Post by Darth Xaos on Dec 12, 2020 20:42:21 GMT
Chapter 8: Nefarious Intent
20 ABY
Jorund Nooram’s shoulders slumped slightly as he watched a smile spread on the short, slight Kiffar woman’s tawny countenance via the holoprojection before him. It was obvious that she was enjoying the leverage she held in these negotiations.
“Oh, I can understand how these pirate attacks have affected your available credits, as a fellow business proprietor,” Glasya Konshi said patronizingly, “But I’m sure that you can understand, as a fellow business proprietor, the sort of costs an operation like mine incurs; not to mention the risks involved in a full-on assault against a pirate base…”
The Muun bit back a comment about how a criminal mercenary like her was no kind of respectable proprietor.
“Yes, but I have my own costs to consider as well,” Jorund meekly countered, “Once the pirates have been dealt with there will be expenses involved in returning my freighter routes to normal operation...”
“Oh, well, then I suppose you should just contact the authorities,” came a smug response from Glasya, “After all, your taxes already pay for them. Unless, of course, you've been getting up to something that you wouldn't want them to know about, and that's why you came to me in the first place...”
Nooram's shoulders slumped further as Konshi's grin grew wider, wrinkling the blue chevron clan tattoos on her cheeks.
“Well, in that case, I suppose you don't have much of a choice but to meet my price.”
“I don't have that kind of liquid cash just lying around -”
The Muun's whined reply was cut short by the sudden arrival of his assistant into his office.
“I'm sorry for interrupting, sir,” the young human said as he entered, holding a datapad, “But you had mentioned that you wanted to sign these contracts the second they came in.”
“Please give me a moment, Miss Konshi,” Jorund said to the Kiffar, “I need to send these out immediately.”
“Oh, please, take your time,” Glasya replied in a breathy tone as her eyes wolfishly fixated on the lithe, tall, dark-haired human interloper, only returning to the Muun executive after the assistant had exited the view range on her end of the call.
“Isn't there any other arrangement that can be made?” Jorund pleaded once the interruption had been concluded to his satisfaction.
“Hmm,” Glasya milked her pause for effect before responding, “Well, since these pirates have been cutting in to your profits so deeply, I have to imagine you wouldn't miss three percent of your venture's gross income once things are back to normal.”
Jorund grinded his teeth slightly for a second or two before replying, “Fine.”
“Oh, and give me your assistant too,” Glasya hastily added.
“You...want my assistant?” Nooram asked, not initially comprehending.
“I mean, just for a few days,” she clarified, “I'll give him back when I'm done.”
Now comprehending but no less bewildered, the Muun had to spend a few moments in stunned silence before agreeing.
Roughly half-an-hour after concluding her negotiations with Jorund Nooram, Glasya Konshi stood aboard the bridge of her flagship – the Defender class assault carrier Infinite Way – as her forces prepared for their journey to the location provided for the pirate base by the Muun. She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, whose originator she surmised before having to look.
Torellia Rawk – Glasya's truest friend (perhaps her only true friend) and second-in-command – approached. Her intricate, elegantly crafted armor encased her body, leaving her head, with its blue-green wedge clan tattoo and similarly-colored dyed hair, open to the ship's recycled air.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Torellia said, her voice no less smooth and serene than usual despite the sentence's content.
“Oh, you always say that,” Glasya responded dismissively in her own habitually impish, lively tone.
“And how often am I right?” Rawk asked with a little smile.
“Just because you've always been right before doesn't mean you're right now,” Konshi shot back, “That's the problem of induction.”
“And will your philosophical rhetoric pull our exhaust ports out of the fire if this job turns out like the one on Chalacta?” Torellia pressed.
“Chalacta doesn't count!” Glasya insisted.
“And why doesn't it count exactly?” Rawk asked.
“Because...” Konshi searched her mind for a moment before finishing with, “It just doesn't.”
“Well, it's hard to argue with that,” Torellia shook her head slightly as she responded, “But it's also hard to argue with how suspiciously well we're getting paid to deal with some pirates. This smells like a trap to me.”
“No, it would be suspicious if the old skinflint hadn't tried his damnedest not to pay us so well,” Glasya countered, “If this were trap he wouldn't have tried to keep the bait from us. Trust me, this will all be soooo worth it when the job's done.”
Rawk was silently for a moment before pointedly saying, “There's a man involved in this, isn't there?”
“No!” Konshi insisted before admitting, “...Yes. Shut up.”
Torellia gave a resigned chuckle, “Well, let's at least send a proper reconnaissance wing ahead before just jumping in so that this doesn't turn out like that time on Randon.”
“That one doesn't count either!” Glasya bellowed.
***
Infinite Way's prow pierced the veil of realspace as it emerged from hyperspace, accompanied by its companion Ton-Falk escort carriers, Arquitens light cruisers, Quasar Fire bulk cruisers, CR-90 corvettes, Carrack light cruisers, and a handful of Purgatory-class prison ships that had been modified to replace their cell-blocks with hangars. The initial reconnaissance had revealed the exact location of the pirate base and the disposition of its defenses; Galsya had wasted no time ordering her fleet in to prevent the corsairs from having an opportunity to prepare a proper defense.
“See, I told you the Muun was on the up-and-up,” she gloated to Torellia, “Or at least so far on the up-and-up as anyone who hires us can be.”
Suddenly warning klaxons began to blare on the bridge and there was barely time for an ensign to warn of the incoming vessels before they emerged into realspace.
“You were saying?” there was little triumph in Torellia's I-told-you-so declaration as a sizable fleet manifested itself in the system. The first ships to emerge were products of the New Class Modernization program, and bore the New Republic's emblem prominently. Though the Infinite Way was also of a class from the program, it was dwarfed by the Nebula-class Star Destroyers that now loomed in the distance.
But what ultimately elicited an exasperated, “Oh, kark me,” from Glasya was the second wave of smaller ships to arrive which bore the emblem of an upward, golden, five-pointed star within a circle. This was the sign of the Guardians of Kiffu, the very organization Glasya, Torellia, and much of their present crew had betrayed years ago, and whose logo the downward, silver, five-pointed, encircled star which was stamped on the ships in Glasya's fleet was meant to mock.
“We have an incoming transmission,” came a second announcement from the ensign.
“Of course we do,” Konshi groaned, “Patch it through.” Soon she was staring down the holographic image of a Kiffar man whose clan tattoo marked him as a member of Clan Vos.
“Glasya of Clan Konshi,” his grumbling recitation began, “By the authority of the Sheyf you are bound to surrender and submit to judgment for your crimes. You are charged with treason, theft of Guardian ships, theft of Guardian weapons, theft of Guardian materiel, theft of Guardian funds, inciting revolt and sedition against the Sheyf's authority, illegal mercenary activities, murdering your superior officer, dereliction of duty, endangering diplomatic relations with the New Republic...”
The Vos lost his train of thought and stopped speaking shortly after Glasya and Torellia began to recite the charges in unison with him, having memorized them from several previous such encounters with the Guardians.
“Oh, keep going,” Glasya said to him, “You haven't even gotten to the good stuff like Hoojib smuggling yet.”
“How dare you show such flippancy in the face of your crimes?!” the Vos General bellowed, “After all you've done to betray your people can you honestly be this unconcerned by what you've done?! You'll always be remembered as the greatest criminals the Kiffar ever produced; you've blackened the Guardians' name for generations to come! And *this* is how respond to being faced with your deeds? I can't even imagine how a being with as little respect for the law as you rose high enough in the Guardians' ranks to commit these crimes in the first place.”
“Law?” Glasya sneered, “Which law? Republic law? Imperial law? The Guardians never seemed mind what law they served so long as it benefited the Sheyf...so long as it benefited *your* clan. Why do you think so many Guardians followed me when I turned on your precious law? It's because, just like me, they realized they'd been sacrificing themselves for a law that existed to benefit only a few others. Like me they decided that it was time to start benefiting themselves the same way the Shefys always have and the same way the Vos always have. So don't lecture me about your law like it means anything, and don't expect me to cower reverentially when you invoke it.”
Though it was a speech they'd heard several variants of before, the bridge crew still applauded Glasya's dictation of defiance. With a gesture of her hand, Konshi ordered the transmission to be cut off.
“So much for your loot and lust,” Torellia commented, “We can't win a sustained battle against that fleet; we'll need to create an opening for escape.”
“No problem,” Glasya said, “I'll lead the fighter wings personally.”
“You say 'no problem',” Rawk responded, “But something tells me that they'll have made sure to bring plenty of ships with interdiction capabilities.”
“You identify them, I'll blast them,” Glasya instructed, already heading on her way down to the Infinite Way's hangars.
In both fleets there was a flurry of activity as pilots scrambled to their starfighters. Emerging from the Way in her Guardian vessel (itself one of the stolen ships the Vos General had mentioned in their brief exchange) Glasya quickly took visual stock of the swarm of enemy ships launching from their carriers. The enemy Kiffar had, of course, brought Guardian vessels of their own, which were accompanied into battle by their Republic allies' E-Wings. Through there was no sight of them yet, the mercenary commander assumed her foes had Y-Wings standing by to be unleashed once they thought it time to begin bombing runs. If it hadn't been obvious before, Konshi became keenly aware of just how outnumbered she was when observing the masses of enemy fighter wings rushing to meet her own in the midst of space.
But, as any skilled commander knows, superior numbers come with inferior logistics, and Glasya intended to use that fact to her advantage. She knew the Republic E-Wings were more maneuverable than the enemy Guardian vessels, thus she directed her fighter wings to engage in a way that would get the E-Wings stuck behind the Guardians. The enemy pilots did their best to compensate but Konshi's pilots had far more experience in large-scale battle than did the Kiffu Guardians. The more seasoned Republic pilots tried desperately to make up for the Guardians' overtaxed abilities, but it was all they could do to keep from repeatedly colliding with the more sluggish starfighters. Glasya's fliers displayed no such handicap in handling their vessels, maneuvering their dense, broad ships with a surprising adroitness.
The foremost performance came from Glasya Konshi herself, who piloted her Guardian vessel with the astonishing instincts that had earned her reputation in the Outer Rim. She handily juggled dogfighting on the frontlines with issuing commands to the other fighter wings with almost supernaturally keen instinct. That same insight that allowed her to do this told her with a visceral certainty that the enemy commanders were fuming over losing the terrain advantage in an ambush location they had specifically chosen. Within a quarter hour of engagement, the Guardian-Republic task force had no choice but to pull their frontline back slightly and attempt to regroup.
“The enemy's interdiction fields seem to be mostly coming from their CC-7700 frigates,” Torellia's voice sounded over the comms to Glasya, “Pin them down and we should be able to start withdrawing.”
“Copy, Infinite Way,” Konshi responded, “Over and out.”
With that mundane reply, Glasya led a pointed charge against the most exposed portion of the CC-7700 picket line. The enemy wings bumbled about as their commanders struggled to adapt to the change in the battle. Several frigates were badly damaged before a panicked response caused them to fall further back and begin deploying anti-starfighter cluster bombs. Konshi smiled at this and pulled her fighters from the attack, satisfied that she had forced the enemy to create even greater congestion that would hamper their maneuverability.
“Nice work,” Torellia said through the comms to Glasya, “Just keep them pressed back for a little longer and the astronavs should be able to get us a clear lane to start the withdrawal.”
A few more minutes passed and the Guardian-Republic task force was proving no more capable of regaining the space it had lost than it had holding it in the first place. But, inexplicably, as escape grew razor-close, a sudden feeling of dread overtook Glasya. The explanation, however, was only a few moments in arriving.
Like a wave of thrusting knifepoints, a menacingly large fleet of Imperial ships cut into realspace, blocking the escape route Konshi's forces had been preparing to take. Aboard the bridge of the interloping fleet's Star Destroyer flagship, an adjutant looked out on the dueling starfighters.
“All is as you foresaw, my lord,” he said to his commander, “These ships would easily fill the remaining roles you desire.”
Massively heavy foot falls rung out on the bridge, “Open a general broadcast.”
“As you command, my lord,” the adjutant replied, signaling an ensign to carry the order out.
“Attention, both fleets in my vicinity: this is Darth Nefarious,” the Gen'dai Marauder's voice rumbled across the comms, “I speak with the authority of Darth Groznii, Dark Lord of the Sith and true ruler of the Empire. I have deigned to give you the honor of serving in my fleet. You will surrender and submit to my will or you will die! Power down your defenses, recall your fighters, and prepare to be boarded.”
Stunned confusion reigned for a moment over both the groups which had heretofore been sharply contesting combatants. This did not last long, however, before they broke with each other to face-off against Nefarious' fleet. The New Republic forces weren't in the habit of submitting to Imperial demands; and, despite Glasya's opinion of them, it took more than a blustered threat to make the Guardians of Kiffu fold. As for the mercenary commander herself, she wasn't about to bow and scrape to some post-Imperial warlord with delusions of grandeur – but neither did she intend to stick around and help her enemies fight each other.
“Torellia,” Glasya commed to the Infinite Way, “Tell me there's another way out of here.”
“I think I can find one,” Torellia's voice wasn't confident, “But I'll need you to hold off those Imperials.”
Konshi set about the task before her, rushing to meet the new foes with only slightly less enthusiasm than with which she had engaged the old ones. The swarms of TIEs outnumbered her fighters more than the task force had, but they were split against two fronts. But, as the fighting proceeded, this advantage to Glasya began to recede. Despite the lower quality of the TIEs compared to every other starfighter they currently engaged, the Imperial pilots were far more seasoned than those of the Republic or Guardians, and even pressed Glasya's fliers to the limits. Soon the task force was starting to buckle under the weight of the Imperial onslaught.
“My lord,” the Imperial adjutant addressed Nefarious, trying to keep the tremulous trepidation at reporting bad news out of his voice, “The Republic and Kiffar forces are beginning to fall before us, and the first boarding actions have begun on their capital ships. However...the flight commanders report that the mercenary forces are still holding them at bay.
Nefarious growled and the adjutant knew that his survival depended on whether the next words out of the Sith's mouth were either “you fool” or “those fools.”
“Those fools!” Nefarious bellowed as the adjutant let out a subtle sigh of relief, “Take command of the fleet, I shall deal with this personally!”
Nefarious' Drexl-class starfighter was a natural spacefaring counterpart to his terrestrial fighting style. The sizable, heavily armed vessel stood out among the packs of TIE fighters as noticeably as the Sith himself would on the ground. And the Marauder engaged in dogfighting with the same brutal velocity which characterized his melee philosophy. From within the cockpit (which had been modified from a two-person set up to one in order to accommodate his bulk) Nefarious ruthlessly confronted Glasya's fighters; his armored hands griping the steering yoke while grasping tendrils of his sinew operated the systems that would normally be handled by a co-pilot.
Even the dense frames of the mercenaries' Guardian vessels proved little defense against the Marauder's attack run. As his Drexl's laser cannons and concussion missiles cleaved his foes' battlelines in twain, various TIE interceptors that had been separated from their wings regrouped around their lord and followed in his wake. Nefarious' entry into the fray saw the last semblance of resistance from the mercenaries crack, their lines breaking and wings forcibly scattered. Glasya watched in fear as the squadron accompanying her began to be winnowed by the looming attackers. But Konshi refused to give up the fight; even if she couldn't survive, she intended to buy the time needed for Torellia and the fleet to escape.
“The Force is strong with this one,” Nefarious mused as he stalked behind Glasya, his every laser blast missing its mark as she bent her vessel's wingspan from side to side with shocking effectiveness. Impressed, Nefarious manipulated his fighter's commlink with a strand of writhing Gen'dai muscle, attempting to open a transmission to the Guardian vessel he presently pursued. Not bothering to question who was contacting her, Glasya activated the link on her end and was surprised to hear the Sith's booming voice.
“You fight with the cunning determination of a Hawk-bat,” his darkly bombastic voice was dripping with triumph, “I can sense that you are gifted in the Force. But the battle is over; I have won. Look around you: even now your starfighters crumble before my advance and soon I will have your fleet completely surrounded. Your only hope is to bend your knee to me! Do not waste your life as those Republic fools did. You can serve me as my new Apprentice and become Sith, or you and all those who follow you will die.”
Glasya's first instinct was to spit defiance at the pompous Imperial but, as she looked out on the battle before her, she could tell that Nefarious wasn't idly boasting. With the crumbling of her fighter wings' defensive lines, the Imperial TIEs and capital ship vanguard were rapidly closing in on her fleet, making escape a near-impossibility. Heaving a defeated sigh, Glasya expanded the link to include the bridge of Infinite Way.
“Torellia,” she instructed in a leaden tone, “Recall the fighter wings and power down the fleet's defenses.”
Rawk almost asked Konshi if she was sure about this, but she knew just as well that it was over, responding simply, “Right away.”
With the surrender of Glasya's forces, the fighting rapidly died down. Apart from a few New Republic ships still desperately and hopelessly holding out and the TIEs swarming them, the furious rush of battle had abated. As Glasya and her remaining fliers glided back to their hangars they were calmly “escorted” by Nefarious' TIEs and boarding shuttles. The few minutes this bleak flight took felt like an eternity to Glasya, but those endless moments gave her a chance to reflect. She had read about this idea of the “Force” Nefarious had spoken of in her philosophical studies, and understood it abstractly, but that provided little insight she needed in this moment.
Though her taste for philosophy surprised many – and she often played off her interest's seriousness as just being able to better justify her relentless pursuit of credits and companionship – truthfully the woman had a keen interest in understanding existence and its meaning. But, apart from the broadest definitions, very little of the philosophy of the Force was available to the wider public. This was partially a result of two decades of Imperial rule in the galaxy, and partially due to the various monastic orders dedicated to the Force philosophy never exactly being forthcoming with their beliefs. Glasya had some comprehension of what the Jedi believed, and she knew at least enough about the Sith to have some idea what they were and that the title “Darth” signified membership in them, but nothing that came to mind seemed useful in this situation. She had no idea what being Nefarious' “apprentice” would consist of...nor was she particularly eager to find out.
Any further contemplation of the situation in which Glasya found herself would have to wait, as she touched her Guardian vessel down in the Infinite Way's hangar. Exiting the fighter, Konshi had to suppress a physical display of disgust as she watched the Imperials' white-armored bucket heads step out of their shuttles on to her ship. But her contempt at the sight of the stormtroopers faded instantly in the wake of fear when the uncanny vision of Nefarious' hulking form, three meters worth of writhing sinew and cold armor, emerged.
“You will take me to the bridge,” the Marauder commanded.
Near-paralysis gripped the bridge crew as they stared, wide-eyed, at the arrival of the Sith and his cortege among them. Nefarious, clearly enjoying the reaction, stalked about; looming over those present, his head nearly scrapping the ceiling.
“You,” he pointed at a comms officer, “I wish to address my new fleet; open a channel.”
After a pained pause in which the officer had to summon the courage to even speak, they meekly complied with a, “Yes, sir.”
“To all who can hear my voice,” the Sith pompously proclaimed, “You now serve the Empire and, more importantly, you now serve me. Obey without question, complete the commands I give successfully, and you shall be part of the glorious conquest of the galaxy from those weaklings that call themselves the Republic. Defy or fail me, and only death awaits you. ...As it does for any of you who do not address me as 'my lord'!”
With a sudden burst of motion, Nefarious gripped the comms officer by the neck with an armored fist and, as though they were no more than a ragdoll, then swung them about repeatedly against floor, ceiling, and walls. At the conclusion of the display, the officer had been reduced to a series of gory smears across the bridge.
“End transmission!” he bellowed, and his order was instantly obeyed; its executor making certain to affirm compliance with a reply that included 'my lord.' As though nothing unusual had happened, Nefarious calmly strode to look out the forward viewports, taking in his new ships.
“Yes, now I have all the escort vessels my new flagship will require,” he mused before launching into another speech, “At the edge of the galaxy, one of the last Sovereign-class Super Star Destroyers roams. But instead of serving its intended purpose of glorious destruction on mass-scale, it languishes as the herdship of foul, pacifist Ithorians; their reward for having served the Republic Rebels. This is unacceptable! Before the hour is out, I want my new fleet ready to depart and reclaim that proud dreadnought for the glory of the Empire. It will be a worthy flagship, one suited to serve as a symbol of my awesome power.”
Before she spoke Torellia considered very carefully. It was obvious that even the slightest misstep could get someone killed around this monstrous psychopath; but she ultimately concluded what she had to say would be more likely to upset Nefarious after the fact than it would beforehand.
“My lord,” Torellia said, her usually serene tone marred by trepidation, “A ship that size...it would require a crew hundreds of thousands strong in order to operate at full efficiency; we don't have that kind of manpower.”
Nefarious turned a penetrating gaze to Rawk, a terrifying pause passing before he responded, “There is no need to be concerned; the Empire shall provide me with all the manpower I will require.”
Both Torellia and Glasya were stunned by this response. What kind of resources did the master that Nefarious served have at his disposal? They'd both assumed (as had most of the galaxy) that outside the Imperial Remnant, the last Empire holdouts still fighting the Republic were nothing more than a gaggle of minor warlords commanding tiny rumps of resistance. But for a crew of a dreadnought to be so easy a thing for Groznii to give out to one of his lieutenants...just what mystery had the pair accidentally stumbled into?
Nefarious' gaze did not turn from Rawk and fear began to deepen in both her and Glasya. Finally Nefarious spoke again, this time to Glasya, “Who is this one that addressed me.”
“This is Torrellia Rawk, Lord Nefarious; she's my second-in-command and absolutely indispensable to my operations,” Glasya desperately tried to sell the Sith on her friend's usefulness to him, “Her skills as a tactician have won so many battles.”
“Yes,” Nefarious commented, “I can feel the Force flowing through her as well. It has brought you to each other just as surely as it brought you to me. Torellia Rawk, you too shall become one of my Sith Apprentices, and like Glasya Konshi you shall have the honor of calling me 'master'. But come, I grow tired of waiting! My new flagship awaits me...”
***
Chozo Ambatzh stretched out further on the bench, his sight and thoughts dreamily wandering along the ascending spirals of his herdships' gardens. The air of the ship, though in part mechanically recycled, tasted fresher than that on many worlds, and the sunlight was no less comforting for its artificial nature. He watched as his fellow Ithorians walked along the gardens' baroque paths; looked on as joyful pupae splashed their locomotion tubes about in warm, shallow ponds.
He contemplated, as he often had occasion to do this past year, what an apt allegory for the new state of the galaxy his home was. Once it had been one of the Emperor's most dreaded weapons of war, and bore the name Heresiarch as it brought terror and death to the galaxy. Captured at the conclusion of Operation Shadow Hand, it now drifted peacefully through Wild Space, home to Chozo and all his herdmates, on a mission of exploration and knowledge, with its sheer size alone deterring all attackers. And in this way it was like the galaxy today, which since the Bastion Accords had been made free at last of the horrible war, destruction, and oppression that had predominated for four decades, now entering a time of tranquility again.
Chozo himself was a member of the herd's volunteer starfighter brigade, but had never seen any more action than having to chase away local pirates from supply convoys. His life had been lived far more peacefully than those dark years endured by his parents and grandparents, but even he envied the little pupae as he watched them play, confident that they would grow up in a happy time not seen since the end of the Pax Republica. Though, despite his confidence in the peacefulness of today and tomorrow, he always made it a point of responsibility to carry his brigade emergency comm on his person...and its sudden, shrill wailing brought him out of his reverie.
Bewildered as to what might be happening, Chozo none-the-less fell back on procedure and began to hustle to his squadron's assigned hangar. Along the way, his path quickly began to overlap with those of his fellow volunteers. None stopped to talk but all were deeply concerned about what might be happening.
Rushing into the locker room, the Ithorians donned their fight suits as quickly as possible then emerged into the hangar. As everyone clustered into their squadrons, Chozo listened attentively as his squad leader began to brief him and his comrades.
“Several minutes ago,” Bachani leader informed their squad, “An unidentified fleet of significant size began emerging from hyperspace and has blocked the herdship's course. All attempts to hail them have been ignored and they have begun entering what appears to be an attack formation. Security command has ordered all wings to scramble and enter a defensive pattern; we are to launch in T minus ninety seconds and await further decisions from command. May the Force be with us all.”
As the squadrons of X-Wings launched, their S-foils locking into attack position, Chozo heard his ship's comm crackle to life.
“Bachani squad sound off,” Bachani leader instructed.
“Bachani one standing by,” the roll call began
“Bachani two standing by.”
“Bachani three standing by,” Chozo added as the call continued.
Looking out on the hostile fleet, he felt no more enlightened as to the nature of these invaders. Some of the vessels were clearly of Republic-make, whereas others were of a sort with which he was unfamiliar; but any possibility of a peaceable end was wiped from Chozo's mind as he watched Imperial star destroyers emerge into realspace at the rear of the enemy formation.
Hostile starfighters swarmed towards the Ithorian defenders, and soon Bachani squad was fighting for their lives. These were no mere pirates; they fought with a skill and killer instinct that Chozo and his comrades had never faced. Fear, anguish, and despair gripped the Ithorian as he watched his herdmates' ships explode by the dozen under the assault's weight.
In the blink of an eye he was the last member of Bachani squad left alive. His hands formed a panicked grip on the steering yoke as a wide-winged, dense-bodied starfighter swooped down towards him from 12 o'clock high. Blasting and jinking as best he could, Chozo trembled as the enemy fighter effortlessly dodged his every attack. The final action of Chozo's life was to shed tears as he saw the fatal laser blast pierce his cockpit.
Glasya Konshi never knew Chozo Ambatzh's name, and it only took a second or two for her to forget that the X-wing she had just destroyed ever existed. Her focus was on the larger battle and, even if she were interested in doing so, there was no way for her to keep track of single casualties in mind. Instead she was considering the Sovereign-class' defenses. Its surface bristled with point-defense weapons, turrets, and other armaments, but only a few seemed active. She had to surmise that the Ithorians maintained active crew levels far below what was necessary to bring the dreadnought's martial capabilities fully online. A decision that would have made sense for the most part given the ship's current function, but one that now spelled the occupants' defeat.
Lancing through the defending starfighters, the newly-Imperial vessels navigated the Sovereign-class' fire to escort landing craft into the dreadnought's emptied hangars. Glasya felt no joy as, standing alongside Nefarious' troopers, she and her comrades gunned down the noticeably unprepared Ithroians who attempted to repel the boarding parties. The peace-loving defenders barely seemed capable making use of basic concepts like cover, with some being so foolish as to think crouching in the center of open doors made them harder to hit. Before long, the gargantuan vessel's interior echoed with profound, four-throated screams as stormtroopers stalked its halls, forcibly pulling Ithorians from turret control chambers to gun down or gut them on the floor.
Within hours, every non-combatant on the ship had been seized and corralled into one of the massive public spaces that had, in the ship's previous life, once been used to house Imperial machines of war. Glasya and Torellia stood grimly next to one another as a mix of reluctant Kiffar and obedient stormtroopers kept the crowd pacified with the threat of pointed blasters. Ithorian parents did their best to hush the fearful wailing of their pupae, which clung to the elders' bodies in desperation.
Showing nothing other than a debased sense of triumph, Nefarious haughtily strode into the scene, eliciting gasps of terror from a great number of the forcibly assembled Ithorians. With a sneer, Darth Nefarious raised his hand to signal a forthcoming command.
“Kiffar warriors,” he addressed Glasya's troops, “You will now prove your loyalty to me. Kill these pathetic peace lovers.”
The Sith Marauder's order was met by silence and hesitation. These mercenaries were far from shining-armored heroes; they had all betrayed the Kiffu Guardians, killed for money, plundered, and looted over the course of their lives, but what Nefarious expected of them was unbelievable. As the Sith began to glower at the sight of non-compliance with his will, most of them were paralyzed with dread. One of their number, however, felt the rising anger within him steel his courage.
He knew the hulking monstrosity was doubtless beyond his ability to kill, but his gaze fixed upon the two women whom he had followed loyally for years only for them to bring him to this just to save their own lives. Spinning around, the soldier raised his rifle, clicked it into burst mode, and leveled it against Konshi and Rawk. Torellia froze as she saw what was happening, and her eyes instinctively shut tightly. She heard a single shot fire, and it took her several seconds to realize that she hadn't been hit. As her lids opened once more she saw Glasya with her arm outstretched, a blaster pistol in Konshi's grip, and their would-be killer lying dead on the floor.
Nefarious laughed heartily, “Well done, my Apprentice! But you, Torellia Rawk, disappoint me!” With a gesture, the Marauder used his power in the Force to hurl Torellia against a wall, “A Sith knows no fear; I shall have to instruct you harshly for this failure! Only power exists, and to be weak is to be nothing. The mighty may do whatever they wish with the weak, for the weak aren't truly real!” the next portion of his speech he addressed to the Kiffar soldiers, “This cowardly herd that grovels before you are not sentient beings; they are organic machines – mere animals! And you will slaughter them like animals to please me! All of them! Not just the men, but the women and the children too! You will do as I command or I will slaughter you like animals!”
None present for that moment would ever forget the sound of several hundred thousand Ithorians screaming in horror and anguish as they died under waves of blaster fire.
***
Over the course of the next twenty-four standard hours, Nefarious' followers went about his instructions to “cleanse” the Nefarious Intent (as he had dubbed his new acquisition) of any modifications the Ithorians had made to it. Its gardens were burned away under the chemical fire of flamethrowers, its amphitheaters and galleries ripped apart, until these spaces were once again suited to ferry Imperial weapons of war across the stars. As Nefarious stood aboard the bridge, overseeing the installation of a command throne suited to his prodigious frame, a stormtrooper captain approached him.
“My lord,” the captain spoke warily, “We have removed the obstructions to reinstalling the Nefarious Intent's superlaser...but there is no sign of the weapon's components. Having searched the ship's records we discovered that they were intentionally destroyed after the ship was stolen from the Empire.”
“There's...no...superlaser...” Nefarious seethed and shook for a moment before screaming bombastically, seizing the stormtrooper, and beating them to a pulp against the floor, “How can this serve as my flagship without a superlaser!? I want my superlaser!” Growling, he turned to Glasya and Rawk, “You! You will tell me where I can find a new one! You will tell me now!”
Glasya almost froze completely but, yet again, her will to live would not be thwarted.
“Vjun,” she spat out the first idea that came to mind.
“Vjun?” Nefarious demanded.
“Yes, it's where they say Darth Vader's old castle is located,” she hastily formed her reasoning as she explained it to Nefarious, “There's got to be super laser parts there, or at least plans we could use to build one.”
Nefarious, mollified, stroked his chin, “Yes, yes, we will leave a skeleton crew here to await the arrival of the soldiers I sent for to man the Intent and we will take the fleet to Vjun to get my superlaser.”
***
The Sentinel landing craft's wings folded inward and upward as it descended from acidic, overcast skies to alight on a landing pad which jutted from the dark, dizzyingly tall tower that was Bast Castle. The craft's ramp hit the floor and this was soon followed by a burst of footsteps as the stormtroopers moved into position at the sides of a sealed entryway, followed by Darth Nefarious and his Apprentices. Torellia produced a datapad, which she linked via a cord to the door's control panel, and began to slice the system. With a strained groan the doors opened, and the troopers entered guardedly; the lights on their rifles coming to life and offering limited illumination in the murky halls.
Rawk tapped at her datapad again, before saying, “Orbital scans show no signs of life or recent activity in the castle, but with walls this dense there's no way to be certain.”
“Bah, do not put your faith in such technological trinkets,” Nefarious said, “You must learn to see with the Force that which cannot be seen through any other means. Reach out with your feelings, my Apprentice, search this place for what we seek and discover any obstacles that might bar our path.”
Torellia was still far from sure about what the Force was (or how exactly one reaches out with feelings for that matter) but she was hardly about to question Nefarious. Shutting her eyes, Rawk emptied her mind as best she could and opened her senses to her surroundings. For a moment there was nothing then there was...not a smell really, but that was the only way she could conceivably describe the sensation. She became conscious of the miasma of death that hung in this place, languidly rolling through the halls. Years – no decades – of death that had seeped into the walls, that oozed into the very surface of the planet itself. No living thing moved here, they had walked into a massive crypt.
She could also feel the ruination that loomed all about her. Walls crushed under the weight of battle, roofs slowly eroding under the seasonal march of acid rain, and near the center of it all...
Torellia's eyes shot open and she announced, “I know where the superlaser is.”
Nefarious gave a toothsome smile, “Onward!”
Marching through the halls, the party at length came to a deep, well-like depression built into a portion of the castle that had clearly been wracked and scorched by an explosion. Shining their rifle lights down the depression, the troopers revealed a mass of twisted metal lying amid piles of rubble at its bottom. Picking their way down the unstable overlooks floor by floor, the Imperials eventually made their way down to the pile of materials.
Kicking over some duracrete chunks, Glasya examined the machine components before announcing, “Yep, that's a superlaser alright.”
Soon droves of engineers and labor droids were being shuttled down from the fleet in orbit to Bast Castle, and the grim silence of the fortress was broken. Once the components of the weapon-of-mass-destruction were in a plain view, the engineers began to comb over them to ultimately conclude that they could be repaired and installed in the Nefarious Intent. The giddiness Darth Nefarious displayed at this news was almost more unnerving to behold than his wrath, though it had the comparative advantage of not leading the Marauder to randomly slaughter a member of his crew.
As the superlaser parts were being hoisted up the depression by cables, Torellia suddenly felt her gaze drawn to a pile of rubble stacked against a segment of crumbling wall. Walking towards it, she placed a hand against the rubble's jagged edges. Though Rawk was never part of the small portion of her species that displayed inherent psychometric abilities, she could only imagine the strange sensations that currently entered her perceptions were somehow similar.
Glasya turned a concerned eye towards her friend and, seeing this, Torellia looked back and said, “There's something here.”
Labor droids were set upon clearing away the debris and Torellia's insight was confirmed when, behind it, was discovered a passageway. This hall had clearly been hidden behind a false wall which had only been breached when the superlaser had previously exploded, meaning it was unlikely that the last occupants of Bast had known of its presence. Stormtroopers illuminated the passage with their rifle lights, while Nefarious and his Apprentices moved in alongside them (the Gen'dai Sith having to slouch down in the tight confines).
The secret tunnel terminated in a tall, conical chamber, illuminated only by a series of small, pulsating lights that were obviously part of some machine. Whatever the machine's purpose, all three Force-sensitives could tell it contained the presence that Torellia had sensed. An enterprising stormtrooper discovered the chamber's light control panel and, with the flip of a lever, illuminated the room.
With sufficient lighting now present, the machine in question could be clearly seen as a stasis pod attached to several monitoring devices. Inside the pod rested a human man with short, dark hair and a clean-shaven squared jaw who was clad in a set of armor reminiscent of the Emperor's Crimson Guards, though with more prominent pauldrons and a far less voluminous cape. At his side hung a lightsaber and around his head was half a metal band on which colored lights flickered.
“You have redeemed yourself in my eyes with this discovery, my apprentice!” Nefarious addressed Torellia, “I can sense the Force emanating from this being; another recruit for the Sith! But what is *that*?”
Rawk followed Nefarious' pointed finger with her eyes until they rested on the metal band on the man's forehead. “It's a device to insure that the subject of long-term stasis doesn't suffer mental damage, master,” she explained, “It causes them to remember their life over and over again in perfect detail while they are comatose.”
“Bah,” Nefarious grumbled, “I required no such device to preserve my mind when I slumbered for millennia.”
“Yes, clearly you didn't need any sort of mental preservation, Master Nefarious,” Glasya commented, her sarcasm just slipping out. But any fear her accidental insubordination would elicit punishment was dispelled when Nefarious' response proved that he had as little sense of irony as he did empathy.
“Indeed so,” he replied to her before commanding, “Awaken the sleeper.”
Engineers were brought down the secret passage to the chamber that they might fulfill the Sith's instruction. They tapped away with the feverish intensity of technicians faced with a new challenge. A challenge they soon proved more than equal to as the wakening process began.
***
In his stasis pod, Aurelius Malreaux dreamed. It was the same dream he'd been living in for decades now: the dream of his past. Rusty green waters laden with acid crashed with a sluggish heaviness against jagged, corroding rocks underneath dark, sky-choking clouds. To most the image would hardly evoke pleasant feelings but, for Aurelius, these sights were wrapped in the gilded patina of childhood nostalgia. He had spent uncounted hours walking along this beach in his youth. His wandering ended in the dream the same way it so often had in fact.
“Honorable Viscount, oh, honorable Viscount!” the droning voice of the protocol droid RQ-HN was raised as its originator tried to move along the rocky outcroppings of the shore without tripping over their stiff legs.
Aurelius sighed and turned his gaze back to the seemingly endless acid ocean.
“Oh, Lord Malreaux please,” RQ pleaded, approaching closer at an only-slightly faster pace, “The rain is coming soon and Master Cyrus says you must come home immediately for your lessons. Oh...Lord Malreaux...please...”
The lad sighed again and, giving himself a last lingering moment, replied, “Fine, RQ, I'm coming.”
Walking back up the cliffs towards Chateau Malreaux only silenced the protocol droid's whining for a time. As, before long, the boy was outpacing RQ-HN by climbing the cliffs rather than walking around the winding trail through less severe rises. But the droid's fussing about how it would be caught out in the acid rains and be reduced to scrap hardly moved him. He knew that RQ was fully insulated and their casing treated against such dangers, and Aurelius hardly had interest in indulging the droid's eccentricities.
Pulling himself up to a plateau, Aurelius stopped for a moment to gaze at the decaying edifice that had been home for his whole life. Chateau Malreaux's unusual height and looming presence had lead the (notably few) inhabitants of Vjun to colloquially dub it the “Tall House.” Once it been a work of beauty, just like once the people of Vjun had thrived. There was little sign left of either of these past glorious now, however, and the Tall House's dilapidated condition reflected the dying population of the planet.
Aurelius walked through the double doors that were the Tall House's main entrance just as the latest bout of Vjun's perennial acid rains began.
“You're late, as always,” there was no need to look up to the top of the grand stairs from whence the voice had come for the young Viscount to know that it belonged to Cyrus Reglia. Even if Cyrus were not the only other living being to reside in Chateau Malreaux, his voice was one Aurelius had known from his first memories.
Reglia had been the Malreaux family's majordomo since before Aurelius' father had died and, after his mother's suicide, Cyrus had been the one to raise him. Considering that Aurelius could scarcely remember his earliest few years, Cyrus Reglia was the only parental presence he had consciously known.
“I'm sorry,” Aurelius said half-heatedly.
“A nobleman does not lie!” Cyrus' cold reprimand was reflective of the manner in which he was bringing up young Malreaux: inflexibly traditional, and uncaring in its formality. “Hours spent gazing off into nowhere won't prepare you for your responsibilities as Viscount, and I can't imagine what you find so diverting about it in the first place that you can't bear to tear yourself away to attend your duties. Now come along, you've wasted enough time already.”
As Cyrus turned and Aurelius followed with leaden steps, RQ-HN burst through the door, but the lad paid the droid no mind.
“Oh my, oh my,” RQ wailed, “I'm positively drenched in this awful acid rain. Oh no; I mustn't let any get on the floor!”
Even within the depths of the memory loop dreams (enhanced as they were in accuracy and vividness by neurotechnology) Aurelius' memories of Cyrus' lessons were largely a blur – an uncomfortable and boring blur. Stories of the Right-Honorable forty-seventh Viscount Malreaux, and how his meeting with Planetary Governor so-and-so illustrated the importance of formal courtesy in diplomacy didn't leave a lasting impression. The only part Aurelius had enjoyed, and consequently the only part he recalled well, had been fencing practice. But such sessions were few and far between, and he hardly had any luck receiving them on the all-too-frequent days in which he'd angered Cyrus with his behavior. But the stream of Aurelius' induced memory-dreams returned to coherence as they moved past Cyrus' tutelage to focus on a far more pleasant routine occurrence.
Tiny, pebble-like bits of rubble produced a click-clack as they struck his bedroom window in an established signal that drew his excited attention. Aurelius opening that window was all the response needed for Sarela to throw the makeshift grappling hook the two kids had made together up to latch on the sill. Quickly descending down the attached line, Aurelius met with his friend where she stood on one of the Tall Houses' many layers of overhanging roofs. As far the pair knew, they were they only peers they had on Vjun, and being the only people their age on the planet had proved the basis for a close bond.
Scrambling down one of many safe paths the duo had discovered among the sagging exterior structure of Chateau Malreax, they found their way to the ground. Running amid the rocks, their happy shouts drowned out the slapping of their acid-proof galoshes' soles as their feet fell against surfaces that had been soaked in the freshly-abated rain. Their destination was where they usually went immediately after the rains: a series of small crags on a particular patch of coastline. Immediately following a rainstorm, the subterranean glow-worms would dare to venture into daylight on the rising water, drawing whip-smelt fish in to the muddy shallows to feast. The two youngsters would use spears of their own making to compete in catching the whip-smelts whilst chatting enthusiastically underneath the sound of pirate gulls cawing in the sky. No matter who speared the most whip-smelts, however, every one of them went back with Sarela for her family whenever the time came for them to part ways again.
While Cyrus periodically expressed disapproval for the friendship, even the hidebound old-timer wasn't hardhearted enough to undertake a serious effort to keep Aurelius from the only other child his age. Once Aurelius became a teenager, however, Cyrus became far more stringent in his insistence that the young man stay away from Sarela. But by the time Reglia chose to fight the obvious tide, its rising was already unavoidable. It was only days after Aurelius came of age – ending any direct power Cyrus had to check the Viscount's decisions – that he declared his and Sarela's intent to wed.
“You must marry into a noble family worthy of the dignity of House Malreaux,” the voice with which Cyrus protested Aurelius' actions had grown much weaker by those days, blunted by his old age and the young man growing into his own power.
“What dignity does House Malreaux have left, Cyrus?” Aurelius' manner of exchange with his counterpart had changed too, his voice no longer raised in the complaints of a child but instead calmly determined, “Ask yourself honestly, what aristocratic lineage would see Malreaux as anything anymore?”
“Several years ago I had promising discussions with House Vex...” the old man's voice trailed off as he searched his memory for specifics.
“Vex? You've proved my point for me,” Aurelius did Cyrus the dignity of not mentioning that the old man had forgotten that the Vex had backed out of those discussions last year, “What would the Vex care for our planet? Only Vjun can restore Vjun – you taught me that. I don't need to marry some off-worlder; I need to marry someone who was born of this planet, who understands its ways and people, and who can help me bring it back to life.”
Debate on the subject was largely a pointless formality. Cyrus wasn't in the habit of changing his opinions on anything, and the Viscount wasn't going to be kept from what he thought to be the right course now that he ruled Vjun in fact.
The wedding was the first time in many decades that the Tall House received residents of Vjun as guests. Every surviving being that dwelt on the planet was invited, and the declining structure was made as appealing as possible. But, though the bright decorations only drew more attention to the Chateau's state by clashing with its moldy tones, the spirit of the gathering was genuinely festive. The celebration served to dispel much of the dark mystery the Tall House held for the surviving Vjunites, and many for the first time in their lives had a face to associate with their Viscount. The spirit of that party would linger for years to come, and inspire many to donate some small monies or even volunteer time and effort to help slowly restore Chateau Malreaux.
Aurelius and Sarela too tried to keep the hope of that day alive. The hope grew when she became pregnant, but began to dim when the later stages began to strain her health. Sarela died giving birth and the child died only a few minutes out of the womb. Their offspring had been...inhuman, monstrous, indescribable. Darkness seeped into the Tall House, far deeper than before; the gloom becoming a tenebrous abyss. It took time for Aurelius' strained mind to think to confront Cyrus as to what might have caused the tragedy.
Though the majordomo had done everything he could to keep Aurelius from the truth of what had decimated Vjun's population and the Malreaux family, he had learned it in his childhood from Sarela and others. Aurelius knew that his father had been obsessed with learning how to manipulate midichlorians to the point that one of his experiments nearly depopulated the planet and cost the old Viscount his own life. Aurelius knew that his mother had given his brother Whie away to the Jedi out of fear for what his father might do to him, and he knew her regret over this act had driven her to madness and a crazed scheme to find Whie again that ultimately drove her to her own death. Now he needed to know if Sarela's death had been another consequence of the old Viscount's actions.
“I suppose the child could have been the result of the lingering effects your father's experiments had on both your genetics...” Cyrus mumbled.
Aurelius saw through the this-time-feigned confusion Reglia was evidencing, “People on Vjun continue to have healthy children every year; nothing like this has ever happened here before!”
Cyrus stroked his brow too hard as he acquiesced under more scrutiny than he could handle in his advanced age, “Yes but your genetic structure is...more a product of your father's ghastly experiments than any other.”
What do you mean?!” it was all Aurelius could manage not to physically shake his ailing majordomo.
“Your father was already dead when you were conceived; in fact...it is not truly correct to say that anyone is your father.”
Aurelius was silent, unable to parse what Cyrus meant.
“After the regret over your brother being sent to the Jedi and the grief of your father's death pushed your mother to the brink,” Reglia explained, seeing Aurelius' incomprehension, “She used your father's research to conceive you by herself. Your very life is a consequence of your father's unnatural deeds.”
Aurelius nearly fell backwards, his face growing sickly pale at the revelation.
“It was that desperate mad obesseeion that led your mother to swear allegiance to a Sith Lord named Count Dooku,” Cyrus went on, “Only with his dark knowledge was she able to progress your father's work far enough to create you. The blackguard used her in service of his plots then tried to dispose of her when she was no longer of use. She saw your brother one last time and, finally understanding clearly all the wrong she had done, could no longer live with herself.”
As his mind pushed past the initial shock, rage began to grow in Aurelius, “...And you kept this from me...my entire life...”
“I never wanted you to have to think about the awful affair. I destroyed everything I could find from that horrid time and I...” suddenly the old man began to gasp for air.
Even before the old Viscount had altered it, the Malreaux blood was strong in the Force. And though Aurelius had never been trained even slightly in its use, the sliver of reason left in the midst of his black rage told him that was how he was presently throttling Cyrus from across the room. As the old man gurgled out his last, strained breath; the rage abandoned Aurelius and all that remained was despair.
This stretch of memory was what had for years turned the cognitive loop meant to stave off brain damage into an unintentional torture device. That period of soul-gnawing blackness, those years of living in a purely silent agony, was something Aurelius had been forced to endure again and again a countless number of times now. Or perhaps – he was sometimes able to wonder in his sleep – there was nothing unintentional about this torture given the nature of the man who had put Aurelius in here.
Just as the hope engendered by the wedding had spread outwards to the population, so too did the darkness of the deaths in the Chateau seep into Vjun's people. As Aurelius withdrew from them completely, any volunteer efforts to restore the Tall House gradually ceased and it once again became a distant, darkly looming presence for the Vjunites. The Viscount dwelt in bleak solitude, with the gradually degrading RQ-HN as the only other presence in Chateau Malreaux.
A mind kept in such a state as Aurelius then suffered wanders down a million pathways, none of which are healthy. It wasn't long before one of those pathways led him to a thought that revolted but drew him back over and over again until it became a fixation. Aurelius needed to know fully how the experiments that conceived him had shaped his genetic essence. A blinding need to understand became his only means to shut out even a portion of his despair. He had no illusions that such knowledge could reverse his situation, and he swore that he would never use such knowledge to repeat his father's atrocities, but he madly hoped to win some small conquest over his condition by exposing it to light.
Aurelius' monomaniacal pursuit began with a frantic search of every square inch of the Chateau. Despite Cyrus' purge of his father's notes and devices, Aurelius was feverishly certain some remnants must have missed the old majordomo's eyes in the baroque labyrinth that was the Tall House. Eventually discovering some scattered journals, he spent uncounted sleepless days learning the necessary scientific disciplines to understand his father's work. The Viscount's feverish determination pushed him to acquire the necessary understanding at a prodigious rate. Nothing else mattered anymore, nothing could distract him from this venture was both the sole object of and the only thing sustaining his will.
But learning how to understand the documents he'd found only gave Aurelius more questions. He'd known the time would come when he would have to start experimenting with his own blood; it was a step he didn't even blanch at taking now. Purchasing equipment to examine was easy, what was more difficult was acquiring the devices needed to repeat some of the old Viscount's initial experiments. The Empire seemed keen on keeping people from freely doing exactly the sort of research Aurelius was engaged in, but he, of course, hardly cared.
When his first successful purchase attempts brought no unwanted attention, it initiated sequentially bolder and bolder involvements in the medical blackmarket. Any worries about potential consequences rapidly faded from Aurelius' hyper-fixated mind. The sense of danger only returned on the day an unannounced Imperial vessel landed at Chateau Malreaux.
As RQ-HN stalled the disembarking Imperials, Aurelius went about sealing the hidden entrance to his laboratory. The Tall House was huge, dimly illuminated, and disorientingly complex; he was confident they wouldn't find his secrets if they were to conduct a search.
Satisfied with his obfuscation, Aurelius made his way down to meet with the Imperials and begin his deception. Exiting the doors nearest the landed vessel, Aurelius was confronted with an imposing figure covered totally in dark armor looming over RQ.
“Ah, here is the master of the house,” the protocol droid said in naive ignorance of the situation's tension, “Most Honorable Viscount Malreaux, allow me to announce Lord Vader of the Empire.”
As the dark figure stalked towards him, Aurelius could feel his immense presence in the Force.
“It is an honor to have you at my estate Lord Vader. To what do I owe...” Aurelius nervously began his attempt to influence the situation but he was cut short.
“You have had legally-restricted medical devices smuggled onto Vjun,” Vader's voice resonated bluntly from his grated mask, “I want to know what purpose you've put these devices towards.”
“Oh, Lord Vader, I must protest,” RQ interjected, “It's simply not proper for you to address the Viscount in this manner...”
Vader raised and closed a fist in the air, causing the droid to be destroyed in a small explosion of sparks and smoke.
Swallowing hard, Aurelius did all he could to keep up a facade, “My lord, I don't know what you mean. The only medical devices on Vjun are at the clinic...”
“You will show me where you keep the machines you've had smuggled in,” this time Vader's voice resonated not just physically but in the depths of Aurelius' mind. The Viscount's body was invaded by Vader's will, and he mechanically began the walk back to his secret lab.
As the hidden door swung open at Aurelius' touch, he could feel the compulsion Vader put him under lift and a deep panic descend. As the black-clad Imperial walked from machine to machine, and riffled through the scattered notes, Aurelius desperately tried to decide on a course of action. Attack Vader? Seal him in the lab and try to flee? The possibilities rushed through his mind but he remained frozen in place, unable to act on any of them.
When Vader turned to address him, what the Dark Lord said next shocked any other thoughts from Aurelius' head.
“You will continue your experiments, but I am now going to be your primary subject.”
For a moment the haze of shock and confusion lifted, parted by the anger elicited by how this moment paralleled with a past one.
“No,” Aurelius said sternly, “Once House Malreaux was robbed of its dignity and betrayed when my mother swore allegiance to Count Dooku. Kill me if you wish; I won't repeat my mother's mistake by subordinating myself to an outsider.”
“I know of your mother's dealings with Dooku,” Vader again shocked Aurelius with his words, “And I was present when he tried to kill her. Further, I am the one who ultimately killed the Count. And so, by your House's dignity, you owe me a nobleman's debt.”
In that moment Aurelius recognized – feeling it perhaps through the Force – that Vader was the medium by which his research would progress. With the Viscount's acquiescent, Vader ordered him to gather all his notes before calling in stormtroopers to carry off the equipment. As the items and Aurelius were rising aloft with Vader in his shuttle, the Viscount assumed his work was going to continue off-world. His assumption proved wrong, however, as Vader called down a bombardment from a ship in orbit.
Bands of deadly light descended from acidic clouds upon Chateau Malreaux. The skies glowed with the bombardment's wrath as the Tall House crumbled and burned under its onslaught.
It would be days before Vader deigned to enlighten Aurelius as to his reasons for this display. On the commanding heights where the chateau once stood, the Sith Lord intended to raise a personal fortress he would call Bast Castle. Now Vjun was coming to life again, but not at the hands of the Vjunites themselves; the swirl of new activity and rising population came from the influx of Imperials who would man Fortress Vader – and the locals would serve their needs above all else.
Vader appointed Aurelius as the fortress' Castellan, leaving the Viscount to manage the gradually rising construction during his lengthy absences. At first Vader's visits consisted solely of receiving progress reports on Bast and conducting experiments. These latter were bearing new fruit by the session with the addition of Vader as a second subject, but Aurelius' progress was hampered by the Sith Lord's continued refusal to disclose what exactly he was looking to discover. As months passed, however, Aurelius found that Vader had taken an interest in contriving tests for him: first tests of leadership and strength, then tests of Force ability.
As Aurelius continued to pass these tests, they in time evolved into more formal training. Soon Aurelius was learning to manifest Force Powers, and later Vader began instruction in the arts of the lightsaber. It was after one such brutally taxing lightsaber lesson, as Aurelius drew more blood from Vader for testing, that he finally learned the truth.
“My lord,” Aurelius tread carefully as he broached the subject, “I am rapidly reaching the limits of what I can learn from these experiments...”
“It is not wise,” Vader interrupted, “Announcing that you are no longer of use to me.”
“Lord Vader, there is only so much anyone can find if they don't know what they're looking for. You have kept your aims for this work hidden from me since it began; without knowing what you want how am I to deliver it? Have I not done everything you asked of me? Have I not proven my loyalty time and again?”
“You are badly mistaken to believe that loyalty can ever be truly proven,” the Sith Lord chided, “But I will tell you now the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise.”
Aurelius was uncertain what Sith legends would have to do with his query but he wasn't about to risk insulting Vader by voicing that uncertainty, especially at this moment.
“Darth Plagueis,” he began, “Was a Dark Lord of the Sith so powerful that he had the ability to influence the Midichlorians to create life. Such was his power in the Dark Side that he could even prevent others from dying. His power, however, did not save him when his apprentice – my Master – killed Plagueis in his sleep. Since then the Emperor has coveted the secrets that died with Plagueis and, when he first began my instruction, claimed that together we would discover them. It was not until later that I began to suspect why he thought I could help him unlock that knowledge.”
“Throughout my youth my mother insisted that I had no mortal father – that she had simply conceived me without knowing how. This is part of what led the Jedi to believe that I was their prophesied Chosen One. But, in the years that have followed the Empire's birth I have begun to wonder whether was I born of the Force's intercession or if am I the product of Plagueis' dark science. It is your task to help me determine the answer to that question and, if I was created by Plagueis, to reverse engineer his secrets from my blood.”
Aurelius was struck motionless by a sensation that he had not felt in a long time: hope. The power to create life...a thousand things he would do with such knowledge raced through his mind and seized his heart and washed away any mindfulness of the oath he had taken to never attempt practical application of his research. The power to restore life...
Removing himself from the equipment and rising above Aurelius, Vader turned to loom over the other man and ordered him to kneel. When Aurelius had done so Vader began to speak once more.
“There are only two fates for anyone who is given secrets of the Sith like those I have just told you,” the Dark Lord explained, “The first is death – which still waits for you if you fail me – but for now I recognize you as my secret Sith Apprentice. Serve me well and together we shall unlock the mysteries of the Midichlorians and overthrow the Emperor.”
Vader's reasoning for putting Aurelius through tests and training suddenly made much more sense to the Viscount, who now felt the possibility of a future opening for him for the first time in years.
“I will not fail you, my master,” Aurelius said, trembling with elation.
“See that you do not,” Vader replied, his demeanor no less stern than usual despite the momentous occasion.
Over the ensuing years, Aurelius' work with Vader intensified. His training grew deadlier and more demanding now that he was to be counted among the Sith, and with his knowledge of Vader's goals the Midichlorian experiments reached a new fevered intensity. But, when the Death Star was destroyed, Vader knew the Emperor would begin scrutinizing his activities more closely.
Darth Vader told his apprentice that he was to be placed in stasis, only to emerge when the time had come for him to play a part in the Emperor's demise. And then – with the entirety of the Empire's scientific capabilities at their disposal – they would unlock the secrets of life and death.
It was normally at this point, with the image of Vader's visage fading into darkness as the stasis pod activated, that Aurelius' memory-dreams would return once more to the beginning. But, with a shocking, cold rush, the Viscount felt his mind awaken.
Pain rushed up his arms as his forward fall was broken by the palms of his hands. He felt the neurotech band on his head yanked loose, and through his blurred vision could only see some strange, sinuous appendage drawing it away from him. As his eyesight slowly refocused, the Viscount saw a pair of armored boots a meter or so away from him.
“Lord Vader?” he asked, but as his gaze traveled upward, instead of his master, he saw a creature seemingly made of the horrid, writhing sinews he'd just previously observed interwoven with plates of heavy armor.
“Vader is dead,” the monster said, “And so is his Emperor. I am Darth Nefarious, and I am here to claim everything of worth in this place for Darth Groznii, Dark Lord of the Sith and ruler of the Empire. I sense the Force within you but, tell me, who are you and are you of worth to the New Sith Order?”
Aurelius had almost reached for his lightsaber when Nefarious proclaimed Vader's demise, but when it was quickly followed by mention of Palpatine's death he thought better of it. Clearly this being was not here to kill him for Vader's betrayal in taking Aurelius as a secret Sith Apprentice. Seeing the figures of stormtroopers lurking behind Nefarious, Aurelius decided there was nothing to recommend fighting over talking in the strange scenario in which he'd awoken. His best bet for surviving long enough to determine what had happened during his slumber was to ingratiate himself to this new ruling clique in the Empire.
“I am Darth Aristo,” he dared to use the Sith name Vader had given him, in hopes that this 'New Sith Order' was, as the phrasing of its title seemed to imply, no longer in the habit of hewing to the Rule of Two, “Apprentice to Darth Vader, Castellan of Bast, Viscount of Vjun.”
“You are now Apprentice to Darth Nefarious,” the Gen'dai announced, confirming Aristo's suspicions, “Rise and swear yourself to me!”
Aristo lifted himself to his feet then bowed at the waist before his new master.
“Now come,” Nefarious ordered, “We will soon depart for my flagship.”
Nefarious wasted no time in turning to stalk out of the chamber and back into the secret tunnel. Aristo pushed through the slight vertigo that was assailing him in the brief time since his awakening.
“My lord,” Aristo objected cautiously, “Do you not need me here to govern Bast Castle? I have been its keeper since it was constructed and...”
“I do not presently require this fortress for my purposes,” Nefarious cut him off, “If I ever do so I may choose to send you back here but, for now, you shall serve my will by my side.”
“Yes, my lord,” Aristo knew better than to press any further. Emerging from the tunnel, the recently-awakened Sith looked up in flabbergasted bewilderment at the state of Bast Castle. “What happened here?” he wondered aloud in the face of its ruination.
Nefarious looked to the two Kiffar women following him for some kind of explanation. Based on the pair's presence in the Force, Aristo assumed these were Nefarious' other Apprentices – and thus his rivals. The one with blue chevrons tattooed on her cheeks replied with a shrug and simply ventured, “The New Republic did it probably, I guess?”
The New Republic? Aristo again wondered inwardly at just what had happened in his absence. Had the Rebellion really managed to accomplish so much during his hibernation?
Looking up again, the Castellan could scarcely believe the state to which Fortress Vader had fallen. In its ruination it had almost begun to resemble the Tall House. A cold surge of terror swept through Aristo as recalling the old Chateau brought to mind something of vital importance to him.
“Lord Nefarious,” he beseeched, “Before we depart, I beg you to allow me to recover several items that will be of immense use to the Empire.”
The Marauder turned to look at the progress of his engineers in removing the superlaser parts before replying, “Very well, but make sure you do not delay me.”
Hastily bowing, Darth Aristo proceeded to Force Jump his way up the laser well's crumbling overlooks before dashing off into the halls. Despite the lack of illumination, Aristo moved unhindered. He'd seen Bast Castle rise floor-by-floor during its construction and his desperation sharpened his ability to sense his environment through the Force. It was only when he reached his destination that sunlight shone on his face for the first time in decades.
“No...no...” Aristo nearly collapsed to his knees when he beheld the location where once his laboratory was hidden, now nothing more than a gaping hole in the castle's structure looking out on the acidic skies of Vjun. All of it – the machines, his research – had been destroyed.
***
Standing on the Infinite Way's bridge, amid the activity of the crew as they guided the ship through hyperspace, Torellia Rawk turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, whose originator she surmised before having to look. Glasya was awkwardly silent for a time before asking her friend, “Where's his illustrious lordship?”
“Still eating,” Torellia replied.
Glasya shuddered at this. She'd only watched Nefarious begin eating for a few moments before having to leave. It was a barbarous sight that she wouldn't even inflict on the person whom she most hated in the galaxy...though, in all honesty, that title probably belonged to Nefarious at this point anyway.
“And what about Viscount Broods-a-lot?” she asked, using the unflattering nickname she'd dreamed up for Aristo since his inclusion in Nefarious' forces.
“Still brooding,” Rawk replied, the exchange only allowing for the briefest moment of levity between the two.
“And how long until we arrive at the...” Glasya found her speech catching when she tried to refer to the Nefarious Intent. Even the name of that ship caused her body to seize at the grim remembrance of what had transpired there.
“The fleet should begin exiting hyperspace in about twenty minutes,” Torellia's voice was flat and laden with that same remembrance.
Silence gripped the two friends. In the long periods of slow or no activity that characterized hyperspace travel, it was impossible for them not to fixate on the events that had so radically and irrevocably altered their lives in the past days. They could still hear Ithrorian screams at the edge of their consciousness in every quiet moment. And there was a strain between them now; Glasya could tell that Torellia on some level resented her for shooting the Kiffar who had tried to kill them. She imagined that her friend believed that they both would have deserved such a fate...and Glasya wasn't sure that she disagreed with the sentiment herself.
Konshi simply hung about the bridge mutely; having nothing further to say and nowhere else to be. Eventually the silence was pierced by a crew member giving information to Torellia. The Kiffar woman raised an eyebrow at the news and had a comm channel opened to Nefarious.
“What is it?” the Sith Marauder demanded over the sickening sounds of his feasting.
“Master,” Rawk asked, “Should the crews from the Empire have arrived at the Intent yet?”
“No,” Nefarious responded, “They won't have come for days yet; we'll have plenty of time to install the superlaser.”
“The first ships from the fleet to exit hyperspace have reported that there are unidentified Imperial vessels stationed in a defensive formation around the dreadnought,” Torellia explained.
“What?” Nefarious noisily swallowed the half-chewed mess in his mouth out of surprise, “I'm on my way.”
The Marauder had arrived on the Way's bridge just as it began to exit hyperspace, revealing the mysterious fleet to him visually. Aristo had arrived also, summoned by his master.
Glowering at the Imperial star destroyers hovering around his prize, Nefarious ordered comm channels to be opened and began to bluster. “Attention unidentified fleet: I am Darth Nefarious and I have caught you red-handed trying to steal my flagship! Identify yourselves and beg for mercy and I may grant it!”
A heavily-accented voice responded across the comms, “Yew fewl! Aye em not afraaiid ov yew! Yew are no twue Ziith, merely a Dark Jedaii!”
“Insolent cur!” Nefarious bellowed in reply, “I am second only to the Dark Lord himself: Darth Groznii! You will suffer for your insolence!”
“Ha! Aye scoff in yewr gzenerahl direct-sion, so-called Nefarious Darth!” the voice on the other end came back, “For aye em Darth Necronus and aye em zecond only to the twue Dark Lowd of ze Ziith: Darth Revangche-uh!”
There was a moment of silence as the four Sith aboard the Way's bridge tried to parse the name Necronus had given for his master.
“...Darth Ravage?” Aristo ventrued.
“Non! Darth Revangche-uh!” Necronus replied, not making the situation any clearer.
“...Darth...Orange?” Torellia asked.
“Non! Non!” Necronus whined, “Not Darth Oran-ye! Darth Revangche-uh!”
“Ha, do you claim to have been trained by Darth Revan?” Nefarious scoffed.
“Not Rei-vahn!” Necronus protested, “Revangche-uh!”
“I feel like we're getting further away from it every time he repeats it,” Glasya commented.
“Zat eez becawze yew are fewlish Dark Jeedai, who know nothzing of ze ways of ze Ziith! Now take yewr fleet and go away, or aye zhall mock yew for a zecond time,” and with that, Necronus shut down the comm link from his side.
Nefarious growled before he began to bark orders, “Apprentices! Prepare to take the fight to this arrogant nerf herder! He is not worthy to die by my hand; you will deal with him – and his supposed master – personally while I command the battle here.”
As Glasya and her support squadron guided the boarding craft carrying Torellia and Aristo, along with squads of stormtroopers, towards the dreadnought in her Guardian vessel, the bizarre nature of this encounter only deepened. The TIEs that came to oppose their approach were of an unknown make, clearly highly customized in their design. But the additions and alterations almost-instantly proved impractical, and the only reason more of them weren't shot down by Nefarious' forces was that they kept fatally veering into each other. It was hardly a challenge for the boarding crews to reach the Sovereign-class' hangars and, as Glasya, Aristo, Torellia and their soldiers disembarked, they were met by enemy stormtroopers walking with an incredibly awkward gait.
“You there, intruders!” one of the stormtroopers called out in a voice that seemed much too tinny and high-pitched to be organic, “Stop in the name of the Confederacy of Indepen...I mean, in the name of the Empire!”
“Yeah, the Empire!” another concurred in a similarly odd voice.
“Blast them!” the original “stormtrooper” ordered.
“Roger, roger,” affirmed his fellows.
Unsurprisingly, the shots of “stormtroopers” whose helmets seemed to involuntarily rotate around heads for which they were ill-fitted, did not prove deadly in their precision. Before any shot could find its mark, Darth Aristo burst forward and, activating his lightsaber, began to reflect every bolt back towards their origin point with artful applications of the Shien Form. As the enemy troopers were vanquished in droves, their helmets fell off to reveal the repurposed B1 battle droids underneath.
Looking on covetously at this display of lightsaber prowess, Glasya considered that soon she too would be trained to wield such a weapon and, for the first time, saw a silver lining to serving Nefarious.
Back aboard the Infinite Way, an ensign reported odd news to the Sith Marauder.
“My lord,” the crew member said, “Our readings seem to have discovered something odd about the enemy fleet.”
“What is it?” Nefarious demanded impatiently.
“All except one of the enemy capital ships...seem to be fake,” they explained.
“Fake? What do you mean by that?”
“Scans suggest they're made out of...something I can only describe as space-worthy papier-mache. They don't even have engines; they're kept in a sort-of orbit around the one actual star destroyer by large internal magnets and made to look like they're flying by being filled with gasses.”
Nefarious considered that he hadn't fired on the opposing capital ships yet, only the enemy fighters...nor had any except one of those capital ships fired at his forces. And, once he did then order a barrage be directed at one of the enemy “star destroyers”, he discovered that the Infinite Way's bridge crew had correctly analyzed the situation as the target crumpled instantly.
“By the Force...” he breathed in absolute bewilderment, the Marauder's perpetual narcissistic rage short-circuited by the genuinely odd situation in which he found himself.
Meanwhile, the doors to the Nefarious Intent's bridge were forced open to admit the three Sith Apprentices. Having easily made their way past the repurposed B1s that had sought to bar their path through the ship, they now would face the masterminds of the theft...assuming one would dignify the perpetrators with such a lofty description.
“Zo yew havh made eet pahzt ze most eh-leet-uh of ze Empire's stormtroopehrs,” the voice of the Twi'lek in dark robes and Sith-tattooed lekku standing before them identified him as Darth Necronus to the trio, “But now yew zhall face doooom at ze hands of my mastair...Darth Revangche-uh!”
The throne Nefarious had installed on the dreadnought's bridge began to turn from the viewports towards the entrance, revealing another dark robed, tattooed Twi'lek man, who looked like a child in a chair the way his legs dangled off the throne designed for someone more than a meter taller than he.
“Yewr efforts havh been valorous,” the awkwardly enthroned man cooed confidently, “But now, Dark Jeedai, ze limits of yewr insignifi-kant power havh been reached. For yew cannot stahp me frwom fullfilling my dez-teny and enacting my plahnz for Imperial Revangche-uh!”
“Oooooh,” Glasya, Aristo, and Torellia said in unison as they simultaneously were finally able to puzzle out his name based on the last sentence's context, “Darth *Revenge*.”
“Oi, aye em Revangche-uh, Dark La-owd-uh of ze Ziith! Now, my apprwen-tace, fineesh zem!”
“Weeth pleaz-ure-uh, my mastair!” Necronus affirmed drawing and activating his blade.
Aristo squared off against Necronus but, after a moment of studying his opponent's weapon, said, “Wait, that's not a lightsaber; that's a lightfoil.”
“Non, eet's nawt!” Necronus objected.
“Wait, what's a lightfoil?” asked Glasya.
“It's like a watered-down lightsaber that those not sensitive to the Force can wield,” Aristo explained to the Kiffar before turning back to the Twi'lek and asking, “Are you even Force-sensitive?”
“Of course I em!” Necronus whined, “I am a Dark Lowd of ze Ziith! And zhis eez nawt a lightfoil; it eez an exotic lightzaber vari-ahnt zhat yewr fewlish Dark Jeedai mind eez too stoopeed to hahv heard of.”
“Can lightfoils reflect blaster bolts?” Glasya asked Aristo, ignoring Necronus' response.
“No,” Aristo replied, and no sooner had he said the word than Glasya gunned down Necronus with a blaster shot to the neck.
“Yew cowuurd-uhs!” Revenge hopped out of the throne angrily, “How dere yew azzazzinate my apprwenteece weeth zuch underhanded tacteeks! Now yew will fall by my hends!”
“Let me deal with this one,” Aristo said with a grin, as Darth Revenge drew his own lightfoil.
Revenge lunged forward in an attack that was easily deflected by Aristo. As the former's poor form left his guard too open while recovering, the latter took advantage to seize one of his foe's lekku. Aristo's intention to violently squeeze the sensitive portions of the Twi'lek's nervous system contained therein were frustrated when he felt a greasy substance slide over his hand and allow Revenge to slip free.
“What?” Aristo fumed as he first looked at the substance on his palm then at the freshly smeared “Sith tattoos” on Revenge's lekku, “Those aren't actual tattoos; you've painted them on!”
“Zhat eez nawt paint,” Revenge insisted, “Eet eez Ziith poisuhn and yew will drawp dead any zecond now.”
“No, it's not,” Aristo growled, “It's paint and now it's all over my gauntlet.”
The Twi'lek man looked about uncertainly for a moment, then reached into his robes, producing a substance which he flung towards Aristo.
It took only a wave of the Sith's hand to knock the impromptu projectile off course using the Force. Looking down at it Aristo was again utterly perplexed by this strange person's behavior. “Was that sand? Did you just try to throw sand in my eyes?”
“Non!” Revenge insisted, “Zhat was an ain-chant Ziith spell that uses...zand...from Koree-bahn!”
Utterly at his wits' end by this point, Aristo beat his foe's blade aside and beheaded him in a single, fluid attack. And so “Darth” Revenge fell, his plans for “Imperial Revenge” dying with him.
The three Sith Apprentices stood in perplexed silence for several moments before Torellia voiced the question they'd all be wondering for weeks to come, “...What in Chaos just happened here?”
20 ABY
Jorund Nooram’s shoulders slumped slightly as he watched a smile spread on the short, slight Kiffar woman’s tawny countenance via the holoprojection before him. It was obvious that she was enjoying the leverage she held in these negotiations.
“Oh, I can understand how these pirate attacks have affected your available credits, as a fellow business proprietor,” Glasya Konshi said patronizingly, “But I’m sure that you can understand, as a fellow business proprietor, the sort of costs an operation like mine incurs; not to mention the risks involved in a full-on assault against a pirate base…”
The Muun bit back a comment about how a criminal mercenary like her was no kind of respectable proprietor.
“Yes, but I have my own costs to consider as well,” Jorund meekly countered, “Once the pirates have been dealt with there will be expenses involved in returning my freighter routes to normal operation...”
“Oh, well, then I suppose you should just contact the authorities,” came a smug response from Glasya, “After all, your taxes already pay for them. Unless, of course, you've been getting up to something that you wouldn't want them to know about, and that's why you came to me in the first place...”
Nooram's shoulders slumped further as Konshi's grin grew wider, wrinkling the blue chevron clan tattoos on her cheeks.
“Well, in that case, I suppose you don't have much of a choice but to meet my price.”
“I don't have that kind of liquid cash just lying around -”
The Muun's whined reply was cut short by the sudden arrival of his assistant into his office.
“I'm sorry for interrupting, sir,” the young human said as he entered, holding a datapad, “But you had mentioned that you wanted to sign these contracts the second they came in.”
“Please give me a moment, Miss Konshi,” Jorund said to the Kiffar, “I need to send these out immediately.”
“Oh, please, take your time,” Glasya replied in a breathy tone as her eyes wolfishly fixated on the lithe, tall, dark-haired human interloper, only returning to the Muun executive after the assistant had exited the view range on her end of the call.
“Isn't there any other arrangement that can be made?” Jorund pleaded once the interruption had been concluded to his satisfaction.
“Hmm,” Glasya milked her pause for effect before responding, “Well, since these pirates have been cutting in to your profits so deeply, I have to imagine you wouldn't miss three percent of your venture's gross income once things are back to normal.”
Jorund grinded his teeth slightly for a second or two before replying, “Fine.”
“Oh, and give me your assistant too,” Glasya hastily added.
“You...want my assistant?” Nooram asked, not initially comprehending.
“I mean, just for a few days,” she clarified, “I'll give him back when I'm done.”
Now comprehending but no less bewildered, the Muun had to spend a few moments in stunned silence before agreeing.
Roughly half-an-hour after concluding her negotiations with Jorund Nooram, Glasya Konshi stood aboard the bridge of her flagship – the Defender class assault carrier Infinite Way – as her forces prepared for their journey to the location provided for the pirate base by the Muun. She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, whose originator she surmised before having to look.
Torellia Rawk – Glasya's truest friend (perhaps her only true friend) and second-in-command – approached. Her intricate, elegantly crafted armor encased her body, leaving her head, with its blue-green wedge clan tattoo and similarly-colored dyed hair, open to the ship's recycled air.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Torellia said, her voice no less smooth and serene than usual despite the sentence's content.
“Oh, you always say that,” Glasya responded dismissively in her own habitually impish, lively tone.
“And how often am I right?” Rawk asked with a little smile.
“Just because you've always been right before doesn't mean you're right now,” Konshi shot back, “That's the problem of induction.”
“And will your philosophical rhetoric pull our exhaust ports out of the fire if this job turns out like the one on Chalacta?” Torellia pressed.
“Chalacta doesn't count!” Glasya insisted.
“And why doesn't it count exactly?” Rawk asked.
“Because...” Konshi searched her mind for a moment before finishing with, “It just doesn't.”
“Well, it's hard to argue with that,” Torellia shook her head slightly as she responded, “But it's also hard to argue with how suspiciously well we're getting paid to deal with some pirates. This smells like a trap to me.”
“No, it would be suspicious if the old skinflint hadn't tried his damnedest not to pay us so well,” Glasya countered, “If this were trap he wouldn't have tried to keep the bait from us. Trust me, this will all be soooo worth it when the job's done.”
Rawk was silently for a moment before pointedly saying, “There's a man involved in this, isn't there?”
“No!” Konshi insisted before admitting, “...Yes. Shut up.”
Torellia gave a resigned chuckle, “Well, let's at least send a proper reconnaissance wing ahead before just jumping in so that this doesn't turn out like that time on Randon.”
“That one doesn't count either!” Glasya bellowed.
***
Infinite Way's prow pierced the veil of realspace as it emerged from hyperspace, accompanied by its companion Ton-Falk escort carriers, Arquitens light cruisers, Quasar Fire bulk cruisers, CR-90 corvettes, Carrack light cruisers, and a handful of Purgatory-class prison ships that had been modified to replace their cell-blocks with hangars. The initial reconnaissance had revealed the exact location of the pirate base and the disposition of its defenses; Galsya had wasted no time ordering her fleet in to prevent the corsairs from having an opportunity to prepare a proper defense.
“See, I told you the Muun was on the up-and-up,” she gloated to Torellia, “Or at least so far on the up-and-up as anyone who hires us can be.”
Suddenly warning klaxons began to blare on the bridge and there was barely time for an ensign to warn of the incoming vessels before they emerged into realspace.
“You were saying?” there was little triumph in Torellia's I-told-you-so declaration as a sizable fleet manifested itself in the system. The first ships to emerge were products of the New Class Modernization program, and bore the New Republic's emblem prominently. Though the Infinite Way was also of a class from the program, it was dwarfed by the Nebula-class Star Destroyers that now loomed in the distance.
But what ultimately elicited an exasperated, “Oh, kark me,” from Glasya was the second wave of smaller ships to arrive which bore the emblem of an upward, golden, five-pointed star within a circle. This was the sign of the Guardians of Kiffu, the very organization Glasya, Torellia, and much of their present crew had betrayed years ago, and whose logo the downward, silver, five-pointed, encircled star which was stamped on the ships in Glasya's fleet was meant to mock.
“We have an incoming transmission,” came a second announcement from the ensign.
“Of course we do,” Konshi groaned, “Patch it through.” Soon she was staring down the holographic image of a Kiffar man whose clan tattoo marked him as a member of Clan Vos.
“Glasya of Clan Konshi,” his grumbling recitation began, “By the authority of the Sheyf you are bound to surrender and submit to judgment for your crimes. You are charged with treason, theft of Guardian ships, theft of Guardian weapons, theft of Guardian materiel, theft of Guardian funds, inciting revolt and sedition against the Sheyf's authority, illegal mercenary activities, murdering your superior officer, dereliction of duty, endangering diplomatic relations with the New Republic...”
The Vos lost his train of thought and stopped speaking shortly after Glasya and Torellia began to recite the charges in unison with him, having memorized them from several previous such encounters with the Guardians.
“Oh, keep going,” Glasya said to him, “You haven't even gotten to the good stuff like Hoojib smuggling yet.”
“How dare you show such flippancy in the face of your crimes?!” the Vos General bellowed, “After all you've done to betray your people can you honestly be this unconcerned by what you've done?! You'll always be remembered as the greatest criminals the Kiffar ever produced; you've blackened the Guardians' name for generations to come! And *this* is how respond to being faced with your deeds? I can't even imagine how a being with as little respect for the law as you rose high enough in the Guardians' ranks to commit these crimes in the first place.”
“Law?” Glasya sneered, “Which law? Republic law? Imperial law? The Guardians never seemed mind what law they served so long as it benefited the Sheyf...so long as it benefited *your* clan. Why do you think so many Guardians followed me when I turned on your precious law? It's because, just like me, they realized they'd been sacrificing themselves for a law that existed to benefit only a few others. Like me they decided that it was time to start benefiting themselves the same way the Shefys always have and the same way the Vos always have. So don't lecture me about your law like it means anything, and don't expect me to cower reverentially when you invoke it.”
Though it was a speech they'd heard several variants of before, the bridge crew still applauded Glasya's dictation of defiance. With a gesture of her hand, Konshi ordered the transmission to be cut off.
“So much for your loot and lust,” Torellia commented, “We can't win a sustained battle against that fleet; we'll need to create an opening for escape.”
“No problem,” Glasya said, “I'll lead the fighter wings personally.”
“You say 'no problem',” Rawk responded, “But something tells me that they'll have made sure to bring plenty of ships with interdiction capabilities.”
“You identify them, I'll blast them,” Glasya instructed, already heading on her way down to the Infinite Way's hangars.
In both fleets there was a flurry of activity as pilots scrambled to their starfighters. Emerging from the Way in her Guardian vessel (itself one of the stolen ships the Vos General had mentioned in their brief exchange) Glasya quickly took visual stock of the swarm of enemy ships launching from their carriers. The enemy Kiffar had, of course, brought Guardian vessels of their own, which were accompanied into battle by their Republic allies' E-Wings. Through there was no sight of them yet, the mercenary commander assumed her foes had Y-Wings standing by to be unleashed once they thought it time to begin bombing runs. If it hadn't been obvious before, Konshi became keenly aware of just how outnumbered she was when observing the masses of enemy fighter wings rushing to meet her own in the midst of space.
But, as any skilled commander knows, superior numbers come with inferior logistics, and Glasya intended to use that fact to her advantage. She knew the Republic E-Wings were more maneuverable than the enemy Guardian vessels, thus she directed her fighter wings to engage in a way that would get the E-Wings stuck behind the Guardians. The enemy pilots did their best to compensate but Konshi's pilots had far more experience in large-scale battle than did the Kiffu Guardians. The more seasoned Republic pilots tried desperately to make up for the Guardians' overtaxed abilities, but it was all they could do to keep from repeatedly colliding with the more sluggish starfighters. Glasya's fliers displayed no such handicap in handling their vessels, maneuvering their dense, broad ships with a surprising adroitness.
The foremost performance came from Glasya Konshi herself, who piloted her Guardian vessel with the astonishing instincts that had earned her reputation in the Outer Rim. She handily juggled dogfighting on the frontlines with issuing commands to the other fighter wings with almost supernaturally keen instinct. That same insight that allowed her to do this told her with a visceral certainty that the enemy commanders were fuming over losing the terrain advantage in an ambush location they had specifically chosen. Within a quarter hour of engagement, the Guardian-Republic task force had no choice but to pull their frontline back slightly and attempt to regroup.
“The enemy's interdiction fields seem to be mostly coming from their CC-7700 frigates,” Torellia's voice sounded over the comms to Glasya, “Pin them down and we should be able to start withdrawing.”
“Copy, Infinite Way,” Konshi responded, “Over and out.”
With that mundane reply, Glasya led a pointed charge against the most exposed portion of the CC-7700 picket line. The enemy wings bumbled about as their commanders struggled to adapt to the change in the battle. Several frigates were badly damaged before a panicked response caused them to fall further back and begin deploying anti-starfighter cluster bombs. Konshi smiled at this and pulled her fighters from the attack, satisfied that she had forced the enemy to create even greater congestion that would hamper their maneuverability.
“Nice work,” Torellia said through the comms to Glasya, “Just keep them pressed back for a little longer and the astronavs should be able to get us a clear lane to start the withdrawal.”
A few more minutes passed and the Guardian-Republic task force was proving no more capable of regaining the space it had lost than it had holding it in the first place. But, inexplicably, as escape grew razor-close, a sudden feeling of dread overtook Glasya. The explanation, however, was only a few moments in arriving.
Like a wave of thrusting knifepoints, a menacingly large fleet of Imperial ships cut into realspace, blocking the escape route Konshi's forces had been preparing to take. Aboard the bridge of the interloping fleet's Star Destroyer flagship, an adjutant looked out on the dueling starfighters.
“All is as you foresaw, my lord,” he said to his commander, “These ships would easily fill the remaining roles you desire.”
Massively heavy foot falls rung out on the bridge, “Open a general broadcast.”
“As you command, my lord,” the adjutant replied, signaling an ensign to carry the order out.
“Attention, both fleets in my vicinity: this is Darth Nefarious,” the Gen'dai Marauder's voice rumbled across the comms, “I speak with the authority of Darth Groznii, Dark Lord of the Sith and true ruler of the Empire. I have deigned to give you the honor of serving in my fleet. You will surrender and submit to my will or you will die! Power down your defenses, recall your fighters, and prepare to be boarded.”
Stunned confusion reigned for a moment over both the groups which had heretofore been sharply contesting combatants. This did not last long, however, before they broke with each other to face-off against Nefarious' fleet. The New Republic forces weren't in the habit of submitting to Imperial demands; and, despite Glasya's opinion of them, it took more than a blustered threat to make the Guardians of Kiffu fold. As for the mercenary commander herself, she wasn't about to bow and scrape to some post-Imperial warlord with delusions of grandeur – but neither did she intend to stick around and help her enemies fight each other.
“Torellia,” Glasya commed to the Infinite Way, “Tell me there's another way out of here.”
“I think I can find one,” Torellia's voice wasn't confident, “But I'll need you to hold off those Imperials.”
Konshi set about the task before her, rushing to meet the new foes with only slightly less enthusiasm than with which she had engaged the old ones. The swarms of TIEs outnumbered her fighters more than the task force had, but they were split against two fronts. But, as the fighting proceeded, this advantage to Glasya began to recede. Despite the lower quality of the TIEs compared to every other starfighter they currently engaged, the Imperial pilots were far more seasoned than those of the Republic or Guardians, and even pressed Glasya's fliers to the limits. Soon the task force was starting to buckle under the weight of the Imperial onslaught.
“My lord,” the Imperial adjutant addressed Nefarious, trying to keep the tremulous trepidation at reporting bad news out of his voice, “The Republic and Kiffar forces are beginning to fall before us, and the first boarding actions have begun on their capital ships. However...the flight commanders report that the mercenary forces are still holding them at bay.
Nefarious growled and the adjutant knew that his survival depended on whether the next words out of the Sith's mouth were either “you fool” or “those fools.”
“Those fools!” Nefarious bellowed as the adjutant let out a subtle sigh of relief, “Take command of the fleet, I shall deal with this personally!”
Nefarious' Drexl-class starfighter was a natural spacefaring counterpart to his terrestrial fighting style. The sizable, heavily armed vessel stood out among the packs of TIE fighters as noticeably as the Sith himself would on the ground. And the Marauder engaged in dogfighting with the same brutal velocity which characterized his melee philosophy. From within the cockpit (which had been modified from a two-person set up to one in order to accommodate his bulk) Nefarious ruthlessly confronted Glasya's fighters; his armored hands griping the steering yoke while grasping tendrils of his sinew operated the systems that would normally be handled by a co-pilot.
Even the dense frames of the mercenaries' Guardian vessels proved little defense against the Marauder's attack run. As his Drexl's laser cannons and concussion missiles cleaved his foes' battlelines in twain, various TIE interceptors that had been separated from their wings regrouped around their lord and followed in his wake. Nefarious' entry into the fray saw the last semblance of resistance from the mercenaries crack, their lines breaking and wings forcibly scattered. Glasya watched in fear as the squadron accompanying her began to be winnowed by the looming attackers. But Konshi refused to give up the fight; even if she couldn't survive, she intended to buy the time needed for Torellia and the fleet to escape.
“The Force is strong with this one,” Nefarious mused as he stalked behind Glasya, his every laser blast missing its mark as she bent her vessel's wingspan from side to side with shocking effectiveness. Impressed, Nefarious manipulated his fighter's commlink with a strand of writhing Gen'dai muscle, attempting to open a transmission to the Guardian vessel he presently pursued. Not bothering to question who was contacting her, Glasya activated the link on her end and was surprised to hear the Sith's booming voice.
“You fight with the cunning determination of a Hawk-bat,” his darkly bombastic voice was dripping with triumph, “I can sense that you are gifted in the Force. But the battle is over; I have won. Look around you: even now your starfighters crumble before my advance and soon I will have your fleet completely surrounded. Your only hope is to bend your knee to me! Do not waste your life as those Republic fools did. You can serve me as my new Apprentice and become Sith, or you and all those who follow you will die.”
Glasya's first instinct was to spit defiance at the pompous Imperial but, as she looked out on the battle before her, she could tell that Nefarious wasn't idly boasting. With the crumbling of her fighter wings' defensive lines, the Imperial TIEs and capital ship vanguard were rapidly closing in on her fleet, making escape a near-impossibility. Heaving a defeated sigh, Glasya expanded the link to include the bridge of Infinite Way.
“Torellia,” she instructed in a leaden tone, “Recall the fighter wings and power down the fleet's defenses.”
Rawk almost asked Konshi if she was sure about this, but she knew just as well that it was over, responding simply, “Right away.”
With the surrender of Glasya's forces, the fighting rapidly died down. Apart from a few New Republic ships still desperately and hopelessly holding out and the TIEs swarming them, the furious rush of battle had abated. As Glasya and her remaining fliers glided back to their hangars they were calmly “escorted” by Nefarious' TIEs and boarding shuttles. The few minutes this bleak flight took felt like an eternity to Glasya, but those endless moments gave her a chance to reflect. She had read about this idea of the “Force” Nefarious had spoken of in her philosophical studies, and understood it abstractly, but that provided little insight she needed in this moment.
Though her taste for philosophy surprised many – and she often played off her interest's seriousness as just being able to better justify her relentless pursuit of credits and companionship – truthfully the woman had a keen interest in understanding existence and its meaning. But, apart from the broadest definitions, very little of the philosophy of the Force was available to the wider public. This was partially a result of two decades of Imperial rule in the galaxy, and partially due to the various monastic orders dedicated to the Force philosophy never exactly being forthcoming with their beliefs. Glasya had some comprehension of what the Jedi believed, and she knew at least enough about the Sith to have some idea what they were and that the title “Darth” signified membership in them, but nothing that came to mind seemed useful in this situation. She had no idea what being Nefarious' “apprentice” would consist of...nor was she particularly eager to find out.
Any further contemplation of the situation in which Glasya found herself would have to wait, as she touched her Guardian vessel down in the Infinite Way's hangar. Exiting the fighter, Konshi had to suppress a physical display of disgust as she watched the Imperials' white-armored bucket heads step out of their shuttles on to her ship. But her contempt at the sight of the stormtroopers faded instantly in the wake of fear when the uncanny vision of Nefarious' hulking form, three meters worth of writhing sinew and cold armor, emerged.
“You will take me to the bridge,” the Marauder commanded.
Near-paralysis gripped the bridge crew as they stared, wide-eyed, at the arrival of the Sith and his cortege among them. Nefarious, clearly enjoying the reaction, stalked about; looming over those present, his head nearly scrapping the ceiling.
“You,” he pointed at a comms officer, “I wish to address my new fleet; open a channel.”
After a pained pause in which the officer had to summon the courage to even speak, they meekly complied with a, “Yes, sir.”
“To all who can hear my voice,” the Sith pompously proclaimed, “You now serve the Empire and, more importantly, you now serve me. Obey without question, complete the commands I give successfully, and you shall be part of the glorious conquest of the galaxy from those weaklings that call themselves the Republic. Defy or fail me, and only death awaits you. ...As it does for any of you who do not address me as 'my lord'!”
With a sudden burst of motion, Nefarious gripped the comms officer by the neck with an armored fist and, as though they were no more than a ragdoll, then swung them about repeatedly against floor, ceiling, and walls. At the conclusion of the display, the officer had been reduced to a series of gory smears across the bridge.
“End transmission!” he bellowed, and his order was instantly obeyed; its executor making certain to affirm compliance with a reply that included 'my lord.' As though nothing unusual had happened, Nefarious calmly strode to look out the forward viewports, taking in his new ships.
“Yes, now I have all the escort vessels my new flagship will require,” he mused before launching into another speech, “At the edge of the galaxy, one of the last Sovereign-class Super Star Destroyers roams. But instead of serving its intended purpose of glorious destruction on mass-scale, it languishes as the herdship of foul, pacifist Ithorians; their reward for having served the Republic Rebels. This is unacceptable! Before the hour is out, I want my new fleet ready to depart and reclaim that proud dreadnought for the glory of the Empire. It will be a worthy flagship, one suited to serve as a symbol of my awesome power.”
Before she spoke Torellia considered very carefully. It was obvious that even the slightest misstep could get someone killed around this monstrous psychopath; but she ultimately concluded what she had to say would be more likely to upset Nefarious after the fact than it would beforehand.
“My lord,” Torellia said, her usually serene tone marred by trepidation, “A ship that size...it would require a crew hundreds of thousands strong in order to operate at full efficiency; we don't have that kind of manpower.”
Nefarious turned a penetrating gaze to Rawk, a terrifying pause passing before he responded, “There is no need to be concerned; the Empire shall provide me with all the manpower I will require.”
Both Torellia and Glasya were stunned by this response. What kind of resources did the master that Nefarious served have at his disposal? They'd both assumed (as had most of the galaxy) that outside the Imperial Remnant, the last Empire holdouts still fighting the Republic were nothing more than a gaggle of minor warlords commanding tiny rumps of resistance. But for a crew of a dreadnought to be so easy a thing for Groznii to give out to one of his lieutenants...just what mystery had the pair accidentally stumbled into?
Nefarious' gaze did not turn from Rawk and fear began to deepen in both her and Glasya. Finally Nefarious spoke again, this time to Glasya, “Who is this one that addressed me.”
“This is Torrellia Rawk, Lord Nefarious; she's my second-in-command and absolutely indispensable to my operations,” Glasya desperately tried to sell the Sith on her friend's usefulness to him, “Her skills as a tactician have won so many battles.”
“Yes,” Nefarious commented, “I can feel the Force flowing through her as well. It has brought you to each other just as surely as it brought you to me. Torellia Rawk, you too shall become one of my Sith Apprentices, and like Glasya Konshi you shall have the honor of calling me 'master'. But come, I grow tired of waiting! My new flagship awaits me...”
***
Chozo Ambatzh stretched out further on the bench, his sight and thoughts dreamily wandering along the ascending spirals of his herdships' gardens. The air of the ship, though in part mechanically recycled, tasted fresher than that on many worlds, and the sunlight was no less comforting for its artificial nature. He watched as his fellow Ithorians walked along the gardens' baroque paths; looked on as joyful pupae splashed their locomotion tubes about in warm, shallow ponds.
He contemplated, as he often had occasion to do this past year, what an apt allegory for the new state of the galaxy his home was. Once it had been one of the Emperor's most dreaded weapons of war, and bore the name Heresiarch as it brought terror and death to the galaxy. Captured at the conclusion of Operation Shadow Hand, it now drifted peacefully through Wild Space, home to Chozo and all his herdmates, on a mission of exploration and knowledge, with its sheer size alone deterring all attackers. And in this way it was like the galaxy today, which since the Bastion Accords had been made free at last of the horrible war, destruction, and oppression that had predominated for four decades, now entering a time of tranquility again.
Chozo himself was a member of the herd's volunteer starfighter brigade, but had never seen any more action than having to chase away local pirates from supply convoys. His life had been lived far more peacefully than those dark years endured by his parents and grandparents, but even he envied the little pupae as he watched them play, confident that they would grow up in a happy time not seen since the end of the Pax Republica. Though, despite his confidence in the peacefulness of today and tomorrow, he always made it a point of responsibility to carry his brigade emergency comm on his person...and its sudden, shrill wailing brought him out of his reverie.
Bewildered as to what might be happening, Chozo none-the-less fell back on procedure and began to hustle to his squadron's assigned hangar. Along the way, his path quickly began to overlap with those of his fellow volunteers. None stopped to talk but all were deeply concerned about what might be happening.
Rushing into the locker room, the Ithorians donned their fight suits as quickly as possible then emerged into the hangar. As everyone clustered into their squadrons, Chozo listened attentively as his squad leader began to brief him and his comrades.
“Several minutes ago,” Bachani leader informed their squad, “An unidentified fleet of significant size began emerging from hyperspace and has blocked the herdship's course. All attempts to hail them have been ignored and they have begun entering what appears to be an attack formation. Security command has ordered all wings to scramble and enter a defensive pattern; we are to launch in T minus ninety seconds and await further decisions from command. May the Force be with us all.”
As the squadrons of X-Wings launched, their S-foils locking into attack position, Chozo heard his ship's comm crackle to life.
“Bachani squad sound off,” Bachani leader instructed.
“Bachani one standing by,” the roll call began
“Bachani two standing by.”
“Bachani three standing by,” Chozo added as the call continued.
Looking out on the hostile fleet, he felt no more enlightened as to the nature of these invaders. Some of the vessels were clearly of Republic-make, whereas others were of a sort with which he was unfamiliar; but any possibility of a peaceable end was wiped from Chozo's mind as he watched Imperial star destroyers emerge into realspace at the rear of the enemy formation.
Hostile starfighters swarmed towards the Ithorian defenders, and soon Bachani squad was fighting for their lives. These were no mere pirates; they fought with a skill and killer instinct that Chozo and his comrades had never faced. Fear, anguish, and despair gripped the Ithorian as he watched his herdmates' ships explode by the dozen under the assault's weight.
In the blink of an eye he was the last member of Bachani squad left alive. His hands formed a panicked grip on the steering yoke as a wide-winged, dense-bodied starfighter swooped down towards him from 12 o'clock high. Blasting and jinking as best he could, Chozo trembled as the enemy fighter effortlessly dodged his every attack. The final action of Chozo's life was to shed tears as he saw the fatal laser blast pierce his cockpit.
Glasya Konshi never knew Chozo Ambatzh's name, and it only took a second or two for her to forget that the X-wing she had just destroyed ever existed. Her focus was on the larger battle and, even if she were interested in doing so, there was no way for her to keep track of single casualties in mind. Instead she was considering the Sovereign-class' defenses. Its surface bristled with point-defense weapons, turrets, and other armaments, but only a few seemed active. She had to surmise that the Ithorians maintained active crew levels far below what was necessary to bring the dreadnought's martial capabilities fully online. A decision that would have made sense for the most part given the ship's current function, but one that now spelled the occupants' defeat.
Lancing through the defending starfighters, the newly-Imperial vessels navigated the Sovereign-class' fire to escort landing craft into the dreadnought's emptied hangars. Glasya felt no joy as, standing alongside Nefarious' troopers, she and her comrades gunned down the noticeably unprepared Ithroians who attempted to repel the boarding parties. The peace-loving defenders barely seemed capable making use of basic concepts like cover, with some being so foolish as to think crouching in the center of open doors made them harder to hit. Before long, the gargantuan vessel's interior echoed with profound, four-throated screams as stormtroopers stalked its halls, forcibly pulling Ithorians from turret control chambers to gun down or gut them on the floor.
Within hours, every non-combatant on the ship had been seized and corralled into one of the massive public spaces that had, in the ship's previous life, once been used to house Imperial machines of war. Glasya and Torellia stood grimly next to one another as a mix of reluctant Kiffar and obedient stormtroopers kept the crowd pacified with the threat of pointed blasters. Ithorian parents did their best to hush the fearful wailing of their pupae, which clung to the elders' bodies in desperation.
Showing nothing other than a debased sense of triumph, Nefarious haughtily strode into the scene, eliciting gasps of terror from a great number of the forcibly assembled Ithorians. With a sneer, Darth Nefarious raised his hand to signal a forthcoming command.
“Kiffar warriors,” he addressed Glasya's troops, “You will now prove your loyalty to me. Kill these pathetic peace lovers.”
The Sith Marauder's order was met by silence and hesitation. These mercenaries were far from shining-armored heroes; they had all betrayed the Kiffu Guardians, killed for money, plundered, and looted over the course of their lives, but what Nefarious expected of them was unbelievable. As the Sith began to glower at the sight of non-compliance with his will, most of them were paralyzed with dread. One of their number, however, felt the rising anger within him steel his courage.
He knew the hulking monstrosity was doubtless beyond his ability to kill, but his gaze fixed upon the two women whom he had followed loyally for years only for them to bring him to this just to save their own lives. Spinning around, the soldier raised his rifle, clicked it into burst mode, and leveled it against Konshi and Rawk. Torellia froze as she saw what was happening, and her eyes instinctively shut tightly. She heard a single shot fire, and it took her several seconds to realize that she hadn't been hit. As her lids opened once more she saw Glasya with her arm outstretched, a blaster pistol in Konshi's grip, and their would-be killer lying dead on the floor.
Nefarious laughed heartily, “Well done, my Apprentice! But you, Torellia Rawk, disappoint me!” With a gesture, the Marauder used his power in the Force to hurl Torellia against a wall, “A Sith knows no fear; I shall have to instruct you harshly for this failure! Only power exists, and to be weak is to be nothing. The mighty may do whatever they wish with the weak, for the weak aren't truly real!” the next portion of his speech he addressed to the Kiffar soldiers, “This cowardly herd that grovels before you are not sentient beings; they are organic machines – mere animals! And you will slaughter them like animals to please me! All of them! Not just the men, but the women and the children too! You will do as I command or I will slaughter you like animals!”
None present for that moment would ever forget the sound of several hundred thousand Ithorians screaming in horror and anguish as they died under waves of blaster fire.
***
Over the course of the next twenty-four standard hours, Nefarious' followers went about his instructions to “cleanse” the Nefarious Intent (as he had dubbed his new acquisition) of any modifications the Ithorians had made to it. Its gardens were burned away under the chemical fire of flamethrowers, its amphitheaters and galleries ripped apart, until these spaces were once again suited to ferry Imperial weapons of war across the stars. As Nefarious stood aboard the bridge, overseeing the installation of a command throne suited to his prodigious frame, a stormtrooper captain approached him.
“My lord,” the captain spoke warily, “We have removed the obstructions to reinstalling the Nefarious Intent's superlaser...but there is no sign of the weapon's components. Having searched the ship's records we discovered that they were intentionally destroyed after the ship was stolen from the Empire.”
“There's...no...superlaser...” Nefarious seethed and shook for a moment before screaming bombastically, seizing the stormtrooper, and beating them to a pulp against the floor, “How can this serve as my flagship without a superlaser!? I want my superlaser!” Growling, he turned to Glasya and Rawk, “You! You will tell me where I can find a new one! You will tell me now!”
Glasya almost froze completely but, yet again, her will to live would not be thwarted.
“Vjun,” she spat out the first idea that came to mind.
“Vjun?” Nefarious demanded.
“Yes, it's where they say Darth Vader's old castle is located,” she hastily formed her reasoning as she explained it to Nefarious, “There's got to be super laser parts there, or at least plans we could use to build one.”
Nefarious, mollified, stroked his chin, “Yes, yes, we will leave a skeleton crew here to await the arrival of the soldiers I sent for to man the Intent and we will take the fleet to Vjun to get my superlaser.”
***
The Sentinel landing craft's wings folded inward and upward as it descended from acidic, overcast skies to alight on a landing pad which jutted from the dark, dizzyingly tall tower that was Bast Castle. The craft's ramp hit the floor and this was soon followed by a burst of footsteps as the stormtroopers moved into position at the sides of a sealed entryway, followed by Darth Nefarious and his Apprentices. Torellia produced a datapad, which she linked via a cord to the door's control panel, and began to slice the system. With a strained groan the doors opened, and the troopers entered guardedly; the lights on their rifles coming to life and offering limited illumination in the murky halls.
Rawk tapped at her datapad again, before saying, “Orbital scans show no signs of life or recent activity in the castle, but with walls this dense there's no way to be certain.”
“Bah, do not put your faith in such technological trinkets,” Nefarious said, “You must learn to see with the Force that which cannot be seen through any other means. Reach out with your feelings, my Apprentice, search this place for what we seek and discover any obstacles that might bar our path.”
Torellia was still far from sure about what the Force was (or how exactly one reaches out with feelings for that matter) but she was hardly about to question Nefarious. Shutting her eyes, Rawk emptied her mind as best she could and opened her senses to her surroundings. For a moment there was nothing then there was...not a smell really, but that was the only way she could conceivably describe the sensation. She became conscious of the miasma of death that hung in this place, languidly rolling through the halls. Years – no decades – of death that had seeped into the walls, that oozed into the very surface of the planet itself. No living thing moved here, they had walked into a massive crypt.
She could also feel the ruination that loomed all about her. Walls crushed under the weight of battle, roofs slowly eroding under the seasonal march of acid rain, and near the center of it all...
Torellia's eyes shot open and she announced, “I know where the superlaser is.”
Nefarious gave a toothsome smile, “Onward!”
Marching through the halls, the party at length came to a deep, well-like depression built into a portion of the castle that had clearly been wracked and scorched by an explosion. Shining their rifle lights down the depression, the troopers revealed a mass of twisted metal lying amid piles of rubble at its bottom. Picking their way down the unstable overlooks floor by floor, the Imperials eventually made their way down to the pile of materials.
Kicking over some duracrete chunks, Glasya examined the machine components before announcing, “Yep, that's a superlaser alright.”
Soon droves of engineers and labor droids were being shuttled down from the fleet in orbit to Bast Castle, and the grim silence of the fortress was broken. Once the components of the weapon-of-mass-destruction were in a plain view, the engineers began to comb over them to ultimately conclude that they could be repaired and installed in the Nefarious Intent. The giddiness Darth Nefarious displayed at this news was almost more unnerving to behold than his wrath, though it had the comparative advantage of not leading the Marauder to randomly slaughter a member of his crew.
As the superlaser parts were being hoisted up the depression by cables, Torellia suddenly felt her gaze drawn to a pile of rubble stacked against a segment of crumbling wall. Walking towards it, she placed a hand against the rubble's jagged edges. Though Rawk was never part of the small portion of her species that displayed inherent psychometric abilities, she could only imagine the strange sensations that currently entered her perceptions were somehow similar.
Glasya turned a concerned eye towards her friend and, seeing this, Torellia looked back and said, “There's something here.”
Labor droids were set upon clearing away the debris and Torellia's insight was confirmed when, behind it, was discovered a passageway. This hall had clearly been hidden behind a false wall which had only been breached when the superlaser had previously exploded, meaning it was unlikely that the last occupants of Bast had known of its presence. Stormtroopers illuminated the passage with their rifle lights, while Nefarious and his Apprentices moved in alongside them (the Gen'dai Sith having to slouch down in the tight confines).
The secret tunnel terminated in a tall, conical chamber, illuminated only by a series of small, pulsating lights that were obviously part of some machine. Whatever the machine's purpose, all three Force-sensitives could tell it contained the presence that Torellia had sensed. An enterprising stormtrooper discovered the chamber's light control panel and, with the flip of a lever, illuminated the room.
With sufficient lighting now present, the machine in question could be clearly seen as a stasis pod attached to several monitoring devices. Inside the pod rested a human man with short, dark hair and a clean-shaven squared jaw who was clad in a set of armor reminiscent of the Emperor's Crimson Guards, though with more prominent pauldrons and a far less voluminous cape. At his side hung a lightsaber and around his head was half a metal band on which colored lights flickered.
“You have redeemed yourself in my eyes with this discovery, my apprentice!” Nefarious addressed Torellia, “I can sense the Force emanating from this being; another recruit for the Sith! But what is *that*?”
Rawk followed Nefarious' pointed finger with her eyes until they rested on the metal band on the man's forehead. “It's a device to insure that the subject of long-term stasis doesn't suffer mental damage, master,” she explained, “It causes them to remember their life over and over again in perfect detail while they are comatose.”
“Bah,” Nefarious grumbled, “I required no such device to preserve my mind when I slumbered for millennia.”
“Yes, clearly you didn't need any sort of mental preservation, Master Nefarious,” Glasya commented, her sarcasm just slipping out. But any fear her accidental insubordination would elicit punishment was dispelled when Nefarious' response proved that he had as little sense of irony as he did empathy.
“Indeed so,” he replied to her before commanding, “Awaken the sleeper.”
Engineers were brought down the secret passage to the chamber that they might fulfill the Sith's instruction. They tapped away with the feverish intensity of technicians faced with a new challenge. A challenge they soon proved more than equal to as the wakening process began.
***
In his stasis pod, Aurelius Malreaux dreamed. It was the same dream he'd been living in for decades now: the dream of his past. Rusty green waters laden with acid crashed with a sluggish heaviness against jagged, corroding rocks underneath dark, sky-choking clouds. To most the image would hardly evoke pleasant feelings but, for Aurelius, these sights were wrapped in the gilded patina of childhood nostalgia. He had spent uncounted hours walking along this beach in his youth. His wandering ended in the dream the same way it so often had in fact.
“Honorable Viscount, oh, honorable Viscount!” the droning voice of the protocol droid RQ-HN was raised as its originator tried to move along the rocky outcroppings of the shore without tripping over their stiff legs.
Aurelius sighed and turned his gaze back to the seemingly endless acid ocean.
“Oh, Lord Malreaux please,” RQ pleaded, approaching closer at an only-slightly faster pace, “The rain is coming soon and Master Cyrus says you must come home immediately for your lessons. Oh...Lord Malreaux...please...”
The lad sighed again and, giving himself a last lingering moment, replied, “Fine, RQ, I'm coming.”
Walking back up the cliffs towards Chateau Malreaux only silenced the protocol droid's whining for a time. As, before long, the boy was outpacing RQ-HN by climbing the cliffs rather than walking around the winding trail through less severe rises. But the droid's fussing about how it would be caught out in the acid rains and be reduced to scrap hardly moved him. He knew that RQ was fully insulated and their casing treated against such dangers, and Aurelius hardly had interest in indulging the droid's eccentricities.
Pulling himself up to a plateau, Aurelius stopped for a moment to gaze at the decaying edifice that had been home for his whole life. Chateau Malreaux's unusual height and looming presence had lead the (notably few) inhabitants of Vjun to colloquially dub it the “Tall House.” Once it been a work of beauty, just like once the people of Vjun had thrived. There was little sign left of either of these past glorious now, however, and the Tall House's dilapidated condition reflected the dying population of the planet.
Aurelius walked through the double doors that were the Tall House's main entrance just as the latest bout of Vjun's perennial acid rains began.
“You're late, as always,” there was no need to look up to the top of the grand stairs from whence the voice had come for the young Viscount to know that it belonged to Cyrus Reglia. Even if Cyrus were not the only other living being to reside in Chateau Malreaux, his voice was one Aurelius had known from his first memories.
Reglia had been the Malreaux family's majordomo since before Aurelius' father had died and, after his mother's suicide, Cyrus had been the one to raise him. Considering that Aurelius could scarcely remember his earliest few years, Cyrus Reglia was the only parental presence he had consciously known.
“I'm sorry,” Aurelius said half-heatedly.
“A nobleman does not lie!” Cyrus' cold reprimand was reflective of the manner in which he was bringing up young Malreaux: inflexibly traditional, and uncaring in its formality. “Hours spent gazing off into nowhere won't prepare you for your responsibilities as Viscount, and I can't imagine what you find so diverting about it in the first place that you can't bear to tear yourself away to attend your duties. Now come along, you've wasted enough time already.”
As Cyrus turned and Aurelius followed with leaden steps, RQ-HN burst through the door, but the lad paid the droid no mind.
“Oh my, oh my,” RQ wailed, “I'm positively drenched in this awful acid rain. Oh no; I mustn't let any get on the floor!”
Even within the depths of the memory loop dreams (enhanced as they were in accuracy and vividness by neurotechnology) Aurelius' memories of Cyrus' lessons were largely a blur – an uncomfortable and boring blur. Stories of the Right-Honorable forty-seventh Viscount Malreaux, and how his meeting with Planetary Governor so-and-so illustrated the importance of formal courtesy in diplomacy didn't leave a lasting impression. The only part Aurelius had enjoyed, and consequently the only part he recalled well, had been fencing practice. But such sessions were few and far between, and he hardly had any luck receiving them on the all-too-frequent days in which he'd angered Cyrus with his behavior. But the stream of Aurelius' induced memory-dreams returned to coherence as they moved past Cyrus' tutelage to focus on a far more pleasant routine occurrence.
Tiny, pebble-like bits of rubble produced a click-clack as they struck his bedroom window in an established signal that drew his excited attention. Aurelius opening that window was all the response needed for Sarela to throw the makeshift grappling hook the two kids had made together up to latch on the sill. Quickly descending down the attached line, Aurelius met with his friend where she stood on one of the Tall Houses' many layers of overhanging roofs. As far the pair knew, they were they only peers they had on Vjun, and being the only people their age on the planet had proved the basis for a close bond.
Scrambling down one of many safe paths the duo had discovered among the sagging exterior structure of Chateau Malreax, they found their way to the ground. Running amid the rocks, their happy shouts drowned out the slapping of their acid-proof galoshes' soles as their feet fell against surfaces that had been soaked in the freshly-abated rain. Their destination was where they usually went immediately after the rains: a series of small crags on a particular patch of coastline. Immediately following a rainstorm, the subterranean glow-worms would dare to venture into daylight on the rising water, drawing whip-smelt fish in to the muddy shallows to feast. The two youngsters would use spears of their own making to compete in catching the whip-smelts whilst chatting enthusiastically underneath the sound of pirate gulls cawing in the sky. No matter who speared the most whip-smelts, however, every one of them went back with Sarela for her family whenever the time came for them to part ways again.
While Cyrus periodically expressed disapproval for the friendship, even the hidebound old-timer wasn't hardhearted enough to undertake a serious effort to keep Aurelius from the only other child his age. Once Aurelius became a teenager, however, Cyrus became far more stringent in his insistence that the young man stay away from Sarela. But by the time Reglia chose to fight the obvious tide, its rising was already unavoidable. It was only days after Aurelius came of age – ending any direct power Cyrus had to check the Viscount's decisions – that he declared his and Sarela's intent to wed.
“You must marry into a noble family worthy of the dignity of House Malreaux,” the voice with which Cyrus protested Aurelius' actions had grown much weaker by those days, blunted by his old age and the young man growing into his own power.
“What dignity does House Malreaux have left, Cyrus?” Aurelius' manner of exchange with his counterpart had changed too, his voice no longer raised in the complaints of a child but instead calmly determined, “Ask yourself honestly, what aristocratic lineage would see Malreaux as anything anymore?”
“Several years ago I had promising discussions with House Vex...” the old man's voice trailed off as he searched his memory for specifics.
“Vex? You've proved my point for me,” Aurelius did Cyrus the dignity of not mentioning that the old man had forgotten that the Vex had backed out of those discussions last year, “What would the Vex care for our planet? Only Vjun can restore Vjun – you taught me that. I don't need to marry some off-worlder; I need to marry someone who was born of this planet, who understands its ways and people, and who can help me bring it back to life.”
Debate on the subject was largely a pointless formality. Cyrus wasn't in the habit of changing his opinions on anything, and the Viscount wasn't going to be kept from what he thought to be the right course now that he ruled Vjun in fact.
The wedding was the first time in many decades that the Tall House received residents of Vjun as guests. Every surviving being that dwelt on the planet was invited, and the declining structure was made as appealing as possible. But, though the bright decorations only drew more attention to the Chateau's state by clashing with its moldy tones, the spirit of the gathering was genuinely festive. The celebration served to dispel much of the dark mystery the Tall House held for the surviving Vjunites, and many for the first time in their lives had a face to associate with their Viscount. The spirit of that party would linger for years to come, and inspire many to donate some small monies or even volunteer time and effort to help slowly restore Chateau Malreaux.
Aurelius and Sarela too tried to keep the hope of that day alive. The hope grew when she became pregnant, but began to dim when the later stages began to strain her health. Sarela died giving birth and the child died only a few minutes out of the womb. Their offspring had been...inhuman, monstrous, indescribable. Darkness seeped into the Tall House, far deeper than before; the gloom becoming a tenebrous abyss. It took time for Aurelius' strained mind to think to confront Cyrus as to what might have caused the tragedy.
Though the majordomo had done everything he could to keep Aurelius from the truth of what had decimated Vjun's population and the Malreaux family, he had learned it in his childhood from Sarela and others. Aurelius knew that his father had been obsessed with learning how to manipulate midichlorians to the point that one of his experiments nearly depopulated the planet and cost the old Viscount his own life. Aurelius knew that his mother had given his brother Whie away to the Jedi out of fear for what his father might do to him, and he knew her regret over this act had driven her to madness and a crazed scheme to find Whie again that ultimately drove her to her own death. Now he needed to know if Sarela's death had been another consequence of the old Viscount's actions.
“I suppose the child could have been the result of the lingering effects your father's experiments had on both your genetics...” Cyrus mumbled.
Aurelius saw through the this-time-feigned confusion Reglia was evidencing, “People on Vjun continue to have healthy children every year; nothing like this has ever happened here before!”
Cyrus stroked his brow too hard as he acquiesced under more scrutiny than he could handle in his advanced age, “Yes but your genetic structure is...more a product of your father's ghastly experiments than any other.”
What do you mean?!” it was all Aurelius could manage not to physically shake his ailing majordomo.
“Your father was already dead when you were conceived; in fact...it is not truly correct to say that anyone is your father.”
Aurelius was silent, unable to parse what Cyrus meant.
“After the regret over your brother being sent to the Jedi and the grief of your father's death pushed your mother to the brink,” Reglia explained, seeing Aurelius' incomprehension, “She used your father's research to conceive you by herself. Your very life is a consequence of your father's unnatural deeds.”
Aurelius nearly fell backwards, his face growing sickly pale at the revelation.
“It was that desperate mad obesseeion that led your mother to swear allegiance to a Sith Lord named Count Dooku,” Cyrus went on, “Only with his dark knowledge was she able to progress your father's work far enough to create you. The blackguard used her in service of his plots then tried to dispose of her when she was no longer of use. She saw your brother one last time and, finally understanding clearly all the wrong she had done, could no longer live with herself.”
As his mind pushed past the initial shock, rage began to grow in Aurelius, “...And you kept this from me...my entire life...”
“I never wanted you to have to think about the awful affair. I destroyed everything I could find from that horrid time and I...” suddenly the old man began to gasp for air.
Even before the old Viscount had altered it, the Malreaux blood was strong in the Force. And though Aurelius had never been trained even slightly in its use, the sliver of reason left in the midst of his black rage told him that was how he was presently throttling Cyrus from across the room. As the old man gurgled out his last, strained breath; the rage abandoned Aurelius and all that remained was despair.
This stretch of memory was what had for years turned the cognitive loop meant to stave off brain damage into an unintentional torture device. That period of soul-gnawing blackness, those years of living in a purely silent agony, was something Aurelius had been forced to endure again and again a countless number of times now. Or perhaps – he was sometimes able to wonder in his sleep – there was nothing unintentional about this torture given the nature of the man who had put Aurelius in here.
Just as the hope engendered by the wedding had spread outwards to the population, so too did the darkness of the deaths in the Chateau seep into Vjun's people. As Aurelius withdrew from them completely, any volunteer efforts to restore the Tall House gradually ceased and it once again became a distant, darkly looming presence for the Vjunites. The Viscount dwelt in bleak solitude, with the gradually degrading RQ-HN as the only other presence in Chateau Malreaux.
A mind kept in such a state as Aurelius then suffered wanders down a million pathways, none of which are healthy. It wasn't long before one of those pathways led him to a thought that revolted but drew him back over and over again until it became a fixation. Aurelius needed to know fully how the experiments that conceived him had shaped his genetic essence. A blinding need to understand became his only means to shut out even a portion of his despair. He had no illusions that such knowledge could reverse his situation, and he swore that he would never use such knowledge to repeat his father's atrocities, but he madly hoped to win some small conquest over his condition by exposing it to light.
Aurelius' monomaniacal pursuit began with a frantic search of every square inch of the Chateau. Despite Cyrus' purge of his father's notes and devices, Aurelius was feverishly certain some remnants must have missed the old majordomo's eyes in the baroque labyrinth that was the Tall House. Eventually discovering some scattered journals, he spent uncounted sleepless days learning the necessary scientific disciplines to understand his father's work. The Viscount's feverish determination pushed him to acquire the necessary understanding at a prodigious rate. Nothing else mattered anymore, nothing could distract him from this venture was both the sole object of and the only thing sustaining his will.
But learning how to understand the documents he'd found only gave Aurelius more questions. He'd known the time would come when he would have to start experimenting with his own blood; it was a step he didn't even blanch at taking now. Purchasing equipment to examine was easy, what was more difficult was acquiring the devices needed to repeat some of the old Viscount's initial experiments. The Empire seemed keen on keeping people from freely doing exactly the sort of research Aurelius was engaged in, but he, of course, hardly cared.
When his first successful purchase attempts brought no unwanted attention, it initiated sequentially bolder and bolder involvements in the medical blackmarket. Any worries about potential consequences rapidly faded from Aurelius' hyper-fixated mind. The sense of danger only returned on the day an unannounced Imperial vessel landed at Chateau Malreaux.
As RQ-HN stalled the disembarking Imperials, Aurelius went about sealing the hidden entrance to his laboratory. The Tall House was huge, dimly illuminated, and disorientingly complex; he was confident they wouldn't find his secrets if they were to conduct a search.
Satisfied with his obfuscation, Aurelius made his way down to meet with the Imperials and begin his deception. Exiting the doors nearest the landed vessel, Aurelius was confronted with an imposing figure covered totally in dark armor looming over RQ.
“Ah, here is the master of the house,” the protocol droid said in naive ignorance of the situation's tension, “Most Honorable Viscount Malreaux, allow me to announce Lord Vader of the Empire.”
As the dark figure stalked towards him, Aurelius could feel his immense presence in the Force.
“It is an honor to have you at my estate Lord Vader. To what do I owe...” Aurelius nervously began his attempt to influence the situation but he was cut short.
“You have had legally-restricted medical devices smuggled onto Vjun,” Vader's voice resonated bluntly from his grated mask, “I want to know what purpose you've put these devices towards.”
“Oh, Lord Vader, I must protest,” RQ interjected, “It's simply not proper for you to address the Viscount in this manner...”
Vader raised and closed a fist in the air, causing the droid to be destroyed in a small explosion of sparks and smoke.
Swallowing hard, Aurelius did all he could to keep up a facade, “My lord, I don't know what you mean. The only medical devices on Vjun are at the clinic...”
“You will show me where you keep the machines you've had smuggled in,” this time Vader's voice resonated not just physically but in the depths of Aurelius' mind. The Viscount's body was invaded by Vader's will, and he mechanically began the walk back to his secret lab.
As the hidden door swung open at Aurelius' touch, he could feel the compulsion Vader put him under lift and a deep panic descend. As the black-clad Imperial walked from machine to machine, and riffled through the scattered notes, Aurelius desperately tried to decide on a course of action. Attack Vader? Seal him in the lab and try to flee? The possibilities rushed through his mind but he remained frozen in place, unable to act on any of them.
When Vader turned to address him, what the Dark Lord said next shocked any other thoughts from Aurelius' head.
“You will continue your experiments, but I am now going to be your primary subject.”
For a moment the haze of shock and confusion lifted, parted by the anger elicited by how this moment paralleled with a past one.
“No,” Aurelius said sternly, “Once House Malreaux was robbed of its dignity and betrayed when my mother swore allegiance to Count Dooku. Kill me if you wish; I won't repeat my mother's mistake by subordinating myself to an outsider.”
“I know of your mother's dealings with Dooku,” Vader again shocked Aurelius with his words, “And I was present when he tried to kill her. Further, I am the one who ultimately killed the Count. And so, by your House's dignity, you owe me a nobleman's debt.”
In that moment Aurelius recognized – feeling it perhaps through the Force – that Vader was the medium by which his research would progress. With the Viscount's acquiescent, Vader ordered him to gather all his notes before calling in stormtroopers to carry off the equipment. As the items and Aurelius were rising aloft with Vader in his shuttle, the Viscount assumed his work was going to continue off-world. His assumption proved wrong, however, as Vader called down a bombardment from a ship in orbit.
Bands of deadly light descended from acidic clouds upon Chateau Malreaux. The skies glowed with the bombardment's wrath as the Tall House crumbled and burned under its onslaught.
It would be days before Vader deigned to enlighten Aurelius as to his reasons for this display. On the commanding heights where the chateau once stood, the Sith Lord intended to raise a personal fortress he would call Bast Castle. Now Vjun was coming to life again, but not at the hands of the Vjunites themselves; the swirl of new activity and rising population came from the influx of Imperials who would man Fortress Vader – and the locals would serve their needs above all else.
Vader appointed Aurelius as the fortress' Castellan, leaving the Viscount to manage the gradually rising construction during his lengthy absences. At first Vader's visits consisted solely of receiving progress reports on Bast and conducting experiments. These latter were bearing new fruit by the session with the addition of Vader as a second subject, but Aurelius' progress was hampered by the Sith Lord's continued refusal to disclose what exactly he was looking to discover. As months passed, however, Aurelius found that Vader had taken an interest in contriving tests for him: first tests of leadership and strength, then tests of Force ability.
As Aurelius continued to pass these tests, they in time evolved into more formal training. Soon Aurelius was learning to manifest Force Powers, and later Vader began instruction in the arts of the lightsaber. It was after one such brutally taxing lightsaber lesson, as Aurelius drew more blood from Vader for testing, that he finally learned the truth.
“My lord,” Aurelius tread carefully as he broached the subject, “I am rapidly reaching the limits of what I can learn from these experiments...”
“It is not wise,” Vader interrupted, “Announcing that you are no longer of use to me.”
“Lord Vader, there is only so much anyone can find if they don't know what they're looking for. You have kept your aims for this work hidden from me since it began; without knowing what you want how am I to deliver it? Have I not done everything you asked of me? Have I not proven my loyalty time and again?”
“You are badly mistaken to believe that loyalty can ever be truly proven,” the Sith Lord chided, “But I will tell you now the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise.”
Aurelius was uncertain what Sith legends would have to do with his query but he wasn't about to risk insulting Vader by voicing that uncertainty, especially at this moment.
“Darth Plagueis,” he began, “Was a Dark Lord of the Sith so powerful that he had the ability to influence the Midichlorians to create life. Such was his power in the Dark Side that he could even prevent others from dying. His power, however, did not save him when his apprentice – my Master – killed Plagueis in his sleep. Since then the Emperor has coveted the secrets that died with Plagueis and, when he first began my instruction, claimed that together we would discover them. It was not until later that I began to suspect why he thought I could help him unlock that knowledge.”
“Throughout my youth my mother insisted that I had no mortal father – that she had simply conceived me without knowing how. This is part of what led the Jedi to believe that I was their prophesied Chosen One. But, in the years that have followed the Empire's birth I have begun to wonder whether was I born of the Force's intercession or if am I the product of Plagueis' dark science. It is your task to help me determine the answer to that question and, if I was created by Plagueis, to reverse engineer his secrets from my blood.”
Aurelius was struck motionless by a sensation that he had not felt in a long time: hope. The power to create life...a thousand things he would do with such knowledge raced through his mind and seized his heart and washed away any mindfulness of the oath he had taken to never attempt practical application of his research. The power to restore life...
Removing himself from the equipment and rising above Aurelius, Vader turned to loom over the other man and ordered him to kneel. When Aurelius had done so Vader began to speak once more.
“There are only two fates for anyone who is given secrets of the Sith like those I have just told you,” the Dark Lord explained, “The first is death – which still waits for you if you fail me – but for now I recognize you as my secret Sith Apprentice. Serve me well and together we shall unlock the mysteries of the Midichlorians and overthrow the Emperor.”
Vader's reasoning for putting Aurelius through tests and training suddenly made much more sense to the Viscount, who now felt the possibility of a future opening for him for the first time in years.
“I will not fail you, my master,” Aurelius said, trembling with elation.
“See that you do not,” Vader replied, his demeanor no less stern than usual despite the momentous occasion.
Over the ensuing years, Aurelius' work with Vader intensified. His training grew deadlier and more demanding now that he was to be counted among the Sith, and with his knowledge of Vader's goals the Midichlorian experiments reached a new fevered intensity. But, when the Death Star was destroyed, Vader knew the Emperor would begin scrutinizing his activities more closely.
Darth Vader told his apprentice that he was to be placed in stasis, only to emerge when the time had come for him to play a part in the Emperor's demise. And then – with the entirety of the Empire's scientific capabilities at their disposal – they would unlock the secrets of life and death.
It was normally at this point, with the image of Vader's visage fading into darkness as the stasis pod activated, that Aurelius' memory-dreams would return once more to the beginning. But, with a shocking, cold rush, the Viscount felt his mind awaken.
Pain rushed up his arms as his forward fall was broken by the palms of his hands. He felt the neurotech band on his head yanked loose, and through his blurred vision could only see some strange, sinuous appendage drawing it away from him. As his eyesight slowly refocused, the Viscount saw a pair of armored boots a meter or so away from him.
“Lord Vader?” he asked, but as his gaze traveled upward, instead of his master, he saw a creature seemingly made of the horrid, writhing sinews he'd just previously observed interwoven with plates of heavy armor.
“Vader is dead,” the monster said, “And so is his Emperor. I am Darth Nefarious, and I am here to claim everything of worth in this place for Darth Groznii, Dark Lord of the Sith and ruler of the Empire. I sense the Force within you but, tell me, who are you and are you of worth to the New Sith Order?”
Aurelius had almost reached for his lightsaber when Nefarious proclaimed Vader's demise, but when it was quickly followed by mention of Palpatine's death he thought better of it. Clearly this being was not here to kill him for Vader's betrayal in taking Aurelius as a secret Sith Apprentice. Seeing the figures of stormtroopers lurking behind Nefarious, Aurelius decided there was nothing to recommend fighting over talking in the strange scenario in which he'd awoken. His best bet for surviving long enough to determine what had happened during his slumber was to ingratiate himself to this new ruling clique in the Empire.
“I am Darth Aristo,” he dared to use the Sith name Vader had given him, in hopes that this 'New Sith Order' was, as the phrasing of its title seemed to imply, no longer in the habit of hewing to the Rule of Two, “Apprentice to Darth Vader, Castellan of Bast, Viscount of Vjun.”
“You are now Apprentice to Darth Nefarious,” the Gen'dai announced, confirming Aristo's suspicions, “Rise and swear yourself to me!”
Aristo lifted himself to his feet then bowed at the waist before his new master.
“Now come,” Nefarious ordered, “We will soon depart for my flagship.”
Nefarious wasted no time in turning to stalk out of the chamber and back into the secret tunnel. Aristo pushed through the slight vertigo that was assailing him in the brief time since his awakening.
“My lord,” Aristo objected cautiously, “Do you not need me here to govern Bast Castle? I have been its keeper since it was constructed and...”
“I do not presently require this fortress for my purposes,” Nefarious cut him off, “If I ever do so I may choose to send you back here but, for now, you shall serve my will by my side.”
“Yes, my lord,” Aristo knew better than to press any further. Emerging from the tunnel, the recently-awakened Sith looked up in flabbergasted bewilderment at the state of Bast Castle. “What happened here?” he wondered aloud in the face of its ruination.
Nefarious looked to the two Kiffar women following him for some kind of explanation. Based on the pair's presence in the Force, Aristo assumed these were Nefarious' other Apprentices – and thus his rivals. The one with blue chevrons tattooed on her cheeks replied with a shrug and simply ventured, “The New Republic did it probably, I guess?”
The New Republic? Aristo again wondered inwardly at just what had happened in his absence. Had the Rebellion really managed to accomplish so much during his hibernation?
Looking up again, the Castellan could scarcely believe the state to which Fortress Vader had fallen. In its ruination it had almost begun to resemble the Tall House. A cold surge of terror swept through Aristo as recalling the old Chateau brought to mind something of vital importance to him.
“Lord Nefarious,” he beseeched, “Before we depart, I beg you to allow me to recover several items that will be of immense use to the Empire.”
The Marauder turned to look at the progress of his engineers in removing the superlaser parts before replying, “Very well, but make sure you do not delay me.”
Hastily bowing, Darth Aristo proceeded to Force Jump his way up the laser well's crumbling overlooks before dashing off into the halls. Despite the lack of illumination, Aristo moved unhindered. He'd seen Bast Castle rise floor-by-floor during its construction and his desperation sharpened his ability to sense his environment through the Force. It was only when he reached his destination that sunlight shone on his face for the first time in decades.
“No...no...” Aristo nearly collapsed to his knees when he beheld the location where once his laboratory was hidden, now nothing more than a gaping hole in the castle's structure looking out on the acidic skies of Vjun. All of it – the machines, his research – had been destroyed.
***
Standing on the Infinite Way's bridge, amid the activity of the crew as they guided the ship through hyperspace, Torellia Rawk turned at the sound of approaching footsteps, whose originator she surmised before having to look. Glasya was awkwardly silent for a time before asking her friend, “Where's his illustrious lordship?”
“Still eating,” Torellia replied.
Glasya shuddered at this. She'd only watched Nefarious begin eating for a few moments before having to leave. It was a barbarous sight that she wouldn't even inflict on the person whom she most hated in the galaxy...though, in all honesty, that title probably belonged to Nefarious at this point anyway.
“And what about Viscount Broods-a-lot?” she asked, using the unflattering nickname she'd dreamed up for Aristo since his inclusion in Nefarious' forces.
“Still brooding,” Rawk replied, the exchange only allowing for the briefest moment of levity between the two.
“And how long until we arrive at the...” Glasya found her speech catching when she tried to refer to the Nefarious Intent. Even the name of that ship caused her body to seize at the grim remembrance of what had transpired there.
“The fleet should begin exiting hyperspace in about twenty minutes,” Torellia's voice was flat and laden with that same remembrance.
Silence gripped the two friends. In the long periods of slow or no activity that characterized hyperspace travel, it was impossible for them not to fixate on the events that had so radically and irrevocably altered their lives in the past days. They could still hear Ithrorian screams at the edge of their consciousness in every quiet moment. And there was a strain between them now; Glasya could tell that Torellia on some level resented her for shooting the Kiffar who had tried to kill them. She imagined that her friend believed that they both would have deserved such a fate...and Glasya wasn't sure that she disagreed with the sentiment herself.
Konshi simply hung about the bridge mutely; having nothing further to say and nowhere else to be. Eventually the silence was pierced by a crew member giving information to Torellia. The Kiffar woman raised an eyebrow at the news and had a comm channel opened to Nefarious.
“What is it?” the Sith Marauder demanded over the sickening sounds of his feasting.
“Master,” Rawk asked, “Should the crews from the Empire have arrived at the Intent yet?”
“No,” Nefarious responded, “They won't have come for days yet; we'll have plenty of time to install the superlaser.”
“The first ships from the fleet to exit hyperspace have reported that there are unidentified Imperial vessels stationed in a defensive formation around the dreadnought,” Torellia explained.
“What?” Nefarious noisily swallowed the half-chewed mess in his mouth out of surprise, “I'm on my way.”
The Marauder had arrived on the Way's bridge just as it began to exit hyperspace, revealing the mysterious fleet to him visually. Aristo had arrived also, summoned by his master.
Glowering at the Imperial star destroyers hovering around his prize, Nefarious ordered comm channels to be opened and began to bluster. “Attention unidentified fleet: I am Darth Nefarious and I have caught you red-handed trying to steal my flagship! Identify yourselves and beg for mercy and I may grant it!”
A heavily-accented voice responded across the comms, “Yew fewl! Aye em not afraaiid ov yew! Yew are no twue Ziith, merely a Dark Jedaii!”
“Insolent cur!” Nefarious bellowed in reply, “I am second only to the Dark Lord himself: Darth Groznii! You will suffer for your insolence!”
“Ha! Aye scoff in yewr gzenerahl direct-sion, so-called Nefarious Darth!” the voice on the other end came back, “For aye em Darth Necronus and aye em zecond only to the twue Dark Lowd of ze Ziith: Darth Revangche-uh!”
There was a moment of silence as the four Sith aboard the Way's bridge tried to parse the name Necronus had given for his master.
“...Darth Ravage?” Aristo ventrued.
“Non! Darth Revangche-uh!” Necronus replied, not making the situation any clearer.
“...Darth...Orange?” Torellia asked.
“Non! Non!” Necronus whined, “Not Darth Oran-ye! Darth Revangche-uh!”
“Ha, do you claim to have been trained by Darth Revan?” Nefarious scoffed.
“Not Rei-vahn!” Necronus protested, “Revangche-uh!”
“I feel like we're getting further away from it every time he repeats it,” Glasya commented.
“Zat eez becawze yew are fewlish Dark Jeedai, who know nothzing of ze ways of ze Ziith! Now take yewr fleet and go away, or aye zhall mock yew for a zecond time,” and with that, Necronus shut down the comm link from his side.
Nefarious growled before he began to bark orders, “Apprentices! Prepare to take the fight to this arrogant nerf herder! He is not worthy to die by my hand; you will deal with him – and his supposed master – personally while I command the battle here.”
As Glasya and her support squadron guided the boarding craft carrying Torellia and Aristo, along with squads of stormtroopers, towards the dreadnought in her Guardian vessel, the bizarre nature of this encounter only deepened. The TIEs that came to oppose their approach were of an unknown make, clearly highly customized in their design. But the additions and alterations almost-instantly proved impractical, and the only reason more of them weren't shot down by Nefarious' forces was that they kept fatally veering into each other. It was hardly a challenge for the boarding crews to reach the Sovereign-class' hangars and, as Glasya, Aristo, Torellia and their soldiers disembarked, they were met by enemy stormtroopers walking with an incredibly awkward gait.
“You there, intruders!” one of the stormtroopers called out in a voice that seemed much too tinny and high-pitched to be organic, “Stop in the name of the Confederacy of Indepen...I mean, in the name of the Empire!”
“Yeah, the Empire!” another concurred in a similarly odd voice.
“Blast them!” the original “stormtrooper” ordered.
“Roger, roger,” affirmed his fellows.
Unsurprisingly, the shots of “stormtroopers” whose helmets seemed to involuntarily rotate around heads for which they were ill-fitted, did not prove deadly in their precision. Before any shot could find its mark, Darth Aristo burst forward and, activating his lightsaber, began to reflect every bolt back towards their origin point with artful applications of the Shien Form. As the enemy troopers were vanquished in droves, their helmets fell off to reveal the repurposed B1 battle droids underneath.
Looking on covetously at this display of lightsaber prowess, Glasya considered that soon she too would be trained to wield such a weapon and, for the first time, saw a silver lining to serving Nefarious.
Back aboard the Infinite Way, an ensign reported odd news to the Sith Marauder.
“My lord,” the crew member said, “Our readings seem to have discovered something odd about the enemy fleet.”
“What is it?” Nefarious demanded impatiently.
“All except one of the enemy capital ships...seem to be fake,” they explained.
“Fake? What do you mean by that?”
“Scans suggest they're made out of...something I can only describe as space-worthy papier-mache. They don't even have engines; they're kept in a sort-of orbit around the one actual star destroyer by large internal magnets and made to look like they're flying by being filled with gasses.”
Nefarious considered that he hadn't fired on the opposing capital ships yet, only the enemy fighters...nor had any except one of those capital ships fired at his forces. And, once he did then order a barrage be directed at one of the enemy “star destroyers”, he discovered that the Infinite Way's bridge crew had correctly analyzed the situation as the target crumpled instantly.
“By the Force...” he breathed in absolute bewilderment, the Marauder's perpetual narcissistic rage short-circuited by the genuinely odd situation in which he found himself.
Meanwhile, the doors to the Nefarious Intent's bridge were forced open to admit the three Sith Apprentices. Having easily made their way past the repurposed B1s that had sought to bar their path through the ship, they now would face the masterminds of the theft...assuming one would dignify the perpetrators with such a lofty description.
“Zo yew havh made eet pahzt ze most eh-leet-uh of ze Empire's stormtroopehrs,” the voice of the Twi'lek in dark robes and Sith-tattooed lekku standing before them identified him as Darth Necronus to the trio, “But now yew zhall face doooom at ze hands of my mastair...Darth Revangche-uh!”
The throne Nefarious had installed on the dreadnought's bridge began to turn from the viewports towards the entrance, revealing another dark robed, tattooed Twi'lek man, who looked like a child in a chair the way his legs dangled off the throne designed for someone more than a meter taller than he.
“Yewr efforts havh been valorous,” the awkwardly enthroned man cooed confidently, “But now, Dark Jeedai, ze limits of yewr insignifi-kant power havh been reached. For yew cannot stahp me frwom fullfilling my dez-teny and enacting my plahnz for Imperial Revangche-uh!”
“Oooooh,” Glasya, Aristo, and Torellia said in unison as they simultaneously were finally able to puzzle out his name based on the last sentence's context, “Darth *Revenge*.”
“Oi, aye em Revangche-uh, Dark La-owd-uh of ze Ziith! Now, my apprwen-tace, fineesh zem!”
“Weeth pleaz-ure-uh, my mastair!” Necronus affirmed drawing and activating his blade.
Aristo squared off against Necronus but, after a moment of studying his opponent's weapon, said, “Wait, that's not a lightsaber; that's a lightfoil.”
“Non, eet's nawt!” Necronus objected.
“Wait, what's a lightfoil?” asked Glasya.
“It's like a watered-down lightsaber that those not sensitive to the Force can wield,” Aristo explained to the Kiffar before turning back to the Twi'lek and asking, “Are you even Force-sensitive?”
“Of course I em!” Necronus whined, “I am a Dark Lowd of ze Ziith! And zhis eez nawt a lightfoil; it eez an exotic lightzaber vari-ahnt zhat yewr fewlish Dark Jeedai mind eez too stoopeed to hahv heard of.”
“Can lightfoils reflect blaster bolts?” Glasya asked Aristo, ignoring Necronus' response.
“No,” Aristo replied, and no sooner had he said the word than Glasya gunned down Necronus with a blaster shot to the neck.
“Yew cowuurd-uhs!” Revenge hopped out of the throne angrily, “How dere yew azzazzinate my apprwenteece weeth zuch underhanded tacteeks! Now yew will fall by my hends!”
“Let me deal with this one,” Aristo said with a grin, as Darth Revenge drew his own lightfoil.
Revenge lunged forward in an attack that was easily deflected by Aristo. As the former's poor form left his guard too open while recovering, the latter took advantage to seize one of his foe's lekku. Aristo's intention to violently squeeze the sensitive portions of the Twi'lek's nervous system contained therein were frustrated when he felt a greasy substance slide over his hand and allow Revenge to slip free.
“What?” Aristo fumed as he first looked at the substance on his palm then at the freshly smeared “Sith tattoos” on Revenge's lekku, “Those aren't actual tattoos; you've painted them on!”
“Zhat eez nawt paint,” Revenge insisted, “Eet eez Ziith poisuhn and yew will drawp dead any zecond now.”
“No, it's not,” Aristo growled, “It's paint and now it's all over my gauntlet.”
The Twi'lek man looked about uncertainly for a moment, then reached into his robes, producing a substance which he flung towards Aristo.
It took only a wave of the Sith's hand to knock the impromptu projectile off course using the Force. Looking down at it Aristo was again utterly perplexed by this strange person's behavior. “Was that sand? Did you just try to throw sand in my eyes?”
“Non!” Revenge insisted, “Zhat was an ain-chant Ziith spell that uses...zand...from Koree-bahn!”
Utterly at his wits' end by this point, Aristo beat his foe's blade aside and beheaded him in a single, fluid attack. And so “Darth” Revenge fell, his plans for “Imperial Revenge” dying with him.
The three Sith Apprentices stood in perplexed silence for several moments before Torellia voiced the question they'd all be wondering for weeks to come, “...What in Chaos just happened here?”