Chap 12. Dromund Kaas arc: There's only one bed

"So why are we escorting this prisoner again? It seems the dozen or so soldiers here, and, of course, the extremely competent commander Lanklyn, have this well under control." Vette complained loudly. Said commander twitched, but otherwise ignored her.

Morgan hummed. "In short? Because Darth Baris ordered us to."

"And the not short version?"

He sighed. Vette smirked at having managed to annoy him, so he sighed again. "Prisoner important. We protect. We deliver, then we no die."

Vette pouted, an expression far too dangerous on her. Not that Morgan was influenced by it. No, of course not.

Morgan looked back, most definitely not to distract himself, and saw the carbonite slab still floating behind them. The spaceport was rather enormous, seeing as they were in the capital of an empire containing trillions. The port was suitably spacious, and the prisoner was offloaded in an out of the way hangar to begin with.

It meant they had been walking for an hour already, no trouble in sight. Vette was becoming more bored by the minute, and Morgan had to admit he was joining her. The troopers didn't share their confidence, though. A tense bunch, their micromanaging commander not helping the mood.

It seemed the only relaxed person from their ship was the prisoner, frozen in carbonite as he was.

"Oh, here we go." Vette muttered casually, her hand slowly moving to her blaster.

Morgan remained silent as a group of dockworkers, mechanics and drunk civilians rounded the corner, breaking into an argument almost immediately.

"Clear out the rabble." The commander ordered briskly, irritation clear in his tone. Half the troopers surged forward, but Morgan stopped them with a raised hand.

"Hold that order, commander. Possible ambush. Take positions."

The soldiers stopped, taking cover where they could. Morgan saw two of them peel off, moving back from where they came. The carbonite slab was left where it was, floating in the middle of the hallway.

"Now what?" Vette whispered.

"Now we wait. I'm curious to see how long they'll keep arguing for."

Several minutes later a human broke from the mob, wearing a resigned expression. Dreadlocks obscured his face, a blaster visible on his hip. "Well, it was worth a try. The commander seemed the type to act first and ask questions never. If only Baras hadn't sent a sith. This could have been done by now."

The mob pulled weapons, spreading out. The human approached closer, feeling unafraid. 'Interesting. He's either very stupid or confident about facing sith.'

Half the mob whirled around before the situation could devolve further. Morgan could vaguely see another group approach from further down the hall, led by a male Houk.

"Alright, enough of this. One chance, dreadlock man. Leave."

The man looked behind him, cursing under his breath. "Well, now it's a party. Unfortunately I can't. My master wants that prisoner, and it seems so does Tu'Marr. But make no mistake, you are not the first sith I've killed."

"Vette, do as you think is best. Commander, keep your men back." Morgan ordered shortly, leaping at the man.

The human drew his blaster, a single shot from Vette taking his head shortly before he could do anything with it. Morgan kicked off the wall behind him, jumping deep into enemy lines. The hall devolved into chaos, Morgan's knives slipping from his belt.

Ominous red filled the hall as his lightsaber ignited, causing the thugs closest to him to flinch. They never saw the knives coming.

'I do think this is a tad unfair.' Morgan mused, his lightsaber cutting through yet another 'dockworker'.

'These guys don't exactly feel like well trained soldiers.' He could feel Vette further behind him, killing as many as the rest of the soldiers combined.

He sliced through a Houk, wondering briefly if it was the same one he had seen before. The second ambush party staggered back, a few deciding discretion was the better part of valour.

The dam broke, both parties fleeing as they saw their comrades desert. Morgan's knives returned to his hands, using a piece of cloth to clean them before returning them to his belt. The commander approached soon after, Vette close behind.

He looked a tad white. "I'll never doubt Darth Baras again."

The commander shuddered, looking at the carnage. "I've never seen anything like that, either. My thanks, sith. I'd have lost good men if you hadn't been here."

"What am I, chopped liver?" Vette griped.

The commander ignored her, as he had been doing since they got here. Morgan decided he didn't like the man much. "Just so you are aware, commander Lanklyn, Darth Baras has given me leave to do essentially anything I wish. As long as I get the job done, he cares not what happens. Not to enemies, allies or anyone in between."

Morgan stared at the commander. "Do not disrespect her again."

The man stuttered out an apology, ordering his men forward. They watched as the carbonite and its escort moved down the hall, stepping over the bodies. The two troopers guarding their rear jogged past soon after.

"You didn't have to do that." Vette told him as they followed at a distance. "I'm used to being ignored."

Morgan looked at her, tilting his head. "You have fought for me. Bled for me. If they can't see your worth, shame on them, but I will not allow them to treat you badly."

"I'll just, punch them or something." Vette smiled at him brightly. "You know, as long as I'm under your mighty sith protection."

He snorted. "Try not to start a civil war, but sure."

They moved in silence for a few minutes, keeping distance from the rest of the squad. Vette mumbled quietly as they moved through an enormous hangar.

"Thanks. I have a habit of deflecting, but I appreciate it. Seriously."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Go to the Imperial outpost in the jungle outside the city. Commander Pritch is stationed there. Assist him while I thaw and wring any morsel of information from my prisoner." Darth Baras finished.

Morgan bowed, motioning Vette to follow him as he walked out.

"So that was a Republic spy, eh?" She commented as their speeder took off, taking them away from the Citadel. "And now we're going back to the jungle. No rest for the wicked."

"We'll report to Pritch tomorrow. That reminds me, I haven't a clue where we're supposed to sleep for the night."

Vette rolled her eyes. "Three months and you haven't even gone over all the information that Baras's minion gave us at the spaceport?"

"I was busy." Morgan protested. "Besides, isn't it your job to arrange things like that? Sith should not have to deal with such menial tasks."

"Hah." She mocked. "Now we see your true colours. Honestly, it's a wonder you've managed to stay alive this long without me."

Vette took over the taxi controls. "You have a room at some hotel. Either means he doesn't want you at the Citadel, is too cheap to buy you a place, or we're not going to be on Dromund Kaas for much longer."

"Well, I'm glad one of us can see through Baras so easily." Morgan responded dryly.

Vette blushed. "Just a guess. Still, I thought you'd be glad not to be surrounded by hordes of sith."

"I have made my opinion on them clear, haven't I? Kindly don't spread that around."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not stupid."

"No." Morgan informed her gently. "You're insubordinate, probably a kleptomaniac and really stubborn. But you're not stupid."

Vette pouted, sticking her tongue out at him. "Gee thanks. Glad to be appreciated."

They came to the hotel, the receptionist bowing as they walked in. "My Lord. We've been expecting your arrival." The man handed him a key, looking sideways at Vette. "Your belongings are waiting for you, and our staff will gladly carry out any task or request you have for us."

Morgan nodded, taking the key. Vette looked at the man curiously, piping up when the elevator doors closed. "Didn't know spooks staffed hotels. Then again, I've never been to one this fancy."

"Baras likely owns the whole building. Best assume the rooms are bugged too."

"And staffed it with spies? Seems like his style."

They came to the room soon after, seeing their stuff neatly stacked near the desk. "That reminds me. We should go helmet shopping before tomorrow, if we can afford it."

"Baras gave us an account." Vette muttered, rifling through their things. "You really should read that info packet he gave us. There's nearly a hundred grand in there."

Morgan raised an eyebrow. "And you resisted spending it all? I never knew you had such restraint."

"It's keyed to you." She pouted. "I tried. Also, just in case you overlooked it, there's only one bed."

Morgan peeked into the bedroom, seeing she was right.

"I guess I'll take the couch." He offered at the same time Vette said. "Well, can't be helped."

He looked at her dryly as she scowled at him, turning away. "As if you've never had to share a bed before. Check your privilege."

"Yes." He assented easily. "The sith should really remember to check his ego. Thanks for reminding me."

He moved to the couch, one that could easily accommodate a party. "I think I'll be fine."

"Your loss." She called from the bedroom. "You wanna shower first? I bought us clothes, should be in the pile somewhere."

"When? And I thought you didn't have access to the account."

Vette returned from her inspection, throwing herself on the couch when he walked to the pile. "We did get leave, every now and then. And who said I paid with legally acquired money? I'm not a hack."

Morgan rolled his eyes, walking into the bathroom. When he was done showering he realised he took nothing with him, except a towel and his old clothes. He sniffed them. 'I'm not getting back into those.'

He tied the towel around his waist, exiting the bathroom. Vette saw him almost as soon as he opened the door, walking forward with purpose.

"Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but you do realise we're sharing a room now?"

He stopped, looking down. 'Oh, right. That never used to be a problem. Jesus I'm tired.'

"Sorry, didn't used to be a problem." He apologised, rooting through the pile. He found a bag with his name on it, looking at his spoils.

"It's also possible to politely look away, just so you know. Did you buy this stuff? I don't own this." Vette ignored him, busy ogling. Morgan resisted the urge to square his shoulders.

"What? Oh, don't know a politely. Is she nice?"

He rolled his eyes, Vette's brain catching up to the conversation. "Wait what do you mean it didn't used to be a problem?"

"I was fat." He reminded her, taking his clothes to the bathroom. "People reacted with little more than slight disgust, if they reacted at all."

He heard Vette yelp, hearing something fall almost immediately after. "Oh, right. Were you happy, back then?"

"Happier than now." Morgan confirmed. "I don't think about it much. Besides, this life comes with its own advantages."

"Right." He heard Vette mutter softly.

He walked back some minutes later, fresh clothes hanging off him. "That's not a dig on you, Vette. I was just a civilian. I had friends, a brother. I loved good food, watching movies or reading. My life was simple."

She looked back at him, curious. "Ever want to go back?"

Morgan smiled sadly, turning to the window. Vette shot up. "Shit, sorry. Shouldn't have asked that. Fuck, sorry. I'll go take that shower now."

She all but sprinted to the bathroom, leaving Morgan to his memories.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to." He didn't say.

By the time she came out, fidgeting nervously, Morgan was already asleep on the couch.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Baras scowled, ignoring the whirring produced by the interrogation droid keeping his prisoner alive.

"It seems you possess a strong will." He told his unconscious captive. "We will have to shatter it, of course, but it's an admirable trait."

He turned to his desk while the droid worked, picking up his datapad. "And it seems my newest apprentice has arrived at his lodgings."

Baras often talked to his prisoners. He found it helped him focus on the task at hand, with the added benefit that some found it terrifying beyond belief. Not that this particular captive seemed to share that opinion.

He idly watched as his apprentice and the slave argued in their room, noting with interest the tidbit about a brother. Baras shot a request to intelligence for a background on his apprentice, one more thorough than the one he received when he became the boy's master. A brother was leverage, weakness. A weakness he preferred to hold rather than be threatened with.

He worked through reports and mission briefings as he waited, both on his prisoner regaining consciousness and Imperial intelligence. The latter was faster.

'My Lord.' The message read. 'As requested, here is all current information compiled about the subject known as Morgan, no known last name. The subject was found during the capture of a Republic transport vessel, shipping foodstuffs to the outer rim. All members aboard were brought to a holding facility on the spaceport Kralims 4, awaiting further redistribution. During the subject's stay Sith Marauder Blanch found Morgan to have Force potential, and was remanded to his custody. The subject was brought to Korriban, where he was entered into project Culling.'

Baras looked up as his prisoner groaned, looking back down as the man failed to regain consciousness. 'Information about the subject's family, in particular the brother, is unknown to us. In fact, the subject was not on the passenger list at all. This was, at the time, explained away as the subject having boarded the ship without the crew's knowledge. The ship's point of origin, along with more detailed information about its crew and passengers, was destroyed by the captain during the capture of the ship. We apologise that we are unable to assist further, my Lord. Would you like us to assign an observation team to the subject?'

He replied with a negative. His apprentice would not be on the planet long, and any observers not placed very carefully would be found when his apprentice moved around the galaxy.

His prisoner finally woke up, groaning and flexing against his restraints. Baras smiled behind his mask, walking over to him. "I see you have graced the world with your presence. Shall we continue?"

The spy mumbled something inane about flowers. Baras rolled his eyes. "Standard SIS distraction techniques won't help you here, little spy."

He leaned over, whispering softly. "I always find what cracks my prisoners. It's my trade, you see. My specialty."

Baras stepped back, motioning toward the droid. It injected a serum into the agent's neck, one that would heighten all sensation.

"Everybody has a breaking point." He promised his prisoner. "Let's find yours, shall we?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Vette was quite glad they had stopped to buy helmets before coming here, because all the soldiers were staring again. Not at her, of course, but still. She wasn't used to it. Attention from soldiers was bad for her health, seeing as they tended to shoot pirates on sight.

On Korriban seeing Imperial troopers meant either capture, a fight to the death, or getting dragged back to the cage. She suppressed a shudder.

Now the soldiers were lining up as they walked into camp, a camp looking rather more permanent than she would have imagined. She knew from experience the headache that came with holding even a small outpost so deep in the jungle, let alone a full base like this.

Troopers from fresh recruits to veteran captains stopped and saluted as they walked deeper inside, a helpful lieutenant pointing them towards commander Pritch. She ambled off as they reached him, waving to Morgan when he looked at her questioningly.

The base was situated next to a large river, her newly militarised mind recognizing the advantages. Her survivalist eye also recognized the danger of things crawling out of it at night, but they probably knew what they were doing. She found an Ensign looking out over a railing, staring into the water.

"So what's a commissioned navy officer doing on a military base?" She asked idly, coming to stand next to him. He didn't startle, to her disappointment.

The ensign ignored her question. "Pleasure to meet you, Vette. Is your Lord around?"

Vette raised her eyebrow, not that the man could see it, and looked down into the surprisingly clear water. "Seems you have me at a disadvantage."

The man smirked. "Ensign Corian Shye, Navy Intelligence. Currently on loan to the lauded commander Pritch, to provide any and all assistance in dealing with the slave uprising."

"Pissed someone off, did you?" Vette poked, taking off her helmet. The thing wasn't exactly comfortable on her lekku, even if the seller insisted it was made for twi'lek.

"You know how it is. You shank one drunk asshole after a night out and suddenly you're a 'shame to the navy' and 'unable to properly suppress impulses'."

"Sure, sure." She agreed easily. "So what you want with Morgan?"

Corian looked at her, curious. "Must have a death wish, calling a sith by his name." He waved his hand, dismissing his own comment. "The slaves, while well armed and organised, are exhibiting some strange behaviours. Some are killing one another, mutilating the bodies, making a real show of it. It's strange, an anomaly, and one I believe is the key to ending this little rebellion quickly."

"So you can get out of this jungle, back to civilization." Vette finished for him. The man wiggled his eyebrows. "That goes without saying, yes."

"So what do you need my help with?"

The ensign shrugged. "Not so much your help as your Lord's, but sure. I'd like you to find out why the anomaly exists, report it to me, and end this rebellion."

"And what's in it for me?" She demanded with a smirk. "My services don't come free, you know."

The man pulled out his datapad, flipping through some files. "My discretionary fund has run rather dry, but how about this? You promise to help convince your Lord to assist me, and I'll tell you a secret. I'll even tell you now, with only your word as my shield against betrayal."

"Depends on the secret." She hedged. "But sounds fair."

Corian handed her the datapad. "A memo went out a few hours ago. 'Assist the sith with whatever he requires, bla bla'. 'Don't obstruct the sith on penalty of death, bla bla'. Here's the interesting part."

He cleared his throat dramatically. "The retinue of the sith is to be considered outside military command, to be treated with deference and respect."

She raised her eyebrow, unimpressed. "So I don't have to answer to some upstart officer, not like I was going to do that anyway. If that's the secret, you're shit out of luck."

"You miss the juicy bit, my new friend." He said gleefully. "'The retinue is to be treated with deference'. That means they don't get to give you orders, but they'll have to follow yours."

The man waved absentmindedly. "Don't go trying to order around moffs or generals, mind. Still, anything under captain should be fair game. Quite a secret, eh?"

Vette had to admit it was, especially for one considered to be a second class citizen. Being able to pull rank on most troopers she came across would certainly improve her chances of survival, should Morgan's presence somehow not be enough.

'The power of sith.' She thought dryly. Corian stiffened, all humour draining from his face. Vette turned around as he bowed his head, seeing Morgan approach.

The soldiers parted like fish before a shark, giving him ample space. 'Well, the effort of making him not so terrifying failed miserably. The helmet doesn't help.'

A simple thing, for all that it had cost a small fortune. No decorations or embellishments, per his insistence. Just a simple blank face covering, tapering off near the chin. The eye holes were covered with grey plastics, no light shining through.

It was black and a bit pointy, but he should have, by all accounts, looked like any other mercenary. 'Except for the lightsaber. And the fact that he's walking through a military base like wandering the park. And the general feeling of danger he exudes.'

Morgan came to a stop beside her, taking off his own helmet. In the brief moment his sight was obscured the spook gave her a look. 'Yeah, fine. I keep my word.'

'Every now and then.' She cleared her throat, interrupting Morgan's staring. Corian relaxed slightly as the sith stopped trying to burn a hole through him. "My friend the spook here wants us to look into some ritualistic killings. Apparently the rebels are turning on one another, and he wants to know why."

"Ritualistic killings?" Her boss mused. "Sure. We're going to have to go in there anyway."

Vette shot him a questioning stare, Morgan shrugging while nodding to the Ensign. "Politics, on a need to know basis. He doesn't need to know. We kill the captains, and the rest of the rebels fall apart."

"It would be appreciated, my Lord." Corian confirmed. "I understand the need for compartmentalising information, no offence taken."

Morgan nodded to her, putting his helmet back on. "The commander has given us the location of their last position. We leave in the morning, so enjoy your evening. It might be the last one spent in comfort for the foreseeable future."

Vette waved as he walked away, leaving her with the spook. He broke the silence when Morgan was well gone. "Not going to be a spy, that one. I've seen armoured tanks with more subtlety."

His tone was light. Joking, even. Vette certainly had made similar, or worse, comments in the past. She felt her good mood evaporate anyway.

"That's what I'm here for. And you don't need subtlety when the tanks are running away." She put her helmet back on, walking off. "Best keep that in mind, ensign."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Tell me where your captains are. If you do, I will let you go." Morgan promised. The rebels squirmed in his grip, defiants in his eyes.

"Killing slaves leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but after four days of this goddess forsaken jungle I'm past caring." Vette pressed, holstering her blasters. "Admittedly the ambush didn't help your case. Now tell us, or I will kill you myself."

Morgan grasped the rebel tighter, preventing his wiggling from resulting in freedom. Normally he would have marvelled at the fact he didn't even need to use enforcement to hold the man. But not now, not after four days of sleeping in shifts and eating ration bars. Morgan used his free hand to point to the bodies around them.

"Look, you're clearly organised and well trained. It was a decent ambush, just bad luck you tried it on a sith. You know where your leaders are. Tell us, and live."

"You'll kill me anyway." The man spat. "I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees."

Vette sighed. "Believers. Rather die than give up those that already betrayed them."

The man's eyes flickered to her. Morgan raised his eyebrow, faking surprise. "You didn't know? This whole thing is a squabble between Lords. My master organised it, humiliating a rival or some such. Your leaders were in it from the start."

"Fuck off!" The rebel swore.

"Where'd you get your weapons, eh? Think the capital of the Empire is rife with smugglers?" Vette asked pointedly. "Or notice any missing members lately? Apparently some of your oh so glorious leaders are selling them back into slavery. Anyone mysteriously disappear?

"I, That's." The man hesitated, shaking his head. "No. That can't be true. I won't believe it. They told me she died fighting, giving her life for freedom."

"See her body? Personally?" The man shook his head rapidly, eyes wild. Morgan motioned to the jungle around them. "The Empire won't drag dead rebels back to base, I can tell you that much. Hard enough to get through the jungle as it is."

The man flinched. "I don't. I mean. I don't know where the camp is." Vette frowned, but the man spoke before she could. "I swear! They moved just after we left."

"What do you know?" She asked as Morgan sat the man down. "You must know something. You wouldn't have been that stubborn otherwise."

The man shook his head again, eyes watering. "There's a group. They're not with us, not really. Even Hagrin thinks they're too brutal, and that man killed his own aunt to spare her from the hutts' brothels."

His eyes unfocussed, voice going soft. "My wife. They told me she died fighting for us. For me."

He shook his head, hair whipping wildly. Anger blazed in his eyes. "Twenty klicks south west from here, holding up in tunnels. They don't move much. Idiots. Moving is how you stay alive."

Morgan nodded, thanking the man. "Go. You might live a few more weeks, if you're smart."

He looked surprised, just for a moment, then sprinted away. They lost sight of him almost instantly.

"The jungle will eat him alive." Vette muttered.

"Would you prefer I killed him myself?" Morgan asked, more sharply than he intended. She glared at him.

"No." She ground out. "I just hate this. They're fighting for what they believe in. Fighting for their right to live free. And here we are, slaughtering them wholesale for daring to dream."

Morgan sighed, raising his hand in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I don't like this either. The Empire has signed their death warrant, nothing we can do about that now. The sooner we find this 'other group' the sooner we find the captains. When we kill them, and Baras's secret with them, we can get out of here. With any luck it's the same group your spy friend is after."

Vette waved dismissively, displeasure written on her face. They moved on in silence

It was hours later that they finally found the caves, hidden deep in a ravine. Morgan looked down, scooping up Vette with his free hand. She looked at him with wide eyes.

"What do you think you-"

He jumped, holding her tightly. His enforcement snapped into place halfway down, the landing doing little more than bend his knees. Vette cursed, hitting his shoulder as he set her down.

"I have rope, you braindead monkey."

"Big jump. Me strong." Morgan gloated quietly. Vette rolled her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. Morgan could almost feel the awkward tension between them dissipate.

Their good mood was short lived, however, as Morgan felt dozens of people moving towards them. He waved Vette down as she drew her blasters, crossing his arms as the group left the cave.

An odd bunch, but clearly warriors. Strong builds and graceful movements. Eyes wary, but no weapons in hand.

Their leader was the exception. His stance was open, friendly, and he had no weapons on him. He was also the only one approaching closer than twenty feet.

"You are not the initiate." Their large, scarred leader said. "You are sith."

The man bowed, a fluid motion. "You honour us with your presence, mighty lord."

The rest of the group shuffled nervously, bowing stiffly after a few seconds. Their leader continued, straightening. "I am Traga un-Vhol, leader of the Unchained. I am master of my hatred."

"Morgan, sith apprentice." He replied. "You have mastered your hatred?"

Traga laughed. "When the other slaves broke free, I knew their escape was a delusion. I knew that it was a ploy, a trick. Only sith possess true freedom in the empire, and we are not sith. Still, I had hoped."

"Sith is an ideology." Morgan disagreed. "It's true they would never accept a non-Force sensitive among their ranks, but that's just politics. Cults and orders have, and will, exist around them."

Traga tilted his head, a humourless smile on his lips. "You are kind. But we will not be sith, for our glorious break from enslavement was not so glorious after all. And now the rest of them, the other captains, are blackmailing the Lord that organised it."

The man barked out a laugh, turning his back to Morgan. "Are trying to blackmail." He corrected himself. "Trying, but not succeeding."

Morgan watched as the man walked to his followers, who by now looked afraid more than uncertain. Traga laid his hands on the shoulder of the closest woman, looking into her eyes.

"A quick death." He promised her.

Morgan warily backed up a few paces, Vette stepping behind him. A loud snap echoed between the rocks of the ravine, the woman dropping to the ground.

The group staggered back, some trying to run back into the cave. The dull sound of explosions promised a dead end. Others tried to fight, hacking at their unarmed leader. Traga weaved between them as if dancing, snaking his hands around another neck.

"What the fuck." Vette whispered, uncertainty laced with horror in her tone. "Should I shoot?"

"No." Morgan replied quietly. "But be ready."

The slaughter didn't last long, bodies piling on the floor. Traga walked into the cave, unhurried, when he was done. Screams of horror escaped, unintelligible pleading mixed in between.

He returned shortly after, not a speck of blood on him. "Blessed peace be upon them. All came from the earth, and all must return to it."

"Why?" Morgan asked in the following silence. "Why turn on your own?"

"This is always how it was going to end." Traga replied sadly. "A quick death is the best I could offer them."

The scarred man dropped to his knees, head bowed. "The others have made camp east of here, high in the trees. Follow the stumps marked by birds, and you will find them."

Sunlight broke through the ever present storm, bathing the ravine in gold. Morgan nodded to himself, walking behind the kneeling man. He ignited his lightsaber.

"Look at the sun," he commanded softly, "and rest."

"Rest." Traga breathed. "Yes. It is time. Finally."

Morgan swung, face carved from granite.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"We need to get off this godforsaken planet!" Hagrin slammed his fist on the table, cups rattling loudly. "Hugren, brother, tell me our contacts have agreed to smuggle us out."

Hugren shook his head. "They won't risk coming here, not now. Not with this much attention from the sith."

"Godsdamnit." Hagrin swore. "What about the rest of you?"

He looked around the rough table, seeing too many uncertain looks. Turnover had been high lately, even for the captains. It had allowed him to solidify his leadership, at least, but too many of the faces looked young. Inexperienced.

'Not that anyone around here is green anymore. Not after two months of this.' He admitted to himself.

"We could dig in, fortify this position?" One captain offered. Hagrin sneered at him, hating how the boy couldn't even grow a beard yet.

"And when they start shelling us from orbit? You think the trees will protect us, do you, boy? No, staying here is out of the question."

If it was up to him he'd have thrown them all out and planned this with his brother. Unfortunately, their rebellion was made from many different factions. They got to elect their own captains, and he couldn't do a damned thing about it. Not yet. Not even if they elected pissgreen virgins to lead them.

"We could relocate again?" Another offered, his neighbour nodding in agreement. This one, atleast, had been a pitfighter before all of this. Sadly he knew fuck all about leading people. His partner was worse, some accountant before getting into too much debt. Married, too, but he didn't mind that. It made them all the easier to control.

"We'd lose more men to desertion and wildlife than we do fighting the imps." He told the pair. "We cannot move, not if we want any semblance of strength left when they find us."

"If we cannot stay, and we cannot move, what do you suggest?" His brother asked.

Hagrin growled. "We need to convince the smugglers to bring us more weapons, at the very least. Maybe shield generators, if they can manage it."

"And how would we pay for it, exactly?" Their last member spoke up. "Our coffers are dry, and I don't think Baras is going to pay for it. Not now that we're blackmailing him."

He narrowed his eyes at the woman, biting his tongue. That one was sharp, and the last of their original council. Apart from him, of course. His brother was here in an advisory role only. Something no one had liked yet hadn't been able to stop.

"We'll find a way." He told her firmly. "They must agree to come first."

He turned to Hugren, cutting off whatever she was about to say in reply. "Lie to them, if necessary."

His brother nodded, walking out of the hut. He sighed when the other captains started arguing, political blocks forming before his very eyes.

'They just need to get here.' He told himself. 'Then they can smuggle me and Hugren off this fucking planet. The money my last shipment earned should be enough. Will be enough.'

Hagrin suppressed a snort. Paying the smugglers to get off this planet with the credits they paid him for their more useless members. The irony wasn't lost on him.

The arguing went around and around, never quite coming to any decisions. He always had hated councils. They got nothing done, wasted buckets of time doing it, and usually it fell down to one person anyway.

Or two, in this case. He scrutinised the woman, almost seeing the webs she was spinning to get the majority vote away from him. Something needed to be done about her, and soon.

His planning was interrupted by one of their guards barging into the tent, white as a sheet.

"Sith, coming." The man got out, grasping for breath.

Hagrin surged up, grabbing his blaster from the middle of the table. "Sound the alarm. How long until they get here?"

"He." The guard said. "It's only one. And he's already here."

'One?' He thought, bewildered. 'What kind of maniac assaults a full war camp alone? And why didn't the alarm go off?'

"Then shoot the bastard." He shouted, storming to the piece of cloth serving as their door.

The rest of the captains stumbled after him, the guard at their head. "We're trying! He's cutting through everyone we're sending at him."

Hagrin moved to the edge of the platform, looking down. One of their original captains, long dead, had suggested they use their construction experience to avoid the beasts by building high off the ground. He had liked the man. Real shame he had discovered where his money came from.

The sith was standing there, a ring of rebels surrounding him. The platform below the captain's hut was large, meant to allow their numbers to come together. Now it was full, yet no one was shooting.

"Kill the bastard." He roared, raising his blaster. He saw his brother, almost exactly on the opposite side, take aim to fire. Hugren had always been loyal. Always been better at shooting too, so he was quicker on the draw then he was.

The sith didn't even look back as he reflected the bolt. Didn't look back as Hagrin watched his brother's eyes widen. Watch as he bolt impacted his brother in the torso, punching straight through him.

'Oh.' He thought numbly, seeing his brother's body fall to the jungle below. 'So that's why no one's shooting.'

Before he could think better of it he was already jumping, landing on the lower platform with a thud. He barely felt his knees complaining as he grabbed a vibrosword from someone's hands, raising it to the sith.

The armoured man said nothing, turning to face him fully. Doubt tried to form, but the numbness swallowed it all. Reason tried to reassert itself, but by then he was already charging.

He knew he had to dodge the lightsaber. Thought that if he could dodge the first blow, his sword would take the head clean off this fucker.

His arm froze halfway into his first swing, wrongness tearing through him as his limb refused to move. Searing heat radiated from his stomach, and he looked down to see plasma sticking through his navel.

The wrongness left, pain taking its place. He crumpled, clutching his wound.

Hagrin blinked, suddenly seeing four more bodies on the ground. He noticed bolt marks instead of plasma cuts, his shocked mind coming to a conclusion.

'Sniper.' He thought weakly. 'He has a sniper somewhere.'

He blinked again, and the scene changed once more. Now his fellow captains were on their knees before the sith, their own followers keeping them there. The sith's lightsaber flashed, and their council was dead in its entirety.

"My mission was to kill your captains." He heard the sith say. "And that mission is completed. I care not what happens to you now, but know that I will be reporting this location to the Imperial military on my way back."

His failing vision saw his comrades run like rats, vague disgust running through him. 'I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees.'

The last thing Hagrin saw was the sith looking straight at him. For some inane reason, his last thought was that the sith knew exactly what he had done. How he had sold his fellow slaves, killed his rival captains.

His last thought was that a sith found his deeds disgusting.