Chap 15. Dromund Kaas arc: Break not for fear, but love

Dorian frowned lightly as the armoured man and twi'lek didn't react. He had them surrounded. He had what they wanted.

And they were doing nothing.

"Or should I say Je'daii?" He taunted. That got a reaction.

But not one Dorian had hoped for. "I really wish he hadn't said that."

"Why?" The twi'lek asked curiously. She didn't seem particularly bothered either.

He interrupted the man's reply. He knew to maintain the momentum in conversation. "I should be thanking you, really. Your little distraction, and killing that fool Kregas, allowed me to finally dominate the others."

"The others?" The twi'lek piped up. The armoured man replied before he could. "I imagine he's talking about the other armies. Didn't know that one was a leader though."

"Bah." Dorian scoffed. "Kregas may be a fool, but he wasn't weak. Almost sad I missed it, but I had more important matters to attend to."

The man tilted his head. "Yes, taking over the other factions. You said that already."

Dorian shook his head. "You idiots can't even keep track of a simple conversation." He motioned to his followers. "Shoot them."

They loyally raised their blasters, the twi'lek stepping behind the man. The man whose lightsaber had already ignited, blocking the first shot calmly.

Dorian raised his hand to stop his sith from attacking, curious. "I, on a good day, am able to block five shooters at once. You may have my power, but I doubt you have lived the last decade on a battlefield."

The stranger didn't reply. Dorian raised an eyebrow when one bolt flew back to its shooter. Then three more.

He was just about to order his sith to charge when the armoured man stepped forward. In the second it took Dorian to bring his hand down; six more of his soldiers were dead as bolts ricocheted, the strangers movements seeming to blur. A wiggle of doubt formed in his mind.

His sith surged forward, one falling to his knees before he could pass half the distance. Dorian's eye twitched as the twi'lek shot another.

"Mandalorian." He spat. "Only one of those cursed mercenaries can aim like that. Kill them both!"

The sith reached the man, who by now had dispatched most of his best troops. Soldiers he needed to suppress the things crawling from deeper in the Temple.

Two more sith fell to knives, flying fast and hitting true. Dorian considered that. The stranger felt about as strong as him, but strength meant nothing without control. Maintaining high accuracy telekinesis while fighting was a good trick, true, but it was nothing compared to him.

He had been sharpening his skills for decades while this boy couldn't be more than twenty. Speaking of skills, that gave him an idea. He reached into the Force, pressing down on the twi'lek.

WIthout his pet mandalorian the stranger would fall, and then he could turn to more important matters. Like playing with Destra. She was turning into a rather fun project of his, his mind spinning with all the things he was going to do to her.

He was snapped back to reality as the Force ran against a barrier around the twi'lek. No matter. Shielded soldiers were as rare as they were wasteful, and distracted the wielder to boot. Dorian pressed harder.

He fully opened his eyes when it failed to snuff out the mandalorian, seeing half his sith dead on the ground.

"Ten sith, dead in seconds!" He barked angrily. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to collect them? How much effort I spent making sure they were the prettiest they could be?"

He grabbed for his lightsaber, surging forward. The man was forced to meet him, leaving the rest of his men to deal with the twi'lek.

The stranger put up a decent enough fight, he admitted to himself. Nothing he couldn't overcome, of course, but relatively skilled nonetheless.

Dorian blocked a punch to the gut, feeling his bones squeak in protest. He cursed. Bullheaded barbarians were the worst.

"Fleshcrafter." He accused. "Your ilk should be thrown into the sun."

He spared a moment's attention to see if the twi'lek was dead yet. She wasn't. Instead his sith were being harassed by those damned knives, the mandalorian kicking one into the wall.

"You strengthened your pet?" He demanded, disgust roaring in his stomach. "Irresponsible beyond words. I'll have to make sure she cannot be resurrected, lest she spread that poisoned mind of hers to others. In all my years of command I've nev-"

"You've been here less than two months." The stranger interrupted calmly, stepping back as his lightsaber cut a groove in the stone. "And it seems that was far too long already. I'll admit your enforcement is solid, and you clearly possess knowledge about the Force, but let's not pretend you're a Lord of the Sith."

Dorian snarled. "I will not have some welp question my very existence."

He pressed, snapping a kick to his opponent's leg. His foot rebounded like hitting stone.

"Two months. Before that you were a slave of some description, judging by the collar. I can sympathise. Why haven't you taken it off?"

"Take off my crown, taken from Breta the Succubus herself? I think not." Dorian sheared off a piece of armour, just missing flesh. The stranger fell back, overwhelmed.

"Breta the Succubus." The man repeated slowly. "Yea, sure. Heard she really sucked."

The mandalorian giggled, Dorian snapping his head to her. Ten sith and she still wasn't dead yet?

He found the girl strangling his last follower, lifting him off the ground. His last mortal troops had died minutes ago, Dorian cursing their loyalty. Bringing reinforcements would have been more useful.

"I can get used to this."

"Don't try that with the real deal." The man warned her, fending off his flurry of attacks. "They may look like them, but proper sith have actual experience."

He cursed. With his last follower dead he might have to retreat. More soldiers could be fetched, then the welp would see what a true sith could do.

"Stop playing with him, Morgan. That armour is expensive to repair."

Dorian scoffed. Then his hand burned, and he looked to find it falling.

"His enforcement was interesting." Morgan defended. "Besides, had to make sure the rest of them were dead first. Can't very well have them run off and tell their friends about the Je'daii."

The Force screamed in warning, coming too late for him to dodge. Stars danced as he scrambled back, broken nose leaking blood. He managed to slap the knife away, still scoring a deep cut on his remaining hand.

He couldn't do the same for the bolt, feeling his nerves scream as his knee evaporated.

"I am Dorian the Conqueror." He spat. "The Liberator. You will no-"

The other knife took him in his right eye, sinking deep. His last sight was the armoured man shaking his head. "If I ever catch you monologuing, Vette, you're grounded for a month."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"You can't do that." Vette whined. "Derek is having his party on Friday, everyone will be there!"

"Besides," she complained, "you were doing the same thing."

Morgan shook his head. "I was stalling. Buying time. Very different."

"How?"

"Because." He reasoned.

"Boo. Weak."

"Oh be silent, I wasn't the one strangling people."

Vette looked at the corpse covered floor. "It's your fault I'm getting used to this."

"It is not." Morgan denied, walking to the exit.

"Yes it is. Before joining up with you I killed maybe once a year, if that. Now look at me, snapping necks like a psycho."

She shook her head in sorrow. "All your fault."

Morgan ignored her, therefore winning the argument. There was blessed silence for a whole twenty steps, getting him just out of the Temple proper.

"We forgot the thingy." Vette told him idly.

Morgan stopped, scowling at her. "You waited to tell me that until we were outside." He accused. "It's like you want the rats to get in."

"What?"

"You know, because it feels like rats scratching at my mind? No?"

Vette stopped, looking at him in concern. Her helmet did nothing to make her face seem less hesitant. "You ok there boss?"

"You don't feel that, really?"

She took her helmet off, frowning. "Go wait outside, I'll get the macguffin."

"Don't go all meta on me." He warned, following her back inside anyway. "And it's not like they can get past my mental shield. I'd be as mad as those poor sods if they could."

"This did feel a little easy." She admitted. "It's that bad? No wonder the troops outside seem so jumpy."

Morgan hummed. "Not fun. Luckily I am very skilled in skilling my skilled mental shield. Your Force Freeze seems to be holding too. Dorian tried to do something to your soul, not that you even seemed to notice."

Vette snatched the device from where the pretend sith had dropped it. "Shit boss, good thinking on getting that force resistance thing on me. And we're not calling it force freeze."

"Force." He corrected. "With a capital F, I can tell."

Vette rolled her eyes. "Still not calling it Force Freeze."

Morgan turned around, walking back outside again after taking the device from Vette. He heard her say something, only barely able to catch it. "Really good thinking, actually."

She didn't press as they walked back to camp, something he was glad for. Not like he had a good explanation for half his actions, and something in him churned when he lied to Vette.

The camp was acting like a kicked beehive, troopers frantically coming and going. Sith were stationed at the perimeter, unlike before, and three heavy repeaters were being assembled facing the Temple.

It seemed the Lord had finally gotten his reinforcements. Said Lord was also at the perimeter, looking over the stretch of ground where chewed on corpses could still be seen leading up to the temple. The beasts had mostly dispersed with Dorian's death, but some had decided the fresh meat was worth sticking around for.

"You're back. I hope you sealed the chambers of the Ancients? Kel'eth Ur's chamber especially. I'm non too eager to find out what would happen if that Ancient and his crazed ideas were to re-emerge."

Vette had abandoned him to poke at the heavy repeaters, the soldiers assembling them visibly torn between telling her off and looking at him nervously. He ignored them, focussing on the Lord.

"The tombs are sealed." He acknowledged. "And we've managed to deal a blow to the forces still remaining in the temple. Dorian, one of the generals, ambushed us as we were leaving. He boasted about taking control over the soldiers in the Temple, and his assortment of Force wielders all but confirmed it. It's likely most true sith are all dead, as he had mostly pretenders with him."

Morgan felt a flinch of hesitation from the Lord, though nothing was to be found on his face. "Did you find anything else? Something that might make this disaster worth it?"

No way in hell was he telling him. "Nothing the sith would be interested in. Mostly artefacts of minor importance."

That didn't mean he was going to lie.

The Lord frowned. "Pity. Well, a proper battalion of sith have finally arrived. Containing the Temple should be feasible now, at least until it has calmed."

"I would advise you to clear it entirely, Lord. The forces inside are in disarray, and with proper mental shields the influence from the Temple can be mitigated."

The Lord scoffed. "Like I have the Lords to spare. No, containment will have to do. It's a miracle you did not succumb, and twice over your slave didn't either. Still, no surprise Darth Baras's apprentice possesses a strong will."

Morgan resisted frowning. 'What's he on about? Soft Voice and I bargained with Astara long before we stepped onto the Academy proper, and she was an acolyte. Do most really not learn it before becoming a Lord?'

"Do you have any advice, my Lord? For when I build my own?" He hedged. At worst he looked like a fool, something he could live with.

The Lord scoffed. "Far be it for me to train another's apprentice. Your master will teach you if you become a Lord yourself, and have attained the proper control. Now, your assistance has proved helpful, and I am a firm believer that such things should be rewarded."

He called over a soldier, carrying several lightsabers. The Lord motioned to Morgan. "Your's is an old one, and technology has progressed since then. I advise replacing all but the crystal."

He made a dismissive gesture, so Morgan bowed. Prying Vette away from the heavy machine guns proved difficult, but the bribe of assisting with the construction of a lightsaber did the trick.

She still complained bitterly about not being able to fire the 'very big gun'. Her words.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Grik Sonosan, spy extraordinaire and currently regretting that career choice, awakened just as the armoured sith entered the room. His first proper thought was that the Darth had probably timed that to be dramatic.

"When I sent you into the Dark Temple for the Ravager, I thought it might be the last time I saw you, apprentice. The prisoner grows weaker by the minute. There's no time to spare."

Grik scoffed, a sound so weak no one heard it. Like whatever device they had found would break him. His vault was secure, the keyhole long since filled with duresteel.

Darth Baras dramatically handed back the object his apprentice had just given him. "A reward, apprentice, for a job well done. Use it, and get your first proper taste of the power that is wielded by the Lords among Lords."

The man, having long since removed his helmet, nodded. The twi'lek, looking uncertain yet making no move to leave, took a few steps to the side. 'That avenue of assistance is closed, then. Shame.'

"My name is Morgan." The sith introduced himself politely. He waited expectantly, Grik rolling his eyes. "Grik Sonosan, SIS."

Morgan nodded. "I advise you to tell me what my Master wishes to know."

Grik rolled his eyes harder. "A polite sith, now I've seen everything. Afraid not, champ. State secrets and all, you understand."

His new interrogator nodded amicably. "I do. Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead, or so they say. One last chance. Tell me, and spare yourself the worst experience of your life."

Grik stuck his tongue out at the sith, partly to cover up a twinkle of uncertainty. Blustering he could deal with. Pain, hunger, sleep deprivation. All things he had been trained to resist. This was new.

An honest desire to spare him pain, with a firm belief that whatever that thing in his hands was would make him talk.

The sith shook his head, his eyes leaking a moment of sympathy. Then it was gone, and the sith placed the device on his face.

"Good." Baras muttered. "The Ravager will soon seize his mind. In his condition we don't have long before the ordeal liquefies all brain matter. I will interrogate him, apprentice."

Grik was used to his mind palace looking like a vault. He had built it long ago, and he, at the time, could think of no place more secure than his mothers safe. It had seemed so unbreakable when he was younger, a hypothesis he had tested over long afternoons.

His mother had caught him, of course, seeing as he was barely a boy. Instead of slapping his hands, as she did when he stole a cookie without permission, she had tilted her head inquisitively instead.

The afternoon where she had taught him simple lockpicking tricks was still a favourite memory of his. When he had finally gotten that safe open, after many, many failed attempts, he had been disappointed to find letters. Simple paper.

He didn't know at the time that those letters were worth more than any gold that could have fit. Didn't know that even the paper was worth a small fortune, nevermind what was written on it.

Now he was under attack. The safe, once no larger than his torso, had been scaled up to serve as a memory focus. But he wasn't used to standing in it. To see the inside walls, the small mountain of items representing information.

A mind palace was not a real thing. It was a memory exercise. A trick. He couldn't be here.

"Come on out dear. I didn't teach you how to open that safe so you can hide away in it." A voice called.

Grik flinched. His mothers voice. A voice belonging to a woman dead for decades. He shook his head violently.

"Come now, Grikky. Dinner's almost ready, and you need to wash up." She called more sternly. He took a step towards the door without realising it.

Then he took two steps back, clasping his hands over his ears. This wasn't real. A sith deception. An illusion.

"My mind is a vault, and you don't have the key." He insisted to himself. He heard faint knocking on the door, growing more insistent.

He repeated the mantra, looking at the pile of items on the floor. Yes, he had to get rid of them. They were important, but he couldn't remember why.

He had to get rid of them. Grik scooped up a pen, breaking it in half. The knocking intensified, his mother demanding to be let in

Grik tore the pages out of a book, stuffing them in his mouth. More items needed to be destroyed. Yes, quick.

An old journal, covered in blood, burned to ashes. A durasteel torch, marked with strange symbols, shatters into splinters. An old hat, once belonging to a renowned smuggler, trampled and soaked. Torn to bits after, just to be sure. All items held some significance to him, but he couldn't remember. They made no sense. They had to be broken. Destroyed. They would not win.

Who were they? Why was he doing this?

He whirled around as the door creaked open. His mother scowled at him, laughter playing in her eyes. "I taught you how to open that safe, I can open it myself."

She looked just like he remembered. As he wanted to remember her. Before the sickness took her strength. Before his fathers death took her spark. She scooped him up, fitting snugly against her chest. The items on the ground melted away.

"Come, washing before dinner. Then we can see if Hetra won't like to visit."

Grik buried his head in her shoulder, cheeks flaming red. His mother chuckled. "I know you like her. She knows you like her. Strangers, seeing you two together for less than a minute, know you like her."

He scowled at her. "It's not like that!"

She nodded indulgently, walking out the door. White washed over them, until all he could hear was her voice. "Of course not dear."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"I am with the Republic Information Service, on special assignment to verify possible Imperial spies on Nar Shaddaa." Grik droned. It took all of Vette's power not to take another step towards the door.

She wasn't abandoning Morgan here again, to face this horror alone. That didn't mean seeing someone reduced to an emotionless husk was any easier, unfortunately.

"I was commissioned by the Jedi Council, acting on suspicions provided by Master Nomen Karr.

"Noman Karr." Baras spat. "Naturally. How did he come to suspect my spy on Nar Shaddaa? Tell me, Republic wretch, what alerted him?"

"Master Noman Karr has a new padawan. She seems to know any being's true nature. She senses hidden darkness and untapped purity." Grik provided calmly. "All I know is that when Master Nomen Karr brought her to Nar Shaddaa this padawan sensed the darkness in your spy by looking at him."

Vette stood her ground as Baras shook with rage. "If this young padawan can see through deception and disguise with such little effort, she threatens everything I have worked for. Continue, Republic dog."

"Karr believes this padawan's ability is foolproof, but the Jedi Council is sceptical. I was to provide the evidence, but I wasn't able to report my findings."

Grik twitched, muscles pulling tight against the restraints. Blood leaked from his nose, his eyes sickly yellow. Baras pressed anyway. "Who is this padawan? Tell me everything you know about her."

"She was found on Alderaan." Contrary Grik's his physical state, his voice was calm and even. "Her power first emerged training on Tatooine. The Jedi send another agent to investigate someone she suspected on balmorra."

"He's fading." Baras cursed, leaning closer. "Is she human? What is her name? Where can I find her?"

Grik mumbled something, Vette not able to hear. By the way Baras tore the man from his restraints and threw him at the wall, it wasn't anything useful. The body sagged to the ground, the Ravager still attached to his head.

Morgan walked over, detaching it and closing the man's eyes respectfully. Baras didn't seem to notice until her boss set it down on the table.

"The Ravager has emptied his mind. That is all we have to go on, a few random places within the greater galaxy where Noman Karr and his padawan have been."

"Who is he?" Morgan inquired. Vette had no idea how he managed to look so calm.

"Jedi Master Noman Karr. He is a Shadow, and one not as soft as his peers. He is, in fact, one of the few able to pose as a Lord. It is where we met.. I found him out, and during his escape he wounded me most severely."

'Ah, great. We're probably going to have to kill him.' She thought sarcastically.

"Should you ever meet him, apprentice, I advise you to treat him with all the caution you can muster. He hates the Dark, yet has made a more thorough study of it than all but few of his peers."

Darth Baras sat behind his desk, appearing to have regained his calm. "Your duties are likely to take you to the far reaches of the galaxy, and I will need to deploy you at will. You shall have a starship of your own. Go to my personal hangar in the spaceport and claim it. Once you have, await my instruction."

Morgan bowed. "As you command, my Lord."

Vette shivered as they flew away from the citadel, staring at her feet. "That was maybe the worst thing I've ever been part of."

"It's certainly the worst thing I've done." Morgan confirmed. "I can argue that Baras ordered me to. I can argue that I gave him a chance. I can even argue he knew the risks when joining SIS. But in the end I broke him to get what I wanted."

"And Baras still has the device. He can do that again." She half asked.

Morgan didn't answer, but they both knew the man would. She privately hoped someone would take it away, if they found it. Another sith. A jedi. She didn't care.

If being the operative word, as Baras would do anything in his considerable power to keep it secret. Vette certainly would, if she was in the man's shoes.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The spaceport was, as he had previously observed with his keen eye, enormous. Baras had several private hangars, and likely many more unofficial ones, but they were a ways away from any other owned by the sith.

They checked in with a bored official upon arriving at the private hangar, one that didn't seem impressed at talking to a sith. He noted down their names, something Vette seemed unhappy with, and gave them directions to the small sub-hangar that contained their new ship.

The ship itself was a Fury-class Imperial interceptor, something the official had helpfully told them. It looked much like he remembered, only the scale seeming off.

It towered over them, but a tickle in the Force distracted him from examining it properly.

A tickle that transformed into a scream as he stepped to the side, the lightsaber passing so close past his face he felt his eyebrows shrink back from the heat. He whirled on his ambusher, his own lightsaber coming up in a guard rest.

A cyborg stood before them, one that seemed familiar. It clicked after the man opened his mouth, a soundless scream echoing out.

"You're that asshole from Grathan's estate. The one I fried with my EMP." Vette accused. "Morgan tore your head off."

He kept his knives sheathed, seeing as they hadn't done much last time. The Dark seemed turbulent in the cyborg, more so than normal. Anger washed off the man in waves, but fear was plentiful too. Interesting.

"Not to sound naive, but Vette's right. I killed you. How are you alive?"

The man opened his mouth, his synthetic voice filling the hangar. His lips didn't move. "Lord Grathan remade me after my fall. Stitched me back together with masterful alchemy. Now I will have my revenge."

Vette nearly tore off his head with her sniper. Morgan frowned as he blocked a wild counterstrike, forcing the cyborg to give her space as he backed up. "Not looking too good there. I can feel what they did, seeing as your shield is more a blob of spiky anger. Gatekeeping aside, it's a pathetic attempt at fleshcrafting."

Morgan frowned again as he feigned past the cyborg's guard, scoring a deep gash. "You're supposed to be his top assassin, right? Must have lost quite a bit in the operation if this is the best you have."

The cyborg screamed, waves of hatred washing over his mental shield. He sighed, stepping left and taking the man's arm. It flopped to the ground. The man's head joined after another three passes, this time cutting it in half instead of merely off.

The Force screamed, giving him just enough warning to turn.

Fire engulfed him, his last effort blowing Vette across the hangar. Darkness claimed him, one he hadn't seen in a long while. The image of a mocking face made of shadow briefly flashed in his mind, before all went silent.

"Wake up." Teacher barked. Morgan blearily opened his eyes, pain battering at his psyche. "The explosion damaged your lungs, fool boy. Focus and assess the damage, now."

He looked forward instead, still drowsy. Endless black filled his vision. It took him a moment to realise he was looking out at space.

Morgan tried to ask a question, namely how much time had passed, but only a gurgle came out.

"Don't try to speak, you'll just make it worse." Teacher snapped. "Focus and follow my instructions. You're not ready for this level of regeneration, so you better give it your best."

He closed his eyes, seeing Vette climb the ceiling just before he did. His lungs were fucked, as Teacher had already informed him, but feeling the extent of the damage was sobering.

Several punctures were leaking blood, and closing those was his first priority. He could feel the Force swirl around his body, and he had the vague suspicion they were taking over some biological functions. He had no idea how he was still alive otherwise.

Morgan lost track of time as he worked, hotfixing the worst of the damage. When he opened his eyes he saw a pool of blood with several metal fragments at his feet, Teacher nowhere to be seen. He realised he had tuned the man out somewhere along the process.

Breathing came easier, and he slowly felt the Force return to normal. Pain still nagged at his mind, but he focussed passed it with ease born of experience.

Vette came scrambling up as he stood and moved to a proper chair, settling down gently. She handed him a datapad, dropping a handful of small electronics on the floor. She shrugged when he looked at it.

"Bugs. Figured I might as well make myself useful."

"What happened?" He typed. "How long was I out?"

Vette nodded, sitting on the chair next to him in the cockpit. She seemed jittery. "Cyborg man had a bomb in his chest. It was rigged with a deadman's switch, or so spaceport security tells me. You've been out for hours, but we're still in orbit around Dromund Kaas."

He reached out, patting her hand awkwardly. "Glad you're ok."

She snatched it back as if stung. "What they actual fuck, Morgan. That guy had a fucking bomb in his chest. One strong enough that hangar won't be used for weeks. Teacher said that if you hadn't been wearing armour, or hadn't turned around, you'd be dead. Dead."

Morgan raised his hand, typing with the other. "I'm still alive. Should have figured it out when they sent an unstable assassin after us. Sorry."

Vette surged to her feat. "Don't you dare apologise. I saw the footage, I remember how I went flying before the explosion even went off. You pushed me, you utter fool. Didn't think to maybe jump away, or push the guy instead. No, you had to try and save me, someone who, by the way, was standing a hundred feet further off!"

"Your armour was lighter." He rebuffed sullenly.

"I'm not arguing." She huffed, the energy draining out of her. "This isn't how this is supposed to go. You're supposed to be the cold sith, uncaring for all but power. The conqueror, or whatever nonsense they teach at Korriban. You're not supposed to have the heroic sacrifice, or care about a girl you've known for half a year."

He typed, frustrated at the slow speed. "We don't choose who we care about. Yes, I could have handled it better. I will, should anything like this ever happen again. But I don't regret it. That shrapnel would have gone through you like butter, nevermind the fact that I'm better at healing myself to begin with."

Vette sagged further. "After the fact, reasonable logic doesn't change that you tried to save me over yourself. You can't tell me that's normal for most people, let alone sith."

"I'm not afraid to die." He admitted, looking over her shoulder. "But I don't want to do this alone again."

A shadow of a smile fluttered over her lips. "Spoken like you know what's going to happen. Say with insisting you make me resistant to the Force, right before it almost trivialises the danger from the Temple. Like how you didn't know how money worked, but somehow have a near expert knowledge about Revan of all people.

A trill of alarm went through him, but she held up her hand. "You're entitled to your secrets, just like I'm entitled to mine. If today has done anything it's proven you aren't keeping it from me out of malice."

Silence reigned for a minute, both of them looking at the vast nothing outside the window. Morgan broke it by picking up the datapad again, curious. "Why aren't I pumped full of drugs, and how'd you get spaceport security to hand over footage of what happened?"

She looked at him sideways. "The apprentice to a Darth was just attacked on their watch, blowing up the private hangar of said Darth in the process. They all but fell over themselves to provide anything I asked for. Teacher said the drugs would mess with your control, whatever that means. Insisted you'd be fine on your own."

That made sense. Speaking of Baras, he needed to report. That was going to be fun without being able to speak.

He stood, showing her the datapad. "Going to report to Baras. Good thinking in sweeping the ship."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Vette watched him shuffle out, the knot in her chest tightening even as she grinned at him. 'Well, I'm properly fucked now.'

She went back to inspecting the ship, climbing down to storage. She patted herself on the back for sweeping the cockpit first, as that conversation wasn't one she would particularly like stored in some database.

Her nerves calmed as she worked, the talk with Morgan slowly convincing her that he was really alright. Well, aside from not being able to speak. Or move faster than a snail. Or lift his arms over his shoulder.

She forced that image out of her head, focusing on the scanner. Vette grinned as she pried another bug out of a crate, embedded into the lid. It made a satisfying crunch as she crushed it in her hand.

To her surprise, Teacher came floating over. "Any brain damage, or were you too busy making googly eyes at him to notice?"

She shook her head, injecting sarcasm in her tone to mask the accuracy of that statement. "All signs normal. No confusion, or more so than expected. No balance issues or sensitivity to light. Aside from almost being shredded, if that counts, he's doing fine."

"Sith lead dangerous lives." Teacher rebuffed. "It's why I insisted on training his regeneration alongside his strength training, back when you were playing soldier."

Vette stuck her tongue out at him, the cube flying closer. "You like him. Like, like like."

She rolled her eyes. "What are you, twelve?"

Teacher hissed. "Mock me all you want. Think twice and then again. Breaking that boy's heart will lead to nothing but misery. Especially for me."

"No concern for my poor feelings? Showing favourites is unfair." She teased. Teacher laughed scathingly.

"I've the feeling you have more experience than him by several orders of magnitude, so no."

"I'm not sure what I want." She told him quietly as she dug through panels, some minutes later. "Go on dates, picnicking at the beach between invasions? I don't even know if he's interested."

The cube wobbled. "He keeps his emotions close to his chest, that's true. More so than most, I mean. Normal sith, if you can call any of us normal, feed on them. They make us strong, give us power. It also makes it easy to deduce what drives us. I honestly couldn't tell you what drives him. Not anymore."

She cocked her head. "Anymore?"

"He was a slave, more so than you realise. What he went through on Korriban shaped him, as it did for all of us. He craved freedom and control, as it was denied to him."

"But not anymore." She hummed. "Are you sure about that?"

Teacher tisked. "I'm sure he'll always value freedom and control, who doesn't, but it's not what drives him anymore."

"It scares you." She realised. "Not knowing."

The cube drew away, insulted. "If only you knew, child. His ability with the lightsaber is adequate and his power lacking. Nothing new there. It's his progress with fleshcrafting that makes him dangerous. How he walked into a Temple that has driven Lords to madness and described it as an annoyance. That speaks of skill, the kind you can't train or teach. He ignored me, did you know? Managed to get into a proper healing trance and ignored my instruction."

Vette scoffed. "You're scared because he's good at healing?"

"I am not scared." Teacher hissed dangerously. "I am cautious. Cautious of what will happen when soldiers realise he can make them near immortal. What will happen when he finds more like you."

He shook his head at her puzzlement.

"It doesn't matter. Think before deciding what to do about your crush." Teacher snidely ordered. "Then find out if he feels the same. Use those mammalian asset's you mortals seem so fascinated with."

Morgan stumbled down the stairs, making her jump to her feat. It didn't seem he had heard them.

The datapad flashed as he pointed it at them. "We've got our marching order. Balmorra."