Boom! Meme!. Fanfic Reverse Asks - 3, 6, 10 ... 3. The best character you've written for: Cleaner One is best OC. Just the best. What a train wreck. ... 6. Something I remember vividly from reading one of your fics: Cleaner bitching that Twi'leks got three dicks and two of them are exposed. Perfection....10. A ship I didn't enjoy/think about as much before you wrote about them: I might be misremembering, but I think Umrahiel's DS Jaesa got it on with Quinn, which makes painful amount of sense.
Thank you so much!
Cleaner is fun to write even though he's such a terrible person. That was a very early line in Cleaner. Kaliyo stepped on or grabbed one of his lekku; I read somewhere that lekku were part of a Twi'lek's brain as well as erogenous zones so...yeah, sometimes fun, sometimes a giant pain in the...well....dick.
I know I definitely had Quinn wanting DS Jaesa, Jaesa only having eyes for Umrahiel, and that desire being a factor in Quinn's decision to betray Varrel. Social climbing and all that. I can't recall if I actually had Quinn and Jaesa hook up, though.
I planned for Umrahiel to use the Inquisitor's body-swap thing to put his mind and memories into a younger body (yay immortality), but I never did write that out. The most I did was write Umrahiel visiting Zash (who's occupying a Miraluka body) in an herbalist-alchemist-totally-not-invoking-Baba-Yaga shop to start his journey.
I haven't read Cleaner One since I've still never gotten around to finishing the Agent story (one day. . . ), but I assume he is 100% done at all times because Imperial Intelligence is Like That.
Oh fun! I was just re-reading some of his stuff. Here goes:
"Done? As in Done With This Shit? Kark yeah, I'm done with it. It's a thankless job, but somebody's got to do it. Keeper'll tell new agents they're the Empire's janitors. He's wrong. They're routine maintenance. I'm the janitor.
"It never really changes, you know? Hell, my mission briefs are fill-in-the blank. So-and-so karked things up in City on Planet, get out there and clean up the mess before the Republic figures out what went down. Assuming I get a mission brief at all. Usually it's a panicked holo in the middle of local night sending me who-knows-where with details 'to follow'. They never follow, surprise surprise. Hardly matters since the solution is always shoot everyone connected to the problem. My solution, anyway.
"Maybe you're thinking done as in handing in the ID and the clearance? Retiring somewhere nice or at least not shitty? With an actual name and a nice little pension? Then no. I'm not done. I'm not, because the only way out of this gig is at the wrong end of a blaster or vibroknife. If I'm lucky it'll be Keeper doing it. Least he could do after all this time.
Probably get shoved down a waste-reclamation chute no matter who did the deed. Started as trash, ended as trash."
“Alright, that’s about it except for the enamel,” Cleaner said, setting down a section of a blaster rifle.
Kaliyo pressed a blue glowing ring into place, “Not bad. Wouldn’t fool me, though.”
“Careful with that,” Cleaner complained, “The pack was multicolored. If you break that one I’ll have to repaint the whole thing.”
“Poor baby,” she teased, spinning the ring with her finger.
“Come on, I’m serious,” Cleaner said, taking the reticle away from her, “plus it’s not meant to fool you. Just someone who reads a lot of flimsimags and thinks he’s a pro.”
Kaliyo surrendered the piece, “Fool the fool.”
Cleaner stood up from the parts table, “You need to call Yjal.”
“Oo, fun,” Kaliyo groused, standing as well, “Still think it'd be fun for you to play bounty hunter," she said.
"We can play that later," he said, sliding a hand down her back.
She leaned into his touch, "We could make a few credits and mess with Yjal."
"You're messing with him already," Cleaner said, "and you hardly need the credits." he said.
"Spoilsport," she teased.
He patted her ass, "Come on, make the call. I gotta grab supplies and meet my contact."
She stepped away, "Fine, fine, boring it is."
Cleaner followed her to the holoterminal and flopped on the acceleration couch, well outside image capture range, "We're still shooting up the place. That's hardly boring." Kaliyo's only reply was to stick her tongue out at him. "Mm. Afterwards, yeah?" he asked.
"If you're good," she said with a sly smile.
"I'm very good," he retorted, adjusting himself through his trousers.
"Ha ha," she said. Blue snow filled the holoterminal display while it made the connection. Kaliyo went serious as the image resolved, "We need to talk, Yjal."
"So now you want to talk," Yjal said. He looked in remarkably good shape for having survived a cantina bombing.
"Yeah. I wanna talk," Kaliyo insisted.
“I heard about you and your Twi'lek companion on Nar Shaddaa,”
Cleaner unfolded one leg, more interested. Which Twi'lek did Yjal mean? "Anspi's old news. I owed her one,” Kaliyo said, assuming the other.
"You owe me as well, Kaliyo," Yjal said, threat darkening his words.
"The bounty wasn't very nice."
"On the contrary, it is an extremely nice bounty," Yjal said, "More than adequate for the purpose. You cost me business. Credits. Reputation. Very nearly my freedom."
Kaliyo rolled her eyes, "Come on,Yjal. You spent more on the contract."
"It is the principle of the thing," he said.
"How do I convince you to take it off?" Kaliyo asked.
"I hear you have a new Twi’lek friend. Where is he? You should introduce us." Yjal said, ignoring her.
"Partner. Former partner. I ditched him," Kaliyo said, "Thanks for asking. Drop the bounty, Yjal. You're gonna get a bad rep with the brokers."
"I do not believe you left your new friend," Yjal said, still ignoring Kaliyo's responses, "my information says you are still with him."
She put a hand on her hip, "Info’s wrong."
"I do not think so,” Yjal said, “You still have his ship.”
"Out of date, then,” she groused, “I dumped him and kept the ride. For old times’ sake.”
“Sentiment? You?” Yjal scoffed, “I doubt it. Say you kept it to spite him. This I would believe.”
Cleaner fought the urge to laugh. Kaliyo flipped a rude gesture, equally applicable to himself or Yjal, “Had a fallout over your stupid bounty. Surprise surprise,” she said.
"A shame he did not try to collect it," Yjal said.
"Why do you think I ditched him?" Kaliyo said.
"Just as well," Yjal said, “Will you pay what you owe?”
“You spent more coming after me,” Kaliyo insisted, “That’s just dumb, Yjal. Even for you.”
Yjal sighed. Cleaner could see his frustration through the holo. "At least speak to me one more time."
“We're speaking now,” said Kaliyo.
“In person,” Yjal said.
Kaliyo laughed, "In person? Right. Looks to me like you didn't show the last time."
"Neither did you," Yjal accused.
"That wasn't my fault-"
"I am no fool," he concluded, "Had you come my men would have escorted you to me."
“By men you mean thugs?” Kaliyo asked, propping a hand on her hip, "And by escort you mean kidnap?"
Yjal’s image shrugged, "Semantics."
"Hardly," Kalino glared, an expression likely unreadable through the link, "Bounty's just a third-party contract kidnapping anyway."
“If you prefer your words then keep them,” Yjal said, "You will pay or my hunters will bring you."
Kaliyo scrubbed at her eyes, “Fine. Fine. We’ll meet. Somewhere nice and neutral--”
“Port Nowhere,” Yjal interrupted.
“You planned that,” Kaliyo said, “had it in mind all the time.”
"I remember how you falsified holonet credit transfers," he said, "I will accept only genuine currency and only from your hands."
Kaliyo stabbed a finger at Yjal's holo, "No flunkies and no hunters. Just you and me in a public place. And no weapons, either."
Yjal crossed his arms over his chest, "Port Nowhere frowns on altercations. That is all the assurance I will give."
"Call off the hunters," Kaliyo demanded.
Yjal grinned. Cleaner could tell even without seeing his face, "I think not. The bounty stays in place until you settle with me personally."
"Fine. Port Nowhere," Kaliyo agreed, "Three weeks."
"Three weeks," he repeated, "Yjal out."
The holo collapsed in blue sparks, suggesting Cleaner ought to realign the emitters. "You hear that little tremor in his voice? He's adorable," Kaliyo said with a smirk, "Whenever I stick my nose out he starts torturing people to find out where I am. He's obsessed with me."
Sounded more like he held a grudge a parsec wide. "He agreed to a meet awfully quick. What's the story between you?"
Kaliyo gave Cleaner a dismissive wave before settling in beside him, "We met on Farstine when he was selling hardcase ammo. Spotted each other's markings across the room. He had a line on top-grade Balmorran arms. Pretty good while it lasted."
"Why'd you quit him?" Cleaner asked.
Kaliyo shrugged and nestled into his shoulder, "He got all clingy. Like he owned me. So I sold a mixed lot of blasters out from under his nose and split with the take. He claims I owe him since they were his, but since he had his flunkies take 'em out the factory back door, I don't owe him a nerf turd."
Cleaner ran a finger around the edge of her ear, "He sees it different."
"Course he does. He wants to see me," Kaliyo said, "plus he sucked up to the Empire on Balmorra. He's probably short on credits now that the government changed sides."
Not with the size bounty he was offering. Unless it really was a play to get Kaliyo to holo him. Stars knew not much else would. Cleaner stretched his legs out on the scuffed gaming table, "Port Nowhere, though," he said, changing the subject, "Bit far into Republic territory for my taste."
Kaliyo levered up off his chest, "No worse than Czerka," she said.
"Czerka's an actual op," Cleaner said.
"Afraid?" she teased.
"Of the ‘pubs? Hardly," Cleaner replied.
Kaliyo squirmed around on the acceleration couch until she lay on her back with her head in Cleaner's lap, "That Daddy will find out what you're up to?" she asked.
Cleaner bristled. She meant the Minister. He hated it when she referred to him that way. "I'd prefer neutral space."
"Port Nowhere officials like credits just as much as Hutt Cartel ones do," Kaliyo assured him. She reached up to stroke his chin.
He evaded her caress, "That's what concerns me."
"Three weeks," Yjal said.
The image in his holo, a human male, nodded, "And the location?" he asked.
"Port Nowhere. She didn't even argue," Yjal said.
"Excellent," the image replied, "Kaliyo requested the meet?"
"Yes," Yjal frowned, "She says she's no longer with her Twi'lek partner."
"She's lying," the holo said, "Though I am surprised he's not playing bounty hunter and trying to collect from you."
"Perhaps he will," Yjal said, "she agreed rather quickly. Your people will be there?"
"Of course."
Yjal leaned in toward the image, "Kaliyo Djannis is mine. I want that perfectly clear. I have no interest in her partner or what you do with him but do not touch her," he warned.
The holo nodded again, "Perfectly clear, Yjal. You get what you want, I'll get what I want. I see other lucrative contracts in your future if all goes well."
"I hope you know what you're doing, Hunter," Yjal said.
"Don't worry," the image replied, "I arranged everything. Hunter out."
As soon as the connection broke Hunter quickly reconfigured the system and reopened a different channel, "Apologies, Master Kothe. Some of my contacts don’t tolerate delays as well as you do.”
“No apology required, Hunter,” Ardun Kothe said, his reassurance rumbling through the transmission like a purr, “I understand your concerns, but the Hoth mission must succeed. I cannot emphasize that enough.”
“After the word from Taris, though,” Hunter said, breaking eye contact and staring at the console, “I’d like backup. I’ve never asked for backup before, Master Kothe. That should tell you something.”
Ardun Kothe took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, “I know. I can’t spare it, Hunter, I wish I could. Things are coming together quickly. All the pieces moving at once. We only have one chance at this."
Kothe had that faraway look. The one he got when he was envisioning the Force or some such. Hunter brought him back to reality, "I shouldn't have left Chance alone," he said, turning Kothe’s remark around, "You asked me to observe. I should have stayed until his op was complete. It's my fault."
"No, it's not," Kothe reassured him, "We don't know what happened on Taris--"
"Legate dropped out of sight for a while," Hunter interrupted. His sources put her briefly on the Imperial Homeworld, which did not bode well for either of his affiliations, "before showing back up in Hutt space. I think we can guess," he said.
"I need her on Hoth, Hunter," Kothe proclaimed, "whether we trust her or not, she is the only one of us who can locate the Starbreeze. There is no other way. You gave us her keyword -- "
"It didn't much help Chance," Hunter retaliated.
"There will be a time for questions later," Kothe declared, ending the discussion, "for now, we need her. The keyword works. I tested it. If you need to, use it. I trust your judgement," Kothe’s blue-tinged hand reached for the cutoff switch, "Your mission on Hoth is top priority. You must not fail."
Hunter faked sadness, "Sorry," he apologized, "I took his death pretty hard. I felt responsible."
Kothe favored him with a weary smile. "I know. That's why you're on my team. Have confidence, Hunter. May the Force be with you. Ardun Kothe out." His monochrome image winked out.
Hunter checked the calendar. He'd be on Hoth, still, in three weeks. Unless Legate-Cipher Nine moved a hell of a lot faster on her objective than she had in the past and Hoth had an extended period of perfect weather.
Hunter set about configuring the holotransmitter again. Neither of those were likely. He'd have to sit this one out.
"Thought I'd find you here," Cleaner said, leaning against the doorjamb.
Fixer 43 looked up from his console, "Oh. Hello, Cleaner. I thought you were still piloting. I didn't notice the transition to hyperspace," he said.
Cleaner meandered into the storage area where the Fixer set up his station. He must have taken the opportunity of their brief stop on Dromund Kaas to restock his favorite soap or cologne. A light, pleasant fragrance graced the room along with Fixer 43's pleasant visage. "Haven't yet. Letting Kaliyo take a turn. Don't worry. Autopilot's set to kick in if she heads to close to a gravity well," he said with a quick laugh.
Fixer 43 twitched a smile, "She won't, will she?" he asked.
"Doubt it," Cleaner said. Kaliyo wasn't quite reckless enough to brush atmospheres or buzz other craft. Not if she wanted out of Imperial space quickly. "How come you're not working with the Doc? Thought you were collaborating."
"Oh, we are, sir," 43 said, "but there's quite a bit I can do on my own." He squirmed in his seat, "To be frank, as much as I enjoy our project, I find Doctor Lokin a little frightening," he admitted in a conspiratory whisper.
So did everyone. Cleaner leaned on the makeshift desk, overlooking the workstation. Took a brief inhale of the Fixers perfume. "Is he bothering you?" Cleaner asked.
"No, not as such,'' 43 said, "He has a most brilliant intellect. I'm not accustomed to working so closely with an experimental physician."
Lokin best not be experimenting on his favorite fixer. "He hasn't volunteered you for anything, has he?" Cleaner asked.
"No, no, sir. Nothing like that," 43 denied, "He’s quite intense and focused. It’s a bit intimidating."
Cleaner nodded as though in agreement. Better lay out some more ground rules with the good doc. "You let me know if he bothers you, yeah?"
"Of--of course sir," Fixer 43 said.
“Is that what you’re working on now?” Cleaner asked, glancing at the console’s display. The microscopic size of the font alone was enough to give him a headache.
The Fixer flushed, “Oh, well, technically no, sir. I was catching up on some of the periodicals. There’s so much less fuss over clearances on the homeworld. Not that publishers don’t ask,” he hastened to add, “but the checks come through quicker. Even through the Nar Shaddaa bureau channels I was always a month or more behind.”
Cleaner smiled. Couldn’t have asked for a better segue. “You’ll be pleased to see this, then,” he said, removing a crimson datacard from his trouser pocket, “Got some more out of Darth Zhorrid’s files on the Eradicators."
"Really?" Fixer 43 asked, reaching for the data card.
Cleaner didn't release the card right away, "I wanted you to see them first," he said. He let 43 have the data, his fingertips trailing over the Fixer's soft skin. 43 pulled back and hurriedly shoved the card into the read slot. "Gentle!" Cleaner admonished, "That's the only one I've got," he said with a wink.
Fixer 43 suddenly found the station's display riveting, "Oh. I--I'll be sure to make a copy, then." He risked a glance at Cleaner out of the corner of his eye.
"Please do," Cleaner said. He leaned in a bit closer. Thought about touching his lovely hair and decided against it. Patience. Fixer 43 wasn't going anywhere. "Let me know if you need anything else," he said.
"I-- I will, sir," Fixer 43 stammered.
"Good," Cleaner breathed. He slid off the desk. "It looks like Jadus did a pretty thorough purge," he said, all business again, "but if he left anything I'm sure you'll find it."
"I will do my best, sir," the Fixer replied.
"Excellent," Cleaner said. He left the storage area for the lounge and its oversized holocom. Checked the scrambler and entered coordinates in Hutt space. His contact was sure to run a trace and he didn't want to come up deep in Imperial territory. Pulled out his sole remaining pack of cigs--two left. Thanks, Kaliyo, for cutting short the last Nar Shaddaa visit. He stuffed them back and entered the holofrequency then stepped back into visual capture range while the idle tones played.
The connection alert chimed and a heavyset figure resolved in the field. "Hey, Horell. Glad you picked up," Cleaner said in basic with a strong Huttese inflection.
"Tan’araan!" Horell cheered, "I was just thinking about you. Don't suppose you've exceeded my bag, have you?" he asked with a laugh.
Cleaner laughed with him, "Did pretty well on Nar Shaddaa a while back. But then I don't keep count the way you do."
"Hardly sporting on Nar Shaddaa," Horell said, scratching his Van Dyke, "like fish in a barrel."
"True," Cleaner admitted with a shrug, "You change your..." he trailed off as though searching for a word and mimicked Horell’s gesture, "...face-fur?" he said at last.
Horell guffawed, "Beard! Beard. Yes, yes I did."
"Beard. Yes," Cleaner said, accepting the correction he didn't need. "Looks good."
"For face-fur," Horell said, snickering, "Got rid of the muttonchops. Wife says she likes it better this way. She says it makes me look more serious. Executive," he said, his voice pitching lower for the last few words.
Made him look fatter, in Cleaner's opinion. "She knows best," he said.
Horell guffawed again, "She does! Well, about that sort of thing." He turned serious, "You didn't holo me about my appearance, Tan. I doubt it's to invite me on another Evocaii hunt, either."
Cleaner sighed, "It's not."
Horell nodded in sympathy, "Republic not to keen on your employer's business practices, eh?"
"Oh, they like the guns just fine," Cleaner replied with a derisive short, "It's the ‘collaborator' label they hate."
"Hypocrites," Horell said.
Cleaner shrugged again, "Good thing I was offworld at when it changed hands."
A little smirk twisted Horell's furry lips, "I suppose you're out of a job, then."
"Got a new one already, thanks," Cleaner said.
"Oh?" Horell said, surprised, "still in weapons?"
"No," Cleaner replied, "At least not exclusively. Concierge of a sort. Clients want something, I get it. For a fee, naturally."
"Naturally," Horell said, scratching at his beard again, "sounds interesting. Are you accepting new clients?"
"Depends," Cleaner said. He had a bribe in mind for Horell’s cooperation, but it wasn’t part of his new cover story. Bit late to backtrack now. "What do you want?" he asked.
Horell laughed, "Right now?"
"Sure," Cleaner said, "though I holoed on behalf of an existing client. I wasn't planning on soliciting new business."
"I see," Horell said.
"If you’re in the market..."
"No, no," Horell started.
"...I can offer an associate discount," Cleaner finished.
"Hmm, I might just take you up on that in the future," Horell replied, "so what were you looking for?"
"I've got a client who's big on archaeology. Not a pro. A dedicated amateur," Cleaner said, "A collector. Current obsession is--hold a sec, I gotta check the spelling." He made a show of retrieving the datapad and selecting a file. "R-A-K-A-T-A. Rakata. I'm saying that right?"
“Long ‘aurek,’ that’s right. Rakata,” Horell corrected, putting the emphasis on the second syllable.
Bingo. Can’t deny knowing what they are now. “Rakata. Thanks,” Cleaner said, repeating Horell’s pronunciation, “Rakata. And I thought, I bet my friend Horell at Czerka knows a thing or two about the Rakata.”
Horell straightened a bit. Probably flushed as he realized he was trapped, but it didn’t show in the holo’s blue monochrome. “I don’t know, Tan.”
“Come on, Horell, this stuff is tied up in museums or academic’s offices, gathering dust,” Cleaner said, “or going for ridiculous sums at auction. I need something else.”
“Czerka has clearances, Tan,” Horell objected, “I can’t just wander into one of the research labs and drop a nugget in my pocket.”
“What about stuff in storage?” Cleaner asked, pressing the issue.
“Tan, you’re asking a lot,” Horell insisted.
“I smoothed things over with Nem’ro for you,” Cleaner said, “He even gave you a reward for putting down an Evocaii rebellion instead of kicking you off his part of Hutta. You owe me one."
"It's not that simple, Tan," Horell said, "Anything that reaches Corporate is catalogued. Inventoried. If things go missing it will be noticed."
Cleaner ran a hand over the top of his head, "I'm really in a jam, Horell," he said, quieter, "I would have charged the client a lot more if I'd known what Rakata were at the time I took the contract. I'm going to take a loss on this job as it is. But I need the business. The reputation. Help a guy out, willya?"
Horell held his hands wide, "Tan-" he started.
"Look, how about a list of sites?" Cleaner asked, "I'm sure Czerka already cleaned out all the good stuff but there's got to be something left. I can get it myself."
Horell considered for a moment, "You realize you're asking for company secrets. Privileged Czerka information."
"Yeah," Cleaner acknowledged. Now for the actual bribe. He took a deep breath, "I do still have a few prototypes left. Demo models. Nice plasma rifle, high-end scope with some experimental compensators tied into the barrel and emitters. Probably won't ever hit the market now that the factory changed hands." He met Horell's eyes through the holo, "Hate to see it scrapped."
Cleaner imagined he could see Horell's brain working. "Is it for sale?" he asked.
Score. "Gotta cover my loss somehow," Cleaner said. This part was for public consumption. Horell's cover in case he was found out. Of course corporate communication was monitored.
"Standard reload?" asked the Czerka executive.
"For the type, yeah," Cleaner replied, "Nothing proprietary. I've even got a couple spares on hand."
"I'd like to see it," Horell said.
"Any time," Cleaner said, "When's good for you?"
"I've another safari planned in a few months," Horell answered, "so the sooner the better."
"I'll be near your system in two or three weeks," Cleaner said.
"Perfect," Horell said, "Holo me when you're close and we'll set an appointment."
"Will do," Cleaner agreed, "Talk to you soon. Tan'araan out," he concluded.
The blue image collapsed and Cleaner shut off the terminal. He looked up to see Lokin in the doorway. Cleaner stood, "Have your data in a couple weeks."
"Jadus was right," Lokin said, "you were wasted in your former life."
Bastard. "Yeah," Cleaner said, "Too bad you people enslave everyone not human. Might discover more."
"Societal reform doesn’t much interest me,” Lokin said, “and your particular skills don’t quite recommend the remainder of your species.”
“Neither do yours, Doc,” Cleaner replied.
Lokin shrugged, uncaring. “There is a matter I would like to discuss with you,” he announced, changing the subject.
Great, “Can it wait until we hit hyperspace?”
“I believe it is of immediate import.”
Wonderful. Probably wanted to remind him that Zhorrid's data should go to him first. Cleaner depowered the holoterminal and followed him into the medbay.
Lokin closed the hatch behind him, “You asked me to look into ways to alter your conditioning,” he began.
He had. Lokin made it sound so benign. So not a complaint, that was something. “Yeah?” he prompted.
Lokin remained behind, at the door, “Fascinating topic. I’ve outgrown it, of course, but the Research division has an extensive body of experimental results. Quite a variety of species involved as well as conditions and circumstances. Excellent and thorough work, I must admit. My research notes are on the datapad, if you care to look.”
Cleaner dragged the datapad across the bench and glared at the open file. Examination and Chemical Alteration of the Neptheline Transfer System in the Twi’lek and related species with Concurrent Behaviour Modification. In the first paragraph, the abstract, the only word he understood was ‘abstract.’ It referenced a full-color chart, handily reproduced, of a number of non-human species and...something on the axes. Maybe dosage or serum concentration, over probably time. Maybe. His eyes narrowed further, willing himself to understand it. No good. No wonder Doc didn’t worry about leaving his stuff lying around.
Lokin rapped the counter, interrupting his study, “The most relevant parts are farther in,” he said.
“How about you give me the quick version?” he grumbled.
One white eyebrow raised, “The quick version? Well then: no.”
“Fan-fucking tastic,” Cleaner complained.
“Not without knowing the precise commands implanted,” Lokin went on, “Experience suggested as much. The serum proved particularly effective on you. Something to do with the structure of the Twi’lek brain, I expect. It activated strongly in the cerebral tissue resident in your lekku. Since that area houses both long-term memory and some motor functions, it provided excellent control and long-term effectiveness.” Lokin continued, “I don’t often get such encouraging results from an early trial. Intelligence outdid themselves in practical applications. I almost wish I’d not let them have it so cheaply.”
“Figures. The one thing you humans create that works on my species just makes us better slaves. You know something?” Cleaner said, shoving the datapad back across the counter toward Lokin. The creator deity of Twi’leks was truly evil. “I’d hate you more if you didn’t do half your experiments on yourself.”
Lokin snorted in derision, “Really.” A statement, not a question.
“No, not really,” Cleaner said, “Not a lot of point to hating you. I can’t do anything about it.”
“You could,” Lokin said.
“What, kill the only doctor who knows how to program the damn bugs?” Cleaner groused, stomping toward the door, “can’t do that anymore than I can shoot myself. Amounts to the same thing anyway.”
Lokin harrumphed, “Bugs. Another application I handed over to Intelligence without enough thought. Have you any idea what Sith would give for what you deride as mere bugs?”
“Sith don’t need ‘em,” Cleaner countered, “Sith have the Force.”
“Sith like backup,” Lokin replied, “Reassurance. Certainty.”
“Okay. So. On occasion they’re useful. Mostly they ruin two of my three favorite pastimes. Not a good trade, on balance,” He reached for the door panel, “I need a workaround. Something that won’t tip everyone off to the fact my brain has a password.”
Lokin covered the door controls with his hand, "You should also know I've discovered an anomalous signal. A communication of some sort," he said in an almost conspiratorial whisper.
Nerves prickled all down Cleaner's spine, "What kind of communication?" he asked.
"It is a simple signal, likely a code or cipher," lokin said, "buried in the background of the ship’s long-range comms. I only discovered It by chance looking for unused bandwidth for my own receivers."
Same old Doc, keeping tabs on all his lairs. "Whose?" Cleaner asked.
"Unknown," Lokin replied.
"What's it say?" Cleaner demanded.
"Likewise unknown," Lokin admitted, "I only just discovered it. I thought you should know of its existence even if I had no other information to convey at the moment."
Who was it? 43? Kaliyo? Both? Could be Lokin himself throwing suspicion on the others but his gut said no. "Keep me informed," Cleaner said. Lokin's only response was to remove his hand from the door controls. Bastard.
“As you wish,” Lokin said, retreating back into the medbay.
Cleaner continued on to the bridge. From the hatch he saw the back of Kaliyo’s head, ghost pale against the starfield. Was the transmission hers? The Sith had a whole book of proverbs about dealing with enemies. Zhorrid’s idea of light reading. One read Embrace your foe. Hold him close and he’ll never taste the poison on your lips or feel the dagger at his back. He didn’t even know if Kaliyo was responsible. It might even be an official tracking device in case he made off for the rim. "Having fun?" he asked.
She reached forward and clicked off a toggle, "Controls are a bit spongy," she replied.
Embrace your foe. He advanced and planted a kiss on the triangular tattoo at the top of her skull, "I like her soft," he said, running his hands over her shoulders, "yielding."
Kaliyo tipped her head up, meeting his eyes. The pilot's seat rocked back with a wheeze and Cleaner's hands ended up lower on her chest, "I bet you do," she quipped.
He gave her a squeeze, "You prefer stiff?" he asked.
"Maybe," she teased. She pinched the tip of his left lekku where it fell forward and grinned at his wince, "depends on my mood."
"What are you in the mood for now?" he asked.
"You offering?" she asked.
"Maybe," he said, giving her another languid kiss on the top of her head.
"Guess I should put her on auto, hmm?" Kaliyo said, "You got a hyper destination for me?"
Cleaner nibbled on her ear and the seat muttered a complaint, "Corporate sector. Bonadan system."
"What's there?"
"An old friend," Cleaner said. Horell was neither, but Kaliyo wouldn't care.
"Speaking of," Kaliyo said, "What about Yjal?"
"Holo him when we're back in real space," Cleaner said, "Set a meet, if he'll do it. Just you and him."
She stoked his lekku, "Aww. No playing bounty hunter?"
He could make an identity, register as a hunter, take the contract, set a meeting to collect and then blast Kaliyo's annoying former lover. He changed cover identities like clothes. But unlike Tan'araan, established for the recovery op on Hutta forever ago, he really wanted to keep Kaliyo’s mess out of Intelligence's files and anything he crafted wouldn't be as good. Wouldn't pass Yjal's sniff test. Wouldn't pass his, either. "Naa. Too much hassle," Cleaner said, "Set a meet. If he asks about me say you dumped me."
"Why'd I dump you?" Kaliyo asked, her fingers tickling on his skin.
"An argument over your bounty," Cleaner whispered, "It's believable. From what you said he'll check up on me. Probably already has."
Kaliyo turned toward him and nipped his lip. "And it's almost true," she said.
“You’ll have to wait for an escort before I can let you in.”
Cleaner blinked at the sentry. Tried to determine if he was lying. Intelligence HQ often went through periods of tightened security, but requiring an escort was new. “Since when?” he asked, palming his scruffy ID.
“Week or so,” the gatekeeper replied, “Your escort should be here shortly,” he concluded, shutting down further conversation.
Not much point in raising a stink over it. Cleaner yawned and settled in for the wait. No other traffic at the moment, so he had all the sentries to himself. Joy. He didn't wait long before his entourage snapped to attention. He turned and levered off the roof support, "Fixer Twelve. Drew the short straw, huh?"
Fixer Twelve ground his teeth, "Had to be someone who recognized you and had clearance within three steps of yours. Keeper's busy."
"I love you too, Twelve," Cleaner quipped. He let the shaven-headed human chew on a smart answer for a second before continuing, "Come on, I got an appointment," he said.
Cleaner swore he saw actual smoke puff from Twelve's ears, but it was more likely wishful thinking. "After you," the Fixer insisted.
He entered the building with his escort in tow. "What’s with the extra security?" Cleaner asked once they passed the third layer of sentries.
"You don't need to know," Fixer Twelve groused.
"Come on," Cleaner wheedled, "unless it was a glitch you know I'm going to end up shooting it anyway. You might as well tell me now."
He almost heard Twelve’s teeth grinding again. "Something in records. That's all I know. All anyone knows except Security and Internal Affairs."
Twelve sounded final on the subject. Edgy, even. His usual station was in the main monitoring center not far from the elevator to records. IA probably started there before expanding the search. Sucked to be him. Cleaner filed the information and observation away for later.
Fixer Twelve stopped at the end of the hall. The lift to the upper levels showed in service. Twelve punched the summon button and stared at the doors as though willing them to open. The lift chimed in short order and the doors slid open on an empty compartment. They boarded, Cleaner tapping the floor indicator while his escort took up position as far away from Cleaner as the car’s confines allowed. The ride was silent save only for the sounds of well-oiled machinery and air recirculators.
The car stopped and opened on the Sith levels, revealing a functionary. Unlike the one from his last visit, this one wore a high collared dress uniform shirt in solid black, not the usual grey, with a Sith-like lower robe or skirt. Still no rank pips, insignia, or name. “Agent Cleaner One, Hand of Zhorrid. I’ll take it from here, Fixer Twelve,” he said. Cleaner exited. Twelve remained at the back until the lift doors shut out his glaring visage. The functionary focused his attention on Cleaner, “You are to report to The Minister of Intelligence.”
Something about him set Cleaner on edge. Unfamiliar uniform, perfect Kaas accent, perfect teeth, something. “Lead on.”
His black-uniformed escort said nothing. Turned and set off down the hallway, the only sound the rustle of fabric as he glided along the floor. He remained silent as he led Cleaner through the halls to the Office of the Minister of Intelligence where another secretary or sentry--gatekeeper, whatever--awaited them. He merely nodded and allowed Cleaner to pass. Alone. The door hissed shut behind him. The Minister added some tasteful landscapes to his wall art collection but still no damn chairs. "She's in." Cleaner announced.
The Minister steepled his fingers, "Is she?"
Cleaner shrugged, "Up to her. Zhorrid liked the fake apprentice thing. Temple’s not so thrilled with it." He shrugged again, "Best I could do. Had another thought though."
"Did you?" the Minister asked.
Cleaner hated it when the Minister debriefed like this. Was never sure if he was really paying attention or giving him enough rope. "Yeah. Zhorrid's household attendants all look like the opera scene-changers. There could be anyone in there."
"It would have been good to know this sooner," the Minister admonished.
Cleaner suppressed a shiver, " Didn't think of it sooner," he said, "wasn't considering large-scale infiltration, either. She might still notice additions or substitutions."
“Can they be replaced?”
“Dunno,” Cleaner admitted, “Wouldn’t bring it up if I were sure it was a dead end.” A shiver ran through his lekku at the unfortunate turn of phrase, “They’re odd, Minister,” he elaborated, “too Human to be droids, but not droid enough to be Human. Given time I can convince Zhorrid to accept some more conventional servants, but if you want a solid hold on her household fast you’ll have to either replace or subvert them. Or most of them. They’re karking everywhere.”
"Have Temple look into it," the Minister ordered.
"If she’s still there, I will,” Cleaner said, “Maybe prep a list. Start at the fringes. Motor pool, maintenance, groundskeeping. People Zhorrid won't come in contact with often." Cleaner said, "but don't do anything until I see how Temple's doing. Which reminds me," He dug a crimson data card out of a pocket. Emblazoned on it in chrome was Zhorrid's personal crest. Cleaner mounted the dais and set it on the Minister's imposing desk, "Erase everything on Temple and replace it with this."
The Minister reached forward and slid the data card to his side. The overhead lights winked on the chrome emblem. "Zhorrid's idea?" he asked.
"Mine, actually," Cleaner admitted, "You did such a good job for me. Zhorrid narrated. I tried to dissuade her from anything too ridiculous. Figure the techs can make it internally consistent."
"I see," the Minister said.
"Get it done soon. Before Zhorrid gets the bright idea of looking Temple up herself," Cleaner said.
The Minister nodded acknowledgement, "Progress on her Kaggath?" the Minister asked.
He knew the Minister would ask about that, "Nothing solid. Lokin thinks we can backtrack Jadus through the Eradicators but the schematics on file didn't match the scans. I got updated files from Zhorrid but I need the Fixers to make sense of 'em."
The Minister raised one eyebrow, "Will we be able to detect and deactivate them?" he probed, interested for the first time since Cleaner walked through the door.
No clue. Didn't want to admit Lokin probably just wanted into Jadus's lab. "Sure." The eyebrow went higher. The Minister knew him too well. And Lokin. "Maybe? Right now Fixer 43 doesn't think so but Jadus would be stupid to leave anything obvious behind," Cleaner scuffed his foot on the floor, "Technically, they're inactive right now. You wanna find 'em or move 'em, that's a different problem."
The Minister steepled his fingers again, "It is a problem for which I need a solution," he said.
Would Zhorrid use them? Was that the issue? Or was it just the need to remove random orbital death platforms from Imperial space? "Right now I got zippo on that. I can forward what the Fixers have so far--"
"Do so," the Minister said.
"--so, yeah, fine," Cleaner finished. Nothing like having options. "Anything on my guardian sniper?"
It was the Minister's turn to look uncomfortable, "You gave very little information to go on. Had you investigated at the time, we might have more."
Cleaner's lekku twitched, "So you do have something," he prompted.
"Only in the negative," the Minister said, "With your penchant for violence most of the people or organizations you've crossed would rather see you dead."
"Tell me something I don't know," Cleaner quipped.
The Minister's eyes narrowed, "You may be in Zhorrid's employ, Shen, but don't forget your place and who you answer to."
Employ. And her bed. The Minister didn't say so but he knew. They both knew his status was a bit fluid at the moment. Pushed the real agent thing a bit too far. Hoped he got to shoot something soon, he was about out of polite. He inhaled slowly, "I remember. Look, Lokin already brought that up and the watchers are smarter than him. Thought they'd have it figured out by now."
"There are some anomalous instances in mission report records," the Minister admitted, "their significance is being debated. The watchers have nothing concrete at this time."
Records. "That why you increased security below?" Cleaner asked. Maybe the Minister would part with better information.
"Nothing you need be concerned about at this time," the Minister replied.
"Later?" Cleaner pressed.
"Keeper is in charge of day-to-day Intelligence operations," the Minister said, "If she requests your services and I concur, you will be informed."
End of discussion. With Fixer 12's admission Cleaner inferred the archive breach was an inside job, but Internal Affairs had yet to nail down who did it. Interesting of itself but, as the Minister said, they'd let him know if he got to host a retirement party. The thought held little appeal, for a change. His calendar was full enough as it was.
Zhorrid swept into the hallway. Cleaner followed, keeping clear of her lengthy train and billowing cape. "No ordinary servant or slave would do, my lady. Not for you. Not for a member of the Dark Council."
"So you chose this," Zhorrid snapped. She fluttered around a corner.
Cleaner hurried after her, "Yes. Yes. I thought and thought about how best to serve you. Who would know your moods? Who would know what you need before you do? Who would keep your house in order the way you wish, without having to ask your wishes? Who would be perfect?"
She wheeled on him, a tornado of feathers and screeching metal. He pulled up short but still ended up nose-to-nose with her. "Perfect. You call her perfect. Laughable," Zhorrid snarled.
"For this, yes," Cleaner said. He reached for her shoulders.
She twisted away, "For what?" she asked.
"To be your apprentice-" he started.
"I WANT NO APPRENTICE!" Zhorrid screamed.
"Please, my love," Cleaner reached again for her shoulders and caught the elaborate cape. His fingers dug into the fabric.
Her gaze went icy, "Release me or burn." Zhorrid’s voice buzzed with the threat like a lightsaber. Her real saber remained at her side. For now.
"I cannot explain if you won't let me," he pleaded, "please stop."
She seized one lekku and dug in, smiling at his grimace, "Then explain, Cleaner."
Pain lanced from her needleprick nails as well as the pressure. "I thought of the Council. How they don't fear you," he began, wincing when her grip tightened. He counted his pulsebeat against her squeezing fingers. “It’s true. You know it’s true. I’m sorry, my love, but you know it’s true. To them you’re not Darth Zhorrid, Full Member of the Dark Council, Head of the Sphere of Intelligence, you’re just Darth Jadus’s daughter who inherited his seat without trial.”
She twisted his lek and grinned when he yelped, “You dare grant him a title? You presume to invoke my parentage? He is dead to me! I will kill him!”
Disjointed scraps of memory rose to the surface. The grimy smell permeating Nar Shaddaa alleys. Jenks, twisting his lekku the same way. The time a ryll crystal stabbed his finger and he put it in his mouth without thinking. The mingled taste of raw ryll and his own blood. A floaty sense of relaxation underlined with sick dread. A twinge in his temple that had more to do with impinging on the Minister’s restrictions than Zhorrid’s lekku abuse. Provoking her was not good for his continued existence. “You will, my love. I know you will. But the Council, they don’t see it. You have to show them you are worthy. That they underestimated you before, and they continue to do so at their peril.”
Her grip loosened ever so slightly. Score for flowery language. “Continue,” she ordered.
He exhaled, “A Master has an apprentice. An apprentice is allowed places a servant is not. Places I cannot go."
The vise on his lek relaxed another fraction. While-hot waves of fury broke and retreated, leaving a cautious curiosity, "She is a pathetic excuse for a Sith. No one will believe she is my apprentice," Zhorrid fumed.
"Jadus had only one apprentice. You," Cleaner said.
Her grip ratcheted back up, "He taught me nothing!" she exclaimed.
"But the Council doesn't know that," Cleaner said. Her fist brought with it the odor of the shipboard organic digesters, part of the waste reclamation system. It receded as the pressure on his lek did. "They don't know what he taught you. I could barely stand his presence. The Dark Side clung to him like a cloud. He might have amplified it to make others uncomfortable. He might have taught you to shield your strength. You could be hiding hers. No one knows what secrets he imparted because he never trained anyone else." The pressure decreased further. He could slip her hold if he wished. He did wish. But he let her keep her prize a while longer. "The only records are yours. You can tell the other Darths anything and they won't be able to check. Too much unknown, too many variables."
"They will fear the unknown," Zhorrid said.
He stroked her arm. The one attached to his lekku, "They will fear you," he said, and she smiled at him at last. "When you don't act the way they expect. That makes you dangerous. A force to be reckoned with."
"To be respected," she said, "to be feared."
"Yes," he assured her.
Her talons withdrew from his lek. Blood welled and dribbled, a new pattern against his natural markings. Heat filled the void where her fingers had been. Now he counted his pulse in the bruise. "But I do not want an apprentice," she pouted.
Cleaner gave a small shrug, "So don't teach her. Apprentice is for outsiders. I chose her as your servant."
Realization dawned in Zhorrid's eyes. “So you dressed her as Sith. For deception.”
“Yes,” Cleaner said, “Even to just bring her here. Your enemies have spies everywhere. The spaceport. The trams. Whoever questions what you say will look at the recordings and see only that your Hand brought you an apprentice.”
Zhorrid nodded once, "Walk with me," she reiterated. She gave his lek a slight pull then she turned and continued down the passage. He followed beside her until they reached a familiar set of pressure doors. A silver-faced servitor whisked open the locks and pulled it open at their approach.
The garden beyond was no longer barren. Precise knotwork hedges edged the beds. Black-stemmed vines bearing wicked red thorns and nothing else intertwined with a silvery shrub covered in tiny round leaves. A few specimen trees were on display. Cleaner couldn't guess at their names. Dark green ground cover grew everywhere else. Tiny blood-red berries hid among its shiny, leathery leaves.
Zhorrid led him along the paths, "I am still uncertain," she began, "Suppose she begins to think she should be sith?” She held the one lek like a leash, petting it gently.
"She won't." Cleaner assured her, "You said it yourself. She's too weak. And she knows it, or she'd have gone to Korriban already. She is good enough to know your moods, my love, but no more."
Zhorrid passed an unoccupied pedestal, "It is a long time since I had a servant with a face. Another servant," she said.
Which gave him another idea that he quickly buried. "I hope you'll be as pleased with her," Cleaner said.
"I won't be," she said. A slight breeze sent her plumage fluttering. The metal scraped and chimed. "But I am becoming accustomed to disappointment." Another tug. Zhorrid moved on.
"I'm sorry if I displeased you, my love," Cleaner said. Fear vibrated down his spine.
Zhorrid giggled. "Oh, not with you, dear Hand. Dear, dear Hand. With so many others. It is my curse to be surrounded by incompetence.” They paused before Yvord Yanol's pedestal, "You should have explained your plan sooner, Hand," Zhorrid admonished, but there was no acid in her voice.
Cleaner stared up at the remains of Jadus's former servant and tried not to shiver. "I did not want to trust the details to the comm system. Even one so secure as yours and with encryption as strong as Intelligence offers. The stakes were too high." Damn straight the stakes were too high. Dromund Kaas's everpresent moisture condensed on the statue. It looked as though it were sweating. Cleaner was, and not only from the humidity.
"Who is she, really?" Zhorrid asked. She gave another light tug on his lek. She was done here.
Cleaner walked alongside her as she strolled through the garden, "Who do you want her to be?" he asked.
Zhorrid giggled, "I mean it," she said.
"So do I," Cleaner said. He tickled the inside of her wrist with the tip of his captured lekku. What he could reach, anyway, before her arm disappeared into her long sleeve. "Tell me her life, and I'll put it in every database."
She turned toward him and left off stroking his lek to reach for a hand. He let her have it. "You make truth," she said. Her eyes twinkled in the overcast light, a mischievous smile on her lips.
"You make the truth, mesh’la-mesh’la," he said, "I merely distribute it." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as he had before. Lingered. His tongue drew circles around her delicate central knuckle before he let it end. He stepped into her embrace and wrapped his free arm around her corseted waist, beneath her plumed cloak. He leaned down to kiss her sparkling lips. The florals in her perfume mingled with the earthy green outdoors smell. Her lipstick tasted like the first lick of a berry; waxy but with the promise of sweet beneath the surface. He pulled her up and cradled the back of her head in his best holoshow prince charming impersonation. He felt her weight shift. With the cloak in the way couldn’t tell if she popped her foot or not.
She broke off, dropping back but still clinging to his lekku. "You fancy her," Zhorrid said, “don’t you?”
A trickle of perspiration ran down the small of his back. "I find her attractive, yes," Cleaner admitted. Safer course than outright denial.
"Perhaps I'll let you have her sometime," Zhorrid said, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
His stomach twisted in an unpleasant and unexpected knot. He touched the side of her face with the back of his fingers, "If it pleases you, my love."
"My Lady wishes to go over your duties," Cleaner said.
Temple looked up. Struggled to push away from the floor. The carpet left a pebbled impression on her forehead. There was a smudge of metallic blue on the step between her hands. “It’s been hours, sir,” she said.
He knew how long it had been. Zhorrid made him model the wardrobe she commissioned for him. Right now he looked like some historical military officer. He felt like an idiot. However, the bodyscan tailored costumes fit far better than any of the limited-measure-extruded stuff he usually wore, so at least he was a comfortable, well-dressed idiot. “She has magnificent plans. You are fortunate to be part of her household,” he said. He offered her a hand, the lace-edged cuff falling to the perfect break over his knuckles.
Temple’s brows scrunched together. Then unscrunched with dawning understanding, "I-- I am glad to hear it."
"You belong to her now," Cleaner said. Let the statement sink in for a moment before continuing. "She awaits you in the Hall of Trophies. I'll lead you there." Temple took his hand and struggled to rise. When her face neared his he whispered, "You're in. You know your role. To the rest of the Sith you're her apprentice." His words came rapid-fire from unmoving lips, a skill he rarely tapped since his Sevarcos days, "If other Sith ask about you, smile. Don't talk to them. Especially don't confirm you're Zhorrid’s apprentice, but don't deny it either. Be a mystery. Make them fill in the gaps with imagination. The data spike I just slipped you will let you in her back doors. There's also a code for her comms, bypassing internal security and recording. Keep her happy." His other supporting hand fell away from her hip, where he left the dataspike under her costume’s elaborate waistband.
Temple’s free hand twitched as though she wanted to confirm the spike’s existence, then halted out of caution, “Thank you, sir.”
Catching on, was Ensign Temple. “Come now. We don’t want to disappoint her.”
"So let me talk, got it?" Cleaner said, "She'll sense your fear. Let her. She likes it."
Temple sat rigid on the shuttle's plush seat, "I'm no Sith," she insisted.
In her new robes - cobalt blue with dark copper embroidery, made to order and delivered to the spaceport at landing-she very much looked the part. Kaliyo did her makeup. Charcoal winged eyeshadow, eyelash extensions with tiny cobalt crystals on the tips, inky black lipstick, and a dusting of blue steel metallic powder on her skin. He downloaded a hairstyling program into the ship droid and it twisted her hair into stylus-thin dreds, then bound the whole into a copper wrapped ponytail. She looked fierce. Fierce and sexy as hell and he buried that train of thought before it left the station. "You're not supposed to be Sith. You're here to take care of Zhorrid's household so she can spend all her time on Kaggath." And report the goings-on to Intelligence, though he left that part unsaid in Zhorrid’s shuttle. Even without extra ears he wanted Temple focused on one thing only.
“Agent Cleaner,” Temple quit studying the passing scenery. "I've had no training for this kind of assignment."
"Sure you have," Cleaner said, projecting reassurance, "You spent your whole life pretending you were something you weren't. All that changed is what you're pretending to be."
She turned back to the window with a nervous little sigh, "Perhaps it's easier for you," she said.
"Learn quick, or it won't much matter," he snapped, "for either of us." Her head whipped back around and he didn't need the Force to know she was afraid. He saw it in her overlarge obsidian pupils and the crinkles in the powder on her forehead. At that moment the shuttle changed flight and pitched down on final approach to Zhorrid’s fortress. "I'll sell it. You play your role."
Temple just nodded. Light played off the crystals like tears.
One of Zhorrid’s identical metal-faced servants met them at the landing pad. Three more joined it inside the main door. The escort led them not to Zhorrid's trophy room but her audience chamber. Jadus' outsized furniture was gone, replaced with pieces more to Zhorrid’s taste. Thick velvet drapery in crimson with a silvery sheen covered the walls. A knotted carpet lay over the same green and red stone as the trophy room, its pattern a clever interpretation of the Imperial Emblem. Cleaner took more than a little pleasure in walking on it.
Seated on a raised dais at the head of the room waited Zhorrid herself. She wore an elaborate fairytale costume this time; nipped-in waist, long skirts and attached high-collared cape, all colorful Varactyl plumes and spring metal cut to mimic them. She perched on the back of a humanoid statue, bent double in supplication. The table beside her was of similar design: a kneeling humanoid, eyes cast down, hands bearing a large, wide tray above its head to serve as her desk. Another mural backed her in the same jagged style as she employed in her Citadel office and the trophy room. Maybe she owned the artist.
He advanced to the edge of the dais and kneeled. He heard the rustle of cloth behind him and hoped Temple followed suit. "My lady," he said.
Darth Zhorrid rose from her seat, metal plumage chiming with her movement, "My Hand," she said. Meters of train puddled at her feet. Her fingers, claw-tipped, tickled the top of his head and danced down his lekku and ear to his chin. "You return. And with a gift."
He took the one hand in his and kissed the back of it. His lips lingered just long enough and with enough suction to make the chaste, storybook gesture a little dirty. Her bow lips turned up in a smile suggesting she appreciated it. "I have, my lady. As we discussed."
Zhorrid tittered and drew him up, "So who is this little one?" Her arm crept around his waist and she pulled him toward her. She wore a different perfume today. Powdery and soft with light floral notes. Suited her outfit.
Temple, having a strong sense of self-preservation, remained kneeling. "Raina Temple, my lady. Your new majordomo," Cleaner announced.
Claws dug into his side. "She reeks of the Force," Zhorrid snarled, "whose is she? You would betray me so soon, Hand?" Lightning crackled. Danced on her fingertips. Sparked on her gown's ornamentation.
Temple cringed. Cleaner tore himself from Zhorrid's grip and stepped between the two. He knelt again and took her sparking hands in his with a grimace of pain, "Please, my love, let me explain!" he begged.
"Explain. Yes. You will explain." Zhorrid said. Her lightning diminished to a violet glow. "If I dislike your words I will feed them back to you. Along with your offering."
Holding her hands was like gripping a live wire. He made himself endure it. "I only ever want to serve you, my lady. My love. You must win your Kaggath. You must. No distractions." He scooted forward and waved one hand at Temple, still cowering on the carpet, "She's no one's apprentice. Her family aren't Sith. She's not even Sith. She's not strong enough."
"Why bring this weakling to me then?" Zhorrid growled, "why bring her if she is useless?"
The voltage damped down. Cleaner stroked the plumage on one arm, "Because she can pretend to be your apprentice and leave you free to deal with Jadus." Not Darth. Not father. The bare name alone devoid of title and relationship.
Zhorrid tipped her head. The plumes rasped against each other, setting Cleaner's teeth on edge. Heat radiated from the punctures her claw-tipped nails left in his side. Blood tricked down in a thin rivulet. Zhorrid spoke at last, "He said you were clever." She took a step back, not out of reach, "And in that he was right. Rise and walk with me. You," she snapped, glaring at Temple without caring the other woman couldn't see her, "you stay here. Just. Like. That."
