugged.

 

Nox shook her head. “It doesn’t matter now. The point is, there is an empty seat and no one has taken it.”

 

“I’m not sure that the rest of the Council considers it empty. Darth Jadus is not dead, as far as we know.”

 

“‘As far as we know is’ decidedly limited. No one has seen or heard from Jadus in a year, now.”

 

“Considering what happened the last time he faked his demise, I understand the Council being reluctant to remove him from the picture.”

 

“Hmm.” Nox frowned at the window for several moments. Then the expression wiped itself clear from her face, replaced by her usual half-smile. “You know, you weren’t at all what I was expecting.”

 

A’tro stared at her blankly for a moment. “I wasn’t?”

 

“Not at all. When I heard that there was a new Emperor’s Wrath, and that they would likely be present when I faced Thanaton, I imagined some colossus of muscle looming over the proceedings.”

 

A’tro snorted. “Disappointed?”

 

“Not at all. No one bothered telling me you were a woman, either. Which, I have to say, is quite refreshing. The Empire could use a few more Sith ladies in visible positions of power.”

 

“On that, we can agree.”

 

“Not that I think our male colleagues are incompetent. Except for Ravage. Still, I find myself the recipient of a great deal of attention.”

 

A’tro looked from Nox’s face to her tight-fitting dress and back again several times. “I can’t imagine why.”

 

“Six months in power and they’re already clambering for my favor in droves.” Nox sighed dramatically. “Ah, the benefits of power. But what about you, my dear? A Pureblood such as yourself is at the top of the aesthetic food chain to most Sith.”

 

“I have no interest in such things.”

 

“No? More for me, then.” Nox settled back in her chair, her half-smile arranging itself into a full, confident smirk. “You can go a great distance on looks alone. I learned that a long time ago.”

 

“My strength can carry me all the distance I need to go.”

 

“Funny you should say that,” Nox said lightly. “Because unless I’m getting the Sith Code completely wrong, we gain our strength through passion.”

 

A’tro suppressed the urge to shake her head. She had witnessed Nox’s battle with Darth Thanaton, and the woman was as cold and calculating a fighter as she had ever seen. “I think the Code is referring to a different kind of passion.”

 

“Is it, though? An awful lot of Jedi can be convinced to switch sides with the promise of a little…fraternization.”

 

“I’ll give you that one,” A’tro said, thinking of some of the first questions Jaesa had asked her. “But I do not believe that ‘fraternization,’ as you put it, is as necessary as you make it sound. To indulge one’s appetites too far is weakness, plain and simple.”

 

“You prefer your hedonism in controlled doses, then?”

 

“I prefer not to waste my time.”

 

“Ah, one of those types.” Nox nodded sagely. “Perhaps I’ve been reading this all wrong. A military man—or woman—would be much more to your fancy than a Sith.” Her smile widened. “I do love our troops. So disciplined. So eager to please.”

 

Several extremely vivid memories flashed through A’tro’s mind. “I am finished with this line of conversation.”

 

“Of course, of course. Now that we’ve established your lack of interest, I can conquer as I see fit. Excellent.”

 

A’tro blinked. “You…you are strange, Nox.”

 

“I know. But I would be very boring otherwise.”

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Three

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

13 ATC

 

 

A’tro had set up her office with her desk at a slight diagonal away from the door. This meant that when she sat behind it and faced straight ahead, she was not looking directly at whoever might be in the room. It was a strategic choice, intended to force visitors to feel that they had to work to earn her full attention.

 

She was starting to realize that the layout also gave her an excuse to avoid looking at the one person she really didn’t want to see.

 

Captain Malavai Quinn stood at attention in the center of the room. He had been standing there, straight and rigid as a post, for several minutes, and A’tro had no intention of letting him relax. Let him be as uncomfortable in her presence as she was in his.

 

She quested outward with the Force, trying to get a sense of his emotions, and found nothing. She had never been very good at reading people.

 

She let the moments drag on, one after another, until she had finished the latest report from Corellia. At last, she closed the report, brought up a new document, and let her gaze turn ever so slightly towards the center of the room.

 

“Captain Quinn,” she said in the tone of one discussing the weather. “I believe that your talents would be best put to use within the Imperial military directly. To that end, you have been reassigned to the command of Moff Aurelius Drayle, effective immediately.”

 

A’tro forced herself to turn her head and look at him straight on. His face bore the same deliberately blank expression it always had.

 

“I trust you understand,” A’tro said, feeling the weight of the words as they emerged into the air to hang for a moment, then fall like mountains.

 

“Yes, my lord,” Quinn replied evenly.

 

A’tro wondered if this was all an act, or if he really didn’t care. She could never tell with him anymore. “That will be all, Captain. Dismissed.”

 

He bowed to her—a gratifying sight, she had to admit—and left.

 

The moment the doors closed behind him, A’tro slumped over in her chair with a heavy sigh. That had been entirely too difficult. Clearly, putting Quinn as far away from her as possible was the best option.

 

Reaching up behind her head, she removed the tie from her hair, then ran a hand through the rust-colored locks. It was done. Quinn was gone, the viper in her bed reduced to just another cog in the Imperial war machine.

 

I’ll miss him. She suppressed the thought as soon as it surfaced, but it was there nonetheless.

 

 

*****

 

 

The next day, A’tro received a call from Servant One.

 

“Wrath,” he said immediately. “You have returned to Dromund Kaas.”

 

“Our most vital campaigns are stable,” A’tro replied, unconsciously putting her hands behind her back in an Imperial parade rest. “I felt it best to return to the capital and—”

 

Servant One cut her off. “You misunderstand. Explanations for your actions are not required.”

 

A’tro nodded slowly, keeping her face impassive.

 

“The Emperor is pleased with his Wrath,” Servant One continued. “You have done well.”

 

“It has been my honor to serve our Emperor.”

 

“Yes,” Servant One said blandly. “Your dedication will be rewarded. I trust I need not explain to you the power of the Emperor’s chosen guardsmen?”

 

“The Imperial Guards live up to their reputation,” A’tro said. She realized what she was doing with her hands and jerked them down to her sides.

 

“Two of the Guard’s most capable members have been assigned to your service. You will find them awaiting your command outside your chambers.”

 

A’tro frowned. “I am grateful, but I don’t believe I require bodyguards.”

 

“They will do more than protect you. They are a symbol of the Emperor’s favor. With them at your side, all will know that you are truly his Wrath.”

 

“I believe I understand,” A’tro said slowly. The loyalty of the Imperial Guard could not be coerced. They answered only to the Emperor himself, and as such, only he could have commanded them to obey her. As symbols went, it was certainly a powerful one.

 

“Good. The Emperor is satisfied with you for now, but do not become complacent. You will not be permitted to repeat the mistakes of your predecessor.”

 

An icy claw of fear raked its way down her spine. “I am the Emperor’s loyal and humble servant.”

 

“Of course. Servant One out.” The transmission ended.

 

A’tro took several deep breaths. The cold claw had lodged itself in her gut. The Emperor’s Hand had never explained how or why the position of Wrath had become vacant. Every Sith with any political savvy had known who the Emperor’s Wrath was, even if they dared not speak of him.

 

The Wrath was the Emperor’s right hand, and above the ordinary squabbling of lesser Sith. The old Wrath likely had not been eliminated by rivals. If he had fallen in battle, the Republic surely would have claimed the credit for such an impressive victory. That left two possibilities: either he had failed the Emperor and been cast aside, or…

 

Her resources were few, given that she was new to the Dark Council and Imperial Intelligence was still effectively disbanded, but she had made subtle inquiries, with disturbing results. Shortly before the Emperor’s Hand had first contacted her, task forces of the Imperial Guard had been dispatched all across Imperial space and beyond, sweeping through system after system.

 

As if they were hunting someone.

 

It was a ludicrous notion, but A’tro found it haunted her nonetheless. Could the former Wrath have turned traitor? Surely it was impossible that a Sith of such high rank, so trusted by the Emperor, would ever betray that trust. Lesser Sith might falter in their convictions; she knew that far too well. But not an Emperor’s Wrath.

 

On some odd level, she found that she was actually grateful to the old Wrath, whatever his fate. Had the Emperor’s Hand not intervened, she would have likely perished in Baras’ trap on Quesh. But the Emperor had needed someone, and out of all the Sith in the Empire, he had chosen her.

 

She had wondered why, at first, but there was no point to that now, just as there was no point in speculating over the fate of her predecessor. It was time to meet these Imperial Guards who had been assigned to her.

 

She moved away from the holoterminal and checked the monitor that displayed the hallway outside her apartment. Sure enough, two figures in the distinctive red armor of the Emperor’s elite soldiers stood by her door. One was a head taller than the other, while the shorter of the pair had a more slender and curved figure, suggesting at a woman under the all-concealing red.

 

Interesting, A’tro thought. She had seen a fair number of the Imperial Guard on Corellia, but only a few of them were women. She went to the door and opened it.

 

The two guards immediately turned to face her, bowing in unison.

 

“Lord Wrath,” the shorter one said in a deep, but definitely female voice. “We have been instructed to present ourselves to you for induction into your service.”

 

“Yes, I’ve been informed,” A’tro said. “Come with me.”

 

She turned and walked further into her antechamber, trusting that they would follow. The sound of footsteps and the door closing confirmed her instinct.

 

“Now, then,” she continued, turning back to face them. “Each of you, show me your face and tell me your name and rank. I’d like to know who I’ll be dealing with.”

 

They hesitated for a moment, then removed their red helmets.

 

The tall guard was a man who looked to be somewhere in his mid-forties, with a hard, angular face and steely gray eyes. His hair was shaved close to his head, and he had a spectacular set of scars that slashed across his face and up over his scalp, probably from the claws of some wild animal. “Vorin Janeth, my lord,” he said. His voice was gravelly, as if he didn’t use it much.

 

“I’m Arden Zariel,” his female compatriot said. Of a similar age to Janeth, she had a cybernetic implant that mostly covered a patch of scar tissue on the right side of her pale face. Her gray-streaked black hair was cut short, and she had dark blue eyes that unsettlingly reminded A’tro of Quinn. “As we now serve you exclusively, we are outside the normal military chain of command. Only you and the Emperor himself have the authority to direct us, my lord.”

 

So I keep hearing. “Very well. I look forward to working with you both. While I am on Dromund Kaas, you will probably not see combat. In the field, however, I trust you are capable of battling any enemies I might face?”

 

Zariel inclined her head. “Rest assured, Lord Wrath, Janeth and I have slain many Jedi.” She hesitated for a moment. “And many Sith.”

 

There it was—both threat and reminder. The guardsmen were there to do more than protect her. They were there to watch her.

 

And if I fail, or show any signs of disloyalty, I’m sure they have orders to kill me, A’tro thought grimly. This “gift” may be more trouble than it’s worth. “Excellent,” she said smoothly, careful to betray no trace of her misgivings. “I will call on you tomorrow to accompany me on some business here in the capital. Until then, you are dismissed.”

 

Zariel and Janeth bowed, put their helmets on, and left the room, all in perfect unison that must have taken practice.

 

When they were gone, A’tro let her brow furrow into a worried frown. She was confident in her ability to carry out her duties, but the presence of the two guardsmen complicated things. They would probably report her every move to the Emperor’s Hand. It was just as well that she had settled matters with her personal life. She had to be conscious of the fact that her every move was now a reflection on the Emperor himself.

 

Her life was over. The time of the Emperor’s Wrath had begun.

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Four

Sith Academy, Korriban

13 ATC

 

 

It was A’tro’s first time back in the Sith Academy since she had killed Baras. She found herself the recipient of more than a few looks as she made her way through the corridors with two Imperial Guards in tow. Some, from older Sith and overseers, were speculative. The acolytes’ reactions were largely fearful, while a few who likely had more ambition than sense eyed her with open envy. Those would not last. All bowed to her respectfully as she passed, however.

 

While an assembly of the entire Dark Council was rare, there were always a few of its members who regularly gathered on Korriban to discuss current affairs and play politics. That business would start in a few hours; until then, A’tro had a different appointment to keep.

 

She made her way through the mazelike halls with Janeth and Zariel trailing dutifully behind her. As they passed into one of the older parts of the Academy structure, the corridors narrowed considerably. The Guardsmen continued to walk shoulder to shoulder, forcing the few acolytes they encountered to stand against the nearest wall or be run down.

 

While not at all subtle, they added an entirely new element of intimidation to her presence. This could definitely be used to her advantage when dealing with the military or lesser Sith. She could not imagine why she would ever need to talk to any civilians, but the Guardsmen would probably be useful then, too.

 

Having reached her destination, an unmarked door deep in the lowest levels of the Academy, she turned to face her escort.

 

“You will wait outside until my business is concluded,” she ordered.

 

“Yes, my lord,” said Zariel, who seemed to speak for the two of them. Both bowed and moved to stand on either side of the door.

 

A’tro nodded once and moved up to the door. She ignored the keypad—a Dark Lord of the Sith went where she pleased, and had no need to ask for permission to enter. Instead, she grasped the door with the Force, undid the locking mechanism, and forced it open. As she stepped inside, she released her mental hold, and the door slid shut with a whirr of strained servomotors.

 

The room was long and narrow, barely wide enough to accommodate the standard-issue desk that sat about two meters back from where A’tro stood. A dark red carpet covered the floor, and the walls were adorned with several portions of stone friezes that, judging by the red coloration of the stone, had been chiseled directly off Korriban’s tombs.

 

Behind the desk sat a Sith Pureblood woman dressed in traditional red and black robes. While A’tro knew she was in her late forties, there was little sign of ageing on her copper skin, which was just a few shades redder than A’tro’s own. They had the same rust-colored hair, but there was only a trace resemblance between their faces, which was good. A’tro had no desire to be reminded of her relationship to this woman.

 

“Overseer,” she said curtly. “I believe we have something to discuss.”

 

Ravinia Dhakar looked up from the computer built into her desk. She smiled, an expression that did not reach her orange eyes. “I wondered when you would come by. It’s been almost four years.”

 

A’tro scowled. “You will address me with respect.”

 

Ravinia inclined her head. “I apologize if I presumed…Lord Wrath. Even Lords of the Sith tend to relax the formalities with family.”

 

A’tro’s scowl deepened; the conversation was going exactly where she had known it would, and the fact that she had seen it coming was only making her more annoyed. “You may be my mother’s sister, but that does not make us family. My title will be good enough for you, Overseer.”

 

Ravinia’s expression turned somber, though her eyes remained hungry. “Are you aware that your mother is dead, my lord?”

 

“Good riddance,” A’tro snapped, her left wrist twinging softly in remembered pain. “I’m not here to chat about the past.”

 

The ridges on Ravinia’s brow lifted away from her eyes. “With, of course, all due respect, I was under the impression that you’d come here to discuss the debt you owe me.”

 

“I did. So tell me, what exactly is it that you think you’re going to get from me in return?”

 

Ravinia steepled her fingers together in front of her. “I have given the matter some thought.”

 

“I’m sure you have,” A’tro muttered.

 

“While I certainly enjoyed reaping the rewards of exposing a traitor to the Empire, concealing her apprentice’s fate was no easy matter.” Ravinia manipulated the controls of her computer. “I had to bribe the proper officials to have K’hera Dhakar declared dead, arrange for some semblance of documentation under your new name—it suits you, my lord—which required yet more bribes, arrange transportation… I have the expenses tallied here.”

 

“If all you wanted from me were credits, we would have settled this matter years ago.”

 

“Indeed.” Ravinia made another entry on the computer. “I could have smuggled you off Dromund Kaas and left it at that, but I did not. I convinced Tremel to bring you here so that you had an opportunity to start your life over again and rise high among the Sith under a master who was not a Jedi spy, because I knew that you would eventually find yourself in a position to make it worth my while.”

 

“Let me guess,” A’tro said darkly. “You want power.”

 

“Don’t we all?” Ravinia smiled. “I’ve always fancied the sound of ‘Lord Ravinia.’ Perhaps some property, as well? Your father still lives in the old Dhakar estate, but surely a scholar doesn’t need all that space—”

 

“No.”

 

“‘No’?” Ravinia echoed, her eyes widening. “You cannot refuse me, not after everything I’ve done for you!”

 

“Your assistance was useful, true. But I have no intention of giving you anything.”

 

Ravinia smiled again, showing pointed teeth. “You are free to do as you like…my lord. It would be a shame, however, if the Dark Council were to learn that Darth Evendre’s apprentice is still alive, under a new name, the disciple of a traitor in their very midst…”

 

“Do not presume to think that you can simply blackmail me,” A’tro said coldly. “Any accusation you make will be your word against mine, and my word carries the authority of the Emperor himself.”

 

“Not if I have proof—”

 

A’tro reached out with one hand, the dark side mimicking her gesture and seizing Ravinia by the throat. Her eyes went very wide, and her hands flew vainly to her neck. A’tro could feel her trying in vain to use the Force to dislodge her grip.

 

“It seems you misunderstand,” A’tro told her. “Were I in any other position, I would likely be obligated to give you something in exchange for your silence. But I am the Emperor’s Wrath, and to speak against me is treason.”

 

She closed her hand into a fist and drew it towards her, lifting Ravinia out of her chair and throwing her to the ground in a heap at her feet.

 

“You will die now,” A’tro said, and drew one lightsaber with her left hand.

 

Ravinia pushed herself up just enough to stare at A’tro. The hunger in her orange eyes had given way to fear. “Even a Dark Lord cannot simply execute an overseer of the Korriban Academy!”

 

“I killed your friend Tremel when I was only an acolyte. You’ll be replaced easily enough.”

 

Ravinia was silent for a long moment. “If…if I swear to keep your true past a secret,” she said finally, each word sounding as if it were being wrenched from her, “Will you…let me live?”

 

“Your word means less than nothing to me.” A’tro lifted her blade, ready to strike.

 

“Wait!” Ravinia choked out. A’tro could almost hear her swallowing her pride. “I—I’ll serve you. I’ll do anything you say.”

 

“You’re a liability,” A’tro said softly, almost to herself. “And liabilities have to be removed.”

 

The blade came down.

 

As A’tro strode out of the room and into the hallway, Zariel and Janeth fell into step behind her.

 

“In a few minutes, contact Academy security,” A’tro said. “Inform them that Overseer Ravinia has suffered an unfortunate accident.”

 

“Yes, Lord Wrath,” Zariel said in a tone that indicated she understood all too well.

 

A’tro adjusted her gloves and continued on.

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Oh I am loving this so far! I don't know the backstory since I don't think I was lurking in these forums yet when the original thread was posted so I'll have to search for it and get myself caught up. I'll echo the previous comment and say Ravinia most definitely deserved it!!
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Alaurin, if you or anyone else wants to read the original thread, it's here. It's really not required, since the plot of this story is mostly different, but I suppose if you want to look at it, I can't stop you. Please disregard my horribly awkward author's notes. I was young and foolish.

 

Five

Sith Academy, Korriban

13 ATC

 

 

A’tro had just made it up the stairs to the second level of the Academy when she paused, seeing someone unexpectedly familiar standing just a few feet away.

 

It was a male Sith Pureblood dressed in plain, practical armor that was designed for mobility rather than defense. He had the crimson skin that was most common to their species compared to A’tro’s copper. His head was completely hairless, with a heavy set of ridges crowning his brow and his chin extending into two distinct spiky protrusions. Ornate golden jewelry decorated his ears and nose.

 

A’tro hadn’t seen that face in years, but she knew who he was. He had to be. She started walking towards him, noticing after a moment that he was conversing with a slight figure concealed by a hooded black robe. She hesitated at that, unsure if she was willing to interrupt another Sith’s business, but by then she was close enough that he looked up and saw her.

 

His bright red eyes went wide, and he looked from her to the Imperial Guards behind her and back again. A’tro could almost see him making several realizations at once as he bowed deeply before her, subtly motioning for his hooded companion to do the same.

 

“Lord Wrath,” he said. “Forgive me for not acknowledging your presence sooner.”

 

A’tro flicked one hand in a dismissive gesture. “Never mind that. Savadar Ekari, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes, my lord. I’m honored that you know me.”

 

A’tro found herself hesitating, uncertain of how to handle the situation. She couldn’t acknowledge him officially, not with her old identity, but… “You were an associate of K’hera Dhakar.”

 

Savadar nodded. “I was saddened to hear of her death.” There was an undercurrent of something in his voice, some emotion that A’tro couldn’t quite place.

 

“As it happens,” A’tro said, trying not to sound overly awkward but feeling it nonetheless, “I was also familiar with Dhakar prior to her unfortunate disappearance. Perhaps we could meet sometime in a more private location and discuss our old friend?”

 

Savadar’s brow furrowed slightly. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

 

“Excellent. I’ll be in touch.” A’tro looked over at the hooded figure who was standing a few steps behind him. “Who is this?”

 

Savadar gave a small start. “Forgive my rudeness for not making proper introductions.” He motioned the hooded figure forward. “Lord Wrath, this is my apprentice, Kettrien Byrd.”

 

Kettrien bowed very low.

 

“She’s a bit quiet,” Savadar continued, “but she is very strong in the Force. I was just showing her around Korriban.”

 

“I won’t keep you,” A’tro said. “I have business of my own to attend to. I will contact you later, however.”

 

“Of course, Wrath,” Savadar said pleasantly. “I look forward to it.” He set off past A’tro and down the stairs, giving Janeth and Zariel a furtive look. Kettrien trailed after him.

 

A’tro watched him go, thinking hard. She should have expected that she would encounter someone from her old life sooner or later. She should have expected Savadar in particular, given his family’s prominence in the Imperial economic scene.

 

They had been close, once. Very close, though she had abandoned that when Darth Evendre had taken her as an apprentice. That note in his voice when he said he’d been saddened by news of her death, though… Sincerity, that was what it was.

 

Perhaps this was what she needed to finally put Quinn out of her mind for good.

 

She was still thinking it over as she took the elevator to the upper level of the Academy and made her way to the Dark Council chamber. It was not yet time for the meeting to officially start, but three of the Council’s members were already there in person.

 

“Hello, Wrath,” Darth Vowrawn greeted her as she walked in. “It’s a pleasure to see you, as always. We were just waiting for Marr to connect.”

 

A’tro nodded in acknowledgment as she walked past him and took a seat in the chair that had belonged to Darth Baras.

 

Directly across the room, Darth Nox winked at her as she continued the diatribe she had been in the middle of when A’tro arrived. “And fifthly, you’ve left yourself no room to maneuver. The Republic may be spread thin on the near edge of the system, but it would be simplicity itself for them to close in and cut you off.” She made a snipping gesture with one black-gloved hand. “In conclusion, your strategy is completely flawed, and when we lose that sector, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

Darth Ravage, seated to A’tro’s left, let out a sharp sigh of annoyance. “There is nothing wrong with my strategy. You are being too cautious. Creeping around like a Baldavian pocket hare will not win a war.”

 

“Neither will rashly overextending our forces and acting surprised when it doesn’t work,” Nox countered.

 

“Aggressive tactics are the only way to deal with the Republic. Given the chance, they will dig in, and it will take years to extricate them.”

 

“And while they hide in their bunkers, we can plunder the system as we please.” Nox smiled sweetly. “Contrary to popular Sith doctrine, a little patience can go a long way.”

 

“Clearly, you have never fought in a prolonged military engagement. Your advice is neither wanted nor needed.”

 

“Touchy, touchy,” Nox sighed. “Is a little civil discourse too much to ask for?”

 

“I will be civil,” Ravage said through gritted teeth, “when you stop trying to dictate how to fight a war in which you have yet to participate.”

 

“Funny, I don’t see you on the front lines.”

 

A’tro looked over at Vowrawn. “Do they always do this?”

 

Vowrawn nodded. “Entertaining, isn’t it?”

 

“—more to commanding my sphere than strutting about with soldiers,” Ravage said, continuing to glare at Nox.

 

“I think you’re just afraid that Marr will make you look bad,” Nox said archly. “Which is, of course, entirely understandable, since he’s been out there crushing the Republic since the war started, while you continue to lounge around Kaas City doing…what is it that you do, exactly?”

 

“I give instruction to the fleets under my command,” Ravage retorted. “I would suggest that you demonstrate your woefully inept notions of military strategy with your own forces, but of course, you don’t have any. Such a shame.”

 

Nox pursed her lips. “I do find it quite interesting that even with those fleets, you seem to have accomplished very little. Perhaps we ought to rename the Sphere of Expansion and Diplomacy to Posturing and Empty Threats.”

 

“Strong words from a woman who leads a knitting circle of glorified trivia gatherers.”

 

Nox tittered behind one hand. “Now, now, Ravage, that’s not very diplomatic of you, is it? I can’t imagine why anyone would put you in charge of that sphere.”

 

Ravage leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I earned my seat on the Council. I didn’t dispatch one raving lunatic and expect everything to be handed to me on an aurodium platter.”

 

“You seem awfully bent out of shape about my promotion for someone who has said on multiple occasions that the Sith have too many rules.”

 

“How many times will you take that out of context? The Sith Order needs laws and structure in order to function. It is the traditionalists’ insistence on dressing up killing with pretty rituals and pretending that somehow makes it civilized that I take issue with.”

 

“So you want us to be both structured and barbaric? That makes no sense.”

 

“That is not what I am saying.” Ravage sighed in obvious irritation. “The Kaggath, and all the other rituals like it, promote the idea that murder is only socially acceptable when you give it a fancy name and pretend that you’re following some code of honor. It doesn’t matter what you call it, it doesn’t matter how much you preen and tell yourself and all your friends what a heroic little Sith you are. At the end of the day, either your enemy is dead, or you are. Surrounding it in pretense is a waste of time.”

 

Nox raised an eyebrow. “That’s a nice speech. Did you practice?”

 

“He’s been having this argument with someone at least once a month for the past ten years,” Vowrawn put in.

 

“Yes, I have,” Ravage snapped. “Because this Council has continued to select members who so desperately cling to the way things were thirty years ago that they have lost touch with reality.”

 

“How convenient, then, that our illustrious colleagues keep getting themselves killed,” Nox murmured.

 

Before anyone could reply, the holoprojector built into the base of the chair to Nox’s right flickered and came to life, blue light resolving itself into the image of Darth Marr.

 

“I have little time to spare,” Marr said. His tone, as always, seemed to suggest that he took every unnecessary word as a personal affront. “Our forces are holding steady in this sector, and the next offensive should push the Republic into a retreat.” His masked visage turned slightly. “I see you have finally joined us, Wrath. Good.”

 

“Yes,” A’tro said. “I wanted to discuss the Sphere of Military Offense.”

 

“With the death of Darth Baras, that sphere is currently leaderless,” Marr said. “I assume you are bringing this up because you wish to assume that role yourself.”

 

Definitely not one to mince words, A’tro thought. “That is correct.”

 

Marr nodded once. “You removed the threat that Baras posed to the stability of the Empire. You have the right to succeed him. I will not object.”

 

“It is…an unprecedented situation, to be sure,” Vowrawn said. “But we must adapt to the changing times, or find ourselves in over our heads. I, for one, welcome you to our ranks, Wrath.”

 

“As do I,” Ravage added, inclining his head in A’tro’s direction. “It seems only fitting.”

 

Nox gave him a withering look. “You can’t be serious.”

 

“She’s already a Darth, and the Emperor’s Wrath.” Ravage raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to be the only one to object?”

 

“Certainly not,” Nox said coolly. “I believe the Council would do well to have you as one of its number, Wrath.”

 

“It is settled then,” Marr said.

 

A’tro looked around the mostly empty room. “What about the others?”

 

“This isn’t a democracy,” Ravage pointed out. He turned towards A’tro and smiled. “If anyone objects…kill them.”

 

Nox rolled her eyes. “Don’t flirt with her. It’s disrespectful.”

 

“Enough, both of you,” Marr said before Ravage could respond. “The war will not wait while you bicker.”

 

A’tro folded her hands in her lap and allowed herself a small, subtle smile of victory. This was it. She had risen as high as it was possible for a Sith to go. She had won.

 

Marr was right, though. The war would not wait.

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Six

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

13 ATC

 

 

The Emperor’s Wrath’s apartment was located on a stretch of Citadel hallway that had, for whatever reason, a large gap between lights, leaving the door sitting in a pool of shadow. Even the bright red armor of the two Imperial Guards who stood on either side of it was reduced to a faded bloodstain in the dimness.

 

“What’s she doing?” Zariel asked abruptly, speaking softly enough that only her counterpart standing less than a meter away could hear.

 

“It’s not our business,” Janeth answered automatically. After a moment, he added, “Although I think it’s pretty obvious.”

 

“It’s not right,” Zariel muttered. “She is the Emperor’s Wrath. She shouldn’t be wasting time carrying on like this.”

 

“They could just be talking in there,” Janeth said dubiously. “For half the night.”

 

“It isn’t right!” Zariel said, then froze at attention as her voice carried a bit farther than she had intended.

 

“Relax,” Janeth told her. “No one’s around. And like I said, it’s not any of our business what the Wrath does. Or who.” He chuckled at his own joke.

 

“You disgust me sometimes.”

 

They had been having the entire conversation without looking at each other, maintaining their positions parallel to the wall on either side of the door. After Zariel’s comment, however, Janeth turned to face her.

 

“What’s really bothering you, Arden?” he asked. “This isn’t just about the Wrath being a little frivolous with her time. I can tell.”

 

Zariel continued staring stiffly out at the hallway in front of them. “Were you not listening when the Wrath encountered that man on Korriban?”

 

“No, I wasn’t. Our assignment is to protect the Wrath, not spy on her.”

 

“Your ability to be willingly oblivious never ceases to amaze me. The Wrath mentioned K’hera Dhakar.”

 

“Should I know who that is?”

 

Zariel finally whirled around to face him, the eye slit of her helmet revealing just enough of a stormy blue glare. “I’m starting to think all the beatings you took in training ruined your memory.”

 

Janeth shrugged languidly. “What can I say? I had authority issues.”

 

“This is what happens when we take uneducated vagrants from Ziost and try to make them soldiers,” Zariel hissed.

 

“I was a bloody good soldier. Still am,” Janeth protested without any real heat in his voice. “Maybe you’re just pent up. I can cover for you if you need to go find someone to beat into the ground. Or we could go together; I don’t think the Wrath will need us for a while.”

 

“We’re on duty, Vorin,” Zariel said, clearly scandalized. “And we need to talk about K’hera Dhakar.”

 

“Right, you were going to tell me who that is. And why I should care.”

 

“K’hera Dhakar was Darth Evendre’s apprentice. You do remember Darth Evendre, I hope?”

 

“Small-time Darth; big-time traitor. A ‘fallen’ Jedi who turned out to be faking it.” Janeth nodded slowly. “That was a fun assignment. I thought her apprentice died?”

 

“That was what we were told. That was what all the records show. But I’m starting to think that Dhakar is actually still alive, and is, well, the Wrath.”

 

“That’s crazy.”

 

“Look at the images on record. They’re practically identical.”

 

“Let me get this straight,” Janeth said slowly. “You’re telling me that you think the Emperor’s Wrath is the former apprentice of a Jedi spy. Which means—what, exactly? Don’t tell me you think the Wrath could be a traitor.”

 

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

 

“Arden, listen to yourself. If the Wrath’s loyalties were anything other than what they seem to be, she would have to be fooling us, the Emperor’s Hand, and the Emperor himself. And that’s just absurd.”

 

“That’s—that’s not precisely what I meant,” Zariel muttered, deflating slightly.

 

“So what did you mean? Hopefully something that won’t get us executed for suspecting the Emperor’s favorite Sith of treason.”

 

“I just meant that we should watch her.”

 

“We already do.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“She was Baras’ apprentice, too,” Janeth pointed out. “And he was certainly a traitor to the Empire.”

 

“Baras fooled no one,” Zariel said disparagingly.

 

“The Dark Council—”

 

“Turned a blind eye because it suited them. The Emperor ought to purge the whole lot of them.”

 

Janeth sighed heavily. “Arden, you can’t say those things.”

 

“I know you’re thinking them, too.”

 

“It doesn’t matter what I think.”

 

“You’re right. It doesn’t.”

 

There was a long moment of silence.

 

Zariel looked at the door. “Do you think they’re really—”

 

“Absolutely,” Janeth murmured. “Aren’t you glad this place is soundproofed?”

 

Disgusting.”

 

“To be fair to Ekari, the Wrath is very beautiful.”

 

“Vorin,” Zariel said dangerously.

 

“I can appreciate her aesthetically, can’t I?”

 

“I don’t trust you around Sith women. Not after what happened.”

 

Janeth stood very still. “We agreed not to talk about that.”

 

“This is why we shouldn’t be allowed to have relationships.”

 

“Yes, you’re plenty evidence for that argument.”

 

Zariel turned and put her back against the wall again. “I know.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Janeth said, still facing her. “That’s what’s really bothering you, isn’t it? The Wrath is in there getting cozy with someone, and you’re upset because you think she should be a celibate bride of the Emperor or some ********.”

 

“I—well—I—” Zariel stuttered. “Well, yes.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Janeth said scornfully. “She may be the Wrath, but she’s still a Sith like any other. Passion is part of their bloody code!”

 

“If she were like any other Sith, the Emperor would not have chosen her.”

 

“I think you’re reading too much into this. The Emperor chose her, sure, but only to kill things for him and remind the Dark Council to be good little boys and girls. We are the true devoted ones.”

 

“I suppose you could be right,” Zariel said reluctantly. “It still bothers me.”

 

“Oh, relax. It’s just one night. Tomorrow we’ll be following her around while she puts the fear of the Emperor into people, just like normal.”

 

“None of this was what I was expecting when we were given this assignment,” Zariel admitted.

 

“I try not to expect anything. It makes following orders easier. Besides, we had no way of knowing what it would be like. The old Wrath—”

 

“Shut up!” Zariel said sharply. “And to think, you tell me not to say things!”

 

“It just slipped out.”

 

“Control yourself better, then.”

 

“Not to worry. I can hold my tongue.”

 

“Good. I don’t want to have to cut it out.”

 

Janeth turned away from Zariel and back towards the hallway. “What time is it?”

 

“Probably around 0400.”

 

“How many nights do you think we’ve spent standing outside a door?”

 

“As many as we’ve needed to.”

 

Janeth adjusted his helmet and stood slightly straighter. “Fair enough.”

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He hee, what Milani said :D

 

I also really enjoyed Ravage and Nox. Good fun reading there, loved all the comebacks and barbs. I totally ship Nox and Ravage myself, so this is extra fun. I also went into some of your older work and treated myself as well. Good stuff :D

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  • 2 weeks later...

“This isn’t a democracy,” Ravage pointed out. He turned towards A’tro and smiled. “If anyone objects…kill them.”

 

Nox rolled her eyes. “Don’t flirt with her. It’s disrespectful.”

 

 

Beauty.

 

And the Imperial Guard having opinions is great. It takes a certain mental fortitude to live at a Sith's left hand day in and day out.

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I do apologize for the delay between this update and the last; I was out of town for a week and had no chance to get anything done. Updates should now resume the normal schedule of "once a week, maybe, if I feel like it." :)

 

Seven

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

13 ATC

 

 

It hadn’t worked.

 

A’tro didn’t understand. It had seemed like such a good plan. Sleep with Savadar, possibly pursue some sort of continued relationship with him after that, and forget all about Quinn. But it hadn’t worked. In fact, intimacy with another man had only made her think about Quinn more.

 

She paced up and down her office, frustration boiling away in her chest like a pocket of magma ready to break through to the surface. Quinn was far, far away—she didn’t even know where he was. But she still wanted him. It was maddening.

 

And also, buried somewhere under the anger, more than a little frightening. No one should have this kind of hold over her.

 

At least no one knew. She had kept it a secret from her own crew, and by the time she had become a public figure it didn’t matter anymore. Such a crack in her armor would have been easily exploited.

 

Of course, it didn’t matter how well she hid the crack if she just ended up putting a blade through it herself.

 

A’tro continued to pace. Vette, had she been there, would probably have made a joke about her wearing a hole in the floor, but Vette wasn’t there. She had sent Vette away, told her she was free to go, and she had taken the offer and left. A’tro didn’t particularly care one way or the other; they had never exactly been friends. Vette had been helpful, and allowing her to leave the Empire seemed a fitting reward.

 

Vette was gone, and Pierce and Broonmark were off doing her bidding elsewhere—Pierce with the military, Broonmark on his own, where he seemed to do best. Jaesa had been, as far as A’tro could tell, making a valiant effort to learn what a proper Sith apprentice was supposed to do. This effort had amounted to a great deal of skulking about Kaas City and very little actually being done, but at least she was trying.

 

She was also the only one of A’tro’s original crew to remain in proximity to her. A’tro thought that perhaps the dispersal of her followers should bother her, as she had worked so closely with them for so long, but the only one whose absence troubled her was Quinn.

 

A’tro paused in midstep as her personal holocom chimed. With a small sigh, she ceased her pacing and activated the device, audio only. “Yes?”

 

Zariel’s voice crackled over the speaker. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lord, but there is a military officer here requesting to speak with you.”

 

The bottom dropped out of A’tro’s stomach.

 

“Shall we send her away?” Zariel asked.

 

Hearing the pronoun restored some semblance of sense to A’tro’s mind, and she took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. “Has she said what she wants?”

 

“I believe she’s seeking your assistance for her commander’s campaign against the Republic.”

 

A’tro raised a brow-ridge; she received numerous messages in that vein every day, but few were bold enough to approach her in person. “I will grant this officer an audience. Send her in.”

 

“Yes, my lord.” There was a click as Zariel ended the transmission.

 

A’tro retrieved a tie from a small compartment on her belt and secured her hair in its usual tail. She adjusted her gloves, took several more deep breaths, and remembered what it was to be a Sith, not some flustered pile of uselessness. Whoever this officer was, she wasn’t Quinn. A’tro could handle anything and anyone that fell into that particular category.

 

She strode out into her antechamber with confidence, deliberately drawing upon the Force to grant herself a subtle aura of intimidation that would be perceived by even a Force-blind’s limited senses.

 

Her visitor was a tall human woman dressed in a well-fitted Imperial military uniform with a major’s insignia of rank. She had fair skin and short cropped black hair with longer bangs angled across her forehead. Her dark green eyes were accented by subtle, elegant makeup. She carried no visible weapons other than a blaster holstered at her side, which apparently Janeth and Zariel had seen fit to allow her to keep. Then again, a blaster would do little good against a Sith.

 

“Lord Wrath,” she said as soon as A’tro entered the room. She bowed deeply. “You are most gracious to grant me this audience. I’m Major Sharinet Merrik, here on—”

 

A’tro folded her arms across her chest. “You’re looking to get my support for a campaign,” she said, cutting her off. “You came to me directly, so you’re either lacking in sense or overly ambitious.”

 

Merrik looked startled by her frankness for a brief instant. Then her face composed itself into the attentive blank expression that all Imperial officers seemed to be trained in. “I admit, I was not instructed to seek you out in particular, my lord. However, I was ordered to obtain Sith support, and it seemed more efficient to approach the most powerful of Sith rather than attempt to entice a multitude of the mediocre.”

 

“How glib,” A’tro said dryly. “I suppose you were given this assignment on account of your way with words.”

 

“I’m often told I have a clever tongue, my lord,” Merrik murmured, her blank expression cracking under the weight of a subtle smirk.

 

“That will get you into trouble someday, I suspect.”

 

“Oh, it already has, my lord. More than once. But I’ve survived.”

 

A’tro shook her head. “Make your case, then. I’m sure you have a fancy speech prepared.”

 

Merrik stood slightly straighter. “Perhaps my lord Wrath would prefer to hear the abridged version.”

 

A’tro sighed. “Just get on with it. I’m in no mood for games.”

 

“I thought not,” Merrik muttered. She stood at attention and clasped her hands together in front of her. “Are you familiar with the planet Telos, my lord?"

 

A’tro thought for a moment. “It’s a Republic world. The site of a major Sith victory during the Jedi Civil War, if I recall the history correctly.”

 

“Precisely, my lord. Telos, like Taris, was laid waste by the Sith. Unlike Taris, however, reconstruction efforts were able to restore the planet to its former glory. It now stands as a powerful symbol of Republic strength and resolve.”

 

“And we want to crush all that, I take it?”

 

Merrik smiled. “Telos survived the wrath of the Sith three hundred years ago, but it will not be given that chance again. The commander of this campaign, Moff Aurelius Drayle—”

 

A’tro stopped hearing her.

 

Drayle was a fairly competent but largely unremarkable Moff who seemed unlikely to cause trouble. Born to a lower-class family, he had enlisted and ascended through the ranks in a textbook example of Imperial perseverance. He had performed well as a commander both before and after the Treaty of Coruscant, but not so well that he had garnered significant notice in the game of Sith political-military machinations.

 

She knew his background because she had looked into it. Because she’d had Malavai Quinn assigned to his command.

 

Merrik was clearly highly placed among Drayle’s command staff. She probably knew Quinn. Had she approached her because of the connection between them?

 

No, no, she had Merrik figured out. The woman was clearly looking to climb up the chain of command, and recruiting a powerful Sith to win the war for them was an easy path to promotion. This was likely all a coincidence.

 

Coincidence…or the Force. Could it be that she was meant to end up where Quinn was? Could it be that the conflict within her would only be resolved by confronting him directly?

 

“—going smoothly, but the Republic has sent reinforcements that have greatly obstructed our progress,” Merrik was saying, oblivious to A’tro’s sudden turmoil. “With strong Sith support, however, it will be simplicity itself to annihilate Telos’ defenses and plant the Imperial banner amidst the ashes.”

 

A’tro thought about it for one long, hard moment that seemed to stretch on into eternity. Then she made up her mind. “Very well, Major,” she said coolly. “I will lend my power to your endeavors. Inform Moff Drayle that I will be arriving on Telos soon.”

 

Surprise, then smugness radiated from Merrik in the Force. “We are most grateful for your support, my lord.” She bowed low. “I will convey the news to Moff Drayle at once.”

 

A’tro nodded. “Dismissed.” She turned and walked out of the room without waiting for Merrik to leave.

 

It was done. She was a warrior by nature. Involving herself in Dark Council politics was clearly not enough to drive Quinn from her thoughts. She had to fight, had to face him directly, before she could have any resolution. She would end both a Republic war effort and her personal problems in one stroke.

 

Through victory, she thought, my chains are broken.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Eight

Imperial Base, Telos

13 ATC

 

 

Moff Drayle had assembled a delegation on the main landing pad to greet the Wrath when she arrived, as was appropriate, but the longer they waited the more Quinn wished he’d had some feasible excuse to opt out of it. Nervous anticipation writhed nauseatingly in his gut, and the more he tried to suppress it, the more it tightened its coils.

 

He showed none of this outwardly, of course. Every Imperial officer was trained to maintain proper decorum at all times, even—or perhaps, given the military’s relationship with the Sith, especially—when being eaten alive by fear. He was not afraid, not exactly, but he could not deny a degree of uneasiness as he speculated about the Wrath’s motives.

 

Why would she come to Telos? Merrik could be a smooth talker, but Quinn doubted even she had the rhetorical prowess to convince the Wrath to go to a place where she surely knew he was. She had wanted him gone badly enough to transfer him far away from her, but now here she was, about to willingly put herself in contact with him again. It didn’t make sense.

 

Perhaps she intended to kill him. It would be the Sith thing to do, and given how he had wronged her, not unreasonable. She had let him live then, but perhaps she had decided that his time had run out.

 

If that proved to be the case, Quinn would offer no resistance. What would be the point? He only hoped she wouldn’t make a spectacle of it.

 

His thoughts were interrupted by the thunder of engines as a Fury-class starship broke through the low-hanging clouds and settled on the pad in a near-perfect vertical landing. Though largely indistinguishable from any other ship of its class, the slight wobble the vessel made as it touched down was distinctive, stemming from a minor fault in the port engine’s wiring. The only way to prevent the wobble was to recalibrate the power couplings after every flight, a task to which Quinn had, in better times, devoted many hours.

 

It was the Alecto, there was no doubt about it. Whoever had landed it had done a very good job, which made him wonder. The Wrath was a gifted Sith, but she was a terrible pilot. Someone else had to be flying the ship. Someone who had replaced him.

 

A brief pang of regret went through him as he stood at attention. Moff Drayle walked down the short line of people, making sure everyone was in order, before settling himself at the head of the group. Merrik, standing close to the Moff, radiated smugness, and for a moment Quinn disliked her a great deal. But he couldn’t hold her at fault for somehow bringing the Wrath there; she was only following orders.

 

Just like he had.

 

The Alecto’s boarding ramp lowered to the floor. Quinn held his breath. A moment later, she came marching out of the ship.

 

*****

 

A’tro stalked down the ramp with Janeth and Zariel trailing behind her. Moff Drayle had assembled an entourage to greet her, as was proper. It was a smaller group than she would have expected, given her rank. An indication of personnel stretched thin, perhaps?

 

She scanned the faces, keeping her own expression grimly blank. Drayle stood in front in a white uniform; she skipped him over after a cursory glance. Merrik was standing not far behind him. She must have gotten a flight back immediately after speaking to A’tro.

 

And then there was Quinn. A’tro didn’t particularly want to look at him, but she found herself doing it anyway. He looked much the same as he always did: straight-backed and stone-faced, looking like something out of a propaganda poster in his well-fitting black and gray. He was not looking at her.

 

A’tro reached Drayle, and was forced to pay attention as he launched into a greeting.

 

“My lord, welcome to Telos. We are humbled by your presence,” Drayle said, bowing deeply. “It would be our utmost honor to fight alongside your illustrious self.”

 

The constant flattery that came with high rank was starting to make her nauseous. “I look forward to aiding this campaign,” she said. “We will lay waste to the Republic.”

 

“Yes, my lord.” Drayle gestured to the rest of the welcoming party. “My command staff and myself are at your disposal. Would you care for a tour of the base?”

 

A’tro suspected that the base was much like any other, but one had to maintain the formalities. “I would indeed.”

 

“Very good, my lord. My apologies for not being able to escort you personally; I must return to the command center at once.” Drayle turned towards the assembled personnel. “Quinn, show the Wrath our facilities.”

 

A’tro had never believed in the Sith right to summarily execute anyone on a whim, but she suddenly understand why they might want to.

 

“Merrik, Lyn,” Drayle continued, “I’ll need you both in the command center. The rest of you, back to your posts.” He turned back towards A’tro, oblivious to how close she was to snapping his neck with a thought. “My lord Wrath, it is an honor to have you. I promise my men and I will not disappoint.” With another short, formal bow, he turned and left the landing platform.

 

The small group dispersed, leaving A’tro, her two silent guards, and Quinn.

 

“Captain,” A’tro said, the word rasping through her suddenly dry throat.

 

“My lord,” Quinn said quietly. He made eye contact for the briefest of instants, then broke it with a bow.

 

Was he nervous? She hoped he was nervous.

 

Quinn straightened and took a breath. “My lord, welcome to Telos. If you would follow me, I will bring you up to speed on the nature of our fortifications.”

 

Now he sounded like himself, all clipped formality. A’tro supposed it would have been too much to expect for him to give any kind of discernible reaction to her arrival. She briefly prodded at his presence in the Force, but found nothing that she could interpret.

 

“Let’s get on with this, shall we?” she said briskly. Continuing to stand there would accomplish nothing, and she didn’t want Janeth and Zariel to figure out anything close to the truth of the situation. Her history with Quinn was none of their business.

 

Quinn inclined his head acquiescently and started walking. A’tro followed, feeling unsettled.

 

The tour proved to be entirely unnecessary, as the base was constructed from prefabricated units arranged in the standard configuration of optimal defensive capabilities calculated by the Ministry of Logistics. It was smaller than A’tro would have expected, given that it was the launching point of an entire planetary invasion. She had a feeling Drayle had fewer resources to work with, and was faring far worse, than either he or Merrik had let on.

 

She let Quinn talk, giving an occasional affirmative monosyllable as he glibly rattled off the functions of each part of the base. She hoped that Janeth and Zariel were paying attention, because if there was anything important in Quinn’s explanation, she was missing it. She was much too busy trying to act normal to actually focus on his words, instead letting it all fade into a steady background hum that was surprisingly soothing.

 

I always enjoyed listening to him talk. That was a treacherous line of thought to follow. A’tro forced her attention back to the present as Quinn finally stopped walking outside a door set on a narrow hallway that was out of the way of the main traffic area.

 

“This is an office space that has been made available to you for whatever business you may wish to conduct, my lord,” Quinn said. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “If there is nothing else you require of me, I will return to my duties.”

 

A’tro nodded. “That will be all. Dismissed.”

 

Quinn bowed and walked away quickly.

 

A’tro looked to Janeth and Zariel. “Are you capable of performing a security sweep of this room?”

 

“Certainly, my lord,” Zariel said.

 

“Good. Do so. I’m going back to the ship.” A’tro turned sharply and walked away in the opposite direction from where Quinn had gone. I need time to think.

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Thanks for reading, thanks for commenting. It means a lot to me. :) The plot is going to take off very soon.

 

Nine

Imperial Base, Telos

13 ATC

 

 

A’tro made her way back towards the landing pad, trying not to walk too quickly lest she betray that she was very much trying to run away. She had miscalculated yet again, deluded herself into thinking that by coming face to face with Quinn once more she could experience some sort of closure.

 

She was wrong. She had never been more wrong. She had been lying to herself the whole time. She didn’t want closure, didn’t want to remove him from her life. It had been less than two months since she’d sent him away, but it had felt like a lifetime. Seeing him again had sent her every sense into overdrive and lit her nerves with a fire that was slowly searing into her brain an understanding that she was struggling with all her will to deny.

 

She would have to kill him. That was not the understanding, but it was the only solution. Quinn had to die. All her treacherous feelings would die with him.

 

It wasn’t unusual. Sith did that sort of thing all the time.

 

She just wasn’t certain that she had the strength.

 

She rounded a corner, feeling her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, and nearly collided with a slim woman carrying an armful of datapads. The woman gasped in surprise, dropping a number of the datapads onto the floor.

 

A’tro ground to a halt as the woman scrambled to scoop the datapads back up into her arms. She was in uniform, but hers was all black instead of gray, and she had no visible insignia.

 

“I’m so sorry, my lord!” the woman said breathlessly. She tried to salute, appeared to realize that carrying her cargo made that impossible, and bowed instead. “I should have been paying more attention to where I was going. I apologize.”

 

A’tro looked her over. She was quite thin, thinner than looked healthy for an adult human female, and her fair skin had a pallid quality that suggested she rarely saw sunlight. She had neat, chin-length black hair, and wide eyes that were the same shade of dark blue as the ones belonging to the man from whom A’tro was trying so hard to escape.

 

“You are forgiven,” A’tro murmured, the words coming out on autopilot.

 

The woman straightened from her bow into rigid attention. “Watcher Twenty, Imperial Intelli—I mean, Sith Intelligence.”

 

A’tro raised a brow-ridge, the new information intriguing her enough to push thoughts of Quinn off to the side. “I didn’t realize Intelligence was organized enough to send people to the front lines again. What’s your job here?”

 

“Tactical assessment and data analysis, my lord,” Watcher Twenty said. She blinked for the first time since the conversation had started. “Sweet stars, you’re the Emperor’s Wrath.”

 

A’tro started to feel ever so slightly amused. “I am.”

 

“I once again extend my most heartfelt apologies for getting in your way, my lord,” Watcher Twenty said, black brows knitting together in a nervous frown.

 

“Relax,” A’tro told her. “You seemed to be in a hurry. Is something going on?”

 

“I was on my way to deliver a report to Moff Drayle. Reconnaissance has reported in from scouting the Republic’s nearest defensive line and I felt it best to share the relevant information with him immediately.”

 

“Then you should be on your way.” A’tro thought for a moment. “In fact, I will accompany you. I think I’d like to hear this report myself.”

 

“Of course. My lord.” Watcher Twenty adjusted her hold on the datapads and started off at a brisk pace.

 

A’tro fell into step beside her. As much as she wanted to go back to her ship and mull over the Quinn situation, she had a duty to the Imperial war effort. That merited her full attention.

 

She briefly considering stopping by the office and retrieving Janeth and Zariel, then decided against it. They would probably find her easily enough, and she was tired of being constantly shadowed.

 

Watcher Twenty kept sneaking quick glances over at A’tro, as if keeping an eye on some sort of poisonous insect lurking just out of swatting range. She did it so often that A’tro half expected her to miss something directly in front of her, trip on it, and drop the datapads all over again. But they made it to the command center without incident. A’tro took a deep breath, steeling herself, for Quinn would surely be there, then slipped through the door after the Watcher.

 

Indeed, there was Quinn, conferring with Drayle, Merrik, and a woman with cybernetic optics and a colonel’s insignia. Watcher Twenty skittered up to them, while A’tro followed more sedately behind.

 

“Sir, I have bad news,” Watcher Twenty said without preamble. She deposited her pile of datapads atop the nearest console with a clatter. “The Republic has landed troops from off-planet and they’ve set up a position quite near our forward outpost.”

 

“They’re bringing in offworld reinforcements already?” Drayle mused. “They must be worried.”

 

Watcher Twenty picked up one of the datapads and fidgeted with it. “They have two Jedi with them.”

 

“And we have the Emperor’s Wrath,” Drayle countered. He nodded to A’tro as she approached. “My lord. Glad you could join us.”

 

Watcher Twenty’s fidgeting increased. “A scout managed to capture an image of one of the Jedi. It’s not the best quality, but I believe that this particular individual is, well…” She lowered her voice. “A defector.”

 

Merrik and the colonel exchanged glances. Quinn remained impassive.

 

A’tro moved up to stand at Watcher Twenty’s shoulder, which was level with her eyes. “Are you absolutely certain of this?”

 

Watcher Twenty looked at the datapad she was holding, put it down, picked up another, and brought up an image on the screen.

 

A’tro peered at it. It had been taken from quite far away. She could just make out a figure in brown. “Is that the Jedi there?”

 

Watcher Twenty zoomed in on the figure. The resulting image was blurry, but A’tro was able to discern a rough impression of a face framed by dark hair.

 

A face with copper skin and golden eyes.

 

A’tro’s blood ran cold.

 

“As you can see, the Jedi is almost certainly a Pureblood Sith,” Watcher Twenty whispered. “Which is why I felt this warranted your immediate attention, sir.”

 

Drayle nodded. “Keep the scout who captured this image out in the field and isolated from the rest of the troops. We don’t want word of this spreading.”

 

“Morale is bad enough as it is,” Merrik muttered, so quietly that A’tro’s Force-enhanced hearing barely picked it up.

 

“Already done, sir,” Watcher Twenty said. “This needs to be handled delicately. And quietly.”

 

“Do you have any idea as to the identity of this Jedi?” Quinn asked, speaking for the first time.

 

Watcher Twenty shook her head. “I’m working on it, but with the image quality being what it is, cross-referencing with the Intelligence archives is bringing back more matches than I have time to sort through with all my other duties. And the HoloNet connection here is terrible. I’m going to need more time.”

 

“Prioritize your other duties first, Watcher,” Drayle ordered. “We don’t have time to waste.”

 

“Respectfully, sir, I have to disagree,” Quinn said. “Knowing the identity of the traitor could prove very valuable when fighting them. They will certainly be familiar with our standard tactics.”

 

“Your opinion is noted, Captain,” Drayle said. He turned back to Watcher Twenty. “Keep this information under wraps at all costs. You’re dismissed.”

 

Watcher Twenty saluted smartly, scooped up her datapads, and departed.

 

Drayle shook his head. “Emperor save me from Intelligence analysts and their eccentricities.”

 

“She had a point,” A’tro said. “And so does Quinn.” It was the first time she’d said his name in weeks, and she nearly stumbled over it. “This needs to be dealt with.”

 

“Frankly, my lord, our forces are spread thin,” Drayle said grimly. “Mounting a direct assault on the Republic would require diverting troops from this base or one of our outposts.”

 

“You don’t need more troops, Moff,” A’tro said, folding her arms across her chest. “You have me.”

 

“Nevertheless, I do not believe we should rush into this situation unprepared.” Drayle’s tone switched from commanding to cajoling partway through the sentence as he appeared to remember to whom he was speaking. “My lord, I advise waiting for further information from our scouts. We have limited resources, and I do not wish to act in a manner that might waste any of them.”

 

“I understand,” A’tro said. She unfolded her arms. “It does intrigue me, however, that the situation presented to me on Dromund Kaas of an impending Imperial victory here on Telos appears to have been a falsification.”

 

Drayle paled slightly. “My lord, I assure you, it was never my intention to mislead you. I don’t know what Major Merrik told you—”

 

“I conveyed the message you instructed me to convey, sir,” Merrik interjected silkily.

 

“We are having some difficulty making progress, that is true,” Drayle said stiffly. “But I assure you, with you here, our victory is certain.”

 

A’tro frowned. “I did not come to this wretched planet to counterbalance your own failings.”

 

“Of—of course not, my lord,” Drayle stammered. “I, uh—”

 

“The conquest of Telos will proceed,” A’tro said coolly. “Whether or not you will need to be replaced when it is finished remains to be seen. I suggest you think that over.” She turned and swept out of the room.

 

 

*****

 

 

Quinn watched the Wrath go, her cape swirling behind her as she walked.

 

The four officers stood silently for several long moments. Then Drayle muttered something about inspecting the troops and left, somewhat shakily.

 

“That went well,” Merrik drawled when he was gone.

 

Colonel Lyn ran a finger over the metal bar embedded along her temple. “Drayle’s not used to dealing with Sith. He needs to get his act together before the rest of us are dragged down with him.”

 

“She isn’t normally like this,” Quinn found himself saying.

 

Both women turned to look at him.

 

“I keep forgetting you used to serve with the Wrath,” Lyn said. “What’s your take on this?”

 

“She seems…distracted,” Quinn said slowly, already regretting his failure to keep silent. “She’s not one to threaten for no reason. There must be something else on her mind.”

 

He had a feeling he knew what that something else was, too.

 

“Probably the whole ‘rogue Sith’ thing,” Merrik said. “I imagine that must be odd to deal with.”

 

“This could work to our advantage, though,” Lyn said thoughtfully. “The Jedi gives us an excuse. Quinn, if you could talk to the Wrath, get her to convince Drayle to stop stalling and attack, we might accomplish something.”

 

“I’m not certain I can do that, sir,” Quinn said. The nervous anticipation he had felt earlier returned. “The Wrath may not be entirely open to my advice.”

 

Merrik snorted. “Let me guess: she doesn’t like you and that’s why she stuck you here.”

 

“The reason for my reassignment is not your concern, Major,” Quinn said coldly.

 

Merrik raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I care for your tone, Captain.”

 

“Enough,” Lyn said firmly. “I won’t have the two best officers in this whole contingent at each other’s throats. Leave your Academy rivalry there in the past, where it belongs.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Merrik sighed.

 

“I apologize, sir,” Quinn said.

 

Lyn shook her head. “We have to make the best of this situation. Quinn, if you can’t talk to the Wrath, then I will.”

 

“I could do it,” Merrik said eagerly. “I already convinced her to come here, didn’t I?”

 

“No,” Lyn said flatly. “If you offend her with your unprofessionalism, that’s two bridges burned. I won’t have it.”

 

Merrik looked slightly crestfallen. “Whatever you say, sir.”

 

Lyn turned to Quinn. “I want you to go check in with Watcher Twenty and see if she has any other information. Anything at all that might help.”

 

Quinn stood at attention. “Yes, sir.”

 

“Merrik, check in with Faraday about the walkers.”

 

“I’ll get right on it.”

 

“I’m going to find Drayle and try to advise him about handling Sith. Dismissed, both of you.” Lyn strode off purposefully.

 

Merrik looked at Quinn. “In all seriousness, though. Is this going to be a problem? As in, will the Wrath not want to work with us because of you?”

 

“If it were going to be a problem, I doubt she would have agreed to your request,” Quinn said. “As it is, I suspect she is displeased with Drayle’s reluctance to take action.”

 

“Aren’t we all?” Merrik sighed. “I should be going.” She walked away shaking her head, leaving Quinn standing alone.

 

He had answered Merrik’s inquiry confidently, but he couldn’t help but be concerned. A’tro was clearly distracted by something. It could be the traitorous Jedi.

 

It could also be him.

 

If his presence interfered with her concentration in battle, if she were hurt or killed because of it… No, that was a foolish and paranoid notion. A’tro had never been one to let her emotions interfere with her judgment; he knew that perfectly well. She would do her duty, and he would do his. It was the way it had to be.

 

 

*****

 

 

A’tro found herself once again walking through the Imperial base deep in thought, but this time, she wasn’t thinking about Quinn. She was thinking about someone else. Someone she hadn’t thought about in a very long time.

 

The Jedi, who was clearly of Sith blood. The Jedi with copper skin and golden eyes, who even in the blurry image had looked a great deal like her.

 

This would not do. This was more important than Quinn right now. Before she could even begin to find some sort of resolution to her personal conflict, this Jedi had to be destroyed. She would have to act alone, and she would have to act quickly, before further scouting missions produced clearer images.

 

It was a problem that she really should have expected to need to deal with sooner rather than later, but she had not expected that K’saria would survive long enough for it to be an issue. A’tro would not underestimate her again. Perhaps the Force had brought her to Telos to resolve more than just her issues with Quinn.

 

She could feel it in her heart, in her bones: after eight long years, she was finally going to have the chance to kill her sister.

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