@Mirdthestrill: I work alone, Part VI: congrats on completing the multi-parter. I liked the way she got the bounty when in a tough situation and then ensured he'll live. Will he come back and if so, will be still hunt or hold a grudge? such an interesting hook, especially how he's closer to Ketturah than pretty much everyone else we've seen so far (bar possibly Mallena).

Replies

Determination - Yes, I agree that there's more that could be done than the quick and easy mercy kill option LS players get. Still, Roan's completely ignoring Sith Doctrine (the strong do as they will, the weak suffer for their weakness) and there will be a cost to all this that he'll have to pay.

Shower Shenanigans - you mentioned dancer's belts regarding the nexus room piece, which I googled and from there inspiration struck. Regarding proper health and safety procedures, his 'lab' is in the cargo bay, and I've placed the bathroom behind the door around the corner to the stairwell down, so it is close enough. What should worry us is that it lacks a lock (all those F!knights and Kira learnt to keep lightsabers nearby post-Balmorra)

Dark Science Drabbles - yeah, I was quite lucky regarding prompts.

B&E - Mixed success? Karannai would beg to differ (if she ever lost enough pride to beg). Without that cross-class weaving, she'd be dead and Baras would need a new apprentice.

@Striges:

Broysc in Drabble: I liked the slow slide into madness Broysc exhibits, especially since we don't even see the Sith in question so it could be anyone. (Still, no mention of Admiral Malcontent? only this lieutenant Quinn - Bah, boring faceless character we'll meet once and not think twice about, unlike Colonel what's-his-name, the one Malcontent rescues .)

Vidu's wake - So, is Skavak really that perceptive or did he arrange for the blasters to fall into Separatist hands... again.

@Alaurin - why do I feel I should apologise regarding G-H? Welcome back: I'd ask how everything went but this is the internet so no real world examples.

A new Job: Welcome to the first person club, we have cookies. Of course since everything is in first person, I have cookies. cue evil laughter. Jokes aside, nicely done setting Tyrus up, he sounds and feels believable, especially with that back story. I've always loved that your stories don't need to have great melodrama regarding dynasties of force powered demigods to feel like they belong in the star wars universe.

The Mantellian: Welcome to the thread. Castellan? a lot of agents aren't going to like your hunter . I liked the piece and could really get the stiff formality of his old life clashing with his new ruggedised existence.

AKHadeed: Wow, what happened to rive such a wedge between mother and daughter? I liked Zeedor's verbal sparring and how she just flat out ignores it.

I padded down a Cresh shaped corridor, the only sound the faint thrumming of electricity. I think that means we’re near the main command centre for the cave complex. That’s good, I guess. The sooner we finish here, the sooner we can get out. Yeah, conquering and oppressing local resistance forces really wasn’t my thing, and neither was jumping whenever the military calls. We were here because some imperial grunt asked the kid to reclaim some power converters and wipe out the resistance base.

Gently I reached back, rubbing the underside of Tchun. It’d been firing phantom daggers all down my right arm and leg ever since I’d hit that box. Yeah I know I turned down the kid’s offered anaesthetic hypospray but I was reconsidering, okay. If I had a moment, maybe I could use it but the kid wasn’t giving me one. He pulled on my sore arm, tugging me along behind him to make me hurry up. Yeah, I want this to be over quickly too but rushing into stuff is a great way to get killed. Well, at least it’s better than him running off ahead.

“Wait a moment,” I quietly pleaded, digging my feet in to heave against his tug. Don’t ask me how but the kid was strong, and I mean as in strong for an adult. He stopped suddenly and I teetered back, almost tripping over my own feet. He watched me as I caught myself, head tilted like a mooka.

“How many guys are there next door? I don’t want to run around and find a whole legion or something.” The kid gazed at the right wall, his finger bobbing as it moved from left to right. I used the moment to get the hypospray and start misting the gel over my lekku. I bit back a gasp as the cold gel nipped at my skin and massaged it in. Slowly, the biting chill faded away, taking the pain with it. I hadn’t really noticed it before but pain is a lot like a weight, it drags you down, makes it harder to think straight and move. With it gone, it felt like I was a gazillion pounds lighter, that I could jump and flip for joy. I didn’t do any of that. Instead, I closed my eyes, savoured the feeling and let out a trembling sigh. I didn’t open my eyes for a few moments, basking in the numbness of pain. Oh yeah, when I get back to the ship, I’m getting my lekku buffed. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw the kid waiting beside me.

“There are thirteen people in three groups, one to our right, one across from the entry and a third in the far corner. I don’t know if they are men or women though,” the kid explained, his voice as loud as usual. The faint clicks and whines of blasters powering up tickled my ear cones. They’d heard him and now they were ready for us. Okay, so maybe they weren’t really ready, but as ready as couple of guards get against a Sith. They’d be setting up an ambush, it’s what I’d do if I was them. Think about it, some stranger’s talking in the corridor and you can’t get the barricades on the comm., you have to assume they’re dead, that the base is breached and you’re next. For all they know, Imperial Stormtroopers were about to flood around the corner.

If the kid heard them he didn’t act like- oh who am I kidding. He totally didn’t hear them. I’ve no idea what goes on in that Sithy head of his but it usually takes precedence over reality. I lunged and grabbed the kid by the shoulder.

“Jump from there. They’re going to get you in a crossfire if you walk around the corner, so go up and drop in on the group closest to us. I’ll follow around once they’re clear and take on the one across from us, okay?” I spoke quietly into his ear, pointing most of the way up the far wall. I know that whispering carries way farther than just talking quietly. Roan nodded at me. I’m not sure he got what a crossfire is, but he listened.

The kid hopped from on wall to the next, then leapt. I gave him the count of three. On one, I heard the snap hiss and then panicked fire. Two gave a long sizzling hiss. Three was his boots on the metal deck. I swept out from behind the wall, and saw all four humans were dead, and the turret in two pieces. The kid wasn’t in the middle. I darted past them, to see what the kid had leapt at.

There was a big guy at the computer, and he wasn’t Twi’lek or human: he was a Nautolan. Huh, it’s not entirely unusual to see their people around the galaxy, but they tended to stay on Republic or Hutt worlds, you know, where they aren’t viewed as a bunch of ‘tentacle headed freaks’: must be nice. The only ones I’d seen in the Empire were slaves. This guy didn’t look like a slave. If anything, he looked like an officer. Where everyone else was wearing some variation of casual or rugged outdoors wear, he wore a shirt and pants set that looked like they came from a Republic Navy surplus store.

From what I could see over his monstrous shoulders, he was purging all the resistance secrets on it. That’d be a problem if we were here for that, but the officer guy hadn’t said anything about it. I’m really not in the mood to do tyrants any favours. Let the Empire and the resistance slug it out, we’re only here for Baras’ super spy.

The kid hopped over the platform railing, lightsaber overhead. Blasterfire made me duck, and I didn’t see who was faster. Crouch-waddling up behind the metal barricade, I peeped over it for just a moment. A shot nearly took tchun off: Eep! I ducked back down, reviewing what I saw.

I’d seen two humans, one with a boxy rifle, the other with a pair of blasters. By them were two women, one a Rutian like me, the other yellow. Guess what they held. Okay seriously, what gives? This is Balmorra, the go-to arms manufacturer of the galaxy. They had guns in pretty much every home and you mean to tell me no twi’lek has them? Even the empire doesn’t restrict selling blasters to nonhumans and even if they did, this is the resistance. They’d want all their people to use blasters, especially when facing the Imperial army, who pretty much all have blasters. Everyone knows you don’t bring a sword to a blaster fight. Geez, even Sith and Jedi use lightsabers and they’re all force-powered and stuff. Still, without any distractions, like returning fire, those swordswomen could easily run over and make my day real unpleasant: better get on that.

I jerked my right hand up and down shots hammered the barrier behind me, leaving slightly too hot patches against my back. I twisted, poked my left arm and half my head out from the side and fired. Blue streaked back at the guys, searing dark marks into their crate cover. Red flashed over on the far side of the room, the kid couldn’t help.

Both women charged under the shots, blades thrumming. They were maybe a metre from the ramp and I really didn’t want to get caught between a rail and a sharp place. I jumped back and to my feet, pumping a trio of shots into them. They spattered off their shields. Oh come on, you give them shield generators but not a pistol? They cleared the ramp.

I really didn’t want to leave the cover of the platform, but they really weren’t giving me much choice. Either I got zap-and-slashed by their swords, or their buddies blast me. I left my cover, backpedalling while peppering the two with blasterfire, hoping to catch their shields on a backsurge. I heard the spatter: no such luck. I felt the cold cave wall press against my lekku. They fixed me cold mirthless smiles as they approached. The nearest, Blue, swung at me: the blade crackling as it came straight for my head.

The kid vaulted the railing, planting his boot in her side. I felt the impact more than heard it, and saw blue go flying, smacking into the cavern wall with bone-crushing force. She stayed there, stuck to the wall. Yellow whirled on the new threat who’d taken out her buddy.

Free from a stabby death, I darted to the side the kid cleared, and back behind the platform. The humans kinda surprised me that they hadn’t taken pot shots. I mean, it’s not like they’d hurt yellow and blue, what with their shield generators and all. Didn’t matter now, I guess. I fired a couple dozen times, enough to make them duck for cover behind the computer. Then I remembered there had been another group.

I tracked a blaster towards them, and saw I needn’t bother. They were all arrayed around the remnants of a turret, and they’d died badly. Heads, shoulders, arms and hands were scattered around the turret, the dull red of cooling lightsaber burns marring where they should have attached to people. I ducked back behind cover and waddled down it a bit, watching the kid’s duel.

I’ve seen him fight loads of times, but never like this. Normally he was jumping and bouncing all over the place, leaping off the walls and throwing force powered pulls, throws and strikes. Now though, he stayed on the ground, and his blade was all weird angles and vicious slashes, always forcing himself on the woman, every strike meant to hurt her, even if she blocked. She blocked and parried, staggering under the brutal force of every hammering strike. Desperately, she lunged at him and that was it.

The kid danced to the side and gouged her back with the lightsaber. She went limp, like a puppet without strings, only she didn’t fall down. Instead, Roan slashed the air in front of him with his free hand, as if delivering a brutal backhand, and missed her completely. No-one told her that. She went flying to the side, smashing into and through the crate barricade the humans hid behind. They dove aside, right into my sights. A pair of aimed shots later and we were all alone.

“Hey, you okay?” He swivelled his head and glared at me with sulphurous eyes. Eep, okay, so not a good question. His glare became confusion as his intense hellish eyes watched me, and the confusion slowly opened into dawning comprehension. He didn’t look any better. If anything, he looked worse, like someone had kicked him in the gut. He closed his eyes, let out a huff and took a deep breath. Slowly, he held it as the digits on one hand flicked. He let it out as his little finger twitched. He opened his eyes, watching me, and they were green again.

“You’re scared of me.” He stated, his voice bland and limp, “why?”

“Uh, well…” I trailed off, no words coming to mind. Why was I scared of him? He’d just saved my life, no doubt about it, but the way he glared, the hard lines on his pointy but rounded face. It was… I don’t know, unnatural, like he shouldn’t be so mad. He’s a kid, he should be out playing or at school, not clearing rebel bases for the army. I didn’t exactly have a normal childhood, slaving it up and then running with Nok’s gang, but even I know kids shouldn’t be conquering bases for the army.

“It’s just normally you’re this happy bouncy kid and then you go and do all this,” I trailed off, looking around the room. Thirteen bodies littered the room, eleven with lightsaber wounds. I couldn’t really see the Nautolan from where I stood, just a hand lying upturned on the ground by a blaster pistol. I know the kid got him though. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have issues with killing if you had to, I mean, I’ve worked as an assassin when the target deserved it, but this was slaughter.

“I’m Sith, Vette” I’m supposed to be able to do stuff like this,” he said quietly, large moistening eyes falling to my boots. He just looked so sad, “but you know I’d never turn my power on you, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” I almost whispered to him, nodding slightly. I believed him.

“Then why?”

Only the buzzing of electricity sounded through the base. It’s not that I couldn’t say anything, it’s just that whenever I tried a casual comment popped into my head. Yeah, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me but brushing him off in an emotional state like this was dumb, even by my standards.

“It’s not the fighting and it’s not you,” I started, hedging as much as I could, “It’s how you go all cold during a fight when someone threatens me. It’s scary, you know. I know they wanted to kill us and that I’d be dead if you hadn’t stepped in and all but…” I trailed off just looking at the kid. He was trembling, skin reddening around his eyes and just looking so very small. Whatever else I was going to say died on my tongue.

I dropped to a knee and held my arms out, “Come here.” He hit my chest with enough force to punch my breath out. I whumphed –yeah, not much choice on that- and wrapped my arms around him. The change was pretty much instant. As soon as he melted into my arms, I felt his strength wash away. He broke down, hot tears staining my shoulder. I reached up with a hand and started filtering my fingers through his hair.

“I don’t want you to leave like everyone else. I don’t mean to scare you or anything; I don’t want you to die,” he babbled between sobs. I held him, rocking him gently as his tears started dribbling down, soaking the front and back of my shirt.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere, not while you’re still you, okay?”

“but it isn’t safe,” he muttered into my ear cone and I had to bite my cheek to stop the laugh from breaking loose. The kid who happily stole a padawan out from under the grandmaster of the Jedi’s nose, the same kid who pretty much depopulated a Sith Lord’s compound for someone, was worried about safety. I failed and choked out a chortle.

“Neither’s treasure hunting on Korriban but that didn’t stop me. How about this: If I die, I’m haunting you,” I joked, pulling him in a little tighter. He huffed a little smile, and but his eyes didn’t waver much. Yeah, I know force ghosts are a real thing and all, but what’re the chances we’ll ever see one? Come on, we were in ghost central back in the dark temple and didn’t see any at all: Possessed people sure, but no ghosts. Slowly, he shifted and I saw his face. It was blotchy and his eyes were all bloodshot but they were green again.

“You okay?” He nodded.

“All right, give me a second to grab the power regulator and we’ll go rig the reactor to blow, kay,” He slowly let go, his arms lingering around me for a long moment before he drew back. Yeah, we have a job to do. I got up and made my way over to the power regulator, stepping around the dead guys and their barricade.

“Oh, I kept the twi’lek man over there alive for you. You can keep him if you want.” The kid offered as he followed behind.

“Who?” I glanced across and saw the blue man, “oh, he’s a Nautolan, not a twi’lek.” The kid glanced back at the downed man and-, Wait, what did he mean by… did he just ask what I think he asked?

“What do you mean keep him, you mean like as a slave or something?”

“I think they’re supposed to be called captures, but yes. If you want he can be your slave,” the kid confirmed, casually condemning him as if it was an afterthought. I blinked. Wow, I mean just wow.

“Uh, no; I don’t want a slave and please don’t ever ask me that again, okay,” I insisted, keeping my voice as flat as possible. Last thing I want to do is scare the kid while he's all emotional, even if he just tried to enslave someone. Yeah, I know its the Imperial way and all but Shesh!

The kid nodded and turned away. I turned back to the power regulator trying to push that to one side for a moment. Okay, so if I loop a piece of wire around under the regulator, maybe I could short-circuit the breaker thingy. The hiss of a drawing lightsaber stole my attention. I whirled to see the kid by the Nautolan, lightsaber overhead ad pointed down towards the guy.

“Wait, what are you doing?” I blurted, crossing the room a lot faster than I ever thought I could. Roan watched me, open curiosity etched all over his pointy face.

“He’s a captured bad guy. You’re supposed to kill or interrogate or enslave captured bad guys,” the kid explained, speaking slowly as if I was being dumb not getting something even little kids got.

“Uh okay, so uh what about just letting him go?” I asked, matching his tone. Yeah,

“Ooh,” he perked up, as if a teacher had asked a question he knew, “then they come back and ambush you when you least expect it. This way you know they can’t return.” The sheer matter-of-fact-ness made me shiver. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, he plunged the blade down

“Uh in that case, yeah, I’ll take him,” I blurted. The blade hissed a millimetre from the tip of his square nose and winked out.

“Okay, he’s yours,” the kid chirped, wandering off towards the power regulator. I knelt down beside the Nautolan, a wave of nausea rising in my belly. Way to go Ce’na, you just joined the ranks of Three Eyes and Darth Baras: You’re a slaver: wouldn’t Mom be proud. Only the plan forming in my head kept me from inner judgement.

“Hey, you’re awake, right?” I whispered to the guy. Those empty black, aquatic eyes opened and I could see my reflection in them

“My name is Lieutenant Gir Annalé, operating number 23779, that’s all I’m authorised to say,” he announced quietly. Uh okay, so you’re an-, oh. Looks like those rumours of the Republic secretly helping the Balmorran resistance just got confirmed.

“Hey, shh. The kid thinks you officially belong to me right now: it was the only way to keep him from killing you. Anyway, I officially command you to give us five minutes, then run away and not come after us, okay?” Lieutenant Annalé stared at me, unblinking. It was more than a little creepy, especially with his pearly white near-human teeth so close to my throat.

“I understand,” he croaked as if he had the worst head cold this side of Dantooine. If I had to guess from the purplish bruising, I’d wager the kid kicked him in the throat, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, seriously. He likes me and all but he’s super lawful and this might be treason or something.” The Nautolan flashed me a winning smile that made my legs feel all wobbly and I’m kneeling down. Glancing back at the kid, I watched him reach out and pull the power regulator out with his mind.

“Remember; five minutes, then run,” I whispered to him and then got up. Padding over to the kid, I watched him fiddle with the regulator, hands playing over its smoothed surface.

“Ready to carry on?”

“Yep, and he’ll be running away afterwards,” the kid chirped and I felt my blood go cold.

“Uh, you heard about that?” I asked, watching his hands. Yeah, I know he can kill me and I pretty much can’t do anything about it but I’d like the head’s up: y’know, before its head’s off. Then, he surprised me. He looked up straight into my eyes and stayed there. He never does that. He’s always glancing at something or another, never giving anything more than a moment’s glance.

“Vette, he’s yours, and you can do what you want with him. That includes man-emission,” he reasoned though his eyes fell over the floor. Yeah, Annalé was free, but I have to wait a good three years before I could say the same. Still, that’s three years of being alive, and it’s not all that bad. No-one’s gonna try anything while my Sith sidekick’s around.

“Hey, come on, there’s still the reactor to blow up, yeah?” I offered, distracting him from his thoughts. He looked up at me, smiled and reached up to take my hand. Gently, I led him out of the command centre, off to the reactor room. This won’t take long.

Valen Korik wandered through the hallways, drink in hand, his heavy Mandalorian boots leaving brief tread impressions in the short pile carpet. Soothing instrumental music played over the public address system at the perfect unobjectionable volume. Inoffensive landscapes depicting the Empire and its colonies hung on the walls. Korik sighed and sipped his drink. Good, solid Mandalorian rum. The one interesting thing in this otherwise boring place.

He passed a set of heavy carved double doors. Beside them was a placard inscribed with elegant aurebesh script.

Korik stopped his restless walking. Some of his clan hung out here. He heard Kregg was spending time with this group, too. He checked his chrono. He still had some time left to kill. In a moment of recklessness, he pushed open the doors and stepped in.

Dark-robed Sith filled the room, chatting in small clusters around the perimeter. A few danced in the center while cheery music played over loudspeakers. Great crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light as inoffensively bright as everywhere else. Korik scanned the crowd. He realized they weren’t all Sith. There were a sizable number of Imperial personnel milling about as well. A contingent of researchers and slaves took up residence near the buffet. He glanced at his drink. Maybe this party had better food.

Korik made it about halfway to the buffet before someone recognized him. An apprentice stepped away from his companions, "Valen Korik? Valen Korik! Wow!" Korik barely had time to switch his drink to his left hand before the Sith seized his right and pumped it in an enthusiastic greeting. "I'm so excited to finally meet you! We almost never get Names down here. Hey!" He called, "Hey! Valen Korik's here!"

Valen Korik freed his hand, "It's nothing. I was just walking by-''

"Nothing? Nothing?" the apprentice repeated, "Look at you! You have a unique model, a gold-and-white star, a Name! Look at me! Who am I?"

Flushing at the attention, Valen Korik read the nameplate floating above the Sith’s head, "Deranged Sith Apprentice," he said.

"-And you're Valen Korik. From the heroic area," Deranged Sith Apprentice said.

A Corrupted Sith Apprentice approached and offered her hand, "Huge fan of your work, Mister Korik. My spawn point-" she winked out of existence, leaving Korik with his hand extended toward nothing.

"Did she just..?" Valen Korik asked, turning back to Deranged Sith Apprentice.

"Spawn?" he completed, "Yeah. You'll have to get used to that around here. Don't take it personally. Most of us are on dynamic spawn timers so you never know when you’ll be pulled back into the game,” he took a long gulp of his drink, a green can labeled Power! in jagged script, “My maximum is ten minutes. Honestly? I don’t even bother checking-” he disappeared.

Another Deranged Sith Apprentice took his place in the growing throng, wearing the same face and catching the other’s drink without missing a beat, “Sorry. So you’re Valen Korik?”

“Uh,” Korik read the overlapping nameplates. Deranged Sith Apprentices, Corrupted Sith Apprentices, Insane Imperial Troopers, Possessed Troopers, a few Possessed Slaves and Hallucinating Researchers in the mix. So many sharing the same appearance. His clan had only two models, but there weren’t more than a dozen of them in total. Even as he watched, individuals vanished without warning and others reappeared just as quickly. The Long-Spawn Timer lounge didn’t look anything like this. “Valen Korik, yes. That’s me. It’s really not a big deal--”

A Corrupted Sith Apprentice reappeared in the space where the first one had been. He was male now, coughing and wheezing, his robes burned and torn. A nearby Hallucinating Researcher offered him a red can of Health! which he drank eagerly. His appearance improved and he extended a hand toward Korik, “--spawn point is by the pillar just across from your area.”

“Excuse me?” Valen Korik asked, genuinely confused.

“Sorry,” Corrupted Sith Apprentice said, brushing the last of the burns from his robe, “I go through a randomizer before spawn. There’s one other appearance option,” he said, pointing at another male Corrupted Sith Apprentice, this one taller and pale with a scrubby beard, “I never know which one I’ll get.”

“Oh,” Korik said. Very different from his lounge. “What was that about a pillar?”

Corrupted Sith Apprentice coughed again, “Right across from your heroic area. Been watching avatars go in since the beginning. Big admirer of your work. Avatars group by fours for you now, don’t they? Must be great to dish out the damage.”

“Uh, yeah,” Korik agreed. He scanned the sea of nameplates but still didn’t see Kregg.

Deranged Sith Apprentice blinked back and staggered into Korik, “Health!” he wheezed, accepting a can from one of his clones. Blood and green poison puddled around his feet, evaporating in the ballroom air. After draining the can he took another. “Ugh. Agents are the worst,” he said. Heads nodded in the crowd, acknowledging the statement. “I hate shaking off damage-over-time poisons. A few of those in a row ruin a good day.”

Korik helped him stand, “Are you alright?” he asked.

Deranged Sith Apprentice clapped Korik’s shoulder, “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, you with a name and all.”

“You’re the same,” Korik said, a question as much as a statement.

“Ah, Corrupted Sith Apprentice must be back,” Deranged Sith Apprentice said, “My model doesn’t randomize. I’m not important enough. We’re all the same,” he said, waving his Health! can at the crowd, “Just another face in the crowd!”

The Deranged Sith Apprentices all groaned at the joke. It must be an old one. Korik checked his chrono again. Still plenty of time. “I was kind of hoping I’d see Kregg here,” he said.

Deranged Sith Apprentice’s grin locked up, “Oh. Yeah, he’s here all right. Not sure you’d want to talk to him, though.”

“Why? We used to talk all the time,” Korik said, “I’m sure he’ll remember me.”

“Well, sure, you’re an Name,” Deranged Sith Apprentice said, “But Kregg...I mean, you know how I said I don’t bother watching the time anymore? Or started to tell you, anyhow,” he said.

“Yes,” Korik agreed.

“Yeah. So, you get used to having conversations in bits, you know? You spawn in the middle of a sentence, come back in the middle. No worries. We’re all like that. You get some downtime even when your area is busy,” Deranged Sith Apprentice began, leading Korik through the wall of troopers and apprentices, “Kregg isn’t on a regular timer.”

Korik nodded, “I know. Avatars have to call him.”

“Right, right,” Deranged Sith Apprentice said. “Don’t get me started on avatars. Anyway, he’s not on a regular timer. He can be called in as soon as the summoner is active. That’s, like, fifteen seconds or something.”

Korik nodded again, “Well, yes, but avatar groups can only activate that once. He’s surrounded by his clan and they’re all like you. Timed spawn.”

Deranged Sith Apprentice nodded again, “True, true.”

“And only once per day at that,” Korik continued.

“That was before,” Deranged Sith Apprentice said. He pointed to an armored Mandalorian warrior seated behind a jumbled pile of empty Health! and Power! cans. Shaky hands reached for Health! when he disappeared. He reappeared almost immediately, armor smoking and sparking, continuing his desperate grab. He dumped the contents down his throat and winked out of existence again. The half-empty can clattered to the floor, dislodging a slide of its mates on the way. The warrior appeared before the avalanche stopped. His nameplate, visible in the few seconds he remained before vanishing, read “Kregg.” Deranged Sith Apprentice grimaced, “This is now.”

“Oh no,” Koric said. He took a few steps toward Kregg, “Kregg? Kregg? It’s Korik, remember me?”

Kregg raised bloodshot eyes to the newcomer, “Korik? Is that you?” he asked, beginning to rise from his seat. “ What are--” He vanished and empty cans filled the space he left behind, only to be pushed out of the way when he came back a few seconds later. He grabbed a random can and downed it with a belch, “--you doing here?”

Korik rushed up and gripped the shaky warrior's arms, “I was worr-” his hands closed on nothing. Korik straightened. Kregg was back in place almost immediately, “I was worried about you.” Korik concluded. Deranged Sith Apprentice stood to one side, watching.

“Binf shird. You were bored,” Kregg said between gulps. He frowned, “Krind all, I can’t--” another pause in his speech, “--even curse. Stupid pinking Teen rated game.”

Korik couldn’t help but smile, “You know me.”

Kregg tossed an empty on the pile, “Yeah, I know--” he blinked out and back, his armor slashed and melted as though by lightsaber, “you,” he concluded. Bleary eyes took in his friend, “Oh stars. Is that--is that Mandalorian rum?” he asked.

Korik nodded, handing over the tumbler as soon as Kregg materialized again. He took it and swallowed the remaining drink in one gulp, “Oh, that’s good. I miss Mandalorian rum.” The tumbler dropped, disappearing into the mess.

“He wandered in a few months back,” Deranged Sith Apprentice filled in while Kregg spawned, “Poor guy.”

Kregg returned, “Forg all, did I lose any?” he asked, grabbing a random can and downing it while his armor repaired itself.

“No, no, that was all,” Korik assured him.

Kregg threw the empty can against the wall, “These energy drinks ss--” “--uck,” he concluded. A crooked smile crossed his face, “Thanks. Can’t remember the last time I had something else.”

“Any time,” Korik said. He glanced at his chrono quick while Kregg was gone. Still good. When Kregg returned he continued, “So what happened to you? We used to hang out together in the long-spawn lounge all the time.”

“Pinking game updates, that’s what!” Kregg hollered between spawns, “think they could make new stuff for avatars to do? No. They just re-used old stuff. Old quests. Old content. I’m a fliffik level twelve champion. I’m not supposed to have level sixties killing me, for bink’s sake! Where’s the glarging challenge in that?!”

Korik winced, “Avatars are leveled down to the planet, though.”

Kregg belched again, “Like that makes any bargling difference. For flieg’s sake I spawn on a pile of my own corpses!” he yelled, “I can see them! There on the ground! Binf big pile of ‘em. The last avatars to kill me aren’t even out of the area! Can’t even figure out which avatars I hate more,” Kregg sunk back to his seat, can in hand, while the electrical systems in his armor realigned after his most recent spawn, “There’s a dilly long queue of ‘em. All waiting to touch the thing. Half the time they join in and then hang out for another couple shots at me.” A can of Health! slipped from his trembling hands, “Why do they hate me, Korik?” he whimpered, “I’m not that bad a guy, am I?”

Korik put a hand on Kregg’s shoulder for the short time he was there, “No. You’re not a bad guy, Kregg.”

Kregg slurped at Power!, “I--I can’t take it, Korik. The only time I’m not getting killed is during maintenance and they don’t even do that every week anymore.”

Korik surreptitiously checked his chrono. Almost time. He leaned in to whisper to his fellow Mandalorian, “They made me a daily, too.”

Kregg shook off more green poison and lightsaber burns, “Kept your spawn timer the same, though.”

Korik shrugged, “Avatars camp my spawn point in groups twice as big as they’re supposed to.”

“Pingin avatars,” Kregg shouted. He sprang to his feet, “That’s it! I’m spawning naked! Bargle avatars! It don’t matter what I wear! They kill me anyway!” He tossed his gauntlets aside, “Let ‘em watch me rocket in in nothing but a jetpack and a jockstrap!”

Deranged Sith Apprentice shrank back, “Aww, Kregg, come on. You know you can’t strip beyond underwear.”

“Tink ‘em I don’t give a flick,” Kregg shouted, unbuckling his chestpiece, “Let’s see ‘em loot my junk now! You hear me?”

Korik’s alarm pinged and he stood, “Sorry, Kregg, I have to go.”

Kregg’s eyes went wide, “No! No! Not you too, Korik!” he begged, his armor hanging open, “Give ‘em hell! Kill one for me!” he yelled.

Korik clapped the other Mandalorian’s bare arm, “Don’t worry.” He faded from view.

Kregg vanished and reappeared again, coughing and wheezing from smoke. “Korik was a good man.” he said. He loosened his belt, succeeding in removing it before he spawned again. “He’ll give those avatars something to think about.”

There was a poof and Valen Korik rematerialized, his armor blackened and crushed. He staggered forward and collapsed in the pile of cans. “Gaahh...” he wheezed.

“Help him!” Kregg ordered, down to nothing but his greaves and boots.

Deranged Sith Apprentice helped him up to a seated position and handed him a fresh can of Health! “Drink this, Korik. I’m spawning soon.” He blinked out.

“What did they hit you with, Kor--?” Kregg asked. “What did they hit you with?” he repeated after reappearing.

Korik downed the contents of the can and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, “I remember something round. A cannon, maybe. Bright flash, slam, then boom! I'm back here. I think it was a siege engine," Korik said. He took another drink of Health! and rubbed his chest. It still hurt where the bones knitted.

Deranged Sith Apprentice blinked back in, robes smoking, "Those avatars were insane. I think they had a tank."

Kregg stripped off the last of his armor. "I hate avatars," he said, and disappeared.

@Striges- RE: Brosyc in Drabble- That was actually really sad. I've never really thought about the long-term effects of Force persuade before. I know that in the Thrawn trilogy the insane Jedi Jorrus C'boath ended up doing it so much to a man that he literally couldn't function mentally without someone controlling him, but I don't know about less extreme cases.

RE: Viidu's Wake- Makes sense. Also like that Corso names things apart from his weapons

RE: Personal Challenge- I started off trying to remember who Korik was supposed to be, then started giggling hysterically, then finished actually kind of sad. But I like the goofy meta stuff

@TheMantallian- First off, hi! Great to see new people on the thread And yay for more bounty hunters and mandos, too. I too like your characters formal thought process and his numerous loyalties. Looking forward to seeing how it turns out- has she not seen him again because she doesn't want to, or because she can't?

@AKHadeed- Still love your/Angie's narrative voice. " My sister wasn't exactly known for discretion or good behavior, and if she was silly enough to get involved with a Sith... Well, I really didn't want to have to shoot either one of them, so I just hoped that they stuck to flirting" made me laugh. No sisters, but if my brother decided to get involved with a sith... yeah. I like the conflicting emotions in this story- annoyance mixed with worry born of what I think is genuine affection.

@Feldraeth- Once again, I like Vette and Roan's interaction. It's a very sweet but ultimately kind of sad friendship, since someday they're going to have it slammed in their faces how different they really are and are going to have to decide what they plan to do about it.

Feyte paces back and forth in Shining Path’s common room. She and Tharan managed to convince most of Eyrie’s crew to head to bed after a medical examination. Now Sgt. Rusk is sprawled on the couch near her, Doc curled up in an armchair, T7 plugged into a nearby power socket, and Kira on Nadia’s bed. If she stretches out her awareness, Feyte can feel both padawans in the bedroom, Nadia worried and alert for any signs of a change in her friend’s condition, Kira’s life force dim but holding on. She would let them all sleep until the food was ready, at least.

The men would be alright with a little time, she was sure. But Kira… whatever had happened to her during the month she had disappeared had taken a great toll on her body. She would live, that much was certain, but what else Feyte couldn’t say.

What had happened? Sgt. Rusk had insisted that it was Eyrie’s story to tell and Doc had agreed after a stern look from the other man. Kira was in no shape to tell them anything. Eyrie herself had disappeared into the bathroom after ensuring her crew was stable and Feyte hasn’t seen her since. She doesn’t want to rush the other Jedi, but she can feel something is wrong.

Finally, she decides to check on her. Surely that can’t hurt. The bathroom door is still closed and she can hear the shower running. Feyte knocks cautiously. No answer. Again, louder this time. Still nothing. She opens the door a crack and calls Eyrie’s name, but only the rain-like sound of the shower greets her.

Feyte enters, pulling the door shut behind her. A small puddle of water seeps from under the shower curtain and

she can see a dark shape on the floor inside the stall. “Eyrie?” Her heart leaps into her mouth and she half-runs to the other side of the bathroom and pulls the curtain aside.

Eyrie sits on the tiled floor, knees pulled up to her chest and head bowed. She doesn’t move and for a moment Feyte is afraid she’s dead as the water pounds down on her bare shoulders and swirls the mix of blood and vomit that’s pooled around her down the drain. Then she takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets out a choked sob.

Kneeling, Feyte reaches out to brush her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Eyrie says, voice muffled between her legs. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Eyrie. I was just worried about you. Are you alright?” Silence. “Do you want to talk about it?” A slight shake of the head. She scoots a little closer. “You’ve been in her for more than an hour. Are you almost ready to get out?”

Mechanically, Eyrie stands up and switches off the water, ignoring the foul sludge that’s still stuck to her legs and the bottom of the shower. Feyte wraps a towel around her shoulders, figuring that the fact she’s up and moving is worth more than pointing out that she should rinse off a little more. Eyrie is shaking, whether from cold or

exhaustion or something else Feyte can’t tell.

“Wait right here,” she says, although she’s sure the instruction is unnecessary, and sprints over to her dresser.

Nadia looks up at her curiously, but doesn’t say anything. Digging out a few pieces of clothing, she hurries back.

Eyrie is exactly where she left her. “Come on, let’s get you dressed.” Feyte helps her dry off and finish cleaning

herself, then change into a loose white shift and her oldest robe, a soft Alderaanian wool thing that she keeps

around purely for how soft and warm it is.

As it wraps around her shoulders, Eyrie speaks for the first time without prompting. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re going to go sit down in my room, OK?” Eyrie nods and they walk out of the bathroom

together.

As soon as they enter the bedroom, Eyrie’s Force-sense spikes, her blank expression now hiding a swirl of anger and grief, all mixed up with a guilt stronger than Feyte can remember feeling. She stumbles over to Kira’s bedside and clutches at the headboard. “She’s alright,” Feyte assures her. “Just asleep for now.”

Eyrie allows Feyte and Nadia to pull her away and help her sit on the bed. “Nadia, would you get me a tray of food, please? Don’t worry, I’ll watch Kira for you.”

As the younger girl leaves, Eyrie grabs the quilt and does her best to wrap it around herself. “I don’t need food.”

“Nonsense. You look like you haven’t eaten in a month.” The blank space where her eyes would have been is sunken and her face pinched. The general grime on her face has been washed away and Feyte can see a

half-healed scrape along her jawline over a purplish bruise.

“Save it for someone who deserves it.”

“We have plenty. And what are you talking about, ‘deserve it’? You’re my friend, that’s more than worth a meal.”

Eyrie shakes her head. “This was my fault.”

“What was?” Feyte swallows hard, trying to get rid of the sudden tightness in her throat.

She gestures vaguely. “All of it. Master Braga and Master Sedoru and Master Narezz are dead because of me. And

I don’t even know what else I might have done. I can’t remember…”

Feyte sits quietly trying to process. What could have happened on that secret mission? “You made a strike against the Empire, didn’t you?”

Helplessly, Eyrie nods. “The Emperor. We had intelligence reports that he was planning something devastating.”

“So the council sent the four of you to handle it?”

“But I failed. I got everyone else killed and fell to the Dark Side, Feyte. I’m sorry. You should probably keep me away from everyone else until the Jedi Counsel decides what to do with me.”

“Alright.” She certainly isn’t acting like someone in the clutches of the Dark Side, but who knew what the Emperor had forced her to do? Knowing Eyrie, she would take responsibility for anything she had done, even under the

greatest pressure. But what if it was true? “We’ll get you help, don’t worry.”

“Thank you.” Eyrie’s ragged voice breaks and her shoulders start to shake.

Feyte wraps her arms around the Miraluka and lets her sob into her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Everything will be alright. You’re safe now, don’t worry.” But will they be? She tries hard not to think about what she’ll do if everything

Eyrie said is true.

I'm not entirely happy with how this one came out, so any tips on how to improve it would be appreciated.

The infamous JK CH2 ending. There's a bit in the Trooper story as well, where the game doesn't allow your character to express grief of anger or anything really, you just go on to the next chapter. I always like seeing other writer's versions of what really happened. Eyrie's pain and depression comes through. Feyte's helplessness as well--she wants to help but isn't sure how. Wants to know what happened, but doesn't want to intrude.

You asked for suggestions. Mine would be to play on that a little. Feyte senses Eyrie's emotions when she sees Kira injured. Maybe work with that a bit earlier. She retreated to the bathroom, obviously upset, in the one place someone's not likely to barge in. But her emotions, especially to another Jedi, probably are as visible as if the walls were transparent. There's something very wrong, and maybe Fetye doesn't want to even touch those emotions because it's too raw, open, and personal. Not Dark, but a whirlpool of regret and pain. She can get the jist of the problem but not the specifics, and that's what she has to convince Eyrie to confide. She's concerned about the crew, of course, but Eyrie's pain is more psychological and spiritual. For a Jedi, that's as bad if not worse.

One of the things I liked about the Consular story was how many "Dark" characters you can redeem, how often (depending on your character's choices, of course) you can help other characters find the Light. That the Light is always there, always part of them, even when is doesn't seem to be. If that's a big part of Feyte's story, then Eyrie's crisis fits well in that overall arc too.

Hope that helps.

Jasin had met a lot of people since he'd become Alliance Commander, but he hadn't expected to meet someone with the same last name as his.

Cadi Carrick was an SIS agent, apparently a former member of the Jedi team known as the Sixth Line. She was one of the Sixth Line's few survivors since Ziost, and had remained a close friend of Theron Shan. However, since the Sixth Line's disgrace on Ziost, she'd become a smuggler of sorts.

Jasin crossed his arms as she walked into the command center one day.

"Cadi, a minute?"

She walked over. Jasin saw her red hair and blue eyes, and almost felt she looked like Kira.

"We're, uh, we're not related, are we?" he asked.

Her eyebrows crinkled. "Was that a pickup line?"

"No! No, I mean, we have the same last name, that's all." He chuckled. "And you kind of look like my wife. I was just wondering if I'd been out a lot longer than five years, or something."

"Are you saying I'm young enough to be your daughter?"

"Um..." Jasin chuckled. "Sorry, Cadi. Just checking."

She smirked. "Right-ho, Commander. If you'll excuse me, Ta'er, Saranna, and I have a mission to complete."

He nodded. "As you were, Agent Carrick."

Well. That had been a bit awkward.

Lana Beniko's calm collectedness at the constant chaos at the Alliance Base on Odessen drove Jasin mad, and he didn't really know how she did it. Theron was that way, too. He was usually pretty laid-back. But whenever Koth and Senya started biting each other's heads off, or an Imperial and a Republic soldier began brawling, or anything of the sort, Jasin felt a renewed sense of annoyance.

Since he had reunited with Gareb and Methic after the Battle of Asylum, he'd hoped some of the stress would've been taken off him. Nope. He was still considered the Alliance Commander, the Outlander, the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order. And although he was willing to take up that cause because he knew that's what the Force wanted for him, it was occasionally stressful.

Worse, he wasn't the only one missing his old friends. He longed for Kira to be beside him again every second of the day; only his responsibility as Commander kept him from running off to find her. But Gareb missed Nadia, Prudii missed Elara, and many of his other old friends were also missing spouses and allies. Dha had been thrilled to meet Blizz, Torian, and Gault again, but still longed for Mako's presence.

At least Methic had Vette back. That was its own story, though; ever since that little reunion, some people had complained about the noise coming from their quarters at night. Jasin just blushed and promised to talk to them about it, but nothing had really come of that yet.

Now, as Jasin walked into the command center, he felt like he'd bust a nerve. As usual, Koth and Senya were bickering. Jasin let out a longsuffering sigh and scratched his chin. Since becoming Alliance Commander, he'd grown out his beard and taken to wearing a nondescript tanned jacket with a brown pauldron on the right shoulder. It was Jedi-ish, but it didn't give away his identity as a Jedi. When they finally took the fight back to Arcann, maybe he'd take to wearing Jedi armor again. Until then, this coat and casual outfit were more comfortable and practical.

"Enough!" Lana said firmly. She turned to Jasin helplessly. "Commander, I'm not sure how much longer we can stay here before we all explode."

Jasin nodded. "I know. Tell you what; Arcann's not going to overtake the galaxy if we take one day off. Let's get some people together, go out into the wilds, find a lake, and just camp for a day."

"I'm not sure..." she said. "Is that really a good idea?"

"I don't know, but we need it." Jasin jabbed a finger at Senya. "All of us."

She nodded curtly. "Understood."

"Get the people together," he told Lana. "I think Aygo can handle things here until we get back. Pack light; we'll only bring essentials. Anyone wants to bring a buddy, tell them they can have a plus-one, but don't overcrowd. It would be pointless to try to get away only to bring the entire Alliance with us."

"Very well," Lana said. "I hope you're right about this..."

* * *

As Jasin watched, Gareb, Methic, Prudii, Dha, Dankin, Merok, and Tran'thar headed for the elevator down to the forest floor. Things were tense between the rest of the group and Tran'thar, formerly Darth Nox, as Nox was not in favor of the Alliance at all. Still, even he seemed to be making an effort to work with the others, if only for pragmatic purposes.

He had brought along Talos. Jasin had befriended the archaeologist, and he was glad to have him along. Xalek had firmly refused to join the expedition; he apparently saw it as a weakness.

Methic had, of course, brought Vette. Pierce wanted to tag along, too, as security, but Jasin had firmly vetoed the idea of bringing along his assault rifle. Pierce had glumly settled for an old-fashioned hunting rifle.

Dha was bringing Torian. Gault was away, running some con, and Blizz was working as a bodyguard for one of Hylo Visz's ops. Torian brought along his helmet and another hunting rifle, but he wore casual clothes.

Merok was bringing Kaliyo and Lokin. Both of them were unarmed (a change for Kaliyo), and were dressed casually. Jasin was, however, a bit worried by the lusty glances Kaliyo kept sending Pierce's way.

Dankin was alone. Bowdaar, apparently, was along on Blizz's mission. Dankin seemed a bit downcast, but determined to have a good time. Jasin knew Dankin missed his wife, Akaavi, but it amused him to watch as Dankin flirted with everything female in the base. It was a coping mechanism, Jasin knew. Dankin didn't mean anything by it.

Prudii was bringing Jorgan, who also happened to be the last member of the team carrying a hunting rifle. The Cathar badly needed the break ever since his entire squad had been wiped out on Zakuul, Jasin knew.

Gareb had offered to let Qyzen join in, and the Trandoshan had humbly declined, preferring to stay and help Aygo get the Warstalkers ready for a military strike. However, Chozaa Raabat had agreed to accompany Gareb. Jasin half-expected the two to spent the whole trip meditating. That was fine, as long as they took the time to relax.

And as for Jasin...he only had T7-O1, but the little droid would never survive the journey through the woods without damaging his treads. That was okay with Jasin; as Commander, he intended to spend a bit of time with everyone, not just people he was most familiar with.

Lana, Koth, Senya, and Theron strode toward the turbolift, and Jasin glanced up at their companions. A Jedi Knight named Sahim was along with Lana; the two of them seemed to have taken quite the liking to each other, despite being total opposites. Koth was accompanied by another Jedi, a Togruta named Ahreya. Senya was alone, per usual. Theron was joined by a girl with short-cropped blond hair. Judging by how close she was pressed to him, the two were quite close. Jasin recognized her as a former Intelligence agent named Ta'er.

Rounding out the expedition members were Saranna, Cadi Carrick, Jodark–a Cathar mercenary–and Kari and Soli Seabeamer, a smuggler and a Republic soldier–adopted sisters; a human and a Mirialan. Jorgan seemed to perk up when he saw Soli. That made Jasin smile; maybe the poor guy could find some happiness in the wake of such a tragedy. The last member was a female light-leaning Sith, Nyscha.

The group was rather larger than Jasin had expected it to be, but they could spread out in the woods and not feel constricted by numbers. And once they found a lake, they could camp around the entire perimeter; that would give plenty of room for everyone. He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders.

"Let's head out," he said.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Lana said.

"Trust me," Jasin said, smiling. "This will be exactly what the doctor ordered."

The expedition was, so far, going better than Lana had expected. The large group wasn't crammed together unpleasantly; rather, they had all set their own pace, since everyone had a map to the lake where they'd be camping. Some groups dallied behind, while others–especially the more competitive, or more militant, ones–pressed on, practically racing through the woods to beat one another.

"I've got to hand it to Jasin," she said, "this wasn't a bad idea."

Sahim grinned. "Any chance to get away with you is a good idea in my book."

Lana blushed. By all accounts, she and Sahim should never have gotten along, but he'd been persistent, something she found unusual for a Jedi. His square features and piercing green eyes helped, no doubt. The two had been on several missions for the Alliance together, and they'd gotten to know each other during that time. They'd never had any time together off-duty, however.

He was currently wearing a green shirt–his favorite color–with gray pants. His lightsaber was nowhere to be seen, though Lana guessed he was armed somehow. Sahim was rather cautious.

"Oh, kriff!" someone growled.

Lana and Sahim looked ahead. The trail ended at a large canyon. Lana blinked in surprise. This wasn't on the map. Pierce, the one who'd snarled out the curse, paced impatiently.

"What now?"

"We'll go around," Jasin said, emerging from the trees. "There's a natural bridge about a mile that way."

"It'll just give us a little more time to enjoy the walk," Lana said, forcing the optimism for the Commander's sake. "Let's not get disappointed yet."

Still, the extra mile began to wear on some of them. Lana, and many of the other Force users, drew on it subtly to freshen themselves when they grew tired, but some were beginning to wear out–Lokin and Drellik in particular, Lana thought.

Jorgan and Pierce had, at some point, gotten into a competition to see who could reach the bridge faster. Their race was brutal but friendly, and they darted in and out of the tree line, rushing for the bridge. Lana chuckled at them. She gasped when Sahim suddenly grabbed her hand, but then smiled and relaxed into his grip.

This wasn't so bad, after all.

* * *

Ta'er, dressed in a pink tank top and khaki shorts, interlaced her fingers with Theron's and breathed deeply. The air was beautiful, and birds and other wildlife called melodiously. Ta'er felt free, for once. Being an Intelligence agent was a stressful job, and she rarely got to relax.

Theron still seemed a bit stiff, but he was slowly relaxing. For all Ta'er knew, he could've been constantly monitoring the base, through his implants, but she trusted that he would follow Jasin's orders and just relax. Besides, if he didn't, she had her ways of encouraging him, she thought slyly.

"What're you thinking about?" Theron asked as they walked.

"You," she teased. "Specifically: you, shirtless, waist-deep in the lake, water glistening off your abs..."

"Imagine my thoughts, then," he replied with a wink. "You did bring that pretty little swimsuit you picked up on Rishi, right?"

"Of course," Ta'er said, waggling her eyebrows.

Merok strode by, sweat glistening on his blue skin. "Gross, you guys. Gross."

* * *

In the end, the detour to the land bridge only took them an extra forty-five minutes, all told. It had sapped some of the competitive energy from the likes of Soli, Jorgan, Pierce, and Torian, so they all loped along slowly, nearing the lake. By the time they were in the vicinity, the sky was turning a brilliant orange.

Dankin slumped down to a sitting position and put his backpack down on the ground. Despite the vast number of people here, he felt lonely. So far, he'd only been able to reunite with Bowdaar, and the Wookiee had been as busy with Alliance business as Dankin. Their assignments often took them opposite directions. Sometimes, Dankin was tempted to run off and just look for Akaavi.

Ah, well. He'd find her in time, he was sure. Until then, who was to say he couldn't flirt? It wasn't like he'd be disloyal to her; that would be asking for a death wish and he'd never dream of it, anyway. But a little flirting never hurt anyone. And the camp was rife with beautiful females.

For now, though, he'd just set up his tent and relax. It had been a while since he had done that. And if, when he woke up in the morning, there were a bunch of beauties in swimsuits frolicking through the lake, well, he'd be perfectly happy with that.

Cadi was previously Jasin's daughter, but she isn't anymore since the timeline got re-jiggered with KOTFE.

To be continued, and hijinks will ensue!

Quinn's pacing had to come to an end. Three days he had spent wearing away the luxurious carpet of their apartments sitting room. Three days he had walked from the front door to her bedroom to his to the balcony and to the front door again. Three days he had tossed in his bed without even entering shallow sleep. To keep any form of composure on the third day, he had administered to himself a sedative. He knew he wasn't experience nerves. He knew it wasn't because he was alone in an apartment with someone who he loathed. After all, he'd gotten used to that irritant after the first five months. It wasn't because for the first time in over a year, she wasn't sleeping in the same vicinity as him. It wasn't the words she spoke that kept him from sleeping.

It was the things she didn't say. It was the rejection not put into words and the hope not crushed. And the complete fool he has been making of himself.

Quinn shakes his head at his own imprudence and folds the last of his shirts. His pacing had ended him where it did every day: his bedroom. Only this time, his pacing would never take him here again. It was almost dusk now and he had waited long enough, put this off long enough. He made his packing take longer than necessary, continually repacking until everything he wanted was in his suitcase and in it neatly and perfectly.

Quinn looks to his inventory list, double checking every row has a tick next to it. He slowly gazes around the room and then looks under the bed. He finds nothing. He checks all the cupboards and the wardrobe, once again finding nothing. He checks the list again before picking up his suitcase and carrying it with more strain than he'd care to show to the living room.

Looking around one last time, the memories of all the times he had spent with her exasperatingly flash on the edge of his vision like a vision of heaven to a spice addict. He tries to ignore them, eyes scanning ever piece of furniture to see if he had forgotten anything. When he looks to the end table he sees the drinks she gently placed there every night with strong, long fingers that never shake. The bookshelf full of complementary books reminds him of when they first arrived and she scorned the lack of taste of the apartments owner. He remembers the respite from a busy day that she spent reclining on the small love seat, her legs thrown over the end and a scorned book in hand. Unknown to Quinn was that she considered reading such romantic trash as a favoured alternative to speaking to him or seeing him. The dramatic, insignificant lamentations of caricatures diverted her from her own more dire... situation.

Quinn looks to the balcony but only sees the memory from five nights ago. She turned to him when he called and smiled politely, beckoning him to join her. She saved him from the attentions of the wife of some Duke from a small Imperial planet that had decided she needed a new lover to make her feel young again and probably gain some small amount of attention - no matter how derisive - from her husband who sat on a chair that was as far away from his wife as he could discretely be. Darcia looked beautiful that night, her red gown tight where wanted and loose where needed. The top of the gown consisted in elaborated beading that decorated her neck and still provided the necessary function of holding the dress up.

Quinn shakes his head but the memories he has are too precious to be dislodged that easily. Quinn removes the idle and painful remising from his mind for the moment, knowing there will most likely be many months if not years for such thoughts. He begins to search the room, making sure nothing will be left behind. Satisfied that he has removed all evidence that he was ever there, he finally retreats to the door.

Quinn looks to the sky once the door is closed behind him. The first thing Quinn observes with dissatisfaction is that it isn't raining. With a glare at the sky as if it were a insubordinate that failed to achieve even a simple, menial task, Quinn looks around the streets. He notes that most of the inhabitants are out, enjoying the fact that though the sun isn't out, there wasn't a constant mist or sleet of rain. Quinn begins to scan all of people and the surrounding buildings. He cultivated the response from all the time he had been spending standing at the balcony overseeing lower levels, looking for a sight of her. He hopes the habit is confined to this location and won't follow him to his next residence.

'Admiral Quinn, they are waiting for you.'

Quinn glances sharply at the young Corporal that stands a respectful two paces behind him. The fact that Quinn hadn't noticed his approach was testament to the fact he didn't want to be disturbed. Waiting with a patience that was saintly, Quinn could continue to stand there for hours more. A few minutes were nothing.

'They can wait a few minutes longer, Corporal,' Quinn testily replies. 'Send them a message I shall be along shortly.'

The Corporal looks hesitant, not knowing whether to follow the Admiral's instruction or obey the Moff's. He had only been instructed to tell the Admiral to join them for a few drinks while they discuss his imminent placement as leader of a fleet. The Corporal eyes the Admiral and takes in his stern exterior and dilated pupils.

'Jump to it, Corporal,' Quinn snaps.

The Corporal salutes and walks crisply away. Quinn remains outside the apartment, his deep blue eyes scanning the area for a sight of her. His fingers fidget behind his back and his collar feels peculiarly tight. His heart seems to be beating faster than normal and estimates it to be around 171, give or take 1. He takes a deep breath and looks to the skyline.

Today is the day. Not the biggest day of his life but possibly one of. The largest day will always be the day he met Baras' blossoming apprentice. The second will be the day he betrayed her. Without meaning to on either side, she came to define his life in the way the he always thought his career would. Moff Broysc has become a circumstance that forced him onto a path to meet her. Losing her will remain the greatest failure of his life. "Too little, too late" never bore any relevance to his life until now.

'She isn't coming.'

Quinn spins his head angrily to glare at the Captain who spoke what Quinn was reluctant to voice or hear either from himself or anyone else. The fact that it was Pierce saying the previous unvoiced dread in his stomach only made having to hear it all the worse.

Pierce only meets the angry glare with a taunting grin. The recently appointed Captain leans against the apartments front wall with his arms that are thicker then Quinn's head crossed. Quinn turns his head back around again, his fingers no longer fidgeting. His expression regains composure as he looks around the streets again. All he can see is everyone that isn't her.

'I said, Mal, that she aint coming,' Pierce repeats. Pierce moves a lazy, pointed gaze around the courtyard. He then looks Quinn over. His entire uniform is to perfection with every detail according to the book. Pierce's lip curls a little before stretching into a fierce, victorious grin. 'You're wasting your time. She's not coming back, Mal. You can wait all night but she aint.'

'I doubt it, Captain. She is due back today. She would tell me if she were delayed.' Quinn's subtle inflections in his brittle formality bark an everlasting disdain for the Captain and smother the anxious doubt that is becoming a larger and larger threat.

'Nah, she'd tell her Captain but she doesn't need to tell me she's only coming back when you're not here anymore. I don't know what you said before she left, Captain, but she doesn't want to ever see you again.' Pierce let's that hang for a moment longer and when Quinn doesn't rise to the bait, Pierce taunts some more. 'Congratulations, Captain, on *********** it up with the only woman that's able to stand your company.'

'It's "Admiral", Captain,' Quinn corrects like a cleaning droid on automatic. Quinn moves his head a stiff inch to glare at Pierce out of the corner of his eye. His best 'know your place, worm, or else' glare is lost on the larger man. 'You shouldn't comment on things you know nothing of to your superiors.'

'Alright then, Captain,' Pierce gives up with a smug shrug. 'But my point still stands: she doesn't want to say goodbye. Just do her a favour: leave silently and never come back or else.'

'That sounded like a threat, Captain.'

The terse reply only provokes mocking laughter from the larger man. Quinn moves his head back and looks straight ahead. There is one thing neither man will miss in the new arrangement: each other's company.

'We both know she can make her own threats, Mal. But let's say for a second that she couldn't. I think the 'or else' might involve fulfilling a few of my fantasies like shoving this gun as far up your arse as that stick is and pulling the trigger.'

'As charming as always, Captain.'

Pierce doesn't reply beyond another jeering chuckle. He doesn't need to point out that what charms he may or not have still landed him the position recently vacated by Quinn. Pierce slips back into the apartment and his laughter follows him. Quinn stands and waits for an hour more before leaving his post, initially to thumb it to Pierce and then because he has to resign himself to the truth. She isn't coming.

'Admiral Quinn!'

Quinn sharply turns at the sound of that voice. It isn't his name he really hears it's only her voice. She could have been saying anything for all he knew. He never thought he would hear it so loud, crisp and demanding again. That's what it was: a breathless order for him to stop and the only one he would ever receive.

She walks with accelerated, dignified speed to catch up to him. She would never run in the streets of Dromund Kaas. Using the Force to make her reach him quicker was already pushing her limits of decorum. A Sith should only be seen running to battle. Though for all Quinn new, their relationship had never been anything else. Her robes, black and fitted with two slits allowing the free movement of her legs, billow with terrifying pride behind her. The wind that is channelled through the passage they walk pulls her dark hair away from her face and leads away the front her robe, revealing almost her entire slender, insipid legs. It's the dress he suggested but he pays little attention to it beyond a cursory glance at the irony of the dress he first saw her in also being the last he will see her in. In person, at least, he amends.

Her features are unusually flushed but it is the only sign she gives of discomposure. Everything else says she is walking for nothing more than the purpose of reprimanding a lax soldier.

'Yes, my Lord?' Quinn inquires when she is within speaking distance though he must raise his voice to be heard over the roaring wind. There are no other people walking this way which is why Quinn chose it. He wanted to think without the scrutiny of others and now, he's glad because he wants no witnesses to this unanticipated confrontation.

She stops a few too many paces away and blatantly looks him over. His Admiral uniform becomes him well, she decides though she would never allow her expression to tell him that. It becomes him much better than the lowly rank of 'Captain'. A man of distinguished ambition and skill only appears in full bloom when wearing the adequate uniform. Still, she frowns at the sight of it and the neat badges that announce his rank. 'It's for the best' is what she really sees them say.

'I believe that is "Good evening, my Lord", Admiral. A salute is in order as well. Or a bow. I have often been confused on which is more adequate,' she lies. A sorry state of a affairs when lies become what is needed to prompt discourse and keep awkward silences at bay. She feels the only way to say goodbye is by first saying hello.

'Whichever you prefer though Sith usually receive a bow. A salute, if given, is usually for Sith acting in military capacity and by those serving directly under the Sith,' Quinn explains. His dark, captivating eyes bore into hers. 'Which would you prefer, my Lord?'

'One last salute then, Admiral, for old time's sake,' she orders with a flat frown. If she meant it in companionship or heard the meaning under his words, she gave no external indication of it to Quinn. 'I doubt you will ever be required to do either for me again.'

Quinn snaps into a salute, sharp as ever but his deep, unflinching eyes beg a question all the same. Even if she had an answer, she wouldn't give it.

'I believe you are to leave now to take charge of a fleet situated above Illum,' she comments. Practicality is sturdy defence. 'I understand the Empire wants to ensure the victory we gave them is total.'

'The battle for Illum was quickly decided. You delivered it to the Empire. This assignment is little more than a petty test of my abilities. '

'Still, Admiral,' Darcia continues with a thin smile at his derision and frustration. 'You will be in charge of your first fleet. You must feel anxious.'

'Only proud, my Lord. I will always do what is right to serve the Empire in the way that is most needed. However,' Quinn continues, rendering everything that came before the word an impotent fallacy. 'I shall feel some regret to not be taking a more personal approach to furthering the Empire under your authority.'

She lets the statement that comes as close to flirtation as he allows not ruffle her. There is only one thing that could be said that would shake her resolve and crumble her haughty control. Those words will never be said again. She would rather one of them died then hear them again. Dying would hurt less. But this goodbye... it is hardly a small splinter in a toe.

'You will be a Moff within a year, Admiral, mark my word, and then you will never even have enough time to think of your lowly time in the station of Captain.'

'You're wrong, my Lord,' Quinn replies with vehemence. His salute drops and his hands hang at his sides like they never have. His fists clench and his proud chin rises as if to look down on her statement. None of it moves her.

'A station as Moff would not nearly be so high as serving under you, my Lord. There will never be... a more well spent... station. I will never forget our time together,' he gently yet haughtily ends. His conceit and formality curdle and poison every word he could ever speak.

'I doubt it, Quinn. Call me when you are Moff if you really do remember and prove me wrong. Until then, I expect you to treat me with the respect of my station. I never gave the order to be at ease.'

Quinn hesitates a moment - a worthless, unforgettable moment - before entering into an A class salute. She expected no worse from him. She expected nothing else from him.

'My Lord, I would like permission to speak freely,' he requests with barely controlled frustration.

'Don't you always?' she wistfully replies with mocking. She quickly realised that what he actually means is "permission to disagree with you without my head being cut off". Quinn only continues to stare at her, dangerously close to glaring. 'Permission granted.'

Quinn only continues to stare without even blinking.

'At ease, Admiral Malavai Quinn.'

'Why Pierce, my Lord?' he almost spits like a petulant child as he enters a parade rest. 'We reviewed over two hundred candidates personally. Ten were deemed satisfactory and three exceptional. Why not one of them?'

'Too old, too young, too conceited, too eager, too grovelling, too slimily, too perverted. The list goes on, Admiral. What were they exceptional when compared to? A three year old child? A Moff?'

'Military standards and my own.' Quinn's voice now carries the same bland disapproval as before.

'Ah, your standards for others I assume, not your standards for yourself. None of them would be even a fraction of the Captain you were Quinn in any way: looks, brains, strategy, protocol. That list also goes on. They were nothing compared to you. Maybe if I had not had your standard for so long, I would say that they were exceptional because I wouldn't know better. But I do.'

'Then keep me on, my Lord,' Quinn requests in a voice more dispassionate then last time they spoke yet still more forceful. She will not be tempted by a snake even if it is now a hound.

'I could be easily transferred. I could remain as a member of your crew.'

At some stage Darcia can't pinpoint, they came to stand a lot closer. She isn't sure who moved first or last or when but she knows Quinn is little more than a step away from here. They could speak quietly now and still be heard over the roaring wind that hadn't stopped.

'A Darth with their own Admiral? Don't be ridiculous,' she scorns. The feelings in her are too strange and entangled for her understand but the disdain coming from her mouth isn't all she feels. It's so little of it she doesn't know how it's the feeling that's escaping.

'No, you're right. That isn't high enough. Many Darth's have command of at least one Moff. But if you would be willing to lower yourself to an Admiral I would stay on.'

'I have no need for anything grander then a Captain. You were always grander than that and thus you cannot come back. I am not a brutal weapon that needs someone to show it where to shoot or pull the trigger, Admiral. I may not be quite the tactician you were or have such an extensive training in it but I survived the Academy and I know enough to perform proficiently.'

'But with all due respect, my Lord, together we were - and can be - more than merely 'proficient'.'

'That time has passed, Admiral,' she reminds. She can't let her passions meet his despite the images he created with so few words. It only leaves her with a bitterness in her stomach and a sour taste in her mouth. 'We've moved on. I have chosen Pierce and in two hours you will leave for your first assignment as Admiral. You no longer have a say in my affairs and my crew. If you are as ruthless as an Admiral as you were as a Captain then you will be Moff soon enough.'

'My Lord, things are not as irrevocably placed as that and your argument lacks logic,' he bluntly informs. 'Pierce is a worse commander, pilot, tactician and medic then all of those men we reviewed. Surely it would be safer and smarter with one of them.'

'No. It would not be "safer" or better with one of them. What they all did share with you, Admiral Quinn, was ambition and that cannot be trusted. They may not be as smart or patriotic as you but they had more ambition then you and unrestrained ambition is dangerous. So I asked myself, what do I really need if I can't have Quinn? What doesn't Quinn offer me?'

'I would offer you ev-'

'I came up with two things,' she continues, cutting him off effectively with raising only two fingers and closing his mouth with the other hand. His lips struggle against her force grip but it is futile. 'Loyalty and trust.' She lets go of him. 'That's why, Admiral.'

'I was always loyal to-'

She closes his mouth with the Force again and her empty, dark eyes stare into his.

'To the wrong master. I need someone whose loyalty only lies with me. Pierce can offer me that. Pierce can offer me a lot if I want it.'

Quinn can't bring himself to ask what exactly. He feels he knows the answer and jealousy churns his stomach and makes his heart burn with hatred to Pierce. She lets go of his mouth and doesn't offer any more information. So they watch each other like two wounded, lost dogs and they come to feel how significant this goodbye is all over again. They had been breathing the same recycled air in the same tin can for over a year. They spent most waking hours with each other and those that weren't thinking of the other. Leaving that person is like cutting away part of yourself no matter how infected and decomposed it had become. Quinn will not leave without an answer.

'Was there something you had wanted, my Lord? I am yours and the Emperor's humble servant.' Quinn formally inquires with a spitefully gracious, low bow. His hand solemnly presses his uniformed breast like a cold iron. His statement was only a veiled reminder of his confession.

'I don't think you've had a humble moment in your entire life, Admiral,' she observes with a small smile. Maybe if she says his new title enough, it will stop hurting so much. Maybe repetition will wear away her love like waves over jagged rocks. Just maybe, it will help her to live with her decision.

'I came only to wish you luck in your new position and once again give my congratulations,' she carries on. 'I believe decorum dictates that I should to one who served so skilfully and loyally to me for over a year.'

'Thank you, my Lord,' Quinn replies graciously to her rejection. He will not plead or implore. He has done all he can and there is nothing he can regret. When hope dies, it doesn't scream or whimper. It's a silent death.

'It has been an honour to serve you. I- will remember our time fondly.'

'I cannot say the same,' she emphatically replies. He doesn't allow the tepid rejection to faze him. The dagger can only be driven in so far before it stops hurting.

'Goodbye, Admiral.' She dips her head in a show of respect. 'I don't expect our paths to cross again.'

'With all due respect, I will hope that they do, my Lord, no matter how unlikely.' A shadow of a smile passes across his face. Too much compassion swirls in his deep blue eyes and she feels the burning sting of his betrayal again.

'Don't hold your breath, Admiral.'

'As you instruct, my Lord,' Quinn replies with a distinctive smile, 'but I cannot guarantee success.'

'As you want it. It's no longer a matter to me. Goodbye, Admiral.'

Darcia begins to turn to leave but doesn't finish the motion; one foot turning to her new future, the other still pointing at her Admiral. This goodbye should not make her sad. It has been too long coming and is too necessary.

'My lord?'

As her dark purple lips stretch into a grin, they stop quivering but they cannot find a natural place.

'I hope you have a long and happy life, Quinn.'

'And I you, my Lord.' Quinn manages a smile and bows again. His back is ridged but his chest feels strangely heavy and painful. She hopes that maybe this memory of his smile and gentle eyes will outlast the other memories.

Quinn abruptly straightens, salutes and then walks away. He will not beg or break down. Not to her, not in front of her. He will walk to the hanger of his new ship, he will meet his crew, he will inspect the ship and he will try to be something more than he was. He will not let hope of seeing her fade and he will not let their goodbye cripple him. It's the only plan he has no matter how tactically flawed.

You are a fool, she tells herself with a wan smile.

Darcia straightens. Now, she must smile to her Captain when he appears and stand tall and strong. It isn't any different from usual, she reminds herself. What's one more emotion or memory on the pile? she asks herself ruefully. She can hide it. She can take it.

As if on cue, Pierce leaves the alley he was lurking in and stands beside her, watching the Admiral with contempt.

'Are you ok with leaving it like that, mi'lord?' he asks eventually.

She turns to Pierce and smiles. 'Perfectly ok with it, Captain. Why wouldn't I be?'

'No reason, mi'lord.'

'Getting cold feet about your new station?' Pierce glances down at her, notes her hard eyes and determined jaw and decides he might play along with the joke.

She watches Pierce analyse her without fear or anxiety. Pierce doesn't get under her skin like Quinn did. She can't allow her mistake to happen again. A repeat could prove fatal.

'Nah I've been edging for a promotion for months.' Pierce hesitates an unwise second before continuing. 'It's just he was just with you a long time. I might hate the stick up his arse but you never seemed to mind that much.'

'We have a new job description now, Pierce,' she avoids. She smiles freely as a Sith shouldn't. 'It's only right we should have a new crew.'

'You, me, the Talz and four cannon fodder,' Pierce solemnly lists. They stand a moment in their own thoughts before Pierce speaks again. 'You never told me why you got rid of the brunette.'

'Betrayal is part of the Sith way. I'd rather not be a Baras to someone else. If I didn't cut her off to go on her own as a Lord she'd try to kill me within three months. I know you fancied them both, Pierce, but it had to be. We know Vette wasn't really cut out for this. It was a mercy. And we need the expertise. This isn't a game, Pierce. What we do matters and makes a difference. It's time I had a crew that was ready to face that.'

'I know, mi'lord, but it's going to be a lot quieter now.'

'I need your 100% dedication, Pierce,' she demands. There will be no more Vette and Pierce causing mischief that she watches with indulgence, no more arguments between Pierce and Quinn, Vette and Quinn, Pierce and Vette against Quinn. It will be her and Pierce and that isn't nearly comforting enough. 'If you don't have the resolve, then I don't have room for you.'

'I do, mi'lord,' Pierce rumbles. He stands a little straighter and looks down to her with his large, disrespectful grin. 'I aint going anywhere.'

Pierce doesn't say 'my Lord' like Quinn does. No one could. He always managed to fit so many emotions and meanings into those two words: submission, arrogance, desire, contempt, approval. He always let his feelings slip in that honourary. Malavai only needs to say those two words for her knees to quake, her skin become flushed and her heart hammer in a truly un-Sith like manner. She glances up at Pierce and then looks back down the street. It isn't the same at all.

'It's just you and me then,' she almost whispers. She meant it to be hearty but you can't always force heart and heat into things that have none. Pierce eyes her and then forces a grin. No matter how cold she was, Quinn got under skin more than she let on to either him or Pierce.

'Come on, mi'lord. I think we both need to blow something up.'

She nods and looks up at him. She links her arm through his, pulling herself closer to him.

'You know, Pierce, that's the sweetest suggestion I've ever heard. And please, always call me Darcia from now on.' She never wants to hear 'my Lord' again.

Mallena fumbled for her datapad and swiped the alarm off. Rolling onto her stomach, she pushed herself off the bed and blinked the sleep from her eyes. Time to get up.

She disentangled herself from the covers and slid to the floor. As she did, she realized that she felt much more rested than she normally did at this time. Why was that? Then she remembered that it wasn’t the usual time.

Since they had a few days off between leaving Balmorra and when they were supposed to report to General Garza for their next assignment, she’d set her alarm for 0830 instead of 0630.

With the knowledge that she’d had an extra two hours of sleep, she headed for the shower with a lighter step than normal. After drying off and braiding her still-wet hair back from her face, she dressed quickly and wandered into the main lounge to see what the rest of her squad was up to.

Elara sat at the table, head bent over a datapad and sheets of flimisplast scattered everywhere. Probably finishing up the paperwork from their last operations. She should probably go help. She hadn’t had an XO long enough that she’d forgotten how much trouble making official duty transfers was, and all the more so with a record as colorful as Tanno Vik’s.

Vik himself sprawled on the couch, remote in one hand and a mug in the other. Something that sounded suspiciously like pod racing blared from the television. “The Imp chick- I mean, Lt. Dorne, m’am,” he added, with a nervous glance at Elara. “Lt. Dorne made caf.”

Mallena angled toward the galley. Caf sounded good right now. There was no sign of Jorgan, but if she knew him, he was probably still asleep. And in all likelihood, she wouldn’t see much of him even when he did get up. Since the entire debacle that had been her visit home and culminated in Elara’s promotion, they’d both been steadily avoiding each other. It was hard to really do that on a starship in hyperspace or under enemy fire with only one or two other people and a droid, but they’d managed to keep from having to do much more than normal expected social interaction. “How are you doing?”, “Please pass the butter”, “You should get that cut looked at”. He’d started calling her Sir again, too.

Grabbing a mug off the shelf- her favorite, emblazoned with a quote from the last Dark Lord of the Crystal holofilm- she poured caf and a spoonful of sugar into it and stirred as she returned to the lounge. At some point she was going to have to sit down and hash it out with him. Elara had noticed the tension a long time ago, although being privy to the source of it probably helped, and even Vik’s thick skull wasn’t completely oblivious. But not today.

Elara slid over to make room for her at the table. “Good morning, Commander. I’m just finishing the last of the documentation from the Balmorran mission. After that, I have to requisition a few more supplies for the med bay and I think we will be done until our next assignment.”

“I can finish the documentation if you want to get started on the supplies.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I didn’t make you XO just to stick you with all the paperwork, you know.”

Elara smiled and slid a stack of flimsi over to her. “I’ve done everything except the equipment damage reports and imputing the info for our contacts in the Balmorran resistance. The latter is need-to-know only for security reasons, so you’ll have to seal it when you’re done.”

Mallena nodded and got to work. Half a form later, she heard a change in the general noise around her and looked up. Jorgan had emerged from the bunk room and was walking towards them. As he did, he yawned, exposing his pointed teeth, and stretched luxuriously.

Quickly, Mallena returned to her work so they didn’t make eye contact and have to say something to each other. But not before snorting a bit. She still hadn’t gotten over her first time seeing her former CO and grouch-king-extraordinaire wandering around her ship in pajama pants and a Frogdogs t-shirt with his fur all flattened and pushed out of shape. It didn’t seem right.

Elara greeted him pleasantly and returned to her paperwork. Mallena frowned and returned to trying to remember whether she had used five flash grenades and three incendiary grenades during the operation, or three flash and five incendiary. After a few more minutes of searching her memory and the rest of the forms, she sighed. She’d just have to go down and check.

The weapons storage room was cool and smelled like metal and grease. Lockers and cabinets lined the walls and a table in the center of the room was covered in tools. She sighed. If Vik did this one more time, she’d have to think up some sort of punishment that would actually stick with him. As it was, she’d give him a stern talking-to when she got upstairs and make him come clean up his mess.

Unlocking the grenade storage locker, she surveyed the rows of neatly arranged cylinders and spheres. A sheet of flimsi hung on the inside of the door detailing the contents as of the last time they had taken an inventory. She checked the totals, then counted up the remainders. Five flash grenades and three incendiaries, it looked like.

As she swung the door shut, she heard a noise behind her and caught something in the corner of her eye. “Hello, Jorgan.”

“Hello, Commander.” He shifted his weight to his other foot and kept standing in the doorway.

“Was there something you needed?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, sir, just going to, um, clean out my locker.” Apparently realizing that he was blocking her exit, he came further into the room and started fiddling with one of the cabinets.

“Ah. Alright. And don’t call me sir.” Mallena headed back upstairs to finish her report. What was that all about? she wondered.

The next day, she slept in again and spent most of the morning browsing the holonet. When she finally decided to fully vacate the bed, she straightened the blankets, gathered the plates and empty caf mugs, and made her way into the lounge. Vik was nowhere in sight- he had said something about a party with the resistance last night, so he was probably still sleeping off a hangover. He didn’t seem the type to hook up at a party.

Elara had left earlier in the morning to go into town. Although she hadn’t said as much to Mallena, their earlier conversations had indicated that she was excited to pick up a few uniquely Imperial snacks that she hadn’t been able to get in a while. Mallena hoped she’d share a few. Elara had said something about going for a hike afterword, so she doubted she’d see much of her until the evening.

That left Jorgan. She had no idea what he was planning for his day, or what he’d done with the day before, for that matter. As she slid the dirty dishes into the sink- she’d deal with them later- she heard a noise in the lounge and craned her neck to see him come into her view, carrying a datapad and what looked like a few accessories.

Maybe she’d wash the dishes now. Picking up the caf mug, she rinsed it, scrubbed the ring from the inside, and set it upside-down on the drying rack. For a moment, she just stood there, watching it drip. This was silly. Now was as good a time as any to go talk to him, with everyone else gone or busy. And she had to get this out of the

way before they left on their next mission or it would drive her nuts. She left the plates in the sink.

Jorgan sat at the table, brow furrowed in concentration. A pair of headphones kept her from hearing what he was doing, but judging by the twitchy movements of his hand and his rapid changes in expression, he was playing some sort of game. She peered over his shoulder. Alliance of Elites, she should have known. It seemed like just about everyone in basic had played it, at least a little, and Hartsin and Carian had been obsessed for a while.

She’d never tried it herself, but she knew enough to figure out what was going on. And from what she could tell, he was pretty bad at it.

Despite her attempts to be stealthy, he must have noticed her come in. He looked up sheepishly and pulled out one earbud. “I haven’t played in a while,” he muttered, then cringed as he looked back at the screen. “And I died

again.”

She let herself smile a little at that. “Do you have time to talk?”

“We just lost the match, so yes.” He tapped the screen a couple of time and pushed the datapad aside. “What do

you want, Dayne?”

“I just thought we needed to figure out this whole…” she searched vaguely for the word. “… thing before we leave on our next mission. It’s been a little awkward since after our break, no, I guess since after the Justice, and I don’t want it getting in the way of the squad.”

“OK.” He looked at her, apparently waiting for her to elaborate. “Do you want to start, or should I?”

Mallena stopped, somewhat taken aback. “Do you know what you want to say?” He nodded. “Then why don’t you go first.” It’ll give me a little more time to figure out what I want to say!

Jorgan cleared his throat, then looked down at his lap. When he looked up, he didn’t meet her eyes. “I wanted to say that I shouldn’t have gotten mad about the whole promotion thing. I’ve been at this long enough to know that there’s a lot more that goes into it than your personal feelings about people and you did what you thought would be best for Havoc Squad. I shouldn’t have thought less of you.”

“Wow. Um, thank you.”

“Also, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable that night at your house. I’ve, uh, really come to admire you over the past couple of years, and what happened on the Justice made me realize how it could all be over for any of us, just like that, and I didn’t want to lose the chance. And when you didn’t say anything, I thought you were alright with it too.” He looked up. “I promise that it won’t ever happen again, sir.”

Mallena nodded slowly, wanting to make sure she was absolutely sure of what she meant before she said anything. “I’ll start by saying that I accept your apology, and I forgive you. And I have to apologize to you, too. I shouldn’t have avoided you after that night, I should have tried to sort things out before it got awkward. More than it was already, that is. I let my embarrassment get in the way of running the squad correctly. And even though I stand by my decision to make Elara my XO, I am sorry I couldn’t choose you too. You should still be a Lieutenant. Garza sprung it on me right there or I would have told you both in advance so it wouldn’t have been so weird.”

“And I accept your apology as well. Thank you.”

They stayed silent for a moment. “So, about that night…” Mallena began, hoping desperately that this didn’t end with her looking stupid.

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t wrong.”

“I wasn’t? About what?”

“I was enjoying it. Hell, I’m the one who grabbed your hand at one point, I’m pretty sure.”

A slow smile spread over his face. “Really?”

“Yeah. And, uh, I might be willing to try again. But only if you want to. Nothing at all if you don’t want to.”

He shook his head. “I’d love to. How about tomorrow night?”

The other stories in this arc are as follows:

Aftermath of Justice is optional, but sets up the situation for the next couple stories

Welcome Home! and Constant Interruption both deal with Mallena and Jorgan's relationship before this

And finally, Return to Duty introduces the problems they're specifically dealing with in this piece.