Private Grassroots

[Corin Trenor]

Razmir Tezhyn

​

There was growing malcontent in Sith space.

The Sith Blackwall effectively ensured that the Sith remained undisturbed by external forces, mostly. The more persistent would discover their methods, it seemed. In the process, however, others had become imprisoned behind the Blackwall. Their protests were quiet, softly muttered frustrations that could not truly become known, or else face the consequences. Yet, some were far too bold to consider their continued existence.

A colony erupted into a sudden, swift rebellion. Incited, was the word in every dark and dreary cantina.

Some failed to recall the name, others argued as to whether he was an Ithorian, Duros, or Human. Some debated whether he was a man, woman, or neither. Corin put the image together, in the end. Piece by piece.

Corin waded through the densely packed crowds on the smuggler's spaceport, shrouded in a darkly coloured cloak. He broke off, delving deeper into the bowels of the station, towards the agreed upon meeting place. It was hardly a first, meeting with contacts in secluded and unseen locations. Though to meet with someone such as this, Corin knew Dagon would offer that disapproving glare.

He would chastise him, as if he was still some boy. Though that boy, wherever he was now, was not here. Only the Corin of today, for better or worse.

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

Razmir sipped his Corellian whiskey, sitting at one side of a makeshift table on the reactor shaft platform. He'd earlier posited to his colleague that he'd be enjoying one of the last freely available glasses in this sector of space, on account of the Blackwall's ban on trade. So he tried to make it count, savouring the burn as it went down.

The air was cold and stale in the abandoned reactor shaft. No one came down here. This tunnel would only ever be needed if the stars aligned, on the edge-case the reactor had to be dunmped after a freak accident and every other redundancy failed. Barely anyone ever thought to check on the backup plan for the backup of the backup's backup plan.

When Razmir focused, he could barely make out the rhythmic hum of the antimatter reactor churning several hundred meters below. He disliked the type of idleness that made such observations possible. He'd been kept waiting longer than he liked, and so he'd had time to dwell on thoughts he'd rather ignore.

The official story of colony Besh-1138 was that it had turned on its garrison and been punished accordingly. All fifty-eight souls had been wiped from the surface, and any notion of rebellion mercilessly crushed by the SIth legions. An ear to the ground, however, revealed that the people told a different story. The colonists of Besh-1138—known as Harper's Courage—had been loyal to the bitter end, wholly innocent of their crimes and never wavering in their devotion to the Empire. Ultimately though, neither their loyalty nor their innocence could save them from the capricious whims of their Sith masters.

Which truth the individual chose tended to impact the conclusion they drew form Besh-1138's destruction. Were they encouraged by the notion that their masters were vulnerable? That they could be killed, even if it took sacrifice? Or perhaps the truth they read was bleaker. Was their continued loyalty enough to save them from the Sith's wrath? Did their sacrifice for their Empire mean nothing in the face of Sith whims?

What lesson the people would learn Razmir couldn't tell, not yet.

He took another sip of the Corellian whiskey watching the empty glass across from him with expectation. The whiskey still burned with that pleasant sharpness. He'd miss that taste once it ran dry.

Corin Trenor

 

[Corin Trenor]

Razmir Tezhyn

​

The tap-tap-tap sound of footsteps across metal grates joined the idle, near-rhythmic hum, with a rhythm of their own. The Jedi, for a lack of a better term, closed the distance between them. He did not seem to meet the expectations of his kind, with appearances more akin to their darker counterparts in the Force.

It must have been a disguise, one could think. The truth of the matter is that it made him uniquely suited to the tasks to come. That constant glare was most unbecoming of a Jedi, after all.

"Harper's Courage," he said at last with a flat, void of a voice. If not that, then the disgust might seep through. "It was your doing."

If Dagon was here now, he would not so much as entertain this notion. If it made it all the more difficult to do it all alone, then so be it, Dagon would have lead the charge through the mess. In his absence, however, Corin had become something to be less than proud of.

He thought of Dagon a lot lately.

"Tell me, why?"