Chap 11. Dromund Kaas arc: A shame to sith everywhere

"He can and will kill you." Morgan warned her again, knocking on the door.

"I know, I know." Vette muttered, rolling her shoulder nervously. "This isn't you. He can do whatever he wants. I'll stay quiet by the door, not looking at him."

He sighed. "Alright then, remember, you wanted to meet him."

Darth Baras had his back turned as they entered, turning around when Morgan neared his desk. "I see you decided to make haste in coming here, my new apprentice."

"And you kept the slave." Baras looked at her briefly. "Without a collar, no less. Foolish."

"I need no collar to ensure obedience, master." Morgan answered neutrally.

Baras laughed coldly, looking back at him. "Spoken like a sith. But that is not where your foolishness ends, is it? You killed an Overseer, one that I did not give you leave to kill."

"And not only one, for the jailer has yet to wake from his coma." The Darth started pacing. "That waste of skin was useless, easily replaced. The Medical Overseer was not. She had decades of experience with alchemy, and, uniquely, had no ties to anyone but the academy. Replacing her will not be simple."

Morgan made sure to keep his voice soft, but wrath bled into it. "She touched what was mine."

He looked at the Darth directly. "But that doesn't matter, does it? The Overseer crossed me, in a way I could not ignore, so she died for it."

Baras stayed silent, Morgan wondering briefly if he had used the wrong argument. "It seems you have cast away the last of your slave roots with your victory over Vemrin. Bravo."

"Do not think you are her equal, however. She would have killed you, had your strike been slower." The Darth laughed again. "Oh yes. If that had been a proper fight, I would have a corpse for an apprentice. It seems you are in need of remedial training."

He pointed to the door. "I have organised training with a blademaster, who will show you how much you have yet to learn. My minion has given you the relevant details."

Morgan bowed, walking to the door. The Darth's voice stopped him. "And as for your slave. If you wish to keep her, so be it. If you wish to use her in a fight, she will learn to do so properly. I have arranged for her to join a class of fresh recruits for the Imperial Reconnaissance branch."

He turned, bowing again. Vette joined him as he walked out the door, not saying anything as they left.

She broke that silence as soon as they were out of the Citadel. "So that was the whole 'cold sith' act. Pretty convincing stuff."

"Good." Morgan said as he hailed a speeder. "If it fooled you it might fool Baras, not that that seems likely."

She hummed, snuggling into her seat against the cold as they took off. "So, Imperial Reconnaissance. That's them scouts right, like the one that gave you his knife?"

"Indeed. Scouts, soldiers and assassins. They're a good fit for your skills."

He looked at her sideways. "How do you feel about it? Being sent to the military, I mean."

"You warned me." She shrugged. "Not thrilled about it, but I imagine you can pull some strings if I want out."

"Not as long as Baras wants you there." He warned. "But I'll see what I can do."

They came to the military district some time later, Vette jumping out of the taxi. "Well then, I suppose this is goodbye."

He was caught off guard by the wave of displeasure he felt. "For now. I'm sure we'll be running around the jungle sooner rather than later, hunting and killing. I doubt Baras is a 'safety first' kind of master."

Vette smirked, her smile slightly off. "I do get that vibe from him, yeah."

He nodded to her, watched her wave, then ordered the speeder to the Citadel district again. Morgan used the time to bury his feelings, ones almost sharp when he pressed them down.

He approached his destination an hour later, checking his datapad to see if this was the right place. An old warehouse stretched before him, the door locked with a code.

He shrugged, unlocking it by waving his datapad in front of it. Most of the space was a single room, thick mats on the floor and walls. Racks of weapons and armour covered the back wall, no windows to be seen.

"Finally he arrives."

Morgan whipped around, suppressing the urge to draw his weapon.

An old sith pureblood walked out of a small side room, sizing him up. "So this is the hotshot that is killing Overseers left and right. Pathetic."

The woman was about Morgan's height, a scowl etched into her features. She threw him a lightsaber.

"Defend yourself." She ordered.

He didn't even have time to enforce before he was flying through the room, smashing into the padded wall. He strengthened his body as he fell, flipping to land on his feet.

"These won't kill." The woman barked as she ignited her weapon. "But they'll hurt."

Morgan sidestepped a thrust, focusing his sight on the woman's enforcement. He cursed internally. 'Far to advanced. It'll take me weeks to start adapting that.'

"Darth Baras tells me you have good perception." The woman sneered. "So that's your first assignment, copying from your betters. I doubt you'll learn anything."

She nicked his shoulder, using the opening to send him flying across the room again. The wound burned, not that that bothered him. "Truly worthless. It's a wonder you've survived until now."

He watched as she seemed to teleport across the room, forcing him to put up a block for her overhead strike. His knees buckled. 'Well, this is going to be fun.'

What followed was hours of being beaten around the room, his body slowly accumulating welts and bruises. He sagged against the wall as the woman called a halt.

"Take out the holocron." She ordered briskly.

He ignored her, asking a question instead. "What's your name?"

The pureblood narrowed her eyes. "You can call me Lady Trix."

Morgan stood, his body complaining with every motion, and gave a shallow bow. "My Lady."

"Take out the holocron." She repeated, staring at it when he did. "Good, now open it."

Her presence wrapped around the cube, to observe rather than interact. He ignored it, going for the entrance. To his surprise, there were two.

'First I'm getting beaten like a fresh acolyte and now Teacher is upping the difficulty.' He complained silently, splitting his attention.

He could do it, if needed. His already low power output cut in half, however, to the point even levitating a knife would be challenging.

Lady Trix stayed silent as he worked, observing. It took him nearly half an hour.

When the holocron finally clicked open, opening his eyes with it, he saw the pureblood sitting cross legged in front of him.

"Well, who might this be?" Teacher's voice drifted out, curiosity abundant in his tone.

"I am Lady Trix." She responded. "And you are that annoying holocron that refused to teach me, back when I was still an acolyte."

Teacher made a dismissive noise. "Then you did not pass the test. I owe you nothing."

Lady Trix scowled to the holocron, as she had for hours at Morgan, but the cube seemed unaffected.

Teacher turned away from her, floating over to Morgan. "So what might I assist my apprentice with this time?"

"He is the apprentice of Darth Baras." Trix cut in sharply.

"I," the cube said slowly, "am dead. Have been for centuries and centuries. I do hope the Darths of this age are not so fragile they cannot endure information storage devices from spreading knowledge."

The pureblood's scowl deepened. "Remember your place, holocron. Darth Baras has ordered the continuation of his alchemy lessons, placing special focus on increasing physical strength."

"Now that is a splendid idea." Teacher wobbled. "I personally prefer teaching regeneration before strength, but I will bow to the wisdom of your master on this matter."

Lady Trix stalked off, leaving Morgan alone with the cube.

"We will, of course, also continue your regeneration exercises." Teacher informed him. "But increasing physical might is not a bad idea. It will give you a good foundation for the later stages of flesh shaping, and mistakes will be relatively easy to fix."

Morgan shook his head, wondering if it was too late to leave him on Korriban.

"It should take some months to do it properly, and your skill will put a hard limit on the amount of modification we can do, but an increase of three to four times in strength is quite doable."

Morgan resisted the urge to cackle. "I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you." He promised Teacher.

The cube pointed at him suspiciously. "You haven't said anything bad about me."

"Then I suppose taking it back will be easy." Morgan smiled. He ignored how he briefly wanted to turn to Vette, smirking with her about how Teacher spluttered.

He sombered quickly because of it. "Let's get started."

"Very well." Teacher said crossly. "First, it is important to understand we will not be increasing muscle mass as much as density. We will also need to strengthen various tendons, ligaments and bones to ensure you can handle the strain. Now, do as I say and be exact about it."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

'I wonder if this is more boring than the cage. No, surely not.' Vette thought, standing at parade rest with the other recruits.

There were thirty of them, standing in two lines as their old captain marched between them.

"Courage and loyalty to the Empire is the highest virtue a soldier can possess. Before any of you leave my training that will be instilled into your bones!" The man bellowed.

Vette did the hardest thing she had ever done, and resisted rolling her eyes. 'By the goddess, this is actually worse than Korriban. At least Morgan was there to kill people like this, or at the very least make them uncomfortable.'

"You will walk like soldiers, talk like soldiers and you will damn well die like soldiers!" The captain screamed. Vette joined the rest of the class as they shouted in return.

"Sir yes sir!

"Contact sparring, ten minutes. Get changed!"

Vette smiled, relishing the change of pace. For a week now they had been taught how to walk, talk and maintain blasters. Things Vette could do in her sleep, especially the latter.

Fifteen minutes later she walked into the sparring ring, training knife in hand. She smirked at her opponent, a man, who was looking at her disdainfully. Some human, oozing arrogance but holding his knife poorly.

The captain barked at them to start, Vette shooting forward. The man barely had time to flinch before he was on the floor, her knife an inch from his throat. She looked around to see most of the rest of the class looking at her as her opponent had, before she had wiped it off his face.

'Alien. Filth. Gutter trash. I've heard worse, you little shits. I survived Korriban. You are nothing.' She thought at them.

Vette looked at the captain, only to see him looking at the rest of the recruits with narrowed eyes. He seemed annoyed.

"Good job, recruit." The man barked at her. "I see the sith sent you here for a good reason."

Half the recruits leaned back, fear shuttering over their faces. The other half wiped any hint of disdain from their looks. The captain looked vindicated, just for a moment.

'Ah, so that's it." Vette realised. 'He'd rather not have the sith pay a visit because they did something stupid.'

She smirked at the man, enjoying the look of indignation that didn't go further than his eyes. 'Any other recruit would have been chewed out. I'm going to enjoy this.'

Another man took her opponent's place, the captain bellowing they would keep coming until she was defeated.

'Still, might as well learn what I can. I'm sure Morgan's been working his ass off.' She softly shook her head. 'Can't very well let him be all terrifying on his own, I've got a reputation to think about.'

Her days blurred, and to her surprise she was starting to enjoy herself. The endless marching and saluting lessons were replaced with stealth and sniper training, both far more to her taste. She excelled.

Vette excelled a little too much, to the point the class started to resent her again. Not for being an alien, this time, but because she refused to 'slow down' or 'give the rest of them a chance'. Also because she was still an alien.

So she wasn't entirely surprised when four of them cornered her in the bathrooms.

Vette laughed, taking the initiative before they could. "So, before any of you say anything, I want to make sure I've got this right."

She wiped a fake tear from her eye, holding her stomach. "I'm better at essentially everything, so you resent me. That makes sense. Stupid, but it makes sense. So you're here to, I suppose, teach me a lesson. Ambush me when I'm all alone. Nevermind that I've been throwing you around in CQC, or that the captain will have you hanged for this."

The largest of them, Searta, snorted. "The captain won't do shit. I'm the daughter of a baron, you alien filth. You don't belong here."

"Alright." Vette agreed easily. "Say the captain won't touch you. I see this playing out in one of three ways. I beat the four of you bloody, until even your thick skulls learn not to mess with me. Second, you beat me, and I spend the rest of my time here brainstorming ways for you to have an accident. Lastly, you kill me."

She smiled pleasantly at them. "Let's go over what happens after each outcome. I beat you, and the captain won't do anything. You spent a long time in pain, and I'm still here. You beat me, I survive, and I'm still here. Now you have someone who is motivated, trained and willing to kill you. Or lastly, you kill me."

"Let me tell you what happens after you kill me." Vette told them happily. "For a few days, nothing changes. Maybe the captain will disappear, because he seems smart like that. Then, one day, soldiers will come storming in. The kind of troopers that won't give two shits who your daddy is. After them comes something worse. After them comes sith. He will come, make no mistake, and you will disappear."

She laughed softly. "But you won't die. Oh no. You'll go to Korriban, where every acolyte will use you to train their 'enhanced interrogation' skills. Where you will break, day after day, until nothing is left of you but madness."

Searta looked unimpressed, her friends less so. "Like a sith will give a shit what happens to you."

For some reason Vette didn't have a doubt in the world what Morgan would do. Not after the med-bay incident. "That's for you to decide, isn't it?"

Three of the would-be bullies backed off as she stalked forward, abandoning Searta. "But it seems they made their choice. So, you think you can take me alone?"

The woman sneered, shooting her friends a betrayed look. "Cowards."

She stalked off, muttering angrily. The others scrambled after her. Vette sighed, looking in the mirror.

"That went pretty well. Wonder how long their fear lasts."

More time passed, days falling into routine. Sleep late and wake early. Training stealth and agility, slowly building her body up back to pre-Korriban strength. Training with the sniper-rifle, where thousands of shots were starting to sharpen her aim to levels even she found scary.

Then, after nearly three weeks, something marvellous happened. Something she hadn't planned, hadn't foreseen.

Her threat to Searta, thought of in the heat of the moment, came true.

Soldiers interrupted them at the range, black armoured and heavily armed. Their captain trailed after them, talking softly with a sith pureblood as he stalked forward.

Vette shot her four would be attackers a coy smile, pretending she had planned this. They bleached white, even Searta looking nervous. Any arrogance was gone, replaced with chilling fear.

Even though she wouldn't admit it, Vette felt some fear herself. Everyone else had no way of knowing this wasn't Morgan. Would think this was her sith patron.

But she had no idea who this was, and the pureblood was walking straight towards her.

"Bring her." The sith ordered briskly, two faceless soldiers surging forward.

They didn't quite grab her shoulders as they escorted her, but every avenue of escape was blocked. One was walking closely behind, while the other stood further back. One to catch her, the other to shoot her.

"I think you got the wrong gal-" She began. Vette didn't even get to introduce herself before the pureblood cut her off.

"You are Ce'na, going by the name Vette. Born on Ryloth during the great galactic war, living with your mother and sister. Spent your youth as a slave, working in the mines of Ryloth with your family. Sold from master to master from the age of seven onward, separating you from your kin, until said captivity ended when you were recruited by the pirate Nok Drayen. You left some years later to join a band of twi'lek hunters, stealing artefacts with religious or cultural significance to your people. Cada Bliss offered you a job on Korriban, which you took, unaware it was a trap. You were captured, and spent the next six months imprisoned in the academy."

The sith looked at her sideways. "I have the right person."

Vette swallowed, the fear in her stomach spreading. 'Well, that's me alright.'

They came to an office, her captain peeling off to return to the range after opening the door. The sith walked behind the desk, motioning for her to take a seat. Two soldiers took post at the door, the rest doing the same in the hallway. The only way out shut with an ominous click.

"I," he began, "would like you to send a message to Morgan."

Her defence mechanisms locked into place, responding to fear with sarcasm. "Does that happen to include a few fingers, or maybe my head? If it does, I'm going to have to pass."

The sith blinked, taking a seat himself. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. My name is Kripaa, follower of Lord Zethix. Lord Morgan is our ally, and close friend to my master."

"We wish to contact him, but are blocked while he is in training. We are not on the planet long, so Lady Mirla recommended we give the message to you."

Vette blinked twice, wondered briefly if he was lying, then sagged in her seat. "You scared the shit out of me. Coming in here, terrifying the captain, dragging me somewhere private. By the goddess, you have more information on me than Morgan does."

Kripaa tilted his head, a gesture Vette found to be singularly creepy on a pureblood. "My apologies, that was not the intention. We keep track of everyone close to Lord Morgan, as ordered by Lord Zethix."

"So what's with the soldiers then?" She snarked.

"Them?" The sith asked, surprised. "That's the special forces unit I'm leading, have been since Korriban. They're here because it would be rude to ask them to wait outside."

"By the goddess, I thought I was getting killed here." Vette grumbled. "You must be the worst at parties."

Kripaa shook his head politely. "I do not often attend social functions, either now or before becoming sith."

Vette sighed, looking back at the two motionless soldiers posted at the door. "Alright, fine. What's the message?"

"Ahum. We are moving to Balmorra, where our trainers believe the increasing tension and sighting of former Republic troops is the perfect scenario for the last stage of our training."

She waited a second, but the sith appeared to be done speaking. "That's it?"

Kripaa nodded. Vette scowled. "You could have written that on a damn note, no need to give me a heart attack."

"It was deemed better to give the message in person, even if we are not able to tell Lord Morgan directly." The sith responded calmly.

Vette narrowed her eyes. "Why are you calling him Lord Morgan? He's still an apprentice, as far as I know."

"It is a sign of respect." The sith answered plainly. "He taught me much of what I know, back when we were being trained under Overseer Sasha. He and Lord Zethix are the reason most of us are alive, in fact."

"Morgan doesn't really talk about it." She muttered.

"Then I shall not do so either. In short, we owe him. Lord Zethix is his friend, and so we assist where we can."

Vette sighed. "Right then. I got the message. I'll tell him when I see him, goddess knows when that will be."

The pureblood stood, causing the soldiers to open the door. "Gratitude. Please give Lord Morgan my regards."

She rolled her eyes. "Will do."

With that they left, Vette sitting alone in the captain's office.

'Well, if this doesn't stop anymore bullshit from the other recruits nothing will.'

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"You're a shame to sith everywhere." Lady Trix barked. "Six weeks we've been here, and you can't even touch me."

Morgan contemplated pointing out that he nearly did, a week ago. Of course, after that, she had set up floating targets for him. Ordered him to sink his vibroknife in the centre while they fought, as if he had concentration to spare.

"A not too terrible crowd control method, if you can master it properly." She had said.

'At the very least I'm getting stronger.' He consoled himself.

His body flexed with power, jumping to the side to avoid a strike to the head. The training lightsaber, for all that it would only leave burns, would still take his eyes.

'And Teacher said we're only halfway to my limit.' He thought giddily.

He already felt faster, his increase in strength compounding with enforcement. It did take adjustment, his reflexes slightly off each time he went through a session with Teacher. Lucky for him, Lady Trix seemed more than happy to spar.

'That's not even considering her enforcement.' He thought, thrusting his blade forward. She slapped it aside contemptuously. 'Especially now that I'm finally getting the hang of adapting her technique.'

The spar lasted another twenty moves, Morgan sagging down the wall where the sith had kicked him. Lady Trix sneered down at him, as usual.

"I've no idea what Darth Baras sees in you. Mediocre talent with the saber, pathetically weak in the Dark and I've seen snails better at alchemy."

Morgan ignored the insults like stone did water, standing and bowing. "I'll do better, my Lady."

"Hah." She snorted. "You seem able to keep your emotions in check, so that's something."

Trix stalked up to him, poking his chest hard. "Sith are driven by emotion, but never ruled by it. Remember that, little apprentice."

She stalked out, disappearing in the little side chamber he wasn't allowed in. He looked to the place he slept, a simple cot in the corner.

Morgan smiled, remembering when she had tried to surprise him in the night. To teach him that nowhere was truly safe. 'Like Soft Voice didn't train us to sleep lightly. He must have drowned me in water a dozen times before I learned.'

His smile faded, looking at the empty room. A pang of loneliness was ruthlessly shoved down, together with the face that popped up.

"I see you are done training for the afternoon. Good, we are almost at a breakthrough." Teacher spoke behind him. Morgan turned slowly, nodding at the cube. 'Maybe not entirely alone.'

"Sit." Teacher ordered. "Enrich your blood. Feel how it flows, how each heartbeat circulates it around the body."

Morgan did, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He closed his eyes, turning his attention inwards. The Force flowed, first down one arm and then the other. Adding a leg had proven difficult, but doable.

Now he was nearly done with his other leg, trying to connect the whole thing together. Four strands stretched from his heart, each to the tip of his hands and feet. All thrummed with power, stimulating recovery and oxygen. Yet no matter what he did, the fourth strand refused to stretch all the way down. Refused to reach his toes, no matter how he tried to push it.

He sat there, eyes closed and attention inward, for near an hour before he took a break.

"I still can't quite reach it." He told Teacher. "It won't stretch that far."

"Hmm." The cube responded, considering. "And who said stretching was required?"

Morgan frowned. "You did. Have been for weeks now."

"So I did. Do you wish to know why?" Teacher continued without waiting. "It is to train control. To train patience. Alchemy is a dangerous art, fleshcrafting more so. Back when every acolyte received training in the it, very long ago, we had them practise like this. How far do you think they got, before giving up? Before their instructor told them the secret?"

He frowned, shrugging. "All four?"

"No." Teacher laughed. "Most certainly not. You were considered gifted when reaching two, and Overseers would fight over those that could do three."

The cube wobbled closer to him. "But you got two limbs in days, and managed what few have in weeks. Your blademaster is harsh, but not untrue. Your skill with the saber comes from practice, not an innate gift. The Dark is weak in you, enough so most techniques normal for other sith would exhaust you in seconds."

"But you have control." Teacher insisted. "Removing weakness is good, yet it is by playing to our strength that we conquer. Let them have their lightning storms, their crushing waves of despair. Let them break armies. With alchemy you can build them. Any soldier fighting for you unbreakable. Any beast unkillable."

The cube laughed, filling the room. "And if you do it right? Those soldiers will be loyal unto death, a fate no follower of a fleshcrafter Lord will succumb to easily. You have no idea the worlds that have fallen. The Jedi that have run."

"Make no mistake, Morgan. No one rules alone, not even sith. Fleshcrafters rule through loyalty, not fear. Don't forget that."

Morgan smiled, oddly touched. "That almost sounds like you're trying to make me feel better."

Teacher scoffed, floating in circles. "Ridiculous. Now focus, and I will tell you the secret."

Morgan closed his eyes again. "Go down one arm, but not the second. Feel the blood at your hand. What is it doing?"

"It's, turning around?" Morgan answered. "Right, that seems logical. Blood needs more minerals and oxygen before it can do its job again."

On a whim, he tried to follow it. Instead of making a second strand, he looped the one back around. Going down the second arm was harder that way, but when he reached the point where he normally had to make a third, he smirked.

"I see you figured it out." Teacher commented. "It starts harder, but the curve is not exponential, like before."

"So why make me do the inferior technique for so long?" Morgan asked. "I could have gotten this down weeks ago."

Teacher shrugged, Morgan unclear on how exactly the cube did that. "I wanted to see how far you'd come."

Morgan completed the loop down his last leg, bringing the strand back to his heart. He connected the two ends, feeling the mental strain lesson as it fed itself from his reserves.

"One big loop." He said. Teacher dipped up and down.

"Indeed. It is the first step, one that will be used for any change you wish to make."

He raised an eyebrow. "What about strengthening my muscles? I've been doing that for weeks."

"I said almost."

Morgan coughed pointedly at the evasion. Teacher sighed. "Fine. No, it's not technically required. Just like you don't need the Force to wield a lightsaber, or pilot training to fly a ship."

"But it sure helps." Morgan muttered. "I see your point. So now what?"

"Now you practise, until you can complete the loop in under three heartbeats." Teacher ordered. "Then, we will see. Increasing strength will be easier, now that you can properly feel what you are doing."

Morgan nodded, letting the loop fade before starting again.

He pushed the excited urge to show Vette way down.

Morgan blatantly ignored how it was getting harder every time he did so.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Vette looked at her four opponents, all showing less nerves than she would have imagined. 'Fair's fair, I'm not the only one learning stuff.'

She hooked her arm under the shoulder of the first recruit that swung at her, knife uselessly dangling in his hand as she twisted him to the ground.

The other three used her temporary distraction to advance, trying to grab and lock her in place.

She jumped back instead, running her knife across the back of Searta's hand. She always overextended it in her first attack.

The training knife had its edge dulled, otherwise she would have lost the hand. Not that that stopped the pain.

Vette ducked to avoid a high kick, punishing the fancy move by smashing the leg from out under the recruit that tried it. He went down hard. She could briefly see the captain as she twirled, shaking his head with a scowl on his face. Vette smirked.

'The drills are stupid, marching can go fuck itself and if I ever see that dammed obstacle course again I'll kill someone, but this is pretty fun.'

She finished smashing the rest of them to the floor, twirling her knife idly as she waited for them to be replaced with four more. 'Honestly don't know why the captain keeps doing this. I trained my knife skills with pirates, for goddess sake. This sorry bunch needs about two years of training before they can even touch me.'

Another four recruits finished climbing in the ring. She lightly jumped up and down, enjoying how strong her legs felt. A year on Korriban had rather atrophied her muscles, so she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be in shape.

She spent another half hour kicking recruits into the dirt, almost feeling bad for them by the end. Almost.

After that the captain had them march to another part of the large outdoor field, Vette smiling with glee when she saw the snipers. 'Now this might just be my favourite part.'

Muted shots rang through the clearing as they practised, Vette making little figurines in the farthest available target two klicks away. The Captain walked past her with binoculars, not saying anything when he saw her stick figure art.

'It's been almost three months.' She thought, adjusting her scope slightly. 'Wonder when we'll be getting out of here. I plateaued weeks ago, and most of the others are starting to as well.'

She watched as the recruit next to her missed the target by a wide margin, cursing under her breath.

'Most of us.' She repeated mentally.

Her answer came later that night, just after a rather gruelling twenty mile run in full gear. The whole class was standing at attention, the captain walking between them briskly.

"Over the last few months I have given you the skills needed to be a scout!" The man bellowed. "Some of you are ready, some of you are not. In one week's time, you will be tested. Forged."

The captain paused, looking at the ceiling. "Some of you will not survive. Some of you will be broken, be it mentally or otherwise." He snapped his gaze back down, glaring at them all. "But the rest of you will be troopers of the Imperial Reconnaissance branch! The lifeblood of military intelligence!"

"Your final test will be conducted in the jungles, in those places where beasts still rule. Every skill will be tested, every weakness will be expunged." The man lectured loudly. "Until nothing remains but iron will!"

The captain looked at them gravely. "Prepare yourselves. This will be the hardest test of your lives."

A week later Vette was calmly tracking her nineteenth kill, hiding high up a tree. Her partner for the exam, someone she had honestly forgotten the name of, was shivering beside her.

She lightly squeezed the trigger, the dull thud of hundreds of kilos of Gundark falling to the ground heralding her kill. Her partner whined. "Can we go yet? We only needed to kill one each."

"No." Vette said sternly. "I heard the record was twenty-seven, and we won't leave until I've beaten it."

Her partner made a low choking sound, something that sounded suspiciously like crying, until Vette slapped him on the back. "Let's go. The body will attract scavengers, not the beasts we need."

"Go into the jungle, track a Sleen, Jurgoran or Gundark. Kill it, and you will have passed the exam." The captain had told them. "Any additional kills will award the attention of your superiors, for those that wish to climb the ranks."

She half dragged her partner to another good vantage point, slightly lower than their old one. The trees were easy to climb, sturdy branches making the task trivial compared to the obstacle course. She laid down, overlooking a pond of water. Her partner joined her a minute later, breathing hard.

Vette spared him little attention, seeing a Sleen darting from behind a tree. She waited until it calmed, nearing the water to drink. Her finger twitched and the beast was dead. 'Only eight more to go.'

They arrived at the small camp hours later, her whole class standing miserably in the rain. Night had nearly fallen, the camp swallowed in shadows. The captain was staring at the jungle, only looking at them when they saluted.

Well, her partner saluted. Vette performed a sort of half wave half salute, grinning broadly. "Twenty nine confirmed kills."

The captain nodded. "So the observation drones report. Congratulations, you beat the record."

"Hear that, you maggots!" He barked behind him. "The alien, who you call filth, just beat the runner up by twenty kills, while simultaneously breaking the division record. A record, mind you, that has stood unbroken for thirty six years!"

The rest of the class snapped ramrod straight, saluting.

"We offer praise to the winner!" They shouted over the rain. Vette had to admit it felt kinda good, seeing all those superior imperial recruits try their hardest not to scowl.

"Dismissed." The captain ordered briskly. He stopped Vette with a raised hand. "Not you."

The captain handed her a datapad when they were alone, still soaking under the rain. Not that Vette could get any wetter at this point. "Lord Morgan has sent word, and wishes that you join him when we get back to base."

The man hesitated, looking around to check if they were alone. He leaned closer. "That was my record you just broke, you know. I was proud when I beat the previous holder, I still am."

She raised an eyebrow, hand itching to her knife. The captain shook his head. "I'm not blaming you. I requested an assignment where I could pass on my skills, hoping to teach the newest generation. Not quite what I hoped for, teaching spoiled brats how to hold a blaster." The man shook his head. "Not important. You've got skill. A talent you must have spent years honing, long before you came here."

Vette nodded, wondering where he was going with this. "I figured. Sometimes I think we did little more than allow you to get back into shape, sharpening your edge."

She felt a strange sense of fondness for the man, something she hadn't expected. "You did teach me things. I hadn't spent much time with snipers, before."

"Ha." The captain snorted. "Glad to hear we didn't waste your time."

The man sobered. "This sith, the one you work for. Do you trust him?"

The question took her off guard, so she answered more truthfully than she probably should have. "He's earned it."

"Thought so. I saw the holo about the threats you made when they tried to attack you in the bathroom, months ago. You seemed very confident about what he would do." He smiled grimly when she scowled. "Imperial Intelligence does not care for your privacy, let alone your modesty. Something to remember."

"Sith are temperamental creatures. People of passion. I've seen one tear apart a cruiser, cutting through hundreds of soldiers before blowing up the engine. Our ship fished him out of space an hour later, looking bored more than anything. They're not human, forgive the figure of speech. Not anymore."

The captain looked at her seriously. "They hold absolute power in the Empire. I've watched talented officers rise fast and fall faster. Seen them turn moffs and admirals against each other, brothers cutting into brothers because they deemed it so."

"Be careful. You have talent. Real talent. Don't let a sith waste it on some petty feud."

He walked off before Vette could respond. She frowned.

'He cared. An imperial officer just cared. About me. An alien.'

She walked back to camp proper, ignoring whatever looks she got.

'Hating the Empire doesn't mean you have to hate every person in it.' She told herself firmly. 'Some can be nice. That's still legal.'

She looked to the datapad, double checking the address. She ignored the warm feeling in her stomach, convincing herself she was just glad to get out of the military.

'That's right. Just happy about leaving the jungle.'

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Two rithmic thuds echoed through the chamber as Morgan sparred with Lady Trix. Two knives, his knives, unerringly finding the ever moving targets. He ducked, sweeping left to make space.

For the first time in nearly three months, Lady Trix was forced back, neatly dancing out of the way. He capitalised, dashing forward with a kick. A move he had learned from the very sith he was fighting, so she danced out of the way again.

His bare foot impacted the wall, metal complaining loudly as he used it to launch himself in the air.

He could almost feel Lady Trix scoff as he left himself vulnerable, could hear the saber coming to smack him down. He couldn't see the look on her face when a vibroknife nearly took her leg, something he regretted dearly.

He landed on the other side of the room, his enforcement humming in tune with his heart. Teacher had assured him that was normal.

Lady Trix was watching him passively as his knives went back to finding their targets, the dull thuds filling the room again. Morgan didn't relax.

"It seems you can learn after all." She scowled. "Enough of this. Your training under me is done. Get out."

Morgan didn't show his puzzlement at the sudden dismissal, taking his meagre belongings and walking to the door. His knives sheathed themselves at his belt, ready to impale at a moment's notice. He expected to be ambushed, Lady Trix lecturing him about letting his guard down.

Nothing happened.

He walked out the door, seeing the sky for the first time in months. He stared at it, mesmerised.

Teacher started to float next to him, escaping his pouch. "In case it wasn't clear, my sometimes dense apprentice, she dismissed you because you're starting to catch up. Most would hold a grudge after being beaten around for months, and she can't fathom you don't."

Morgan hummed. "I nearly got her with the knife."

"A trick that would have worked exactly once, but yes." The cube snorted. "If it had, it would have taken the leg. Training you is starting to become too much of a risk for her. Consider it a mark of respect."

Morgan took out his datapad, and then promptly realised he had no real way to contact Vette. It never crossed his mind that he should probably report to Darth Baras first.

He sighed, taking a speeder to the military district. When he was there he motioned over a lieutenant. The soldier very rapidly contacted Vette's captain, looking at him nervously every few seconds.

"Done, my Lord. The class is just about to finish their first stage of training, and the soldier you requested will be here around 22:00." The lieutenant saluted briskly. "Is there anything else I can assist you with, sir?"

"That'll be all, lieutenant." He dismissed the man, ignoring how the soldier tried very hard to appear normal as he walked away.

'Got some time to kill, might as well see the sights.'

He walked around the camp, wandering places he likely wasn't allowed in. He stared at groups of fresh recruits being drilled on large fields, enjoying how distracted their instructors became when they noticed him.

When his stomach told him to eat he walked into a mess hall, calmly waiting in line as the cooks filled his tray. He was halfway out the door when a trooper finally noticed the lightsaber at his belt, shooting from his bench and saluting.

He left, leaving a room full of confused soldiers, and jumped up to the top of the building. Two people were arguing over a sniper, falling silent when he joined them on the roof. He ignored them.

He returned the plate when he was done, having to almost press it into the hands of the very scared and stuttering cooks, before he returned to his wandering.

Morgan was half meditating when a group of scouts marched into the base, wet and miserable. The only alien among them broke formation, skipping over to him. He realised he was smiling himself when he saw a grin cover half Vette's face.

"Hiya stranger." She chirped. "Guess what I just did. Huh, guess guess."

Morgan closed his eyes, sinking into the Force. He felt its currents, how they flowed and twisted. "You just broke a record. Something about stalking beasts. You… hunted them. Yes, you killed many. I see soldiers saluting, a captain whispering quietly."

Vette's smile faltered, eyes widening. She scowled when his serious face broke, smirking at her. She punched his shoulder.

"I had time to kill, so I read the reports." He confessed.

"Jerk." She muttered. "How'd you know about the captain whispering to me? He put that in his report?"

Morgan froze, taking out his datapad. "Uhm, No. That wasn't in the report. Nothing about soldiers saluting either."

"I don't know how I know that. I just, do."

Vette raised an eyebrow, rolling her eyes. "Yea yea, very funny. Know when to quit a joke."

Morgan handed her the report. "I'm not. That's not in there, Vette."

Her eyes scanned the pages as they walked to her locker, finally muttering something incoherent. "Ok. So that's going into the spooky Force stuff I don't want to think about box."

"So," she forcefully moved on, "a sith came to visit me during training. Pureblood named Kripaa. Ring a bell?"

Morgan nodded, taking his datapad back. "Used to be part of my faction back during the project. What did he want?"

"Oh that's good. Thought maybe he was lying or something. Wanted to give you a message, but said they couldn't get to you or something. What have you been up to, anyway?"

"Getting the shit beaten out of me." Morgan waved his hand. "Learning some more about fleshcrafting. Made myself about four times stronger, learned to control two knives. What was the message?"

Vette grinned. "Busy busy, as always. I've been training too, thanks for asking." Morgan rolled his eyes. "The sith said they were being deployed to Balmorra, finishing their training or something. He had special forces with him, so probably ghost shit."

Morgan looked at her questioningly. "You know, black ops? Nevermind."

He shook his head, hiding a smile as they bickered back and forth. His feelings went rogue, contentment filling his chest.

'I've missed you.'

Morgan couldn't quite stop his conscious mind from agreeing.