I killed the living heck out of Ardun Kothe. Chance I spared, because the kid was way out of his depth and seemed decent, but Kothe knew exactly what he was doing.

This Kothe isn't fool enough to think he's stumbled across a good person, but hey, he has the keyword leash. Good enough for now. Now Kothe is set if he can keep that keyword in place...and Cipher Nine is set if he can keep playing his enemies off against each other while he prepares to break out and exact revenge...and Vierce, Vierce has some major work to do.

The general theme, though, is captured on Tumblr.

Chance I spared, because I saw him as the cell's weak point. One who would, after I helped him, vouch for my agent's good intentions, opposing Hunter. And then he disappeared to Coruscant. Poo. Oh, I understand why, but darn it, I wanted to play him off against the rest of them.

Nightmares. I woke up early and forced myself to move. Dorne used to keep some kind of sedative formula around for the nights I couldn't sleep, or could sleep but kept on yelling. She cooked something up after she found out what I was using in combination with not-especially-precisely-dosed alcohol to knock myself out most of the time, and she just quietly made sure the nonlethal stuff was around after that.

Yeah. She had everything perfectly in place. I guess she always did. So why did it feel like something didn't add up?

That was stupid. It was me feeling...feeling the wrong way. I hauled on out to pick up the last of the supplies we needed planetside.

When I got back I had a message telling me call General Garza immediately. My stomach knotted up; this was going to tell me exactly what I would be doing in the immediate future.

She looked just about as sour as ever. "Captain. Havoc Squad is still cleared for its operation against the Gauntlet superweapon. The bad news is that that was far from a given. I need you on your best behavior, getting results. The Senate inquiry panel will be 'reevaluating' Havoc Squad's status when this is done, but for now it agrees that you're needed in the field." She went from grim to almost angry. "Do not give them another reason to doubt that."

Now that wasn't fair. "I never gave them a reason in the first place, sir."

"A reason happened," she said sharply. "We can't afford anything that looks like another mistake."

"Did they come up with a conclusion, sir?" More importantly, was she satisfied with it? Garza had a will like durasteel and more than enough power to put behind it if she had a mind to. If there were any explanation other than me being blind – incredibly, stupidly, infuriatingly blind – and Dorne's activities being invisible, Garza would make sure to make the Senate listen.

"There's a clear explanation, captain. Whether I was mistaken in my initial evaluation of Sergeant Dorne or not, it would take quite a lot to overturn their decision. Starting with a piece of actual evidence. For now we have to put that aside. You're needed on Quesh."

"Yes, sir."

*

Quesh was a mess. My sole objective was to free up the Safecrackers, an elite unit trapped behind enemy lines. How anybody could make out lines in a yellow-smear swamp like Quesh I'll never know. At least on Kegled II or even Ord Mantell you could tell what you were fighting for.

Anyway, we needed the Safecrackers on our side to secure the Gauntlet vessel when the time came. What passed for the Republic base was under heavy pressure from the Imps when we showed up; a couple of days of chewing through everything they sent at us was something I was ready to handle. I wanted to break things.

We suffered for Dorne's absence. Forex stepped up to additional fire support amazingly, but our coordination was missing a piece. The newcomer Tanno Vik was…Vik. I don't even know where to start on him so I'll stick to the operational stuff. He had a criminal's smoothness – I'd worked with plenty of his type in the resistance – but he was only precise with the plan we laid out in advance. If the slightest thing went wrong he would start improvising things I'd have beaten him senseless for if we weren't busy fighting for our lives. I guess, in a way, getting privately mad at him was better than thinking about other things. But I missed having the extra someone who knew my signals almost before I gave them. I guess she always knew that would happen.

I hadn't realized she'd gotten that far under my skin.

Balkar contacted us while we were on Quesh. It was a secure line, I had Jorgan follow me into the barracks and took it on my personal holo.

The SIS agent put on a brave face. "Vierce. How are you liking the adrenal capital of the galaxy?"

"I'll give it 'exciting'," I said. "How's your peace and quiet?"

"I'll let you know after I find some. Strangely I haven't been able to get in touch with the exact SIS analyst who checked over our Captain Raznic's dirt. People in-house want this over: the Imperial did Imperial things, we got points for catching it." He shot a look at Jorgan. "Maybe it's true. But if you wanted a chance to look yourself, I can send you the recording that incriminated your sergeant. Keep it quiet, all right?"

"I can do that." It seemed nobody higher up wanted to hear it anyway. "Thanks. This means a lot."

"You did us a good turn on Nar Shaddaa. I'd like to return the favor. I hope you find what you're looking for, captain. Balkar out."

*

That meant there was one more call I had to make before I returned to the field. My little brother wasn't one to dedicate himself to any one thing for long, but he had kept up with his slicing skills. He did it for the resistance back home and he freelanced nowadays. It was the way he had to put one over on the Imps when he got the chance; he was no fighter but that didn't mean he couldn't wreak havoc in his own way. He loved every minute of it.

For once he answered when I called him. For once he looked healthy, intact, and not tensed up to run from the trouble of the day. "Hey, Vierce," he said in his much-practiced cool-guy voice. "What's up?"

"What's up? I can't believe I got you on the first try, that's what."

"I made a New Year's resolution to be there for my family more. You are the lucky beneficiary."

I ran a quick mental check. "Uh, whose New Year?"

"Balmorra, blockhead, don't tell me you didn't notice while you were on planet. I would've dug up a date for you if you weren't so busy saving the Republic."

"Yeah, about that." Something stabbed hard at my chest and it took me a second to start talking again. "Would you be up for some recreational wrecking of Imp slicing?"

"For a friend in need? Always." He gave me his cockiest grin. "I assume you are in need."

Yeah. A lot. "I just thought you might enjoy this one. The twist is I'm not even sure the file was tampered with at all. That's what I need you to find out."

"Huh. Where did you even…you're supposed to be shooting people, Vierce. Do I even get to ask what you're doing with your soldier time?"

"You can ask," I said dryly. "Just take a look, would you?"

"Yeah, I've got time. As it happens there's not much more point running guns to Balmorra. The Imp governor and her whole regime is gone, the arms factories are back in the locals' hands…I'm in the market for a new lost cause. Can't think of a better one than you, big brother."

Premise: Kothe does not use the keyword when you first meet him.

“I knew you were too good to be true.” Kothe stood with his back to the Imperial Agent that had been everything he had hoped for.

“Did you?” The Agent said softly, almost regretfully. “Why didn’t you do something?”

“The only thing I could do would make me more terrible than the Empire I fight against.” His hands were held in the air, but his posture did not speak of surrender.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. We both have our duty, this is mine.” She raised her blaster, it was already charged, she knew Kothe would not give up the Shadow Arsenal without a fight.

“I know, Legate, and that’s why I’m sorry to say this. Keyword, onomatophobia, Thesh protocol, phase one.”

It was the Agent’s voice that answered but devoid of all emotion. “Thesh protocol engaged. Shutting down.” She knelt unblinking, but Kothe could sense her fury and confusion through his link to the Force.

Kothe loaded the Shadow Arsenal onto a pair of hover sleds. His instincts told him he had little time to waste. His comm beeped.

“Ardun,” Hunter said cheerfully. “I see you’re alive, that either means you haven’t lost your Jedi touch or you used the keyword.”

“I’m busy, Hunter.” Kothe said running now, he tapped the controls on the sled forcing them to move faster.

“Too busy for me?” The man smiled. “I’ve been thinking, I don’t think either the Republic or the Empire should have those weapons. Well enough alone and all that, don’t you think?”

“What are you talking about?” Kothe could see the entrance one pallet of weapons before him, the other close behind.

“I just tipped off a squadron of Imperial bombers. That facility is about to be wiped out. Goodbye Kothe, it’s too bad, I was done with you but I had plans for the Cipher.”

Kothe closed the channel on Hunter’s smug grin. He reached within himself and Force pushed the pallet out the entrance to where the transport ship was waiting. With a leap he cleared the tunnel as the first of the bombs rocked the building.

“Where’s Legate?” Saber asked as they took off from the hanger, timing their escape to the end of a one of the squadrons bombing runs.

Kothe looked down at the burning facility. The remains of the Shadow Arsenal would detonate soon, leaving nothing but a gaping crater. Cipher Nine still knelt within, unable to move to save herself. “She didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry, sir. She was a good operative.”

Kothe nodded, they did not need to know about Legate. “Yes she was. Now, we have bigger problems to deal with, I believe our friend Hunter has turned on us.” They sped off making their way to friendly Republic territory. They did not get the full arsenal, but what they had would be enough to hold several Imperial planets hostage if necessary. They had gained much for the Republic this day.

Having the trump card does not guarantee a win if you use it too soon.

While I totally understand killing Kothe, I just couldn't do it. Possibly because I'm a Pub at heart. Also, when the Sith come to take the codex from you in the end, they never make it to you because Ardun just kills them. I thought that was pretty bada**.

It took Kirsk more than a day to call back. I never know what that means. Havoc Squad and the rest of the Republic forces had managed to break through the Imperial line, and we were camping in the noxious field only a couple of hours away from where the Safecrackers were holed up, when his holo did come through.

He looked as serious as I've ever seen him. "Hey, Vierce," he said in a strained voice. "Where's Miss Dorne?"

It took an effort to keep eye contact. "She's dead, Kirsk."

He passed a hand slowly over his face, top to bottom. "Died in custody?" he said weakly.

"No." I could see where he would guess that, but no, it didn't turn out that way. "Got caught out alone by a street gang. What did you find out?"

"I can't put this on holo. Where are you?"

"Don't leave me hanging. Can you tell me if it's good or bad?"

"By your lights? I don't know. Just tell me where I'm flying."

"I'm on Quesh for now, but I don't know when I'm getting called away."

"Okay." The bravado of his smile seemed more brittle than usual. "I don't know how it is I always end up in charge of this girl's correspondence, but…I'm on my way."

*

That didn't exactly do wonders for my concentration when we made the final assault on the Safecrackers' position, but we got the unit out, and they and their leader Lieutenant Coria were appreciative. I sent them on their way back to base; the higher-ups would debrief them and make sure they were ready when the Gauntlet mission made its attack. Afterward I left the crew to rest at base while I took the shuttle back up to the orbital station.

Kirsk wasted no time after he arrived. He met me in my ship's airlock and blew right past to reach the door. "Hi," he said. "Not here."

He didn't go all business on me often. I followed him onto the ship. He paced to the far end of the holo room and ran his hands over hair, a nervous smoothing. "So what happened?" he said, his voice cracking.

"Is it real?"

"As a Devaronian's promise. Smooth, but it doesn't hold up." He turned around. "Where did you get this?"

"SIS," I said with what little of my brain could keep up with talking. I was part relieved and part stabbed through. She was in the clear after all. She was clear. Things…everything…serving with her, wasn't fake.

That meant instead of failing the Republic, I had failed her. One of my people. Vierce, please.

Kirsk was talking. "Sorry," I said. For a second it felt like that word summed everything up. "What?"

"The SIS handed you this? Did they have anything else?"

"The guy talking to them said they did. I wasn't around for the presentation."

"So how did it…her…happen?"

I went over it again. Reciting the words gave me something to do while the mix of shame and anger and…relief…ran through me. A lot of it gathered in my neck; I tried to pay it no mind.

I was never a leader until Havoc Squad. In the resistance I was young; my first four years with the Republic I was just a grunt. But I knew you look after your people. I always tried to, with Jorgan and Forex. I sometimes tried to with Dorne even if I wasn't kind about it. In the end I threw that away.

"We'll turn this in," Kirsk said when I was done. "They have to take it seriously."

"I don't even know why the SIS delayed on it. There's politics in this job, Kirsk." I made an effort to unclench my fists. "That won't stop me."

"Don't…" he took a sharp breath. "I'm sticking around for a while."

"You don't have to do that. Probably better if you don't."

He smiled weakly. "Mama's not around to keep you from suicide runs. Someone's gotta do it."

"I won't…if I were going to be that stupid I'd have done it already. Trust me, I was mad enough before you let me know." I could swear the scar on my face itched for a moment. "I'll do this right, I promise. I don't know how yet, but I'll do it right."

"Good. You get bent out of shape when you're wrong, you know. I'll hang around for a while, see what I can help with. I've got ways of bypassing politics."

"Yeah, I remember. So…" I didn't want to stop talking yet. I wasn't ready to be left thinking. Vierce, please. "Tell me about the recording."

"Amazing work, I'll say that. I couldn't reconstruct 'the original message', it's spliced together from scraps of at least six different conversations. Someone was watching her calls. She wasn't saying anything remotely anti-Republic in any of the originals. The editing was incredible."

I didn't like the tone of his voice. "There's nothing good to say about it."

"I…yeah. We better find that – Raznic? – and see where he got this, because it's well put together but an SIS slicer who gave it ten minutes should've seen it."

"Then I'll call my contact." I was thinking of my last words to her. You have no right, Imperial. Her last words: Vierce, please.

My answer had been no, and she had been innocent.

I walked past Kirsk and into the cargo bay where the punching bag was set up. "Vierce?" he called after me.

"I have to hit something."

I'd already done way too much nothing.

I smelled something good from the mess once I was finished wrecking my hands. I bandaged my bleeding knuckles and headed in to see what was what.

What was what was Kirsk managing to scavenge stuff – I don't even know where he got it – to prep some kind of soup that was hearty enough to be worthwhile. "Serve yourself," he said as I entered. He was going through the cupboards. "Do you really have nothing better than this Telosian paint thinner to drink?"

"Jorgan's call, not mine," I said. We were both more beer people anyway; we didn't keep much in the way of spirits around, and even less after…after I stopped using it to sleep. I tried to shake the thought off. I helped myself to some of the soup; it really did smell almost good enough to counter the bitterness churning in my stomach. Kirsk could be all right when it occurred to him to be. "Nice to have you around sometimes, you know that?"

"Glad to help. By the way, I should mention, if any Neimoidians happen to call, you don't know where I am and you haven't seen me for a long time."

I stopped with my spoon halfway to my mouth. "Are you serious?"

"Yep. I hate to bring it up, but, just so you know."

It was a tiny bit comforting to know that at least something in life went on. I ate in silence; Kirsk, after a little more grumbling about the available alcohol, settled across and down the table and let me alone. Vierce, please. I tried not to think.

Jorgan and Forex showed up not too long after. Forex yelled a cheerful greeting and returned to his usual haunt by the HoloNet feed in the briefing room. Jorgan slowed and came to the mess doorway when he saw Kirsk. "News?" said the Cathar.

"Evidence was faked," I said. "We're working tomorrow."

I've never seen him scowl so hard in my life. "I see, sir. We'll get that info where it needs to go."

"I can explain details later," said Kirsk, conspicuously tilting his head in my direction. Delicacy. I appreciated it in all its obviousness. Jorgan just nodded and walked off.

Tanno Vik happened by not long after, and he walked all the way into the mess to lounge against the counter and look knowingly at Kirsk. Kirsk took a second before breaking into a grin. "Vik! You price-gouging bandit!"

Malice and amusement competed on the Weequay's face. "Volheis, you bleeding-heart undercutter."

Kirsk shrugged modestly. "'Volheis' is just my business name," he said. "My friends call me Savins."

"My brother," I added, in case that needed clearing up.

Vik's blue eyes lit on me, then Kirsk, then me, then Kirsk. "Heh. That explains a lot," he said, and sauntered off.

"It does?" Kirsk asked me.

"I guess," I said. "When I met him it was to direct an arms deal he was cutting to the Republic rather than selling it on the open market."

"Oh, yeah, way to get on his bad side. He's…quite a guy."

"He seemed happy enough to sign back on when he realized we were going to pay him to use the best possible materials to blow things up."

"Watch out," Kirsk said, more quietly. "He's no psycho, but he's the wrong kind of Businessman. Balmorra was credits to him. It wasn't pretty."

"Yeah, I got that. We're paying him."

"Not to be too harsh, but him and…I've seen better trades. All things considered."

That hit hard, maybe harder than it should have, maybe somehow less hard than I deserved. Vierce, please. I pushed the remainder of my soup aside and walked away.

Balmorra is an incredible nexus of interaction for some reason. Doc, Akaavi, Zenith, Tanno Vik, and Quinn all originate there; the Agent interacts with the resistance Zenith was a part of; it all coils back on itself.

Kirsk actually ran guns to Kegled II after he hared off without a word in his late teens and procured a ship. That, plus the zone chatter on Hutta that indicates smugglers do in fact sell arms to Balmorra - in spite of there being legendary arms factories on Balmorra - made it natural for Kirsk to go pick up that rebellion's anti-Empire cause. And after that, well, sooner or later he was likely to run into the more colorful fellow contraband dealers.

"I put down Watcher X for being too smart and unpredictable to live, I have no problem putting you down, too." Then he killed Lokin. The end.

no intrinsic behavioral limitations. In fact, she's built to attempt to overcome limitations of any kind. Furthermore, the day he localized her to her chassis and she tried to attack him and physically couldn't, he realized, "Wow, last time somebody put limits like that on me, I sorted out the impossible, undid the irrevocable, and murdered the living hell out of everyone who had had anything to do with putting me under those constraints. Maybe I shouldn't do it to this AI who very nearly qualifies as sentient!" Then he disassembled her, wiped all program memory, and stored her databanks in isolated pieces in his organization's headquarters, setting a few expert slicers on the task of building a program that can usefully access and present the data without being a perpetually evolving malignance. The end.

Rixik stands 6’ even, average build, 32 (officially) at the start of the AU story. He’s not picky about dress, preferring whatever lets him blend in on whatever planet he’s on. Though, given the option, he likes simple, serviceable designs without a lot of bric-a-brac. His skin is ruddy orange and he retains the natural irregular mottling on his lekku, declining decorative as well as eyebrow tattoos. He has one obvious scar, a diagonal cut on his left cheek below the eye, what’s left of an attack that almost cost him his eyes. His favorite color is blue.

Jesp Rixik has told so many lies about his past it’s a wonder he can keep them straight, and official records are frustratingly few. He began life as Shen, property of the Cold Gold Corporation on Naos III, a frigid, remote planet in the outer rim. His earliest childhood memories are sifting usable spice from mine tailings alongside other assorted enslaved children. He has no idea who his parents were or how the company came to own him and doesn’t much care. The company, barely profitable even with cheap labor, folded when he was eight and he was liquidated along with the rest of their assets to cover the owner’s debts. He ended up in the hands of Jenks, a brutal Evocii, himself a minor minion of one of the Hutt families on Nar Shaddaa.

At twelve he stowed away on a freighter with the cargo, the first of many. Unlucky jumps resulted in getting sold again (if only temporarily), on better trips he could trade skills--or other services--for passage. The last ship’s captain signed him as crew. Not long afterward an ambitious Imperial captain impounded the ship for a variety of legal violations and sentenced the crew, minus those she spaced, to hard labor in the spice mines of Sevarcos II. Shen served roughly two years of his life sentence before a combination of Imperial corruption and a bit of luck let him escape, taking with him some very compromising holos. He bought himself a new name and a new identity record. Shen the Twi’lek slave boy was dead. Jesp Rixik, miraculously three years older, was born from his ashes.

Rixik fell back into what he knew best: grift, theft, slavery, and seduction. He eloped with a rebellious young Twi’lek, Kirya Bilali, and duped her into helping him steal a selection of slaves from her father. She was supposed to be a means to an end. She was smart. It was nice having another slicer around. Someone else handy with a blaster. Sure made Rixik’s poaching scheme easier. Because she really was sincere about slavery. She was sincere about a lot of things. Like loving him.

Rixik didn’t know how to deal with love. Or sincerity. He wasn’t even all that good at casual friendship. People were tools. Discarded when they weren’t of use anymore. Abusing her trust should have been easy. Except that he...liked her. Rather a lot. Liked being around her, liked the way she made him feel. It took months for him to acknowledge his irrational fondness for her was love. That was a problem. Because when she figured out what was really going on, it was all going to be over.

Kirya Bilali is a curvaceous female Twi’lek, 5’7, age 23 at the start of the AU story. She has cool-toned green skin and spots tracing the shape of her lekku. Her eyes are an intense violet hue. Relaxing onboard ship she likes comfortable clothing and hates shoes. But she can’t resist a flair for the dramatic. Her preferred “captain’s outfit” is complete with utterly impractical high boots and a cape in shades of black and magenta the better to contrast with her complexion. Her favorite color is red.

The youngest daughter of Adoko Bilali's fourth wife, Kirya knew from a young age she was destined for a dull life married off to some business partner or other. She had no intention of going quietly. She was smarter than her brothers; she saw no reason her father should treat her like one of the slaves. That's what it amounted to, after all. Traded for advantage was no different from being sold. And if it was wrong for her, it was wrong for them. She hated it all.

When she met Jesp Rixik she knew he was the one. He was charming, clever, treated her like an adult. Hated slavery as much as she did. They ran off to Nar Shaddaa for a quick, no-questions-asked marriage, then went about liberating slaves from various brokers. He taught her a little slicing, a little blasters, a little everything shady. Thumbing her nose at dear old Dad. She was living a holodrama. At least until Jesp confessed that everything he told her, everything he was, was a lie.

Rixik, in what could be described as either a fit of true love or temporary insanity, came clean and told Kirya everything, promising never to lie to her again. Kirya, either likewise insane or more optimistic, gave him a second chance. He determined not to waste it. Kirya wanted to end slavery. Rixik thought it was a futile effort--and was upfront about his opinion--but he helped her regardless. He’d made a promise, and for once he was going to be true to his word.

It was not to be. Despite their best efforts, they simply didn't have the resources or political pull to make a dent in the trade. After a disastrous experience with a young unrepentant gang member (that left them with, among other things, a corpse in their apartment) Kirya relented. They reconciled with Kirya’s family and with her father’s help financed a scuffy transport ship through the IGBC. They named their ship Sirocco after the swift Rylothian heat storms, the ones most sensible Twi’leks hid from until they blew over. They positioned themselves as discrete transporters-for-hire.

This was Rixik’s dream. Free on the hyperlanes, minimal obligations, no one to answer to or question him. Better than his dream, because he got to share it with Kirya. His peculiar skill set shone in this environment. He was the business end. Arranging the deals, juggling the schedules in his head, keeping track of which clients didn't need to know each other. Kirya proved the better pilot, and was no less adept at distracting customs or spaceport authorities when called on.

At least until a simple shipment of weapons to Ord Mantell turned into a bounty on Kirya’s head. A bounty that, in Rixik’s opinion, should have been on his. Despite that complication, their reputation in Republic society was on the increase. They were even collecting a rag-tag group of good-hearted people, officially a crew but more like a family. Kirya even received a privateer’s license and had the ear of the influential Senator Dodonna. Rixik preferred to be more anonymous, but Kirya was happy and that was all that mattered.

Except that said senator was as corrupt as they come. Rixik, in his unending pessimism, discovered her paramour, Darmas Pollaran, was an Imperial. At present, Kirya is continuing on to Hoth at Dodonna’s request, while he tries an end-run around their conspiracy and hopefully shuts them down before they can do more harm.

When we last left our anti-heroes, Rixik and Risha were heading to Coruscant in disguise with their damning information, and with a bit of luck, an offer certain interested parties can’t refuse.

Yeah, letting her onto the holonet just seemed like a REMARKABLY stupid moment. She's going to kill us all, I just know it.

"Sir."

I froze when I heard Dorne's voice behind me. The old battlefield of my dreams cleared away; nothing ever made it do that before, but it seems it knew when it wasn't the most hurtful thing around.

I held still and hoped I'd heard wrong.

"Sir," Dorne said again.

"Sergeant," I said, my voice a lot steadier than the rest of me, "you can't be here." Enough things I had lost were in my dreams, I guess, but this was different. The whole reason things had happened this way was I had stayed far away from her.

"I think there's no place I'm needed more."

I turned around. I wasn't sure what she was going to look like; unlike most of my screw-ups, or even just the bloody things I'd happened to be near, I hadn't been there to see this one.

But she was as I remembered her, seemingly unhurt, armored and standing tall, tidy and ready for duty. In that moment I wanted more than anything for this to be real.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"You weren't the only one taken in, sir."

"I was the one who should've known better."

"Would you believe I'm glad to hear you say that?" She blinked rapidly a few times and ducked her head. And then, in a few quick steps, she ran up to me and…hugged me, hiding her face against my chest. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing for me," she said in a muffled voice.

Not knowing what else to do, I put my arms around her. "Too little, too late, is what I'm doing." She stayed still and quiet and hard with tension. "I will get justice," I told her. "Any way I have to."

"I know. That's something we could always count on you for."

"It's not enough. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

"I don't think all of it bears apologizing for," she said with a tiny amused lilt to her voice. "We were doing well toward the end."

"Yeah," I said around the lump in my throat. We were getting along, fitting as a team and a friendly one at that. Until I found the slightest excuse to turn on her.

"The squad may not be at full strength for a while," she warned. "Be careful."

"We'll manage." I would have to.

She took a deep breath and let it out. "Well, then." She stepped back, and I was quick to let her go. "It'll be all right, sir."

"That's not true."

She twitched a quick-disappearing smile. "I've served as best I could, sir, but in the end I'm still not certain how many people would tell me that."

If there were anything I could do to comfort her I would, but I really had neither the right nor the means to help now, except by seeing that the record was set straight. "I–" I started, and then suddenly she was gone and I was back in my bunk, cold and hurting.

I lay awake for a while after that. It was probably the most painful dream I ever wanted to go back to; but even if I could, dreams being what they are, I had already forgotten what I was going to say.

Because I have decided I'm not cool with Elara getting zero lines in this thread. Harrumph.

If you wish to proceed, please also click this link:

Hearing this song is necessary to the (possible) enjoyment. I don't own any of the lyrics of this piece.

-----

The four women walk into the large, dark room by different entrances. They each scan different areas of the room: the enraged bounty hunter looks to the ceiling and the dark, high gallery; the slippery and ready smuggler looks across the vast auditoriums chairs; the tall, muscular trooper looks to the rooms corners, her knuckles cracking loudly and echoing through the quiet hall; the short and generously curved Sith looks straight ahead at the large and empty stage, her hands lightly brushing her two sabres as she walks with swaying hips.

The women glance at each other before the relaxed Sith warrior is the first to walk down the aisles. The bounty hunter follows next down a different aisle and the careful smuggler takes up the rear. She talked the Sith into not killing her until she found their men but she doesn't trust her. She's too smart for that.

The bounty hunter didn't care what the others decided, she only walked away from them and towards the coordinates they were all given. Her fists were clenched and the smuggler new the rumours of her. So far, they were looking very, very plausible. The Sith knew as well and was not about to test her. They were all too smart to test each other.

When they all reach half way down the aisles, the heavy curtain that covered half the stage begins to rise revealing the four men they were looking for and lights come on. And so does music. Ridiculously happy music with a strong, fast dance beat.

The women all stop and the smuggler takes a reflexive step back in horror at the sight of her farm boy. The bounty hunter draws her gun and seems ready to shoot the tall, muscular blonde that watches her with intensity. The soldier looks at the Cathar with a dark glare and the Sith raises an amused and incredulous eyebrow at the black haired man on the left of the other three.

The four men wear variations of the same clothes: the Captain's hair is neat and he stands at parade rest with an ever so slightly tapping foot, his black shirt buttoned all the way; the farm boy wears the same black pants, his hair in dreadlocks as always but he wears a dark green shirt with the buttons through the wrong holes and tie poorly done up and a black, crumpled blazer that's slightly too large; the Cathar wears the same as the boy next to him only neater and with a white shirt while the Mandalorian at the end wears a dark blue shirt under the black blazer, sleeves roughly pushed up and sporadic buttons undone.

'Hey-ey,' sings the farm boy, a large, sheepish grin on his face. The smuggler looks away from his gentle eyes and blushes furiously. All four woman are struck dumb, thinking 'what the frack is going on?'

The tall Cathar steps forward and begins to sing.

'I wanna know

Can we spend this life together,'

The Cathar begins to dance and the other three men follow his moves, perfectly in sync. The trooper flushes scarlet and tries to stare her subordinate into silence. He only gives a small smile and continues, his eyes intense and forceful.

The trooper's older sister nudges her and laughs at the others discomfort. The taller trooper grabs the smuggler under her arm holds her in a head lock, trying to look indifferent, outraged and everything that isn't impressed happiness and embarrassment.

'Be the shield from rain and weather,' Aric continues in a voice too deep a rumble for the high song.

'Tell me can I

Baby tell me can I be your man,' he points to his trooper as he sings the last line and steps back into line and much to the smugglers mortification, her farm boy steps forward.

'Let's be lovers,' Corso sings with dignified pleading. 'Girl I promise to be faithful,' his puppy dog eyes get bigger as he only stares into his smugglers eyes as his enthusiastic yet slightly out of time dancing continues without a thought, oblivious to the Imperial Captain's glare for such an imperfect performance.

The trooper pushes her sister away with a triumphant and happy laugh, deciding to ignore the fact that her stern Cathar was still dancing to what was secretly her favourite song.

'True and honest forever

I know you been hurt,' the understanding in Corso's eyes and voice closes the smuggler's throat and she can only stare back at him, an overwhelming happiness coming after the pain of memories.

'But you really need to give us a chance.' The smuggler holds back a nod and only looks away in a pathetic attempt at indifference. But the farm boy smiles and steps back into line.

The stiff Captain steps forward and walks to the centre of the stage, the other's moving over as to not be obscured by him.

The Sith's relaxed amusement shudders for a moment before reforming across her features again. Her fiancé stares at her with intensity and begins the chorus, his voice louder than the other men's.

'You need love

Please don't change the way you are

Soon you'll live within my heart,' the stoic expression and concentration breaks for a moment and he smiles, looking at the apathetic Sith with a plea for forgiveness and gentle love.

'You deserve it, you know it

You've been searching for it all of your life

You need love.'

The Captain steps back into line and Sith only regards him coldly before moving her eyes to the blonde man that steps forward and into the centre next. But he doesn't look at her as he stands solidly, not dancing and only watching the red haired bounty hunter who finders darker shadows than the others with intense, dark blue eyes.

'Don't be scared to try again,' he begins in a low voice. The bounty hunter scowls and begins to walk away, all eyes are now on her.

'You can rest upon my chest,' he continues louder, unfazed and staring at her back, waiting for her to turn.

'And I'll hold you, I'll save you,' his voice is clearer than the others, no accent blocking his timbre voice. She turns and looks at him, but doesn't smile or nod, only evaluates. None of them can guess what is going through her mind.

'You've been searching for it all of your life.

You need love.'

'You need love,' the other men echo. Torian steps back to join them, his back straight. They begin to dance in a in sync line, the Mandalorian's moves firmer and harder than the other's.

The stiff Captain steps forward again, the spot light shining on him.

'I need to know

Can I be the one you trust?' he asks the Sith. She instinctively steps back, as if she suddenly was hit by or feared the unarmed, pleading and singing Captain in front of her. His impassive features refuse to crumble and he continues. He won't let the enemy see his weakness.

'Be your friend, I'll give you all

All of the things you dream of

Tell me can I still be your man,' he sings louder and higher. She gives a sharp nod once he's joined the line. He's too strategically important to her even now for too many reasons. Their marriage will happen, even if she doesn't love or trust him. But he will always try to show her that she can for a reason she can never again believe.

The blonde Mandalorian steps forward again. The smuggler wonders how the bounty hunter can stand so impassively when he stares at her so single mindedly with such intense love. His passion to the murderer confuses her and she pins it as a Mandalorian thing.

He jumps off the stage and walks to stand before her, the spot light someone unknown and soon to be dead is controlling, follows him.

'Hole in your heart,' he begins. He reaches for her cheek and she flinches back. But he presses forward and gently touches it briefly before dropping his hand.

'There's a wound I wanna heal,' the blonde Mandalorian steps back slowly.

'If you willing I'll be here,' he spreads his arms wide and gives her a small smile.

'Here to fix what broke

Let me change the life you live,' he requests powerfully. She gives a small nod as he continues to belt out the last note, the other men beginning the chorus. The Mandalorian grins and jumps back on the stage, easily able to pick up the missed steps and words and his frown returning.

'You need love

Please don't change the way you are

Soon you'll live within my heart

You deserve it, you know it

You've been searching for it all of your life

You need love.'

The blonde Mandalorian picks up the lead again, but remains on the stage much to the Captain's relief.

'Don't be scared to try again

You can rest upon my chest

And I'll hold you, I'll save you,' he points to her and she only stares evenly back at him though her eyes curiously land everywhere on him but his eyes.

You've been searching for it all of your life

You need love.'

The farmer boy steps forward as well and smiles at his smuggler.

'You've been searching for it

All of your life.' The black haired smuggler shakes her head, her long hair luckily slipping free from a loose tie and hiding her large grin.

'Yeah,' the farm boy sings persuasively. She smiles and nods.

'You've been searching for it all of your life,' she sings, unable to retain her distance from the farm boy any longer. She leaps onto the stage. 'You need love,' she sings to him again. She laughs as she tries to match their moves, the Imperial Captain glaring at her as she disrupts the coordinated routine they had practiced.

The Cathar steps forward and looks firmly to his superior, the happy music ill suiting his stern looks and deep voice.

'You've been searching for it

All of your live

Yeah.'

They repeat the chorus again, the Sith crumbling into hysterical laughter halfway through the second chorus as she watches her stiff Captain dance in a boy band. She pulls out a recorder and begins to film it, thinking that having a copy of this to show Vette is enough revenge for his betrayal. Sith aren't good at long term grudges, only short passionate bursts that normally end in someone's death.

When they finish the curtain quickly falls and a awkward silence descends among the women. The bounty hunter disappears with only the Sith noticing. She feels her leave with the Mandalorian. She smiles. Anyone that kills rival Sith is ok in her books. She slips back stage, leaving the sisters to catch up alone.

She knocks on a door that the farm boy motioned to as her Captain's. She opens the door and smiles at his slightly ruffled expression as he unhurriedly pulls his military shirt back on. When he's done and in full uniform again, he stands at parade rest and looks his superior officer in the eye.

'Captain Quinn,' she begins with a vicious smile.

The short, lean smuggler moves out of her sisters reach and sticks out her tongue childishly at the younger woman. The blonde and tanned trooper chases her but stops when their men appear in the corner. She enters parade rest immediately and waits for her subordinate to approach her. Aric sharply salutes and stands at attention.

'Awaiting orders, sir.'

The trooper opens her mouth to speak, ignoring her sister already lip locking with Corso, when a female squeal, bangs and crashes come from back stage.

'Evacuate the area immediately sounds appropriate,' she says with a shiver and small smile. The four of them leave at a very, very quick pace.

'Well, I need a hard drink now to forget those sounds,' the smuggler exclaims with a shiver once they break into the light of day. 'Anyone else care to join?' She asks as she already pulls Corso along who can only grin like a happy fool and follow.

'Do you wish to join your sister, sir?' Aric asks in a low rumble, his superior walking slowly behind.

'Ayanaa,' she corrects with a blush and averted eyes.

'Ayanaa,' he whispers. She glances at him and then quickly away. She takes his hand and they follow the impatiently calling couple.

They don't notice the blonde and red haired amongst the trees off the path but they watch them. Once they pass, the blonde man bends down and kisses the bounty hunter.

'I love you, Cyare,' he whispers to her. She shakes her head and walks to the ship, hiding her smile. He takes her hand and matches her stride. She squeezes it tightly and he smiles down at her.

As each woman looks to the man next to them, they all think 'you need love, huh?' and smile to themselves. 'Damn f***ing straight.'

-----

I toyed with the idea of replacing Aric with Vector or Andronikos or with both but decided this worked better. I think I respect Vector too much to make him dance and sing

Aboard Defender-class starship

11 ATC

This, K’saria reflected, is probably a trap.

Why else would her Sith sister suddenly reach out through their twin bond and try to contact her? They had never gotten along, and K’saria knew full well that when she had left the Empire, she had signed her own death warrant as far as K’hera was concerned. This kind of subterfuge wasn’t quite K’hera’s style, but that was probably what she was counting on. Acting just enough out of character so that K’saria would be inclined to believe that she was in genuine distress, then spring her trap.

Still…there was a note of desperation in the call that seemed a little too real. K’saria found herself entertaining the possibility that perhaps this was not a trap after all.

If it was, she would have to handle it on her own. She was alone on her ship, and already headed towards a set of coordinates that the Force had guided her to enter into the navicomputer.

She checked the computer. Only a few more minutes. She adjusted her lightsaber on her belt, forcing herself to remain calm and centered despite the anticipation that was starting to spark along her nerves.

She had to admit, she was rather curious…

Deep Space

11 ATC

K’hera was so deep in her trance that she almost did not notice that she was moving. She eventually noticed the sensation and opened her eyes, bracing herself for the onslaught of eye-searing nothingness.

To her astonishment, she found herself surrounded not by space, but by the interior of an airlock. Faintly through her helmet, she heard a hatch close. A moment later, she tumbled to the floor as gravity was restored.

Thank the stars, she thought, relief flooding through her. She wasn’t going to die.

Well, she might. But at least she’d die with air in her lungs, and solid ground under her feet. She would not meet her end smothered in the void’s embrace. That was a comforting thought.

K’hera had landed face down on the floor of the ship, so she was slightly startled when someone released the seals on her helmet and removed it. She took several deep breaths as her rescuer turned her over.

She was not surprised to find herself looking up at a coppery-red face that was, save for a few differences in scarring, identical to the one she saw whenever she looked in a mirror.

“Hello, K’saria,” she said hoarsely.

Her twin frowned down at her. “K’hera. I hope you have an explanation for this.”

“I do, I promise. If, um, you wouldn’t mind getting me out of this suit?”

K’saria sighed and gestured. The Force lifted K’hera gently to her feet. “How long have you been floating here?”

“Too long,” K’hera murmured, shivering at the memory.

K’saria raised an inquisitive brow-ridge as she started to undo the space suit’s fastenings. “I’ll take you to the medbay and check you over, and you tell me what exactly led you to this point. All right?”

K’hera nodded. “It’s a long story…”

Aboard Fury-class starship

11 ATC

Malavai watched the chrono count down the minutes, one by one, as steady as the rain on Dromund Kaas.

He could not put the rain back in the sky once it had fallen. He could not save K’hera. It was too late. He was out of time.

Letting his emotions control him had been a mistake. The Sith doctrines of allowing oneself to be ruled by passions had always struck him as foolish and wasteful. Now he saw how justified his doubts had been. If he’d only stopped to think—

K’hera was not like him. She was not always rational. She had betrayed him, but she would not have necessarily done so because she felt it was the best option. It was possible that she had been coerced, or somehow manipulated. If she had been in communication with Baras from the start…dammit, he should have seen that coming. He should have talked to her, found a way to save her, he would have protected her from Baras’ wrath, if only he had known…

Malavai shook his head. If he kept thinking about what he should have done, he would go mad. K’hera was lost to him, now. He had a feeling that what he had done to her would haunt him for the rest of his life.

So be it. He had to atone somehow.

He loved her.

Aboard Defender-class starship

11 ATC

K’hera bowed her head to look down at the floor of the little medbay as she concluded her story. Her feet dangled in the air as she sat on the bed while K’saria consulted various scanners and readouts.

“That’s…” K’saria began, then stopped.

K’hera looked up to see her sister regarding her with a grim expression. “Yes?” she asked quietly.

K’saria shook her head. “And you wonder why I left the Empire.”

“If you’re going to use this as an opportunity to preach about how all Sith are monsters, please…don’t.”

K’saria’s jaw clenched. “After what this Lord Malavai did to you, how can you not think of him as a monster?”

“I love him,” K’hera said staunchly. “I love him, and he loved me, and I was a coward and I betrayed him. The penalty for treason is death. It’s that simple.”

K’saria started to twist a lock of hair around a finger, then dropped her hand to her side. “Stars, K’hera…” She looked at the readouts, then back to her sister, shaking her head again. “You’re lucky I got here when I did. You’re perfectly fine, no thanks to that Sith scum.”

“I thought I told you—“

“I’m not saying he’s scum because he’s a Sith,” K’saria said flatly. “I’m saying he’s scum because he tossed you out an airlock and left you to die. That takes a special breed of cruelty.”

K’hera looked at the floor again.

K’saria continued her tirade. “What kind of a man would do that do a woman he was supposedly in love with? That reckless fool didn’t even stop to consider the reasons behind your actions. He just went straight to revenge, like Sith always do. He could have at least let you live until your child was born—“

K’hera’s head snapped up. “Did you just—“

K’saria frowned. “What?”

K’hera took a deep breath, feeling the world start to crumble around her again. “Are…are you telling me that I’m pregnant?”

K’saria’s eyes flicked to the scanner readouts again. “You didn’t know?”

K’hera shook her head mutely.

K’saria hesitated for a moment, then glided over to the bed and sat down next to her sister, putting an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that. I thought you knew.”

K’hera continued to shake her head, unable to form words.

“Don’t worry,” K’saria assured her. “I’ll make certain you’re all right. I can speak to the Masters, get them to let you stay with me.”

“I won’t be a Jedi,” K’hera muttered.

“You won’t have to be. You can stay with me until you have the child, then decide what to do.”

K’hera frowned at her suspiciously. “Why are you doing this for me? We’ve never gotten along.”

“You’re family,” K’saria said firmly. “I may be a Jedi now, but I’m still Pureblood enough to value that.”

“Somehow, I doubt your Jedi Masters will find it quite that simple.”

“I’ll convince them.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It probably won’t be,” K’saria admitted. “But I’ll do my best, I promise.”

K’hera rested her face in her hands. “We’ll see, K’saria. We’ll see.”

I was really starting to hate this story for a while, if only because I could not for the life of me summon up the motivation to work on it. I'm still not totally happy with it. It's caused me a lot of annoyance thanks to its various plot developments. But at least it's pretty much done now, so I can just sit back, scribble down a few endings, and stop worrying about the dratted thing.

First of all, I'd like to note that K'saria has a Defender-class ship because well, she is a Jedi, if not the Knight, and it's the only model of Jedi ship from that era that I know off the top of my head.

It occurred to me as I was writing the last segment that if I'm going to spring a surprise pregnancy on poor, long-suffering K'hera, I maybe ought to mention abortion. HOWEVER. That is a very touchy subject that I'm sure we all have strong feelings about, and as such I refuse to touch it with a ten-foot pole. I will not make my fic into a vehicle for my own political beliefs. That is not what fic is for.

For a more in-universe explanation, it seems logical to me that given the Pureblood focus on the importance of preserving the bloodline and all that good stuff, the idea of abortion would probably be fairly unheard of. Must keep all the babies so that those tasty Sith genes can stay active in the population! Or...or something.

And that's all that I can think of to say about that. Questions, comments, complaints?

of abortion is, well, difficult. First because as far as I can tell Star Wars doesn't have canon reproductive care technology of any kind. People fall in love, then there are babies. To the best of my knowledge LucasArts has not sullied itself with questions of the mechanics of birth control in sci-fi land, much less pregnancy termination. (Tangent ramble about the context of all instances I've seen in popular media deleted because, not really on topic.)

You make a very good point about the pressures on a Pureblood to carry pregnancies to term no matter what.

I agree with Bright that Star Wars as a whole doesn't deal with such basic biological questions. I think you were right to handle it as you did (in that it maintains the feel of this particular fictional Universe) and you provided a very good, logical, in-character reason why the issue didn't come up in their discussion.