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@swtorficarchive
Welcome to swtorficarchive! This is a blog run by a single moderator to collect SWTOR fanfiction posted to tumblr and help spread visibility for fics set in the SWTOR universe.
Reblogs will be intermittent and not daily; tracking #swtor fanfiction and #swtorficarchive
Please contact my main blog @ebitenpura if you have any questions or want your fic removed.
Cloak & Blaster Chapter
Ao3 Link
Summary: The Melee is over, Noara is offically in the hunt and Jurr has a very good idea.
There's also a sneaky reference to @cinlat's Cinlat character.... who obviously shares her blog name.
Word Count: 4,023
Noara was still looking up at the stands when she sensed the Assistant Huntmaster approaching. She had been aware of the crowd from the moment they entered the arena, but the fight had begun so quickly that she hadn't really processed the sheer number of people watching her. According to Mako it had been years since the last Great Hunt so it being a major draw made sense.
“Quite a show you put on. Blasted fun to watch. Wasn’t sure you actually knew how to use those,” Lek said, gesturing at her saber hilts. “How do you feel, hunter?”
Turning to look at him, Noara answered honestly, “tired. Ready to know what’s next for the Hunt.” Beside her she heard Mako laugh.
Lek smiled, “patience. Bask in your victory for a moment and then I will escort you to the Huntmaster.”
Glancing back at the crowd, Noara saw the stands starting to empty. “I think I’ve basked enough if it’s all the same to you.”
“That’s the problem with people today, never slow down and enjoy the moment.” Lek shook his head, “alright, follow me hunter.”
He led them off the raised platform and back out of the room. They ended up back in the Huntmaster’s office, where just a few days ago they had been informed about the complication caused by the amount of entrants. This time instead of being crowded with hopeful hunters only the tall, white furred Wookie was waiting for them.
The Huntmaster spoke as they approached, his deep voice rumbling in the way only a Wookie could achieve. “Let the hunter stand before me. She shall be honored beyond all common hunters. Let it be known that--”
Sensing movement behind her, Noara turned in time to see an angry armored figure stomping toward her. She had only seen him on holo but Tarro Blood’s identity was unmistakable as he interrupted the Huntmaster. “This is simply ridiculous. I mean, really--this needs to stop right now.”
Beside her Noara heard Mako draw in a sharp breath as Braden’s murderer approached. She knew the other woman was still grieving the loss of her father figure and friend, Blood’s presence was sure to upset her.
“I object to this farce,” he snarled, stopping just short of where Noara stood and thrusting a finger in her direction. “This charlatan does not deserve to enter the Great Hunt. Her credentials are a lie fabricated by her little gutter rat of a sidekick. She deserves no honors.”
Noara put her arm up in front of Mako and shook her head, trying to stop the other woman from drawing the blaster her hand had moved to the moment he entered the room. While she knew her friend wanted the man to pay for being responsible for Braden and Jory’s deaths she doubted the Huntmaster and his assistant would let them kill another Mandalorian in front of them.
Instead of denying his accusations, which she assumed was what he wanted, Noara cocked her head to the side in confusion. “And say if they were, it wouldn’t change anything.”
Blood’s face reddened in outrage. “Of course it would! You don’t deserve to be here.”
“Except that I did earn a sponsorship token from Nem’ro the Hutt, while you were having my team murdered coincidently,” she shot back, perching her hands on her hips. “And then I passed the preliminary tests here to enter the Melee which you might have noticed I won.”
“All that proves is that you are lucky as well as a liar,” Blood snarled.
Lek stepped in between them and addressed his fellow Mandalorian. “You are out of line. We know enough of this hunter's history, Blood. She earned her sponsorship and her entry. The Huntmaster has ruled and that is final.”
“You fools!” Blood cried, throwing his arms up in disgust. “This is a place of honor, a competition of elites. Mandalore will hear of this!”
“Is he also going to hear about how you are stacking the deck in your favor?” Mako asked from behind Noara. “With all your interference someone’s going to think you’re afraid of us.”
“As if I would be afraid of someone as pathetic as you! Enough! Before this Great Hunt is over, I will have your skull in my hands!” After delivering that threat, Blood shot them both an enraged look before turning on his heel to storm out of the room.
Noara watched him leave with a grimace, “that was unnecessarily graphic.”
Lek clapped his hands together when Blood disappeared through the doorway. “If nothing else the Great Hunt just got way more interesting.”
“If vengeance is interesting,” Mako muttered, drawing a laugh from Lek.
“It always does,” he said before turning back to the Wookie, “Sorry for the interruption, Huntmaster. Please continue.”
The Huntmaster nodded and began to explain how the hunt would work. “The Great Hunt proves talent and resolve. Mandalore calls it to bring him the most skilled hunter in the galaxy.
Each hunter will hunt the other's prey. Then each hunter hunts the other. At the end, there is no prey and only one hunter. Today you are truly the hunter, and all else is your prey. Welcome to the Great Hunt.”
“You get all that, hunter?” Lek asked.
It seemed straightforward enough to Noara, basically more of what they had done on Dromond Kaas just with the added competition of a second hunter going after the same target. There was just one thing she wasn’t sure about so she asked, “I'm supposed to execute my fellow hunters? Is that required to move on?”
“You only have to eliminate them from the Great Hunt. Surrender isn't typical, but it's accepted.”
Mako nudged her in the side with her elbow and she glanced at the other woman who was giving her a knowing look. Noara nodded that she understood the message, they both knew that it would appeal to her that killing her competitors was not required. She doubted she would be as lucky with the targets.
“Now head back out to meet your handler, Crysta. During the Hunt she will fill you in on the rest of the details.”
“C’mon girl,” Mako said, nudging her toward the door, “let’s see what’s next.”
Stepping out of the Huntmaster’s office Noara stopped short at what she saw. Tarro Blood was across the room talking to Crysta. After the scene he just caused she felt the annoyance she had kept in check in front of the Huntmaster surging. She had never been prone to anger but, after everything he had already done, this was a step too far. She could only imagine that he was somehow trying to stack the deck against them again, maybe bribing Crysta to sabotage their chances in the competition. Whatever he hoped to accomplish, she was going to put a stop to it before he could do any more damage.
Aware that she was openly scowling, Naora strode across the room right up to him, grabbed his bicep and yanked him around to face her.
“You’ve got some nerve you jerk-oh!”
Noara froze as she looked up at the baffled face of the man who was most definitely not Tarro Blood. His deep blue eyes were wide in surprise as he stared down at her. His hair was similar to Blood’s but now she could see it was a lighter shade of blond and he had a much more pleasant face, a strong jaw and identical symbols adorning both of his cheeks.
“I am so sorry,” she said, feeling her face flush with embarrassment. “I thought you were someone else.”
The man frowned, “who did you think I was?”
Noara grimaced, “well from behind you look a bit like Tarro Blood.”
Her response was met with raucous laughter from the two other armored figures she hadn't even noticed standing with Crysta. Noara felt another wave of embarrassment, she had gotten so swept up in her emotions she had not even checked if “Tarro” had any backup before all but assaulting him.
The man did not find her mistake as amusing as his companions, frowning down at her. “I’m not sure how to feel about that.”
“I am so sorry-” she started before she was cut off.
“You should be,” another tall mandalorian man, this one with short dark hair that she would never have mistaken for Blood’s, said. “It would be less offensive if you said he looked like a whuffa worm.”
“That tracks,” Mako said where she stood at Noara’s side, “a whuffa worm is a superior life form to Tarro Blood.”
The woman standing next to Crysta snorted. “Oh I like you,” she said with a wide grin.
Now that Noara had noticed her, it was hard to imagine she had missed the woman. Her appearance was striking. She had flame red hair that was braided down her back and shaved short on the sides. The left side of her face was covered in burn scars and she had more cybernetics than even Mako. Even one of her eyes was obviously cybernetic, as it had an artificial golden color and gave off a slight glow.
“I know why we don’t care for him,” Noara said, finally realizing she was still holding the blond man’s arm and releasing it. “I didn’t expect his fellow Mandalorians to dislike him as well.”
The red haired woman scoffed, “that’s because he is a spoiled, pompous, lazy -”
“That’s enough Jurr,” Crysta said, frowning, “you know better than to insult a Mandalorian to an outsider.”
Jurr huffed, “sure mom and if he had any ijaat I wouldn’t, but I won’t lie for the likes of him.”
Both men nodded in agreement but it was the blond who spoke. “The real question is why do a pair of outsiders in the Great Hunt have an issue with him before the comeptition has even started?”
Noara frowned and glanced at Mako, who turned her gaze downward quickly but too late to hide the grief on her face. Looking back at the man she sighed, “Blood is rigging the hunt, buying off those he can and having his lackeys kill the crews of those he can’t. He had our crew killed on Hutta.”
Crysta’s eyes widened, “wait so your group is really just you two girls?”
“Thanks to Blood, yeah,” Mako replied bitterly.
“He’s done all he can to try and sabotage us here, even paying off Imperial Navy officers to interfere with our hunts,” Noara said. “I’m sure he is the reason you were told I was dead before the melee.”
“You’re not going to let a shabuir like him scare you off, right?” Jurr asked.
“Fuck no,” Mako said, pointing at Noara. “My girl Noara here is going to make him regret killing Braden and Jory.”
“Are you?” the dark haired man asked, looking at Noara critically, “I’d say you don’t look like much of a match for any Mandalorian but what you did during the melee was damn impressive”
“Thanks, I think,” Noara said, feeling uncomfortable being praised for taking lives, before turning to Crysta. “Lek said you would tell us what’s next.”
“Yes, I’ll be guiding you until the end.” Crysta grinned and Noara could see the resemblance to Jurr in her smile, “gotta tell you. The other handlers are all bug-eyed jealous you won. I was sure glad to learn you hadn’t died out in the jungle and you made me a fistfull of credits. Now the hunt has a bit of a tradition for new hunters to kick it off - getting a ship from the local spaceport.”
Noara frowned, “how does that work?”
“Why you have to steal one of course.” Crysta said matter-of-factly.
“Is this required?” Noara asked with a grimace. “I’d prefer not to get too much attention from the Imperials.”
“A hunter's life is nothing but trouble--best get used to it.”
Noara exchanged a look with Mako before she tried again. With her Force sensitivity she would really rather not commit grand theft starship on the Imperial Capital world. “But is it required? What if a hunter already has access to a ship?”
Crysta hummed thoughtfully, “I suppose not, it’s more tradition than requirement. Do you-”
Jurr gasped suddenly, interrupting her mother. “I just had the best idea.”
Both of the men groaned in unison. “Why do I feel a little sick when you say that?” the blond said.
“Because her ideas usually get you into trouble,” the other man said.
“No no, this is a good one!” Jurr said excitedly, moving to stand directly in front of Noara. “You need a crew and Mandalorian or not Blood needs to be taken down a peg. Or killed. Torian and I can join your crew and help you.” She gestured at the blond man who was looking at her incredulously.
“Really Jurr, just inviting yourself to her crew?” the dark haired man laughed, “that's very on brand.”
Jurr shrugged, “doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea, Corridan. What do you say?”
“Oh um… I’m not sure about that,” Noara said, “we don’t even know who you all are.”
“Well that’s easy to fix,” Crysta said, “this is my daughter Jurisa Fett and these two are Corridan Ordo and Torian Cadera. I’d encourage you to take Jurr up on this idea, she’s one of the best snipers around and there isn’t much out there Torian can’t track.”
Corridan, the dark haired man, shot the woman an insulted look. “What am I? Chopped convor liver?”
Not looking amused Crysta raised an eyebrow at him, “were you offering your services for the Hunt?”
“Well no, I need to get back. I just came to see the melee.”
“Exactly.” Crysta turned back to Noara, “these two would be a big help to your hunt. Almost no one attempts the Hunt with less than at least a crew of three.”
Noara looked from Jurr to Torian, weighing Crysta’s words. It was true their crew was down to just two people, and Braden had been their expert. However she and Mako had managed well enough so far.
There was also the issue of her being a Jedi, who historically did not get along with Mandalorians. While she harbored no ill will toward their people as a whole, she had to assume they would not be happy to find out she wasn’t being truthful about her identity.
She was pulled from her internal debate when Mako grabbed her arm, “excuse us for a moment.” Mako pulled Noara away from the small group to the far side of the room. “Are you really considering this?”
“I am,” Noara admitted. “You can’t deny we could use the help.”
“Are you sure we can trust them?”
“Crysta says we can, and we kind of have to trust her for the hunt to work. She will benefit from us winning as well I am sure.” Noara placed her hand on Mako’s shoulder, she lowered her voice to not be overheard, “I don’t know how much you know about the Force but it often guides people, giving foreboding feelings when something bad is going to happen, or hopeful ones when something good is on the horizon. I have that feeling now, a hopeful warm feeling, about letting them join us.”
Mako eyed her suspiciously, “are you sure it’s not just because he is cute?”
Noara dropped her hand and could feel her cheeks flushing again. Had it been that obvious that she thought he was good looking? “Of course not,” she denied then smiled, “he is though isn’t he?”
“He’s a little blonde for me but I told ya we’d find some cute boys along the way,” Mako said with a wink and then shrugged. “Who am I to argue with the Force, if you are sure you want to accept their help I am in.”
Noara glanced back toward the group and caught Torian staring their way. “I’m sure.”
Torian watched the two women conferring in the corner closely, thinking about how quickly things had changed. He had had no intention of joining the Great Hunt that morning. Now he found himself hoping the two women would agree to Jurr’s idea.
He told himself it was because they needed a crew. Because Blood needed to be stopped. Because the Great Hunt was an opportunity he couldn't pass up.
But the truth was simpler.
He wanted her to agree.
He wouldn’t deny he was intrigued by the woman. From the stands he had been able to see that she was a small woman, slim with lean muscles. The way she had moved was incredible, so quick and graceful. At times it looked like she was dancing around her opponents. The strikes she landed had been at odds with her poise. Her blows with the sabers were powerful, and the vicious way she had used a defeated hunter’s weapon to kill the last opponent had been impressive.
When Jurr had insisted they find her mom, hoping to meet the winner herself, Torian had been more than happy to be towed along. He had expected to meet a hard, serious hunter who oozed determination to win at all costs. Someone dangerous. He had once met Cinlat Ejnar, a former winner of the Great Hunt, a few times and despite being even smaller than Noara, she had been intimidating.
Instead this hunter seemed… soft. Sweet. Almost innocent. He had literally just watched her survive a brutal fight to the death, killing two of her opponents, and then she had blushed behind the blood splattered on her face like a young girl when she mistook him for someone else.
Other hunters wouldn’t have reacted that way. He couldn’t imagine the hard voiced Cinlat being so easily flustered. She was the definition of cool and composed. Most hunters wouldn’t even bother to apologize for something so small. They would have brushed their misstep aside. Tried to excuse it as somehow his fault he shared a hair color and body build with Blood.
Instead she had owned her mistake, immediately apologizing. The mortification she felt was evident in her voice as was the sincerity. The contrast between the cool expression she had worn in the arena, even after killing her opponents and escaping death herself, and the flustered expression she had just worn was fascinating.
And cute.
Torian hadn’t ever thought of a woman being cute as a positive trait before. Hell most women he knew would gut him for describing them that way.
“So what do you think, Torian?” Jurr asked, smacking him in the gut.
“Hm?” He turned to look at her and could tell by her expression she knew he hadn’t been listening to whatever she had said.
“Do you want to help her win the Great Hunt?” Jurr grinned, “I’d really love to stick it to Blood.”
Torian smiled at her enthusiasm. Their paths hadn’t crossed often but Blood never failed to have some kind of backhanded comment about Jurr’s disability despite her Mir'shupur sigil or about Torian’s father. The man was a jackass and Torian wasn’t surprised he would try and cheat to win the Hunt.
“Yeah,” he said, “If they agree, I’m in.”
“It’s adorable how you act like you had a choice,” Jurr commented as the two women started walking back toward their group.
“Alright,” the woman with the cybernetics said, propping her hands on her hips. “If you are serious about helping out we accept.”
“We’re in,” Torian said, “but first, we never got your names.”
“Oh my stars, we didn’t introduce ourselves did we?” The other woman said, “this is Mako, she’s amazing with tech and slicing. I’m Noara Star-er… Nabarrie.”
Torian didn’t miss the sharp look Mako shot her way when she stumbled over her name. That was interesting. No one stumbled over their own name, unless that wasn’t her name. He was watching her as they started discussing logistics when Corridan stepped closer to him.
“Are you sure about doing this Torian? I know you had wanted to come to Taris with us, we should be heading there soon.”
Closing his eyes, Torian took a deep breath. Taris. His father. It wasn’t that he had forgotten about his plans, it was never far from his mind, but in the moment he had agreed before considering the implication. He had been planning on heading to Taris after the hunting camp in the forest outside the city wrapped up. But this was the kind of opportunity he couldn’t have seen coming, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to miss.
Looking over at Corridan he shrugged, “Taris isn’t going anywhere. How often do you get a chance to join the Great Hunt?”
Corridan nodded, “true. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”
“Thanks vod.”
Corridan clapped his hands together, “alright kids, I need to get out of here but please do your best to win. Don’t get dead. And tell Blood he’s a shabuir ”
Jurr scowled at him and swung a fist at him. Corridan stepped to the side to avoid her with a laugh.
Torian watched him leave before turning back to his new team. “So what’s the plan ladies?”
Noara frowned. “We need to figure out some transport but it is getting late,” she said before looking down at herself, “and I’m still covered in blood.”
“Jurr and I need to head back to camp to get our gear.” Torian offered, sensing she was hoping for a chance to clean up and rest instead of heading out immediately.
“We already have a room, we can head there and clean up after everything to get a good night’s sleep.” Mako said, “that will give us some time to figure out the next steps. Give me your contact details and we can work out where to meet in the morning.”
Jurr gave the woman her information and Torian figured she would tell him anything he needed to know. Her memory had been solid recently so he wasn’t concerned she would forget. After their new partners left Crysta pulled Jurr to the side. He had known Jurr for years and knew she had never gone on an extended trip like this without one of her parents on the mission. This was a big deal but he thought it would be good for her to get this experience.
When they finished speaking Jurr all but skipped back over to him. Instead of stopping she continued walking and looked over her shoulder, “aren’t you coming?”
Torian shook his head as he followed. That was classic Jurr, always in a hurry and impatient when others didn’t keep up. Once he’d asked her why she was always in such a rush, one of those late nights on a hunt with more than a little tihaar in their systems. She’d told him how much she had hated being stuck in the medcenter when she was recovering from one of the many surgeries she’d had. She had spent a long time on bed rest and then in physical therapy learning to walk again without both eyes.
When he’d asked if she would ever slow down she had shrugged and said someday she might find something worth slowing down for.
Until then he would just have to try and keep up. Thankfully he had a few inches on her and was able to both catch up with a quick stride and even beat her to the taxi stand. Once their vehicle was in motion, Jurr twisted in her saw to grin at him.
“Soooooo,” she started, in the way that made it obvious he was about to endure some teasing, “you seemed very interested in our new friend.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, not willing to rise to her bait at the moment.
Jurr laughed heartily, “I knew this was a good idea but this just got so much better.”
Torian didn’t reply, keeping his eyes trained on the trees they were flying past, but silently he had to agree with Jurr. This was a good idea.
Mando'a Translations:
Ijaat honor
Mir'shupur sigil - symbol made of the M and S in Mando’a writing to indicate the wearer has suffered a serious brain trauma.
Shabuir extreme insult - *jerk*, but much stronger
Tihaar - alcoholic drink - strong clear spirit made from fruit
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Original Jedi Character(s) & Original Jedi Character(s), Original Character & Original Character, Micah Avaroz & Marla “Marie” Avaroz Characters: Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython (Star Wars), Male Jedi Consular | Barsen'thor (Star Wars), Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars), Original Characters, T7-01 | Teeseven, T7-O1 (Star Wars), Kira Carsen, Qyzen Fess, Marla “Marie” Avaroz, Micah Avaroz, the Avaroz twins Additional Tags: Planet Taris (Star Wars), Rakghoul Plague and Creatures (Star Wars), Original Character(s), Twins, the Avaroz Twins - Freeform, Siblings, Sibling Bonding, darkside slip, dark side slip, Fluff and Angst, fluff before angst, eventual angst, Banter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Romance, Sparring, Avaroz Legacy, ao3 ruined the formatting, Blood and Violence, Mental Health Issues, jedi knight oc - Freeform, Jedi consular oc - Freeform, SWTOR, star wars: the old republic - Freeform, Micah lowkey an ass but we love him, Family, Family Bonding, Anxiety, Humor, Friendship, Misunderstandings, Nexu Species (Star Wars), Violence, polar opposite twins, contrasting siblings, twin size mattress coded Series: Part 1 of The Avaroz Legacy Summary:
Marie and Micah run into each other on Taris, and Marie begs to hang out. Micah eventually agrees, and the two of them explore the planet, talking about their past, life, and different perspectives on things. When Marie finds herself in danger, Micah finds his attachment overpowering his strict Jedi ideals and adherence to the Code.
Familiarity
poking some of the zimado legacy that aren't cantik or kerrish! I have done two things I have been meaning to do here: one, the Zoyeir/Nevelta reunion, and two, actually naming their kid. Triumph all around! For context/as a refresher, Zoyeir and Nevelta were both once slaves together, and Zoyeir took their daughter with her when she escaped after Nevelta was sold to a Sith. technically this retcons a tiny piece of lore, namely that Zoyeir does NOT see Nevelta as Darth [probably Occlus] in a broadcast, but this is more fun for me. if I get Nevelta all the way through the class story and she turns out NOT to be occlus then. well. joke's on me i guess maybe i'll be back to change that maybe I won't.
Zoyeir had hoped, after Darth Tormen, that she’d have a long stretch of no Sith whatsoever. She had two goals: lie low and figure out a good way to kick that damn leech Skadge off her ship for good. Then, with the heat and the bastard both gone, she could find that Jedi again. She’d get her daughter back.
Nowhere in that plan did she anticipate being summoned by a Sith she’d never heard of, not quite a month after Chancellor Janarus’ quick departure from office.
“Mako? Who the hell is Darth Occlus? What are they Darth of? Darths always have a job, right? They’re the ones in charge.”
“Something like that,” Mako said, twisting around in her seat. She was playing some card game with Gault, pazaak or sabacc or one of those that all sounded the same and had the annoying rules. Zoyeir wasn’t sure why. There was no way Gault wasn’t cheating. “I’m more an expert in famous bounty hunters than mysterious dark lords.”
“Well, at least we know the mysterious dark lord isn’t also a bounty hunter,” Zoyeir said. “Aren’t you losing money to Gault right now?”
“I am ever so kindly losing my money to her, as a matter of fact,” Gault said. “You suggested I share my expertise with the crew.”
“Oh. Good. Little Mako gets to learn how to cheat,” Zoyeir said, ignoring the withering look Mako always gave her when she called her little Mako. “You don’t know anything about this Sith, right?”
“I try to avoid Sith lords where I can,” Gault said. “Though admittedly you’ve made that harder for me than usual, lately.”
“Yeah, you and me both,” Zoyeir said. “Mako, isn’t there anything on the HoloNet?”
“Oh, yeah, there’s something,” Mako said. “She’s a big deal. A former slave, killed a whole bunch of Sith to get here including Darth Thanaton who’s apparently a big deal… She’s in charge of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, whatever that means.”
“Oh, gross,” Zoyeir said. “Not another ancient beast in a haunted cave.”
“Maybe it’s a retrieval?” Mako suggested.
“Sith artifacts make people go crazy,” Zoyeir said. “I think I prefer the ancient beast.” She rubbed at her horns, sighing. “No matter what, this isn’t something we get to ignore if we want to eat, is it?”
“I do think Sith dislike being ignored,” Gault said diplomatically, helping himself to one of Mako’s cards.
“Gault!” Mako said.
“Good job, kid, you noticed.” He flicked it back at her. Zoyeir rubbed around her horns again, giving up on any useful information beyond the broad strokes. She’d just have to let this Darth Occlus tell her what she was meant to do, like any other job.
And her daughter would have to wait longer. Much longer, if this Sith kept her eyes on Zoyeir and her crew.
Darth Occlus was at a dig site out on Tatooine for who knew what reason. Zoyeir paused at the edge of the pits and ropes all set up marking their work area, watching the busy motion of the Imperial Reclamation Service. Something here was off. The people looked weird.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Imperial officer with their uniform coat off like that,” Mako said. Zoyeir drew in a surprised breath, realising what she was seeing. Everyone here was human; everyone here was in uniform, albeit in varying states of undress as the sun beat down on them. No one here was a slave.
“You said Darth Occlus killed her way to the top from slavery?” she asked Mako quietly. Mako shrugged.
“That’s the rumour. She seems to squash most of them. She probably doesn’t want anyone knowing where she came from.”
Zoyeir could respect that.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go scare a nerd into telling us where their boss is.”
She figured she’d pick out the weakest looking Imperial and scare him – in true Imperial fashion, almost everyone here looked to be a him – into taking her straight to his boss. Instead, someone else caught sight of her and Mako in their armour and called out.
“Oh! Hello! You must be the bounty hunter. Miss Yashen!”
Zoyeir recoiled from the man who approached her, gripping her blaster. It wasn’t like her name was a secret, but Imperials didn’t care. She was always ‘bounty hunter.’ ‘Hunter’ if they were feeling frisky. She didn’t warrant a ‘miss’ and she didn’t particularly want to. Not from this pasty man with the brown hair that didn’t do nearly enough to hide the line of sunburn along his part. He was all buttoned up in his own Reclamation Service uniform, though he’d sweated through it.
“Who the hell are you?” she said.
“Talos Drellik, of the Imperial Reclamation Service. I am delighted to meet you at last. My lord is right this way, and… your friend…” His excitement flagged at last as he registered that Mako was sticking to Zoyeir’s side.
“She goes where I go,” Zoyeir said, enjoying the way he blanched. “Package deal.”
“Oh – are you quite sure?” Drellik said. “I believe – well. Very well.”
Mako looked at Zoyeir with an expression that told her if they were in friendly territory Mako would be twirling her finger around her temple by now. Zoyeir suppressed a snort.
The tent Drellik led them to was larger than the rest, in the same beige as the rest of the tents made to blend in with the sand and reflect sun. Zoyeir had expected a more Sith-appropriate aesthetic, but then again you’d have to be an idiot to live in a dark coloured-tent on Tatooine. Drellik lifted the flap, calling out into the shadows:
“She has arrived, my lord!”
He stepped back, holding the flap still as he gestured for Zoyeir to go in.
“What, she doesn’t want her flunky there with her?” Zoyeir asked, unable to resist. Drellik looked startled, but before he could respond Mako tugged at Zoyeir’s arm.
“Come on, let’s not keep the scary mysterious Sith waiting. Pick fights later.”
Zoyeir liked to pick fights, was the thing. She liked it a lot more than Sith lords. With a sigh, she let Mako tow her into the tent.
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust. The Sith kept this tent dark, just one flickering lantern on a table next to her and layers of fabric along the tent to keep light from shining through. Zoyeir’s breath caught as she recognised the outline of a tall, muscular Twi’lek; this was a woman built like a real dancer, someone who could do the crazy tricks and not just the sexy undulations. The hand resting on the table, near the light, was a bright sea green in colour. There was so much shadow on Darth Occlus’ face, but –
“Zoyeir,” she said, in that gorgeous voice of hers that always sounded like she should have been a singer right up until she tried to carry a tune, and Zoyeir threw herself forward into her wife’s arms.
“Nevelta,” she said. This close she could see her wife’s face in the Sith lord who’d been waiting: her pale blue eyes, her heart-shaped lips still done up in blood-red lipstick, her low-hanging lekku curling close at her sides. She’d stopped painting on eyebrows. Zoyeir reached up to brush a thumb across the massive circular brand on her wife’s forehead, only to freeze as Nevelta stiffened, eyes flashing with a furious, scared expression Zoyeir knew well but had never seen directed at her before. It was the look she got when a guest of the Hutt who’d owned them expressed interest in her, and the look she’d gotten whenever anyone noticed their daughter.
Or almost that look. Now it came with a golden shimmer across her eyes, turning the familiar into a sight Zoyeir had always considered deadly.
“Velta?” she tried quietly, lowering her hand. Awareness came back to Nevelta’s eyes slowly, and she squeezed Zoyeir tighter with a shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hadn’t meant –“
“It’s all right,” Zoyeir said soothingly, rubbing her hand gently along Nevelta’s arm. To her relief, this gesture seemed to still do the trick. Nevelta relaxed under her fingers. “I was just… surprised. It’s a new scar. I’ve got a few, too, if you want to see.”
Nevelta’s gorgeous mouth curved into a smile that looked unsteady, as though she wasn’t sure how to smile any more. Zoyeir’s heart ached. She was free. She was supposed to be happier than ever.
“Uh… sorry. Do you want me to step outside, Zoyeir?”
Nevelta wrinkled her nose, looking past Zoyeir for the first time at Mako as though Mako were a large rodent. Zoyeir carefully didn’t laugh, and turned to smile at Mako. If her eyes were a little watery, that was nobody’s business but her own. Maybe Nevelta was on to something with her barely-any-light thing.
“Yeah, go terrorize the stiff outside. I’ll be out… sometime.” She’d been looking away from her wife for too long. Zoyeir turned back to Nevelta, tipping her face up to bask in that beautiful sight.
Nevelta was less eager to return to the good stuff. She frowned over Zoyeir’s head.
“Who was that?”
“What? Mako. Sweet kid. Kind of inherited her from the guy who helped me get started with hunting. Velta. Kiss me.”
Nevelta was still frowning. “Why did you bring her?”
“Nevelta,” Zoyeir said, trying not to laugh. “Are you jealous? I’m here in your arms and you want to ask about some kid? I thought I was getting hired for a job by some mysterious Sith lord! I wanted backup! Now, if you don’t kiss me yourself I’ll just have to climb you like a tree like I’ve been missing since the day that bastard sold you and –“
Nevelta lifted Zoyeir until her toes barely brushed the ground and kissed her. Zoyeir dug her hands into Nevelta’s shoulders, then gave up on touching the ground altogether and wrapped her legs around Nevelta’s waist. Nevelta broke the kiss to laugh at her.
“You haven’t changed,” she said in wonder. Zoyeir’s smile hurt to hold on to, but she tried. Hadn’t she? She’d seen and done so much that little gladiator girl couldn’t have dreamed of when she was sure she’d die killing a Hutt. Hadn’t she changed somehow? It was obvious that Nevelta had.
“Not when it comes to how much I love you, no,” she said, a moment too late. Nevelta’s smile widened, and she laid a softer kiss on Zoyeir’s lips. She made no move to set Zoyeir back down, which was just how Zoyeir liked it. She laid her ear against Nevelta’s chest. She hadn’t touched a boob in so long. Ugh. Zoyeir planted a sneaky little kiss on the one under her cheek, just so Nevelta would have a reminder of how much Zoyeir appreciated it.
“You have no intention of letting go, do you?” Nevelta asked.
“Only if you ask,” Zoyeir said with contentment. “Velta, we’re both free. And really deadly. We can do whatever we want and no one can tell us not to.”
Nevelta’s arms tightened around her.
“I love you,” she said softly. Zoyeir closed her eyes, relishing the sound of Nevelta’s heartbeat. Nevelta was alive and free and hers again.
“I love you, too,” she murmured.
“Zoyeir…”
“Hmm?” Zoyeir blinked up at Nevelta, wondering what the bed situation was like here.
“Where is Iltani?”
Zoyeir’s contentment was knocked out of her as fast as if she’d been punched. She’d made the right call, but that didn’t mean Nevelta was going to be happy that she couldn’t see Iltani right away.
“The job was too dangerous,” she said. “My ship was… too dangerous. I had to find someone who would keep her safe, and not let my name blow back on her.”
“Zoyeir. Where is she?” Now Nevelta loosened her grip, and Zoyeir had to slam her feet down on the hard-packed sand so fast her knees and ankles ached.
“She’s Force sensitive, like you,” Zoyeir said. “I couldn’t let Sith get her. I couldn’t let her get killed. There was this Jedi –“
“You gave my daughter to a Jedi?” The golden shimmer Zoyeir had seen before was now much more than a shimmer. Nevelta’s eyes shone like coins, and just as cold. Zoyeir stumbled back.
“Our daughter,” she managed through a tightening throat. “I sent our daughter somewhere she would be safe.”
“She would have been safe with me!” Nevelta roared. Zoyeir almost reached for her blaster, all too familiar with Sith rage, and then clenched her fist. She wanted to puke. She’d almost pulled a weapon on her wife.
“I thought you were gone!” she pleaded instead. She couldn’t stop herself from taking another step back, away from those blazing unfamiliar eyes and the ragged shouting that sounded nothing like the gentle, calm woman Zoyeir knew. “I didn’t have anyone else. But it’s not forever. I made sure of it. We can get her back.”
Nevelta stared at her, uncomprehending. Zoyeir tried to hide her fear. She’d faced down Sith before, after all.
She’d just never imagined Nevelta being anything like them.
A faint flicker of blue gleamed in the lanternlight, turning Nevelta’s eyes into something more like the ocean and less like hardened gold. She hugged her middle with one arm, gripping her elbow as she looked down away from Zoyeir.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “Zoyeir, I never meant to frighten you.”
“Who’s frightened? I’m not frightened,” Zoyeir tried immediately. Nevelta glanced up at her with a tired, rueful smile.
“I will never hurt you, so long as I live,” she promised. “You’re certain you can take Iltani back from the Jedi?”
“That’s the only reason I let him have her,” Zoyeir said. “One specific Jedi. He’s got a sense of honour. He’ll be happy to let her come home.”
“Good,” Nevelta said. “Good.” She looked up at Zoyeir again, and her face crumpled. She looked as miserable as Zoyeir felt. “Come here?” she requested, sounding so much like the girl who’d been Zoyeir’s first kiss that Zoyeir could imagine Nevelta getting shorter and slimmer and more awkward before her eyes. But this was better than that. This tent didn’t belong to a Hutt or some gangster who’d won a Hutt’s fickle favour. It was Nevelta’s. Zoyeir fought in armour, with friends, in battles she chose. The two of them could walk outside right now and start tossing around orders, and no one would laugh at them or beat them for it. Nevelta reached out a hand, timid in a way that was already strange to see on this new Darth Nevelta.
Zoyeir took it, and let Nevelta pull her back into her arms.
“All I wanted was to get the two of you back,” Nevelta said quietly. “And now I can have you both. No one will touch you again.”
“Well,” Zoyeir said. “You could touch me. A little. When Iltani is out of the house. I’ve got some people on my crew I trust to babysit.”
Nevelta smiled, huffing a quiet laugh from her nose, and kissed Zoyeir again.
The Weight of Beskar - Ch 14: Story for a Story
Summary: A quiet moment when Fynta and Caldus stop posturing and actually have a conversation with minimal growling. Chapter Word Count: 2,113 Chapter Rating: T Ao3 Link
Caldus didn’t drink what Fynta expected. They were several drinks in, three whiskeys for Fynta, and two margaritas, a daiquiri, and one mojito for Caldus. The Cathar, it seemed, had a sweet tooth.
Fynta wasn’t the only one to notice, either. Around them, patrons watched Caldus sideways glances and audible whispers. The Cathar did an impressive job of ignoring them, but she was struggling.
When Fynta gestured to the frozen concoction clutched in those clawed hands, Caldus flashed his teeth in an almost friendly smile compared to what she normally received. A woman nearby gasped dramatically and signaled the bouncer. Fynta started to rise, but Caldus shook his head. “Legally, I haven’t done anything that would warrant throwing me out.”
Easing into her seat, Fynta glared at the woman. As it happened, Caldus was right. The bouncer gestured at their table, then pointed towards the door. The abashed woman yanked her partner from his seat and dragged the smaller man out of the room. Caldus rumbled a low chuckle, the bouncer resumed his bored vigil by the door, and Fynta wished she could hit something.
”You handled that better than I have in the past.” Fynta watched the room, looking for other signs of disquiet.
”Been thrown out of a lot of bars?” Fynta glanced at Caldus, pasting on a wide grin. The Cathar paused with the straw nearly to his mouth, then smirked. “Stupid question.”
Fynta laughed this time, appreciating the dry humor she hadn’t realized her companion possessed. “I’ve got to ask about the drink choices.” Fynta leaned forward to sniff at the frozen delicacy. Even from this distance, the fruit was pungent.
“I spent most of my life eating and drinking shit.” Caldus tapped the pink drink against Fynta’s tumbler of whiskey. “This stuff is good.”
Being raised Mandalorian meant Fynta enjoyed the bitter, spicy things in life. She wouldn’t fault the Cathar for his tastes, though. With a salute, Fynta knocked hers back while Caldus sipped through a straw.
A low growl rumbled from the other side of the table, and Caldus pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Fynta burst out laughing, started to pat the big guy on the shoulder, then stopped herself. “Try rubbing your temples.” Her brain freeze cure received the single-eyed glare Fynta expected, and she toned her delight down to a chuckle.
It didn’t even matter that the two men at the table next to them relocated. It meant fewer people to make Fynta’s new friend feel uncomfortable. If Caldus noticed, he didn’t show it. It was becoming clearer than before what being an alien in the Empire meant. Caldus wasn’t a beautiful Twi’lek, a studious Chiss, or a powerful True Sith. He was Cathar, little more than an animal to their eyes. Fynta made a silent decision to make sure he didn’t face these places alone. At least on Nar Shaddaa, no one would care.
Caldus recovered a moment later, then nodded at Fynta’s metal leg. “What happened there?”
The prosthetic in question was braced on the highest rung of her stool, which shoved her knee between both of his when Caldus turned to have a conversation with her. Her natural leg swung lazily, but the prosthetic was too heavy.
Fynta signaled for another drink, then fixed her partner with a challenging stare. “Story for a story?”
Caldus took a moment to consider, then nodded. “Within reason.” He didn’t sound nearly as drunk as Fynta thought he should be, and that annoyed her because she was definitely buzzed. Maybe she should switch to one of those fruity drinks—or order a water.
”Lost it to a Sith.” A one-eyed man with a cybernetic eyepatch paused halfway into his seat at the recently vacated table. His gaze darted briefly to Fynta as he finished lowering himself. A veteran, judging by the scars and a high-and-tight hairstyle. That ramrod posture screamed Imperial soldier, too. The man didn’t ooze the arrogance of an officer, so Fynta acted like she hadn’t noticed how his ears turned towards them. Old soldiers loved war stories, after all.
Caldus made a gesture for Fynta to continue. “That can’t be the whole story.” She saw the way the Cathar’s shoulders tensed and how he intently kept his attention on her. He’d pegged their new companion for a soldier too, she guessed.
Fynta leaned forward and lowered her voice just to irritate the old timer. Caldus mirrored her posture, though she imagined his hearing made it a moot point. Grinning, Fynta whispered, “I won.”
Caldus chuckled, the stripes above his eyes lifting with approval. “Well, shit, don’t leave me in suspense, woman.” When the man at the table next to them didn’t move, the Cathar’s posture relaxed a modicum.
The way Caldus said woman didn’t sound nearly as bitter as human, so Fynta counted that as progress. “It was my first Sith contract, actually. I learned a lot of lessons from that one. Namely, make sure they are really dead before celebrating.” The man at the next table snorted whatever he had ordered in that tankard.
Fynta grimaced and rubbed the phantom ache. It didn’t bother her much these days, but talking about it reminded her of the fear and chaos that followed. She’d been young and stupid—younger and stupider—and thought herself invincible. If Verin and Cinlat hadn’t been there to drag her out of the collapsing ruins of that accursed villa, then Fynta would have been buried with the Sith and her leg.
Taking another swallow of whiskey to drown the memories, Fynta waved at Caldus. “My turn. Who taught you to shoot?” She needed to choose her words carefully with a neighbor listening in.
Caldus studied Fynta for a long moment, then gave yet another unexpected answer. “I served in the Imperial military.” When Fynta’s glass missed her mouth, Caldus offered another of those toothy grins that she was starting to appreciate. “Jos and Valk just honed my aim.”
There was a lot to unpack in that simple answer, but Fynta didn’t get the chance because this time the man at the next table spoke. “For the Empire.” His glass, a clear liquid that could be anything, lifted in Caldus’s direction.
Fynta started to tell the man off, but Caldus lifted his fruity drink in reply and offered a silent nod. The quiet that settled over their table after that unsettled Fynta. She hadn’t gotten the impression that Caldus was a patriot, but now didn’t seem like the time to ask.
“How old were you when you joined the clans?” Fynta asked, keeping her voice low and lips hidden behind her glass.
Caldus shook his head while taking another long pull on his straw. Fynta watched the frozen beverage sink further in the glass. “Not your turn.” After a moment of consideration, Caldus asked louder than necessary. “Age you made your first kill?”
“Fourteen,” Fynta answered without hesitation. Caldus not only didn’t look appalled, he didn’t even look surprised. Their eavesdropper didn’t make any noise either. “Verin and I ran into a couple of the hut’uuns responsible for the attack on our Clan. I saw them before he did and well—skira.”
Fynta felt Caldus’s low hum of understanding in her bones. It reverberated between them like a song that she wanted to learn the lyrics to. Fynta didn’t waste time with things like guilt, but it was nice to see acceptance from another person. Even Verin had been horrified at the time, berating her for being stupid. It had shown him that if he wanted her to make better choices, he needed to train her.
“Okay, back to my last question.” Fynta pulled up the holo to see if there was anything else on the menu worth ruining her liver on. “When did you join Clan Vizla?”
The air that Caldus blew through his lips was probably more animated than he’d been the entire trip. “Nineteen, I think. I saw this skinny alien kid being hassled by some of the officers, but they stopped when they saw his helmet. I didn’t know much about Mandalorians at the time, but armour that could make humans leave aliens alone—I needed that.”
The man at the table next to them stood silently and left. Fynta wasn’t sure if it was out of respect or outrage, but it was nice to have their corner to themselves again. She watched out of the corner of her eye to see if that old veteran went to the bouncer, but he simply settled at the bar and hunched over his drink.
Caldus watched the man too and snorted, then looked into his empty glass when his next attempt didn’t yield results. “I approached Altan,” Caldus continued even though he’d technically answered Fynta’s question. “Demanding to know what made him so special. He got Jos involved, and they purchased me from my commanding officer. I never asked for how much. Didn’t want to know.”
It confirmed what Verin had suggested, but Fynta hadn’t been aware that the military traded in slaves. She supposed it made sense. Caldus was massive and equipped with natural weapons that would make any civilian owner nervous. He couldn’t be the only one in the Empire with a collar and no one brave enough to hold it.
“They just let you go?” Fynta placed the unmarked chits on the table and ordered two waters from the service droid.
Caldus snorted loud enough that Fynta felt it across the table. “I had kind of made myself a pain in the ass.”
Fynta’s laugh got a few glares, but the cantina was starting to empty out as the night got later. She lifted her water, easing the second glass towards Caldus, and offered a toast. “Here’s to being pains in the ass.”
”Cheers,” the Cathar agreed. When he took a drink, Caldus frowned at the water for not being sickly sweet. Fynta chuckled, but his frown grew the longer he stared.
“I’ll never go back,” Caldus finally said so quietly that Fynta wasn’t sure if it was meant for her. Then, those blazing eyes that she enjoyed so much snapped up and there was no mistaking that he was talking to her. “I’ll die before I go back into chains.”
Fynta reached for him, then hesitated with her hand hovering above his knee. “You won’t go back.” Fynta never made promises she couldn’t keep, but this was one she’d stake her life on. Eventually, she pulled her hand back without touching him. “I’ve got your back.”
That studied expression shadowed his face again. “One more question." Fynta nodded. She had no secrets, and whatever Caldus needed to feel comfortable around her, she’d give him.
Caldus rolled the bottom of his glass on the tabletop, watching the liquid within follow that path of gravity. “What happened on that mission to Rendilli?”
Fynta didn’t hide the viciousness in her grin. “I found the rest of them.” Again, there was no judgment in those fiery eyes. “The Clan leader stole my father’s beskad that night. So, when I saw him again years later, still with the shabbing thing across his back, I volunteered to help. You know the rest.”
”And Verin has his legacy back.” Caldus lifted his glass. “Skira.”
Fynta tapped her water against his, smile never slipping. Verin kept a special display case on the Mantis for their father’s beskad, but Fynta knew her brother enjoyed taking it out from time to time.
”We should get back to Altan.” Fynta started to rise, then swore and flopped back on the stool to order the Togruta’s snacks. “Shab, his food.”
Caldus drained his water, then dropped it to the table with enough force to make Fynta glance up from the menu. “What do you want from my brother?”
Fynta didn’t bother asking for clarification. She’d been around the Cathar enough to understand a little about how his mind worked when it came to humans. He wanted to know what her angle was. So, Fynta answered honestly. “I like him. He’s brilliant. His brain works differently, seeing angles to scenarios that I would never consider.”
Firming her tone, Fynta narrowed her eyes and jabbed her finger at Caldus for emphasis. “And you should keep that in mind.”
”He is brilliant,” Caldus conceded, tapping a particular wrap to add to Fynta’s growing food collection. “He’s also naive and impressionable.”
A droid toddled up to the table to accept Fynta’s payment, then waddled away. “I disagree.” Fynta slid from the stool, not bothering to wait for Caldus to join her. She’d collect the food on her way out. “I think he’s going to surprise you in the coming days.”
Who are the Emperor's Children Chapter 5 - Zenith
With Zenith officially joining the team, there are some growing pains.
Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77799481/chapters/235865991
(Whoa I remembered to update this story)
By the way, if any of you have older fics you'd like to be reblogged to the archive, feel free to tag this blog! While newer fics tend to take priority, the q runs empty a lot and I'd like to fill it more often.
Please only tag once per fic, and do not spam.
General notice: Consider also putting your fic under a readmore if it is longer than 3 paragraphs! Posts that are too long will not be reblogged.
Chapter 58. Companions
after Part 9. Falling Stars
Galaxy Without End
*
Jaesa
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.
In Life, Avowed - 22 AO3 | FFnet
Chapter Summary: Lana is consumed with guilt and self-doubt after Ziost. Vestra decides to ragebait her. [Lana Beniko/f!Sith Inquisitor, if you can believe it]
Vestra raised a hand, and the datapad Lana had left on the couch flew into her grasp. With a tap, she woke its darkened screen and scrolled through Lana's proposal. "Look at this – setting up more safeguards, researching tech to improve defences, training troops and civilians to defend against mental domination, defend, defend, defend. Absolute nonsense." She flicked her wrist and sent the datapad flying to the floor, where it bounced across hard durasteel with loud, painful clatters. Already incensed by the casual rebuke, Lana dug her fingers into Vestra's collar, white-knuckled in the full heat of her fury. "Vestra!"
The fate of the galaxy, the one that resides in your rough and clumsy hands
The final confrontation is upon the Commander of the Eternal Alliance. He's promised his people to put a stop to Darth Nul's machine and save both the Empire and the Republic from the inevitable chaos that would rise from its use. He faces one small issue, however. As he faces Darth Malgus and approaches the machine, he hesitates. ...After all, why shouldn't he let it happen?
Available on AO3 or under the read more
Received a lot of help from @frauleiiin who reviewed my draft. Tysm again!! Happy reading!
Commander Cyaka runs through the corridors of the fortress with the desperation of a dying man. He can feel it. He can feel the machine activating. What everyone's been working on stopping, what so many people sacrificed their lives for its destruction, is starting to activate. Jadus is winning. And that is something he cannot allow.
He arrives in the giant central room, and sees the machine in all its glory, starting to spin. He dashes to its centre, towards the silhouette sitting atop the throne, ready to change the galaxy forever.
And as he comes closer, that silhouette becomes clearer. He stops, dead in his tracks, right after the electricity starts to form a sphere around the mechanism.
"…Malgus."
The imposing Sith opens his eyes, and lowers them onto Cyaka. The calm, collected eyes, of someone who's already won.
"You are too late. I told you that you could not stop this…"
He marks a pause, and slightly tilts his head on the side. Cyaka frowns, holding a defensive stance, his gaze darting around the mechanism for any kind of solution.
"The galaxy is beyond repair--you must realise this." Malgus continues. Cyaka's grip tightens around his saberstaff. "To start anew, to burn it down and rebuild from the destruction... it is the only way."
Cyaka glances up at Malgus again, opening his mouth to throw back the usual witty remark at his enemy, when he suddenly meets his gaze. He freezes. Malgus is looking at him. It isn't a threatening, nor pleading look. He's simply expecting an answer. And Cyaka- Cyaka isn't going to waste this answer on a joke.
…The machine will reveal to anyone in the galaxy with Force sensitivity their potential. Reveal to them what they are capable of, if they try hard enough. That even the lonely child who doesn't think much of himself, even the tired overworked employee standing behind a desk all day, even… Even the slave stuck inside the deepest pit in the galaxy, are capable of rising as far as any other Jedi or Sith.
Why is he trying to stop this?
No- The machine isn't only that. It's a one-way communication device. If Malgus wanted to, he could use this opportunity to gather a following. He could do more than this, and even if he didn't, the consequences would…
…Make the current institutions crumble.
If he did this right- If anyone who used this machine, did it right- It wouldn't- It would cause chaos. A renaissance. A turnaround of the weak and the strong. Anyone in the galaxy with the right power could do what he did as an apprentice, all those years ago. Anyone could break free. Lives would be lost in the midst of the chaos, but- How many would be saved, by teaching them how much they can accomplish, before they could get killed by those who falsely pretend to be their betters?
Cyaka looks back at Malgus. The sphere around them is spinning faster, and faster. If he wants to stop him, he has to step in, now. Malgus frowns, sensing the tension in the air. He gets up from his mechanical throne, ready to fight back.
One last time, the grip around Cyaka's saberstaff tightens.
He takes a step back.
He straightens himself, before lifting his chin with what little dignity he has left, taking care of not breaking eye contact with Malgus.
"…I know."
—
Farther away in the fortress, Theron, Lana, and the ex-Barsen'thor, Sarh'el, are looking to catch back up to their lost Commander amidst the chaos. The energy signature changed in the last few minutes, and there is no more doubt about where the machine, Jadus, and Cyaka currently are. There hasn't been much action since that run for the cannon's commands, as the corridors are already littered with corpses, no doubt struck down by the Commander. She recognises the kind of wounds he inflicts by now. Besides, it can't be much of anyone else at this point.
The only few obstacles they meet fall like flies. They aren't resilient enough, and Sarh'el is getting antsy. Everyone is too out of breath to get distracted with chit chat, too, so nothing is really helping her stop the thoughts from bothering her. It's deeply annoying to her, when she's been trying so hard to stay focused and calm, to recenter herself and listen to the Force again. It's essential for her to do so if she wants to help her friends. If she wants to help Cyaka however she can with all this bullshit that keeps piling up on the Alliance's back.
No one should need to save the galaxy so many times, for so little gratitude in return. At the very least, she's glad that he's the centre of attention and not her; she's had enough of it while she was a part of the Jedi Order. Being powerful and capable isn't an excuse to be the galaxy's scapegoat. And that only happened to her because she manifested that talent for wielding the Force at such a young age.
She doesn't want to imagine what it could do to so many others if that machine is activated.
Outside of the consequences it would have on the natural order of things, of all Jadus could do to everyone who'd hear him, Sarh'el can only think of all the families this would destroy. Every kid who's childhood would be cut short, wether it be by the panic caused by such a sudden discovery, or having to flee the Jedi and Sith's relentless pursuits… Or being killed for what they are, amidst all of the chaos. She- The Alliance cannot allow this to come to pass.
Theron, Lana and her are probably going to arrive late to the party, if they arrive for this confrontation at all. She hates that it has to rely on him all of the time. It's unfair that she can't do be the one to ensure their success. But if it has to be anyone else… She trusts him to get things done. He's never done them wrong in the past. He'll try his best. That's all she can ask of him. That's all anyone can ask of anyone else, actually.
She hears Lana and Theron argue with Acina over the coms. She frowns, the interaction leaving a sour taste in her mouth. This is how they're rewarded for everything they do. They get caught up in the destruction. Like she said before, no gratitude whatsoever, to save the ones who saved the galaxy for them countless times before.
Theron and her look at each other while Lana tries to warn Cyaka through their private channel. They both nod, the same sparking determination in their eyes. They're not leaving without him.
She's not afraid to die. Death isn't in the Force's plans for her, she knows it. She doubts Cyaka's is either, but it's not going to stop her from doing her best to prevent it anyways. But they don't get to progress very far ahead, before something much, much worse reaches Sarh'el's mind.
A voice.
A voice curled up around her ear, whispering about the power she holds. And Lana's horrified look, shooting back at her own, tells her everything she needs to know.
Somewhere deep in space, a spy feels the flow of the Force abruptly imposing itself onto their body. A captain suddenly stands up, startled by the sudden reminder of her own curse. A Jedi looks up at the stars, holding her breath, readying herself for the chaos of a scale none of them have ever witnessed before.
Malgus is doing it. Darth Nul's machine has been activated.
—
Jadus is fleeing. He's cowardly running away, again, never letting himself get reached by his enemies - he knows he'd lose. They'd have to outsmart him if they want to have the slightest chance to get rid of this pathetic excuse of a Sith. The Commander watches the meditation chamber leave the fortress, frustratingly unscathed after everything it's just put them through, again. But his shouts seem to fall on deaf ears; Malgus isn't answering him, letting him trying to find solutions for pursuing him on his own. Cyaka turns back to him, greatly angered by the other's silence.
"Malgus!"
And then he freezes. The Sith is back on the mechanical throne. Of course he wouldn't give Jadus' daring escape another care. He's only come this far for one, single thing. And it's finally in his grasp.
"Are you listening?"
Malgus' voice, booming in his head so suddenly, startles him. He's not just back on the throne- he's using it. He's using the machine. This- This is it. Every person in the entire galaxy with even a slight affinity to the Force has heard his voice already. It's begun.
"Can you hear me?"
Malgus raises his gaze back up as he speaks. Cyaka doesn't know if he's still wary of him intervening, if he's telling him that he's won, or if he's still too focused on what he's doing to even care. He, too, quickly stops caring about any intention Malgus might have. He doesn't even care if he betrays him, after this is done. There's nothing left to betray him from. The only thing Cyaka cared about Malgus doing is already being done. And there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.
He takes a step back, struck silent by the enormity of what's happening. The giant sphere mechanism spins around them both, surrounding them with the calming blue light of the electricity it's generating. Glowing particles are slowly falling to the ground, contrasting with the speed at which the machine is working. With the intensity of everything that is going to fall apart with Malgus' every next words.
This… is a good thing. It has to be.
His allies' faces flash in his mind as his chest fills with the anticipation of everything that is to come. He promised the Voss that he would stop the impending chaos they foresaw. Everyone came together despite the numerous tensions to stop Jadus from using this, and they all trusted him to struck the finishing blow. Sa'har begged him to do what she couldn't - she seemed so scared. Lana has never been a fan of using this machine, unless it was for the Alliance's benefit only. Theron was always worried that this would be taking a choice from everyone who'd hear the user's voice. Jekiah and Rass were waiting for him to end this, somewhere else inside the fortress, over Shae's still warm, motionless body. All of his allies had their reasons for not wanting this to happen, and yet, here he is, standing still in front of it, letting it all happen.
He feels his legs failing him.
But he doesn't get the luxury of letting himself fall to the ground. His eyes flicker upwards upon perceiving the rock about to fall on top of Malgus, before he's even able to utter another word. He looks back down at the other Sith, who closed back his eyes, focusing on the people he's trying to reach. He feels the adrenaline pump back in his legs. He barely hesitates before dashing forward, narrowly avoiding everything else falling apart, inside the machine, to stop the projectile a few meters away from the ground and decisively crushing it, making his hand into a steadfast fist. He allows himself to breathe again.
This could bring everything to ruin. Make governments crumble for the inside out. People - good people - might fight, might die, for ridiculous things, before anything could get stabilised again. Everything could have to be rebuilt from the ashes left behind. He might lose everything he ever cared about to this future. If not from the events, at least from the hate he'll have gathered for letting this happen. Everyone will turn against him. He'll have betrayed them all. Everyone he ever cared about.
It should be terrifying. He knows it should. But this is the promise of a world where the weak can find strength. Of a world where the Republic and the Empire might fall under their own incapability of handling a change of this scale, as he knows all of their institutions are based around the weak staying weaker than them. Everything will be turned upside down, and the ones who will suffer the most for it are currently at the top of the food chain, fearful of having their place taken away.
He has tried to change this rotten Empire from the inside for so long. Despite all the rules he gave up on, he has only ever tried to bring forth a new age through outdated traditions. He fought for a status quo that has never brought him anything but pain and more problems to fix, for the people who it truly benefits to keep things this way. It never did him any good. It never did any of the people he cared to protect any good, despite how many times he believed that, if he tried hard enough, the Empire would finally become the home he saw in it. He's been trying to push away that realisation for the past few weeks. That the people in power would have never allowed him to change it, anyways. So why should he care about their destruction? If they fall to this, they never deserved to stand in the first place.
A pillar detaches itself from the ceiling. Cyaka struggles against the inner barrier of the machine to get close enough to properly stop its fall. He catches it in mid-air, a few meters away from an unwavering Malgus. Cyaka grunts, standing against both the weight of the pillar, and the raw power of the machine flowing through him, as he stands closer than ever to the active throne.
His legs give out from under him. He takes a knee, or rather, violently smashes it to the ground, incapable of keeping it straight. But he doesn't let go. He will stand strong, until the very end if he has to.
He knows that the consequences for his actions will be numerous, and harsh. It's likely that no one will understand why he made that decision. That he is about to lose the base for that quiet life he started to want. Maybe Khem and Andronikos would still follow him, if he's lucky enough not to lose sight of them again. He's not so sure about… Any of the others, really.
He thinks about Xalek and Ashara, who he never could stay for, to properly wrap up their apprenticeship. He thinks about Talos, who'd always blindly put his faith in him, and about his undying loyalty for the Empire. He thinks about Theron, about all the nights spent comforting each other over wounds they didn't know how to heal, and the wedding they promised to have when things quieted down. He thinks about Lana, who always put her trust in him through his stupidest of plans, who never, ever even slightly betrayed him, despite his failures and shortcomings as a leader, and as a friend. He thinks about the people who he promised to that going back to the Empire was a good thing. That he'd protect the Alliance and its people, no matter what would come next.
To this day, he regrets not being the symbol the Alliance needed when it elevated him as its Commander, and he regrets the lives lost because of it. He regrets catering to Acina's every whim to regain a trust she never granted him, and losing precious time and ressources on an ally that never treated him as such. He regrets everything that he never did, out of fear of what would happen if he risked it; and everything he never said, because of what could change if he did.
After today, he will mourn the people who will leave, and he will mourn the roads that will henceforth be barred to him. But it would not be regret; it would be remorse. And he would much rather live with the remorse of a choice he made, than live with the regrets, born of letting himself get carried by a flow that would inevitably lead him away from what truly matters.
He starts to feel the wear on his muscles, and his hold on the projectile above his head starts to slowly, but surely, weaken. He might die in this fortress, struck down by the fortress crumbling under Acina's canons, the Empress he truly wanted to believe in when she said she'd turn the Empire around for the better.
He huffs a laugh. Perhaps that is the trade-off he deserves for what he's doing. For what he's done to the galaxy for all these years. Death seems kinder that whatever he can imagine, right about now. He looks back up at Malgus, still a few meters away from being crushed to death by the giant pillar, still barely holding on from Cyaka's fingertips. After all these years of playing cat and mouse with each other, dying as a sacrifice for the new world they both want to see rise from the ashes of the Empire and the Republic, together on top of it all, seems almost fitting.
And as the tension builds ever more in the air, he can almost feel it. The Force. Calling for the impending change.
For thousands upon thousands of voices to break free from the centuries of pain the stalemate in the Force has caused.
For the arrival of a new age under the new balance coming for the universe.
He closes his eyes. The air is already starting to shift, and the Force has begun to embrace it.
In a heartbeat, as his grip on everything around him is starting to slip, as the pillar finally falls down on top of Malgus and him, he follows suit.
And if he loses everything because of it… So be it.
Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings this chapter: Violence, blood, non-descriptive fatal injuries, minor character death, drug-induced loss of consciousness Relationships: Orgus Din & Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython, Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython & T7-O1 (Star Wars), Kira Carsen & Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython Characters: Female Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython (Star Wars), Orgus Din, T7-01 | Teeseven, T7-O1 (Star Wars), Kira Carsen, Original Jedi Character(s) (Star Wars), Var Suthra, Darth Angral, Bengel Morr Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, A Jedi with abandonment issues a boatload of PTSD and moderate angst, Master & Padawan Relationships (Star Wars), Action/Adventure, Coming of Age, Light Side Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython (Star Wars), complicated Jedi Master & Padawan relationships, broken people healing togetherChapter Summary: Bengel plots, Aja lies, Orgus has a plan, and the final pieces move into place
Probably should’ve waited until a little bit later in the day, but we’re doing a bunch of tech support stuff with the cell provider today, so in case I get derailed, TA-DAAAAA, Chapter 5 is go!
Also, I don’t get descriptive on gory stuff (I’m squeamish) but I do try not to pull too many punches on serious scenes, sooooo maybe mind the warnings on this for one scene in particular.
Bare | Kaaydan x Rue (One-shot)
After a successful espionage mission and a grandiose escape, Rue and Kaaydan "wind off" on the way back to the nearest spaceport..
Pairing: Smuggler x Imperial Agent
Warnings: non-detailed nudity, suggestive, talk in bed, mention of spice (fictional drug) and addiction.
Edit illustration at the end! (non-detailed nudity)
8 ATC | XS Freighter, Captain's Quarters.
...
The mission was a success and it had been accordingly celebrated in the quarters. The Agent and the Captain shared the same bed, bare against each other, while waiting for the ship to reach their destination. The Captain was already resting, Rue thought about doing so as well but curiosity wouldn't let her. Last time they shared a bed, he was only a scoundrel she needed to seduce to accomplish a mission but now.. felt different. Working together had allowed them to discover each other, desire each other and this time for who they truly are. Rue was caressing some features of his, letting herself wonder with never-ending questions. She mindlessly started tracing over one of his facial scars with her fingers, following its course from his eyebrow to his lips.
Unable to contain her curiosity she finally spoke it out. "So, are you gonna tell me how you really got these?"
Kaaydan, who wasn't really sleeping to begin with, slowly opened his eyes, visibly amused by the question. "My scars? I've already told you."
His audacity made Rue laugh "Don't be ridiculous, a Rancor?"
"No.. You told me the story you tell pretty girls you want in your bed" The Chiss woman got closer to him "I want the real story."
Kaaydan really did find her fascinating, he couldn't believe that he was actually considering telling her the truth.
"It's really not an exciting story." He said, still not entirely sure about telling her.
"Today was exciting enough.. I just want to know more about you, Kaaydan." Rue said, making herself comfortable again and resting her head on his shoulder.
Kaaydan looked at the ceiling, thinking about the decision he was about to make and then, he let out a long sigh. "Alright, here goes nothing."
He could feel her lovely gaze onto him but he kept staring into the void, otherwise he wouldn't be able to tell this story.
"Back when I still lived on Nar Shaddaa I.. had problems with spice."
"It got to the point where my credits couldn't keep up and the withdrawal symptoms made me do something really stupid."
He finally looked at her, a grin with hints of shame on his face and said...
"I tried to steal spice."
Both were silent for a few seconds, the look on her face spoke for her. The word resonated in her mind ''tried..''
"They caught me, obviously." He confirmed.
"They nearly beat me to death, I really thought they were gonna kill me."
"Until they stopped but not out of mercy.. they stopped because their boss had arrived and let's say he wasn't too thrilled with the situation."
Rue softly squeezed Kaaydan's arm, as she knew the story wasn't going to end well.
"Killing me would've been too easy. No.. he wanted to give me a lesson." He really tried to keep it cool but the slight tremble in his voice proved otherwise.
"He asked his men to hold me while he pulled out a vibroknife out of his sheath.."
"And he did this." Kaaydan said as he pointed the two cuts accross his face.
There was a silence.
Rue held him, in a way that almost felt like a hug, she looked at him in the eyes and she said "You didn't deserve that."
He huffed a laugh, he couldn't truly believe her words but he appreciated the thought behind them.
Kaaydan needed to escape the seriousness of this conversation, so he said "Well, at least I look hot with those scars."
This phrase being the conclusion to his confession made Rue giggle, he really could be an idiot sometimes, she thought.
"..and they give me something fun to lie about. You gotta admit, a Rancor would've been cool." He said jokingly.
His wording aroused the woman's curiosity further more.
"Do you really always lie about them?"
The look on her face gave it away that she was plotting something, Kaaydan just didn't know what exactly yet.
"Yeah, why not? It's not like I'm seeing the person who asked again." He said warily, unsure of where this was going.
"So what you're saying is that you wish to see me again." She said seductively while moving up to him.
He looked so confused but Rue could tell the sudden closure had an effect on him.
"What? I didn't-"
"You wouldn't have told me the truth if you didn't know we'd cross paths again.." said the Chiss woman with a proud expression on her face.
Kaaydan exhaled a smile when he finally realized. She was trying to destabilize him, trying to bring out his weakness for her but he couldn't let her win, not yet.
"And what if I've just been lying to you this whole time?"
As the smuggler was trying to save himself Rue was getting closer and closer to his face. It was a matter of time before he fell.
"What if I'm lying right now?" He tried to fight it off but the longing in his eyes betrayed him.
The woman was now only a few centimeters from him and said "I don't think you are."
Rue at last pressed her lips against his, leading Kaaydan to close his eyes and kiss her back profoundly. Her satisfied grin slowly faded as she savoured the moment.
...
They eventually fell asleep to the engines' soothing hum. It felt like the galaxy had pierced thought the ship and instilled its stillness inside. Everything felt so quiet, as if time itself had stopped for them. For a moment, it was just them, the sounds of engines and the nothingness of the galaxy.
By the way, if any of you have older fics you'd like to be reblogged to the archive, feel free to tag this blog! While newer fics tend to take priority, the q runs empty a lot and I'd like to fill it more often.
Please only tag once per fic, and do not spam.
Don't judge a smuggler by her gun
Pairing: Arcann/f!smuggler
Chapters: 2/4
Wordcount (total): 9.626
Additional Tags: Tirall family drama (that's the whole fic)
Chapter 2 is out!
As always the promotional Memeboard to go along with it
Every passing day under Vaylin's rule, the Eternal Empire was becoming more and more of a threat, and the Alliance needed information to keep up the pace. When an opportunity presented itself to gather some, the Commander only saw one solution: sending his two best elements on the scene, the previous Cipher Nine and Theron Shan. But there was a reason why he'd avoided making them work together up until this point. They both lived through hell because of the other's old faction. There was a million ways as to how this could go horribly wrong before they could even reach their destination...
Chapters: 2/3 (4223 words) Fandom: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Beta-read by @frauleiiin ! Thanks again :]
Chapter 56. Smuggler, Consular, Trooper, Inquisitor (part 1/2)
from Part 9. Falling Stars
Galaxy Without End
*
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."
*
Story index
Chapter 55. Smuggler
From Part 9: Falling Stars
Galaxy Without End
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.”
“I’m crushed,” Risha deadpanned. “Just heartbroken.”
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.
*
Story index
