Shortly after the final defeat of Sith-Imperial Remnant forces in New Imperial Space
“The Empire is finished! You owe it nothing!”
Slash.
Xeykard awoke with a start, and immediately roared in pain. His vision was blurred, both from the pain and the sudden forced adjustment to the light. He thrashed about. For a moment he felt something restraining him, but with some effort he broke free. He struck something hard with his right hand, and something soft with his left. Noise and chaos erupted around him, causing more and more stress.
“Sir… Sir! Sir! Please calm down.”
The words cut through somehow. He focused on his pain again, using it like a whetstone to sharpen his senses. When he found them once more, the stark interior of the Red Rain’s medbay came into proper focus, as did the pain at the base of his knees, where his legs had been severed. In their place were a new set of thick cybernetics, like boots welded to his flesh.
He looked to his right, where a medical droid was knocked over, a dent in its side where he’d struck it. To his left, the small cadre of medical personnel crowded around a doctor curled up in the fetal position, clutching his stomach. The medics froze when he looked at them.
“Sir- sir, are you-”
“Help them,” he ordered, though his voice came out weak. The medics nodded, and helped their colleague up and out of the room.
He turned to face the voice that had cut through. The visage of a fresh-faced human Sith legionnaire greeted him. When their gazes met, the legionnaire snapped a crisp salute. Xeykard sat up fully.
“At ease,” he said. “Water.”
“Yes sir.” The legionnaire grabbed his own canteen and gave it to the Inquisitor. Xeykard drank the entire thing in one go, and still felt his throat scream a little.
“What happened?”
“Yes sir. You were wounded, but managed to get to the medevac, and we were able to pull you off the planet back to the Rain. By the time you got back you had fallen unconscious. Things… the captain, in your stead, made the retreat order and pulled out.”
“Mm. This one sees. How long has it been?”
“Eighteen hours, sir.”
Xeykard’s body felt heavy. He was hungry, everything ached, and his cybernetics, freshly installed, still brought him a dizzying pain. But he felt his mind sharpening with every moment.
“Where are we?”
“The captain brought us out near Mek-Sha, sir. We’ve been quiet for the past eight hours, in case the Imperials come looking for us.”
“And our forces? The other Sith units?”
The legionnaire’s gaze dropped. “As far as we know, we’re the only ones who managed to slip the interdiction net.”
“Mm.”
“But- there are other remnant forces in the area. Surely someone would be willing to help us. Our Empire is still strong,” the legionnaire said. He was distinctly unsure.
Xeykard moved his legs off the operating table, and stood carefully. The legionnaire stepped forward, almost ready to support him, but Xeykard waved him off. The pain the cybernetics brought him was… desirable. Pain brought him focus. Pain brought him strength. Pain brought him hatred.
“What is your name?”
“Sir, I am legionnaire Loyit Derrs, sir.”
“Legionnaire Derrs. Go ahead to the bridge, and inform captain Cemek that this one will speak to the officers, and that he is to bring them to the bridge. This one will be there soon. Go.”
“Sir, yes sir.” Derrs snapped a crisp salute once more, before turning on his heel and striding to the medbay’s exit.
Xeykard sissed the apologizing captain silent, before waving at him to continue.
“Ahem- I will accept any punishment for my cowardice and insubordination, Inquisitor.” Cemek bowed submissively.
Xeykard’s jaw clenched. “No, this one thinks not. You made the right decision. We would be dead otherwise.”
Cemek’s sigh of relief was barely audible, but he still rose carefully. “Thank you, sir.”
The Inquisitor let silence reign for a moment. The dozen officers gathered looked solemn, defeated. How could they not? Imperial control of Sith space was almost entirely secured. The only organized Sith resistance had been stamped out. Now they were alone, boxed in on all sides again, but now in a land filled with warlords and chaos rather than even the small comfort of accepted death. The Emperor had abandoned them. No nation backed them. Most Sith in the region were more likely to kill them than to join them.
The years of fighting had left them empty.
Xeykard inhaled deeply.
“This one should have died on Tandun. The knight this one faced – he said, ‘The Empire is finished. You owe it nothing’.
“The Sith leave us. The Imperials despise us. There is nowhere to be but here. We must make our own path, or die.” Even though he towered over those gathered, he straightened his posture.
“The warlords here – they do not care about the Empire. They would rather fight among themselves than strike against the Imperials, the Ashlans, the Jedi. They would rather fight among themselves than bring order to these worlds. We cannot trust them. We must secure our future ourselves – and not just for us, but for the Empire. We owe that old thing nothing – it owes us. It owes a debt to you, you who fought the longest in its service. And if it will not give it, we must take it.
“We will take the Scar Worlds. We will return order to them. We will remake our Empire. There is no other option. This is our service. This is our right. This one asks – are you willing to take it?”
Where once the officers stared meekly at the floor, now they gazed at their commander, filled with conviction. As his short speech came to an end, the bridge erupted into cries of elation and determination.
In the midst of such celebration, the Inquisitor began to plot.
