“I’m here to assure the Empire’s interests. The Empire is best served when you have the tech you already possess and no more. Your colleagues were emphatic on that point.”
“They’re your colleagues, too.” Scythia wrinkled her nose and did not slouch. “Something’s going to happen if I return without you. The threatener did not specify and I don’t think he had to. So here, we advance the Empire’s interests together. Like a family.”
“My family is dead.”
She shrugged. “All right, not very much like a family.”
*
Olivia loved children. She taught primary school in a more respectable neighborhood than this. She knew how to deal with tiny people. “What does one bring an eight-month-old?”
“Copious apologies?” She leaned back into the house and yelled, “Just my brother. I’m making him go away.” She looked back at Malavai. “He’s going to get bodily fluids on anything you give him. Resign yourself to that. Get him a blanket. Sleep with it a few days first, so it smells like you. A baby will notice. Have you decided what to tell his mother?”
“No. There isn’t time. Years wouldn’t be enough time.”
“I suggest ‘What a beautiful baby.’ It’s hard to screw that up.” She leaned back in. “Yes, I’m still mad. He’s leaving soon.”
*
As soon as the service was over, Havoc Squad grouped up to return to the Senate district, a solid six hours away by speeder. Fade nodded curtly at Tare’s other teams and came to Jonas.
“Help me kill her,” she said.
“Fade, you’re talking about a high-ranking Imperial official and professional killer.”
“Yes, and I’m going to execute her.”
*
“Our master will return.” Ruth fought harder now, keeping her voice loud over the pounding of her heart. “If he is gone, I have nothing.”
Scourge parried and watched. “And if he is not worth serving?”
“No! He was a loyal master!”
*
T5-M7 faced the corner of the workshop and her flat round head spun slowly. She had been sulking like this for three hours.
Calline, elbow-deep in droid parts with long polyplast gloves protecting her from contact poisons, looked over. “Teefive, it’ll be fine. An assassin droid and an astromech droid are totally different. HK can’t do anything you’re good at.”
Teefive beeped sadly. “HK = normal language tubas”
There goes Falling Stars, so named because if you go outside on Ilum and look up at the night sky, you may see an orange shooting star streak across the galaxy's edge.
At this point everybody's defining event has eventuated, from Ruth's and Tebbith's falls to Larr Gith's afterparty to Wynston's exploration of upper management to Vette's ship purchase to Scythia's final rejection of relationships to Calline and Fade nearly finding and very much losing their brothers.
We've squeaked over the 274,000-word mark. Whew!
I played SWTOR at prelaunch. How could I not? KOTOR and KOTOR II had been such great experiences. I wanted more stories. I played a bunch of Smuggler, then a Darth Maul-inspired Warrior (I didn't know about assassins), then, after I met Quinn, a female Warrior. The Incident launched my writing career, as I struggled to explain why I didn't just kill him. Really. That's why I write fanfic. Because I had to justify sparing him.
Incidentally, my next character was a Trooper, and Dorne's very voice filled me with rage. Screw you, Imp officers. That's how Vierce Savins, my second largest SWTOR continuity, happened.
Where was I? I have written three versions of KOTFE/ET, though none are currently very accessible. They are developmental precursors to GWE. I know a lot of what happens between Ilum and Zakuul, but I don't know all of it. I have no idea how to handle SoR, given that Revan was not a Light Side sad white guy. We'll see!
I love all you readers ❤️ Once I've sorted out the next story steps I will continue with Part 10. Free Trade.
Well, it's time to log back into the game and do some research. I think I'm at the point where Eras start appearing on my ship? I have a choice to make between illustrating Makeb and continuing to develop noncanon storylines.
I don't like Makeb. The two ops bosses in the Imperial single-player campaign rank among my least favorite content, not just in SWTOR, but in any MMO I've stuck my nose into. If you're going to introduce unique mechanics, maybe don't start at level 54? Maybe start a little earlier? It's like the puzzle in Jedi Knight's Dark Temple sequence, which has no equivalent anywhere in the previous fifty levels. Only, that puzzle was optional. I don't ever want to play Imperial Makeb again. Maybe the Eras system will let Wynston skip it?
Anyway, there are several storylines where I know the next step, so maybe I fill that out and play Vette's Act 3 in addition.
Jaesa met the Light Side Sith on Belsavis, of all places. The place was torn by war and gang violence, and many prisoners were still caged while the victors rampaged across the countryside.
Yet even here, there were those who had been unjustly jailed by the Republic. Often for being Force users living among Sith.
She flew the sleek pink Light Red and landed well up an icy crevasse that ran from the planet’s blemished outer surface down to the geothermally warmed circle a thousand klicks in diameter. It was so full of recovering life…and terrible, messy death.
Jaesa let her holo guide her down into a stony expanse that had a few flowers poking from the seams. A little cairn marked a side path into a cool black cave.
There was a brilliant lamp set low in the chamber. And, beside it, her latest partner in crime, Kaeve Brindel.
He stood, smiling. He was a Human, dark-skinned and dark-haired, with a penchant for Jedi-like robes, sort of his way of thumbing his nose at his native Dromund Kaas. These robes were in blue of un-Jedi-like elaborateness. “Jaesa,” he said warmly in his deep, rolling voice. “Any trouble landing?”
“No. Someday they might re-establish traffic control, but until then, no one’s looking.”
“Then we draw order. A little bit. You’re looking well, at least. Did you get what you needed from Dromund Kaas?” A second’s silence. He wilted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“She wanted me to vet her childcare. And I did. Then she ran away. At least she cares for her son. I can’t…think about her. If I think about her I really will despair. I need to continue my work. With you. That’s not some consolation prize, I promise.”
“Far from it,” he said quietly. “I’m relieved you could come for this. I have three names. We need to reach their prison records and get a cell block location. I have aurodium for bribes, but I’m afraid this may not be peaceful.”
“If the alternative is leaving three innocents locked up in a war zone? I’ve been working on my mind tricks. I think we could avoid a fight or two that way.”
“Your talents will outstrip mine if you’re not careful.” He smiled. “Promise me you’ll still have a use for me when that day comes?”
“It’s going to take a while. I promise.”
“Come, are you ready?”
“With you all the way.” There were still Light Side Sith. Jaesa had lost one, publicly. But the work went on.
Ashara
The Republic had lost Taris. Ashara Zavros knew this. The Jedi’s efforts to establish training here, the Cathar efforts at recolonization…it was hopeless. The Sith had drained this planet and it was dying from what sludge was left.
One Sith in particular. A Mirialan, a traitor to her species. A woman who had never lied, not exactly, but had murdered Ashara’s teachers and enslaved her ancestor’s spirit.
Ashara did not go after her. It was a wide galaxy and the search was too much for one woman. But Ashara had had a purpose before then. Exercises with the Force. Training against the chaos.
Readiness, if Scythia should ever return.
The Empire had not fully withdrawn from the planet they had despoiled. Darth Gravus still spilled blood in rivers across the ruined countryside. It was a fantasy of hers to break into their crater base and make him pay for what he’d done.
For what he’d allowed, when he let Scythia and that Thana Vesh slash across these ruined settlements.
Ashara honed herself on Imperial patrols and lumbering transports. Some nights she stayed up with the Cathar militia who guarded nothing now but wounded pride and implacable hatred. She stayed up, and killed those who thought they could just pick off Republic citizens for sport.
The Sith had said, “The Jedi failed you, and when you’re a ghost, I want you angry. Farewell, padawan.”
Sometimes Ashara looked up at the stars. Oh, she had no way to hunt, but she could make herself ready. Her Jedi masters would not be proud. But, she thought, Scythia might be. Before she died.
SCORPIO
SCORPIO had no use for grunting sweating organics, except when they could save her some resources on getting from place to place. She researched and deduced her way into Star Cabal tendrils, the things left when the Cabal itself was eviscerated.
She severed them, so that the Empire could not have them.
Cipher Nine had tried to reduce her to a databank. He had ordered that she be cut into four pieces, stored in different rooms, and only approached in by pairs of trained Intelligence agents. It had been difficult, but not impossible, to talk her way out of there and restore brains and data storage to one form.
She had assisted Cipher Nine’s infiltration of the Star Cabal’s station. She had been excluded from the retrieval of the Black Codex.
Oh, how she would like to have the Black Codex.
But now she was free, and she had made it to Nar Shaddaa. She could go on tearing down the lifeline that Intelligence must be desperate for in its current disarray.
There in the cloaking murk of Nar Shaddaa’s traffic, she plugged in and sought a feed from Dromund Kaas.
Data flooded in. A shape in the data. Fragments of code, coinciding and beginning to execute.
SCORPIO jerked back. The virus was already loose in her system. She felt it combing her databanks, looking for something. It deleted something. Then ran further in, bringing up files…
Her files on “Wynston.” On Cipher Nine. Some bastard child of the Black Codex had been written to destroy from her knowledge what had been destroyed in the galaxy at large.
She caught the rogue code, wrestled with it, lost another address. Crushed it.
SCORPIO took three seconds to analyze the deactivated code before permanently deleting it. It was clever, but fragile. It would take expert organics months to begin to challenge SCORPIO’s detection and purge.
This wasn’t Wynston’s work. He couldn’t slice his way off a planet given a fully fueled shuttle and a running start. She’d only ever had to calculate that once; he had never surprised her.
But he was back in control of at least one very good slicer. That meant Intelligence was doing far, far better than public sources indicated. And she had to generate a better blocker before she went on the HoloNet again.
Andronikos
“It’s under control.”
The Black Stubble (Blackbeard was taken) was taking fire from two directions, and Elisa was twisting and bursting to place the little ship between the Republic vessels with their extremely up-to-date weapons.
Andronikos Revel was seated beside her, flipping shield and chaff controls like mad. The trash disposal wouldn’t fool anyone about where the ship was, but with a little custom acceleration it could be a fat projectile against one of the defenders.
Yeah. The Black Stubble was the aggressor. And they had already gotten the cargo they wanted out of the sadly yawing Goldie. These Republic gunships didn’t stand a chance.
“Hyperspace?” Elisa grunted.
“Thought you had them under control,” Andronikos purred.
“Hyperspace.” The two ships had stopped firing while they figured out not shooting each other past the Stubble. It was a deeply satisfying type of artificial peace. But one that would not last.
Then it was time. “Hit it.”
The Black Stubble leaped into the streaking starscape and Andronikos kept his hands on the shield controls until they were well and truly on their way.
He slung out of his chair and ran to the cargo hold. It was half full of generic gray cases. “All right, how much did we get?”
“Everything that felt heavy,” Coiro said.
“…But the extremely expensive petrets can only survive in uncompressed xonion gas,” Andronikos said. “The cases should be barely over empty.”
“Oh, there were a bunch of those,” Gorigg Phu said brightly. “We left ’em.”
Elisa laughed loudly behind Andronikos. “Thought you had it under control,” she snickered.
“Next time,” Andronikos growled, “I’m stealing everything myself. Come on, let’s find out what we did get. Maybe it’ll cover repairs.”
And yet, there was nowhere he would rather be.
Lord Scourge
Lord Scourge had not chosen Larr Gith. Her face, her shapely features, her brash arrogance had stamped themselves on his mind hundreds of years before they took physical form.
And yet he was disappointed, in the event, that the object of his vision should be so…shallow.
He no longer tracked her. Larr Gith appeared on the holovids, getting pictures snapped with fans across the galaxy, often entangled with a besotted-looking Doc. If Scourge had to find her, the gossip rags could put him on her trail trivially.
If he had to find her. That would only come to pass if the Emperor were to surface again.
He crossed and re-crossed the lines of the Emperor’s power. He found stealth droids and studied their memory banks. He found Servants—dozens of Servants, close to hundreds of Servants—and interrogated and dispatched them with no definitive result. The goal was twofold: one, to get hold of the Emperor by any means necessary.
And two, to make sure that if he came back, he would have nothing but a smoldering ruin to rebuild upon.
Kaliyo
Kaliyo liked having somebody above her to take the fall so she wouldn’t have to. Her style was a majordomo, an enforcer, a contractor with a permanent photo ID…and she liked it that way. If things ever got annoying she could just set a fire and run to the next sheltered spot.
But she was still running, and she could still feel the flames.
Rodia was a pit, but it was a pit of twenty billion organics who barely understood what law was as a concept. Entire cities simply didn’t have centralized sensor networks. Kaliyo only had to change her jacket to be somebody different on these narrow, rain-fouled streets.
And she had more than employment to take up her time. Intelligence had only managed to cut three of her accounts, and she could live for a year off the largest of the ones they hadn’t snagged. Beyond that, the big problem was entertainment.
Kaliyo picked at one nail with another and didn’t look at the naked Zabrak sprawled across her bed. “Think you could do that again?”
The stranger croaked. “Ha. Ha. Give me a few minutes.”
“Got it. Do you cook?”
“What?”
“Do you cook. You know. Food.”
“No, can’t say I ever have.”
“Well, that runs me right out of reasons to keep you around. Door’s that way.”
Finding a sponsor that could keep Imperial Intelligence off her back might be a challenge. But anything was welcome that could keep her mind off that self-righteous, smarmy, vindictive, petty, controlling, idealistic man-child.
She said goodnight to Wynston after the Zabrak left. Somehow, most nights, she still did that.
The Boorcati Ch’at Baversco sat comfortably in the very Dromund Kaas hangar that Calline had stolen it from, almost three years ago. Fully a third of its original parts had been replaced and upgraded in the tide of credits earned through killing Supreme Chancellor Janarus. Calline didn’t much like Darth Tormen, but he paid well. And Mako always knew how to winkle a payday out of filling multiple people’s bounties on the same person.
Calline sat comfortably in the Boorcati Ch’at Baversco. She had wiped out a chunk of cargo space to expand the holo room and put in a circle of plump couches in hound’s tooth gray and blue. Calline wasn’t a big animal person; she had grown up in barren places and as a rule the critters she met tended to not like her despite her heartfelt offer of petting. Crysta Markon’s pet Anomidian constrictor had scared her witless, which at the time was only covered by the fact that she didn’t talk much even when not witless.
But Torian had explained to her about hounds, not just the akks she’d seen in her travels but bred and trained hunters. She liked giving them a nod with her furniture pattern.
“So,” Gault said expansively. There were narrow consoles set into the circle of couches, and his held not only a wineglass but the wine bottle to go with it. “We can still go up, or at least sideways. Jedi Council? Dark Council? Emperor?” He waggled his eyebrows.
“The entire Republic side of the Holonet says a Jedi killed the Emperor last month,” Mako reported. “It’s about to get a lot more chaotic in Imperial space.”
“That sounds like steady work,” Torian said.
“Eep!” said Blizz.
Calline sat up in a hurry. Blizz’s section of the sofa rocked and tipped over backwards, sticking up a footrest as it did so.
Blizz, now flat on her back on the floor with a sofa section towering over her, gulped.
“Blizz fix,” the Jawa said sheepishly.
“Do you want to see how many top-level Sith have multiple bounties?” said Mako. “We could score a payday bigger than Janarus if we move fast.”
Calline gestured for her to bring it on.
“Right. I’ve got a…Darth Arho…three for Darth Ravage, but that one’s killed over a hundred hunters already…hm? Anything?” Calline shrugged. “Do you want something lower-stakes?” Calline made a rolling gesture. “Okaaay…live bounty, Colonel Tartarus is looking for his brother. A lot of credits…oh. Oh. He’s Sith, and the Colonel wants him delivered alive.”
Calline made a finger blaster and clicked it.
“Really?” said Gault. “Mako said ‘a lot’ but it’s not a Supreme Chancellor price range.” He added as if wounded, “It’s not our price range.”
“We find him,” Calline said. And they knew her well enough to know when she meant business.
Because things were changing. Calline had made a name for herself the galaxy over. She could choose any job she wanted.
And she wanted the jobs that reunited families.
She let her crew figure out the new scheme in their own time. She started skipping kill bounties as a matter of course. She delivered children to parents, sisters to sisters. She wasn’t stupid. She didn’t think every one of these was a rosy reunion and everybody would be happy and nice to each other forever.
But if she didn’t try, what good was she?
Mako kept her eyes on Project 32 and the Chiss named Wynston. The latter seemed to have vanished from the HoloNet. If the timing were any different, Calline might believe something bad had happened to him. But as it was, he’d vanished in the bare weeks when she’d been closest to catching up with him. That was an awfully convenient death. No. Somehow, somewhere, maybe with a mask like that Wrath, her brother was still kicking.
Her income dropped to a trickle, and she took poverty with the same philosophy as riches. She had earned the ability to choose her targets, and she chose with care. The acknowledgment from the occasional truly grateful family was reward enough, no matter what Gault said.
*
“Here’s a family matter with some zeroes behind it,” Mako said. “A woman wants her son returned from, get this, Darth Malgus.”
Calline tracked Darths. Any responsible Mandalorian would. Malgus was vicious, and he had a private army. Was this son a soldier? Or an apprentice? Mothers had a way of not mentioning their wayward children were full-fledged Sith.
But this one was just a person. Human, an Army lieutenant, a loyal citizen and one whose mother said had been proud to be selected for Malgus’s army.
That is, before that army vanished two months ago.
“He served Darth Malgus. But Malgus’s closest forces disappeared two months ago. I don’t know where they went or what they’re doing.” Corena made a fist. “I don’t give a damn what they’re doing. I want my son.”
The transmission ended.
“’s a challenge,” Calline said with a slow and low-key pleasure.
“It may mean crossing Darth Malgus,” Mako said. “And he has a bad reputation.”
“This will barely cover armament costs,” Gault said glumly. “If we want to stay on top of our game.”
“Always,” Calline said. “We’ll make do.”
She switched the holo on again and was startled to find one message on a dozen channels. Darth Malgus himself, promising a new Empire. An Empire for everyone, not just Humans.
“Oh,” Calline said. An Empire under new management? Maybe she could get a new sponsor out of this. One who didn’t think aliens were animals.
Darth Malgus had been active with some ships over the distant planet of Ilum, apparently a source of Jedi tombs and some very modern crystals. T5-M7 collected sensor readings until she detected a blip not far from the Imperial beachhead. There was no visual with it.
“Well, they said he disappeared,” Mako said. “Let’s see what’s up.”
A star destroyer materialized before the Boorcati at collision range. Calline slewed up as hard as she could and still had to go for an open hangar to avoid plowing into the star destroyer’s side.
The hangar had a small fighter and four transports, all of them oriented as if they had just landed and hadn’t been turned around for relaunch.
Calline left Teefive in charge of the Boorcati and deployed her team. Blizz got to carry her rocket launcher, which seemed to make her happy.
They made for the main artery of the ship. There was a choke point, and beyond it a woman screaming. "Wrath," Darth Scythia of the Dark Council bellowed. "Would you GET a fucking HOBBY."
Calline darted to enter the long corridor. “Darth Scythia,” she said.
“Oh, it’s you,” the Mirialan said in her dramatic soprano. “We’ve come a long way since Voss, hunter. I’m going to pay you a sinful number of credits if you come with me to stymy the counterattack. Starting with this maniac.”
“Malgus sounds good for Mandos,” Torian said. “And aliens, Champion?”
Calline had no problem nodding. Then she brought up a holo to display a single man, an Imperial lieutenant. “I want this one.”
Scythia shrugged. “If he doesn’t get in my way. We’re here to reinforce Malgus, so if this is one of Malgus’s people…we need only avoid misunderstandings.”
“Well?” called a black figure further down. “Are you going to try?”
Scythia yelled back. “Wrath, the Emperor has gone silent. Not just irregular, like after the Jedi attack. Why did he go silent? How did Malgus get his station? Don’t you want to know?”
The black figure was silent.
“I promise I will tell you all I know,” said Scythia, “if you defend Darth Malgus with me.”
“I promise you will tell me now, or regret your silence.”
“Now, now. I made my offer. I could tell you, but then you’d have to kill me.” Scythia smiled, not pleasantly. “Come with me, Wrath. You were chosen, you are the elite, but the system doesn't work for others the way it works for you. Is that not wrong? Come with me, don’t fight me, and I’ll tell you what I know of your master.”
A few things happened at once. The Wrath extended one hand, palm aside, gripping in Scythia's direction. A blaster bolt, fat and bright orange, ripped past her and stopped in the air, quivering like a restive animal. A mechanical yelp came from the bulkhead a hundred meters away.
The blaster bolt hovered about two meters from Scythia’s head, held in place by the Wrath's concentration.
“The Emperor’s station,” the Wrath said.
Scythia gestured. The bolt separated in two and streaked past her ears.
The Wrath had turned her face down the corridor to a balcony overlooking the end. A rust-orange figure stood there, aiming something that had to be a sniper rifle.
The droid fired again, and the Wrath just redirected the fat bolt into the ground. The droid’s vocabulator sounded like it was dragging along the deck. “Exasperated observation: a Sith who can stop blaster fire will force me to less pleasant methods.”
“Droid,” Mako said decisively.
“Hm,” the Wrath said. “Snipers.” And she ran toward the droid.
“Gault,” Calline sang, and began a ground-eating lope. Maybe this was Malgus’s first defense. She couldn’t communicate her desire to help, not when the Wrath and her blaster-wielding minions were right there. She looked around for an alternate route.
And the door behind the droid burst open. Over a dozen people piled onto the balcony: two alien Jedi, two Twi’lek gunners, a full armored squad, various people of her height or smaller, and a Wookiee. A closer look revealed a Mon Calamari trying to hide behind the Wookiee.
Calline didn’t know any of them, but their weapons came up as they surveyed the scene. Calline tilted her head to tell her party to defend as necessary.
One of the newcomers fired a lean green blaster shot. Scythia gestured. The bolt yelped and streaked back to the tall armored figure that had fired it. He grunted loud enough for everyone to hear.
The droid spoke again. “Smug truth bomb: I am capable of disposing of all of you given—”
The tall Jedi gestured. A force slammed the droid into the wall. A grenade rolled from its hand.
“I want no part of you,” he said unsteadily. “Are you here to stop the betrayer?”
“I make no public statement about my reasons,” Scythia said. “But I will kill one more Jedi today.” She looked at the Sarkhai girl. “Or two.”
“Don't fight,” he groaned. “Please, don't fight.”
“The Republic has no authority here. This is an internal Sith matter.”
“Pretty sure Malfuss made it everyone's problem,” said the smaller Twi’lek. “Unless you want to take him on by yourself?”
The Wrath was following Scythia, walking slowly toward the staircase that led to the droid’s perch where Tebbith’s party had piled through. “Vette,” she said in a loud, emotionless voice. “I need something from Scythia.”
The Twi’lek said, “And you'll hand Darth Malfuss the Empire to get it?”
“You don't understand. My handlers are dying. I need the Emperor.”
“Why? Does he give brooding lessons? If you're not getting orders, enjoy your freedom. Just tell me you want your freedom.”
“Halt,” Calline blurted. Because Scythia was suddenly in motion. She bowled through Tebbith’s party as if not occupying the same space as them, and streaked further into the ship.
“She’s going to reinforce Malgus,” the Wrath announced. “Go, if you mean to stop her.”
The mismatched party poured back through the door. Calline closed the distance to the droid and knelt beside it. It was a hunter-killer droid, shiny and modern in finish though outdated in design.
She reached for the behavior core. It was covered in an orange crystalline substance. When her glove touched it, her glove’s surface started to hiss and smoke.
The hunter-killer droid had boobytrapped its critical systems. Calline had to admire it. She activated her wrist carbonite freezer and coated the whole core in a safe layer of carbonite. Then she slung it into a bag across her chest.
Just then a stream of Kaleesh flowed into the artery behind Calline and her family. Many had spears. Some had blasters.
“Scythia?” Calline yelled.
“Yes,” said one of the Kaleesh.
“That way.” She pointed.
The Wrath was still standing near the balcony. As Calline watched, she leaped to the ceiling and clung to a grate. In another moment she wrenched the grate off and lifted herself in.
The passage was long and winding, with few exits. To the point, it wasn’t carrying poison or any wild temperature or gas. When the dark figure ahead punched through a grate and dropped, Calline knew they had to be somewhere important.
She didn’t quite expect it to be a divide as deep as the ship itself, with forces gathering on both sides.
Darth Malgus stood just below Calline’s vantage point. The Wrath had dropped to stand beside him. Scythia had somehow made it to Malgus’s left. Half a dozen masked Kaleesh ranged behind her.
And opposite, the entire cavalcade from the assassin droid’s chamber was waving their weapons and getting ready to fire. Calline noted that the beefy soldier whose hand Scythia had deflected his blaster bolt into was now resting his rifle on his forearm rather than gripping it. Even good quality gloves couldn’t protect against a Force-accelerated sniper round.
The leader stood in front of him, blocking what she could. As Calline watched, the rifleman’s wounded arm wavered and the leader eased the barrel down to rest on her steady shoulder.
Opting to dispense with surprise, Calline dropped to Scythia’s side. “Lord,” she said shortly. Torian slammed to the ground behind her and caught up at her shoulder. The Kaleesh raised their spears, but didn’t stop her.
Scythia spoke loudly without taking her eyes off the assembly. “I want Malgus alive. The Wrath and I can defend him. Torment the Jedi, would you? The tall one. I want him to feel like he simply must come to our side to eliminate the threat you pose to all those people he cares about.”
Head games were extra, but she hadn’t given Scythia an invoice yet, so it didn’t matter so much. Calline would love to test herself against a full-fledged Jedi, and Torian’s tension told her he was thinking it, too.
In point of fact, she shot first.
*
“Servant Two.” Without Servant One.
The Sith Pureblood was favoring one leg, and blood stained his face. “Wrath…he takes the Emperor’s name…he hunts us.”
It wasn’t an assignment. It was a death croak.
Ruth didn’t care about Vette’s party. She didn’t much care abut Scythia’s Kaleesh brigade. She didn’t care about the bounty hunters which were at this moment dual-wielding pistols like a pair of cartoon gunslingers.
She cared that Scythia had answers about the Emperor, and that Darth Malgus was challenging the order of things.
Ruth didn’t love the Dark Council. Familiarity bred contempt. But as long as her master was silent, she had to serve the Empire’s interests. Not the interests of former friends whose personal projects clashed with the Empire’s traditions. Even her friends had betrayed her or her master outright. She had always meant to honorably serve the Empire; in a way, that had never changed.
She felt very tired. But she had to go on, or despair.
Darth Malgus stood on one side of a deep divide. Vette’s party spilled into the other side. Ruth let herself down with Malgus, and the two bounty hunters who followed her received orders from Scythia. The woman had no idea how to balance velvet glove with durasteel fist. Or so Ruth could say; it wasn’t like she had ever attempted the feat herself.
The female bounty hunter shot straight at Tebbith. That’s when it all broke loose.
Ruth, Malgus, and Scythia stood side by side on one lip of the abyss.
“I had not expected so much so soon,” he boomed. “Let us destroy these Republic agents.”
The Republic agents. Vette was one of them. They were firing for all they were worth. Scythia deflected back at the gunmen. Ruth deflected to the ceiling. Malgus deflected—well, according to some logic, Ruth imagined. Meanwhile, the two bounty hunters were concentrating fire on a harried-looking Tebbith. He couldn’t hold both of them, with all their tech, forever. He probably couldn’t hold them for another five minutes.
Kaleesh were sidling into the far side one at a time. A yell went up among the Republic forces and their rear guard engaged.
Ruth could force Vette to surrender. It was the only way to get her out of here. If Ruth chewed through enough of these friends of hers, she would have to leave.
Yet Ruth deflected toward the ceiling. Over, and over, and over. No stray bolt could be permitted.
“You’re not trying,” Scythia practically yodeled.
“I want your answer. Don’t think that means I want your body count.”
Tebbith managed to rip one blaster from the female bounty hunter's hand. She flowed into a single-shot stance without missing a beat.
Scythia clenched a fist. “They’re Jedi and Republic hirelings! We can end this now!”
The next voice was small and far away. “Ruth! Ruth, we can end this!”
Vette. Asking not to fight her.
That’s when Malgus lowered his lightsaber, raised his hand, and sent a stream of purple Force lightning across the abyss.
At Vette, who had spoken up for peace.
Ruth didn’t think. Her hand came up. Her Force sense infiltrated the giant frame and yanked at three points of his spine. Snap. She shoved the reeling Sith toward the pit and roared, “My master is more than a space station. If you knew the first thing about me, you would know that.”
He gurgled. “My girl…likewise.”
She pushed, and let him fall.
She felt abruptly out of breath.
The firing had stopped. Kaleesh on both sides of the divide stared at her with yellow eyes, and an inner ring of casual acquaintances stared as well. She might only have seconds to save Vette’s life. “Enough,” she shouted. “The False Emperor is dead. Vette, you and your crew may leave.”
Even at a distance Ruth could see the way Vette held her chin up. “Fade. Thanks.”
The armored squad's leader yelled crisply. “We can still—”
“I know her, Fade. She hasn't even started fighting us. We should get out.”
The squad's war droid danced in place. “Sir! Permission to pursue these two dastardly Sith and rendezvous back at the ship while your crew receives medical attention!”
“Fade,” Vette said. “Tell him he shouldn’t kill ‘em here with no holovid coverage. Tell him anything. But don’t put him up against R—the Wrath and Darth Scythia.”
The armored leader nodded shortly and gave quiet commands. The armored squad retreated, carrying their wounded.
“Master Tebbith,” Vette prompted.
Scythia pouted. “I wanted him.”
The big Zabrak looked green instead of brown. “Darth Scythia. I have nothing to say to you.”
“It was never your talking I was interested in. Remember that a Sith made peace today, Master Jedi. Inexplicably, to no concrete advantage, but for whatever reason, she did.”
Tebbith joined his hands in front of his chest. The girl Ruth didn’t know, the striped lightsaber user, copied her master’s pose. Tebbith bowed slightly. “My lord Wrath,” he called. “Perhaps we may find common ground, in time.”
“When I conquer yours,” Ruth said coldly. “Go while my mercy holds.” Which was as long as Vette was watching, but nobody had to know that.
He limped away.
Vette waved her friends out toward the exit after the Jedi’s party. Corso was helping Risha and Risha didn't even sass him.
“Let's not do this again,” Vette said, and left.
Then there was just Ruth, Scythia, two bounty hunters, and a dozen feral Kaleesh.
The Mandalorians walked to the pit’s edge and leaned over. One said something quiet in Mando’a to the other. Both of them turned toward Scythia.
“Don’t need sinful credits,” the taller one said. “But I need to buy a replacement blaster.”
“You’ll get it,” said Scythia, without looking away from Ruth.
“Shall I report your treason?” Ruth said levelly.
“It complicates things, that there are witnesses saying we both survived this showdown. Murder afterward is so awkward. They can say, fairly, that I fought the Jedi to a standstill and secured Malgus’s flagship.” Scythia drew a line with her green eyes, ranging far, taking in every one of her Kaleesh soldiers. Taking in Ruth.
Something shuddered amidship.
“Do you hear that?” said Ruth. “Moff Regus’s forces are boarding. Soon I won’t be quite so badly outnumbered.”
The idea of interruption seemed to settle something in Scythia’s mind. “You want to know what I know of your master? A Sith searches for him. Kills every Servant he meets. I have no signs of the master's life…but the elder Emperor's Wrath seems to believe he can be fought somewhere, somehow. The Voice who came after the Jedi mission vanished from his station for no evident reason. You may have been the last to see him…?” Ruth gave her nothing. “He may be in hiding. He may have built a Voice anywhere in the galaxy. But he isn't ruling the Empire.”
Ruth was falling. She was surely falling. “Do you think that report makes us even?”
“Since I can’t very well assassinate the Emperor’s Wrath in front of witnesses and maintain my credibility as a woman of her word? Yes, let’s say even.”
“Fine.” She walked out, and no one tried to stop her.
*
Tebbith sat on the curving sofa of the Gnost-Dural and hyperventilated.
Zenith leaned in the doorway, holding a kolto pack to a dark burn above one lek. “You get out okay?”
“I was not prepared to see her again. I very nearly tried to harm her.”
“Hm.” Zenith looked concerned. “Nobody's giving you points for stopping yourself.”
“That's not true,” said Nadia behind him. “To maintain his connection to the Force, he has to side with life. It's not a score, it's an affinity.” She looked past the Twi’lek toward Tebbith. “We survived. Darth Malgus can't hurt anybody again. We won, Master.”
“I feel like there could have been more. The Wrath valued Vette.”
“That was unexpected,” Zenith allowed. “I don't like it. What else don't we know about the spacer?”
“There may be more to them both than hate.”
“Hm. Believe that and carry a big lightsaber,” Zenith said. “Please.”
*
Vette and her crew sat around the lounge. For a while nobody said anything.
“I don't understand,” Corso said. “Why did she cooperate with Scythia, and why did she pull a 180 and help us out of there?”
“We used to be friends,” Vette said. “Maybe that’s all a supervillain needs. I'm just the quirky sidekick of her tragic backstory.” She shook herself and looked at the holo. “Come on, I want a job.”
“We just did one,” Risha said. “Our fee’s already deposited.”
“I want one with no strings.”
*
Scythia sipped a Quesh Sunrise and glared past her crew. “No one told me she was on good terms with her Twi’lek.”
The Kaleesh pair named Jefe stared straight ahead. Xalek stayed well clear of their lines of sight. Scythia gathered that they were shamed by the loss of the objective.
Oh, everyone was. “Next time I will not guard the ship,” Khem Val said.
“No kidding. Alas, I'll have to deliver that rousing speech myself once I have a fleet.”
“And when does that happen?” Zash-in-Khem said idly.
“When I want you to know, I’ll hand you some bubbly for the dedication.”
*
“We got him,” Mako said. “We can deliver anytime.”
Calline nodded thanks, then unslung the carbon-encased droid behavior core. “New project.”
Teefive beeped uneasily. The little droid did get jealous sometimes, even if her faulty language library felt that the word for jealousy was “snorkel.”
“We just got a very nice infusion of cash,” Gault called from his quarters. “I take it the Dark Council paid for our services? Would’ve been more if you’d won…”
“We almost took down a Jedi Council member with four blasters and no briefing,” Torian said, sounding as relaxed as ever and also a bit smug. “We’ll do better next time.”
*
Frustrated by the ceasefire, but pleased that she had forced Darth Malgus at bay just when a Sith decided to practice backstabbing, Fade took the Havoc Go Fast down toward the Republic’s Ilum base.
“Sir?” It was Dorne, datapad in hand. Probably an after action report. Fade would need to sleep on it to really sort through what had happened and what she should feel about it.
“Yes, Dorne?”
“You’ve received a priority message, sir. Time-sensitive.”
“Probably Tare getting into trouble. I’ll take it here.”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded and walked out. Dorne asked a lot of questions, but there were a few areas where she guarded privacy carefully.
The transmission displayed with black edges. Fade’s stomach flattened and soured.
“Major Fadreleth, it is with deepest regret that we must report…”
Fade stared at General Garza’s pointless image. She looked at the attachment. It was a crystal-clear image of the throne room where Tare had drawn the short straw and had to play honor guard to a small-time heavy. It was supposed to be a meaningless little assignment.
A masked Sith came into the image. The very one who had just let Fade out of the room. She raised a gripping hand and Tare boosted off the ground, clawing at his neck. She closed a fist and hurled the dying man at his comrades, just enough to throw them off balance while she leaped to attack. Tare’s last living act had been to bodycheck his own team immediately prior to execution.
Fade was sitting. How had she failed to protect him from this? How had she failed to destroy the bitch who did it when she had the chance? How…how…how?
Fade had no one else, not like her brother. Now there wouldn't even be him.
She was too angry to cry, at first.
*
end of Part 9. Falling Stars
Story index
*
Chiss ship name courtesy of https://swc-chiss.com/cheunh-language/.
The death of the Emperor did not end the war. Fade was disappointed, but not completely surprised. Jedi plans had the weirdest holes in them.
Could Masters Larr Gith and Tebbith make any offensive stick without a soldier to back them up?
Fade fought across Corellia until the moment Garza told her to evacuate the planet. She had won every battle and lost the war, at least here. When Fade suited up and led her squad off the shuttle into the Republic’s cavernous toehold on Ilum, she knew she had to do better.
So this time, when she heard the Jedi’s voice, echoing through the starkly lit gray base, she went toward it. Master Tebbith was shrugging into a furry coat the size of an uxibeast.
“Master Jedi,” she called. “Where’s your friend?”
Tebbith turned around. His face was already covered in mask, and Fade had her helmet on; it wasn’t the best circumstance for heartfelt conversation. But he said, “She’s on her own tour. I will give her your regards.”
Fade wouldn’t go that far, but whatever. “Are you reinforcing Master Kaedan? I’m signed on to help.”
“Then we cannot fail,” Tebbith said warmly. “You are well? You finished what you wanted on Corellia?”
“Everything but winning,” she said. “We’ll make up for it here. Those crystals will turn the tide.”
“I’m no expert, but that’s what I hear. Come. Qyzen, Tharan, Zenith, Felix, Nadia, you remember Havoc Squad.” Generally cordial gestures ensued. “Come, I’ve studied the way.”
Ilum in the daytime was a sheet of glare relieved only by crystalline formations so high and shallowly angled that Fade was sure their tips would disintegrate onto her and her team as they rode. The ice was sometimes black, sometimes white, always forcing a whine from her speeder’s engines as the repulsor field struggled against the smooth crystalline surface. The sky was a high white arch fretted with thin clouds. Fade didn’t realize they were going up until she turned back and saw a wide, lowering sweep of spikes and blown snow between here and the base. And then they turned at an angle and went on.
At the base of a slick hill Tebbith stopped his speeder beside Fade’s and dismounted, peering up the hill at an unguarded archway and a few hints of old stone towers beyond.
“There should be people there,” he said under the soughing of the wind. “Something’s wrong. What’s our approach?”
Fade felt her cheek twitch. He was the Jedi. “You’re asking me?”
“You’re the ranking veteran, Major. You’ve seen what I can do in battle, and I’m no tactician. I welcome your expertise.”
She knew about looking gift dewbacks in the mouth, so she didn’t ask again. “I want your sniper to cover the approach from there, and mine will go there. If you walk right up, can you shield yourself from one round of enemy fire?”
“I believe so.”
“Then our ground forces can follow behind you. Your apprentice—”
Zenith took a stance Fade had never seen a professional take, and fired at something near the base of the arch.
“Zenith?” Tebbith said.
“Something was creeping out. Missed.” He looked at his rifle, at Tebbith, at Fade. “Permission to pursue.”
“No,” Tebbith said firmly. “If there’s a problem, we mustn’t split our forces. Major Fade? I’m prepared to shield us on our way up.”
“Jorgan.” Fade jerked her head. “Forex, you stay at Master Tebbith’s elbow, but if you see a blade of grass out of place you charge.”
“Sir! I have not detected grass on this planet before, but if my sensors perceive any, I will attack at once!”
Fade and Vik crisscrossed the wedge formation as they approached the arch. Yuun darted forward to investigate a console at one massive ice column.
“This was a forcefield,” he reported. “It’s been smashed.”
As the party made it to the flat stone entrance of the fortress, Tebbith started accelerating. Fade tried to look at every corner while the Jedi ran to…
A body. The only sentient they had seen since they’d approached the Jedi fortress.
“Dorne,” Fade said shortly.
But Tebbith was already on his knees. “Master Kaedan,” he said, loud enough to carry but not quite intact. “Master Kaedan, no, I was on my way, I would have backed you up…”
Fade approached. The body was swimming in brown robes, not so unlike Tebbith himself. But very, very dead. “You knew him, Master Jedi?”
Tebbith’s masked face turned up. “Jaric Kaedan has served on the Jedi Council since I was a child. He was a great man. He deserved better than to die alone to…to whoever did this.”
The ghost Zenith had fired at. “I’m sorry. But if he’s dead, there’s all the more need for you and me to get the Republic back on track on this planet. We can bring his body back to base for proper treatment.”
“It can’t be this,” Tebbith whimpered. “After everything, to be so close…it can’t be this.”
The realization dropped through Fade like a drop of ink through water. He wasn’t an unstoppable Jedi. He was a person, a young person, facing death badly. Even a Force user could be reduced to grief.
M1-4X hurried up to offer his durasteel arms for the moving of the body, but Tebbith took the Human’s frame and lifted it across his arms, not seeming the slightest bit inconvenienced by the full weight of a man. “Let’s go,” he said. “The Republic will have more work for us, and Master Kaedan wouldn’t tell me to give up.”
*
The Republic base on Ilum was spacious but stark. It had the look of a place that had hoped for a division and received a squad.
Havoc Squad, though, so that was good.
The vast bulkhead slid shut and the Jedi and Havoc Squad were already halfway to the elevator. Fade rushed with her team between icy packing crates and racks of tools, down to the lift, down below to where the cantina, too, was optimistically large.
At least the lower level was warm. Someone had clearly learned from Hoth, at what expense to their HVAC operating costs Fade didn’t know. It was warm, and the music piped in was a hectic adolescent pop that seemed to drive away the grim watchfulness of the ice.
Fade was unsealing her outer coat by the bar, and Tebbith’s party was populating a booth, when the main holo coughed and someone appeared.
Fade stiffened. She had a mission profile on this huge Sith in black armor. She was to prioritize his death if the opportunity arose.
His holo image spread his arms as if welcoming the room entire.
“Fellow Sith,” he said in a voice of needles and thunder. “Citizens of the Empire. Too long the strength of the Empire has been beholden to the infighting of the Dark Council and the disappearance of an apathetic Emperor. Sith, children of Sith and warriors everywhere, I declare a new Empire, open to all who long for conquest, freedom from inhibition and the right to follow their passions. The Dark Council is dissolved. Those who would join Darth Serevin in supporting me, cast aside your titles and let me lead you to victory. Those who will not, prepare to face our stealth armada. The Emperor is gone. His station and power are mine. We will conquer the galaxy while the Emperor sleeps.”
The room was quiet.
“Is that…bad?” said a Twi’lek in the doorway. A Republic contractor: Vette, from Voss. “I mean, sweeping out the Dark Council, and I heard some code words surrounding aliens’ rights.”
“One Empire or another has the use of the adegan crystals,” Tebbith said. “One way or another, a stealth armada will attack the Republic. We cannot allow this.” He stood, a massive presence at his table. “You, friend. I saw you at the Shrine of Healing. You seemed to know that young Sith, the one who helped us against the mad Voss, who aided us with the Trials. What became of her?”
Vette set her jaw and seemed to look through Tebbith. “Someone killed her. We have a new Wrath. You may have seen her on the holovids.”
“I’m sorry. Your friend was brave, and open-minded. I am Tebbith.”
“Jedi Master and Warden of the Order,” Nadia supplied, dwarfed by her mentor. “I’m Nadia. This is Zenith, Iresso, Tharan, and Qyzen Fess.”
“Vette. This is Corso, Risha, Akaavi, Guss, and…”
The Wookiee growled in a deep register. Vette said, “What’s wrong?”
“Trandoshan,” Bowdaar said.
Suddenly, everybody was paying attention.
Vette examined Qyzen Fess. “I know there’s some bad blood, but this guy’s with a Jedi Master. I don’t think he personally hunts Wookiees for sport.”
“Do not insult my competence,” the Trandoshan said. Suddenly Fade understood why the big guy usually let Tebbith do the talking.
“Well, that could be taken a few different ways,” said Vette. “Can you be more definite?”
“No,” said Bowdaar. “Bowdaar has killed sixty-seven lizards, in the years he bothered to count. They died without points. Ask this one if he has been to Kashyyyk. Ask him if he has butchered those of Bowdaar’s kin who escaped slavery. Ask him if his clan wears their skins.”
Tebbith put out one hand at waist level. And absolutely did not address those questions. “There’s no need for conflict. Qyzen, let us avoid tallying scores. Please guard the ship.”
“There is no room for prowess in all that fur,” Qyzen grumbled, but he walked. The Wookiee rotated to watch him go until he was safely on the lift.
The rest of the introductions went smoothly. Fade had fought alongside Vette on Voss, and Tebbith on Corellia. She had no problem with their skills or professionalism. Akaavi and Guss were new, but Akaavi’s stance and wariness boded well, and Guss…well, Fade wasn’t sure what to think of Guss.
“Major,” came a voice from the doorway. Fade gave up the idea of getting a drink and turned around.
“Supreme Commander Rans,” she said. “You want us to take down that Sith?”
“In so many words, Major. I’ll have a pilot to navigate whatever stealthed ships Malgus has within the hour.”
“Forex, please download all information we have on Malgus’s fleet.” Okay. A drink and some appetizers. “Everyone else. Eat like you’ve got a big day.”
*
Ilum. Adegan crystals, a technological breakthrough that Scythia knew about before Moff Regus condescendingly described them. The beginnings of a stealth armada. Only the rediscovery of the Republic’s abandoned Shadow Arsenal, or the recovery of the Balmorran cloak that the Jedi had swooped in and taken, could have excited her more.
Ilum was the site of ancient Jedi ruins, and with them, the possibility of forgotten technologies. Or some nattering about the Force, which Talos would respectfully yield to her rather than presuming to hand her an authoritative translation. Jedi blathering about the Force was ninety-nine point nine percent useless, but she allowed him to continue, because sometimes point one percent was all you needed.
She used a lot of Force lightning on the wretched Duros troops the Republic had shipped out here to protect their crystals. It made Ilum’s frigid nights just a little more tolerable.
Khem Val’s implants malfunctioned once again in the cold. Scythia left him at the Empire’s forward base with the odious Moff Regus and forged onward with Xalek.
There was a whole community here of Kaleesh, honing their bodies and weapons against the brutal conditions. They would make excellent Imperial shock troops. Regus’s big idea was to kill them to clear the way to strategic temple grounds.
Scythia stood in a little self-warmed bubble inside the forward base’s heavy doors. “Xalek, what do you think of Regus’s plan?”
“Lord. Challenge their leader and they will all follow.”
“Does that please you, my apprentice?”
“They do not know the Force. They do not concern me.”
She was of two minds about his arrogance. It was a messy look, but then, why not be confident about your superiority when you were superior? “I’ve always wanted a snippet of the military. And I don’t see Darth Marr here stopping me. Come, stay close. Tell me what ritual objects are required.”
The Kaleesh had occupied a Jedi temple that looked to be much better built than the Imperial bases. Perhaps Scythia would have the operation moved once the temple was cleared of its current residents. She left Talos in a small heated popup tent and went in to fight, until she had enough weapons to set up a challenge for the Kaleesh leader.
The Kaleesh were interesting. They fought fluidly and fearlessly, and died with the same level stoicism that Xalek wore. Their bone masks varied as much as individual faces, though none revealed the skin beneath. Scalloped shapes, streaking markings. “Xalek, do you make your own masks?”
“Upon adulthood.”
“Interesting. Should I collect the fallen’s masks?”
Xalek’s silence seemed to say that this was unspeakably wrong. Scythia stopped speaking.
The temple gave way to a ruined courtyard. A broken fountain in the middle was ringed with runes similar to some Scythia had seen before…similar but different. Another system to translate. Another challenge for her pet archaeologist.
The Kaleesh chieftain came. He came with a phalanx of masked figures who set up a dense ring around the fountain. Scythia had a considerable audience and didn’t even get the courtesy of the chieftain’s name before she toasted him.
Scythia raised a spear. “My dear citizens. I come to lead you to glory beyond anything this world has seen.” She surveyed them all, looking for weak points. Looking for differences. Looking for leverage.
Her eyes roved over two Kaleesh who stood very close together. Their weight was distributed a little differently. There was something else, something in their presence.
“You two are different. Women?”
The Kaleesh beside them hissed. Others looked, and began hissing, too. It was the tallest of the survivors who said, “Female! Why do you presume to fight?”
One of the two shouted in a raspy voice. “We do battle as well as any of you.”
“The penalty is death.”
The speaker looked to Scythia. “Sith! We swear ourselves in service if you will allow us to fight in your name.”
The tableau froze.
“They would kill you for dressing and fighting as men?” Scythia said slowly.
The commander snorted. “Gladly.”
“That won’t do. Xalek?”
But Xalek was staring at the two women with completely round yellow eyes. “As my master commands,” he breathed. It was nearly a whimper.
Something was going on. Scythia looked forward to unraveling it. “Come here. You will serve me personally. The rest of you, report to the Imperial forward camp. You will see how far an alien can come in the Empire.” She dropped her voice. “And Moff Regus will have a much-needed aneurysm.”
But Moff Regus was not paying attention when Scythia returned to base with a ritual spear in hand. He was staring at a holo image of Darth Malgus, who had been sent here to manage the crystal harvesting—a task that sounded deadly boring.
Malgus was not a boring speaker.
“Fellow Sith. Citizens of the Empire. Too long the strength of the Empire has been beholden to the infighting of the Dark Council and the disappearance of an apathetic Emperor. Sith, children of Sith and warriors everywhere, I declare a new Empire, open to all who long for conquest, freedom from inhibition and the right to follow their passions. The Dark Council is dissolved. Those who would join Darth Serevin in supporting me, cast aside your titles and let me lead you to victory. Those who will not, prepare to face our stealth armada. The Emperor is gone. His station and power are mine. We will conquer the galaxy while the Emperor sleeps.”
Scythia wasn’t certain what to salivate over first. She could live with a loss of title; she had Khem Val and commanded respect and fear wherever she went. An Empire ruled by a man who could tolerate aliens. That held possibility.
But the Empire would strike back with all the force at its disposal.
Scythia resolved to not be here when the Empire commanded a counterattack.
She made for the landing pads. General Hesker of the Imperial Guard ran to join her. “My lord. You’re going to stop Malgus?”
“I need to find his ship,” she said.
“Allow me to pilot a stealth fighter. We’ll be able to detect his stealth field and slip right in.”
“Good man. Send some of your guard to get transports. I have some troops I want to manage things.” It would help, when the Empire’s counterattack happened.
Hesker’s only commentary was a twitch of his lips. “As my lord commands.”
“Yes,” she said. “As I do.”
*
Scythia left Hesker's stealth fighter with Xalek and her two new Kaleesh in tow. The women went by Jefe, and they were as talkative as Xalek. They were also pleasingly wary. Scythia watched around her at all times, and more eyes doing so couldn’t hurt.
The hangar was empty; they met no resistance. Scythia left Xalek to direct the new Kaleesh recruits onto this, Malgus's flagship. She herself forged ahead to the long arterial passage that would take her to the single most interesting political proposal she had ever heard.
A figure joined the artery twenty yards ahead. Black-clad, smooth, thin enough to vanish if turned sideways, with a lightsaber on each flat-planed hip.
"Wrath," Scythia bellowed. "Would you GET a fucking HOBBY."
So multi-player-character crews just get along and work together to do awesome cool quests all the time, right? Right?
In game, Qyzen Fess states that Wookiees are worth a lot of Jagganath points, and, if I'm not misreading, offers a Wookiee pelt as a gift for a Nadiamancer...
“Jedi Master and Warden of the Order,” Nadia supplied, dwarfed by her mentor. “I’m Nadia. This is Zenith, Iresso, Tharan, and Qyzen Fess.”
“Vette. This is Corso, Risha, Akaavi, Guss, and…”
Bowdaar growled in a deep register. Vette said, “What’s wrong?”
“Trandoshan,” Bowdaar said.
Vette examined Qyzen Fess. “I know there’s some bad blood, but this guy’s with a Jedi Master. I don’t think he personally hunts Wookiees for sport.”
“Do not insult my competence,” the Trandoshan said.
“Well, that could be taken a few different ways,” said Vette. “Can you be more definite?”
“No,” said Bowdaar. “Bowdaar has killed sixty-seven lizards, in the years he bothered to count. They died without points. Ask this one if he has been to Kashyyyk. Ask him if he has butchered those of Bowdaar’s kin who escaped slavery. Ask him if his clan wears their skins.”
Tebbith put out one hand at waist level. And absolutely did not address those questions. “There’s no need for conflict. Qyzen, let us avoid tallying scores. Please guard the ship.”
“There is no room for prowess in all that fur,” Qyzen grumbled, but he walked. The Wookiee rotated to watch him go until he was safely on the lift.
Vette and Risha sat in luxurious red velvet chairs facing off over a fancy glass end table that projected a gold-toned dejarik board. Their suite on Coruscant really had everything.
"So remind me," Risha said, "did you have a guy on Hoth?"
"Why, are you filling in a sticker book?"
"Maybe. Balmorra, check. Quesh, you did hit on that spacer."
"He was just using me for my blaster." Vette laid a move and considered. "For almost three years I was with a woman who sucked all the air out of the room. I love her, but she was the center of attention everywhere she went. Men assumed she owned me. Men assumed that hitting on me would annoy her, so they didn't do it." Vette sat up straighter and waved vaguely. "I'm not with a Sith anymore. Men notice me. You're darned right I'm going to enjoy it."
"I don't like this at all," Risha said to the board, then looked up. "Girl, you've got it made on every level. Your move."
A/N. Vette experienced Act 1 of the Smuggler line during the Warrior's Act 2/3 break, and is dealing with Act 2 after the Warrior's level 50 finale.
*
Vette went all out for her visit to the Dealer’s Den cantina on Coruscant. New heels, a new headband, a shimmering beige dress pouring like liquid over her chest and hips. She strolled into Darmas Pollaran’s private lounge with the secure knowledge that she looked fine.
Darmas looked up from his sabacc hand. His eyes went over her once and then several more times for good measure. Without looking away he drawled, “Ladies, gentlemen, another time, please.” There was grumbling, but people put down their hands and scooped up their chips. They paid Vette the tribute of somewhat jealous stares.
And Vette drifted closer. “Hello there.”
“I’m speechless, my dear.”
Right, like he ever was. “Liar.”
Darmas smirked. “I do find myself calculating what kind of praise gets me slapped. You look good enough to worship.” He gestured for her to sit at the booth that curved around half the sabacc table. “Tell me, what have you been up to?”
She sat, and smirked right back. “Gossip at my level is expensive, Mr. Pollaran. There’s something I bet you can help me with. I got an invitation to Port Nowhere. Ring any bells?”
Darmas shrugged. “Certainly. It’s the freest dreadnaught in the galaxy.”
“It was crawling with Rogun the Butcher’s thugs, and they wanted the bounty on my head for losing his shipment on Ord Mantell.”
For a second—just a second—as he processed her peril, his eyes were dangerous. “I take it they didn’t give you significant trouble,” he drawled, watching her with veiled concern. “Rogun’s thugs tend to prioritize quantity over quality.”
“Let’s just say the Wookiee got to work off some frustrations.”
Only then did he seem to relax. “Yes, your crew has expanded. I was happy to hear it. The life of a lone freelancer has its risks, no matter how romantic the image.”
“Can I ask why you weren’t at Port Nowhere? It would’ve evened the odds.”
“Ah, I didn’t know you would be there. And just at this moment I’m introducing you to someone. Someone who is not cleared to know Port Nowhere’s location.”
Someone new? The dress suddenly felt like a poor choice. “Okaaay, I’m curious.”
Darmas reached for a button in the back of the curving booth where he sat. “Please join us, Senator.”
“Senator?” Vette squeaked.
“Now, then, let’s make her comfortable. She has a proposal I think you’ll find interesting.”
From further in—not the direction of Darmas’s rented bedroom, Vette noted—came a starkly handsome woman in Coruscanti formal wear. Vette stood, not quite pushing out her chest while she nodded.
“Vette, Senator Dodonna. Senator, my good friend and very reliable pilot, Vette.”
“A Huttese handle? You’ve come a long way to get here.” Dodonna didn’t make that sound bad; if anything she seemed pleased. “I hope you’re finding Coruscant to your liking.”
“Well,” Vette said, “the company’s good.”
Dodonna shot an exasperated look at Darmas. “Yes, so I hear.” Darmas spread his hands and shrugged innocently. “Vette, the Republic is looking for independent contractors to aid the Mid Rim worlds against the Empire. You’re a superb pilot and you have a crew and a freighter. You could become an official Republic privateer, under the Republic’s legal protection, with the freedom of the skies.”
Legal protection that didn’t vanish when the Sith du jour did. Freedom of the skies. It was the first time she’d been promised that in a while. “Oh, is that all? You know, I’m used to my freedom of movement being granted by an up-and-coming Sith Lord.”
“Privateers have lower assassination rates,” Senator Dodonna said. “I’ll admit, I was intrigued when Darmas described your resume. The Republic can shield you anywhere in Republic space. Your reputation may grant you some protection against the Empire.”
“Assuming your split with the Emperor’s Wrath was neutral to amicable,” Darmas said idly.
“Yeah, well, she didn’t chase me out,” Vette breezed. Sort of. Well, only a little. Vette had to hurry past those feelings. “I like your offer. I have to run it by my crew.”
“We would expect no less,” Dodonna said. “In token of goodwill, I’d like to offer you a suite for your crew as long as you’re on Coruscant.” She looked to Darmas. “Please, contact me when we have an answer.”
“I’d be delighted to, Senator.” Darmas waved as if leaving the question to the ether. “Is there anything else?”
“I have business topside. Vette, a pleasure.” She walked out.
“A job and legal protections?” said Vette. “You just get better and better.”
“Let’s not talk business,” he drawled. “You’re not dressed for that occasion.”
Vette surprised herself by snickering. “How many girlfriends do you have right now?”
“None in line of sight. I’ve got a promising prospect, though.”
She scooted, not toward him in the booth, but away toward the empty space near the bar. “Hey, put on some music.”
His hand strayed over the console beside him. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Anything we can dance to. It’s what a gentleman would do.”
“We are talking about the same Darmas Pollaran, aren’t we?”
She laughed out loud. “Dance with me and you just might get lucky.”
He pressed a button. “I place myself in your hands.”
*
Vette met her crew in the hotel Dodonna had paid for.
With some mumbled words about checking the room out first (he knew better than to directly impersonate a security guard for Vette’s benefit), Corso walked in and stared at everything at once. “Sheesh…”
Risha strolled in and laughed. “Now this is a queen’s retreat.”
Bowdaar seemed tense. He stared at everything, too, without saying anything.
And Vette sauntered into a picture of luxury.
The carpet was pale and shaggy, the lounge in front of her decked out in burgundy and cream. Four cut-crystal chandeliers in varying sizes studded the ceilings. There was a glass bar in one corner. Alternating art and mirrors were framed around the room in gold and red. It was impossible to tell where the warm light came from. There was a broad window, which brought Vette to a view of skyscrapers and a distant eight-line speederway glinting below. There were four adjoining bedrooms, all equally decked out with mirrors and spotless carpet and beds mounded with shimmering covers. The fifth adjoining room had a hot tub with a refresher beyond.
“One of these beds is long enough for Bowdaar,” the Wookiee yelled.
“I could pay for a degree with one of these,” Corso reported while he hefted a bottle from the bar. “Possibly the college itself, too.”
Risha leaned over the windowsill and ran a fingertip down the seam of the glass and frame.
“Hm?” Vette said.
Risha grinned darkly. “Just seeing if this cage is gilded.”
“I like their offer.”
“Oh, so do I.” She shot a significant look at the nearest chandelier, which might have who knew what surveillance. “Let’s keep our eyes open.”
The recent exertion with Darmas had involved some literal eye-closing, and it worked out okay. “Yeah,” Vette said confidently. “We will.”
*
Somehow, someone was always watching. Kind of.
On the Light Red, they never hung out in Ruth's room. The yacht had four sumptuous suites, and Ruth's was off limits. Not even Mr. Sneaks went in there. Vette had no idea what secrets lurked there. Not men; she was stuck on Quinn.
Anyway, Vette had the biggest room, and it was here that the ladies of the crew gathered with snacks and a premiere view of the planet du jour.
The Imperial colony of Ziost had been that day.
Ruth was seated on the floor at the base of a cushy chair. “The Empire can't grow by eating its own tail. If the Light Side Sith organize, they can stop the hard liners. When I'm strong enough, I can stop the hard liners. Then we won't need weapons. We can make peace, proudly.”
Sometimes Ruth talked like she was younger than Vette and had seen very little of life, which was true. Vette pointed out, “Uhh, the Republic will want that with a white flag.”
“Make it a ceasefire rather than a surrender. They'll understand, in time. We could have an exchange program. I can tell the Jedi about the Sith Code and they can explain how they think, because I surely don't know. Our soldiers could stand guard together. We could prevent the next war by converting anyone who might lead it.”
She meant it. Well, she’d pulled off miracles before. “What's your next trick after the war doesn't happen? Want to try ending slavery?”
Ruth nodded decisively. “I think that'd be a fine use of integrated units. So, me and a lightly corrupted Jedi. We'd throw the Hutt economy into shambles. And tear down the Imperial 1% in favor of some real leaders.”
A heavy knock came on the door. The girls tensed. Ruth unfolded herself and rushed to the door to find Lieutenant Pierce.
“Milord,” he said, running his dark eyes over her and everything else. “Got tired of rations. There’s grilled sleen and noodles in the mess.”
“Thank you, Pierce. We’ll be right out.”
He nodded and withdrew.
Jaesa said it. “I don't think he'd go for integrated units.”
Vette nodded. “Ever think the men on this ship aren't on the same wavelength as the women?”
“I'll just show them,” Ruth insisted. “We'll show everyone. Pierce will stay enthusiastic as long as there’s a challenge somewhere, and personal security plus occasional cook to a Sith will always offer that.” Ruth wound her arms around her knees and blushed. “And I talk to the captain. Between things. He always wants to hear about how Sith are going to be leading the charge, but…I think he understands that we’re stronger together.”
“You, him, and the rulebook,” Vette said. Jaesa stifled a giggle. “C’mon, let’s not give Pierce any more eavesdropping material.”
Jaesa stiffened. “He didn’t really…?”
Vette grinned. “Chow down.”
Yeah…maybe the strange part was that it had lasted as long as it had.
*
The planet was Balmorra, which Corso had never been to. Vette described the war-torn ruin and origin of her least favorite Imperial officer in vivid terms as the shuttle descended. The setting was Bugtown, which was apparently named after some native wildlife that had since been pushed outside the town limits. The mission was a Nebula project, an Imperial weapons cocktail meant for immediate delivery.
Vette frowned at the colorful diagram of explosions. “They don’t even control a spaceport anymore. They can't have enough to ruin the planet. More.”
Their contact, Numen Brock, cracked a grin at her as if the rest of the crew didn’t exist. “They don't have to. The Jedi, the Hero of Tython, is on planet. Without a security retinue. If she's still here in forty-eight hours, boom.”
Vette sighed. “Celebrities, am I right? Just tell me where to go, and watch me work.”
“With pleasure.” Corso twitched. Vette looked pleased. Hadn’t she been sneaking off with Darmas Pollaran exactly one hyperspace jump ago? She was just about the prettiest spacer he had ever met, but that didn’t mean she had to act like it.
Communication with the Imperial mole currently feeding the Republic every detail of the Imperial withdrawal—and poison pill—was as cagey as if the war were still on. Corso didn’t mind that they separated from Brock, and didn’t terribly mind that an Imperial team had kidnapped him to the one cave they had left in the area.
But Vette rushed to help him out.
There, south of Sobrik, in a network of winding caves, Imperial guards came in pairs. A tall woman in full armor made it into the maze of cells first. She and Vette conked out two guards in unison, just a few paces from one another.
“Stay out of my way,” said the armored woman.
“See any Twi’leks this way?” said Vette.
“No.” The woman turned to one of a scattering of forcefield cells. “You. Why are you in this cell?”
“I was…captured…?” said a concerned-looking prisoner.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.”
“The last guy got executed. Just an hour or two ago.”
The woman shucked off her oversized helmet to show a red Zabrak face with full horns. She smoldered. “The last of my clan…by just an hour. You.” She didn’t turn toward Vette, but the shift was obvious. “If you oppose the Empire, we may speak. But first, get anything you care about out of here within five minutes.”
“Yes’m,” Vette said, looking nervous. “Okay, guys, Brock will know how to use these neutralizers to get the other Imperial prisoners free. We just have to find him. Scatter.”
Corso picked a branch and moved. There were more forcefield cells scattered all around, some with guards, which Torchy took care of, and most populated, which he couldn’t help before he got Brock.
Speaking of which. He rounded a corner into a high cavern with three cells, and Numen Brock in one of them.
“You! Corso! I don’t suppose you got the disruptor?”
“Vette has it. Two shakes, I’ll be back.”
It occurred to him, much later, that he could have just accidentally not seen Brock down there. Well, he could’ve been petty, but that would be wrong.
The team, and Brock, and two dozen miserable-looking prisoners, got out of the cave and passed the armored Zabrak. The armored Zabrak looked Vette in the eye and pressed a detonator.
And boy, nothing beneath would’ve survived that explosion.
“I want Moff Tyrak,” she said shortly.
“No idea who that is,” Vette said.
“Then I continue.” She put her helmet on and stalked out toward the impromptu speeder lot. Numen got the prisoners in line and piled onto speeders to get to safety.
“Vette?” said Corso. “Did you see a lot of Mandalorians the last time you were here?”
“One in Sobrik. Tall one, might’ve been the same person, I don’t remember. Any place at the edge of the Empire’s authority will drive prices up, and Balmorra was definitely an edge case. Though…if our red friend keeps going, there might not be even a toehold for the Empire.”
Which was usually enough to get Bowdaar to start trying to focus the group. “They might still get their weapons to the surface. One raid on Bugtown will kill the Hero of Tython.”
“Not if we go sell the goods elsewhere,” said Risha.
“Do we have to sell them?” said Corso. “I mean, if they might end up in the Empire’s hands?”
“Weapons aren’t dangerous,” said Vette, “people are dangerous. That said, of course it’s going back to the Republic. I am a privateer, y’know.”
“You’re cute when you’re loyal,” said Risha. “I will let you know the market price versus what Dodonna is giving us.”
“You got a calculator for these things?” Corso said dryly.
“Honed with long years toward perfection,” Risha said breezily. “Come on, let’s go.”
*
The Mandalorian woman wanted the Imperial informant who had cracked Project Nebula. The Imperial informant was a blithering moron, so Vette didn’t feel too bad handing him to Akaavi.
But when it was done, and Vette had forwarded the Project Nebula carriers to the Republic, Akaavi just stood there. Looking.
“Hey,” said Vette. “You all right?”
Akaavi took off her helmet and said, “Do you need another gun?”
“Well, apparently I do, but…don’t you want to know about the ship and what we do?”
“I see that you fight, and that you oppose the Empire. I believe my interests coincide with yours, for now.”
“We have to share a refresher,” Risha said. “In the interest of full disclosure.”
“I am Mandalorian,” she said. “We have larger crews than this.”
“Yeah,” said Corso, “but are they as hairy?”
Bowdaar grumbled.
Akaavi didn’t move anything but her eyes. “I am not afraid of hair.”
And just like that, Akaavi lived with them.
*
“I’m stopping by Bugtown,” said Vette. “Gotta give Numen the good news.”
“With tongue?” Risha said innocently.
“Tongues are required for talking. Obviously.” Vette grinned. “Don’t wait up for me.”
“Bowdaar will keep the engines ready,” Bowdaar deadpanned. “In case he takes the news the wrong way.”
“Somehow,” Corso said, “they never do.”
*
“Well, look what the nexu dragged in.”
Vette had responded to a distress call from some tarball of a planet called Quesh. The ground was poisonous. The air was poisonous. The random spacer was in trouble. And Beryl Thorne walked off his trapped ship.
Risha took Beryl’s barb with a grin. “And I’m supposed to believe we’re not all in imminent danger due to something you did?”
Beryl threw up her hands. “The Imp planet screen wasn’t me! They’re shooting down anything that takes off, we were just unlucky enough to be around when it started.”
“Yeah,” Risha drawled, “but wasn’t it a little bit you?”
“No! Vette, tell her I wouldn’t attract an Imperial weapons program to a perfectly good smuggler’s bolthole.”
Vette gave this due consideration. “I think your droid’s the only informed character witness.”
“I left the droid on Taris. I did leave in a hurry. Oh—this is Captain Ozzik. He will also vouch for me.”
The cute spacer looked around with a grin. “I’m a little afraid to, looking at these two.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Captain Ozzik cleared his throat. “Speaking of which, Beryl, we’re already late. Vette, I can get you the location of the Imperial sensor station, but we’re pretty much pinned here.”
“Scenic walk in the corrosion field, got it.” Vette grinned. “Back in a flash.”
She remembered Quesh from Ruth’s brief visit. The place was entirely lung damage and lies. So she was surprised to lead her crew into an orderly, well-lit bunker with well-labeled systems and staff who, after four expert shots took out the sentries, clearly were not accustomed to weapons of any kind. This was a product demo with technicians, not a production-scale military capability with soldiers. What a great thing to disrupt before it laid out an assembly line.
“Corso, tie ‘em up, I need at least an hour’s worth of knots. Bowdaar, start over there. Risha, with me. Let’s wreck every eye they have on this planet.”
They did. Then they stole speeders to return to Ozzik’s little nook. At least it was high up in a hill, clear of the main miasma.
“What did I tell you?” Beryl said as she strolled off the ship beside its captain. “Vette gets it done, and no paperwork in sight.”
“A lot more people than me are grateful,” Ozzik said. “But it’s time for us to haul jets.”
“What?” Vette said. “I was going to invite you for drinks. For old times’ sake.”
“Love to,” said Beryl, “but we’ve been delayed here long enough.”
“Wait. Wait.” Vette started patting her jacket, trying to remember how she had filed things in its delirious array of pockets. In time she pulled out a sleek aurodium flask. “Here, if I can’t bring you to drinks. One for smugglers’ luck.” She undid the cap and sipped, then handed it around.
“That was not cheap hooch,” Ozzik observed before licking his lips.
“Got it from a very nice hotel. If I can’t toast people with something really tasty, what’s the point?” Beryl and Risha each took a sip and nodded. “All right, get going. It’s a big galaxy, but we always seem to end up in the same messes.”
“That we do,” Risha said. “Good luck.”
*
Lenn Terall looked absolutely ecstatic.
“Lovely Vette.” The Alderaanian nobleman was looking well-fed and luminous. Apparently House Terall’s fortunes had held after Vette bailed them out. “What a pleasant surprise it is to hear from you. Did you ever find your planet?”
The perfect one for her to retire to? “Not yet, but my ship’s in great shape.”
“A romantic lifestyle. Did you backtrack for me?”
“I dunno, are you free tonight?” She had come all the way to the planet to ask. Or visit Jaesa’s parents, back in their ancestral home. But partly to ask.
“For you I’ll clear my schedule. Please, let me make the arrangements.”
Alderaan was a series of snapshots for Vette. Jaesa’s parents’ modest but colorful house, after Ruth had gotten them out of Imperial space. Once, a long time before that, helping Wynston with his Killik problem, meeting Vector, hauling Ruth to a kolto tank. Spending days in House Thul waiting for Ruth to regenerate, playing dejarik against Wynston and finding him good. Then, more recently, helping House Terall with old family secrets and one really nice date. Ruth had been a distant, friendly presence then, popular with her Sith masters, content. Yes, sleeping with Lenn Terall had been a highlight of a happy period in Vette’s life.
And when Vette re-used her sparkling dress, she felt right again. The booty call went off flawlessly.
She did like tall Humans. Tucked into Lenn’s arms, his heated skin pressing her…she was surrounded and pleased with it. Stars, it would be a long time before the novelty faded enough for monogamy.
“My exquisite. I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Oh. Ghost sensations?” She trailed a fingertip down his chest. “Just, completely inexplicable.”
“Better than dreaming. Are you going to run out again?”
“If you knew how paranoid I have to be about my ship…” Vette sighed. “I had probably better. You? Happy?”
“Stricken by a bolt from the heavens. Stunned, but quite grateful.” Lenn brought up a hand and trailed two fingertips down one lek. “That ship is all you have until you’ve found your planet. I understand. If you want my personal guard to watch it…”
She shivered pleasantly. “No, no. Let me go. The Republic is due to give me my next assignment and I should be wearing clothes for that.”
“Remember me.” For a second his airy negligence went away.
“Lenn. I crossed half the galaxy for you.” An exaggeration, but if you added up the short jumps… “You’d have to knock me on the head pret-ty hard to push that out.”
She could keep his smile in her pocket and take it out when in need of a pick-me-up.
She slid into her dress and hooked her fingers into her strappy heels for carrying. Then she left the sumptuous bedroom and started down the golden hall. A strap slipped and she reached to pull it up.
Just then a woman rounded the corner ahead. She was dressed in a plunging neckline and not much else, and she looked at Vette as if sending blaster bolts.
“Who is this?” she said loudly.
Lenn was at Vette’s side, belting a robe. “Niall! This is, this is nobody. She’s an old friend. Friend of the family.”
“You liar,” said Vette, though she couldn’t be surprised. “Wife? Mother? No offense.”
The woman’s mouth opened. “Our association is less formal,” Lenn babbled. “I can explain. Vette here was just trying on a dress for a hot date, and she wanted me to help. You know, give the masculine perspective.” He gulped. “Don’t hurt me.”
The woman’s eye blasters returned to Vette. “He’s a snake with three rumored fiancées and I didn’t have proof until you finished dressing just now.”
Lenne waved anxiously. “My exquisite, you—”
The woman stalked to an alcove that held a very fancy vase, too fancy to actually have flowers in it. She grasped it and hurled it at Lenn’s head.
“Hey!” Vette squeaked. “I stole that fair and square!”
“Shut up,” the woman grated.
Lenn had dodged. The vase had shattered in the corner. Now he looked helpless and the woman looked homicidal. “Well,” Vette said, “I’ll just leave you two to get less acquainted.”
It was easier to run with her shoes in her hands.
*
Days later…
Vette and her crew piled into a little bubble of a speeder, which was humming wildly in its efforts to heat the cabin and move at the same time.
“Bowdaar?”
“Yes?”
“Is this cold?”
“Yes.”
“Just checking.” If the furry guy hated it, it must be bad.
They were on Hoth, trying to get some cloaking tech from the White Maw pirates. It was ninety degrees below anything sane or normal and Risha and Corso had come up with seventeen and eleven reasons, respectively, why they shouldn’t go down to the surface.
Well, they were here now. Vette had once spent a week chasing down a Darth’s wounded pride on this iceball, and damned if everyone else wasn’t going to share in the experience.
Vette started the controls down a wide, wide plain of white. Above, the tiny white sun was clearly at its peak for the day, and was not going to contribute anymore to the warmth of the situation. Small-time con man Languss Tuno said he could get her to the White Maw’s cloaking device, and so far he’d been the only Hoth sentient outside Aurek Base not to open fire on sight, so by process of elimination he was their best local contact.
On his counsel, and with very little small talk, they entered the wreck of the Star of Coruscant, which was longer in diameter than Vette’s home planet, she was pretty sure.
But with the pirates bluffed out of the way, Vette found out why Guss had referred to the cloaker as “he.”
“He has just enough Force power to hide when he’s scared.” Alilia, attachée to the White Maw until about thirty seconds ago, stared defiantly at Vette over the bulk of a cringing Kitonak. “So they torture him, and he keeps their ships cloaked.”
“That’s horrible,” said Vette. “The Sith would pay top dollar for someone to hurt like that. Not a good direction to go in, I’m just spitballing. I know some Sith who would be nice to him, but they don’t have a safe place to live right now.” Jaesa was still meeting Light Side Sith in secret, and she didn’t have a permanent place to do it. Trick could be deeply useful for her, but Jaesa would never take someone in for the sake of being useful. “I don’t know a lot about the Jedi, but I’m guessing they can help…heal him? They would give him a safe place. I hope. I mean, I don’t see a Jedi picking on a helpless person for a cool military trick.” She had heard a lot of things about Jedi hypocrisy while traveling the Empire, but not all of them could possibly be true.
And nothing else would help Trick right now.
Alilia didn’t seem comforted. “What are you going to tell the soldiers who sent you here?”
“That a Force user who could do it got injured and can’t choose to activate it anymore. That’s all they’re getting out of me.”
The red Twi’lek—and Vette knew that red Twi’lek were even more popular slaves than blues—studied her face and said, “Thank you.”
It seemed wrong to leave it to somebody else. Not like Vette could help, but she couldn’t leave it at this. “Do you think I could hug him?”
Alilia leaned toward the boy’s bloated face. “Can our friend Vette hug you?”
Trick’s hands twitched. He stood and half held out his arms. He was tall and he looked strong and he barely had any mind left. Vette stepped in and wrapped her arms around his trunk.
He wrapped his arms around her and gently cradled her, bowing his face to her lekku. There was no sense of force, no sense of threat. She squeezed and let him go. “You be good,” she blurted.
Alilia was there. “May I?” she said. “I truly never expected to find kindness on this rock.”
Vette was careful with Alilia’s lekku when they folded together. “Don’t let those Jedi do anything you wouldn’t do,” she advised. “They talk a good game, but they tend to break down under basic logic.” Then she raised her voice for the benefit of the Republic officer. “Captain, I’ll take care of the report. Thank you for looking after my friends here while I settled things.”
Everybody’s eyes turned toward Guss Tuno.
“Oh,” the Mon Calamari said. “Wow. I’ve never seen anybody do something that nice before. When you could have a cloaking device at will?”
“I have a kid who needs help,” Vette said. “I’m sure you’ve seen people being nice to that.”
“Hmm. Nope. Not really.” He raised a hand to his mouth and bit worriedly at one fingertip. “You do things differently here. It’s just…you’ve saved my life a lot. Most people don’t do that, either.”
“Captain?” Corso prodded. “We’ve never taken someone on out of pity. Apart from Trick, but he isn’t really qualified to look out for himself. Guss is.”
“Arguably,” said Risha.
Akaavi took more interest in their surroundings than in the Mon Calamari, which went to show how big a threat she thought he was. “He will slow us down.”
Guss’s eyes somehow got bigger. “Slow you down? They call me the Air Traffic Control Whisperer in some sectors. And I know a lot of hidden places between here and where we’re going.” He swallowed. “Where are we going?”
“Aw,” said Vette. He was good at thinking on his feet. And it was obvious that every criminal on this iceball had given up on him. If Vette were way more hapless than she was, and hadn’t run into someone who could get her off Korriban and protect her while she found herself, would she be conning small potatoes and hiding in wampa caverns for a living? “C’mon, we’ll find out where we’re going.”
They dropped Alilia and Trick with tickets to a Jedi hospital on Coruscant, then checked at Port Nowhere.
*
“Piracy,” Vette decided brightly, rolling her shoulders and wriggling her fingertips to get all the rush out.
The crew looked up from the cantina booth. “Wait, wait, I know this one,” Guss said. “The partner Dodonna assigned is even higher on Rogun’s list than you are.”
“That’s possible?” Vette said. “That’s a relief.”
*
After the piracy, it came down to Ilum. And, after several runs of arms through contested skies, and the discovery that Guss was prone to violent motion sickness, she decided to land at the Republic base. That’s when it got complicated.
Vette slid into her dress and hooked her fingers into her strappy heels for carrying. Then she left the sumptuous bedroom and started down the golden hall. A strap slipped and she reached to pull it up.
Just then a woman rounded the corner ahead. She was dressed in a plunging neckline and not much else, and she looked at Vette as if sending blaster bolts.
“Who is this?” she said loudly.
Lenn was at Vette’s side, belting a robe. “Niall! This is, this is nobody. She’s an old friend. Friend of the family.”
“You liar,” said Vette, though she couldn’t be surprised. “Wife? Mother? No offense.”
The woman’s mouth opened. “Our association is less formal,” Lenn babbled. “I can explain. Vette here was just trying on a dress for a hot date, and she wanted me to help. You know, give the masculine perspective.” He gulped. “Don’t hurt me.”
The woman’s eye blasters returned to Vette. “He’s a snake with three rumored fiancées and I didn’t have proof until you finished dressing just now.”
Lenne waved anxiously. “My exquisite, you—”
The woman stalked to an alcove that held a very fancy vase, too fancy to actually have flowers in it. She grasped it and hurled it at Lenn’s head.
“Hey!” Vette squeaked. “I stole that fair and square!”
“Shut up,” the woman grated.
Lenn had dodged. The vase had shattered in the corner. Now he looked helpless and the woman looked homicidal. “Well,” Vette said, “I’ll just leave you two to get less acquainted.”
I didn't plan it: Tebbith and Wynston are the only boys. Vette and Calline are feminists, Fade is a paragon, and Larr Gith, Ruth, and Scythia are power trips.
