Chap 23. Nar Shaddaa arc: For a child not embraced

Captain Malavai Quinn walked into the personal office of the Aurora's captain, having to hide some exasperation when he caught Kala rapidly shoving something in her desk drawer. "Ma'am."

"Quinn, come in. Please, we hold practically the same rank. Kala will do."

He nodded, knowing it would be fruitless to argue military protocol with someone that had spent most of her career on the fringes of known space. "I have the field reports from yesterday, should you wish to read them over."

Kala nodded, accepting the datapad and setting it aside on her crowded desk. She leaned on what little free space was left, looking at him with naked curiosity. "I've been meaning to ask, is it true Vette and Morgan are sleeping together? One of my crewmen heard some interesting noises last night."

"I prefer not to gossip about our Lord's personal relationships." He emphasised our, Kala winching. "But it would be safe to consider Vette outside our chain of command."

Kala waved her hands rapidly, shaking her head. "Of course, of course. Thank you for bringing these, I'll be sure to look them over."

He made no move to leave, an awkward silence descending over the room. "Uhhm, was there something else I can help you with?"

"I have begun to fear that this assignment might not be as exciting as your last." Quinn said. "I hope it is not a disappointment, docked as we are for the next few weeks."

Kala blinked. "Are you kidding me? This ship is amazing, its crew is just starting to come together and we've finally ironed out the issues with Bealc's dismissal. Running emergency drills is a lot easier while docked, speaking from experience here, and that's not mentioning how great it is to be working for a sith."

She shoved a datapad his way, Quinn looking it over briefly. "Supply requisitions?"

"I didn't even have to bribe anyone." Kala gloated. "They took one look at my assigned post and opened their stores wide. Food, oxygen and water are fully stocked, with heavy munitions and secondary equipment to arrive over the next few days."

Quinn's mind backtracked, the conversation deviating from where he'd been leading it. "Emergency drills?"

"I've been scheduling them when you and the boys are away, escorting the sith and such." She dismissed. "Morgan seems reasonable, but I'm in no hurry to find out if I'm wrong. Blaring alarms in his face seems like a good way to annoy him, honestly."

"I'd like me and the men to participate." Quinn leaned forward, lowering his tone. "And I've found it best to do what you think is necessary when it comes to military matters. As long as you have a good reason he doesn't mind, and he has us to advise him on military matters in the first place."

Kala smiled, badly hiding her relief. "Good, good. Happy to hear Vette wasn't lying to Clara."

Quinn hesitated, looking back to the door. "Give us some privacy?"

A button was pressed and the door locked, Kala tilting her head slightly. "This about the rumours?"

"Rumours? No." He shook his head, confused. "What rumours?"

"Oh. Ah, well. It's been going around the ship that Morgan killed someone named Girik, who, also according to rumour, has been terrifying Nar Shaddaa for months. They say he beat him like an errant boy and lectured him on proper technique, or something. It was a bit outside my area of expertise."

Quinn frowned. "I'll talk with the men. They have this bad habit of, doesn't matter. Won't happen again."

"None of that." She scolded, fascination on her face. "You were there, right? You won't believe how hard it is to get an accurate recounting of sith combat."

He sighed. "I had specialist Horas plant a bug on one of the enforcers, give us an ear inside. When the enforcers didn't accompany them all the way I thought it was a bust, but apparently they listened at the door."

"And." Kala leaned forward so far her chair creaked, seeming not to care about her precarious balance. "What happened?"

"Sith combat happened." He explained dryly. "It's lots of red colours, people moving so fast you can barely keep track of them and then someone is dead on the floor, usually with a few limbs missing. But yes, apparently our Lord scolded the sith for rudeness, lectured him on sloppy technique and then cut his head in two."

Kala leaned back, morbid curiosity on her face. "Not to be a groupie or anything, but do you think he'd let me touch it?"

"Vette will snap your neck."

She blinked, not getting the joke. Quinn already regretted making it, but she turned red before he could move the conversation forward.

"Not that! His lightsaber. Oh, nevermind. It's a wonder I got this post in the first place, especially with how many applied."

Quinn cleared his throat, Kala tensing. "What?"

"About your assignment. You should be aware that some mentioned the position should have gone to, and I'm paraphrasing here, a proper human candidate."

She snorted, waving a hand. "I'm no stranger to racist subordinates. My officers are solid, the rest will fall in line."

"Not them." He swiped on his datapad, showing several emails he'd gotten over the past few days. "High command. I've spoken to some old friends, long story, and it seems they've been regulating your career with greater care than most."

Kala read them over, finding excerpts timestamped to the start of her career. "What is this?"

He didn't answer, her eyes growing narrower as she kept reading. "They said my assignment was needed. That the pirate threat was getting out of hand. This says it's a two year special exercise, to evaluate my independent command."

"And you have done extraordinary work there." He assured. "It seems in their effort to keep you down they've given you more combat experience than half the fleet, not counting some of the old hands from the first war. You've flourished, if anything."

"But." She swallowed, confusion on her face. "I signed up to serve the Empire. Passed all my classes, highest scores my instructor had seen in decades. Fought for them. I knew some didn't like a Rattataki leading ships, we're too violent, whatever, but I was born in Imperial space. I grew up on Dromund Kaas, for god's sake!"

Quinn shrugged helplessly. "I don't like it, no sense in limiting capable officers because of race, but it's also their heavy handedness that saved your career. Some wanted you gone from the fleet completely, but isolation coupled with your high performance had some more open minded admirals interested. I'm not privy to what politics went on behind closed doors, of course, but it seems they decided to mostly leave you be."

"I didn't think it went that far up." She whispered, letting the datapad half clatter to the desk. "How did I get this post, then, if they wanted me somewhere far away? Or why was I even admitted into the academy in the first place?"

"You sent your application directly to me." He said. "And I was recruiting directly for a sith, one who is apprenticed to a Darth. The Dark Council would have them all hanged if they intervened with a sith's business, especially a connected one."

"I. I don't know what to think."

Quinn nodded at that. "Your exemplary record speaks for itself. I would like to think someone saw to it you were accepted into the academy, but it is just as likely they needed the bodies. Even Korriban is relaxing its policies."

He stood when Kala didn't answer, staring at her desk unblinkingly. 'She's friends with her xo, right?'

Quinn sent for her, then went to see about those rumours. Well intentioned or no, information like that shouldn't be gossiped about. It kept him busy, his men annoyingly resistant when he ordered them to stop spreading the good word of Morgan.

As such, he didn't know that Clara all but dropped her coffee to go see Kala. He didn't hear how the captain nearly destroyed half her office, or how she'd broken down in tears when the wrath left. He had no idea that Clara spent the better part of an hour whispering that her life's purpose had not been a lie, her friend staring blankly at the wall. That she'd gotten to where she had on her own merits, despite their meddling.

But he did know that showing her that information, even if he'd been sure she already knew, would result in cracks to her loyalty to the Empire. Knew that expecting, even experiencing, racism was different than being shown proof they tampered with her whole career.

It went against his mission for Baras. Not explicitly, not technically, but it did. It went against his whole purpose here, in fact. His orders were to observe and report, nothing more.

'So why, then?'

He didn't know, couldn't answer that question if someone would ask.

He just had, because it felt like the right thing to do. Because it felt proper, like his father had always said a soldier should act.

Because it was the right thing to do, and acting on that impulse had him feeling better than he had in years.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Leaving Morgan to his walk, a habit she found strange but accepted, found Vette on the prowl.

Alright, so maybe she was walking too. But unlike her wandering boyfriend, a term that didn't seem quite right but she had no alternative for, she had a purpose. A purpose that took her to one of Nar Shaddaa's many black market hospitals, ducking past rows of desperate people to knock on the metal door.

"We're not admitting new patients." A bored voice called. "It's on the sign."

Vette had seen and ignored the sign, knocking again. An irritated man opened the door, his eyes growing wide as he took in her appearance. "Might be best to install a camera, good man. Who knows who you're letting inside?"

She pushed inside, the man hastily stepping back as she started stalking through the establishment. She wasn't here for just anyone, but then again she hadn't been given a room number either. Barging in a few wrong rooms was inevitable, but she soon found what she came here for.

"Who are you? Are you a friend of my granddaughter?" Vette smiled at the elderly woman, walking closer and patting her down for weapons. She found none, but she wasn't in the habit of being sloppy.

"Not really, no. I do wish to talk to her, but rest assured I mean her no harm." She raised her voice, the cramped but comfortable room forcing her to remain standing. "I just want to talk, maybe offer you some work."

She waited as no reply came, wondering if she was making a fool of herself for nothing, until a screen clicked on. She smiled. "Hello there. I'm Vette."

"I know." The speaker's voice was distorted, the screen showing nothing but a blank red screen. "How did you find her?"

Vette handed the old woman some water, turning back to the screen. "You might be a good slicer, Miraka, but I'm a good hunter. Even on Nar Shaddaa not everything can be hidden with tech, no matter how good you are."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"I went through the records of the hospitals, looking at admission dates coinciding with your grandmother's sickness. You forged those, of course, but you can't forge memories. Bribing a few overworked and underpaid nurses pointed me in the right direction."

The screen flickered, the red disappearing to reveal a teenage girl blanched white. "You're with the sith. Fuck me, what do you want?"

"Already tracked that far back, did you? Well, that's pretty much what I want from you. Scrubbing cameras, find what I want to be found, you know the drill."

"And if I don't?"

Vette shrugged. "Then I'll leave, you won't hear from me again, and you best hope the next person to find your weakness is as nice as I am."

Miraka wavered, looking at her grandmother and back to Vette again. "I'm doing fine on my own."

"Are you?" She looked around, snorting at the sad plant dying in the fake window. "It's a nice room, I'll grant. How many gangs, syndicates and cartels have you stolen from to afford it? More or less than twenty, I forget."

The face frowned, stubbornness set in her chin. "They haven't found her yet, nor me. I don't need your money, and I want nothing to do with pure evil."

"There's no such thing as pure evil." The old woman chided, waving her finger at the screen. Miraka cringed back. "Not even for sith. There are bad people, and they can do bad things, but condemning people to evil is a blindfold to make yourself feel better. What's this about stealing?"

"Nana, let me handle this." The girl complained. "I can deal with her on my own."

The woman tisked, sitting straighter. "Stealing from cartels, only the young, I swear. What has my fool granddaughter gotten herself into?"

Vette shrugged, smiling as the girl sputtered. "Nothing major yet. Syphoning schemes and such, but sooner or later they'll catch her. I'd like her to work for me, so that talent can be put to better use."

"You work for the sith?"

"A sith." She corrected. "But Miraka would be working for me. Good pay and protection, a crew to run with, hell, I'll even throw in dental."

"A crew of one." Miraka muttered, eyes flickering somewhere offscreen. Vette grinned. "For now, perhaps."

Nana frowned, looking between them. "What would she be doing?"

"Nothing that would put her in danger." Vette assured. "Remote slicing, data scrubbing. I need someone of her skillset, she needs a crew."

"She'll do it." Nana answered, ignoring the girl again. "The cartels won't be asking nicely, young lady. You need a job. A proper one!"

Vette put a hand on the woman's shoulder, turning to the girl. "While she's arguing in my favour, I stress that this decision is yours and yours alone."

Miraka leaned in her chair, Vette catching a scar peeking from under her shirt. She sighed dramatically. "I suppose you have some sort of test for me."

Three one thousand chits clattered on the bed, Vette leaning over them. "My, do I ever. Find me some scavenger crews that are employed by Wisi, but haven't had much work lately. Get me their contact info, general info sheets and threat assessments and the money's yours."

"Easy." The screen changed, a console appearing in its place. The hutt's picture briefly appeared before a list of crews flashed by. Six highlighted, the rest disappearing from view.

Vette snorted. "Of course you've already tapped into her systems. Give me crew one and five." The list changed again, pictures and small information blurbs scrolling by. "Send me their info, I assume you already have my contacts."

Her datapad chimed, making her clap her hands. "Perfect. Be seeing you around, Miraka."

"Wait, what?" The teenager's eyes snapped into view. "That's it? I have questions."

Vette stalled, turning back. "Yes?"

"Why is your, Lord? Weird title. Why is your Lord's past erased?"

She narrowed her eyes, the girl flinching back slightly by what she saw in them. "I understand that as a slicer you have a habit of poking your nose in people's business. Don't. Not with him."

Miraka hesitated, nodding. "Good. Welcome to the team."

Vette used the location data to track the scavenger crews directly, both residing down low. Low enough the district boundaries started to blend, its official names rarely used. Low enough her armour alone made her queen of the ground she walked on, people less getting out of her way than sprinting.

The crews themselves, Holidas Reclaimed and The Red Scavengers, lived and entertained themselves in different circles, but they were close enough. One of the reasons she'd picked them out, in fact.

Going after Wisi's crews was, technically, a declaration of war. Of course, if said crews were out of work, and didn't go tattling, Wisi wouldn't notice for days. Weeks if she was lucky, but luck was a shitty thing to plan a war around.

And war it would be. Not with ships and soldiers, but money and enforcers. Information and spies. Theft of contracts and business, blackmail material and evidence.

But for now she sat in a shitty cantina and drank a barely not poisonous drink, waiting for her marks to finish what work they had. Shouldn't take long, as per Miraka's information they were just salvaging some old factory. One that had already been scavenged, leaving just the scraps of scraps for the Red Scavenger.

Five rough, dirty men finally walked in, grumbling to themselves and ordering something that wasn't on the menu. She walked up, throwing a few hundred credits to the owner. "Drinks on me."

Her offer was met with scepticism, but few working men turned down free drinks from a pretty twi'lek. She'd always been able to use her looks to get what she wanted, although these days she had plenty of alternatives and saw little need for it.

Money was her go to these last few hours, a thing that could make up for almost all other defects. One of the men, likely their leader, grunted. "Don't expect thanks. With armour like that you're not here to drink, so you want something from us specifically."

Vette nodded, sliding into the booth. The man that was already there was forced to make space, his eyes widening as she shoved him aside with ease. "I have a business proposition, as it happens."

Her display of strength made the man tense, but none of them tried something. "We already have work. Work for someone you don't want to make an enemy of."

"Oh, but that's exactly what I want, Harrold." She leaned on the table, her elbows claiming space. "I want to burn Wisi's little kingdom to the ground, take everything she has and actually accomplish something with her resources."

"Why would we give up easy work?" The man next to Harrold, a duros, asked with a snort. "We get paid the same, working ten hours or four."

Harrold winced, shooting the duros a glare. "Don't go flapping your mouth."

"Easy work now, perhaps." She countered. "But we both know less work for the same pay is bad news, especially for a hutt."

"Means they don't have work for us, but don't want to lose status." Harrold sighed. "Yes, I know. I don't see how getting stabbed in the neck while we sleep will improve our situation any."

Vette grinned, a smile full of teeth. She threw another four thousand credits on the table, the men eyeing the money nervously. "Because soon Wisi will be far too busy to think about you at all. Your choice. Sign on with me, get some actual work with good pay, or enjoy the next few weeks until she's dead."

She sent them an address to contact, standing and scooping the credits back. "Up to you, but we both know which way the wind is blowing. Enjoy your free drinks."

Her comms pinged when she left the room, Miraka's voice leaving the speaker. "What's this about going to war with a hutt? Don't believe I signed up for that."

"You signed up to work for me. Not like I expect you to pick up a blaster, nor would Wisi be all that forgiving if she discovered you've been syphoning her money."

Miraka grumbled, switching the subject after complaining for a few more breaths. "The Holidas Reclaimed just walked into some sort of club. Sending you directions now, and by the way you had no less than five algorithms keeping track of you. Took care of those, you're welcome."

"Only five?" Vette grinned. "Either I haven't been trying or you missed some."

Silence was her answer, stepping into what passed for a taxi this low on Nar Shaddaa.

Hours later found her reclined in a massage parlour, a droid working to destress her shoulders. Miraka popped up on the only screen of the shop, peering down at her. "Harrold just signed up, as did Greate. Send them the wrecks you had me find, but I'm not in the mood to be your assistant."

Vette grinned, wiggling her toes. "It's been a good day, don't spoil it with teenage angst."

"For you, maybe." Her slicer scowled. "This work is boring."

"Give us some privacy."

The droids shut down, the door locking and lights shutting off. "Good. You want something challenging? Find a way to get access to Wisi's accounts. All of them."

Miraka gaped at her. "What?"

"Her accounts." She repeated. "Every bank, every digital scrap of monetary value she has. Prepare, mind you. Don't pull the trigger until I say so."

"That." The screen flickered, Miraka facing her properly. "That's impossible."

"Always is, right up until it's done. If you can't do it, I understand. It's rather tricky to rob the hutts, even one on the backfoot such as Wisi."

The screen shut off with an angry scowl, making her grin. "Good. Remember, not until I give the order."

The droid resumed, the lights flickering back on. Vette reclined further, sighing contently.

"Et donc eyima go merrily ael chee."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It was evening by the time Morgan returned to their room, his body slowly recovering from an afternoon of training with Alyssa and Inara. Training to unravel technique's was an ongoing project, and he could only semi-reliably do so against a single opponent. Fighting two handicapped him sufficiently they won more often than not, the bruises and shallow breaks proof to that.

Still, he was improving. So were his training partners, which should please Soft Voice. He found Vette already inside, hanging from the ceiling.

She completed her pullup, dropping down to kiss him. He smiled, leaning into it and wrapping her into a hug.

Vette squeezed back, two still healing bones snapping again. She flinched back, looking him over. "Sorry, sorry. You alright?"

"My fault." He shook his head fondly. "They were still setting. Had a good day?"

She looked him over critically, nodding. "Was alright. Plans progressing, you know how it is. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Fine." He sat down, Vette sitting down next to him some distance away. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not made of glass."

She shot him a guilty look, scooting over. He sent a pulse through himself, distracted by finding Vette echoing more than she should. "We need to tune up again."

Vette settled lightly, shrugging. "Sure. It takes you, what, five minutes these days?"

He closed his eyes, wrapping his attention around her. He could feel her shiver, opening his eyes in surprise. "You alright?"

Her eyes were locked on his face with an intensity he hadn't seen before, nodding. "It's fine."

"Please don't stare like that." He admonished. "It's unsettling."

"Don't make me feel like this, then."

He got to work, ignoring the less than helpful advice and shoring up her Force nullification. It was routine by now, and he ignored the various ideas that popped into his head as he worked. Moving on to her enhanced strength had his attention nearly broken when he felt hot breath on his face, struggling to get back into the right mindset.

He finished some minutes later, opening his eyes to find her mere inches from his face. "What, exactly, are you doing?"

"Watching. I'll calm down now."

"Please." Morgan slumped to the couch, his last strength leaving him. "Is it really that strange for you?"

Vette shivered, her eyes tracking him. "Like being wrapped into a soft, warm blanket that comforts and restricts and protects. A feeling telling me it's safe now, to relax and be happy. It's been getting stronger, too."

"Probably because I've been getting stronger." He admitted. "Daily sparring with Alyssa and Inara is helping, as is time."

He watched her calm down, laying her head on his lap and curling up. "How come I can feel you again, anyway? Force nullification used to just block everything."

"Teacher fixed it. An entertaining challenge, he said. Didn't even take him three weeks."

"Hmmm. What went wrong, before?"

He tensed, something that did nothing to dismiss her curiosity. "Something important?"

"Not wrong." He assured. "Just. I'm figuring something out, and it scares me."

She turned, looking up. "What?"

"I've been getting this feeling I could make your strengthening permanent. Or last for years, at least."

"Oh." She watched him. "That's not small, is it?"

"No. Something to do with my particular interaction with the Force, but I haven't talked with Teacher about it. I'm in no hurry to find out what Baras would do, should he discover I could make him an army of super soldiers."

She narrowed her eyes, clutching him possessively. "He doesn't get to take you. Not from me."

He bent low, kissing her lekku. "Nor do I want him to. But what I can do now doesn't begin to come close. Even if I spend all my time enforcing soldiers it's gone in a week, enough for maybe a couple thousand, assuming I don't sleep. If it's permanent, though?"

"Yea." She squirmed. "So we don't tell anyone. Not now and maybe not ever. Not worth the risk."

"I agree. To contradict myself immediately, it's too great a force multiplier to let lie completely. I was thinking of strengthening the men that were with us on Balmorra, for example. The non-permanent one, of course. Nar Shaddaa is dangerous, more so if we go up against a hutt and sith Lord at the same time. Baras hasn't done anything drastic when I enforced you, so he shouldn't freak out when I do the same for some men."

Vette hummed, settling down. "I don't know. Quinn seems solid, and his men do too, but maybe I don't like not being special anymore."

"You're always special." He said dryly, feeling her worry settle. He withdrew, scolding himself for the breach of privacy. "And it wouldn't be the same. Not like I spend my nights cuddling with them."

She shot him a teasing look. "I'm sure some wouldn't mind. Jillins would do pretty much anything for you, your brainwashing spectacularly effective as always."

"Not brainwashing." He denied tiredly. "Therapy. Brainwashing assumes I wanted something in return."

Her head tucked under his chin, nuzzling. "That's why I called it effective brainwashing."

By morning his body was healed, the last small bruises vanishing with breakfast. His reserves were full, his new armour was on and his knives were strapped tightly. He looked dressed for war, which means all he was going to do was talk to a slaver.

Last time he'd ordered three people killed, admittedly.

Halidrell was in the same place as before, lounging in her slave brothel and reading some reports. He was alone this time, something that made travel significantly faster, and so was she.

"Word spread through the streets that Rathari's conference with the hutt's was invaded and his apprentice killed." She greeted, raising her drink. "And the hutt's aren't saying who did it. The Empire's alliance is intact and Rathari is provoked. An excellent job."

Morgan sat, waving away the slave coming to serve him a drink. "This won't take long. Status report on Rathari's actions and whereabouts."

The woman bowed her head, waving her hand to clear the room. "Rathari is on the verge of taking over the Republic's base of operations in the upper industrial sites. With his cartel angle blocked he is sure to pour himself into eliminating the garrison there."

"I suppose that will be my next angle, then." He stood. "Anything else?"

"You don't like me much, do you? Even if he is not there, he will come for you if all his operations are thwarted."

He looked back, flooding his attention through the room. Halidrell stiffened, her drink slipping out of her hands. "Don't presume to tell me who I can and cannot like."

She nodded shakily, displaying fear for the first time since meeting him. Morgan found it strangely satisfying.

Vette was lounging outside, raising her eyebrow at his mood. How she was able to read his expression when he was wearing a helmet he'd never know. "Bad meeting? I stalked you here when you abandoned me in bed, in case you were curious."

"You looked too adorable to disturb." His mood lightened, Vette falling in step with him. "And any meeting with slavers is a bad one. Good news, though. We're going to war with a sith Lord."

"I thought we already were?"

"More at war, then." He shrugged. "Call Quinn?"

Vette disappeared behind her helmet. "I'll do you one better. Miraka, get me an update on Rathari's location."

He waved his hand, stepping into his interceptor and ordering the pilot to bring them back to the Aurora. When they were halfway there his display flickered, a video of Rathari's men attacking the Republic outpost filling his vision. Vette piped up, shaking her head. "It seems my slicer is feeling shy. Anyway, Rathari's not there. His men are commanded by one general Kligton, and according to the report I'm reading he's rather brash."

Morgan nodded, getting in some light camouflage practice as they boarded the ship. Quinn and his men were standing at attention when the door opened. "Get in, we'll brief you on route. Where are Alyssa and Inara?"

The soldiers piled in, the small fury class ship suddenly feeling cramped. "They could not be found on short notice."

He shrugged, turning to the cockpit. "Very well. With me."

Vette was waiting for them, waving briefly at Quinn. The man nodded back, ever the professional. "So, good news and bad. The good news is that Rathari isn't currently hacking apart a Republic garrison and starting a war. The bad news is that he ordered his general to do it in his stead, and that'll probably still start a war."

"But that's not why we're going there." Quinn stated. "You want to kill the man, weaken Rathari's support."

Morgan shrugged. "Kind of. Not his men, mind you, so we'll be going in non-lethal. Vette?"

She nodded, general Kligton's file popping up on the holo display. Quinn frowned. "You shouldn't have been able to get that."

"I'm paraphrasing here, but," she tilted her head as if listening to someone, "even the best security relies on people not being fucking stupid. Make of that what you will."

"Anyway." Morgan interrupted. "Kligton is a Rathari loyalist, seeing as the man owes his career to the sith. It wouldn't surprise me if he starts something, on orders or not, but until then non-lethal only. We're here to prevent open war, and that means having Kligton stand down."

Quinn nodded, clearly still not all that happy, and turned to the intercom. "Attention. We will soon be entering the upper industrial district, known for housing many Republic corporations and sympathisers. Any Imperial personnel is to be treated as compromised, but any violence against them will be non-lethal only."

Morgan turned to look out the window, his lips quirking as the pilot tried his hardest not to react. "Eta?"

"Five minutes, sir." The pilot responded briskly. "Closest landing site is three clicks away from the target."

He nodded. "Very good."

The interceptor touched down, Quinn's men lining up with sure steps. Vette was lounging as he walked in front of them, spines straightening. "Do not fire unless fired upon, and do not kill any Imperial soldiers. Non-lethal is the name of the game. Unless under direct orders from me or your captain you are not to engage unprovoked."

Twenty soldiers saluted, Quinn and his lieutenant taking over as he walked to Vette. She waved, holding up a finger. "Then find more. Keep those crews busy, and make sure to impress upon them the idiocy of trying to steal from me."

"Problem?"

"Nothing I can't deal with." She dismissed. "Just some of my people testing boundaries."

He raised an eyebrow, the gesture lost under his helmet. "You have people now?"

"I did say I was going to take over a syndicate." She tilted her head. "What did you think that entailed?"

"Can't say I know how to take over a cartel. Figured it'd take you more than two days, honestly."

Vette shrugged. "It will. Let's go bully some general, yes?"

He turned to see Quinn waiting, pretending to go over some last minute things with Helen. "Right."

Much like the last two times he took an armed escort into one of the districts, he faced no resistance. As the gangs before them the private security forces of the various corporations melted out of their way without issue, none wishing to engage Imperial soldiers. Morgan was happy to let them scurry off, likely to report their presence or not.

The Republic garrison Kligton was besieging, unsurprisingly, had been built into an old factory. It was well fortified, but devoid of any soldiers wearing Republic colours. When they approached men blocked their path, although they boasted only half their number.

Morgan stepped forward, not particularly wishing to start the fight just yet.

Their captain mirrored him, holding up his hand. "Halt. This is a restricted military operation, even for other Imperial elements."

Vette laughed. "We're with a sith, little soldier. Step aside."

"Irrelevant." The man looked at him, tensing when he saw the lightsaber. He didn't step aside. "This area is restricted under orders of Lord Rathari himself."

Morgan stepped closer, flooding his presence outwards. "I am sith, and I have business with general Kligton. Move aside."

The captain took a stuttering step back, bowing his head. "My lord. I. I cannot let anyone inside."

"You have been given a direct order, soldier." Quinn barked. The captain's men were looking distinctly nervous now, Quinn gaze sweeping over them. "Disperse."

Half of them saluted, taking the out Quinn had provided. The captain looked back, finding only three of his men remaining.

Morgan put a hand to his shoulders, fear flooding the man whole. He lowered his tone. "Go home, captain. This is between sith, and no man needs die today because of that."

The man hesitated for a long moment, long enough Morgan thought he'd have a fight on his hands regardless, but finally saluted and backed away. Morgan waved his own men forwards, what few soldiers standing deeper inside the facility letting them pass. Quinn frowned, finding none higher than a corporal. "Something isn't right. Too few officers, too many fresh faces."

Vette nodded, flipping a knife as if bored. Morgan knew better. "Speaks to high levels of attrition, that does."

"And negligent officers." Quinn added coldly. "More experienced soldiers should have been reassigned, assuming squad level command and ensuring army cohesion."

Walking through hallways and abandoned choke points finally brought them to the main force, the general standing a safe distance away surrounded by his officers. Morgan counted only two, not finding anyone higher than lieutenants actually commanding the assault on the front-lines.

Kligton turned to him, scowling. "What is the meaning of this? These soldiers are under my command, and I answer directly to a Lord of the sith."

"You." Morgan stepped close, the general holding his ground. "Are starting a war. Call off the assault."

"Ha. Lord Rathari has been given authority over Nar Shaddaa by the Dark Council itself. That extends to me, so I will not be ordered around by some apprentice."

Vette whispered something to Quinn over comms, the man nodding. Morgan crossed his arms. "Where is Lord Rathari?"

The general sniffed, half turning away. Quinn's men were spreading around, Kligton's officers eyeing them nervously and turning to the general's bodyguards. "You shouldn't have come, sith. Lord Rathari has given clear instruction to destroy you should you intervene."

Morgan pushed his presence out, the general snapping back to look at him. The man's bodyguard tensed as they were surrounded, looking at their officers in half panic. "That sounded like a threat, general. You have one chance to retract it."

Tasting the man revealed little in the way of fear, confidence bordering on arrogance built in his very foundations. "Very well, then. Men, full attack!"

Quinn's signal flashed on his display, twenty flashes of light heralding the dropping bodies of Kligton's officers and bodyguards. Three dodged, Vette knocking them out the old fashion way before they could regroup.

Morgan, meanwhile, slapped the pistol out of the general's hands and broke his knee.

Kligton dropped with a scream, some hundred soldiers turning to look from the front lines. Most turned away quickly, deciding a sith's business was not theirs in the slightest.

Quinn pounced on their hesitation, barking for an orderly retreat. Lieutenant Helen added her voice to it, the mass of men slowly disengaging the enemy. Quinn stalked forwards to speak with their lieutenants, Vette squatting to look at the general.

"Ordering the death of a sith that's standing two feet away. I can't quite decide if that's the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever seen."

Morgan shook his head. "I suppose he normally has his officers deal with the small things like risk assessment. It's more than that, though. He honestly believed I wouldn't hurt him. He was so sure of it, so confident."

"We need him?" Morgan shook his head, a knife being buried in his chest a moment later. Vette stood, wiping it clean.

Quinn had rounded up Kligton's troops, sending off the gathered lieutenants and coming to stand with them. Morgan nodded to the marching column. "I feel that went a little too well, and won't the Republic counter-attack?"

"Their garrison is all but decimated." The captain shook his head, looking at the dead general. "And most of our men are fresh recruits. It's depressingly normal for sith to take over command mid battle, so most didn't question it."

Vette nudged the unconscious officers, left behind by their peers. "What do we do with them?"

"Our men?" Morgan parroted. "You have something in mind, captain?"

Quinn shrugged, looking as the soldiers marched away. "We're still short of a proper complement of soldiers. It'll take days before those men are reassigned, assuming Lord Rathari even remembers them. Thought I might take a look, see who'd be a good fit."

"Leave them for the Republic soldiers to find." Morgan told her, turning back to Quinn. "Use your best judgement, but do keep the budget in mind."

It was some time before they got back to their own ship, having to make sure the mass of mostly leaderless soldiers made their way home. It went smoother than expected, what lieutenants they still had more than eager to leave. Some even saluted as he passed, though they were in the minority.

Morgan watched Nar Shaddaa shrink underneath him, feeling Vette stretch. "All in a day's work. Wanna grab a bite?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

John hung up his apron as the last guest left, pulling out his datapad and looking at his trackers. Keeping an eye on Morgan had proven simple enough, the man ignorant or uncaring about any surveillance on him, so four separate algorithms gave him a good picture of his location.

Not that sith generally needed to care about such things.

Vette, on the other hand, had proven more of a challenge. His programs had ceased to be useful after she'd hired some slicer, one even he'd not been able to find. Mostly because he hadn't cared too, but he admitted to himself that whoever was masking Vette was doing a good job of it.

She'd gotten better at spotting his tails, too, but some still followed her around. For now he looked over the reports, noting with some interest that Morgan had killed an Imperial general, and walked out.

This whole non interference policy was getting to him, honestly. Vette had the potential to become something special indeed, especially with more direct training, and teaching Morgan the basics of spycraft could result in interesting developments.

But no, his handlers were getting more antsy so he had to play by at least some of the rules. That they approved his budget increase within the hour was amusing, mostly because it meant someone high up the chain was getting nervous.

Honestly, who would be scared of little old Morgan? The man had always been a reasonable, polite individual when he'd spoken to him. Minus that one time he'd threatened to sick some two dozen sith on him, of course. But he'd been young, then.

Alright, so maybe he was growing in both power and resources at a slightly higher rate than expected. And maybe, just maybe, someone had read his report that had Vette been recruited by Imperial intelligence she'd be a cypher by now. Still, he didn't see what all the fuss was about. Not like the man stole a destroyer and was rapidly accruing talented individuals to his side, upending all their growth assessments without care or subtlety.

That would be ridiculous.

John shook his head, looking around. He hadn't been to Nar Shaddaa for many years now, but dusting off his old working man's persona was easy enough. Confident few would try to steal from him, but not so flashy others would see it as a threat. He'd spent years working out the balance, but then he had more years than most. An old but well maintained blaster completed the ensemble, looking like little more than a cautious old man.

Finding Executive Bfjorn was almost boringly easy, and he was walking into the man's place of work within the hour. What guards not asleep at their post were taken care of quietly, although one managed to nearly fall through a window. That would have woken up the whole place, and he hated getting blood out of his clothes.

It's why he preferred quiet approaches, but when he finished slicing through the lock protecting Bfjorn's bedroom he just knew this one was going to get complicated.

For one, two women were in bed with the man. One of which, a strikingly beautiful togruta, was wide awake and staring at him. He put a finger to his lips, the woman tilting her head but remaining still.

The other problem was the hound asleep near the bed, grunting as it dreamed. An anooba, if he wasn't mistaken, although this one was big even for one of them. He crept up, his knife severing the beast's vocal cords as he injected a needle in Bfjorn's foot.

The man woke with a start, rolling out of bed and flat on his face. John shook his head, patting the hound as it died. "Shhh, it's alright now. Sleep, and dream of long hunts in deep deserts."

He'd cut deep, the hound dying in a matter of seconds. Bfjorn managed to stand, something he found reluctantly impressive, but collapsed when he tried to take a step. "That's one nasty cocktail I put in you there, my friend. Cyborgs, always thinking an iron liver makes you immune to poison. Well, the nanites probably don't help."

The man crawled forward, John lazily disarming the other woman as she tried to stab him. He twisted her around, breaking her neck with a short grunt. The togruta was standing as far away from him as space allowed, still staring blankly.

"Wh. Why?" Bfjorn coughed, blood gushing onto the floor. "I've done nothing. Nothing to you."

John tilted his head. "Well, I could say it's payback for the thousand you've sold into slavery. Maybe I was hired by that poor girl's father, although that was a while ago now. How did you kill her again, droid fighting? That's cruel, even for you."

"Why?" Bfjorn demanded, slowing. John sighed.

"It's always why with the dying. You're going someplace no one knows anything about, yet all you want to know is why." He leaned over the man, making sure to stay out of reach. "Maybe it's because you're a sadist, rotten to the bone and uncaring to change. Maybe it's for the hundreds of girls you've raped and butchered. The people you've forcefully addicted to drugs. The killings, the wars. All the suffering you've caused, often for little more than your own amusement."

He stood straight, looking at the togruta. "But that would be a lie. It's because your son bumped into a twi'lek, and took offence. It's because that twi'lek put him down like a dog, and I can't have you taking revenge on her."

Bfjorn died with little fanfare, the nanites shutting down his heart with uncaring efficiency. John made sure by disrupting the brain, something he could have done from the start. He'd been rather disgusted by what his people had dug up on the man, however, so a slow death it was.

"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?"

He looked up. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I saw you. Saw your face."

John hummed, catching her eyes to find calm acceptance there. "How long did you spend in this man's care?"

The togruta shrugged. "Some months. This one, another one. It makes little difference. I am dead already, so I decided it does not scare me anymore."

He hummed again, thinking. When he was done staging the scene, for his own amusement first and foremost, he looked back to her. "How would you like a career change?"

The woman tilted her head, uncomprehending.

"I know someone that would be more than amenable to take you under her wing, if you want. Danger aplenty, but then I think you rather don't care about that anymore, do you?"

The togruta shrugged. "I am dead. Do as you wish."

Afterword

The sentence Vette uses, 'Et donc eyima go merrily ael chee.' translates to 'And so we merrily go to war.'