Chap 20. Balmorra arc: Duty

Morgan sighed as the two robed strangers dropped from the ceiling. He had hoped to avoid the jedi.

But hope rarely beat planning. "Lieutenant, you know what to do."

Quinn nodded, quiet orders passing around as the men retreated. Morgan nodded politely to the two strangers, one of which was no stranger at all.

"Hello again. Forgive me, we didn't exchange names last time."

The man, the proper stranger, didn't react. The woman hissed, fury in her eyes. "You killed him. Killed him and expect to have a civil conversation?"

Morgan tilted his head. "You're the one that took a padawan to a warzone. I honestly expected him to dodge." He put a hand to his chin, his helmet interrupting the gesture. "I also seem to remember your code forbidding revenge."

The man spoke, his voice calm. "The code is a guideline. Tekkata was not a padawan, sith. He was a jedi knight and diplomat."

"He wasn't? Oh." Morgan shrugged, the open comm letting him hear Vette's voice as she argued with Quinn. He suppressed a smile at her fury, knowing he'd be twice as bad should the roles be reversed. They'd talked about it, however, so she'd do her job. "Seems I've misunderstood my sith dogma. Apologies."

The woman snapped her jaw, the sound echoing loudly in the silence. "Well, if revenge is allowed then surely attacking someone unprovoked is too? Or are we waiting for someone?"

The man, who still hadn't introduced himself, shook his head. "You're a strange one, sith. You mean to destroy the reactors, letting the army above doom the future of this planet. We will not allow it."

Morgan shrugged, palming his lightsaber slowly. "I won't argue morality with a jedi. Balmorra belongs to the Empire by treaty, however. I'd rather be on a beach, but you know how it goes."

The woman, whose name he'd never learned, surged forward. Morgan blocked the first strike, only narrowly stepping back as the man came from the side. He frowned, feeling him flicker in and out of his perception.

His knives flew, the man dodging one and cutting the other. The two halves fell, hitting the ground with a strangled whine. Morgan ignored it, slipping past the woman's guard to rake his lightsaber over her stomach. She jerked back, landing safely behind the man with little more than singed robes.

"Control your fury. This is not an opponent we can take lightly."

The woman nodded reluctantly, Morgan feeling her wrath slip behind iron shields. When they came again they did so together, slipping past each other to strike as one.

Morgan backstepped, blocking one blow while narrowly dodging another. He looked at them both, decided he'd bought Quinn enough time, and made to retreat.

The Force screamed as the lightsaber sheared through his armour, his side burning as it melted and blackened. He swung to clear space, the man backing up as the woman came in low. Morgan kicked at her, but she flowed around the strike to maim his leg.

He barely managed to avoid losing his foot, jumping back to run. The man was there in a flash, forcing Morgan to slow down and defend. The woman caught up, letting the man step back to intercept him again.

Fear tried to assert dominance in his mind. The low terror he had become so very familiar with under the Overseer. Morgan channelled it, tore at their minds, but felt smooth domes of power ward off his attack. He took the time it bought him to get clear, turning to flee.

The man sheared through his neck, only his helmet buying him enough time to counter and force him back. This time he surged after the man, managing to grab his shoulder.

He locked the muscles in the arm, the man's eyes widening in surprise. He jerked, tearing his shoulder but managing to get loose. Then the woman was there, forcing Morgan to backpedal.

His reserves drained as they harassed him, his body accumulating wounds he couldn't spare the time to heal. Armour melted to his skin, horrid pain demanding attention. Morgan stepped back, judged the man to be the more dangerous of the two, and launched an attack numbering in the dozens.

Power flared as his reserve plummeted, the man straining his face in concentration as he warded off the attack. Morgan plucked and twisted with his forty tentacles of Force, the man spreading himself thin to guard.

Morgan knew firsthand how difficult that was. How splitting the Force like that took practice. Concentration. He'd been training for weeks, ever since Lachris had given him a glimpse of what a Darth could do, and he could only summon forty.

He was forced to withdraw before the shield could crack, the other jedi rushing forwards. Morgan blocked as the man found his balance, hurriedly looking for a way out.

He found none. He took more wounds as his armour melted and broke, what scraps of power he retained fueling his enforcement. His remaining knife lay on the ground, forgotten, its companion lying broken further down the hall.

'At least Quinn should have planted the charges by now.' He thought. 'He better have.'

The man retaliated, his shield coming under attack as he dragged what little power remained to defend. The man looked back as a ripple came from the Force, shaking his head as he focussed. 'That's right, ignore the whispers in your mind. I'm the bigger threat, and you cleared the room properly. No soldiers planting explosives, no sir.'

His shield shattered, his enforcement following soon after. Morgan laughed, feeling the tiredness in his bones. "Gods, haven't exhausted my power like that since Korriban. Figures it be two knights that did it."

The woman stepped forward, lightsaber raised high. "Now you die, sith." She hissed. "Like my Tekkata did."

Morgan's mind flashed to laughing faces stitched from shadow. To old things spawning seeds that grew into cults spanning the galaxy. To a man's mind in a holocron, enduring centuries after death. He laughed, hacking out blood. "There is no death, there is only the Force."

The woman seemed to care less than nothing for what he had to say. Morgan's mind turned to Vette, pushing warm affection into the Force as the void loomed. She wouldn't be able to feel it, especially not with a reinforced shield, but it felt like the right thing to do.

As such, he didn't notice the man's frown. Only barely noticed how his scan swept over him, looking deeper than anyone had before. Morgan didn't notice how his eyes widened in utter surprise, lightsaber coming to hand.

He did notice the woman whirl around, blocking the strike that would have taken her head. Morgan slipped out from under her, hobbling as fast as two damaged, unreinforced legs could carry him. The woman saw, trying to follow.

The man blocked her, his face passive again as the woman shouted. Morgan turned a corner, trying to activate his comm. He shook his head as he grasped nothing, the scraps of his helmet on the floor behind him.

He'd studied the maps the old fashion way, fortunately. He climbed a ladder, his legs screaming in protest as he ran down the hall. He ignored it, giving them what motes of Force had returned to his core as apology.

Vette saw him first, eyes widening as she took stock of him. Some ways behind her Quinn and the men held the corridor, resistance members wearing Republic gear doing the same at the other end. Morgan sighed, leaning on and slipping down the wall.

She scrambled up, jamming a kolto syringe in his leg. "What the fuck happened?"

"Two knights is just above my limit, I'd say." His attempt at humour fell flat, Vette trying to jam another needle in his leg. He stopped her. "One is plenty. The other knight turned on the woman, I don't know why. Are the explosives planted?"

Vette nodded, looking at Horas. The man turned as she spoke into her comm, pressing a button on his wrist. The facility shook, red lights and alarms starting to blare in the hall. "Turns out they did know about the abandoned, sealed over hallway. Unfortunately for them, I'm somewhat of an expert at trap disarmament. Why didn't one stay behind?"

Morgan shook his head, directing wisps of power to his side. He could feel the kolto seal his internal injuries, his breathing coming easier. "One wouldn't have been enough, and the woman was hellbent on killing me. Called that padawan, or not padawan, my Tekkata. Apprentice or lover, probably."

"The man though. The way he moved, waited, attacked. It seemed familiar." He shook his head, looking down the hall. The fighting didn't seem to be going one way or the other, and he was in no shape to do anything about it. "We still need to kill commander Rylon."

Screaming came down the hall, Quinn ordering his men to cease fire. Morgan looked over, seeing two blurs tear through the soldiers there. He grunted and stood, pushing off the wall so he was standing on his own power.

Inara and Alyssa walked up in silence, both covered in blood. Vette tensed as they stopped before him, looking at his wounds. They shared a look, bowing after a second. "My lord."

He suppressed a sigh of relief, far too tired to fight. "Good to see you both. Did Soft Voice send you?"

Alyssa nodded. "Lord Zethix assigned us to this sector, to assist you if able. Are you alright, my lord?"

"Two jedi knights beat the piss out of me, so no. Inara, you've had fleshcrafting training, correct?"

The woman nodded, seeming to catch his meaning. She closed her eyes as power flowed, Morgan mixing it with his own. He knew she'd be losing double what he gained, nevermind he had to be careful not to take too much of the Dark without enough Light. He mentally thanked Mirla anyway. That woman was twice as smart as she gave herself credit for.

He forced the bone in his leg to snap back in place, wrapping it with a brace. Vette flinched at the sound. He left the rest of the wounds, starting to walk down the hallway. The three women followed close behind, Vette eyeing them suspiciously.

"Lieutenant. Do we know the current location of commander Rylon?"

Quinn shook his head, Horas answering. "He'll most likely be in his quarters, coordinating the defence."

Morgan nodded, motioning them forward. Their first resistance was a patrol fortifying a door, the two sith dogging his step surging forwards. The soldiers died screaming, Quinn's men halfheartedly assisting in the attack. Vette stuck to his side, eyes roaming.

He turned to her, keeping his voice down. "I'm fine. Nothing a few hours of meditation won't fix."

She snapped her eyes back to him, scowling. "We're still in the middle of a battlefield. So help me Goddess, you will never do something as stupid as that ever again."

Morgan put his forehead to hers, basking in the worried love streaming from her in torrents. "I won't."

She nodded, her scowl vanishing at his proximity. "I'd kiss you, but my stupid helmet is in the way. Consider yourself kissed."

He grinned, planting a quick kiss on her faceplate. "Yes ma'am."

They moved forwards, Alyssa and Inara breaking any opposition in their way. It wasn't until they came to the office that they stopped, taking position at the door.

Morgan spent precious power enforcing his leg, kicking the door down as they did the same. Their combined strength rocketed the steel slab inwards, revealing an empty office.

"Well, that was anticlimactic."

He ignored them, striding inside to look around. Quinn joined him, pointing to a console. "There. Horas, get us camera access. Jillins, take the rest of the men and secure this position.

The men saluted, leaving just the five of them in the room. Horas got to work, Morgan taking a seat and closing his eyes.

Vette shook him out of it a while later, looking at his side. "That looks better. Horas found Rylon. He's in the administrative complex, top floor."

He nodded, standing. His wounds did feel better, using as little power as possible to guide kolto to the most critical injuries. He made a mental note to talk with Mirla about that. It made the stuff significantly more useful without consuming much power.

The elevator was easy enough to find, and with three sith the complement of droids guarding it were less than sufficient. "Lieutenant." Morgan said as the doors closed. "Update on the assault, if you please."

Quinn turned to him, idly tapping his pistol. "Sir. The main armoured division has broken through the outer defences and has begun destroying entrenched positions. Without their shield the resistance is facing heavy losses, and several special forces units led by one captain Kirpaa have broken through to the inner facility."

"That's where we split off to come assist you, my lord." Inara piped up. "Lord Kripaa and his men are hunting priority targets and stealing money."

Quinn coughed pointedly. "He is appropriating enemy supplies, yes. Please note this information is ten to fifteen minutes old."

Morgan nodded, the doors opening. "Very good. Let's kill commander Rylon and see if we can't help out."

The hallways and offices were abandoned, lone squads of droids all they came across. Alyssa and Inara burned through them with vigour, needling about kill counts. Greta spoke as they returned, curiosity mixed with trepidation in her voice. "What's the prize?"

Alyssa turned to her, disdain only barely suppressed on her features. Inara elbowed her, shooting a look at Morgan. She rearranged her expression into something more neutral. "Bragging rights, along with more material gains."

"It's who gets to wear the strap-on." Inara broke in excitedly. "You won't believe the toys we found here, it's amazing. Did you know they have double-sided ones these days?"

Vette sniggered as Greta bleached white, stammering a reply. Morgan rolled his eyes, looking them over. "This is hardly the time."

Alyssa dragged Inara away with the excuse of scouting. She was whispering furiously, shooting dismayed looks back to them. Vette burst out laughing, elbowing Quinn in the side.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He said stiffly. "In fact, my helmet seemed to have mysteriously blocked all incoming sound for the last half minute. Isn't that right?"

The soldiers chanted their agreement, fiddling with their equipment. Vette rolled her eyes, shooting him a displeased look. "All that blackmail material, wasted."

"I think they prefer their lives." Morgan replied dryly.

They finally came to the administration complex, cautiously walking inside. Rows of abandoned cubicles, offices and meeting rooms blocked their sight, the battle outside making his Force perception less than useful. Thirty sith participating in the battle was good for everything but accuracy, the Dark drawing thick over the factory.

Vette spotted them before anyone, her sniper coming up and firing in a smooth motion. A gargled scream was heard before the room burst into chaos, the two sith at his side surging forwards.

"Go, I'll find Rylon." Morgan ordered, jumping high. He landed among the beams supporting the roof, wide enough to walk on. He startled a soldier hidden there almost as badly as himself, his lightsaber flicking out smoothly regardless.

The beams led him deeper into the complex, keeping him out of sight. What soldiers he spotted he ignored, hunting for Rylon. Morgan finally spotted a sole man highly focussed on the console in front of him, images of the battle flickering on screen. He observed the room, no sight of the sith killer droids, or anyone, to be seen.

He'd have kept them close. Keep them for an ambush, maybe.

Morgan dropped, ignoring the way his leg screamed and bone shifted as he landed. The Force brace held, if barely, and he watched Rylon whirl around.

The Force surged through his arm as his lightsaber whined, a headless corpse falling to the ground. He picked up the head, suspicious, but found Rylon face staring back after removing the helmet. He pulled up an image of the man to be sure, finding it to be a match.

He shrugged, turning around to rejoin the battle. When he got back it turned out to be unnecessary, three soldiers on their knees surrounded by a sea of dead. He hadn't been gone for two minutes.

Inara giggled, pushing Alyssa playfully as the pureblood scowled. "I told you, pay up."

Alyssa used his return to abandon her, bowing as blood dripped from her face. "My lord. We kept their captain alive for interrogation."

Morgan nodded, scanning the room. He found two of his own dead on the floor, Vette kneeling by Greta's corpse. He joined her, putting a hand on her shoulder and looking at the dead scout.

Vette looked back, patting the hand and standing as shallow grief was buried. He looked at the woman, bowing his head. Then he turned, nodded to the corpse of another of his men, and joined Quinn.

The lieutenant was jamming a needle of kolta into Horas, the specialist lacking both arms and a leg. Morgan found it nearby, picking it up and pushing it against the stump.

Horas groaned weakly, trying to scoot back. Quinn stuck a needle in his neck, the man staring uncomprehendingly at his lieutenant before drooping his eyes. Morgan nodded thankfully. "Keep him still."

He used what power he had left to fuse the bone, wrapping it in a layer of muscle before his reserves sputtered and emptied. Jillins came running with a cast, Quinn wrapping it around the leg. The man finally looked at him, nodding. Complex emotion whirled through him, relief most prominent. "Thank you. He might keep the leg."

Morgan checked his work, nodding. "We can hope. What happened?"

"They were good." Quinn chuckled humorously. "That's it. If it wasn't for those two we'd all be dead." He nodded to Alyssa, who was busy furiously whispering to her girlfriend. "They don't care for any of us, of course. They're here because of you."

Morgan shook his head. "Don't downplay your own work, lieutenant. I'm sorry about Greta and-" He trailed off, looking at the other dead soldier. "I'm sorry. I didn't even know his name."

"Arlous. He preferred to keep to himself."

Quinn was silent, looking between the dead and the living. "It would've been alot worse if you hadn't been here, sir."

"You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me." He denied, turning. "Horas is stable. Patch up the men while I talk to our prisoners."

Two of them were rank and file, though tougher than he was used to. They had fear, but it was mastered. Controlled. Their captain was much the same, but unfortunately for him he had something Morgan wanted.

"Why wasn't there some last trap? One more clever play? Rylon died, but no beskar-reinforced droids to be found."

The captain spat, resignation taking hold as he glared. "We've been trying. Those droids were supposed to be sith killers. The billion credit invention of the hutts. No idea how the commander managed to borrow some, but he did."

The man scowled. "Then you destroyed two, somehow. Supposed to be impossible. No lightsaber can scratch them. No Force powers can tear them apart. The hutts demanded an immediate return of their investment, of course. Damn near drained our accounts."

"And that was it? Just like that?"

"What do you want me to say?" The captain asked tiredly. "You killed his son. Thirty sith were tearing the resistance apart. We fought, we lost. Now fuck off and let me rest."

Morgan agreed, lightsaber coming to hand as Greta's face flashed through his mind. Three heads rolled, and he turned back to his men. "Pack up, we're done here."

The speaker whined, a booming voice echoing through the room. Quinn snapped his pistol up as Jillins grabbed a grenade, both relaxing when no threat presented itself. "This is Grand Marshal Cheketta, supreme commander of all Republic troops on the planet of Balmorra. I, and the men I led here, are in violation of the Treaty of Coruscant. All forces under my command are to surrender. The Empire has made assurances that prisoners of war will be treated fairly."

The speaker cut off, the voice of his friend coming over scant seconds later. "This is Lord Zethix, commander of the imperial forces assaulting the Balmorran Arms Factory. All surrendering Republic troops are to be disarmed and placed under arrest. No harm will be done to them. The resistance has surrendered. Long live the Empire."

Vette stretched beside him, forcing humour in her tone as she took off her helmet. "Well, all in a day's work. If you'll excuse me, my looting senses are tingling. I'll pick you up something nice, don't worry.

She made to leave, Morgan grabbing her shoulder. She twirled, her lekku bouncing freely as her eyes widened in surprise. He kissed her, pressing his forehead to her own.

"I love you. Be careful."

Vette shuddered, her pupils dilating as a smile took over her features. "I love you too."

Then she was gone, a bounce in her step as Morgan turned to Quinn. "Get the men proper medical care, I'll go find Soft Voice."

The lieutenant nodded, the men trudging after him with tired frames. Horas was carried on a fold-out stretcher, the two dead carried by hand.

Alyssa and Inara looked at him questioningly, Morgan motioning for them to follow. Imperial soldiers were everywhere as they walked through the facility, many saluting as they walked past. He ignored them, only briefly speaking to a captain to get his friend's location.

Soft Voice was deep in conversation with Mirla and the admiral as they arrived, the two sith following him sticking close. Soft Voice raised an eyebrow as he approached, taking in his appearance. "You look like shit."

"Two knights were waiting for me. I foolishly assumed there would only be one, but here we are."

Mirla flicked her datapad. "Ah, here. One jedi knight Mashallon, dead by decapitation with a lightsaber. Well done, my lord."

Morgan looked at the admiral, Soft Voice dismissing the man with a wave. His fists tightened, but he left all the same. "Not exactly. Two knights seem to be more than my equal. I lie. Two jedi beat me like a rented mule and were seconds away from killing me. One of them, the one that isn't currently dead, turned on Mashallon. Before you ask, no, I don't know why."

Soft Voice frowned. "At the risk of stating the obvious, that's more than a little abnormal. One of Baras's spies?"

"The man would rather let me die than burn an agent in the order. No. Whoever he answers to, it isn't Baras."

Mirla shrugged helplessly. Morgan sighed. "Very well. How did the rest of the battle go?"

She cleared her throat. "Casualties are light with Lord Zethix forcing an early surrender. The destruction of their shield generator allowed our armoured companies near free rein over their lines, not to mention our sith advantage. Only Lord Zethix encountered jedi, the rest of the Enosis free to hunt priority targets. We estimate nearly forty percent of their officers died within the first twenty minutes of the battle."

Soft Voice took over, smiling grimly. "Cheketta had a master and padawan with him. The learner died easily enough, the master not so much. Took me, Kripaa and Astara to match him, and even then he still took four of the old guard with him."

Morgan sighed. "Who did we lose?"

"Anna, Corin, Alran and Sarah."

Faces flickered in memory, hours of training and sparring coming to the forefront. "Shit. You alright?"

His friend shrugged. "Soldiers die. I don't like it, but it's the way of the galaxy. They died well, fighting for something they believed in. I would like to go the same way when my time comes."

Mirla looked at his leg, frowning. "Wait, is that broken? Medic!"

Morgan contemplated telling her he'd only need a few hours of rest before he could fix it himself, but by then two medics were already prodding at his leg.

'Oh well. I hope Vette's having fun.'

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

She skipped along the outdoor hangar, rows of ships lining up beside her. Imperial troops were light this deep in the factory, and what few thought to question her presence hastily got out of her way when a sith's identification popped up in their visors.

"Goddess that's amazing. Almost makes stealing too easy. At least getting those schematics for Armie was somewhat challenging. Can't believe Morgan forgot about that."

She passed by the Republic's BT-7 Thunderclaps without stopping, their build far too non Imperial to be of use. A Conraddas Vindicator drew her eye, towering over everything else. She'd never get it off the ground alone. 'Still, scrapping that thing could get us an easy twenty million. Shame.'

Vette eyed construction materials, large diggers and drills left where they stood. 'They must have been building this little staging point for years. Oh the money that could be made.'

Tucked in the back, partly hidden by the bulk of the Conraddas Vindicator, was a surprise. "Now that looks like a Terminus-class destroyer. Why is it so small?"

"Ma'am?" A corporal asked hesitantly. "Is there something we can assist you with?"

She turned, seeing three soldiers had come walking up. "That ship. How big do you reckon it is?"

The corporal looked, the two soldiers beside her quiet and still. "Six hundred feet, give or take?"

"I do think you're right. Why, then, does it look like a Terminus-class destroyer? Those should be well over fifteen hundred feet, nevermind quite a bit taller."

"I. I don't know, ma'am. May I inquire as to the nature of your inquiry?"

"How many marines does a normal Terminus-class destroyer have?" She asked, ignoring the question. Another of the soldiers spoke, barely containing his excitement.

"Five hundred crew and about three hundred marines, ma'am."

"And this one, scaled down as it is?"

The soldier put a hand to his chin, looking over the ship. "Logic says roughly a third, ma'am. I served on one, you know? My first post, back when I was in the marines. Loved that ship. Still do."

"A ship lover, good. What are the differences between this one and a normal one, as far as you can tell?"

The man stepped forward, not seeing or ignoring the harsh hand signs made by his superior. "Well, the ion cannon is gone. Probably drained too much power from the smaller engine. Half the turbolasers seem to have joined it, likely for the same reason. Otherwise it looks fine. Plenty of laser turrets and missile launchers. Armour looks thick, more so than even the proper sized version. Room for five or so fighters, maybe two shuttles. I'd have to see inside to be sure."

Vette nodded thoughtfully. "What's it doing here?"

The soldier shrugged, stepping back. "No idea, ma'am. Stolen? Balmorra produces plenty of military ships and even more custom civilian vessels. Doesn't seem impossible for the resistance to have taken it."

She clapped her hands together. "It's perfect. Corporal, you're categorising the ships?"

"Ma'am." The woman agreed.

"Excellent. I'm taking it."

The corporal lost what colour she had left, stuttering. "I. I don't think I can allow you to do that, ma'am. These ships belong to the Empire."

"Nonsense. Zethix won't mind, I'm sure. It's a present for Morgan. He's been very good to me, so I'd like to do something in return."

The woman looked uncomprehendingly until the so far silent soldier whispered something in her ear. She straightened, fear flashing through her eyes. "Ma'am. I'll have to ask Lord Zethix for permission."

Vette waved, already walking forward. "Fine. I'm taking this now, though. Here's hoping I can still fly."

Twenty minutes and one manual override later found her shuffling in the pilot's seat as the ship came to life beneath her, a very nervous corporal standing close. "You didn't have to come, you know?"

"Orders, ma'am. Besides, Harrold seems happy."

The ship enthusiast was sitting in the captain's seat, gleefully spinning around. Vette approved of his attitude. Far too many stiff soldiers in the Empire. "Say, corporal, how'd you like a new job?"

"Ma'am?"

"I'm being proactive. Quinn could use more good men, assuming I can convince him to tag along. You three seem like fine soldiers."

The corporal flinched. "We'd be working for a sith, ma'am. No offence."

"Meet him, then decide. I'm sure someone went tattling to him the moment I appropriated the ship and he's waiting for us at the spaceport."

The corporal fell silent, Vette concentrating on flying the destroyer. It was a short trip to Sobrik, and after a clipped talk with a panicked customs agent she landed the ship. "I'm Vette, by the way. Nice to meet you."

"Corporal Helen. This is specialist Harrold and private Mute. Don't ask, he chose the name when he joined."

The quiet man nodded to her solemnly, Vette waving back. They departed, stepping in a turbolift as it took them down. The doors opened to a bandaged Morgan, Alyssa and Inara standing behind him. The three soldiers stiffened, Vette bounding forward.

She kissed him as he caught her, laughing. "I knew someone snitched. Come on, tell me you were a little surprised."

Morgan sighed, setting her down. "That you stole a destroyer? Not as much as I should have been. This better not be the present you were talking about."

Hesitation coiled in her gut. "You don't like it?"

"It's." Childlike glee shot through his eyes, gone in a moment. She caught it anyway, smirking. "That's not the point. There's just the two of us, Vette. How are we supposed to fly that thing, let alone fight with it?"

She bounced in place. "I knew you'd like it. I'll think of something, don't worry. I'd like you to meet some people."

Morgan introduced himself as she watched, trying not to grin. It really was adorable how he tried to not frighten new people. If only he knew a polite, well spoken sith was twice as terrifying. The two women dogging his every step didn't help.

Then they were off, Vette exchanging a wave with the corporal. "So why are these two lovebirds following you?"

Morgan sighed. "Mirla's idea. Soft Voice went along with it to fuck with me, I'm sure. Now I can't get rid of them."

"You poor thing. Two hot, dangerous women as your bodyguards, obeying your every order. I feel for you, truly."

He grinned, looking at her. "Jealous?"

"Considering they're as gay as gay can get, no."

"I'll ask before recruiting more women into my harem." He promised. "I was thinking of seven to start with, but I'll value your opinion."

She snorted. "You can barely handle me, nevermind six more."

"That's true." He admitted easily. "Besides, why would I need anyone else when I can just take you against this wall right now?"

She stuttered in her step. "We're in public."

"Right, yes. It would simply be awful if these people thought less of me. Wouldn't be able to handle it, really." He looked at her, a blush on her features as she resolutely stared ahead.

"Aww, I'm sorry, was that too indirect?" He leaned close, whispering into her ear. "How about I put a gag on you, bind your hands and stick a vibrator in your ass? Doesn't that sound nice, having you shuffle along like a good slut, trying desperately not to cum."

Her breath quickened as heat shot through her, her hands unconsciously settling behind her back. Morgan laughed. "Anyway, we're here. I'll go have a talk with Baras and Quinn while you entertain these two."

He disappeared through a door before she could blink, shutting the door behind him. "That utter bastard."

Inara set her hand on her shoulder, Vette managing to resist jumping in surprise. "The life of a sub can be difficult."

"If that was supposed to be reassuring, it wasn't." She glared. "How dare he, winding me up like that and then leaving. I'll show him. He'll have to beg and plead before he's allowed to touch me again."

"Sure." Alyssa drew out the word, shooting her an unimpressed look. "Like you wouldn't fold the moment he snapped his fingers and told you to sit."

"That's." She paused, considering. "None of your business, now that I think about it."

Inara snorted as they started whispering, walking some ways away. She waited impatiently, minutes ticking by before the door opened again.

When Morgan finally returned her retort died on her lips. He looked serious, Quinn walking beside him. "To give a short recap, we're being deployed to Nar Shaddaa. I can keep the ship, but I'll have to staff and fund it myself. Quinn has been promoted to captain, and allowed to choose his next assignment."

She breathed as a deluge of emotions hit, her protests forgotten. "Nar Shaddaa?"

He nodded sympathetically. "Indeed. I have some unfinished business with Quinn, but we can grab some dinner in the room after?"

She nodded, Morgan giving her a quick kiss before leaving. She suddenly found herself without a distraction and far too many conflicting feelings, idling as his bodyguards moved in step behind him. 'Armie. Right, I can finish that up. Should get enough money to fuel the ship until Nar- Until the next planet.'

Armie was easier to be found than last time, yet there was a complication. A door, guarded by one very adamant thug refusing to open it.

The jawa looked up in surprise as the door opened, the guard's body slumping outside. Vette stalked, the storm of emotions swirling in her shifting to irritation.

She acknowledged it, breathing deeply to regain calm. She looked at the jawa, folding her arms. Her stare was blocked by the gamorrean guard, Armie having promptly hidden behind his massive legs when the door opened.

"Dear customer. Did the guard displease you? I do apologise, we will-"

The droid was making calming motions as it talked, walking to stand between her and the jawa. Vette's irritation spiked, the protocol droids backing up as she pushed it aside. "You can speak basic, and so will do me the courtesy of talking yourself. Now, I have your schematics. Unfortunately, I've been having a somewhat up and down day."

She leaned forward, the gamorrean shifting. Vette laughed. "My day, so far, has consisted of killing a worldwide rebellion, stealing a destroyer and losing a friend. Get the fuck out of my way before I strip your corpse for parts."

"Please, no violence. I'm a man of business, yes?" Armie waved at the guard, walking forward and speaking in smooth basic. "Your exploits have been noted. What is it you desire?"

She pulled up her datapad, sending over the schematics. "There, our deal is done. Now we're going to secure a new one."

"You are a valued customer, yes? What is it you wish? More armour? More beskar bullets? Armie can get it for you, yes? No violence needed."

Vette leaned forward. "You are going to accept a job."

"A job?" Armie asked curiously. "What kind?"

"The kind where you work for me, and I take fifteen percent of your profits."

Armie paused, tilting his head. He spoke after a few seconds, laughing. "You travel with sith, no customs. I see, I see. Yes, I accept. Where are you going?"

"Nar Shaddaa." She said, managing to keep her tone level. "I suppose you have contacts there?"

The jawa nodded, turning to the protocol droid. "I can have someone bring four crates of goods to your ship, assuming you have a man there to accept?"

She didn't. "I do. Slavery is off the table. In fact, if I catch you dealing in the flesh trade I will kill you myself."

Armie nodded rapidly, waving his hands. "The slave trade is bad business. I deal in technologie. Weapons."

Vette stuck her hand out, the jawa shaking it. "Welcome to the crew. I expect great things from you, my furry friend. Great things."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Morgan walked into the hospital room assigned to Horas, Quinn dogging his step.

'Seems like someone is always following me these days.' He thought glumly. 'And I just managed to get rid of Alyssa and Inara too.'

The specialist was awake, looking at two mechanical arms set beside him. Smooth skin covered them, wires starting where the arms ended. He didn't look up until Quinn cleared his throat, stiffening. His left stump twitched, trying to move an arm no longer there.

"Specialist. Captain Quinn has been promoted, and given leave to choose his next assignment. He has chosen to enter my service. So has Jillins, and all but one of your squad."

The man nodded, looking at Quinn. He sounded calm. Resigned. "Congratulations captain. If anyone deserves it it's you."

Horas turned to Morgan, blinking. "Didn't take you for the cruel kind. I'll be in bed for weeks, and it'll be months before the arms fuse and I've learned to use them. Unless you want to drag a cripple along for the ride, I'm going nowhere fast."

Quinn stiffened, keeping his peace. Morgan nodded calmly. "I've read your case. Synth-net neural interface biomechanical arms, cutting edge. When fused, as you put it, you'll have full sensation and function, not to mention a not insignificant boost in strength. The biomechanical part of those arms intrigued me, however, so I'm here to make you an offer."

He held up his hand. "Sorry, no. That sounds like I want something in return. You've bled for me. Fought for me. As I told Jillins, loyalty for loyalty. Respect for respect. I can fuse these arms for you. Compress months of work into minutes. Learning to use them will be up to you, but you could be walking around within the next half hour."

Horas twitched, looking surprised. "I don't understand. What's the offer? The choice?"

"Risk. This will be my first time connecting cybernetic components to a nervous system, and as such I cannot guarantee success. There will also be pain. A lot of pain."

"But I can come with? Look after Jillins?"

Morgan inclined his head. "If that is your wish, yes. Please note that while Quinn and most of your squad have chosen to enter my service, it is not mandatory. One has left, and no ill fate has befallen him."

Horas kept silent, thinking. It didn't last long. "Do it."

Morgan stepped forward, one of the arms gently floating forwards. It settled against the stump, Horas suppressing a grimace. "Quinn, get him something to bite on. I'll need to measure brain activity in response to stimuli, so no anaesthesia."

Horas nodded, bit down, and nodded again. Morgan closed his eyes, reaching out and wrapping the Force around the specialist whole. He stiffened, but otherwise didn't react. "Fleshcrafters are some of the best healers alive, rivalled only by jedi. Where they use the Light, we use the Dark."

A lie, but not an important one. Horas didn't seem to care either way, jaw tight as he bit down. "It's strange. Healing seems to come naturally to me. Not much does, no matter how it looks. But regrowth? The mending of flesh and bone, of tissue and muscle? It flows."

Horas grasped as nerves connected to the arm, its fingers contracting wildly. His eyes were locked on it, the medical stick falling from his mouth. Quinn forced it back. "There. This is the part that's going to hurt."

Morgan removed the block on the largest nerve cluster in his shoulder, letting the specialist's mind properly experience the new connection. The man screamed. "Focus on my voice. Where are you from, soldier?"

"Corellia." Morgan tweaked a nerve, the man spasming. "Left a long time ago. Not much left for me there."

He reworked an improperly fused connection, Horas panting as sweat dripped from his face. "Used to go to a bakery. There was a girl there I was sweet on. Long time ago. So long."

Morgan worked as the man talked, smoothing and correcting as he went. Then it was done, Horas staring at his new hand. "I'm afraid that's only half of it. Quinn, strap that hand down. I'd rather it doesn't try and hit me. Double bindings, it's strong."

He walked into his room two hours later, finding Vette already there. She was bundled in blankets as some inane holo played on the screen, waving. "You missed dinner."

"I know, sorry. Bumped into that new friend of yours, Harrold something. Kept me busy."

She scooted over, patting the seat. He snorted and sat down, Vette draping herself over him immediately. "Oh? Is he going to be joining us?"

"Quinn's dealing with it. That and finding us a crew for our new ship. According to him captains will be lining up, or near enough. Seems working for a sith is good for one's career."

Vette hummed, watching cold food levitate from the kitchen as she rearranged the blankets. "At least heat that up, you barbarian. I'm starting a criminal empire, by the way."

"That's nice. Should help with our money problems, if nothing else. How'd that come to be?"

Morgan ate as she talked, barely tasting the food. "Armie agreed? Just like that?"

"Eh. Criminal stuff is all about connections. He refuses and I could well return with a couple sith, he agrees and now it's in my interest to keep his business going. To expand it. He's a smart one. Figures he'd make more working with me than not. I'll keep him in line."

He set the empty plate aside, nodding. "Good, haven't the slightest clue how to run a syndicate. I'll just stand there all menacing every now and then, you're shadowy, terrifying boss keeping an eye out."

She snorted, shifting until her head was on his shoulder. "That'll do it. You doing alright?"

He shrugged, feeling her head resist the motion. "Two people died because I rushed off to kill Rylon. He was just standing there, doing nothing."

"You didn't know that." She grabbed his head, twisting it so he was looking at her. "Listen to me. People die. They'll keep dying, especially in our line of work. Learn from your mistakes, mourn, move on. Anything else will chip away at your soul, taking bit after bit until nothing's left."

He nodded, pulling her closer. "I didn't care, before. Death was a staple, sliding off me like water. Now it's different, and I don't know why."

"Because now they're yours, just like I am."

Morgan leaned his head on hers, breathing in her perfume. "How about you? I didn't even try to untangle the whirlwind of emotion when you heard about Nar Shaddaa."

"Old history." She said slowly. "I'll deal with it, don't worry."

He caught her hand, locking his fingers with hers. "Your problems are mine. I want to help, if I can."

"I know. I'll tell you if I need it, promise."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Quinn kept his back ram-rod straight as Lord Baras's image came to life, looming over him. "Captain. Did my wayward apprentice accept your offer?"

"He did, my lord. I am to command his military forces onboard the Aurora, his new custom Terminus-class destroyer."

Baras radiated satisfaction, leaning closer. "Very good, captain. A sith takes what he wants, it's about time my apprentice started acting like it."

Quinn nodded, failing to mention it was Vette, not Morgan, that took it. "I will keep you up to date on his actions and movements, my lord."

"As I commanded. Do you have anything else to report?"

The captain hesitated, Baras flicking his hand. "Out with it."

"Lord Morgan and his twi'lek have begun a sexual relationship, my lord."

Baras snorted, leaning back in disinterest. "That's what slaves are for. He's young, he'll get it out of his system. Continue your work and keep me informed, captain."

Quinn didn't correct him, saluting as the image cut off. 'And here I thought my days of sith politics would be over. Foolish of me.'

He buried the guilt as he got back to work, reading over the list of captains. Well over thirty had applied, twice as many as even his most generous prediction.

"Too young. Too reckless. Known for seducing and sleeping with her superiors? She'll be dead within minutes of Vette finding out. Too old school."

The list shrunk as he worked, interrupted sometime later by Jillins. "Sir. The three new men are settling in and lieutenant Helen is finding her footing."

Quinn looked up, noting the tightness of the younger man's shoulders. "She had seniority, corporal, not to mention an exemplary record. Your time will come."

"Sir. That's not it, sir. I understand I cannot be promoted without at least a year of active service. It's the men. They feel we should be more selective with our recruitment."

He put down his datapad, folding his hands on the desk. "Speak freely, corporal. What's the problem?"

Jillins relaxed, leaning against the wall. Quinn almost smiled at the easy confidence. "Horas came back this morning, said the sith attached his arms in minutes. Pete won't stop talking about how the sith saved his life, swearing some native blood oaths whenever he gets drunk. They, we, feel that we should choose new recruits with care. Make sure they fit in."

"And how would we do that, corporal?"

Jillins straightened, eyes flashing. "Recruit them out of bootcamp. The young and promising, those without previous attachments. Keep the officers in house, promoting instead of bringing in fresh faces whenever possible."

Quinn massaged his forehead, finding he didn't disagree. He almost snorted at the irony. 'Good way to keep out spies. Shame about the one at the top.'

"I'll take it under advisement, corporal. Dismissed."

Jillins saluted, leaving him alone in the room. Quinn got back to work, mumbling softly. "Duty above all. Duty."

'But duty to whom?' His mind questioned insistently. 'To the master or apprentice?'

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

John, his mind accepting the new name with ease born from long practice, calmly walked out of the offices of the Sphere of Production and Logistics. He firmly reminded himself he was just another bureaucrat, out on lunch. He had not, banish the thought, hacked and altered their servers.

That would be illegal.

He hummed an old tune as sunlight streamed through the trees, his datapad chiming. He picked it up, finding an information packet waiting for him.

He sat on a low wall, reading and deleting the message in short order.

'Nar Shaddaa, eh? Vette won't be happy about that one. Nor with me, but that's alright.'

John spied a restaurant serving pasta, hopping off his seat. 'You're a slave for now, little one. Better than Baras finding out he can use you as leverage against your master.'

One of his locals sent an update, informing him two strange men had been seen delivering goods to the Aurora. John snorted, his tails knowing better than to intervene. 'Smuggling. That's illegal, Vette. Could get you in trouble.'

He sighed, pulling up his datapad to purge his local network. 'It's going to be a pain setting this up again on Nar Shaddaa. At least the Enosis won't be there, that's going to make it easier. Only thing worse than a gaggle of sith is an organised, devoted gaggle of sith.'

John Doe reclined, finishing off his dish and tipping the server. 'Whatever will you be doing on the Smuggler's moon, my dear Morgan?'

'Maybe my old bones will get to see some excitement after all.'