Private The Valkyrie's Diary (Solo thread)

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

No word from Shakka. I crinkle my nose. There is a smell of charred flesh in the air. And it is clogged with smoke. We are driving past a pyre. Bodies have been stacked on top of each other. “Not too worry, lord,” the brutish hulk of a man called Banneret Hasapis grunts. “Just criminals and useless eaters.” I force the bile down. “We must always be vigilant against...malcontents. Your comrades’ handiwork, I assume?”

He snorts. “If it had been, my buddies wouldn’t have had to come over again to burn the damn bodies. Local hicks can’t do anything right. Sloppy.” I catch on quickly enough. Night and fog. He continues as I remain silent. “Not pleasant work, honestly. Gunning down folks who can’t fight back. Used to give me the creeps at night. But I know that what these xenos kids would do to ours would be ten times worse. Whoever comes after us might not have the balls.”
Yes, poor you. Infamous. Infamous, shameful system! “We do what we must...to maintain order.” My voice gets sharp. “Now focus on the task at hand. Remember, we need captives.”
“Aye, lord.”
I comm Shakka again, but she is not responding. Her device seems to be off. Has it just run out of power? Or has someone gotten to her? My stomach feels all twisted up, as if it is tied up in knots. I take a breath. Control yourself, girl. I clamp down on pangs of nausea.

When we approach Special Station 4, everything is quiet. We disembark and the soldiers fan out in loose formation. I’m no soldier and so I do not bother try to micromanage them. However, to his credit Hasapis has them well in hand. Few words are expressed between them. Instead they communicate via hand signals, moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine.
But there are no sentries at the gate to bar us entrance. That is because they are dead. Quickly the squad spreads out to secure the area. Hasapis examines one of the bodies - a Mirialan guard. “Look at that tat, lord,” he says after rolling up the woman’s forearm. “Common criminal.”
“Shouldn’t that put her in a camp?”
“You bet.” He moves to a nearby corpse. This is a human in a khaki uniform with some rudimentary armour and a helmet that is splattered with blood. “This one’s PF.”
My jaw tightens. Bakios. “We must move right now. To the warehouse.” Gunfire echoes.
The team’s scout returns. “Banneret, sent the drone out. Looks like there’s fighting in the main hall. PF vs xenos. Many dead xenos. There’s a backdoor.”
“We use that, we can cut off any escapees, lord.” I gather this is the type of suggestion that isn’t really a suggestion, but worded like that to make the Disciple feel like she’s the one giving the orders. But it’s sensible.

“Do it. What’s your take on the battle?”
“PF’s got the upper hand, lord, but they lost a bunch of folks. Looks like they went for a frontal attack. Doesn’t seem like they’re taking prisoners.”
“If they become a problem, deal with them, too – if I give the order.” And so we make our entrance through what turns out to be a service door. What seems to be the main hall of the warehouse is a battle zone. I have not been in many combat situations, and am thankful for that. Certainly not as leader. Combat is messy, chaotic and frankly not particularly interesting. There are slugs flying everywhere, explosions, blood and smoking corpses.

The guards are fighting with the fervour of the desperate as they try to get out, but many are dead or wounded. A bunch of them have barricaded themselves behind containers, providing cover to comrades trying to get out. They keep up a desperate barrage, but their attackers have greater firepower and numbers. Machine salvoes roar through the air. The PF is taking no chances, but they have lost men – human and xenos. Maybe they’ve seen us, but either way some of their men charge towards the guards, throwing themselves into the fray.

“Wait,” I tell the Bannerett before he can give the signal. He grunts something in affirmation. I take a breath, and heat surges through my body. Bright light coalesces around my fingers, then it bursts outward in a blinding flash. This is not the pitiful Light, but a manifestation of my gift for fire. It burns and, crucially, blinds. Cries of pain are heard. If it disorientates some PF men in addition to the xenos, not my problem.

“Aurek and Besh, advance by fire and manoeuvre! Smoke bombs!” Then the KEC troopers close in for the kill, divided in two teams that box the xenos guards in. They hurl grenades and staccato of slugthrower fire fills the air. Some have equipped themselves with sonic weapons. Good for breaking bones or disorientating foes. The noise makes my ears ring, even as I wrap a shield around them. Clouds of acrid smoke rise into the air and I hear men choke.

Slugs tear holes into men and ricochet off the walls. Hasapis moves swiftly, suddenly appearing over a container. A xenos guard a few metres away has no chance over than look around before a shot from the Bannerett’s heavy pistol takes him down. A slug strikes his armour plating, but the Bannerett presses on, emptying two slugs into an attacker. From both sides, the PF and the KEC troopers corner the guards. Only a few are still alive.

This needs to be ended now. The Force is mine to command, and so I harness it. It is my tool to shape the world around me. I try to reach into the minds of the remaining xenos. Terror fills them and fog clouds their minds. A few throw down their weapons and cower. One shoots himself and another death charges. Well, that did not go entirely well.

There’s a painful throbbing in the back of my skull. Blood drips down my nose. Then I feel a stab of pain when a slug grazes my cheek. My ear is ringing. A ball of flame sweeps from my hand towards a xenos, and he screams in pain. I am a Sith. Lay down your weapons, and you’ll be spared. Or you’ll all be destroyed. My command is projected through the Force.

Then, amidst the chaos, I suddenly feel a presence beneath a container. Shakka. Then a voice: “Found another one!” I rush towards her. A PF trooper is firing towards her hideout. I wince when I feel pain emanate from her. Fire Then he bursts into flames. I ignore his screams as he is consumed. My legs feel shaky when I rush to Shakka.

There’s blood seeping from her shoulder. “Master,” she gasps, pressing against the wound. “I’ll be fine.”
“Get a medic!” I yell. In the background the fight is winding down. But for just a moment I have blotted it out as we stare at each other. Before reality hits me again. “And get me whoever is in charge of the PF! I’m in command here now. Cease fire.”
Hasapis has suddenly appeared at my side. Some blood coats his armour. “Area secure, lord. One wounded. Checking for survivors.” He looks at Shakka. “That wormhead yours?”
I compose myself. “My slave requires aid. She has important information.”

Shakka’s whole demeanour shifts. When she speaks, it is in her submissive, demure tone. “Master, look,” she points, and I turn, seeing PF troopers round up the few surviving xenos. “They want to silence ‘em!”
“Don’t shoot! I surren..!”There is the crack of a gunshot and the Duros keels over dead when I head towards them with a determined stride. Three xenos remain. “Desist!” The goons do not immediately react. “Are you deaf, or stupid? I am a Disciple, you’ll obey my command.”
“These are traitors and criminals, lord,” a man with the insignia of an officer retorts. “They’re being punished in accordance with the law. I have orders.”
“And I am overriding them. Or are you telling me that you will disobey an order from one of the Supreme Leader’s Own?” He says nothing. There is silence. “Well?” I snap in anger. “Do you want me to have you shot for treason and your family cast out? These prisoners are mine.”

Finally, he gestures to his men. “Lower your weapons. The scum’s all your, lord. Apologies for the misunderstanding.”
“Banneret, take this rabble into custody. No one is to have access to them without my explicit authorisation, or that of Darth Lachesis.”
“Right away, lord.” Without missing a beat, he directs his men to cuff the xenos. There is some manhandling and beating along the way. The usual. Realising that my nose has been bleeding, I quickly wipe it.
“Master, there’s more,” Shakka says. I see a haphazard bandage around her arm. “One of the, uh, traitors, he knew him,” she points at the officer. “Anders is your name, isn’t it, sir? He called you a traitor.”
“Know your place, slave!” the officer growls.
“I am the judge of my slave’s conduct. And I didn’t give you permission to speak to her.” My blood burns hot. I could kill this worm so easily.
“This is slander.”

“I have a recording,” Shakka reaches into her jacket and produces a camera. She presents it to me, and I see a Gamorrean go down, yelling at this Anders.
“That’s a fake. Typical xenos trickery. Who is the source? A Twi’lek. They’re all baby-eating liars. You can’t trust a word it says.”
“They shot at me, Master.”
“My man saw a wormheaded beast skulking about in a den of criminals! It wouldn’t have happened if we’d been informed ahead of time.” Legally, he is right. No court would accept the word of a xenos. Not unless she’s been put to the question. But I want to crush him. Yet he is just that – an ant. It is his bosses I have to go after.

“The word of a xenos slave clearly isn’t admissible as evidence,” I say softly. Heat rushes through me and I stretch out my hand. This Anders character takes it. Then he screams in agony when all that heat floods his hand. He tries to withdraw but I wrap the Force around his appendage. His glove burns and smoke wafts from his hand.

He drops down to a knee. When I finally let go, his hand has been charred. There is a charcoal-like smell. He screams. No one moves. “And that’ll teach you not to disrespect a Sith. When we give you an order, you obey. Take your men and leave. Slave, with me.”
Turning away, I gesture to Shakka to follow me. Hopefully she gets the hint that I cannot allow any dramatic scenes here. Eyes are still on us. “I assume your lead brought you here. Did you learn anything before the assault?”
“Not much was left. But I took pictures of a bunch of files. And I saw a truck leave. Got the number plate. They’re using the A-11.”
My eyes light up. “Do you know their destination?”
“Think so. There’s something else. A worker helped me find this place. His wife was nabbed in a PF raid.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Just a worker. Right.” Not at all involved in smuggling, of course. “Your cousin.”
“I got you the data – and the lead you want. There was a massacre not far from here. They burnt the bodies! I need to know she’s alive.”
Damn it. I want to help you, but get a hold of yourself. Every word I say might get back to Lachesis. “Control yourself, slave. I’ll look into this. If this checks out, she’ll go free, and your cousin’s record wil be square.” Hearing noise from behind me, I turn and see Hasapis.
“Lord, my tech guy checked out the office. Seems the computer was thrashed. Paperwork’s been shredded.”
“Not too worry. A truck got away just before our...friends arrived. I’m going to catch it.”
“So an hour tops? Can’t have gotten that far. We can call the Cap and get the roads locked down. Lemme go with you. My Errant can handle the prisoners. He’s a good lad. Won’t let ‘em out of his sight.”

I consider his offer for a moment. “How many were in the truck?” I look at Shakka.
“One driver – Mirialan. There’ll be a groundcar, too, Master. The driver’s human. He’ll try to weasel his way out if he’s caught. Master doesn’t need help to handle them.”
He looks right at me. “If they’re smart, they’d know the they’d be followed,” he points out. “There’d be a pickup crew. Probably dispose of the xenos, too.”
He has a point. “Request granted. Let’s waste no time.” I notice a corpse lying not far from where I stand. He’s a human, and dressed as a civilian in an overall and trousers. Evidently not a PF member. “Pass on to your specialists that I want an ID on that man. And the guards.”
“Got it. What about your wormhead?” It sounds like he’s asking me about what to do with my dog.
There is loathing in Shakka’s eyes when she looks at him. I give her a mental nudge to get a hold of herself. “She saw the truck and knows where the traitors are going. She’s coming with us. She’ll drive. You and I’ll deal with the traitors.”

“Sure. ‘xcuse me for a moment.” The Bannerett sees to his men and passes along his instructions, then joins us outside at the groundcar. “Let’s roll, lord.” His desire for violence is palpable. He’s coming off his battle rush. You can conquer a kingdom if you have enough goons like this to throw at the enemy. He reminds me of Despina, and yet not. She enjoyed violence. Killing is the sweetest thing there is, she told me once. If you can’t protect yourself, do those who can a favour and die.

But she never bought into Vaderite clap trap. She was the only of Achilles’ guards who never hurt me. Would Banneret Hasapis have torn my robes off and beat me with the flat of his sword if he’d been Achilles’ goon? Undoubtedly. But the difference is, I can protect myself now. Shakka kicks the engines into gear. She hooked up her ‘pad to the car cogitaor.
My skull throbs and there is a flare of pain in my chest. Damn it. Not now, not here. I clamp down on it as much as is can, drawing deeper upon the Force.
“Something wrong, lord?” I hear Lachesis’ goon ask. Damn it.
“Yes,” I hiss angrily. “Stay focused.” Without pause, we race to the main road. It is just as deserted as the highway I took to get to Eisen’s estate. Not a soul can be seen. Then my comm beeps. I pick it up and suppress a groan when I see the number. “Yes?” I can’t be bothered to keep the irritation out my tone.
“My Lady Kyriaki, I see your night is a lot more adventurous than expected.”
“What do you want, Major?”
“Just offering comradely assistance. I understand the raid was a complete success. I do apologise about that regretful incident. My men are patriots, but sometimes they get overzealous.”

“Spare me the platitudes, Major. You ordered that raid without informing us. I wonder why.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to act quickly. While you were pouring over ledgers, my men were hard at work cleaning up the streets and breaking in criminals. I’d be happy to assist in interrogating your prisoners, but...”
“I have my own methods.”
“As you wish. It may please you to know that Chairwoman Nass has made a full confession. She will...”
“I have work to do,” and I hang up. A few seconds later, it rings again. For a moment I wonder whether Bakios is dumb enough to call again, then I realise it’s not him. I take a breath, straighten my back and accept the call. “Yes, my Lord?”

“You may dispense with the pleasantries,” Lachesis says sharply. “Status?”
“The warehouse was a smuggling centre, Lord. Bakios’ men burst in without coordinating with us. We recovered grain and took prisoners. A lot of evidence was destroyed, but...”
“Nothing someone says before the word is trivial, girl,” she cuts me off. “I don’t want a speech, I want results. One of you will deliver them to me, one way or another. Just a couple minutes ago, I was in a conference call with the Supreme Leader. He is taking a personal interest in this operation. Do you understand, Kyriaki? I have better things to do than to spend my day cleaning up for a gang of incompetents and knaves.”
The pain has not subsided. “Yes, my Lord. We’re pursuing fugitive traitors. You will have your results.”
“Make sure you have them in hand. You don’t want to lag behind the ‘good’ Major, do you?” Then she ends the call.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Say what you want about the KEC – they are terrible, for sure. But their groundcars are fast, though I reckon that this unit is unusually blessed because it seems to be Lachesis’ personal goon squad. Hasapis has been in touch with security over the comms. The fugitives have a headstart, but the vehicles you can get your hands on here are second or third rate. By now it is very dark. The road is deathly quiet. It is like driving on a ghost road. I fight against exhaustion – and my own cursed genes.

Not now. Not here, in front of a slave whose resentment is becoming more and more palpable, and Lachesis’ thug. I wish I could fish for my inhaler, but as it is I can just use the Force to steady my breathing, clamp down on the pain and compel my body to obey. My chest tightens and my throat burns. I wipe my face with a tissue, but I can’t stop sweating. Our drive increasingly becomes a blur.

Dimly, I hear Hasapis speak. “Lord, the police’s setting up roadblocks. Not that I expect much,” he mutters disdainfully. KEC and Orpo don’t get along, despite technically being the same beast. “But we’re faster and more mobile than the scum with their big truck full of grain. They’d have to pass through there. And look here,” he points at different spots on the car’s electronic map. I strain my eyes to gaze at it and nod curtly for him to continue. Best not to talk much while my throat is itching like hell.

“We take this back road and haul arse, and we may cut them off.” He looks at Shakka. “That easy enough for you to do, slave?”
“Yes,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “It makes sense, Master.” She briefly turns to me. I have the distinct impression she is mainly doing it to annoy him, as if to imply I trust her judgement more than that of a Knight of the Ebon Claw.
“Do it,” I state flatly. I feel short of breath. I’m not getting enough oxygen. I’m not getting enough oxygen. I can’t breathe. Panic threatens to seize me like a vice. My chest is heavy and tight, and it feels like everything around me is spinning.
Pathetic, weak body. Obey me. Become stronger. Don’t fail me now. I will endure. draw deeper upon the Force. It can sustain me long enough. It has to. Finally, the world stops spinning and I manage to get oxygen. This cannot go on forever. It will go on for as long as it has to.

I cough. Badly. And realise that their minds have wandered to me. “What...are...you staring at...?” I exclaim between coughs. It hurts to raise my voice. But they should not look at me like this, like I’m some pitiable, pathetic thing. Just like those fools at the Academy who treated me with patronising pity, while making bets about when I’d be put down like an old, stray dog. “Focus...on...the...road.”

Hasapis and Shakka have the good sense to do that, and my slave kicks the engines into gear, and so we speed across the ghost road. Most of the rest of our drive is a blur. I dimly perceive us going off the main road and shooting across the back road. My body stabilises a bit. The pain remains. I must and will endure.

And then we’ve found them, and everything happens so fast. I see two trucks, and a car. People seem to be moving a container into one of the trucks. A couple corpses can be seen on the side of the road. Their xenos helpers, I suppose? “Time to rumble. Stop the car, xenos We block the road,” Hasapis grunts. We come to a stop right on the road. He and I get out.

Light bursts from my hands, while he levels his rifle at them and pulls the trigger, firing a short burst. I hear a groan when a man falls, struck in the kneecaps. The criminals scatter. A comrade rushes to help the wounded man and drag him away. I will him to slam into the truck. I hear something that sounds like a sharp crack.

They return fire as they hasten into the truck. I duck for cover. With effort, I can summon a protective cocoon of the Force. A slug whizzes past me and grazes my ear. There is a painful ringing in my ears. Then something hard and metallic punches my leg. I stumble, but adrenaline means I only feel what amounts to a bee sting. I slap my thigh.

Then the truck races towards us. I throw myself to the ground. Hasapis is right behind me. The truck is trying to ram the groundcar. Shakka must be still inside. “Stop the truck!” Hasapis does not need my instructions. He’s already firing salvoes at the tyres. I feel the heat rising inside me as it spreads across my body like wild fire. While he riddles the tyres with slugs, I reach out with my powers. The tyres are just rubber.

My template turned the Grand Inquisitor of the Dominion to ash. I have had dreams where I’ve seen her storm through a Dominion like an avenging phoenix. Guards and Inquisitors are tossed hither and thither like rag dolls, or simply incinerated by the consuming flames. I cannot do that. But I have her genes. I have her potential.
So I melt the tyres.
The truck is speeding forward, but deflates as slugs tear through its tyres and blazing heat consumes them. It comes to a sudden halt, slamming against the groundcar. The impact knocks the latter back a bit.

I can still feel Shakka’s presence. She’s alive. I want to rush to her. But I cannot. “Seize them!” I call out to Hasapis. He’s already advancing towards the crashed truck. A woman stumbles out of the driver’s seat. Seeing Hasapis approach, she draws her pistol. He is faster and slugs tear through her shoulder. Her shot goes wide and she drops to the ground with a pained cry. I see more of the criminals staggering out. They go for their weapons.

I’ve had enough of this. “Do you want to die or do you want to live?” I call out. “I am a Disciple. I can flay you alive. I can conjure your worst nightmares, and bring them to life before your eyes. I can melt the flesh from your bone. Do you want to be turned to charred skeletons?” Three criminals aim their guns at us. One has a shotgun levelled at me. Her hands are shaking Another one turns tail, trying to run.

I feel a sharp pain in my chest, and ignore it. I draw my blade. It glows with a fierce light. In truth, I am no blademistress. It is rarely drawn in earnest, but they don’t know that. I ruthlessly force my way into the gang’s minds, and suddenly they see me the way I sometimes perceive her. Indomitable. Beautiful and terrible to behold. Wreathed in flames, hair ignited and with lances of fire bursting from my hands. I am nothing like her, but power exists when people

“Don’t, lord!” one yells, sounding panicked. “I surrender!” She drops her gun. The others follow. Their fear is strong I can taste it.
“On your knees. Hands behind your heads,” Hasapis barks as he approaches, weapon in hand. Through the Force, I grab the guns with my mind and scatter them out of reach. It hurts to speak, so I project my voice into his mind. Call the Captain. Dispatch pick-up team.
He gets on his comm quickly, but I have already blotted his words out. I feel like I’m baked in sweat. Now at last I turn my mind to Shakka. She comes staggering out of the groundcar, looking dizzy. There’s blood dripping from one of the tentacles sticking out of her skull. “I’m ok, Master,” she declares, leaning against the car and breathing in deeply.

“We’re just normal truckers. Small fry,” one of the prisoners insists fearfully. “We go where we’re told.”
“And do a little smuggling on the side, huh?” Hasapis demands.
“No, we just follow orders!”
“And you’ll tell us all about those orders if you want to keep your head on your shoulders.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want...”
My surroundings are starting to get blurry again and my body is shaking. I see one of the prisoners steal a glance at me. Anger rises inside me at my infirm, cursed body. “I didn’t give you permission to turn,” I hiss and my throat makes me regret it.

Finally I hear groundcars coming from afar. They come to a halt and KEC goons emerge. I don’t bother return their leaders’ salute. “Take them into custody,” I order them coolly. While the prisoners are being cuffed and led away, I glance at Shakka and make my way to our vehicle. Then pain strikes my chest. I sway, struggling for oxygen. I cannot breathe. Desperately, I reach out and try to draw the Force into me. But it feels so far away. Panic grips me like a vice. Then I collapse to the ground and everything turns dark.

My eyes flutter open. The pain is gone and I’m standing inside a reception hall. I blink, as I adjust to my surroundings. This is not just any reception hall. It’s Sophiahall. But it is very different. The marble floors are scorched, and the walls are marked with bullet holes and their tapestries have caught fire. The golden chandeliers are broken.

And then I hear the sounds of battle. Screams resonate across the corridors. I hear the tremors in the Force, and feel two presences. Each of them dwarfs me in power. One is the familiar shadow. Darkness beyond darkness. And at the heart of it a massive web that knows no end and draws in all who cross it. All-consuming, all-devouring.

The other is a Phoenix. Her power feels so intense it is like staring into the heart of a nuclear furnace. The villa trembles, as if struck by an earthquake. A life-sized portrait of Eisen falls from the wall, shattering. I want to turn around and flee or hide, but something draws me. I feel compelled to go to the epicentre of this clash and...do what? Aid my Master? Aid the Phoenix?

I am drawn to her. And so I pass through the corridors, stepping over charred corpses of soldiers and Harrowers alike, even as the floor beneath me shakes. My boots tread through pools of blood on the expensive carpet. Suddenly the tremors get so strong it seems the whole corridor is being thrown at me. A chandelier, portraits and precious sculptures all fall. I manage to shield myself, but there are painful bruises. I pick up the pace as the ceiling above me trembles.

Then suddenly the storm is over just as swiftly as it began. When I reach my Master’s beloved gallery, I behold an imagery of destruction. Blazing flames rage across the hall. Curtains and artwork alike are turning to ash. The panoramic window has been shattered and black clouds of smoke escape into the air. Somehow, they do not make me cough.

But that is not the truly shocking thing. No, that is the condition of my Master – the Supreme Leader, the Titan who holds my life in his grasp. Eisen’s massive body is slumped against the wall. Horrible burns mark his body. He is dressed in one of his grandiose uniforms bedecked with medals. But many of his fancy decorations have melted and his flesh smells like it has been cooked.

He looks at me. “Ah, my girl, kill the sub-human! We’ll destroy this mongrel together and you’ll be free of your curse.” He sounds...desperate? It is inconceivable, but it is the only word I can come up with.
Then I hear a voice, feminine, cold and resolute, coming out of the fire and smoke. “You’ll be ash, and soon your empire’s follow.” She looks at me and her bruised lips curl into a smile. “Hello, little sister.”

And I see her.
The Phoenix.
Elpsis.
My template.

She has levitated herself off the ground. Her head is crowned in angelic fire. Sheer heat radiates from her body. Her skin is pale and there are glowing cracks inside her features. She took has taken numerous wounds. Her armour is battered and bloody. She’s beautiful and terrible to behold. I’m afraid and yet drawn to her. Finally I find my voice and manage to speak. The word leaves my lips before I can even think. “No.” The voice that speaks sounds alien to me, and yet it is mine.

Eisen’s eyes are hateful and accusing. “You too...my daughter Kyriaki? Ungrateful cur!” he declares angrily...and disappointed? A storm of lightning sweeps from him with such force that it throws me against the wall. Pain explodes inside my body. But as more bolts of electricity shoot towards me, I suddenly find myself enveloped in a shield. The Phoenix glides through the air towards him. She takes the brunt of the storm and makes a motion with her hand.

Air filled with blazing heat sweeps towards him. He chokes as the smoke floods his lungs, and then he is dead. No Sith’ari, just a man. I look mesmerised when she descends to the ground in front of me. “We’ll be together soon. The Dominion wanted to destroy me. But their torture only made me stronger. Don’t be afraid. Keep heart. Soon I’ll return with fire and blood and destroy those who wronged you. We’ll lay waste to their armies and burn palaces to the ground.” She stretches out her hand.

I awake with a start. Bright light floods my eyes, making me squint. I reach up with my hands and find there is a rebreather attached to my face. I pull it off and rub my eyes. Slowly I adjust to my surroundings. The next thing I check are my hands and legs. No cuffs, no shackles. I take a deep breath. That means I’ve not been declared a useless eater. No fire either; no dead Supreme Leader; no Phoenix. It was all just a dream. An absurd, impossible dream. The fantasy of a child that wishes a saviour would come swooping down from the sky and take care of all her problems. It was such a nice dream. I turn my mind to the present.

The bed covers are soft. But there is something odd about the light. My eyes have adjusted to it, but it has a peculiar red tint. I turn my head, and see the lampshade. Reaching out with my hand, I touch it. And I wish I had not. The lamp-foot feels so soft. It’s skin. When I strain my eyes, I can see a tattoo on the shade. Just like one of those Shakka has on her tentacles. Twi’lek skin. I retract my hand like it has been burnt. And I really wish the dream had been real.

I hear boots against the floor, coming from outside, and I stiffen. The door opens. A middle-aged woman in white doctor’s clothes steps in. The armband on her smock catches my eye. A small, delicate hand offering a sword to a larger one. The symbol of the Amidala Corps. An auxiliary service for the military and Humanist industry – and a never-ending source of broodmares for Vaderites to marry off to their minions as favours.

She’s got this look on her face that’s both maternal and condescending. "Awake already? Don't strain yourself, my lady. We had to rush you here and you up to an oxygen tube. I fear your body is not...built for stress. Best you lie down until you are cleared, there's a good girl. We would not want you to experience another...episode."

I really, really want to incinerate her. I can already feel the fire rising, but clamp down it hard before the blaze of heat in my palm can become a fireball. “I am a Disciple, not a child. You don’t give orders to me,” I snap at her.
“A Disciple who just experienced a breakdown, but if you wish to discharge yourself...you know the risks,” she states, still looking at me like I’m an infant.
“Where’s Shakka?” I demand of her. “My Twi’lek slave. Where is she?”

She looks at me crossly. “You mean the indentured asset,” she draws out the last two words. “There are no slaves in the Imperium. Your Twi’lek is serving a lifetime contract to repay her species’ debt to mankind. It is important to remember the distinction. Otherwise unwholesome thoughts will take root in her mind. To answer your question, she was put to work with the other xenos tending to our guests.”

My eyes narrow. “She was hurt in a crash.”
“She was still able to walk and follow orders,” the doctor shrugs. “It’s an honour to be chosen to serve the defenders of mankind.”
“And that is why you have an AC armband? Because you’ll never do anything other than serve. And provide the fatherland with babies,” I snap, and get to my feet. I’m a bit wobbly on my legs.
The deep scowl on her face makes me smile. “We all do our part for the fatherland. One can only hope that you’ll have the fortitude to be victorious in the birthing bed, when your time comes.”

“The correct way for a squib to address a Disciple is ‘my lord’.” My voice is cold enough to freeze the room. “The indentured xenos serves mankind, the squib serves the Sith. That is the way.” My gait is stiff, but I manage. “Fetch my Twi’lek. Have her seen to. She hasn’t eaten and she’s useless to me if she’s not at full strength.”
“I have more important matters to...”
“I won’t tolerate delays. Find a minion to do it. I’m going to see Lord Lachesis.”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Lachesis is not difficult to find. The minions and servants are helpful enough to direct me to the office she has laid claim to. The thick door muffles the noise, but I hear her speaking just before the guard knocks the door. “If your findings get buried beneath an avalanche of stupidity because some ignoramus insists that Imperial intelligence must be a contradiction in terms, send them to me. I’ll make sure they end up at high command. Actually, do that regardless. You’re doing good work out there, my boy. Talk more later.”

I hear the sound of her disconnecting the call, and the door opens. It is late in the night, but she is still in uniform, seated behind a massive desk. Documents are strewn across the desk and there is a half-finished cup of coffee. I notice there are dark bags beneath her eyes, but her gaze is as resolute and piercing as ever.

And her tongue has not lost any of its sharpness. “Ah, awake at last, Apprentice. One hopes it'll take more than a bit of excitement and a few sparks to render you unconscious next time. Being a hero of humanity must be exhausting, Apprentice. So overcome with fervour and joy that you fell to the ground, I am told. You really must watch that you don't fall over more often. Next time someone might take advantage of your weakness.”

Don’t show weakness, maintain poise. Back straight, chin up, look her right in the eye. The words resonate inside my head like a mantra. “A momentary lapse. It won’t happen again, my lord.”
“I should hope so. Otherwise it would lead to all manners of awkward questions about the value of your genes. You may receive a summons from the Racial Health Department for a...medical examination. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
I hold my gaze. “No, my Lord.”
“I’m glad you agree that you wouldn’t like to be liquidated. The last thing we need is a suicidal Disciple on top of a weak one.
“Yes, my lord.”

Briefly, a picture on the wall briefly catches my eye. For a change, it is not an enormous portrait of Darth Vader or Malitia. It takes me a moment to put a name to the face, but then I realise it is a young Eisen in a black pilot’s uniform. Slim and brawny, he stands in front of a TIE fighter, legs apart and with his hand on a walking stick. His face lacks the fat and the double chin, but it has the same smirk. He looks strangely boyish. The twin eagles of the Cross of Glory are pinned to his neck. Unbidden, the dream comes back to me. Not a Sith’ari. Just a man.

“I see our Great Leader’s heroics caught your eye. I’m afraid we have more pressing business. Don’t just stand there, girl. Sit.”
Keeping a tight leash on my growing irritation, I pull up the chair and sit down. My hands are folded in my lap. I try to keep my face expressionless. “My prisoners are in our custody?”
“In the basement. Hasapis and the interrogators have been having a go at them. Do join them yourself. A Disciple doesn’t shirk from breaking enemies of the state with her own hands. You did well capturing and securing the grain. Hopefully you’ll also get them to say something useful.”
“They’ll talk, my lord. I’d like to direct the interrogations personally.”
She takes a sip from her cup. “It’s nice to see you get past your squeamishness. Or perhaps you just don’t want the Major to get ahead of you,” she shrugs. “It matters not. I will be reviewing every session anyway.”

“The Major knew about the warehouse, but tossed us a xenos stooge. If Sha...my slave had not been there, that truck would have gotten away. Doubtless some did before we arrived. An operation this big could not take place without his knowledge. And if it did, he’d deserve death for incompetence. The squib thinks he can play games with two Sith ladies.”
“The only thing that matters is results. Whoever gets them first is in the right.”
I’ll give you a good story, don’t worry. Something for the media to eat up. Probably something involving a nefarious Dominion-Republican Guard conspiracy. “There’s a Twi’lek resident who may be of interest to the investigation. Lena Fiatkin. She was arrested by the PF.”
“Be more specific. Many of the little beasts have been seized. Not that it is stops them from spawning.”

“Her name came up in one of the files, but her exact role is undetermined. I’d like to question her myself, before corrupt elements can help her escape or silence her before she can talk.”
“And it is just a coincidence that your slave happens to be a Twi’lek?” The question sounds rhetorical, so I say nothing. She shrugs indifferently. “I don’t care about the life of this or that xenos. By all means, put her to the question – on your responsibility. You will show me those files, naturally.”
“Of course, my lord. I’ll have them fetched.” After I’ve faked them. Or rather after Shakka has. She has a knack for faking someone else’s handwriting. “Any news from the teams securing the houses of the PF traitors? A Captain Onasis was among the executed. The man responsible for guarding the silos. His home merits particular scrutiny.”
“You’ll get all the paperwork soon enough, girl. I’m going to assign a secretary to assist you.”
“That is generous, but I believe I can manage, my lord.”

“It was not a polite suggestion, Disciple. I’m merely informing you. Tomorrow, the first xenos wreckers will make their confessions, and we’ll proceed to the next stage. Whether you can shape ti depends on you. Now go. Show your mettle. No squeamishness, no hesitation.”
“It won’t falter, my lord.” It is clearly a dismissal and so I get to my feet. “Praise Vader.”
“Yes, yes, get moving.” And so I exit the office and walk down the long corridor. I catch a glimpse of wounded KEC sleeping peacefully. A slave is cleaning the corridor floor, and gives me a wide berth when I pass, casting her eyes downward.
Down I go to the basement level. I wonder how many people have been tortured here, and whether Eisen ever attended. I dismiss the thought. He is not the type to participate in beatings or even watch them. He likes to disassociate himself from that. It is said that Furcht enjoyed giving his minions live tutorials on how it’s done.

Achilles made me look upon the severed heads of ‘traitors’ – one of them a servant who showed me kindness. When food shortages caused a protest, he fired into the crowd with a flak cannon and had some of the ‘instigators’ brought to him in chains so he could administer ‘justice’. As I enter the basement level, I hear screams, shouts and the sound of beatings coming from the cells. All the noise blurs into one for me.

“Who are your co-conspirators?!”
“I...I don’t know anyone...I work through middlemen...”
“They’ll kill me if...”
“If you don’t talk, I’ll break your neck!”
“I was just a driver. I couldn’t say no...”
“Work with me. You have a wife and children, don’t you? Do you know how high the mortality rate of the average concentration camp is?”
“Nass...it’s her!”
“We can do this all night.”

A KEC trooper directs me to a monitoring room. Upon entering, I see various computer screens showing surveillance footage. The interrogations are in various stages of progression. The prisoners are all restrained and most look bloody. One xenos prisoner is suspended from the ceiling. Banneret Hassapis seems to be applying a cattle prod.

Among the technicians and observers, I recognise Captain Diamandis. He looks tired, but his uniform is as spotless as ever. “Ah, lord. Good to have you with us.” I detect no sarcasm in his tone. “I take it you’re here to supervise. As you can see, things are ongoing. Would you like to observe or get involved directly. You can pass on instructions to our interrogators from this room and listen in.”
“I’m getting involved directly. I’ll focus on the ones that are of particular interest. The serious cases. You’ll keep me informed of the other ones. Show me what you’ve found out about our captives.”
He nods. “Yes, lord. Here, take a look.” He gestures to a monitor. A technician presses a button and the screen displays a series of photos and personal files. “Habitual criminals, draft dodgers, people with bad family backgrounds, workers with a black mark against them. Whoever’s employing picked people who’ve got nowhere else to go.”
“Leverage,” I mutter. My eyes are glued to the screen. In the background, I hear more screams, then a surge of electricity. “I trust there won’t be any sudden accidents.” There is a sharp edge to my voice.

“No need to worry, lord. My men are professionals. No prisoner will suddenly expire accidentally,” the good Captain assures me. “And we’ve got medics on stand-bye. Who would you like to question first?”
My gaze travels across the screen. “Him,” I point at one face – a Houk, “and her.” The other is human. “There is something you can organise for me.”
A few minutes later, I enter the Houk’s cell. There is blood on the floor. A medical tron hovers at the edge of the room. The prisoner’s hands are tied behind his back and suspended by a rope attached to his wrists. This has to be very painful. I believe it results dislocated shoulders. His torturers have added weights to his back. Houk are always ugly, but his face is covered in blood and bruises.

His shirt has been ripped and there are cuts all across his torso. But there is a gleam of defiance in his eyes. According to his files he's a survivor of the Prosperity Quarter uprising. A fighter. His family was decimated. He whistles when I step in. “The Lady Empress herself! Or whatever yer title is. I must’ve done somethin’ right if I’m getting such high company. You the old hag’s harlot?”
Then he cries out in anguish Hasapis applies the cattle prod. Electrical currents surge through him, causing his entire body to shake off. “Eager for another round, scum?” the Banneret demands coldly. For good measure, he sends another wave of electricity up the xenos’ legs. I know all too well what it feels like: a stab of thousands of sharp needles.
The Houk cries out in pain. He is gasping when the Banneret stops. “You...aren’t even doin’...it properly...soft, puny human. No wonder the Jedi keep kickin’ your arse.” Then Hasapis raises his fist and delivers a vicious blow to the face. I just watch. This is necessary. All of it.
“Stop,” I say after the third punch. “Your species is tough,” I state softly, “but you have limits. How long have you been in this position? How long can you hold out until your bones break and your arms pop out of your sockets?”

The Houk spits at me. I wipe the spittle away. “Wouldn’t you like to find out?”
“I’ll teach you some manners, boy,” Hasapis snarls.
“Burn his feet, if you would.”
A red-hot iron strikes the sole of his right foot. Then the other. The smell of burning flesh wafts into my nose. “What...what do you me to say?” he gasps in pain. “You don’t believe me anyway, and you’ll off me no matter.”
“Who gave the orders? Who are you smuggling the grain for?”
“Darth Eisen, m’lady. That belly ain’t gonna maintain itself.” Hasapis gets to work again. More cries of pain. “And Mahtara. Hell, I’m sure the Guard’s in on it, too.”

I raise my hand to keep Hasapis from striking anew. Simple beatings will not yield the results I need. The xenos looks like a savage, but he is strong. “Again. Who gave the orders? Who are you smuggling the grain for?” I ask softly. Slowly, I begin to peer into his mind. I’ll admit, the beatings may have softened up his mental resilience. “Who gave the orders? Who are you smuggling the grain for?”
“Frak off with your hocus pocus, queen,” he snarls, but he is sweating.
My will invades his mind. He is a squib, but he is not making it easy. I feel him trying to push back. I must dig deeper. My head is starting to hurt. “Who gave the orders? Who are you smuggling the grain for?” I place the index finger of my right hand on his bruised forehead. “Who gave the orders? Who are you smuggling the grain for?” His whole body is shaking and his breathing has run ragged. He’s hyperventilating.
“The...the...Maj...”
“My lord, he’s we’re losing him. He’s blacking out. He cannot remain in this position any longer,” the medical tron interjects in a dull monotone.
“I haven’t permitted him to black out. Stabilise him.” The robot glides over to apply an injection. The Houk looks at me with glazed, hate-filled eyes.
When he speaks, his words are a slurred growl. “Major was there...before convoys left...xenos not supposed to see, but I do. He...papers...not all shredded...he take some.”
“Major Bakios was there? Answer me.”
“Bakios...there.”

I realise blood is dripping from my nose and wipe it away. Taking a breath, I look at the tron. My head hurts. “Have him taken him down. I need him alive. Make sure he doesn’t die on your watch.” I beckon Hasapis to follow. “Come on.”
The next cell houses the woman. She is shackled and has evidently been beaten, but her clothes are intact, albeit bloodied. She flinches a bit when she sees us. “Praise Vader,” she calls out. She would probably raise her hand if she could. “My lady...lord...this is all a mistake.”
“Is it?” I arch an eyebrow. “Do you mean to suggest that the Disciples of the Vader would arrest a citizen without due cause?”
“No, no, my lord,” she says hastily, giving Hasapis a nervous glance. He has taken up position in the corner and folded his arms. “Every judgement you make is just..but you don’t have all the information. I’d never commit a crime – not knowingly.”
“You’re from Adlerberg, correct?” I already know the answer, but she nods. “Your name is Sara Filo. A year ago, your sister was arrested for perversion. With a female Twi’lek, no less. Correct?”

Hasapis scoffs in disgust. For just a moment, there is a flicker of something on Sara’s face. Regret? Guilt? Sorrow? I feel all three emanating from her, along with a heavy dose of anger. Her answer sounds rehearsed and mechanical. “My sister was a whore who shamed her species. Her punishment was just.” The lover was hanged. Sara’s sister was sent to a concentration camp after going on a ‘walk of penance’. The details are too revolting too discuss. She was stupid and fornicating with xenos is...unnatural, but the punishment was unconscionable.
Sara’s just a normal woman, a small criminal in a land ruled by big ones. Don’t let feelings interfere, Kyriaki. My expression hardens. “Your family was banished from Adlerberg. You lost your job. Did that make you angry at the Party? Is that why you descended into criminality?”
“No, no. The Party’s always right. I wanted to wipe away the shame. Do my part for the fatherland. That’s why I took the job here. I’m just a simple woman trying to do right.”
“By stealing grain?”

“By saving it. That’s what I was told. That we were intercepting a stolen shipment. Please, you must believe me. I’ve just been doing what I was told.”
“Who gave the orders?”
She pauses for a moment. “Captain Onasi. He said he’d received intel about a smuggling ring, and that I could wipe the slate clean by helping him blow the lid on it.”
“You shot at us,” Hasapis grunts.
“You shot first. What we did was wrong, but we were afraid. We didn’t know what we were dealing with,” she insists, sounding defensive. “Look, I know I did wrong. I’m ready to serve my time for that, but I’m not the villain here.”
“Quite a story. How convenient that Onasi is dead. Dead men can’t defend themselves against accusations.”
The mask cracks a bit. “It’s the truth, okay? I’m just trying to get by. Why don’t you go question those xenos. They’re the ones you should be after.”
“I believe you have more things to tell me. But perhaps all you need is the right motivation. You have a husband. Andre Condos.”

Immediately she look alarmed. “He doesn’t know anything about this. He’s a good man.”
I lean forward, close enough that she can feel my breath brush against her ear. “And it would be a pity if something happened to him and your child had to become a ward of the state.” Then I raise my comm to my lips. “Bring him in.”
The door opens, and two KEC goons drag in a cuffed man whose head is covered by a hood. Without further ado, they throw him to the floor. His head hits it hard. “Andre? No! He’s innocent. Let him go. Let him go!” Sara yells, straining inside her bonds. “
“Banneret, your sidearm please.” He hands it to me and I switch off the safety. “Well, what is your answer?”
“Let him go, then we’ll talk.”
“You’re in no position to make demands.” I squeeze the trigger and there is a crack. She cries out, before realising the slug hit the floor right next to him. I hold the gun to his head. “The next shot will hit him. Would you like to watch him bleed out in front of you?
“Go to hell, queen.”

Just before I shoot, I aim downward at his leg. His cry is muffled because of a gag in his mouth. “I may have damaged the femoral artery.” I missed it, not that she would be able to tell. “The blood loss will kill him unless he receives treatment now. And for that you have to talk. If you do not, we’ll make sure you’re awake the entire time so you do not miss a single moment while he bleeds out. Again, who gave the orders?”
“Frak you. The Major made me put the crew together. I’ve got documents to prove it.”
“Where are they?”
“With my aunt. She doesn’t know what they are. They’re in a chest. Now let him go.”
“Give me the address.” She lists the details and Hasapis jots down a few notes. “Thank you for your cooperation.” I withdraw the gun and pull off the hood. She gasps when she realises it’s not him. Just a random prisoner dragged from the dungeon. “You queen! You lied to me!”
“Consider yourself fortunate. And imagine what I will do to you and yours if your information does not check out.” I turn to the goons and gesture towards the male prisoner, who is groaning in pain. “Help him.” Then I walk out of the cell. Hasapis follows silently.

A few more interrogations follow. Some are personally directed by me. But I watch most of them. Alas, not all prisoners are this cooperative. Some denounce the Major, others Onasi, Nass or some random local official. One human prisoner does not need any prodding. Denouncing everyone under the heavens, he thanks us for showing the error in his ways before he fully succumbed to xenos Jedi anarchist lies. All interrogations are recorded.

The confessions will have to be collated and reviewed. Prisoners may be brought in for follow-up interrogations to ‘refine’ their confessions. By the time I am able to go back to my room my body is tired. I wash myself quickly. Fortunately, the nearby bathroom – one of many, I assume – is stocked with all the necessities, just in case Eisen and a coterie of family members and hangers-on happen to pop by.

As I start undressing, I am left to wonder what I should wear for bed. Or for the rest of what I expect to be a prolonged stay, for that matter. I did not bring fresh clothes with me. Then I hear a knock on the door. “Who is there?”
“Shakka, Master.”
“Enter.” A moment later, the door opens and Shakka steps inside. She’s carrying a bundle of clothes. Wordlessly, she lays them down on the bed. “The AC Corps woman told me to bring you these, Master.”
I scrutinise her for signs of injury. The collision has left a bruise. “I instructed her to provide you with some care. Did she follow my orders?”
There is a pause. “Yes, Master.”
“Honestly?”
“Reluctantly. Got some food and painkillers. I’m in the slave cottage. It’s...not too bad.”

“Your cousin’s wife will be brought in for questioning. Her name came up. She is a possible source in the case. It is imperative that she assist us in this case and that all information is brought to me promptly. Do you understand?” I don’t know whether the room is bugged, but I shall assume it is.
Fortunately, it seems she got the hint. “Yes, Master. I’m sure she’ll do everything to assist. I’ll keep my eyes open. I got some rest, so I can stay up and organise some files for you.”

“Yes, do that. You’re a good servant. Take this.” I hand her the papers I found in the Major’s study. “See if you can make sense of it.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see the lampshade. It is off, fortunately. A Twi’lek died to make this. It could have been Shakka. My slave. My...confidante. The only one I have. “Where are the clothes from?”
Shakka’s response is mechanical. “Confiscated from prisoners executed for theft. I was told to tell you that the xenos clothes have been deloused. Good night, Master.”
“Good night,” I mutter. She bows, leaves and I stare at the dead people’s clothes that have been neatly folded on my bed. I am drained, but I get little sleep tonight. For hours I stare through the window, watching the stars in the night’s sky. They look like little embers of light in the darkness of the void.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

After a dreamless, not particularly restful sleep I awake. Mundane details follow that are too trivial to go over in detail. I wash myself and get dressed. Some Disciples insist on having a maid servant to dress them. Pathetic, really. Effete even. Having a servant at your beck and call to hold your hand and attend to the simplest tasks does not prove your superiority over the riff-raff, only your laziness. So I attend to that myself.

I am quick to shed my nightclothes. They belong to a woman who is now dead. A nameless woman whose corpse was dumped on a pile of corpses and then incinerated. I shudder at the thought. All the clothes I was given belong to executed xenos or the Public Force officers the Major killed last night. None of this makes me comfortable. Besides, they give the wrong impression. Clothes convey status.

So I have a maid fetch me a KEC uniform from one of the soldiers who perished. While I wait, I make a few calls. It seems that the agricultural department has already found a new bookkeeper and the IT fellow is working on restoring the lost file. Fortunately, the maid returns with a uniform that fits well enough and someone washed out the blood. And so I slip into the body-armour of authority:

A white shirt with black leather buttons. Four silver buttons, and silvered threads on the shoulder tabs. Dark grey breeches. Black boots with the rich smell of polished leather. Dark grey tunic, with belt and a cap with a Vader helmet and the Imperial eagle. I look into the mirror and scarcely recognise myself. The uniform blots out the woman. I remove the insignia. It would not do try and usurp a rank in a group I do not belong to. Besides, I believe whoever used to own this uniform was low in the hierarchy anyway. Instead I attach the armband of a Disciple of the Vader – a stylised Vader helmet on a red field.

Not yet anyway. I leave the KEC ebon claw runes collar patch. Finally, I pick up my blade and slip into a scabbard at my side. Before I leave the room, I take my inhaler, place my lips around, press it and breathe in deeply. I cannot afford any breakdowns today.

I meet Shakka on the way to the dining room. She looks uncomfortable at the sight, but says nothing. “Good morning, Master.”
We pass people on the way or moving away from breakfast. “Slave. I trust you are rested.”
“As much as I can be, Master,” she says simply. It sounds evasive.
“Did you make any progress with the...task I gave you?” I ask as we get closer to the hall.

“Looks like it’s a page from Glorious Conflict. I remember quotes you had to memorise at the Academy, Master. That’s the surface. But I think it’s written in cipher. A code. Certain letters seem to be arranged in a pattern,” she adds, perhaps sensing that I do not quite get what she means. I’ll never admit it out loud, of course, but her grasp of technical subjects and my comparative ignorance of such matters make me feel a bit foolish.

“You can crack it?”
“I can crack anything – with the right tools. A decoding machine would help, otherwise I’ll improvise. It’s going take a bit.”
“Time is not something we have. The KEC will provide you your device, and you will get results. Understood?” I’m starting to sound like Lachesis. As I reach the hall, I run into a cook.
“Welcome, my lord. We’ll have breakfast for you right away.” Then she looks at Shakka. “Not her. No xenos.”
“I ate with the other servants, Master,” Shakka says quickly, looking away. “I can give those documents another look.”

This is nothing new to me. Servants – and xenos at that – do not eat in the same room as their betters. It is normal. It is the way things are. Then why does it make me angry that Shakka is separated from? “You can have the leftovers. I’ll call you when I have need of you.”
Then I hear two KEC men mutter to themselves. “Look at how red she is. It’s all that human flesh she stuffed herself with. If only the rest of the Imperium was like Chios, the wormheaded devils would be gone.”
“Disgusting, yes,” his comrade opines, leering at her. “Still, you can almost see why the Jedi prostitute themselves to these whores.” His thoughts are impure.
I cut through them with sharp words. “Need I remind you of the consequences of thoughtcrime? Especially when it relates to lusting after a xenos?”
“What...lord...I’m not...”
“The temptations of the xenos are very real, soldier. Do not allow your purpose to be distracted by lust for the impure. The xenos are useful, but we cannot allow them to subvert. It is as said in Glorious Conflict.”
“Yes, lord. Sorry, lord.”

“As you were.” Doubtless he’s muttering curses under his breath. Regardless, I find a table to sit down on and get some reading done before maidens serve breakfast. It is a good Imperial breakfast with toast, fruit, marmalade and all that.
As I help myself to a piece of bread, I glimpse a young woman stride towards me with purpose. She is wearing a dowdy grey uniform and has long, almost angular features. Her brown hair is at a practical length. She wears the armband of the Amidala Corps: a small, delicate hand offering a sword to a larger one. Raising her right arm in salute, she declares, “Praise Vader!”
Oh, good grief. It’s one of those. I raise my arm vertically from the elbow. It is a more relaxed salute I have seen KEC members use. “Praise Vader. Your name? I trust you have a reason to approach me.” And interrupt my breakfast, I think a bit sourly.

There is a slight pink hue to her cheek. “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Cordé. Maiden Cordé Tycho, my lord. Amidala Corps, KEC Auxiliary Service. It’s an honour to work with...a Disciple. Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself, sorry. My Matron assigned me to your services.” Maiden is the standard rank in the Corps. A ridiculous one. I think Matron is like being a low-ranking officer.
“You’re my secretary,” I realise. “Lord Lachesis sent you.”
“Yes, she did! Well, she didn’t tell me herself obviously, but you know. I’m here to help you in any way,” she says with all the enthusiasm of an eager puppy. “I can write and prepare reports, manage databases, analyse and collate information. I was trained at the...”
“This isn’t a job interview,” I cut her off. Is she really this naive or is her behaviour just an act to lull me in? “I don’t need a laundry list of your credentials. I need you to be able to carry out my orders without me looking over your shoulder all the time. Our mission is very important. There are traitors in Hope Falls. You will help me unmask them so that they can be face justice. Do you understand?”

Her expression shifts, as does her tone. “I understand the gravity of the situation, lord. Justice must be served. Few Maidens are chosen to serve directly under a Disciple. I won’t taint this honour with sloppy work.” And let this chance go to waste? Maybe that was a spark of ambition.
“I’m pleased to hear that. You’ll be working with my Twi’lek slave – Shakka. She’s under your authority, of course, when I’m not present. However, she’s very smart for her kind. A credit to her species. If her behaviour is disrespectful, you’ll report to me and I’ll judge and discipline her if I deem if necessary.”
She nods earnestly. “Understood. Colonel Andino says that the xenos are like children, not fully formed and prone to misbehave. We must give them boundaries and corrections, but also demonstrate good behaviour by example.”
Xenos are unsuited for independence, but some can be almost as good as humans. Shakka is one of them. The more I see of human depravity, the more I wonder how worthy humans are. “You have the right mind set.” I take a sip from my tea.

“Thank you, lord. So where are we going?”
“The PF jail.”
“I heard the Public Force arrested a number of xenos criminals. Should I to assist you in questioning?”
“You’ll learn your task in good time. The PF is corrupt. Trust no one there.”
“Yes, lord. I won’t disappoint you.”
“I finish my tea, and get up. “Follow me. Your name is unusual for a Tephriki.”

Her expression brightens. “It’s Naboo. I’m named after a handmaiden of Queen Padme Amidala. She was her confidante, her protector. When Padme made the supreme sacrifice for her beloved, Cordé settled on Tephrike. She married a native and kept Padme’s ideals alive among his people. My family’s from where they settled.”
Ah, yes, Padme. Who sacrificed herself for a man’s ‘greatness’. How inspiring. “A handmaiden and a bodyguard. I can the admiration in your voice. Do you aspire to be her?”
“No, lord. To be a missionary. She was who she needed to be at the time, just like Padme. I admire both for it. But it’s not enough to emulate.”

We meet Shakka outside at the groundcar – a new one since our old one suffered a mild case from being rammed by a truck. Seeing the stranger, my Twi’lek bows her head slightly to me. Her stance is demure – but I can feel the resentment bubbling beneath the surface. “Master. We’re good to go. The groundcar’s been refuelled.”
“This is Maiden Cordé Tycho. She’ll be working under me. You will...assist her.”
“As you command.”
“Shakker, is it? Pleased to meet you. Those are some...interesting facial markings you have. I must say, you speak Basic so well! No accent at all. It’s almost like listening to a human. Did your Master teach you?”
“I learned myself,” Shakka says through gritted teeth. She sees the look I give her. “I will fulfil my duties diligently and obediently.” She looks to me. “Shall we, Master?”

“Get in the car.” With Shakka in the driver’s seat, Cordé next to her and me in the backseat, we get moving. “Once we’re there you’ll check the prison archives – inventory lists, case files about confiscated grain, lost weapons and so on. However, your focus is not just on what is there, but what they leave out. Those criminals at the warehouse got their weapons, trucks and fuel from somewhere. Is anything missing? Or has it been improperly documented? Operate under the assumption that the PF has been bought. Don’t accept excuses. Understood?”
“Yes. I won’t let you down, lord,” Cordé says piously.

The windows of some of the housing areas have been smashed. Some xenos bodies still hang from lamp posts. A haggard, bruised Mon Calamari has been put in a pillory. Her head and arms have been inserted through the holes of the wooden board. An explanation placard proclaims her to be a sloth. A Gamorrean PF trooper guards him. Armed soldiers are on patrol. Most of them are in PF uniforms, but they seem to be under KEC supervision. Shakka slowns down the groundcar a bit.

A small, near-silent crowd of xenos has gathered in the square. Guards watch them. Gallows have been set up. Two young soldiers wrap a noose around a Togruta prisoner’s throat. “...for the crime of wrecking, you have been sentenced to death,” an officer is reading out. The trapdoor springs, and the xenos is left dangling from the rope, with her own body weight being used to tighten the noose around her trachea.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you,” the officer addresses the crowd. A few children cry out. Guards have their rifles levelled at the crowd. “It’s so messy,” Cordé remarks as we drive past. Her chipper attitude has vanished. She seems solemn. Her aura is troubled.
“What?”
“All those dead bodies dangling in the air. Unhygienic. Don’t misunderstand me, they must’ve deserved it. But can you imagine how stressful carrying out an execution must be? What effect it has on a soldier? And why does it have to be in public?”
“I have summarily executed unarmed xenos,” I say coldly. “You could call it a Disciple’s initiation rite.” Shooting the escaped prisoners in the forest was not the only time at the Academy.

“I meant no disrespect, lord. You Disciples shoulder a heavy burden. I’m just worried about the psychological effect on our people. I used to work in a hospital for soldiers who’d been broken by it. Poor lads. And I know of soldiers who’d become so brutalised they started to enjoy the killing. Gas or poison is much more efficient and humane. What do you think, lord?”
“I think killing is a serious matter. I think that when you kill someone, no their crimes, you should have the strength to look them in the eye. Otherwise you’re lacking in Humanist spirit. The Vader did not avert his eyes when he annihilated the Tusken savages or the Geonosians.”
“You’re right, of course, lord. But the Vader was an extraordinary being, and we aren’t him.”

The prison looms ahead of us. The penitentiary is surrounded by a wall topped with barbed wire. Shakka shows our credentials to the Public Force guards at the gate. It’s mostly Gamorreans and Houk, with some human NCOs. I sense the fear emanating from several of them when they see the KEC sign on the groundcar. We are quickly waved through without further checks.

Shakka brings the vehicle to a halt, and opens the door for me. Upon getting out, I receive the salute of the building guards. “Hail the Imperium!” a Gamorrean guard declares because xenos are not allowed to praise the Sith’ari.
I receive a salute once more when a human NCO sees my ID. “Praise Vader!”
I go straight inside, with Shakka and my new minder in tow. “I’m Lady Kyriaki of the Disciples of the Vader, sent by the Supreme Leader. Where is your commanding officer?”
“Uh, on coffee break, lord,” one of the on duty personnel says. He’s a Gamorrean. “Can fetch him, but he not like...”
“What he likes is irrelevant, but his presence is not necessary. I need a list of all prisoners arrested in the last twenty-four hours.”

“You're the boss lady. A bunch of ‘em are still being questioned...”
“Perhaps the presence of a Sith will help matters.”
“Want us to make anyone sing fo’ you?”
“Not yet.” A PF minion hands me a list after the machine finishes printing. My finger travels down the piece of paper. It is a long one. Many names are marked as already dead. I stop when I reach Lena Fiatkin. My expression remains unchanged, but I brush against Shakka’s mind. She’s alive.
I feel a surge of hope coming from her. Hopefully it will keep her from doing anything rash. You stay away from the prison cells. “My secretary and my slave need access to the archives. Where does your commandant keep the interrogation transcripts?”

“In his office,” a man dressed in a KEC uniform says, having appeared in the corridor. He snaps to attention. “KEC liaison, lord. Here to ensure things run smoothly after until the commandant gets a...new XO. I wasn’t informed you’d be inspecting the prison, but I know the Lord Commander’s directive. I’ll make sure everyone here does everything to assist.”
I mark the Twi’lek’s name with my pen. “Have her prepared for questioning. And these here, too.”
He frowns. “I believe she already made a confession. Would you like to see the head interrog...”
“New facts have come to light that merit further investigation by state security. Have someone take my slave and Maiden Tycho to the archives.”
“Yes, lord.” One of the Gamorreans is about to open his mouth, but the Knight gestures to a human PF guard. “Not you. Corporal, escort the lady, will you? I’ll show the inspector to the office.”

With that he leads me down a corridor. “Leave a Twi’lek alone with one of our rambunctious porcine auxiliaries and she’ll fill his simple head with schemes. Leave him alone with a fair human maiden and he’ll get impure thoughts,” he explains.
“Strange that we know we cannot trust our xenos servitors, yet we cannot do without them all the same.”
“Everyone has their place – they just need to remember it.”
“Nass – the Gungan - is she still incarcerated here?”
He nods. “Maximum security wing. The Major’s been questioning her personally. Access is restricted to authorised personnel. Personal order from the Lord Commander, you understand.”

“Of course. Is the Major directing the wording of the transcripts, too?” I ask rhetorically. Opening the door, I step into the commandant’s office. The ubiquitous portrait of Darth Vader hangs on the wall. The desk looks like it is made from some fancy wood. Fancier than my desk back home, incidentally. And that leather chair is decadently comfortable.
I examine the desk further. Who would have thought, it has an area where there is a not quite perfect join. I find a hidden compartment. But before I can take a look, I hear the sound of approaching boots from outside. I make a snap decision and leave the hideout open.
Then the commandant stands at the threshold. He stretched his right arm out. “Praise Vader!”
“Praise Vader!” This is tiring.
“My humble prison is being graced with the presence of an Apprentice of the Vader. What an unexpected honour.”
“You may dispense with the pleasantries. I’m here to inspect your operations.”

“Of course, I have heard of your humble request. Rest assured, my men have been toiling around the clock. Truth be told, most of our work is done. Our prisoners have only required a few illuminating sessions before they confessed their errors.”
“You may start by giving me access to your files. Promptly.”
"Patience, my most munificent apprentice. Such retrievals take time after all. Mayhaps you could wait in the cantina while..." It is a rare skill to sound both sycophantic and patronising.

Maybe it is because I am frustrated and fed up. Maybe I need to take my anger at collapsing out on someone. Or I want to send a message to the Major. Get him focused on me. Or a combination thereof. Regardless, I ball my bionic hand into a fist and the commandant suddenly feels his windpipe being crushed in a grip as tight as a tron’s pincer. As he gasps and chokes, I feel something akin to satisfaction. A petty feeling. Being able to toy with the life of a mere mundane like him is not power, just the illusion of it.
“I am not your munificent apprentice. You seem to live rather comfortably for a man of your rank. I wonder, where do you get the money from? Do you have something to hide? You will comply with my orders, or there’ll be consequences.”

His face is contorted in an expression of hatred and fear. “Y-yes...lord,” he gasps.
I say let go and he slumps. “Then provide the documents. Now I have a few prisoners that need to be made available for questioning. The Gungan is in max-security?”
“Yes. I can’t give you access to her. Only Lord Lachesis can.”
“I’m aware. You will, of course, make the KEC aware of anything she confesses.” I give the compartment in his desk a meaningful glance. “While you make sure I have what I need, I will question some of your prisoners.” Let the Major hear about me barging in. Let his attention be on me, while Shakka does her part.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

And so it is just me. Sadly, that’s not totally true. I have a PF thug and a Vaderite AC woman for company. What’s the AC? A corps full of self-important Humie women who have a good time lording it over ‘xenos’ and telling us being kicked around is for their own good. Then eventually a Humie male picks them to be his broodmares and pop out five kids for a Mother’s Cross. But they can feel mighty long as there’s ‘xenos’ to kick around.

But this doesn’t matter at the moment. Lena’s alive. That’s the one thought running through my head as I follow this Cordé woman down the stairs. We can get her out. There’s a chance. I can’t do anything to mess this up. I can keep my promise.
And then we can get out of this hell. Firith’s plan is crazy, but he’s also right. No matter whether we wear the collar or not, we’re still slaves. We can complain and wait for someone to swoop and save us – and wait till the day we die – or do something about it. I know my choice. But for now there are appearances to maintain.

“So, Shakker,” the Amidala Corps woman begins.
“Shakka,” I mutter to myself. Sadly, she hears me.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I said, girl.”
“Don’t give her lip, Twi’lek,” the PF thug growls.
“Now, now, don’t scare the poor thing, there’s a good lad.” At least I’m not the only one she’s being patronising to. “Your Master informed me that you are quite educated for your kind and this is not the first time you’ve completed important tasks for her.”

How much did Kyriaki tell her? Twi’leks aren’t supposed to be educated. We shouldn’t know anything except to be able to count to hundred, write our name and do as we’re told. “I go where my Master commands and complete the tasks she gives me,” I answer mechanically.
“I’m pleased to hear that. If only more of your kind were like that. We need motivated go-getters. Do sound a bit more enthusiastic, if you would. Surliness is unbecoming. We are doing the people a great service.”
Not my people, you pompous queen. “Yes, ma’am.”

And then as we walk through a corridor I see her. The Gamorrean who saved me when my own kind tried to lynch me. Henna. She’s wearing that horrible uniform and dragging Bola Daveedo along on a leash. The Rodian from the neighbourhood committee Lena serves on.
Sadness rises in me when I see her state. She has been badly beaten. Her face is covered in bruises, her striped prison uniform is bloody and she’s in chains. Frak, I’m sorry. I force myself not to look away from the desperation and pain in her eyes.
“Hey, Red, long time no see,” Honna says, as if we’re old friends. For just a moment, there’s something in her eye. Like she is...ashamed. She has no right to feel that. “See you made it out of no-go-land just fine.”
“Yes,” I state tersely.

“You know this..Gamorrean?” AC lady asks.
“Oh, little Red here was completing an assignment for her Master. Some Twi’lek thugs attacked her. Thugs had her outnumbered, but she resisted them anyway. My team chased ‘em off, ma’am,” Henna speaks before I can answer. “Ain’t that right?”
Only now do I realise that I’m still staring at her prisoner. “Yes, that’s what happened.” My voice might as well be a monotone.
“Dreadful. Just dreadful,” AC woman exclaims. Her voice is really starting to grate on me. “That they would attack someone of their own kind who has made something out of herself. Petty jealousy, I’m sure. They should aspire to be like you, not squander their lives.”

Yes, because we should all aspire to be leashed and collared like wild beasts and put up with pompous arseholes like you.
“Aramgir?” Bola mouths at me. “Lena?”
“They’re alive,” I say quickly. “Master’s here, we can...”
“Hey, no whispering here,” the human PF thug growls. Honna silences the poor prisoner by backhanding him.
“Not hard enough. Sucker-face needs discipline.” Bola visibly forces herself not to flinch, as the goon reaches for his baton and slams it into her stomach. Her cry of pain makes me wince.
“She needs to look presentable. sir,” Honna suddenly interjects. He glowers at her. “Hey, not my idea. I’d gladly paint Greenie’s skin red, but orders are orders. Comes straight from the interrogator. They got plans for her an’ that fish woman.”

The thug spits at Bola, but does not hit her again. “Not like it can make her any uglier. Get that thing out of my sight, xenos.”
“Come on, Prisoner 019,” Honna declares, dragging him along. “We’ve got an appointment to keep. There’s that confession you and the inspector talked about.”
It’s futile, but I try anyway. “She may have useful information. My Master will want...”
“That is for your betters to decide,” prissy AC woman cuts me off. “Move along, girl, and let the police do its job.” She walks on and I can do nothing except follow. “Such an unpleasant business. But some people need to be shown boundaries. And, good gracious, these Gamorreans need to learn about proper hygiene. We’ve made excellent progress in showing them how to dress, but hygiene is another matter. Fortunately, you’ve been taught to keep yourself clean.” Frustration and anger swells inside me. Focus on the goal. Even if it means looking aside while people die.

We reach the archives. There’s a big cogitator that looks like ancient. Cordé directs minions to fetch various ledgers and such. The PF goon remains in the room for some reason.”Thank you for escorting us,” Cordé tells me. “I won’t keep you any longer. You can return to your post.”
“I don’t think you’ll be safe with that thing,” the human thug says like I’m not standing right next to her. “A Maiden shouldn’t be alone with a monster.”
“I’ll be fine, good sir,” her tone is just a little terse. “Her Master has assured me she’s well-behaved and you have cameras, don’t you? Besides, she has a collar.” Thank you for reminding me. Not like I don’t have the cold metal and the constant itching.
“Who knows what wicked secrets and perversions she might be hiding. You need someone to keep her obedient.”
“It sounds like you’d enjoy it. Violence is not something to be revelled in.”

“You’re naive. But a soft maiden cannot understand what’s needed to put the xenos in their place.”
“Corporal, I’ve heard quite sufficient from you, thank you very much! You can take it up with Lady Kyriaki...if you’d like to explain to a Disciple why you are wasting our time.”
He glowers at her. “We’ll have a guard outside.”
“Finally we’re alone. I take a breath. “Alright, ma’am, I can get started right anyway. I say I’ll have a look at...”
“Not so fast, girl. There are forms to observe. We must log every folder we access. And wear gloves to handle the documents. Otherwise we might damage them.” She fetches a pair of gloves and hands them to me. “I've heard that the pigmentation of your people can stain documents, so it's best we don't damage valuable records from the Imperium. Be a good girl and put the gloves on.”

I groan and take them. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What was that?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” I say through gritted teeth.
"Now that’s better. I know you're trying your best to be civilised, Shakker. But do try to think more like a human. As the good book says, 'Only when the beast desires order can it be civilised'. Now get to work and show me what you can do. There’s a good girl.” And so we work on the files the ‘proper way’. It takes a while.

“I can access the data files on the cogitator for you, ma’am,” I suggest after we’ve organised a stack of documents. Who knows, maybe my skin pigmentation won’t stain the keyboard.
“Hmmph? You know how to use this device? Quite unusual for your kind. Is that even allowed?”
“I do it for my Master.”
“Ah, I see. She taught you. Well, go ahead. But don’t break anything.” I’m so close to telling the cow I do all technical stuff for Kyriaki because she fails at the most basic problems. I hold my tongue. Narrowly. Speciesism is the mother’s milk for humans. It’s gospel for them that they’re magically superior and we’re just sub-sentient creatures that should be trained like dogs.

So instead I set to work. At least this cogitator does not take so long booting up. Then we get a warning on screen about access being denied. Cordy, Cordé or whatever her name is looks over my shoulder, hovering like every annoying bureaucrat. “What’s that mean?”
I internally growl, but keep my voice level. “I just need to enter the security details Master gave me,” I lie.” Actually I need to slice through it, but that won’t take long. I wish the damn woman would stop peering over my shoulder. I start the slicing programme, but the flickering of symbols as the password is tested draws her attention.
“That doesn’t look good. Is it a virus? We can’t risk any data loss!”

“It’s fine, ma’am, trust me. I’m just importing the hash credentials from Master’s encrypter cache.” This means nothing at all, but some technobabble never fails me when dealing with people who have no clue. And because this cow can’t be seen to be ignorant to a ‘mere xenos’ she nods as if she understands me.
“Ah, yes, good girl. Your Master is very thoughtful. Carry on then.”

There is a beep and the password becomes visible on screen. Predictably it's 'Pr@1s3V@d3r' which someone must have thought was really clever. Even their passwords can't stop being sycophantic stupidity.
"Ah, a good password. Why does it have those funny things in it though?" Cordé asks. “It looks indecent.”
"It protects it from unauthorised breaches," I say with a straight face, having just hacked it in less than five minutes.
"Fantastic. That's human ingenuity at work, my little red friend. You should learn from your betters."
"I'll keep that in mind...ma'am," I say. I wish I could insert something sharp into her throat. At least Kyriaki just tells me to do this or that.

Sadly, she doesn’t get the hint and shut up. “’I must say, Shakker, I’m quite impressed you’ve learned all these technical things. Even humans struggled to pick them up, so you’re definitely a novelty among your species to learn them.”
Oh, go to hell. I just about keep myself from saying it’s almost like we’re sentient beings like her. “Master picked me because I’m capable and diligent, ma’am.”

“Your Master really has sound judgement, and knows how to bring out the best in her workers. She will go far with those skills. You need to work on your attitude, but that is just a matter of education and commitment on your part. If you are studious and obedient, you will become a model to your people. But don’t let it go to your head. As it is written, ‘pride is the commencement of all sin’. Anyway, do access the files and print them out. Make sure nothing is missing.”

Naturally the printer doesn’t work as it should. It sure takes up a lot of space though. "What's wrong with the printer? Have you done something? It says it has a paper jam!”
“Just a moment, ma’am. Let me try this first.” And so I use the most magical trick in the book: turn of the printer and restart it. And guess what, it works. “This model isn’t very good.”
"We make do with the tools we have” she lectures in that annoying voice of hers. “Well, get to work. I’ll have a look at the documents we already have. You will take notes.”
I soon present her with the printouts and she sets to work. Fortunately, this means she shuts up a bit. “Well, this is curious,” she says after a long while.
“What is?”

“Oh, a report about a prison transport from four months back. It was attacked by Republican Guard terrorists. The prisoners tried to escape, but were shot. However, three of the prisoners have been identified among the dead at the warehouse. Make a note about this, and copy the report.” We go through more paperwork. I do the menial chores.

“Oh, my, the cost codes are out of date.”
“Cost codes?” I really shouldn’t have asked. She gets a gleam in her eyes, like she can explain the world to the dumb ‘xenos’.
“Oh, I forgot, you’re still learning about civilisation. I apologise. A cost code is when things are charged. Here we see zero balance,” she preens herself. “You do know what balance is, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ah, good, here you can see...”

“Sorry the interruption, ma’am, but maybe it’s best if I just make a copy and take some notes. I can read Basic just fine. The Masters taught me.” The last part is a big, fat lie, but it panders to what she thinks anyway. And we are probably being watched, but I keep myself from blurting it out. “Then things will go faster.”
She passes some documents over and points to areas she’s marked. “These are the pertinent sections. They’re using codes they shouldn’t be using. Fortunately, I know an auditor in the Financial Police. I’ll make some calls.”

Finally, I get some time for myself. Just the camera, the paperwork and me. And probably a guard listening it from outside. I work my way through the documents. It is a litany of numbers and tyranny. Here, a prisoner is reported to have been ‘shot while resisting arrest’, there they ‘accidentally’ died during interrogation. Plus, of course, financial stuff. My thoughts drift to Firith. Is he alright? Has the PF gotten its paws on him? Is his son okay? They have to be.

Eventually, AC poster child returns. I already miss the peace and quiet. “Hard at work, I see!” Why does she have to sound this chipper?
“Compiled a summary of documents, ma’am. And made the copies you wanted.”
“Excellent! Idle hands are the demon’s workshop!” She is a fountain of pithy platitudes, all delivered in that overenthusiastic voice that grates on my ears. “My contact has confirmed that these cost codes are not in order. They’ve been out of use for years. He’s going to have a look at their expenses and get back to me. Moreover, some of their expense areas curious. They’re charging a lot of money for ammunition, vehicles and so on, but it is far beyond what would be allotted for a reservation of this size.

Reservation, yeah, right, that’s what this is. “Maybe it’s just a cover. They’re recording expenses that don’t exist so they can skim on the side.” I think back to the hidden paper Kyriaki gave me. It came from the head thug’s villa.
Her face lights up. “We are thinking the same thought, little red xenos. No one would notice, unless they check their expenses thoroughly.” And so we go off to check the inventory. Cordé gets us passed the goons well enough. And then we start bean-counting. As expected, things don’t quite add up. “If they ordered AR-9 rifles, where did they go? How can weapons keep malfunctioning during exercises?” I hear Cordé mutter.
Naturally there has to be an interruption. “What are you doing there?” a pompous looking official in uniform demands.
“Checking the inventory, good sir,” Cordé responds in that unflappably, annoyingly cheerful voice of hers. “How can I help you?”

“The Twi’lek must come with me.”
“Not this again,” I mutter beneath my breath. Sadly not quietly enough for him to miss it.
“It would be smart not to get uppity. Come along now.”
“Wait, what is the meaning of this?” AC poster child demands.
“We detected a security breach on the archive main frame,” he snaps. “And do you know what she was doing when you left her unattended. She was seen making transmissions. We need to find out where to.”

“Shakker, explain yourself?” she asks sternly. Is she for real?
I try my best to control myself. “I did what you told me to do. Access the cogitator, copy files.”
“She’s a slave. Her word can’t be trusted, unless the truth has been forced from her mouth.”
Cordé nods. “You’re right. She is a slave. A savage beast born in sin.” You queen! A thug grabs my lekku, yanking hard. I can’t keep myself crying out in pain. Then suddenly she speaks up again. “And she’s been doing her best to overcome her nature and be a loyal servant. I cannot hand her over to you on hearsay alone. I’d like to see the footage that shows her committing the crime.”
Head goon glares at her. “You aren’t authorised to view them, Maiden. Need I remind you of your place in the hierarchy?”

“I want to help you avoid a grave mistake, sir. You see, per Article IX, Section 7 of the Law on the Treatment of Redemptive Labour, she is the indentured asset of a Disciple. You need her owner’s permission first.”
The goons let go, though not before giving my lekku another hard yank that sends me spinning in pain. “Legalistic hand-wringing will doom us. Darth Lachesis will hear of this.” Then the scumbags are gone.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“I did what the law demanded,” she states. “Now back to work.”
Eventually my commlink starts ringing. I pick it up, and catch Cordé shooting me a disapproving look. “Master?” I speak into the comm.
“I’ve finished up here. How far are you?”

“That call should go to me,” I hear Cordé mutter beneath her breath.
“Er, we’ve got some intel for you, Master,” I respond. Because that’s really what I want to talk about at the moment. I want to know whether Lena is getting out. “How did the interrogations go?”
“Not in this line. Give me Maiden Tycho.”
Cordé all but snatches the comm out of my hand. “Lord, I’m happy to hear from you,” she says brightly. “I’ve been going through the inventory and the prison files. There are some things you should be aware of. Your slave has been useful, though she needs to learn respect for her betters.”
“We’ll talk about the details in person. I’m leaving now. Are you done?”

“Oh, alright,” she looks a bit put out. “With your permission, I’d like to finish up here and then debrief the commandant. Your slave can update you on our progress.” Debrief the commandant? What the hell is she playing at? Does she want to inform on us?
“Alright, I’ll meet her outside.” Then Kyriaki hangs up.
Cordé puts the comm down and looks at me, frowning. “You have your own comm? I think that’s contrary to regulations.”
“For when Master sends me out to complete a task. As you say, there’s terrorists and traitors everywhere, ma’am.”
“Hmmph. Your Master gives you a strange amount of freedom.”
“Not my place to question Master.”
“No, it’s not. Make sure you never forget where you belong. Anyway, off you go. I trust you can present our findings accurately.”
“Yes, ma’am.”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

The corridors of the jail are abuzz with activity. Men and women – most of them xenos – are being delivered to their cells, taken to interrogations or executions. Some sob; many are beaten. I hear the crack of a gunshot from afar while a guard delivers me to the cells. I crinkle my nose at the rancid smell in the air. There was a time when I would have attributed it to the degeneracy of the xenos. They come from filth, and go back to it. Now I know that it is because those in charge have not cared about the most sanitary measures.

The Public Force guard navigates the detention block. The cell he leads me to is small. It is dark, with only a small kerosene lamp to light the gloom. Yet even in this darkness, I can see the cell is overcrowded. Through the Force, I sense what must be other thirty prisoners. Most are adults, but some wails and cries inside must belong to children.

“Mother of Mercy, we turn to your in our distress.
Mother of Mercy, we beg you not to forsake us.
Mother of Mercy, you are like the shadow we can always find refuge in.
Mother of Mercy, we beg for your protection.
For ourselves and the innocents of this town.”
Mother of Mercy, give us the strength to see through our trials.”

Amidst all this, I hear chanting coming from inside the cell. One voice rises among the throng. Various prisoners have joined the chant. Their voices reverberate across the corridor. “What’s she doing?” the KEC officer sneers.
“Praying,” I state blandly, as if it were obvious. There is something about her voice. It feels very calming and soothing, like a warm blanket wrapping in a cool night. Almost preternaturally so. I blink to clear my head. For a moment, I sense the prisoners calm as they join the chant.
Contempt is written across his face. “Primitive superstition,” he says disgustedly. “There’s only one true god and the Lord of All doesn’t listen to sub-sentients.” Strange that he is the ‘Lord of All’ then. Humans aren’t even the majority on Tephrike. What barbarians we are. “I’ll put a stop to this. Private...”
Before he can instruct his goons, both xenos, I raise my hand. “No, let her finish.”

“Mother of Mercy, we pray you will set right all injustice.
And welcome the just in your embrace, where there is no suffering.
Mother of Mercy, in you we place our trust.”

For a moment, I am back in the halls of the Scarlet Citadel. Locked inside a tower room with frightened ladies of court and a Sith lady who despises me, while Eisen’s artillery pounds the Citadel walls. Terrified little me takes the hands of the ladies and leads them in prayer to whatever gods might heed my call.

Each line is punctuated by the roar of artillery. I sing patriotic sings glorifying a nation I do not believe in. I pray for deliverance and the rightful Supreme Leader to prevail, whoever that is. Whoever will not beat and whip me or put heads of innocent people on pikes and make me watch. Secretly, I pray for Achilles’ courage to fail him, for his sword to break and for his men to desert the little monster. I blink, pushing the vision away. I don’t believe in deities – never have. A good deity would have made a more just world. But when you’re adrift in a storm, you reach for any lifeline. The singing has ceased. “Bring her to me,” I command the goons.

Boots on stone, the turning of keys, and the screeching of locks follows. The cell door swings open. Ugh, it is rank in here. It smells of dried blood, faces, pee and sweat. The guard points at the chanting Twi’lek. “That’s the one! Get the whore.” She squeezes the hand of a little Gungan girl and whispers something to her, as two guards wade through the amorphous mass of bodies sprawled across the cell, shoving prisoners out of the way. The cell is so packed that the features of the prisoners are scarcely recognisable. I sense pain, desperation and fear. These are not dangerous insurrectionists or evil criminals. They are just...people. Broken people struggling to survive.

“It’s alright, I come quietly,” the Twi’lek - it must be Lena – exclaims, having realised they are here for. She gets up. The guards grab her roughly, stepping on a prisoner along the way. They slam the cell door shut and manhandle her through the grey corridors. I follow them into the grey interrogation room. There is a plain desk, a metal chair and walls peeling with damp. A man is crying in the next room.

I dismiss the guards, and take a breath. Now comes the uncomfortable part. I remove the glove on my right hand, exposing my cybernetic prosthesis. It is a crude, ugly thing that looks like the hand of a skeleton. I curl the fingers into a fist and bang my robotic hand on the table. Lena Fiatkin winces. “You’re going to tell me everything you know about the thefts.”

“I told your interrogator all about the thefts. About the chairwoman. I..I...signed a confession. I’m a wrecker and sloth guilty of theft from the state. I deserve to be punished for my crimes.”
“Indeed you are. You confessed rather quickly. Suspiciously so. Who are you protecting? Give me the names, or I you will suffer.” I yank her head-tails hard, squeezing, and she cries out in pain. You cannot make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. None of this is not faked; this is real. Heat surges through my body and flows from my hand into her head tendril.
By no means enough for her to catch fire, but more than enough to hurt her a bit. It makes her scream. I hear shouting next door. “I know about your criminal husband; and your son. Do you want them end up here? Or worse?”
“They have nothing to do with this. No one in my block did. I’m separated from my husband. I barely see him. We just haven’t filed the paperwork yet.”
“Tons of grain have disappeared, including from the work crew in your block. Give me names.”
“There was a guard...Traa.”
“A xenos.”

“A foreman called Demo. He was paid to look...”
“A good human. Are you slandering him? Perhaps you seduced him your Twi’lek wiles? Bewitched him?” It is as absurd as it sounds. I hit her hard with my organic hand. At the same time, I hear a gunshot and the man from next door stops crying.
“Why don’t you ask him?” she suddenly challenges me. Using my cybernetic hand I grab her shoulder so hard she winces and her face is contorted in pain.
“Be careful who you accuse, xenos. Do you know what the punishment for theft is? All of you xenos are just thieves and liars.”
“I did what was needed to survive. “Go look at the quotas, go look at the glowing reports about blooming fields and at the wretched conditions we live in. I know the KEC has a quota of its own. When you know death is certain, you lose your fear of it for yourself.”

“But not for your family,” I say knowingly. “Your husband’s already blacklisted. And your son’s all alone. Maybe the orphanage will take him, but I wouldn’t bet on that. Alas, the calories each xenos receive have been halved for this quarter.”
She recoils. “What should I sign? What should I confess to?”

“I want you to...” She screams as I push my mind into hers. The pain is only momentary. Beads of sweat drip down my face as the illusion takes effect. You may ask why I did not do this from the start, why I put her through very real pain instead of just some theatre. The answer is simple: I am not a Master. I am weak of body and have only inherited a sliver of Elpsis’ Force connection.

The guards outside will hear screams and shouts. She will hear something different – in her mind. “Let me in.” There is a camera in the cell, and I must assume that it has been bugged. Ergo I cannot say anything indiscreet that can be heard verbally.
Unexpectedly, I meet resistance. Her walls are not of durasteel, but they’re there. Walls? How can she have mental walls in place? And then I realise what I felt earlier when she was singing. She has the Force. No training, but it is there. She’s lucky no one has noticed – or creative with bribes. The law dictates all xenos who wield the Force must die. The law...screw the law.

“Let me in.” I push harder. “I sent Shakka to you.”
I slip into her mind. Our view of her surroundings shifts. In our mindscape it looks like we are in a white room. “Where am I? What are you doing here?!” she cries out.
“We haven’t much time. I’m here to help you.”
“Help me?” she scoffs. “Ah, yes, the ‘benign’ slaver. Who has invaded my mind.”
“It was necessary.”
“As was arresting half my community?”
“I had nothing to do with that. I’m also the only person who can get you out of this hellhole – and reunite you with your son.”

“Another ‘promise’? I suppose I have no choice, though I don’t understand what you expect of me. Why are you here?” She looks around. “You’ve gone to...strange lengths to talk to a mere prisoner. You don’t want the guards to hear you.”
“You’ve got Shakka’s sharpness,” I remark, then wince. Sweat is dripping down my face. “Scream.” She looks at me with a perplexed expression. “Open your mouth. Scream. The guards must hear.”
And so she does. I can feel the strain coming from her as well. My head throbs painfully. “You’ll know your place, xenos. You should be grateful we haven’t wiped out your whole degenerate race for its many sins,” I snap icily. “I want to ruin the Major, and the administration of this town.”
“To take their place?”

The truth is too unbelievable to say. “None of your concern. You’re Shakka’s family and she's useful to me. I can get you out of here, but for that I need something useful in return. Understood?” Pain spikes inside my skull.
She understands without me needing to put it into words. “Yes, lord. My people have committed terrible sins. I’m grat...grateful...” her body shakes. “Hope Falls doesn’t leave us enough food to feed ourselves. But the grain has been underreported.”

“Elaborate.” It is getting harder and harder to focus. Sweat drips down my brow and my nose is bleeding. Then suddenly my power lashes out uncontrollably. The chair she is sitting on suddenly lifts into the air and hits the ground. She looks no worse for wear, but frightened when it has hit the ground. “I didn’t intend to do that.”
She looks very doubtful. “There’s only so much spoilage. Say, ten trucks are needed for a big transport, but the footage shows fifteen fully laden ones driving out where’s the surplus going?”

“Do you have photographic evidence?”
“No, but I can tell you where grain has been hidden.”
“Give me names. Now.” I theatrically slam my fist into the table and to my surprise smoke coils from it. I can dissipate the small fireball, but the wood has turned black. “Just name someone no one will miss.”
In a tone marked with fear that I’m not certain is entirely faked, she gives me two names – one is of a work crew supervisor, the other the dead bookkeeper. “P-please, lord, that’s all I-I k-know...” Her lip trembles and she stammers. She is hurting, too. “When I was out – after curfew, looking to make a deal – I saw some PF men burying a large container.”
“Where?”
“Northern sector – in the mass grave. We call it the Sorrow.” Her breathing is heavy. I’m losing her. “I cannot…keep this up…”
“We’re done. You’re coming with me.” I pull back from her mind. The withdrawal is so abrupt that I stumble. My heart pounds inside my chest and I’m breathing heavily. I try to regain my bearings and regain the sneering superiority expected of a Vaderite. “Now that’s better. You have some use, xenos. Count yourself fortunate that we Humanists are an honourable people,” I sneer. “Guard!”

A PF goon enters the room. He looks around at the carnage. “Damn, my lord, you really showed that xenos whore.”
“This is but a taste of what a Disciple will do to anyone who defies the Imperium,” I state haughtily. “She’s coming with me. You’ll inform your superior.”
“Uh, right away, lord,” he says half in awe, half with fear.
To avert suspicion, I make some token attempts to question a few other prisoners chosen at random. A PF thug is useful enough to administer beatings and yell while I ask them about trivial thefts. He beats a prisoner so hard he surely breaks the man's jaw. I leave another with severe burns on his hand. My heart hardens and I pour steel through my veins. The Public Force expects me to give them a show after my display, so I deliver. Then I depart. With Lena, hands cuffed behind her back, in tow I leave the interrogation area. We have not walked far before she clears her throat. “Speak.”
“If I may, lord, I’d…like to say goodbye to the…other prisoners.” There is a quake in her voice. I feel trepidation. She doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t either.

“If you make an attempt at deception, I will know. And I’ll crush your throat.” She nods and I wait outside. I can vaguely hear her comfort some children, humming a gentle lullaby. Why is that two Twi’leks show more humanity than the glorious master race?
All the while, I hear sounds of violence coming from close by. What is it that causes such casual, pointless cruelty in our hearts? Is it because of some character defect? No, that is too easy.

All these low-level goons cannot be deranged. Nor, for the record, do I think the Major or Lachesis are. There are hundreds of thousands of them. All ready to beat, kill and exploit. Appease a man’s conscience by giving them an enemy and telling them it’s right to hate and exploit them and you awaken their true nature. Or perhaps I’m the insane one who can’t accept the way the world works because she has dreams of a template who doesn’t tremble in fear before Darths and Supreme Leaders.

A moment later, Lena returns. “I’m ready, lord.” She’s better at sounding demure than Shakka. She keeps her head down. “There’s…uh…nothing that can be done for them, lord?” she asks quietly, barely above a whisper. “If…”
I wave my hand to cut her off. “Accept the fact that most won’t most get out. Now keep your mouth shut and follow.” As we leave the cells, the blood, screams and filth behind us, I fish out my commlink and call Shakka. A few words with her, then I talk to Cordé. Some boasting follows, then she says she wants to finish up. Fair enough. I hang up.
Shakka meets us outside at the prison entrance. Her eyes light up when she sees Lena. Then she remembers where she is and bows her head slightly. “Master.”

“Start the car, slave.” Shakka opens the door for me and we get in, with Lena on the backseat and Shakka in the driver’s seat.
“You kept your promise,” Shakka says quietly once she’s started the engines. She sounds incredulous. “Lena, I…your son’s with Aramgir. I met Firith. He’s been…helping.” Is that hesitation I sense?
“Thank you…thank you. I’m glad you’re alright,” Lena’s tone is relieved and uncertain. Doubtless she wonders how freely she can talk. “Um, where are you taking me?” she asks me, tone hesitant.
“The KEC’s temporary headquarters. You’ll have better a cell there. Assuming your evidence checks out, I can pull some strings to get you released. Did you find any useful evidence, Shakka?”
“Yes, Master. Looks like these guys are cooking the books. I think it’s to hide their smuggling deals,” Shakka reports while steering the car. “I don’t trust that AC…woman.” Clearly she was about to say something scatological before she caught herself. “Why did she stay behind? She wants to rat us out.”

“No, I don’t think so.”
“She’s one of them. She was assigned to you to…”
“Spy on me, yes I’m quite aware,” I state with an air of increasing exasperation. The headache isn’t helping. “She’s a believer – and ambitious. What benefits her more? Helping a glorified camp manager or a Disciple.”
“Helping the Butcher of Chios,” Shakka retorts. Why is she so uppity? “She hates you.”
“She hates all manners of people. Lachesis doesn’t care about who is hung, just that someone is and it looks good on her record. Now focus on the road.” Then suddenly my comm beeps. “Yes?”

“Lord, I overheard a guard talking to someone on the comm.” Cordé sounds agitated and words leave her mouth as fast as slugs do a machine gun. “A xenos. He…he said that ‘the Disciple’ had left. I didn’t recognise the other voice, but he said they’d give you a welcome. That look in his eyes…think you’re in danger, lord…”
“We’ll be on our guard, thank you. Are you still in the building?”
“Yes. I was just finishing up, then I heard them. Leaving now.”
“Making it look natural. Grab a vehicle, don’t speak to anyone.” I cut the connection. “There may be trouble. Be ready.” I retrieve the pistol from my holster and expand my senses through the Force, trying to get a read on our surroundings.
Suddenly, premonition screams inside my mind. Pain flares in my skull and my eyes widen. “Turn right. Fast. Duck.” Shakka takes a sharp turn, the vehicle accelerates, and a slug narrowly misses it, flying past. More of them follow. I duck and pull Lena with me, while the car window cracks.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Cordé’s warning may have saved my life. If she had not called, that bullet would have hit. But there will be time for reflection on this later. It’s a question of life and death now. Our ambushers have come prepared. A fusillade of shots rings out. Pistol in hand, I lean out of the side window and open fire. Shakka is driving at top speed and so it is, as you can surely imagine, difficult to aim properly, let alone hit anyone. But I have the Force to guide me and it is enough if I can keep our attackers at bay.

Bullets whizz past our vehicle as Shakka weaves a path through the hailstorm. The fussilade is too intense for me to accurately track every round and where it is coming from. But they put holes through the window. “Get down!” With the adrenaline, I barely feel the stab of pain when a glass shard digs into my shoulder. “You should’ve gotten the one with bullet-proof windows, Master,” Shakka quips.

I make no response, too busy firing at a car racing towards us from the front. I believe I hit the driver. Then suddenly I feel a jolt in my skull, accompanied by a sensation of pain. Time seems to slow. In my mind, I can see the bullet leave the sniper’s rifle as he fires from a window. I can follow its passage through the air towards its target. I try to shout out a warning.

And then Shakka cries out in pain and there’s blood dripping from her arm over her shirt. Ere I can really process any of this, the car has slammed into a tree. My head is thrown against the back of the seat in front of me, and everything turns black.
I awake to Lena looming over me. “Lord, lord...wake up,” she urges me, shaking me a bit. Kyriaki, get up. Get up, the inner voice commands me. Realising what has happened, my eyes shoot open. Now I see the groundcar has been flipped over.
Quickly, I rid myself of my seatbelt. “See to Shakka, get out, take cover,” I growl.

“I’m alive,” the slave in question speaks, but she’s clearly in pain. I emerge – or rather fall – from the groundcar. My head hurts like hell, my hands are bruised and I am angry. The first gunmen who approach taste my wrath, as I take them on with pistol and fire. A ball of fire manifests inside my hand and I hurl it towards them. Hot enough to burn, bright enough to blind and disorientate a bit. One goes up in flames, some dodge. These men are xenos, dressed like thugs. No insignia denoting rank or affiliation. The fire forces them to move around and provides some cover, giving me time to quickly reload.

Advancing forward, I shoot. A tree a shooter has hidden behind catches fire. It will not really burn the tree down, but the smoke rising into the air forces him to emerge, and I double-tap him. Then I feel the familiar jolt in my skull again. In time, fortunately. The sniper’s bullet misses my head by a hair’s breadth but grazes my ear. My ear bleeds and the bang leaves me with a painful ringing sound. I crawl to the cover of the broken car wreck. Another bullet soon follows, shooting over my head I dare to peek out. Lena is huddled close with Shakka, fearful. “This has to be the PF. I knew it,” my slave declares.

“We’ll figure that out later.”
“If there’s later. How are we going to get out?”
“I’m thinking, slave. Watch our rear.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll watch our back...without a gun.” She is a slave, so naturally she does not get one. I suppress the urge to scold her. “How are we going to deal with that sniper?”
“I’m thinking!” I snap. He’s too far away to hit with a pistol. Or with fire. I could grab a rifle, but then I’d be out in the open...
“Can you, uh, use your...special powers, lord?” Lena suggests nervously.

My powers. That’s it. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my breathing, and focus, centring myself. My senses expand over the street as I home in on the spot I felt the shot come from. I sense the sniper in cover behind the window of the first floor of the motley building. I can feel his breath as he lines up another shot.

I know when the next shot will come and where it will land. Strain is etched across my features and beads of sweat drip down my face. I pour my concentration into crafting a mirror image of myself through the Force, an illusionary doppelganger. Up close, you would notice that it is not real because it has no heartbeat and it is immaterial, so your hand will right through it if you touch it. But the sniper is far away. The doppelganger gets up and leaves cover. And I use my chance to bolt, surrounded by a cloak of the Force. The strain is enough to cover me in sweat and give me a migraine. The pulsating pain makes me feel like someone has applied a hot rod to one side of my head.

But I run nonetheless. The sniper fires, the illusion falls to the ground, and dissipates a moment later, just as I grab a slugthrower rifle from the corpse of a dead shooter. Then he homes in on me. Too late. I look through the electronic sights of the rifle, but it is the Force that guides me and steadies my aim when I pull the trigger. His shot misses, and I feel his life force fade away.

Then suddenly I hear Shakka call my name. I quickly turn, and see her hurl a knife at an attacker’s head. He goes down. Where did she get the weapon from? No matter. It seems we are in the clear...and then the Force screams a warning in my skull. There’s another sniper. Quickly, I dash back, pouring the energies of the Force into my muscles. The bullet slams into the car, and the impact sends a shard of hot metal slicing across my face. Blood pours over my face, and gets into my eye. My vision turns white.

The rifle has fallen out of my hands. I grit my teeth and try to grab a hold of it and bring it back to me with a telekinetic tug. But another shot rings out, hot on the heels of the first, and anguish explodes inside my thigh. I hear a sharp crack. Something has been broken. It feels like I’m on fire. Blood pours out of my wound. Damn. The Force fails me. I cannot get a read on the sniper and I’m out in the open. Desperately, I try to reach out and grab the rifle, but the sniper gives me no reprieve.

The moment I pull the rifle towards me with the Force, he fires anew. Ouch. The rifle hits the ground again. I look back to Lena and Shakka, pinned down behind the wreckage. My heart thumps inside my chest. To come this far only to provide target practice for a squib thug in a glorified concentration camp. I brace myself, and then suddenly I hear the crack of a gunshot. But it does not come from the sharpshooter. I blink in surprise.

Then my commlink rings. I take it with the hand that is not hurt. “It’s, uh, Cordé, my lord. The...the threat has been dealt with,” she stammers, speaking haltingly. I look up and I see her standing on the rooftop.
As clichéd as it sounds, I let out the breath I did not know I was holding. “Good work, Maiden. You saved my life...come down.” I rub the blood out of my eyes and press against my wound. The bullet pierced my thigh.
“Thank you...I’ve...I’ve...never killed anyone. But these assassins were traitors who undermined the Imperium’s noble foundation of honour and justice. I’ll call a medic. All will be well.” She cuts the connection.

“Shakka, prisoner, you can come out,” I try to make my voice sound authoritative despite the pain I’m in. Blood coats my hand. Shakka and Lena slowly emerge from cover. Shakka in particular looks wary. She is clutching her shoulder, having wrapped an improvised bandage around it. I can hear the howl of sirens a good distance away. The pain is burning inside me.
“Master, you need help.” Shakka sounds frantic. Concern for myself or because she fears being given to a crueller Master? Doubtless the latter. Her own arm is blood-stained, but she bends down to apply direct pressure to my wound.
Everything is a bit of a blur for me, but I fight to maintain focus. “Don’t worry, you won’t get a new master yet.” She winces at that. By now Cordé has reached us.

She looks out of breath, but quickly joins Shakka when she sees my wound. “Let me. Good grief,” she shudders when she examines my leg, pressing. “An ambulance is on the way, lord. KEC.” She glances at Shakka and winces, seeing her injury. “We’ll take care of you as well.”
“I’m fine. Just some painkillers,” the Twi’lek insists.
The Maiden brushes her words aside. “Nonsense. You are a loyal xenos under the protection of the Imperium.” Looking at Lena, she adds: “Are you hurt, prisoner?”
The other Twi’lek shakes her head. “No, ma’am. I’m...alright.”

Sirens howl, as Public Force and KEC vehicles close in on us. I press against my leg, willing the Force to flow through it to stem the pain and the bleeding. But it is draining and there is a lot of blood. I hope it has not hit an artery. “Did you...did you find anything on the sniper’s corpse? Any info on his... employer?” My breathing is laboured. It is hard to stay conscious. A groundcar stop, and soldiers and medics pour out.

“I found a comm, lord. I’ll check it out. We’ll get to the bottom of this!” Cordé swears fervently.
“Get my prisoner into KEC custody...She’s an important witness. No harm is to come to her,” I groan.
A medic reaches me. “Lord, you need treatment now. We’ll get you to HQ now. Come on, girls, make a tourniquet and get her in the van.”

“My slave needs help, too,” I insist. There is pain when they put me on a stretcher. Then things become blurry when they apply painkillers, making me feel groggy. Events are a blur for me as a medic tries to stop the bleeding and the ambulance races across the streets. I see so much blood flooding the bandages and pouring onto their hands. Vaguely, I hear something about me hemorrhaging blood and about pressing down firmly on the femoral artery, but I’m slipping in and out of consciousness. Eventually we reach Eisen’s mansion turned KEC base, and I’m rushed out.

What happens next is a blur. Dimly, I’m aware of being in what must be a hospital room. I keep passing in and out of consciousness. But through the Force, I can still hear voices. “The bullet struck the femur, my lord. The artery is damaged – badly. And she has shattered bone. The medics did what they could on the way, but the femoral artery was severed. This...”

A sharp, commanding voice cuts the doctor off. “I understand what it means, doctor,” Lachesis snaps. I can’t have the Supreme Leader’s ward, even a weak, inadequate one, die to a gunshot from a second rate squib.”
“Best case scenario, she loses the leg above the knee...”
“Nor can I have her stuck in hoverchair. Captain, fetch me a prisoner.” Darkness starts to take me again. I can feel myself fading away, bit by bit. I see an endless void.

Then suddenly I hear blood-curdling screams. And then I feel life fill me. I feel a surge of pain. It is as if I’m feeling another being’s life force get torn out of it. I hear their cries and feel their agony, but I accept their energy regardless. And then I feel invigorated. I’m pulled away from the darkness. I awake with a start. My eyes shoot open. There is a dark taint in the room. It hangs over me like a pall, clogging the air. Lachesis looms above me. “I see you haven’t passed into the Nether yet. Good. It would’ve been quite embarrassing.”

My eyes fall upon a desiccated corpse lying in the corner. The dead Mon Calamari’s face is contorted in an expression of agony. “Who was that?” Lachesis shrugs dismissively. “I believe it was caught stealing potatoes. Now he won’t steal anything from the people again. We have more pressing matters. Terrorists firing on my people in open daylight. Unacceptable!” Force energy roils around her, powerful, raw and intense. She is a storm cloud. As if bending to her, a strong wind suddenly comes into being outside and the window slams shut.

“It was an organised attack, my lord.” I sit up, and regret it when pain spikes inside me. Nonetheless, I remain as I am. “Someone in the prison tipped them off about my departure. They had snipers lying in wait. My prisoner has information about hidden grain. They wanted to silence her – and me. The city administration is behind this. The Major’s allowing xenos agents to roam freely and steal the people’s food.” I am saying a lot of nonsense, of course. There is no xenos Dominion plot. She knows it; I know it.

Her eyes narrow. “I won’t tolerate treason or incompetence. Heads will roll. Literally.” She turns to the nurses and the Amidala Corps doctor. “Your turn. Tend to her. But make it quick. I want her ready to be debriefed. Bakios will be here soon to ‘explain’ himself. So will the Prefect.” And with that she departs. The medics are suitably motivated to clean and dress my leg wound on the quick and attend to cut on my face. I’m told the latter will leave a scar. Maybe being disfigured will reduce my ‘net value’ on the Vaderite marriage market. Good. My template has many scars and she could burn the whole lot of them. I get told not to stress myself, as if I will have that luxury. I am given a cane and walk with a limp.

Prefect Kollias, the Major, Lachesis and her Guard Captain are already waiting in the meeting room when I arrive. I also spot Cordé, fidgeting nervously and looking at Lachesis with an expression of awe. She is seated, but jumps to her feet when I step in. For a moment I think she’ll give me the Humanist Salute again, but instead she smiles warmly. “Lord, it’s a great pleasure to have you back!” she declares, pulling up a chair for me.

“Thank you, Maiden Tycho.” My eyes fall upon Bakios. “Major, our paths seem to cross again.” He looks like he has tasted something foul.
“My lord, it’s such a relief to you’re alive. I’m so sorry that my men could not arrive in time. There’ll be consequences. Fortunately, it looks like it was nothing a Disciple could not handle.”
“What a coincidence that shots were fired at me shortly after I inspected your prison.”
“Just yesterday I entertained you at my house and introduced my family to you. Guestright means something where I come from. So does loyalty. Those men were rogues. Terrorists. If only we’d had more resources, we could’ve...”

“Don’t make excuses, Major,” the Prefect interjects. “The KEC and our diligent young Disciple here uncover a smuggling network right under your noses, and then suddenly there’s a terrorist attack in the middle of our town!” he smashes his fist against the table. I suppose it is supposed to convey outrage and authority, but it just looks theatrical.
“Check the reports. I’ve long warned about a terrorist threat.”
“A terrorist threat that somehow always manifests when you have to answer for failings in your organisation...”
“Enough, both of you,” Lachesis thunders. Her voice is sharp, like the crack of a whip. “I am not interested in excuses.” She looks at me. “It is your assessment that this was an organised, planned ambush, Disciple?”

I nod immediately. “Yes, my Lord. They planned this is in advance. They had intel on our movements. Those snipers weren’t amateurs. They could not have acquired the intel or their weapons without inside knowledge,” my eyes drift to the Major and the Prefect, “or help. There is a xenos terrorist network in this city. And it is being aided and abetted by the people at the highest echelons of the Public Force and the human administration.”

“Thank you, Disciple,” Lachesis says tersely. “Maiden Tycho, you overheard a call at the prison after the Disciple left?”
“Um, yes, my Lord. I don’t know who was on the other end...but one of the Gamorreans informed them that the Disciple had left. He was told that they would welcome her.”
“Well, Major?”
“My men picked up on the call. Sadly, the Gamorrean was a tough bastard. Killed one of my men, put another in hospital. Killed while resisting arrest. However, I have a recording of the call.” And with that, he fishes a comm device from his pocket and plays it.
“The Disciple’s left,” a coarse voice grunts.
“Good. We’ll give her welcome,” the other one speaks.

The Prefect suddenly looks agitated. “That’s...that’s a fake!”
“Who’s voice is this?” I ask.
“It’s a fake!” the Prefect yells.
“Do get a hold of yourself, Prefect,” Lachesis orders coldly. “Well?”

“The Prefect’s court xenos. Ral Kel. A Duros. Works in his office,” the Major replies. He shakes his head. “When I heard the news, I didn’t want to believe it either. You think you know a man in and out, and then this.” He makes a good show out of looking regretful, but through the Force sense smugness emanating from him.

Is Lachesis honestly buying his bloviating? Her face is inscrutable. But something about it reminds me of a predator about to sink her teeth into her prey. For just a moment, I see her nose scrunch in disgust when he runs his mouth. No, she has something planned. “Maiden, answer me truthfully, is that the voice you heard?”

She nods. “Yes, lord. I swear it, so the Sith’ari help me.”
“What about the comm you found on the sniper’s corpse?” I ask.
“I checked recent calls and one of our technicians traced them. They lead back to the Prefect’s office. To the xenos the Gamorrean contacted.”
Kollias is not having it. “This is a put-up job. It’s plain for everyone. Let me have a go at this treacherous xenos. I’ll bring the truth to light.” He jabs a finger at Bakios.
Impatiently, Lachesis makes a gesture and two guards step towards the Prefect. “Large-scale thefts, terrorist attacks in broad daylight – you’ve lost control of the situation. Leadership starts on top and you, Mr Kollias, are no leader."

“I’ve been a Party member for twenty years. My uncle is a recipient of the Golden Party Badge. I deserve a hearing!”
“I’m sure the People’s Court will be willing to grant you one.” His features pale and he is dragged out.
“It’s a sad day when treachery reaches that far. But now we can begin a new era for Hope Falls,” Bakios looks at Lachesis. “I’m at disposal, my Lord. Consider me the blade at your side. Kollias surrounded himself with yes-men. I fear most of his staff is tainted, too. But I know honest men who can step in. I will do everything in my power to guide us through the transition."

My leg is starting to hurt again. The pain is fuel. My eyes bore into this slime. “The Prefect isn’t the only here who failed the people. One of your own men works with terrorists and you know nothing about it? If you are not treasonous, you’re incompetent.”
“I don’t need to explain myself to an Acolyte straight out of the Academy. My Lord, what happened to the Disciple was unacceptable, but I think the shot has damaged more than...”

“Silence. You have to explain yourself to me, and I’ve found your conduct wanting, Captain. For the time being, the KEC will oversee all aspects of security and the collection of grain. I’ve already given orders to deploy a fresh unit of auxiliaries. You will report to Captain Diamandis.”
Bakios’ face is twisted into an expression of venomous hatred. He takes a breath, then nods. “As you command, my Lord. I will cooperate with the KEC to the fullest extent of my powers. Making such a rapid transition may affect our operational efficacy...”

Lachesis cuts him off. “You will make sure it doesn’t. Consider this a chance for atonement. For your own sake, I recommend that you wipe out any ‘rogues’ that have somehow hidden in your organisation. An attack on a Disciple cannot go unanswered. I want reprisals.”
“My Lord, I’m so ashamed of this treasonous attack and my negligence,” he declares, sounding so contrite and full of fervour. “I thought yesterday’s raid had wiped the stain from my town, but I see now how naive I was. I beg you to let me make an example. Starting with that snake Nass. The prisons are overflowing with criminal scum. Let me administer justice. Publicly. And on the families of the cowards who attacked the Disciple. A hundred corpses will leave a lasting impression.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cordé shudder, but she stays silent. “You mean prisoners that could incriminate you?”
“Kyriaki, the matter has been resolved. The Captain has been punished for his failure, now we will move forward.” What is Lachesis playing?

“Yes, my Lord.” Maybe she wants to lull him into a false sense of security. “Spectacles will make the ringleaders go underground. We could take hostages,” I speak up. My voice is quiet, but as Lachesis’ turns her gaze to me, I raise it. “A family member of every town councillor. Make sure they’re held in decent conditions by the KEC. Give them a scare, but make sure they don’t die on us because a guard was...overzealous. Make it clear to the councillors what will happen if they don’t cooperate to the fullest extent.”

“I agree.” It is the first time Diamandis has said anything during the meeting. “Make it clear to them they’re all in the same boat, and there’s only one way out. I’d recommend a few exemplary executions though.”
“Do it. And have ten prisoners executed immediately. Dispatch a KEC squad to the Prefect’s office. Captain Bakios, Diamandis will oversee a thorough investigation of the Public Force. You will cooperate, of course.”
“I would assist your Guard Captain if he wishes it. I believe I have some insight to offer. We all want the Public Force to once again embrace the noble values it was founded on,” I smile slyly. If looks could kill the one Bakios shoots me would disintegrate me.
“I’ll gladly accept your help,” Diamandis smiles at me. “I do believe we work well together.” He glances at Bakios. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Diamandis, Bakios, Tycho, you’re dismissed. Kyriaki, a word in private.” The sound of chairs scraping against the floor can be heard briefly as they depart.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

And now it is just us. Lachesis and me. “A day has passed and the locals are tripping over themselves trying to please and sabotage us at the same time. It brings back memories,” she remarks once the others have left. Sunlight streams in from the window. It adds some colour to skin that has grown sallow. She is thin, though when she moves I hear the whirr of gears and servos coming from her arms. Her blue eyes are strangely innocent. But they bore into me.

“Disciple, I have received an official complaint from Commandant Nerachus about you. He claims you burst into the prison, demanded records and when he tried to reassure you of his committment and efficiency you choked him and acted in," she adjusts the paper “'a most unfortunately and willfully agitated way liable to incite and inflame the feelings of the inferior against the hierarchy'."

She glances across at me. "Do you know what we should do with messages like this, Disciple?"
"No, Lord," I reply. I manage to keep my annoyance about being subjected to this silly theatre quiet.
"No, you don't. But I do, and that is why I am a Sith Lord."

She scrunches the paper into a ball and with a snap of her gloved fingers she sets it ablaze. The burning paper dropped into the metal bin by her table. "That is what we do with messages like that. I could do with less pathetically ponderous pusillanimity. But this is a lesson for you, Disciple. To be a Lord of the Sith is not to charge around like a headless gizka, to smash and break things and throw away what respect you have. To be a Sith is to have brains and brawn.

Remember that for all your power there are many like the Commandant, like the Major, like the Prefect, and if you humiliate them but do not destroy them they will work against you. Make enemies only of those you can destroy or ignore. At this stage, Disciple, you cannot ignore them. It is better to hint and intimate at your power rather than show it, lest they see you are still mortal and just a sickly girl with a little more power than them.” The paper has burnt out.

“When they see through your facades they will not fear you anymore and that is how you will die. What little respect you get is derived from your vague association with the Supreme Leader, not something you’ve achieved yourself. That little bit of theatre in the streets wasn’t a success; it laid your mortality bare for all to see.”

“I understand, my Lord.”
She snorts. “I doubt you do. But you will. Or you’ll die, like all the other Disciples who confused the ability to kill someone with their mind with true power. It’s in the nature of the Sith to seek power over others. But the smart Sith does so wisely. And strengthens the Imperium and herself.”

“Maybe I was heavy-handed to distract them from the important work my minions were doing. But I recognise that I must learn...subtler ways. I appreciate the chance to learn from a Sith Lady who wields power in her own right. I’ve been watching you as well. Taking the old administration apart piece by piece, but leaving a shell desperate to appease you as quickly as possible while the KEC fills the vacuum?” And driving everyone, me included, into a frantic frenzy to manufacture the story you want to present to the Leader?
“Maybe the little dove is learning.” Her smile reminds me of a crocodile. “Now I trust your little trip to the prison provided you with a lead.”

I nod curtly. “Yes, my Lord. Concealed grain caches, along with evidence of corruption within the PF. Maiden Tycho checked their records very thoroughly. Most of their leadership, starting with Bakios, must be implicated, but they couldn’t pull off an operation of this scope only with the resources of a glorified camp at their disposal. The Prefect is a corrupt half-wit. You’d think he’d have a better story prepared if he was the mastermind, but he just sputtered.”

I don’t know entirely what the evidence is, but who cares.
She lofts a brow in curiosity. “Friends in high places beyond Hope Falls.”
I fill my voice with all the disgust I can muster. It’s not difficult. I simply channel my disgust about these pointless games and the rotten system I’m pandering to. “Yes, my Lord. We may have come across a vast network of wreckers and sloths. The thefts, the air strike on our convoy, the attack on me – there’s a clear pattern. The enemy manufactured a grain crisis to undermine us.”

It is nonsense, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if smuggled grain is sold to the Dominion or the Xenos Guard. But the Jedi didn’t target us because of some grand conspiracy; they simply saw a target of opportunity they could hit without escalating a low-intensity conflict. They wanted to show that their defeat at the hands of the space people has not diminished their ability to strike our territory.

Bakios got scared about my investigation and ordered a hit on me. The thefts are the result of corruption and desperate, starving people doing desperate things to survive. Hope Falls is unproductive not because of a conspiracy, but because a starving, abused work force is inefficient. Never mind the fact that xenos have been lumped together as labourers with little regard for individual talents or physicality.

And I believe that Lachesis knows all this, too. But this is the narrative that wraps things up in a nice bow. It gives her an enemy she can push propaganda against. Innocent people will die...but that will happen regardless. Without power I can’t affect anything.
“How your tune has changed. Maybe you've gotten better at parroting. Or we’re making progress.” I can hear the mockery in her voice. “We should widen our investigation of this anti-Humanist centre. You’d best get to it. The Supreme Leader doesn’t appreciate being kept waiting. At your rank, you don’t want to disappoint him. Continue your investigation. Since you suggested we take hostages, I’m assigning you the task of overseeing the process. I trust this won’t be a problem?”

My eyes never leave her gaze. “No, my Lord. Not at all. I will set to it personally.”
“Good. Because for a moment I wondered whether you only brought up the idea because you felt pity for the prisoners our friend Bakios wanted to shoot, instead of simply recognising it as inefficient,” she says pointedly. There is a gleam of a challenge in her eyes.

“I don’t feel any pity for those...creatures, my Lord. But the big smugglers won’t care if a hundred xenos who stole a couple potatoes are hanged. Nor will the town leadership. With how many people collapse in the fields, it’ll barely be a blip on the radar. I want to hit them where it hurts. We need an unambiguous statement, not a manifesto.”
“Then be ready to pull the trigger yourself it if comes to that,” she says icily. “The spouses of the traitorous PF officers have been put in kin detention. Interrogate them if you believe it’ll further the investigation.

She tilts her head downward. I can’t help feeling small and vulnerable in front of her. "Oh, and one more thing, Kyriaki. You would do well to put your slave in her place. Our dominance upon the xenos rests upon their belief that no one can topple us. That there is nothing and no one that can overcome a Disciple. That is a myth. Just like the claptrap 'The Stormer' spreads about how they are like simple-minded animals. It's comforting for the masses, but a misleading simplification. They can only create a debased parody of culture, but they are cunning, calculating, self-obsessed and they are always watching for a sign – any sign – of weakness.”

I wince in pain. The painkillers are starting to wear off. “My slave is obedient to me,” I insist, hoping my voice sounds firm enough. Keep your expression placid. Don’t show a shred of feeling. “She was a valuable component of my investigation, as you know. She put herself in grave peril.”
“For now. Or perhaps she’s simply become adept at playing the part. Maybe you’ve become fond of her.” Her words are softly spoken, her eyes are chilly. I feel a shiver run down my spine. Breathe in, breathe out. Show no weakness. Shakka is mine. I won’t hurt her. Or let anyone hurt her.

I feel a spark of pain in the stump of what used to be my right arm. It is only phantom pain. I don’t have a flesh and blood hand anymore, just sleek metal. But the electrical signals feel like it. I involuntarily clench the metal fingers into a fist, and feel grateful that I folded my hands in my lap, where she cannot see.
“In the manner I am fond of a well-trained dog that is obedient and useful. If it is good, I reward. A dog needs to be thrown a bone at regular intervals. If it is rabid, I put it down – for the community and for its own good.”
“A dog must respect its owner. It is bad enough that she saw you collapse. But then she bears witness to you lying in a pool of your own blood, helpless and as good as dead. The only thing that kept her from running was fear of the consequences. If it had not been broad daylight, if her companion had not been visibly marked as a prisoner...it would've been different. You’d be advised to make sure she doesn’t forget her place.”

“I have my own system of punishments and rewards. When I train a beast, I use words first, then the whip when it misbehaves badly. If I punish her at random, that only shows insecurity. And breed disobedience. I’ve trained her to accept her place. Without me, she’s lost.”
“And was it only practicality that compelled you to transfer a random Twi’lek?”
“She had information, my Lord. The assassin tried to keep us from acting on it.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “When you let your pet roam freely, does she only dutifully carry out her assignments?” The look on my face is fleeting, but she catches it. “I’ve tolerated you and your pet xenos skulking about because you’ve delivered results. But don’t think I’m not watching.”
I have trained to keep my gaze vacant. I force myself to keep it that way. “The situation is under control. I will take the necessary precautions.”
“The first mistake you can make with a rainbow coloured beast is get attached. Then we start making excuses. The personal slaves are the worst. Always at our side, lulling us into thinking they’re cute, little pets. And then suddenly we all have our upright Twi’lek. All the others are swine, but here is a first-class Twi’lek!” The lacerating remark is laced with sarcasm and mockery. “You aren’t sleeping with your pet, are you?”

What? My eyebrows rise in shock. I don’t need to feign that the mere implication offends me. It would be...unnatural. And inappropriate. “No. I’m no blood traitor, my Lord. The mere thought is revolting.”
“At least you’re not that far gone. Remember, no matter how docile they act, they are always plotting. You’ve gone too long without proper human companionship. It shows.” Yes, because I can’t trust ‘human companions’.
She waves a hand and the door opens. The lesson is evidently over. Finally.
"Good day, Disciple, do not hesitate to leave. And do close the door behind you.”

I get to my feet. Moving my leg triggers sparks of pain, but I will have to bear it. Painkillers dull the mind and this day will be free of respite. I need my mind to be as sharp as any blade. For just a moment, I consider bringing up my personal project. With the measures imposed by Lachesis to extract every ounce of grain possible, it is inevitable that many people here will starve to death.

But some of the ‘weak’ can be used better elsewhere. I could frame it as the wise Disciple using the strengths of the xenos beasts for what they can actually do. Let me take a batch of xenos and put them to work making uniforms, shoes etc. for our boys in grey. They can also serve as guarantees for the good behaviour of their families in Hope Falls.
No, I’m being premature. Lachesis already sees me as too soft. She might think I’m motivated by undue pity for the xenos. I need more clout, and I remember her rant about the economy being too reliant on slaves and how we must drive the xenos into the wilderness.

Perhaps I should bypass her and talk directly to the Leader. He may be more receptive to economic arguments. Or just start doing it on your own initiative. The thought suddenly pops into my head. He likes audacity. A phrase I remember from a speech pops in my mind. I must wait for orders and instructions, I must work towards the Leader. If I’m successful, I’ll be rewarded with legal confirmation of my work.
If this were Eisen, I would courtesy. I doubt Lachesis cares for a lady’s courtesies. My knee would hate me for it, too. “I thank you for time and the lesson, my Lord,” I raise my arm and snap to attention. “Praise Vader!”

“Yes, yes, go do your job.” And so I depart. Lachesis is correct about one thing: I have little authority that is mine instead of being borrowed. I cannot run roughshod over the local bureaucracy. I must use it. The Prefect’s disgrace and Bakios’ demotion will make waves. There will be lackeys eager to denounce them to save their skin or to advance themselves.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

And so the cogs in the machinery of repression start moving. There are many things we Vaderites have been unable to accomplish in our glorious Ten-Thousand-Year Empire. We have, contrary to what the Ministry of Propaganda keeps trumpeting, not made the trains run on time. Our workers have ‘guaranteed jobs’, but their currency is worth nothing. The instalment saving scheme they make payments in will never give them a People’s Groundcar.

Nor will they get to move into the houses they were promised in the Galactic Capital Providence City...which has been under construction for decades. Nor have we, even though we have been made in the image of the divine, crushed the galactic xenos conspiracy and taken our rightful place as sole rulers of Tephrike. There are, however, certain things we excel at, namely theft, murder, arrests and mass population relocation. We shall be doing a bit of the first three. Captain Diamandis has wasted no time. His briefing room is filled with charts, photographs, maps and the like.

“The xenos councillors and their families all live in the same block,” he indicates a spot on the map as well as a photograph, while smoking his cigarra. I take a good look at the picture. Unlike the common prole, they do not live in cramped, disease-ridden barracks. Their houses look almost liveable.
“Their accommodations are located close to the PF barracks. For their own protection, of course,” Diamandis continues.
“And they can see the gallows from their windows when they get up. Imagine waking up to bodies being dropped into the pit. Or going to sleep. Hell of a lullaby,” Banneret Hasapis interjects. He is casually slouched against the wall. His strong arms crossed above his chest. What a coarse brute.
“Banneret, do show some decorum,” Diamandis chides him, shooting Hasapis a somewhat annoyed look, whereupon the Banneret straightens. “In short, if any of them try to make a break for it or shepherd their family, we’ll know. We’ve got a CCTV network in place.”
“The councillors have comms?” I query.
Diamandis nods curtly. “One per family head. Bugged, of course. And with limited range. Basically, they can’t call anyone outside of Hope Falls.”
“Who’s in charge of surveillance?” I ask.

He takes a drag, then slowly lets out a stream of smoke. I suppress a cough. “My people. It’s one of the first things I changed. The patrols are still PF, but they answer to one of my men. We had a gunship fly over the block last night,” the Captain answers.
I glance at some of the photographs pinned to the wall. “All councillors are married?”
“One’s a divorcee. The husband was accused of theft and shot a year ago. Another lost his wife to the plague. All have children except two.”
“So we could lock down the block and seize them in one strike?”

“Doable. I’ve got the men. The councillors would be at work now. We can go in and present them with a fait accompli. But their families might not all be at home. We could ‘pick up’ the children at school or wait till the evening, but that will cause too much of a ruckus. “
“We risk a leak if we wait. And someone will inevitably escape the net,” I conclude. I don’t say anything for a moment, looking pensive. “Captain, when the KEC, uh, corrects the ethnic makeup of a town, how does it persuade the xenos to go along with it with minimal fuss?”
“We make an official announcement. Tell them they are being resettled on such-and-such date, should gather their belongings and assemble at this or that location. Their community leaders are made liable for everyone showing up. Sometimes we show them photos of their ‘new home’. Spin a good yarn for them.”

An idea is taking shape in my mind. “We make the xenos come to us. First the Dominion bombs our convoy; then their agents stage a terrorist attack. The PF has been compromised by gangsters in league with the enemy. We are concerned for their safety.”
He smiles thinly, picking up where I left off. “If Dominion spies have the temerity to attack a Disciple, what will they do to loyal xenos families that have served our Leader faithfully?”
Many will be suspicious of this being a setup. As a matter of fact, all of them probably will be. But it is an official summons. And they dare not invite their masters’ wroth. They must follow the script. We all have to. “Where would our loyal collaborators hide if there’s an emergency?”
Diamandis takes a moment to check his notes. “The Redoubt. It’s a bunker. Built after a terrorist insurrection.”

“Maybe bring your red-skinned pet along,” Hasapis suddenly chimes in again. His accent is so thick he’s hard to understand sometimes. “My lord. Reassure ‘em. They make less of a scene when one of their kinds’s there.”
Oh, she’s going to absolutely hate this. For just a moment, it makes me hesitate. I cannot hesitate. It will cost me everything. “Just as I intended to do,” I reply smoothly.
“Your Twi’lek?” Diamandis asks for clarification. “Can she be trusted to play her part?” As of late, everyone seems to be questioning my ability to get Shakka to do what I want.
“She’ll do as I tell her,” I state flatly with an air of finality that fortunately shuts down discussion about this. “How soon can the action be carried out, Captain?”
He checks his chronometre and some notes. “Give me an hour...two. That’ll give me enough time to prepare a welcoming committee.”
“Fair. I will have to requisition some of your men to help me look for a grain cache. Hidden at an execution site.”

“Workable. The auxiliaries and a contingent of Orpo will arrive momentarily, so we won’t be too reliant on the PF for manpower. Our little ruse does have a grain of truth. There is a security problem in this town. I recommend you continue to make use of Banneret Hasapis. I give you free reign over him for the duration of the investigation.”
“What am I – a horse?” the Banneret in question grunts. He holds his gaze when I cast my eyes on him. “Ready for duty, lord. You’re where the action is.”
“I trust you won’t give Chios any cause for dishonour,” the Captain stresses.
“The Sith commands, I obey, Captain.” He looks at me, a gleam in his blue eyes. “Just point me in the right direction and tell me who needs his bones broken, my lord.”
“Remember that, and you and I will get along just fine, Banneret.” It irks me to take on another of Lachesis’ minions.

But I understand his type – a dog on a leash, eager for some meat to sink his teeth in and tear apart. Yet if I want a guard, I will need someone who owes his position to me and does not have another master whispering in his ear. Perhaps there is someone in the Public Force who can be salvaged. Someone who wants to leave the sinking ship. Cordé or Shakka might be of use. “What about the Prefect? And the PF?”

“I have that in hand. We’re putting together a list of officers to question. The Lord Commander wants to let the Prefect...stew for a while. Solitary confinement. He’ll only eat grue. Delivered through a slot in the door. No water. He won’t get much sleep if my general has anything to say about it. My men just picked up his secretary.”
I raise an eyebrow. “No thumbscrews for the ex-Prefect? I would’ve thought Lord Lachesis would be eager to make him squeal.”
“The Lord Commander has her method.” He sounds so primly. “They’ve never failed to reach the desired result. We have one tactic for mongrels and terrorists, another for pure humans.”

You mean for humans who are related to someone important. “Of course. We must consider that his uncle is an important man. It puts the Moff-Governor in a difficult position. Does he escalate? Does he disavow his nephew? Make a bargain?” I shrug. “Maybe this is all just a message to him.”
“I couldn’t possibly comment on Order politics, lord. Everything the Lord Commander does is for a purpose. Idle speculation invites unwholesome thoughts.”
“Of course, how inappropriate of me. I see why the Lord Commander favours you so. You are truly a dutiful officer of the Imperium.”
“I serve the Fatherland, lord. But let us not rest on our laurels while our duty remains incomplete.”
“No, let’s not. I shall leave you to your preparations, Captain.”

The next hour is spent with bureaucratic minutiae. The sharp pain in my leg does not help my concentration in the least. But the alternative is painkillers, and my mind needs to be clear. Much as it vexes me to admit it, Cordé is a big help. She fills me in on her findings in the archives, all crisp and professional.

I am quite certain she is embellishing her own contribution, but she was true to word and got medical attention for Shakka. There is something off about my slave. Something I cannot quite place. Maybe she is impatient about Lena being released. But that cannot be helped.
And then it is time to get moving. When Cordé is out of earshot, Shakka grabs my attention. “Master, I, uh,” she clears her throat, looking around nervously.
“Speak, but make it quick,” I urge her, remaining mindful of the camera hovering above us.
“I just wanted to thank you for what you did for Lena. Means a lot to me,” she says quietly, voice low. “Don’t have much family left.”
“I gave you my word, dear. You just have to be patient.”

There is a flicker of emotion on her face. “Yes, Master. I’m...sorry for doubting you. So what are we going to do now? Are we gonna act on her intel?” There is something about her, but she’s probably just impatient.
“Not yet, we have another errand first.” She is not going to like this. “Discipline must be meted out for that cowardly terrorist attack,” I say in a louder voice.
She shifts uneasily. “I understand, Master.”

“Have you made progress with deciphering the Major’s paper?”
“Between getting shot at?” I glare at her. She needs to hold her tongue better. “Sorry, Master. I think it’s written in cipher.” What does that even mean?
“Can you translate it or not?”
“Yes, but it takes time. If this is supposed to go fast, I need a decryption machine.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You’re a smart girl. You’ll find a way.” Suddenly her comm beeps. She looks at me, then takes the call. “Hello? This is Shakka.”
“Uh, you work for Lady Kyriaki?”
“Yes...I’m her personal slave. She’s with me. Who are you?”

“Tara...I’m a maid...I s-serve the Major. Please, you have to help me. Your Master promised!”
“A Togruta,” I explain when the Twi’lek looks at me questioningly. “Ask her what she knows.”
Shakka glares at me, but complies. “Tara, Master will help you, but you must calm down. What happened?”
“I...found documents. I don't know what they mean...but he'd hidden them. He’s been...v-violent. He...he h-hurt me. I need to meet the lady now. Please. She promised to keep me safe.” I can hear her sob through the comm.
“Wait a moment,” Shakka lowers the comm and looks at me. “Master, she’s your source? He’s going to kill her. We must help her now. Please.”
I shake my head. “I’ve been ordered to the redoubt. I can’t afford a delay.”
“She’s a slave. He can kill her any time he wants. Just send me.”

“Two slaves having a ‘conspiratorial’ meeting? You know how that will look. Give me the comm.” Reluctantly, Shakka complies. “It’s me. I will organise KEC protection for you. But you must be patient, or you’ll be killed. Hide the documents in a safe place. Then I’ll come and get you. Three hours. Can you leave the house without arousing suspicion?” She’ll be fine. I’ll get to it soon.
Tara sighs, struggling to compose herself. “Al...alright. I’ll do it. I got errands to run soon. J-Just get me out. Meet me at the old water tower.”

“I will. I promise. Now calm down and go about your usual routine.” I cut the connection. This was necessary. If looks could kill, the one on Shakka’s face would have caused me to spontaneously combust. “I have made my decision. Now come on, we cannot be late.”
We step into the light of the courtyard. The sun is in full bloom. The workers toiling in the fields will be sweating even more than yesterday. Mon Calamari and Gungans are not made for the heat. “All set, boss. Ready to go when you are,” Hasapis grunts. His goons are already saddled up in their groundcars.
And so we embark in our vehicles and are off. “You understand our task?” I ask Cordé while Shakka drives.
“Yes, my lord. It’s unfortunate that it’s come to this, but it is for the greater good.” We pass a column of marching xenos labourers. They are shabbily dressed and look dispirited. They march robotically I spy children among them. The guards flanking them carry batons and whips.

One can see columns like this marching to the fields, carrying harvested grain or, perversely, clearing away the detritus from last night’s purge. The only children in the streets are those engaged in labour. No laughter, no chatter.
“Hmmph. There are some major changes coming up.” In a way, they are. But in all the ways that matter, nothing will truly change. “Maiden, you’re a smart woman. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the way labour is utilised in this town leaves a lot to be desired.”
Cordé’s eyes light up. “It’s good to hear a Disciple say that. The overseers don’t teach the xenos a better way; they brutalise and steal. This whole town has been taken over by selfish elements that give our great nation a bad name. We must use a firm hand to teach the xenos, but we must balance severity with kindness, not sink to his level of depravity.”
“Wise words, Maiden. Alas, the previous administration’s mismanagement means that we must crack down hard. There are many xenos here unfit for heavy manual labour, but who could be productive workers elsewhere if given tasks that actually matches their talents.”

“I think it’s a fine idea to put the less fortunate to work in more tolerant conditions. You can't starve a kath hound and beat it and expect it to hunt. A contented xenos is an obedient xenos. Without the fear of mistreatment, the xenos will set their cunning to productive rather than unproductive means!” she looks visibly excited, then flushes. “Sorry, I got carried away.”
“I appreciate your enthusiasm. Unlike certain people who call themselves Humanists but misuse our cause. I wish to start a factory to relieve the pressure on the town and give these abused kath hounds productive work. I trust you will assist me in selecting workers.”
“I’m honoured that you’d think of me, my lord. I will help in any way I can. Speaking of useful xenos, there’s one that caught my eye during our visit to the prison. One of the pig people.”
“Gamorrean.”

“Yes, that’s it! Brutish lot. But she seemed...disciplined. Said something about saving Shakker from some ruffians. Isn’t that right, my red friend?”
“Yes,” Shakka mutters sullenly, then adds: “her name’s Honna.”
“Yes, Hanna.”
“Sounds like someone to have a chat with.” Maybe someone more reliable than the thugs that get dumped on me.
The conversation cuts short when we arrive at the bunker. We are waved through the security check. There’s guards everywhere. “Everything has been set up?” I ask Hasapis when I catch up to the brute and his team.
“The Captain’s men are in position. Your orders, lord?”
“Only use lethal force at my command. Dead hostages are worth nothing.” The xenos leaders are not long in coming. They have groundcars, but they are slow, severely outdated things that have seen better days.

Six councillors, their spouses and children file in. A Duros, a Mirialan, a Twi’lek, a Zabrak, a Houk, and a Nautolan, The Duros male holds his wife and teenage son protectively. The boy dares to look at me, then quickly averts his gaze.
You should look away, little one. I’m a horrible person. Rotten and duplicitous. I can smell the anxiety and the fear in the air. Shakka stands behind me. I can feel her staring daggers at my back. The Twi’lek looks at her, as if silently begging for a ray of hope.
“Welcome to the Redoubt. Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I declare. The limp probably makes me look less authoritative than I’d like. But the KEC uniform and the goons with guns make up for that. “I am Lady Kyriaki, inspector of the Supreme Leader. Who’s your leader?”

“I am, if it pleases my lord. Zal Vanwe,” the Duros says hesitantly, stepping out of the crowd. A smallish and frail figure, dressed in a blue overall that only emphasises his gauntness. He bows his head. But I can feel the anger and the humiliation bubbling beneath the submissive facade. “When we heard of the cowardly attack, we were outraged. It warms my heart that you defeated your attackers.

We strongly condemn the crimes of Nass and Prefect Kollias. We’re grateful that the KEC are here to restore order. In the name of Hope Falls, I’ve, um, written a declaration of loyalty to the...one true leader of Tephrike. Signed by all of us.”
He reaches into his pocket. Immediately, a goon twitches and raises his weapon. I raise my hand and gesture him to put the damn thing down. The Duros retrieves the letter and holds it out to me. When I take it, I notice his hand is shaking. I take the proffered letter and open the envelope.

“To the Supreme Leader of all Tephrike,
we, the people of Hope Falls, still remember the kindness you showed us when you gave us our own land to build and live on. You honoured us. It pains us greatly that a few of our people have repaid your kindness with betrayal. To our shame, our own chairwoman is one of them. We tried to warn you, but they blocked our messages.
But we are your children, and we beg our father not to abandon us. The human overseers who were supposed to educate our people have abused their power. They’ve betrayed us to the Dominion and the Xenos Guard. This is your land; everything they steal, they steal from you. These scoundrels have lied to you. We know that your wisdom is limitless and their lies can’t fool you.

We beg you. Do not let us suffer under their yoke. Do not let us starve. Do not let your city run red with blood. Let us toil for you. Let us punish the criminals among us. Give us a chance to wipe away the stain so we may prove ourselves worthy of your fatherly care.
Signed,
your obedient subjects in Hope Falls.” Below are the names of the councillors. I blink, when I realise it has been signed in blood. It smells fresh. I slip the letter back into the envelope. “Is this to be your shield, councillor?”

“We’ve committed great wrongs against the Imperium. But we’ll make it right. We’ll provide more grain than Hope Falls ever has. We’ll deliver you the traitors.”
My gaze falls on the Duros woman and the young boy. “Your wife and child?” I ask, though I know the answer.
“Yes,” he says, gesturing to them to come to us. “This is Olrota, my wife. And my son Dolrassa.”
His wife bows her head slightly. “My lord. Dolrassa, say hello to the Disciple.”
“Uh, hello...my lord.”
“You care for your family.”
“Very, very much.”

“Then you’ll be glad to hear that the Supreme Leader cares about them, too. Traitors and terrorists have infiltrated this town. We must protect our own. Until this threat has been rooted out, your son will remain here under KEC protection. “I look at the crowd. “A child each. We Humanists value family. We wouldn’t want a loyal bloodline to be wiped out by terrorists. In the case of those without children, a close family member will remain.”
There’s a gasp. “My lord, may we speak in private?” Zal asks. He doesn’t look shocked. Or does he a good job appearing composed.

“Don’t question the Supreme Leader’s inspector!” a Zabrak woman snaps. There are no children at her side, just a Zabrak male who looks a bit younger. “Bri Kivok. Don’t believe Zal’s pandering, my lord. He’s just as rotten as the Gungan.”
“You snake,” the Duros hisses at her.
“I’m just telling the truth. Now you pay the price. I won’t hang because of it.”
“Says the corrupt swine who’s been padding her pockets,” one of the councillors growls. Unease grips the crowd. Xenos look nervously at each other.
“This isn’t up for negotiation,” I state flatly. “You say you are loyal servants of the Imperium. Don’t you trust the Leader?”
“Dad?” his boy says fearfully.

“I’ll stay with him,” Olrota suddenly says, looking at her husband. There is steel in those eyes. “I’ll stay with my son. He’s young. I’ll make sure he’s well-behaved.”
“Very well. You see we can be quite reasonable, can’t we...Shakka?”
Oh, yes, she hates me now. “Master keeps her promises,” she says mechanically. I give her a look and she forces a smile at the young Duros. “She’ll...keep you safe.”
“Time is of the essence, so make your choices.” The ‘or I will make them for you’ part is unspoken, but plain to everyone.
“No, I won’t give you my family. You already took my husband!” a Twi’lek female cries out. She looks panicked and is holding her teenage daughter protectively. “Take me instead.”

Do not show weakness. Do not show doubt. “That is not an option.”
“Taala, for heaven’s sake, be reasonable,” Zal urges her. “We have no other choice.”
“Can’t you see, they’re going to kill us! They’re going to kill our kids.”
“Mother...I’ll...I’ll go,” her daughter says, so afraid and so brave. She tries to put her hand on the shoulder.
“No. You’re all fools. Do you want to march like lambs to the slaughterhouse?” I nod to a guard and he tries to grab the girl, but her mother hits him and tries to seize his baton. “Don’t you dare touch her.”

Hasapis grabs her lekku. She screams in pain, but still tries to hit him. But she is a normal civilian and he is a trained thug. He slams his gauntlet into her face and throws her to the ground. “Stop! Don’t hurt her. I’ll stay!” her daughter cries out, trying to charge towards her. “Mother!” Shakka holds her back, though she struggles. Desperation, and anger are emanating from Shakka in waves.
He draws his service pistol when she tries to rise again. There is a click when he switches off the safety. “Want me to make a salient example, lord?” he says with the inflection of someone who’s asking me whether I take my coffee black or with milk and sugar.

Cordé looks disturbed. “My lord,” she speaks. “Killing her is unbecoming of us. She needs a lesson, not death.”
“Put the gun away, Banneret,” I say after a moment. “You the Supreme Leader’s own. The punishment for this is death or concentration camp. But I you only feared for your child, misled as you have been by Dominion propaganda. However, actions have consequence, so you’ll receive a lesson and we’ll forget about this little incident,” I nod to a goon.
“Fifteen lashes. Her colleagues shall watch.” Her daughter is crying, while Shakka hugs and rocks her, whispering words that I assume are in her native tongue. Speaking it is a crime. I pretend not to hear them.

“Take the children inside,” I add after a moment. The Twi’lek’s daughter and the other children are shepherded into the bunker. I catch a glimpse of Zal Vanwe embracing his wife and son, whispering something into the latter’s ear before they part ways.
The Twi’lek councillor is immobilised and cuffed to a tree. And I watch as Taala is caned again and again. The xenos leaders watch helplessly in silence. Hasapis counts each stroke. He does not hit straight on. He pulls it to take off skin. I know what caning feels like. It is like being burned, and being cut with a knife. The pain goes to your head. I remember intense pain, burning heat, and dizziness. It goes to your head, then down to your feet.

The impact of the cane on the buttocks results in blunt force injury that lacerates the skin. The Twi’lek does not cry out. Perhaps it is fear, defiance or both. The laceration makes her bleed profusely. It will leave scars. I notice yellow discharge. The fluid is subcutaneous fat which has been crushed into pulp by the impact of the cane. The cane crushes and tears flesh. Then I realise she has lost consciousness. A fool would say this shows weakness. The first time I was caned I fainted after three strokes and lost control of my bowls. “Enough,” I finally say. “Check her pulse.”
“The wormhead’s still breathing, my lord.”
Her buttocks and back are sprayed with blood. Her flesh looks like a bowl. “Revive her.”
“I haven’t administered the full fifteen lashes yet. Should I continue after she’s woken up?” Hasapis asks. His tone makes it all seem so banal. Just another day at work.

“No, this suffices. We’re here to educate, that’s all. I underestimated the weak constitution of a Twi’lek.” The irony of that statement is staggering, but who’d dare tell a Disciple that? “They’re used to doing their work on their backs in whorehouses and being waited on hand and foot.”
This causes laughter from some of the goons. “Give her some salt water and vinegar. I won’t have her die from infection.” With that I turn away. The other councillors have learned their lesson. Reluctantly, they part ways with family if they have not already.
Bri Kivok does not seem particularly bothered about parting ways with what I assume is a sibling. Indeed, she comes to me as quickly as possible. “My lord, you are so merciful. That Twi’lek is as disobedient as she is uppity. Some xenos just can’t appreciate what the Imperium’s given them.”

“You speak like you consider yourself a breed apart,” I remark, keeping my tone neutral...despite the obvious brownnosing. “Are you not a xenos, too?”
“Only half of my blood is. Some of my people realise that to progress, we must embrace our better nature,” she replies.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Duros head towards us. The Zabrak scowls at her colleague. An expression of disgust is written over his face before it turns placid as he looks at me. “Your message’s been heard loud and clear, my lord. We place our children’s fate in your hands. I’m at your disposal. If I could have a moment of your time...”

“I I must insist, my lord. I’d be very grateful if we could have a word,” his rather annoyed colleague interjects. “I believe we can help each other – in getting this town back on track.”
I smile placidly. “It is good to meet xenos as diligent as you. Time is of the essence though. Kri Kivok, is it? My advisor Matron Cordé Tycho will hear your concerns.”
“I...,” Cordé opens her mouth, clearly ready to correct me about her rank, then the metaphorical light bulb goes on in her head. “Yes. There are important matters my Lord has instructed me to discuss with you. I speak in her name.”
“She is my most trusted associate.”
“As...you command.” The smile is plastered on Kri’s face. “I really just want to serve the Imperium. I’ll help in any way possible.”
I glance at the Duros. “Come with me.”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

My leg cries in protest against moving about. The bunker is obviously bugged. There are some trees nearby. The birds chirp peacefully. It all looks so tranquil. As if we did not just tie someone to a tree and cane her. But then nature endures. “Thanks for your time, my lord. Kri’s not to be trusted. She’s a shutta.”

Aren’t we all? There are no heroes. “I’ll take it into account. But I’m not here to listen to your squabbles. Doubtless you’ve been informed that your grain quotas have been raised. Your rations will be decreased accordingly.” Absurd quotas that Lachesis came up with while watching emaciated peasants toil in the fields, without even making a show of studying the settlement’s capabilities. Nass said that the settlement could become more efficient if the workers had proper tools. Even primitive machines would go a long way.

When we don’t give the xenos the right tools, shoot them to death, and let scores of them die of hunger, who is actually supposed to produce economic values? But it would be impolitic to say that. Somewhere in an Imperial ministry, a government official with a doctorate or two must have already prepared a paper detailing how productivity will somehow rise if we shoot enough useless eaters.

He nods curtly. “We will meet the quotas.” The Duros does a good job not sounding like he is trying to convince himself. He cannot quite avoid sounding robotic. “We’ll scour every home, every hidey hole for hidden grain.”
“I should hope so...for your sake. I don’t want a massacre, Councillor. I want Hope Falls to atone. I want it be productive. So does the Supreme Leader. But when our efforts are met with sabotage...well, the options available narrow.”

He nods, for lack of anything to say in response to that, so I continue. “The Supreme Leader is a visionary. He towers over all of us like Mt. Skywalker.” At that I raise my voice, as if I want to make doubly certain the nearby goons know all about his genius. Somehow I manage to say this ridiculous line with a straight face.

“Furcht and his ilk wanted to wipe you out after that pathetic rebellion, but he saw the potential in you to be more. And then this happens. He’s disappointed. All the unfortunate troubles inflicted on Hope Falls are on the saboteurs. If this happens again, there’ll be no stopping the reprisals.”
There is a flicker of something on Zal Vanwe’s face. Accompanied by a surge of emotion. He tries to clamp down it, but he is no Force-User. He must be imagining his family being thrown to the wolves. Literally perhaps. “We will find them. You have my word. We won’t leave a stone unturned. The saboteurs will pay.”

I smile thinly. “I believe you, and the Supreme Leader, in his unending wisdom, is willing to give you a chance. Which is why I have a project that will offer you a chance.”
“What are you proposing, my lord?”
“A chance for your people to be useful and show they have some worth for the Imperium. Not every resident here is suited for the type of work you do.”
I can hear the metaphorical alarm bells going off in his mind. “We keep our residents productive. We don’t tolerate useless eaters. It’s just a small minority of criminals, aided and abetted by the traitor Nass. He who doesn’t...”

I silence him with a wave of my hand. “Every community has useless eaters. Even ours. Otherwise we wouldn’t have a whole police section responsible for them. But there are two types: one type is habitual. These are cretins we must get rid of. The other is economic and situational. We can’t give everyone a shovel and expect them to be useful. Right now, Hope Falls is a one-trick pony. But that was never our Leader’s intention. So to carry out his will, I intend to found a textile factory.”

The platitudes, lies and half-truths roll easily off my tongue. Maybe it’s the truth and all my speechifying and angsting about how I want to save people who’ll otherwise perish while trying to fulfil impossible quotas is the lie to make me feel better about myself and what I do. “For this I need workers. Disciplined ones. Especially women and children, though I’ll have use of some males, too.”

“You want the family members of skilled workers. To...motivate them.”
“Among others, yes. Even the weak can be of use – if they have the will and discipline. If the workers do their job well, they can send packages to their families. Arrange visits and all that.”
“I understand,” he pauses. “You want me provide you with workers.”
“Correct. You handle internal matters, don’t you?”
“Yes - permits, forms, labour shifts and so on. I move workers wherever the administration needs them.”
“Just the xenos to talk to then. Not surprising. You Duros are a smart lot.”
“Where would you build this factory?”
“Near Hope Falls, but outside the town grounds.” I need to have a suitable location by the time I meet Eisen again.

Beneath his placid expression, he is weighing my words. “And this...initiative, my lord, has it been sanctioned by the Supreme Leader? I can’t shift workers around without permission from the human authority.”
“Councillor, I am his instrument, as you are mine. He is leading an empire to fulfil its destiny. He gives me the order to get this settlement back on track and I carry it out.”
“And what about the great Lord Lachesis?”
The thrust of his question is obvious. I cannot criticise her – not directly. “You don’t want this place to suffer Chios’ fate, do you? You want your family to be safe...especially if there’s another incident.”

He hesitates before he finds his courage. “There are rumours of this land being earmarked for human settlement.” His tone is soft, but intent. He knows her well. I wonder, would our bold settlers suddenly produce a huge surplus or would they complain about having to toil the fields themselves and demand slaves do it for them?

“Then act to make sure it’s in our interests to preserve you. Rest assured, the farseeing xenos leader who helped make it possible will not be forgotten. When Lord Lachesis and I came here, we bore witness to xenos duplicity. I’d very much like to report xenos loyalty when we depart.”
“And earn your reward. Alright. I’ll make you a list. But there are people I want protected. My family, for starters. My wife would be helpful for your...enterprise.”
I smile slightly. “She’ll get priority placement. An administrative position.”
“You have my cooperation, my lord. I must get back. Council business awaits. And time’s of the essence.”
“Indeed,” he moves to leave, but then turns.

“The human administration’s under investigation as well? I heard...”
I wave my hand. “That’s classified, I’m afraid. I can’t comment on ongoing operations. But I shall tell you the Public Force is being investigated...and there are no sacred banthas anymore. So if there’s anything else you want to tell me, now would be the chance.”

“Yes, my lord,” he pauses before adding: “I’ve heard rumours of...hidden tunnels. The PF blew up a couple a few years ago and hanged a bunch of terrorists, but some say they didn’t get all of them.”
Tunnels? My mind wanders back to the discovery in the archives. “Some say,” I remark wryly.
“I don’t know more than that. I move labour around, and pass on orders from above.”
“Certainly not.”
“Maybe ask Kri. Everyone knows she’s a crook, but she pays them to keep their mouth shut.”
“You’re a loyal xenos and will be rewarded for your diligence...when you’ve given me what I want. So keep your ear to the ground and your head down. Good day, Councillor.” He bows his head slightly and walks away.

I lean against a tree, taking a breath. This is not the position I would have liked Cordé to encounter me in. “My lord, are you alright?” she asks in a voice laced with sounds like concern. “Is it your injury?”
“I am fine. I’m a Disciple. Pain is just weakness leaving the body,” I insist and immediately straighten. Eyes up, back straight. My words out a lot terser than they should have.
“I’m sorry.” She looks a bit like a puppy that’s been kicked. “I meant no disrespect. I know you Disciples have power far beyond me or any normal human. You’re our guardians. But you bleed and feel pain and it would be selfish of me to ignore that. It’s a testament to your strength that you’re doing your duty in spite of it.”

Part of me is a bit...touched. I really should not feel that way. I raise my hand slightly to cut off the rambling speech. “Cordé, it’s fine. I...appreciate your concern. It is touching really, but it is unnecessary.”
“Yes, my lord. If there’s anything, I’m here to help. As you guard us, we must guard you. How did your chat with the xenos go?”
“The Duros is sensible. He’ll support our venture. What about the Zabrak?”

I should have phrased the question more precisely, because Cordé gets that gleam in her eye that I will come to associate with her launching into an impassioned tirade. "I think she's getting above her station, my lord. She made accusations against that Duros, but was unable to provide evidence. I told her slander is a crime, even from xenos to xenos. I had thought a Zabrak would have some martial valour, but she is slimy and selfish. She boasted about saving food by cutting rations. The overseers here have seriously failed to teach the xenos civilisation. Their bad example brings out the xenos' most savage traits. Not like you, my lord. Your Twi'lek needs to become less excitable, but she's overcome her species' licentiousness and grown into her role as a productive worker.”

I suppress a sigh. Coming from someone else, this would’ve all sounded like pure cynicism. I haven’t known Cordé for long, but if there’s one thing I’m certain of it is that she believes every word she says. "We must make use of the tools we have, Cordé, not necessarily those we'd want in a perfect world. Now that we know what she wants, we can control her. Sometimes it’s better to tie people down in bonds of mutual self-interest than to appeal to a non-existent sense of duty. We cannot lose sight of the bigger picture. It’s all for the greater good.”

Ah, yes. The greater good. Am I channelling Lachesis? Maybe. I learn a good deal from her. None of it good, but necessary.
"I trust your judgement, lord, though we must take care. One bad apple can spoil the basket. Anyway, once I reminded her of her place and your rank, she shared some details about food allocations. She says the amount distributed to the xenos is less than the official records.”
“The reports say an adult worker should receive 1,600 calories a day,” I note, remembering a detail from one of them.
“Exactly but only 1,125 are received by her for each worker. Sometimes the amount is as low as five hundred. She was too selfish to report any of this to the authorities, but clearly she hopes to profit now.”

And because no one would have believed her anyway or acted on this information. The only reason it matters now is because the stolen food has been sold on the black market instead of submitted to the Ministry of Agriculture. “Good work, Maiden. I’m pleased with your performance.”
She beams. “Thank you, my lord. I serve the fatherland.”

In a fairy tale, all the corrupt and sycophantic would join the ranks of the forced labourers. But then in a fairy tale a dashing knight in shining armour would suddenly appear to tear down the whole rotten system we live in and usher in an age of peace. I am no knight in shining armour. “We have work to do. Let’s get going.”
A guard directs me to my Twi’lek at the bunker entrance. “Master,” she bows her head obediently, but her voice is flat and mechanical.
“We’re done here. The ‘guests’ have settled in?”
“Yes, Master,” she replies tersely.

“Don’t be surly with your Master, Shakker. You were making such good progress,” Cordé chides her. Great, just what I need. I don’t have time for this.
“Cordé, I’ll be the judge of her behaviour. She’s been under a lot of stress,” I interject sharply, looking at the Twi’lek. “Don’t be surly. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Yes, Master. Sorry, Master. They got some food. I sang a song with the kids. They’re...scared.”
“Nothing will happen to them. It’s for their own safety,” Cordé insists. “My lord did what was needed to pacify the situation.”
This lie does not roll easily off my tongue. “Enough. We’ve more business to attend to.”

“Off to the prison now, boss?” Hasapis asks, having apparently marched towards us. “Took care of security arrangements while the xenos were grovelling to y’all. Round the clock surveillance, no one’s gonna get in or out. The ‘guests’ have all been frisked.”
“I expect nothing less. And not yet. Send a team ahead to make preparations, and come with me. We have a...let’s just say another lead. They will require protection.” Noticing the questioning look on Cordé’s face I add, “we don’t have time for briefings. Banneret, follow my groundcar.

Wordlessly, Shakka starts the vehicle after Cordé and I get in. The engines groan, and she plunges the groundcar into action. The tires screech and we shoot away. I don’t have to tell her to extract every ounce of speed she can get. It’ll be fine. We’ll get the intel and extract the maiden, I’ll take her to headquarters until we can organise something elsewhere. This was the right choice. I could not possibly rush to meet her first.

We are too late.
When we drive towards the red brick water tower, I see Tara hanging from a lamp post. A sign around her neck proclaims the Togruta to be a Dominion terrorist. Two other xenos bodies hang nearby. “Stop.” The moment the car grounds to a halt, I get out and slam the car door shut. The pain shooting through my leg makes me stagger and almost trip.

But there is no saving her. Her lifeless body dangles in the wind. Somehow, those green eyes look at me accusingly. Foolish. So foolish of me. I told her I’d protect her; that I’d free her. Another lie. Cordé looks disgusted at the sight, though whether out of pity or because she just finds it unhygienic I cannot say. I see the silent judgement in Shakka’s eyes.
“My lord, listen,” I hear Cordé say from the car, as a voice crackles from the radio.

“...conspiracy aimed at sabotaging the security of Hope Falls by poisoning leading members of the human community and their families has been uncovered! Captain Bakios’ heroic efforts uncovered and captured the ringleader who has been punished in accordance with the law. This is a reminder to all loyal citizens to always remain vigilant. No one is above the law.”

“Your lead, huh?” Hasapis grunts nonchalantly.
“She was an asset,” I state frostily.
“Whaddaya have her do, lord? Dangle a carrot in front of her nose to make her steal papers, slip poison into someone’s drink?” I glare at him and he raises his hands. “None of my business. Got it. Sith and their games are above my pay grade.”
“Take down the body.”
“It’s just a wormhead,” he shrugs dismissively. “They’re dangling in the air all over the city.”

And I’ve had enough. “This wasn’t a polite request, Banneret. Do it. Then check the corpse for...anything of interest.” I promised her I’d protect her. Now she’s dead. There’s no changing that. The maiden’s face is bloody and covered in purple bruises. One of her tentacles has been crudely cut in half.
“Yes, lord.” He cuts her down, but there’s nothing on her. Either her killers took what she wanted to give me, or she managed to hide it.
“To the water tower. We’re going to turn it upside down. Look for some documents. Banneret, make sure there are no surprises. If you catch anyone skulking around, kill them.”

The water tower is old and the red bricks have lost much of their colour. I can hear the hum of equipment coming from inside. I can hear the pumps doing their work. It is basically a big, squat metal tank. The valve is a big pipe coming out of it. “If I wanted to hide top secret documents, where would I put them,” I mutter as I search. I hear dripping.

“The valves,” Shakka speaks up. At Cordé’s glance, she shrugs. “It’s where I’d hide it. Look, one of the big connectors isn’t fully connected. The hose is loose.” I join her and notice that the hose is dripping a bit. Tara must have been in a hurry. Quickly I unscrew it, and find a small, water-proof package. She passes a water-proof packet to me. It is soaked. Unzipping it, I find paper encased in foil.
“She could’ve been saved, Master,” Shakka states. Her words are softly spoken, almost in a whisper. But I see naked accusation in her eyes. That is what her lips say. What her eyes say is: ‘You killed her’.
“Her death was unjust. But I didn’t kill her.”
“You could’ve saved her.”
“I had my orders from Lachesis. I had to obey them. She was a brave girl, and she knew the risks.”

“Shakker, what happened to the Togruta is tragic, but your behaviour is completely out of line. You’re fortunate your Master treats you so liberally, but you do not have the right to criticise her. There’s a bigger picture. She sees it, you don’t,” Cordé chimes in.
“Yes, I forget myself, Master. I forgot she was expendable,” Because she was no human. Shakka does not voice it, but I can feel that is what she wants to say.
“Yes. And this was important enough for her to put a life on the line. If you want to resent me, by all means. Or you can use your anger productively and find out what it means so her death is not in vain.” I hand her the packet and turn away.
I hear her open the foil. “Thinks this it, Master,” she says quietly.
“The thing you need to crack the code?” I ask.

She nods. “Put simply, this must be part of a notebook with the cipher in it. Part of a code.”
“For what? My lord, explain please.” I can hear some annoyance in Cordé’s voice about being out of the loop.
“The Togruta helped me find some suspicious looking papers in Bakio’s office. They’re encoded or something.”
“Once he figures it out, he’ll change the coding, but if there’s anything recent in the stuff Master found, I can decipher it,” Shakka declared just a bit smugly.

I stiffen when I hear noise coming from outside. Boots thumping against the ground. I put my finger to my lips, signalling the others. Reaching to my holster, I draw my pistol and Cordé does likewise. The footsteps come closer. The noise rises in tune with the hum of the machinery. I pick up the pace when I suddenly hear the flat crack of gunfire.

There are groans of pain, shouts and the sound of someone being smashed into a wall, followed by a gurgle. And then I see Hasapis standing over three corpses, dagger in one hand and pistol in the other. “Search party, looking for the wormhead’s stuff. Got the drop on ‘em. You got what you wanted, boss?” he asks nonchalantly, cleaning his blood-stained dagger.
“Yes. We’ll deposit it at headquarters, then pay the prison a visit.” It means a detour, but better that than us being ambushes and our friends trying to steal it.

Cordé looks at the corpses. All three are xenos. “There seems to be no shortage of people willing to die for the corrupt elements of this town,” she comments disappointedly. “Given how bad conditions are, it’s not surprising, I suppose. I suspect there’s more behind this than the petty machinations of a few locals crooks though.”
“Yes. Let’s get moving.”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Tara’s face remains embedded in my mind. Covered in blood, scars and purple bruises. Green eyes stare at me accusingly. For a moment, my vision gets blurry as we drive. Her features seem to blur with those of the Twi’lek councillor, beaten and bloody. Yes, I caused Tara’s death. I am adult enough to admit it. Perhaps she would’ve died regardless.

Bakios was already doing his best to beat every hint of personality out of her. Maybe he would’ve strangled her simply to avoid being charged with violating the Blood Protection Law. Or his neurotic wife would’ve found a pretext to throw her out onto the streets and Bakios would’ve found a new plaything to abuse. But I pushed her towards this fate the moment we met at that ridiculous party. I did what I had to do. As beaten-down and afraid as she was, she had courage. Courage to defy the glorified camp manager who owned her. Courage to give me this.

Bakios is not some grand nemesis. He’s a petty, banal little man given power because he has some low cunning, knows how to grease palms, murder and lie. When the clock strikes nine, he turns off the lights, goes back home and plays the doting father. He tells his kids a bed-time story and then goes to bed, sleeping as peacefully as a baby. The Imperium is full of men like that. It works with them; it works because of them. The machine would grind to a halt without them.

Get rid of one, another will take his place and the wheel will keep turning. And they are backed up by millions of ordinary Imperial citizens who just look away and go about their business. Because they have families to look after; because Father State knows best; because all those people rotting in the camps must have deserved somehow, so there’s no reason to feel guilty about moving into an apartment just ‘vacated’ by an enemy of the state (much like my own apartment in Adlerberg).

I am not like them. I refuse to be. I have to. And that is why I shall kill him, and kill, frame or blackmail any other cretin I can afford to dispose of. That is why I shall take what natives I can and put them to work somewhere where they won’t be worked to death. But I am no use to anyone as a martyr making doomed gestures of defiance.

Mercifully, I am spared Lachesis’ attention when we return to headquarters. A secretary at the reception informs me she’s indisposed. That suits me just fine, though I wonder what she’s up to. On the way, I do catch a glimpse of a few grim-looking officers in military uniforms entering her office. Discreetly, I apply my inhaler when I have a moment to myself in my room, breathing in deeply. The documents have been stashed away there, when Cordé pulls me aside.

“If I may, my lord, I’d like to talk about Shakker,” she begins. I suppress a groan.
“Her name is Shakka,” I stress the last word. “If this is about her being impertinent, I have my own way of doing things. She needs to work on her manners, but the very fact that she’s not always trembling in naked terror is what makes her useful.”
She flushes slightly. “You misunderstand, my lord. Don’t get me wrong...Shakk...Shakka has proved herself to be very helpful. She really needs to learn some manners and become less excitable, but that is not what I wanted to bring up. If I may speak candidly...”
“Granted, Maiden.”
“It’s her emotional state that concerns me. Chastising that Twi’lek was necessary to keep order, but it upset her greatly. Not to mention seeing that poor Togruta. We must show that the Imperium will not acquiesce to disorder. But I fear that witnessing the executions would distress the poor dear too much.”

I think about this for a moment, and smile at her. “Good thinking, Maiden. She’ll remain here. She can get a head start on deciphering the papers.”
Cordé nods. “Steady work will calm her and take her mind off these unfortunate events. If it’s not too much of an imposition, I volunteer to stay behind and help her translate.”
I strongly doubt that Cordé will be much use cracking codes, but she can watch over her. And make sure no one tries to ‘impose’ themselves on her. “Granted. Keep an eye on her. If there’s trouble, call me. Uncovering the truth behind this smuggling network is vital for our country.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll make sure she keeps her eye on her task and does not get up to mischief. She’s a good girl, but temptation is never far for a xenos.”
“I have no doubt you’ll keep good watch over her.” And, to my surprise, I actually mean it. “Remember, Shakka, not Shakker. I know you don’t mean anything by it, but simple gestures like that mean a good deal to the xenos. Even if some of their names are strange.”
“Yes...I’ll remember, my lord.”

I give my Twi’lek the ‘good news’ outside. “Shakka, you’ll stay here. It’s safer that way. Translate the documents. If something comes up, you have my comm number.”
“Yes, Master,” she looks a bit relieved.
“Maiden Tycho will remain here to assist you.”
The relieved look vanishes. “Master, with all respect, I can, uh, manage. I think Maiden Tycho, with her knowledge of Imperial protocols, could assist you far better...”
“Nonsense, Shakka, we make such a good team together,” Cordé interjects brightly, drawling my slave’s name. At least she’s spoken it properly this time.
Seeing my unwavering look, Shakka nods. “Yes, Master. Can I, uh, see Lena?”
“Not yet. You’ll see her when we sort out of the business about the hidden container. It’ll all work out. She’s been kept under constant guard, and the guards now they’ll have to answer to me if something happens to her. Now you two get going. Be on your best behaviour, Shakka.”
Stepping forward, Cordé takes my Twi’lek by the arm and leads her away. “Come on, my little red friend. We can have some tea and biscuits together and get to work. There are dastardly conspiracies to unmask!” And so I’m off.

“Slave and choir girl not joining us?” Hasapis asks leaning against the groundcar, his huge arms crossed over his chest.
“My slave is assisting Maiden Tycho on an important task,” I state flatly because saying Shakka will probably be doing the actual work to be impolitic.
“Think it’s wise leaving them together, lord? The Maiden’s sweet. Bit preachey. Got a fantastic pair of legs, but she’s soft. All that blatherin’ about teachin’ them xenos how to behave is just clap trap we tell the kids at summer camp. Or those xenos we put in charge to keep the other xenos down for us. At the end of the day, the thing keepin’ us on top and them on their knees is this,” he pats the pistol holstered on his thigh. “Well, that and your Sith wizardry,” he adds.
I seem to attract impertinent subordinates. The big oaf is useful and I doubt Lachesis would like it if I choked him. Time to lay down some ground rules though. “Watch your tone, Banneret. You’re here to do your job. Your job is to kill whoever I tell you to. That’s it. Understood?”

“Yes, lord. The Sith commands, the stormtrooper obeys.” The trip to the prison is uneventful. Hasapis is driving. Security is tight in the town centre. It is like wading through a multi-coloured sea of uniforms – PF khaki, Orpo green, KEC grey. In between you see the drab overalls of the xenos workers, doing menial work and trying their best not to arouse attention. Armed checkpoints have been set up throughout the town.
A work crew on the roof of a tall building catches my eye. They seem to be laying down power lines, and setting up some sort of device. It looks vaguely familiar. “What are they doing?”
“Think it’s an electrostatic weapon,” Hasapis replies. “The Captain mentioned they’d be setting one up. We use them in Prosperity. If the xenos start running amok, you press a button and poof. Huge electrical surge. “

“Hopefully without electrocuting our own people, too. Or wasting all our labour assets,” I mutter to myself as we drive past. Blast it. It is far too hot outside. I pull out a tissue and wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. The prison building looms ahead of us.
“Think you can tinker with it to make it less-than-lethal, lord. Smaller radius though. Sometimes a house’s so infested with mould you gotta burn it down.”
The groundcar comes to a halt in the prison courtyard after we’re waved through the usual security checks. There are salutes and all that. Ten prisoners are already assembled in the courtyard, forced to stand at attention in the heat. Every single one of them is shackled, bruised and sweating. By the looks of it, they have been standing here for quite a while.

Commandant Nerachus comes out to greet us. Indeed he moves rather hastily. “Attention, men, don’t you see we have an illustrious guest? An emissary of the great Darth Lachesis graces us with her presence. Ah, my lord, you are truly a vision. I was most relieved when I heard of your victory over the thuggish ruffians. What a cowardly attack. I am ashamed – ashamed! – that one of my own was complicit.”
Alas, he’s still as wordy as ever, but he’s become sycophantic instead of patronising. But I still feel the resentment bubbling beneath the surface. “Relax, Commandant, your loyalty is not in question. I was told he got what he deserved.”
“In this world and the Nether. The sword of justice has been unsheathed and will remain in our grip until all traitors have paid the price.” And he is still melodramatic. He annoyed me less when he was a patronising jerk instead of a slimy one.
“Let’s not keep the Nether waiting then. I see you’ve carried out a selection.”

He makes a gesture with his hand and leads me to this motley collection. “Ten notorious criminals. I selected each of them myself.” You mean you had your minions pick ten at random. Probably with some prisoners thrown in who have evidence you’d like buried. They all wear dirty, drab overalls. Many look starved and the faces of many are marked by purple bruises.

Many are Twi’leks or Mon Calamari – the usual suspects. I march down the line, scrutinising them. A heart of steel. A heart of the steel. The old Imperial Youth Corps mantra thunders inside my skull. The sight of one prisoner makes me stop. And the heart of steel cracks. “Not him.”
“He’s a dangerous criminal, lord,” the Commandant states. “A thief.” He’s a Twi’lek boy and barely a teenager. Frightened and bruised.
I brush his protest aside. “And young enough to be moulded and put to work. Find someone else. Someone who’s no use anymore.”
For just a moment his face contorts in naked resentment, then he nods. “Corporal Hennah,” he barks at a big, strong looking Gamorrean. “Get that brat out of my sight and fetch me another prisoner. One of the elderly.”

Hennah, didn’t Shakka mention her? “Yes, sir.” The Gamorrean salutes with her huge band, and takes a hold of the boy. “Boss say you no die. Move.” He looks at the others, surprised and shocked, but is led away.
“My lady, please...I can work,” one of the condemned begs but then a baton is smashed into her face. Then again.
“Stop. She’ll be dead soon enough anyway.” I look at Nerachus. “I want them shot. Banneret, if you would, do set up a firing squad.”
“Roger, my lord.”
“The gallows have already been set up. Hanging leaves a lasting impression on the populace. The public must know the consequences of crime.” Nerachus insists.
“Too unhygienic. Our empire is above such gratuitous displays. All they do is radicalise more xenos. They’ll see the corpses when they get dragged away. Is that lot over there abandoned?” He nods. “Then shoot them there.” The Gamorrean auxiliary returns, dragging an elderly male Mon Calamari with her.

“You like, sir?” she asks in her thick accent.
“Hmm, yes, that one’s fine,” the Commandant answers after I nod. He leans forward to me and says quietly, as if we’re conspirators and he’s imparting words of wisdom, “I’ve been trying to teach the pig-lizards proper Basic, but what can you do?” he shrugs.
Shut up, for one. “Would you like me to do honours?” The commandant asks. I’ll admit the urge is there. But I condemned these people to death, though I don’t even know their names. I gave the order. So I shake my head and step forward.
“Citizens, you have been convicted of the crimes of theft, conspiracy, sedition and sabotage. By stealing from the state, by aiding and abetting terrorists, you have undermined the security of the Imperium. The punishment for this is death, and you have been sentenced to execution by firing squad.” It is time. I give Hasapis a nod, and notice the Gamorrean sow is one of the shooters. The prisoners are dragged to the execution grounds. Some sob, others just look angry and defiant. No farcical ritual or ceremony. Except for one.

Hasapis walks down the line and, much to my surprise, holds out a packet of cigarras. “Rashallo. You want any?” he asks in his gruff voice. Some prisoners accept and he puts the cigarra to their lips and lights them. Others are in tears. A Twi’lek spits at him defiantly. “Frak you.”
“Not my type, wormhead,” Hasapis smacks him and wipes the spittle away. Then he is back with the squad and bellowing out commands.
“Present!”
“Aim!”
There is no farcical ritual or ceremony. The men and women just present and aim their semiautomatic slugthrower rifles. Knowing Hasapis, I doubt any contain blanks. None of the shooters will be able to tell themselves they were not the one to fire the lethal shot. Guns level, just waiting for the signal to fire.
“Fire!” Some shooters miss, most hit. The distance is not great and they’re used to this. The prisoners are riddled with slug rounds. Bodies fall to the ground. Hasapis double-taps one who seem to be twitching. Blood pours out of the Mon Calamari’s domed head. And then it is over. With the practiced ease of professionals, minions start to pick up the bodies and carry them out.

“Banneret, inform Captain Diamandis that the example has been made and I’ll have need of some...workers.” I turn to Necharus. “Burn the corpses. Put their names and crime on posters. Hang those on billboards. The public will know the consequences of crime,” I instruct Necharus.
“A truly inspired idea, my lord.” Not really. Lachesis does not like sycophants. Would she still be cross with me if I choked him again? Just a little bit. “Is there any other way I may be of assistance?”
“That Gamorrean – I want to speak with her.”
“Oh,” he looks visibly deflated. “Corporal Hennah, come over here!”

The soldier he’d just called a pig-lizard trots over to us. Seeing me standing next to the Commandant, she tenses, and bows deeply. “M’lord,” she grunts. With her so close, I can get a good look of the scars etched into her green skin. One of her horns is broken.
“Arise, Corporal. My slave tells me you saved her life in the slums.”

“The Twi’lek? Yeah, m’lord. Couple Twi’lek thugs jumped her. Lotta mean buggers like that in tent town. Scared ‘em away.”
“I personally ordered that sweep,” Necharus suddenly interjects. “When a checkpoint informed me that the slave of a Disciple was on an assignment had been sighted near the more...deplorable sector of Hope Falls. Between you and me, the Major...I mean, Captain Bakios, seemed...agitated when he heard of me taking...initiative.”
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “What do you say to that, Corporal? Has Bakios been double-dealing? Should the energetic Commandant get his job?”
The Gamorrean looks a bit sheepish. “Uh,” she grunts something.
“The Disciple asked you a question, soldier,” Necharus snaps. “Answer her.”
“Dunno, lord. Just follow orders from the Sergeant. Don’t ask who gives ‘em. Don’t talk to anyone on top. Did patrol, saw girl, smashed.”

I smiled slightly. “Of course you don’t. It was unfair of me to ask. It’s not easy when a grunt is caught in the middle of Sith games, but you navigated my question well.” I turn to Necharus. “I want her assigned to me.”
If what I feel through the Force is anything to judge by, the Commandant feels a bit put out. But he grins and bears it. “She’s all yours. Corporal, do remember all the lessons I taught you. You will obey the Disciple without question and scrupulously accomplish every task she gives you, so help you the Sith’ari.”
Surprise, fear, excitement – all these emotions swell inside her. “Yes, sir.”
“If I may be so bold, my lord, I have a very dedicated, human staff officer who’d make an excellent aide to you.”

You mean someone who’ll talk you up more and inform you of what I’m doing. “Thank you for the generous offer, Commandant, but I must decline. The recent disruptions have already cost the Public Force so much, I couldn’t in good conscience reduce your manpower even further without Lord Lachesis’ approval. Besides, it would be dishonourable for a Disciple to delegate everything. We do have to get our hands dirty once in a while.”
“That is most...considerate of you, my lord. If there’s any manner in which I can help you in your quest...”
“You’ll be notified immediately, Commandant. Who knows, maybe there’ll be an opening for you in the future. When I meet with Captain Diamandis to discuss the reform of the Public Force, I’ll make sure to mention what a motivated go-getter you are. But I shan’t detain you any longer. Corporal, come with me.”

She clears her throat. “Uh, m’lord.”
“Yes?”
“Can I...talk to my teammates? Just need a moment, m’lord. Tell ‘em what’s up. Tell the Sarge. Make sure chit’s sorted out.”
“You know when a Disciple gives you an order, it’s customary to simper and bow and blather about what an honour it is.”
She takes a step back, but holds my gaze. Nervous. Afraid. But not cowed. Good. Test passed. “You want me to bow, m’lord?”
“No. Your idiot commandant has already cornered the market on fawning. And nothing about this is honour. I picked you because I need a guard and you seem capable.”
“M’lord has a guard,” she observes. “But he’s KEC. M’lord wears the uniform, no insignia though. No medals. Ain’t really one of ‘em.”

I cock my side slightly. “Smart. Smarter than your ‘pig-lizard’ act would suggest. I don’t want someone who’ll call working for me an honour, because it’s not, unless you consider getting shot at for a Disciple exceptionally meritorious. I want someone who does their job, is not afraid to open their mouth about a problem and understands they serve their own best interests best by serving me.” There is a pause as I let the words sink.
She nods. “Who do I report to?”
“Me. Inform your squad. Maybe if you work out, they’ll move up in the world, too. Don’t be tardy.”
Hasapis marches over. “Message sent. What was that about? New pet, my lord?”
I shrug. “I pride myself on getting the best out of our servitors.”
He snorts. “Gamorreans aren’t bad. Ugly as hell. Not that sharp, but they do their job.” A few minutes later my new minion has returned. Seeing me and the Banneret, she snaps to attention. I notice the big war axe on her back.

“I’m ready, m’lord.”
I nod. “Corporal Hennah, Banneret Hasapis of the KEC. And as much as I enjoy some small talk, we have work to do.”
And so we drive away. As we leave the prison behind us, a checkpoint comes into view. KEC Auxiliaries seem to be checking papers and searching xenos residents. One inspection catches my eye. The two xenos are children. A Rodian and a Cathar. I hear shouts. Fear emanates from them, but there is something else, too.
“I hope we can leave this nonsense behind us soon and get back to clobbering the Windians,” Hasapis remarks. “Searching peasants is beneath us. That’s something for PF and Orpo clowns. No offence,” he adds as an after-thought.
“Only half taken,” Hennah mutters.
“Then I best show these poor fellows my appreciation and remind them they’ll soon get back to the real war,” I remark dryly. “Stop the car there.” I sink into the Force, allowing it to expand my senses and increase my awareness of what is going on.

“Why are you here?” a guard growls at the xenos, waving around his baton. “You should be in the fields. Making deliveries to smugglers, huh?”
“No, sir,” the Rodian girl responds laconically. A kath hound held at the leash by another guard barks loudly, baring fangs. The girl takes a step back. “Got a permit from the foreman. We’ve got a package...for...a Disciple.”
The guard smacks her across the face. “Disciple, huh? That’s a funny way to say smuggler. Like a Disciple would associate with snout-faced, furry riff-raff like you. What’s the package?”
“The Disciple would be mad if we gave it to anyone else.”
He holds up her rucksack, shaking it, and a bunch of things, among them a few potatoes fall out. “Look at that! Contraband! You know what the punishment for smuggling is?” He strikes her so hard she falls.
The dog almost jumps at the Rodian before being held back, barely. It looms over her though, sharp teeth bared. I feel her fighting to remain calm. “Well?”

“Th-those,” the Cathar stammers.
“Speak proper Basic, kitty,” he snarls. “I don’t speak whatever kitty folk use to talk to each other.” He presses his baton against her neck, holding it beneath her chin.
“Those potatoes aren’t good, sir.” Bending down, she picks one up and holds it out to him. “Look, it’s already rotting. If a good human ate this, they’d get sick. That would be...bad. It’s our duty to dispose of it.”
He picks it up, twirls it in his hand and throws it to the ground. “No, that’s not good. Good enough for you lot I guess since you live in filth anyway. But you still stole and theft is a crime. Tomorrow you might steal a good one.”
“We won’t steal anything, sir,” the Cathar girl assures him. “We’ll be...back in the fields in no time. We’ll tell the Disciple how thorough you are.”
“What a good kitty. I’ve got one at home. Gets mad when I give her a wash. You know what a wash is, right? Hey, snout face, you got anything to say for yourself?”

“We can sing for you,” the Rodian girl speaks up quickly. "Ollia likes to sing."
The two share a look. “Yes! The teacher says I’m good. I know the Vaderite anthem by heart!” the Cathar exclaims.
He gives her a smack across the face. “That’s the Adras Kasidiaris Song to you, kitty. Don’t you forget it! Bruno, back,” he barks at his kath hound and the dog backs away from the Rodian. “Sing it.” Electricity crackles around his baton.
They stand closely together, as if drawing strength from each other, and start to sing. They are...good. The Cathar in particular. Her voice is beautiful. But the Rodian is no slouch either.

“Raise the banner! The ranks tightly closed!
The Disciples march with calm, steady step!
“Comrades, shot by the Jedi and the Vong.
March in spirit within our ranks!”
“Snout face, dance. Show me how your kind dances,” the guard interrupts. One of his minions cracks a whip. The Rodian blinks, then dances to the song. It’s not what you’d see at the Academy’s balls, but her movements are fluid and graceful.

“Clear the streets for the black battalions,
Clear the streets for the Disciples!
Millions are looking upon the Imperial banner full of hope,
The day of freedom and of bread dawns.
Raise the banner! The ranks tightly closed!
The Disciples march with calm, steady step!”

“Nice to know you learned something at school,” the guard says. “Consider this your lucky day. I’ll let you off with five strikes on the soles each. Lazarius, my cane.”
“What’s going on here? Why are you holding up traffic?” I interject. I just gave the order to murder ten people I didn’t even know. I won’t let children get beaten. “I am Kyriaki of the Disciples of the Vader. Report.”
The Rodian’s big dark eyes go wide. “We have the package you were looking for,” she declares quickly, holding the rucksack out to me. Is there a package? Who cares. They’ve given me the perfect excuse to pull rank on the stormtrooper.

“Yeah, right here. Sorry for being late, my lord” the Cathar adds.
I make a side-glance to my new minion. “Corporal Hennah, these are the assets you recruited, correct?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Nice to have faces to go with the names.”
“These xenos are yours, my lord?” the guard heading the checkpoint asks incredulously. And perhaps a little nervously.
“Correct. But it is important to vet anyone who passes through a checkpoint. It might be a terrorist plotting to plant a bomb in the Supreme Leader’s mansion.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Good work, soldier. Everyone will sleep a little easier with someone as thorough as you keeping watch.” I pick up a potato. “You wanted to present these as evidence that bad people are trying to poison good human citizens, correct?”

“Yes, my lord,” the Cathar declares quickly. I look at the furred, feline girl and her white skinned, reptilian friend. Both are thin. So young, but with the eyes of those that have seen far too much. Afraid, but not cowed. Able to think on their feet. Good.
“Stealing is still wrong. Very wrong. But sometimes you have to commit a wrong in furtherance of a greater good. Since they are mine, I trust we can waiver further inspection.”
“Understood, my lord. They’re all yours.”
“Thank you. Carry on, soldier. You two, come on.” The two xenos fall in line. Not that they have a choice. I look down at the two. “What’s your name, girls?”
“Ollia,” the Cathar responds, “my lord.”
“Vexa.”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Another ‘xenos’ was brutally murdered, her body left to rot and hang from a lamp post. A ‘xenos’ child was ripped from her family. Her mother was whipped before her eyes.
If there’s another ‘incident’, guess who’ll be shot in ‘retaliation’. Master will talk a good game about how she hates doing it, but she’ll give the order all the same.
I have to get out of here.
If she has to choose between my life and what’s expedient in some vague way to ‘make things less bad’, you know what she’ll pick.
Kyriaki would’ve given Tara protection if she’d been human. But the life of anyone who’s not born human doesn’t matter.

I need to get out of this cage and meet up with Firith again. But for now I’m stuck with Master’s new bestie. I guess having a human around who hangs on her every word and tells her it’s okay to enslave ‘xenos’ if you’re polite about is good for her ego. At least none of Lachesis’ thugs have harassed us on the way back.

“I’ll get started with the translation, ma’am,” I say stiffly. Kyriaki left the documents in a drawer in her room.
“There’ll be time for that. Get the documents out – remember to wear the gloves,” Cordé says in her usual patronising tone. “But let’s have some tea. It’s been a trying day. For you especially.” And so my hopes for some undisturbed work are dashed.
Still, tea doesn’t sound bad, though I hate to admit it. I pull on the gloves and get the papers out, and she puts on the kettle. “Put them over there. We can’t have the cup accidentally spill on them. That poor maiden made a great sacrifice to bring those papers here.”

She didn’t make it for you lot, you silly cow. She made it in the vain hope that Master would keep her promise and get her out. She did it to stick it to her abuser. But I don’t say any of that. I fetch two cups.
“You’ll make a great wife someday,” I comment a bit snidely, then quickly add, “ma’am.”
“Oh, I intend to. I love children. But I’ll have a life outside of home and hearth as well. You must breed too, you know. You’re a lot smarter than the typical Twi’lek. You have a duty to pass on your genes to create better Twi’leks.”

More of my people for you to enslave, beat and kill. I take a steadying breath, trying to keep myself from lashing out. Beneath the table my hands are tightly balled into fists. She keeps prattling on. Shame she can’t choke on her tongue. “We’ll have to find you a good husband, err, mate...do you people have marriages?”

“Yes, we do,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Oh. That’s good. No child should be born out of wedlock. You’d just need the right man...and your master would have to agree, of course. Have you ever broached the question with her?”
For the love of the Goddess, shut up. “No, ma’am. Master travels a lot, you know. She needs me at her side to...serve her however I can. Too difficult to juggle duty and a child.”
She nods. “Work and motherhood are difficult to balance. But now that I’m here things will become more settled...and you’ll be relieved of doing work that is, well, not suitable for a xenos.” Oh, I get it, you hope Kyriaki will keep you around so you’re not stuck shuffling papers and being some guy’s broodmare. She busies herself getting tea ready. “Do you take milk? Sugar?” Cordé asks.

“Milk. No sugar, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
She joins me at the table when the tea is done. “There you go, my little red friend.” I hate to admit it, but the tea smells delicious and I take a moment to inhale its aroma. I bring the steaming cup to my lips and take a sip. “It’s hot. Don’t drink too fast, dear,” she says in that annoying motherly tone of hers. “Here, eat a biscuit,” she passes a packet to me.
After some hesitation, hunger wins out over pride and I reach out. Taking a bite, I have to fight to keep myself from wolfing it down. Cranberry. “Thank you, ma’am. This is very good.”

“My mother taught me how to make them. She had a special recipe. We make our own food back home. Good rural folk, you see. Better than anything you can buy in a shop in the city,” she says conversationally, as if she’s not talking to someone who could not just walk into a shop and buy something for herself.
She takes a sip from her cup, and I’m momentarily grateful for the silence. “Mother’s a teacher. Father was a soldier. He, uh, vanished, during the rapture. What about your parents, Shakka?” she is really stressing my name.
“They’re dead,” my voice is hollow. She gives me that look, and I can’t tell whether she is about to scold me for being ‘surly’ or express pity and false sympathy. “Mother died when I was a baby. Infection. Could’ve been cured easily, but couldn’t get treatment.”
Because the Vaderites didn’t give a damn. Just another xenos. “Had a sister, but she...vanished. Dad worked at a construction. There was an...”I swallow, “incident. They said it was...sabotage. Dad was...subjected to the highest measure of punishment.” My voice has become mechanical. It is the story I’ve been forced to repeat time and again.

Then Cordé’s covers my hand. “The human running the site pinned the blame on him, didn’t he? You don’t have to say anything. I’ve seen such things before. I’m so sorry. It’s very sad.”
Oh, spare me your pity. I don’t want to bond with her. Or for her to frakking touch me. “It’s the way things are. It’s not right,” I growl, daring her to tell me otherwise.
“No, it’s not. It’s wrong. Very wrong,” she says and there’s that disgusting pity in her eyes. And then she reminds me again that she’s a card-carrying Vaderite. “I understand that what you’ve experienced – all these horrible things – has made it difficult for you to trust the State. But these men defile the Supreme Leader’ vision. Many are probably Jedi agents. If only he knew...but he can’t be everywhere. He has such a great burden on his shoulder.”
Right, that sick bastard you call ‘supreme leader’ doesn’t know that he sits on a throne of skulls and bones and all his wealth comes from squeezing us dry. You know what all this ‘feel good about being a slave, be happy your master is nice’ crap amounts to? Feeling better about herself while still stomping on anyone who’s not human. The slaver who thinks she’s doing you a favour is the worst. “Yes, ma’am. Master said she wants to...work for change.”

Cordé’s eyes light up. “Oh, yes, she is a very intelligent woman. And, look, she was sent here by the Supreme Leader himself. If we all work together, there’ll be harmony. Maybe one day the xenos of Hope Falls won’t need human oversight.”
She almost gets it. Almost. Not enough. I finish my tea and force a smile on my face. “I should probably get to work then, ma’am. All for the cause, right? Got a greater good to serve.”
She beams and pats me on the head like I’m some kind of favourite pet. “That’s the spirit, dear!” But as I get up, she speaks again. “Shakka, I like you. You’re smart and capable. You’ve been a great help. But never forget you must be obedient to your Master. I know temptation is never far from your kind. You must struggle against this demon daily. I once knew a Twi’lek who was much like you. Smart girl. I saved her from thugs. My family placed great trust in her. She repaid our kindness with betrayal. Naturally her terrorist friends were brought to justice. She lost her life, and damned her soul. Don’t be like her.”

“I know my place, ma’am.” Beneath the heel of a Vaderite. I fetch the document Kyriaki gave me and the piece of paper with the codes. Now to the tricky part of deciphering everything. I need to understand the words, and I need the cipher to figure out what’s actually written.
Finally I speak up. “Okay, I have it, ma’am. Still doesn’t make much sense though. “'Dut 1. 7:8 4'. What does that mean?"
“Oh, my red skinned friend, we must look to your instruction! The first Book of Duties, chapter 7, verse 8. ‘The first and overriding duty of the human male and the human female is to propagate the species. As we aim to breed our equines, banthas and hounds, so we must breed the best specimen of mankind and separate them from the inferior.’ From Glorious Conflict! That’s the first section though. Now let me see...ah yes. ‘First’. This may take a while, but fear not Shakk...a, we’ll figure it out!”
I grit my teeth. It’s bad enough to be under a preaching Vaderite lackey but now I have to hear their stupid book of lies being quoted at me. “Yes...we will. First,” I say, then read out the next section.

“I know that, too!” she exclaims. “Hmm, I’ll have to look it up. Just a moment, little one.” She briefly leaves, but returns all too quickly, carrying a worn copy of that piece of garbage. ‘Glorious Conflict’ is written on the book cover in fancy sigils and I notice the image of a stylised Vader helmet.
When she excitedly flips through the pages, I notice that she has made little notes in the margins of many pages. Then she starts reading. 'It is a necessity of human evolution that the individual should be imbued with the spirit of sacrifice in favour of the common weal, and that he should not be influenced by the morbid notions of those knaves who pretend to know better than Nature and who have the impudence to criticise her decrees. If humanity is not to be consigned to the ruins of history it must recognise its legacy and destiny.'” Do I really need to point out the irony? Well, it’s not obvious to the silly cow at all. “Hmm, now what could this mean?”
The cipher from Tara helps me understand what the code is. It gives us the right letter substitution to use. “Consigned...a play on words? First. Consignment,” I suggest.

This goes on for a while as we put the puzzle together. “First. Consignment. 21.4.868. Grain.” The cipher puts in ‘BAK’ at the end.’ “’BAK, for Bakios.”
“There, I told you the wicked cannot hide from the just for long,” Cordé declares because she’s not done with annoying me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I stay stiffly. “This was the first line. There’s more...”
With the general strategy filled out we get into a routine. I read out the code and Cordé consults her holy book to find the passage. Or, more often than not, recite it by heart. Then we note the word and move on. It is tedious work and her prissy, preachy recitation doesn’t help, but at least it is helping reveal the truth. Well, for me it’s about trying to hurt more Vaderite bastards using their own corrupt ways.

For Cordé it’s about punishing those who ‘abuse the fatherland’s trust’ so she can continue thinking she’s good and righteous. It’s mostly about deliveries of grain, but one of them mentions ‘organic cargo’. They’re trading slaves. Frakking bastards. The hours drag on. I glimpse at the chronometre and frown. Naturally Cordé catches it. “Dear, don’t slack. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” I mutter. “Just three lines left.”
“Even more reason for us to be extra thorough. We cannot afford to be imprecise and make false accusations. Now, read out the code...” Then her comm suddenly rings. She looks annoyed, but then her eyes go wide when she picks it up. “Lady Kyriaki...uh, I need to take this.”
“May I have your copy, ma’am?” I reluctantly point at that ugly book. “I can continue working and tell you what I find.”

“Hmm, alright. Don’t touch it without your gloves on. Don’t leave any markings. Or crumbs,” she pushes ‘Glorious Conflict’ over to me and quickly heads out. The moment I take it and start flipping through the pages, I have to fight to keep myself from laughing aloud or scratching out pages.
Or from commenting on her earnest notations. Various passages have been neatly underlined. There are exclamation marks and comments in the margins. One note says: “the common good triumphs. Personal is not the same or as important!”
I shake my head, help myself to another biscuit from the packet she was nice enough to leave behind, and get to work, reading and decoding. And eventually realise I’ve come across the best part. The cipher gives me three names at the end. This is a list of recipients. Big shots Bakios has been working with. Of course, he’s just a glorified camp manager. I scribble down some notes as I hear footsteps coming from outside.

“Alright, Lady Kyriaki will be with us momentarily,” she declares when she steps back in, closing the door behind her. Her eyes immediately go to her precious holy book. Like she’s afraid I’ve made it dirty just by touching it. “How are you faring, my little red friend?”
I could just keep quiet and sell all the info to the Republican Guard when Firith and I have our meeting – if they show. But I already got data about caches for them. Besides, sometimes the best way to hurt Vaderies is to get other Vaderites to do it for you. “Made progress, ma’am. You and Master were right. The plot’s not limited to Hope Falls. See here – Bakios has a partner. The document mentions a ‘Gen. Myhailov’. Do you know who that is? I guess ‘Gen.’ means general.”

“Give it to me,” she declares and takes the paper and her precious book from me. She checks my notes. “Myhailov...Hristo Myhailov!”
I look all innocent. “I take it he’s important?” I don’t have to fake it entirely since I legit don’t know who he is.
“He’s the commander of the Kylo Vader Sky Base. A war hero. Are you certain?”
Her calling him a ‘war hero’ tells me everything I need to know. Just another Vaderite criminal who killed enough innocent people to get loaded with medals. “That’s what the cipher gave me. The one Tara died to give us.”
“I knew the traitors were working with outside elements, but this is disgraceful. I believe you,” she shakes her head and looks...disappointed. “He sold his honour for thirty pieces of silver.”

Yes, and he stole the locals’ food and sold their people like chattel, but I guess that’s not a big deal. Somehow it just slips my mind to tell her that two other names are mentioned in the document. ‘Gov. Kollias’ and someone called ‘UnderSec. Rasate’. Maybe Kyriaki can make use of this.
“Yeah, it’s bad, ma’am,” I nod obediently. “Is this base...important? Since it’s a ‘sky base’ I guess it has...aircraft and stuff?” KEC, army – it’s all the same to me. Thugs in fancy uniforms stomping on people like me.
“Yes,” she huffs. “Look at the map.” She points at the one hanging on the wall. “It’s the most important base in the region. Bomber pilots train there.”
If there’s a chance to create some chaos, I gotta take it. The more dead Vaderites, the better. “Don’t know much about aircraft, ma’am. Never flown in one. But wouldn’t it have also been their job to, you know, keep the sky safe?”

She looks at me thoughtfully, pursing her lips. “Yes, and yet Dominion bombers attacked us unmolested. Not even a warning.”
“Master saved my life when they bombed us. If that air strike had succeeded, the three of us would be dead, ma’am...”
“And we’d have never found out the truth,” she finishes. “The Sith’ari works in mysterious ways. But he sees all; hears all. No one can hide from his gaze forever. Good work, dear. Give me everything you have. I’ll bring this to the attention of Lord Lachesis and the Disciple forthwith. Speaking of which, the lady said she is bringing two two xenos children with her. I don’t know why, but she must have her reasons. Children are impressionable, so remember: no swearing, no lewd language, proper grammar and syntax.”
No force in the world will stop her from being prissy. Stay on target, stay on target. I repeat the words like a mantra. Lena’ll be free soon. Then I’ll meet Firith again. We’ll chat with the Guard. And somehow I’ll get free from that damn collar. “Yes, ma’am.”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

So...now I’ve taken possession of two xenos children. No, wait, that is not the right phrasing. They are not my slaves. I don’t have possession of them. Nor do I want. They are in my care. No, that’s also wrong. Fine. Whatever. This is awkward. This may come as a surprise, given how much time the Vaderites’ propaganda apparatus spends drilling it into a human woman’s skull that her greatest ambition should be to become a broodmare and give the fatherland as many children as possible until her body gives up. But I don’t have much experience with children.

When I awoke in my birthing pod, I had the body of an adult. But none of the life experience. Just the garbled memories and face of a woman I’d never met. I look at the two girls. “Ollia. Vexa,” I repeat their names. I’m probably looking a bit silly now. Right, time to take control. This can’t be too difficult. “Get in the car. Let’s have a chat.”
“We gotta, um, get back soon, my lord,” the Cathar girl adds, fidgeting a bit. “The overseer will be mad.”
“And I daresay the word of a Disciple trumps that of a mere overseer, doesn’t it?” I state authoritatively. “Besides, you are my assets. You had urgent business to report to me.”
A look passes between the girls, then the Rodians nods curtly. “Yes, lord,” she.
“Where are we going?” the Cathar – Ollia, I should probably use their names in my head – asks.
“Headquarters,” I raise my hand. “I won’t hurt you. We will just...talk a bit. And you’ll get a warm meal. How does that sound? Good?”

“Deal,” Vexa states says laconically. Evidently not much of a talker. Ollia nods, though I feel the fear emanating from her.
“Great. Now come on, girls. Time’s a wasting. You’ll sit in the back with me.” So we get in the groundcar. If Hasapis has any thoughts on what I’m doing, he keeps them to himself. Good man. Honnah takes the steering wheel. As she drives us away, I briefly glance out of the window. The guards at the checkpoint have found another pair of citizens to harass.
The Cathar glances at the grey-uniformed, muscular goon riding in the passenger’s seat and at my uniform. “Are you KEC, my lord?”Her wariness is palpable.
“After a fashion. I’m a Sith Knight and the KEC exist to serve us.” There is a flicker of something on her face. I cannot quite place it. I could probe her mind. Someone this young and with no training would have no mental walls in place. It would not hurt anymore than a sting...No. I refrain. “Do you have family?”

“Dead. No food,” Vexa responds curtly. “My lord,” she adds that after a look from her feline friend.
“They’re gone,” her less laconic friend speaks. “Father died when there was...fighting. Mama...I don’t know. Was gone one day.” ‘Fighting’. That sounds like a euphemism for the PF carrying out a raid. I imagine him being gunned down in the crossfire. Or simply grabbed and shot because a goon had to meet a quota.
And now I feel awkward. How do I respond to that? “I’m...sorry.” I feel for them. But I can’t understand what it’s like to lose family. To watch your parents be cut down before you. Or for them to be suddenly ‘disappeared’.
I can’t even understand what it’s like to have family that care for you. The closest thing I have to a father is...no, I cannot think of Eisen like that. He is not my caregiver; he is not my protector; he is not someone I can be honest with. Perhaps it is better this way. It means there’s no loss for me to mourn.

“We survive, my lord.”
“Vexa,” Ollia chides her companion gently. “We stay at the orphanage. They got our details and all that. We’re no vagrants.”
“Work crew 301,” Vexa chimes in. I imagine both of them toiling in the fields, slipping a potato or some pieces of grain into the pockets of their threadbare clothes when no one is looking.
“I believe you, girls. But I think we both know that you haven’t survived this mess just by being labourers. That is good. It’s why you had strategies for how to deal with the guards...and for how to deliver that package. So tell me about your skills. The truth.”
Both are quiet for a moment. It is the Rodian...Vexa, who speaks first. "I can sneak, I can carry, I can be quiet. Nobody much looks at the kids."
I raise an eyebrow. “Carry? More packages?”

“Courier stuff, my lord,” Ollia explains. “When a foreman needs a message sent. Or a worker has a package. Not many comms, you see, my lord. We don’t want trouble. The guards know us,” she grimaces and amends, “most do.”
“Councillors are the only xenos with comms. Lotta folks ‘round here do use kid couriers a lot, my lord,” Honnah chimes in.
“So do terrorists and gangs,” Hasapis throws in. Ollia tenses at that.
“Don’t scare the little ones. Just simple courier duties, yes? You must meet all manners of interesting people then,” I remark.
“We never open a message,” the Cathar girl says. “Can’t read.” Vexa grunts something that I suppose sounds like affirmation.
I’m tempted to ask them about tunnels and all the legitimate business they’ve no doubt been doing, but I suppress the urge. They do not trust me. I wouldn’t either. I cannot push too hard right now. Not unless I want to resort to measures I really don’t want to utilise.

I wrinkle my nose slightly. The two do not smell good. And they’re dirty. “I heard you sing. You’ve got a lovely voice, Olia. And you dance well, Vexa.”
Ollia nudges her Rodian friend slightly. “Thank you,” Vexa states.
“Mother liked to sing...I think,” Ollia says quietly. A flicker of sorrow passes over her face. Then she brightens a bit. “I like singing, my lord. A woman at the orphanage taught us. Told us to ‘follow our talents’.”
“Sounds like a smart lady. Does she still work at the orphanage?”
“She was sent away.” A lump forms in my throat at the obvious euphemism. ‘Sent away’ means deported, sold or just taken to the nearest forest and shot in the back of the head.

“I’m not trying to trick you. Both of you have suffered greatly. But I also see two...smart, resourceful girls. Where we’re going now, you’ll be under my protection. I can keep you safe. The guards won’t be able to beat you. But you must be obedient and follow my orders.”
We drive in not particularly companionable silence. Past makeshift dwellings, past malnourished work crews repairing the damage from last night’s raid, past checkpoints. Occasionally we hear the sound of gun fire. Here and there, a drone can be spotted flying overhead.
You may be numbed to my narration of suffering. People die here every day. They are shot, starved, succumb to disease or simply collapse from exhaustion. It’s the way it is, nothing can be done, move on. It’s seductive to think that. Even now, I must remind myself of why I care and what I strive for, no matter how futile it might be. Eventually, the town vanishes. The soldiers on patrol remain, but instead of shantytowns, tents and drab, concrete buildings, we pass lush forest.

I wonder on those no doubt rare occasions when Eisen deigns to visit his reservation, do his minions go to great lengths to use a route that will show him the part of Hope Falls that is not totally decrepit? So that his royal person is not offended by the stench or, heaven forbid, has to deal with a desperate, dirty xenos woman begging him for scraps? Or do they just bypass the actual settlement entirely and bring him straight to the mansion?
The guards wave us through the checkpoint, but look at my two ‘pets’ suspiciously. I use my best authoritative voice to get us through. There are fewer trucks in the courtyard. Some of the wounded must have been transported elsewhere. However, I spot two fancy-looking, armoured groundcars. “Big shots,” Hasapis mutters. “Must be there to beg Auntie Lachesis not to give them a spankin’.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” I mutter. “Come on, children. Stay close to me.”
“Get movin’, girls,” Honnah orders when the girls hesitate. “Ya heard the boss. Be quiet unless spoken to.”

With obvious wariness, Vexa and Ollia get out and follow. Ollia looks awed – and intimidated – by all the soldiers and the obvious grandeur on display. Even Vexa’s stoic masks cracks a bit when we step inside. All the money spent on the grand villa could feed thousands. “Is this yours, my lord?” Vexa asks.
I chuckle a bit. “No, no. The Supreme Leader’s owns it.”
“He’s here?” Ollia fidgets somewhat.
“No, he’s governing the empire.” My voice is almost drowned out by the loud noise caused by a Gungan forced labourer cutting down grass with a lawnmower because obviously not a single piece of grass can be out of place. I reckon he’s part one of the regular servants.
“What’s that?” Ollia asks, pointing at the lawnmower and a sign. “What does that say?”
“’Do not enter the lawn’,” I read out. “And that is a gardener using a lawnmower. His job is to keep the lawn even.”

“Why’s that important? If the Leader’s not here, he won’t see it. Doesn’t even look nice.”
I am taken aback. Children! “Because...he wills it. And it’s orderly. It’s the civilised thing to do” The explanation sounds terribly silly, even to me. Honnah snorts. “Now cease the questions.”
Vexa stares at the obviously pristine fountain with an expression of wonder. She dips her finger into it. “Clean,” she mutters.
“Vexa, that’s not for drinking. Come on.” She mutters something in her native tongue I don’t understand. I pretend not to hear it. The entrance lobby looks posh and flashy to the point of gaudiness. Disdain and envy emanate from Honnah when she takes in the artwork and the decor. The Gamorrean looks awkward in these grandiose surroundings.

The lobby is less busy than when I first came here last night. For one, there are no wounded soldiers and people are not rushing in supplies, but manifold beings are still going to and fro or communicating over comms.
“Ah, my lord, Lord Lachesis has been expe...,” a secretary behind the reception desk begins, and abruptly stops when she notices the two xenos kids. One side of her upper lip curls upward. “What are these creatures doing here?”
“They’re mine. My assets,” I cut her off.
“Oh, well, you know the rules, my lord. The Supreme Leader has exacting standards for any xenos who enter his home. You are responsible if they run amok and make things dirty,” she sighs. “Lord Lachesis has ordered that xenos should stick to the servant house unless they have business in the mansion.”
“They know their place. The Leader needn’t worry,” I respond. “How are you holding up with supplies? Many wounded needed care last night.”

“We requisitioned supplies from the local hospice. The xenos will just steal from their own kind anyway. Their ‘head doctor’ offered to assist, but we can’t entrust our men’s lives to witch doctors,” the secretary says airily. “And the local garrison has finally pitched in. Some of our boys have been brought there.”
“Is that who the new groundcars outside belong to? I think I saw army license plates.”
“Skyhammer Fleet,” the minion corrects me primly. Know-it-all. “General Myhailov and Governor Kollias are in conference with Lord Lachesis.” Well, that explains it. “You are to give this to her.” And she hands over a datapad. I check the screen, and find it is blank.
I frown, but before I can say anything an excited looking Cordé dashes towards me. “My lord, welcome back! We have been hard at work!” She is followed by a far less exuberant looking Shakka. “We have troubling findings. I’ve already filled in...” the Maiden continues, then her eyes fall on Ollia and Vexa. I sense nervousness coming from Shakka when her eyes fall on them. Concern for them? Or something else? “Ah, these are the two ragamuffins you collected, my lord? Good day, little ones, I am Maiden Cordé Tycho,” she wrinkles her nose slightly when she bends down.

“Yes,” I respond a bit stiffly. “They need to be fed and given a wash.”
“Oh, yes, absolutely. I know it might not always be easy, little ones, but cleanliness is next to mindfulness. Remember, hygiene is not a greeting, it is a state of mind!” She looks smug at the joke.
Shakka says what they dare not to. “There aren’t many showers in the xenos camps, my lord.”
“Water’s dirty,” Vexa says flatly. “Not like the fountain.”
Realising what we said, I cringe. How could I be this ignorant? Ollia looks unhappy, and I sense suppressed anger wafting from her. “Even more rea...,” Cordé cuts herself off when I gesture.
“I can, uh, get them cleaned up, my lord. Let the xenos look after the xenos, right?” Shakka suggests. How thoughtful of her.
“Yes. Take them to the servant quarters. Cordé, see to it there’s no trouble. They also need proper documentation.” I look at the children. “I have some business to attend to. We’ll talk when I return. Follow any orders from Maiden Tycho as if they were mine.”

“Yes, Master.” Shakka bows. Strange. Then I notice that she has slipped a piece of paper into my pocket. She gestures to the girls, leading them away.
“I will make sure they are processed accordingly, my lord. And brought up to our standards of cleanliness,” Cordé promises a bit too eagerly. “If I could have a moment...” I nod and we step into a corridor. “General Myhailov received grain from Bakios. He’s part of the plot,” she says in a low voice.
“You and Shakka learned this from decoding the document we found?” She nods. “Good work. Does Lord Lachesis know?”
“Oh, yes, and she’s in conference with him. She told me to inform you and...no one else. You’re to keep quiet about it.” The Maiden looks puzzled. “Not that I doubt her,” she adds hastily, seeming flustered. “I...”
I give her a pat on the shoulder. “No one doubts your faith, Maiden. You’ve more than proven your devotion. There is a design at work. We must trust in it. Make sure the little xenos behave themselves.”
She smiles slightly. “Yes, my lord. I have our findings right here. We’re going to teach the gangsters a lesson!” The Maiden takes her leave and I turn to my two goons.

“Captain Diamandis should’ve selected the prisoners for me. Make sure everything’s in order there. Honnah, you may see some former colleagues. If they act uppity...”
“Honnah smash,” the Gamorrean cracks her knuckles. “Where we taking ‘em?”
“Some place called ‘the Sorrow’.”
Her eyes go wide. “Bad land. Cursed land.”
“Scared, xenos?” Hasapis asks challengingly, arms crossed.
“No, sir. Just bad place. Folks avoid it. Dead don’t rest.”
“I see. We can’t and won’t let that stop us. I appreciate you bringing this to my attention, Corporal. Tell me about it later.”
“Good luck, lord,” Hasapis grunts. There is an air of sarcasm about him. “Oh, and my Lord, this is a performance. Play your part, Lord Lachesis has it all planned out if I'm any judge....” Then he marches away. As I walk down the corridor, I fish out the piece of paper.
Shakka’s handwriting is not easy to read, but I’m familiar enough with her scrawl. “Gov. Kollias, UnderSec Rasate dirty. Corde doesn’t know.” Below that I see a few scribbled notes. I put it back in my pocket, and allow myself a smile.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Lachesis is not in her office, but I find the meeting room easily enough. Two burly KEC minions stand guard. As I approach the door, I can hear voices from inside.
“If my lord needs assistance acquiring better victuals I have a xenos I can give you who is good for their kind,” a pretentious, male voice says.
“I specifically requested this meal so you could eat what the citizens of the Imperium have. They don’t have ostentatious banquets, so neither should we.” That’s Lachesis. “Come in.” Stepping in, I see her seated at a dining table with the governor and the general.
I see a man dressed in a blue Skyhammer Fleet uniform. He has dark skin and an upturned moustache with stiff waxed tips. That must be Myhailov. The Governor wears a white Party uniform with plenty of ribbons and decorations.
Neither of them seems to have touched the food much. Which, by the way, consists of some corned beef, bread and hard biscuits. I wager their ersatz coffee has gone cold. By contrast, Lachesis’ plate and cup are almost empty. She is chewing on her biscuit when I come in.

“Ah, my dear Disciple. Back from investigating Hope Falls’s sordid secrets. I trust you’re recovering well from your injuries?” She brings her cup to her mouth, taking a sip. Why is Lachesis being...nice?
It puts me on edge. But apparently she’s not nice enough to offer me a seat. My bad leg grumbles. “Pain just spurs a Sith on, my lord,” I respond, keeping my expression neutral as I look across the table.
“General Myhailov, Governor Kollias, meet the diligent Kyriaki, my aide. She has been working this rather intriguing case. And bears the scars of the treason that has infested this den of vermin. But no true soldier emerges from battle unscathed. I’m sure you’d agree, General, given your...exemplary record.” The general’s face is unblemished. But his immaculate uniform is loaded with medals. The sunlight coming in from the window makes them gleam brightly. It looks garish. “Please do so be kind to jolt an old woman’s memory, what was the last frontline operation commanded by you again?”

The General grinds his teeth. He looks like he’d rather chew on rock. The biscuits do kind of look like that. “Operation Magic Fire. My forces wiped out nine terrorist bases. We killed thousands of Jedi dogs and their lackeys, and sustained only minimal casualties.”
“Yes, that’s it. An impressive accomplishment. I recall barely any weapons were found when the ruins of said bases were searched. Ah well, I suppose they’d all been destroyed beforehand.” Lachesis’ eyes gleam with amusement. “Just a shame your tactical genius failed you when a squadron of Dominion bombers conducted an air strike right on your doorstep. Please don’t tell me it was sabotage. These convenient legions of saboteurs just make us look silly.”
“It’s war; soldiers die,” he shrugs. “We can’t be sentimental about casualties. It’s regrettable it came to this, but I’m responsible for the defence of an entire province that’s under constant threat of incursion, Lord. My troops can’t be everywhere. Maybe your aides failed to inform you that my fighter pilots intercepted the attackers on their way home and decimated them.”

Lachesis raises an eyebrow. “Really? Wonderful! I trust you’ll show me the crash sites. And please don’t insult my intelligence by showing me broken aircraft that crashed during training accidents. I’m not that young anymore, but I can tell the difference between an old wreck and a new one. Or an aircraft that was one of ours and one of theirs, for that matter.” The General seethes, and she smirks.
“As riveting as watching you to is, we don’t have time for this,” the governor interjects. His annoyance is bubbling beneath the surface. “While we sit here, this town is teetering on the brink of chaos.”
“Have no fear, Governor, punishing those responsible is our business. Disciple, the datapad with your report, if you would be so kind.”
“Uh, yes, my lord,” I fish a datapad with absolutely nothing on it out and pass it over. Lachesis makes a show of looking through it.
Then she looks up at me. “You swear this is all the truth and nothing but the truth?” she asks theatrically.
Hasapis was right. It’s all a performance. “I swear it by the Sith’ari.”

“What does it say? Lord Lachesis,” Governor Kollias leans forward to her, “we’re old Party comrades, why don’t we discuss things in private? You know I want to clear this mess up as speedily as you. Really, the talents of you and your men are wasted in this backwater. This is a matter for the common police.”
She looks unimpressed. “It’s a matter for someone who can get things done. Which just so happens to be me. I’m sorry about your nephew.”
“He’s been a Party man for more than twenty years with no blemish to his name. The Party Court must handle his case.”
She brushes his words aside. “My dear comrade, I’d love to help you, but my hands are bound. You see, the Party Court is chaired by one of your in-laws. People would talk about any judgement it makes not being impartial.”
“Don’t play coy with me. I won’t allow my family’s honour to be slandered. I’m not a man to be trifled with, but I can be a loyal ally,” he retorts. “We can make an arrangement, and I’ll administer punishment to him for his negligence.”

“You misunderstand your situation. Both of you,” Lachesis says softly.
“This is preposterous,” General Myhailov sneers, rising to his feet. He grabs the medal hanging from his neck. “Do you know what this is? Do you know what I accomplished for the Imperium? I’m no common cur. And neither the KEC nor you have any authority over my command. I’m departing. The Secret Field Police is already conducting its own investigation – under my supervision.”
Then Lachesis slams her fist onto the table. “Myhailov, sit down,” she says in a voice colder than an arctic snowstorm. He looks Kollias and glares at us, then does as he’s ordered, like a naughty schoolboy.
“General, you have triumphed over the foul enemies of the Imperium; the unarmed slaves, the despotic xenos scavengers and the formidable starving wreckers. Quite a commendable record.” Her eyes flash angrily. “I have done my duty, have you?” She rises to her feet. I think he’s actually taller, but she seems to tower over him. She has taken off her gloves and there is a whir of servos from her two skeletal, black cybernetic arms.

“Yes, General, I have. Whilst you were enriching yourself and playing master with these xenos I have been fighting and winning the Imperium’s wars. Perhaps you have heard of Chios? Or Chazowa? Have you ever spared a single thought for the men and woman who died under your command? Visited them at their sickbed? Provided for their families? Shared their hardships? I worked my way from the bottom, General. But understand this, while you have the temerity to complain that my table’s cuisine is not delectable enough for your fine palate I have been trying to understand what is best for the Imperium in conjunction with the Supreme Leader’s will. And you, Governor, spare me your whining about your family’s honour. Everything you have you were given and retain because of your name. You’re not here to make demands; you’re here to answer for your deeds – and for your failure. Understood, gentlemen?” There’s silence. “Good.”

There’s a timid knock on the door. “Uh, my lord, Captain Bakios here to see you with two prisoners,” a female aide says.
“Send him in.” Lachesis sits back down. The door opens, and Bakios saunters. He’s carrying a briefcase. With him are Nass and a Duros male I don’t recognise. Both are wearing shackles. Nass’ face is covered in bruises. The human doesn’t look too good either. Maybe he’s the Prefect’s secretary.
Bakios looks smugly at me, but for just a moment his jaw goes slack when he sees the General and the Governor. Nonetheless, he salutes. “My lord, reporting as ordered. I’ve completed my investigation. My apologies once again for the inconveniences.”
“I’ve completed mine too,” I cut in.
“And people say competition is unhealthy,” Lachesis mutters. “Well, begin. Bakios, you first.”

“Yes, my lord,” he clears his throat. “I’ve uncovered a vast criminal network. My investigation began before your arrival, but it’s to my shame that I only now realised its true extent. I am immensely grateful to you for opening my eyes.” Oh, shut up. “Nass, you conspired with the Dominion to starve our people.”

A knot forms in my stomach. There’s nothing I can do for her. She speaks mechanically. “Yes. I worked with corrupt elements in the PF and the council. Our next step would have been to poison grain shipments to Imperial cities. I swore an oath of loyalty to the Jedi. My family had no knowledge of my crimes. Nor did my deputy.” Her eyes are downcast. “Your maiden was...one of my agents. When they learned of my arrest, my people ordered her to...kill you.”

“Luckily, I was quick on the draw. Similar orders were given to the servants of other prominent citizens?”
She pauses, looking pained. “Yes.”
“You xenos couldn’t have done this all alone. You didn’t have the access. You had friends on the human side.”
She nods. “Yes. Prefect Kollias helped us.”
“Preposterous. You have no proof. The word of a xenos is not enough to indict a gentleman,” the Governor interrupts hotly.

“I didn’t want to believe it either,” Bakios says apologetically. “I present to you Ral Kel, the Prefect’s secretary. I’m sure you remember him from the recording. I considered Kollias a friend. I told him not to place so much confidence in a xenos. But he wouldn’t listen. Now I understand why.” He looks Lachesis right in the eye. “There was an attempt on Kyriaki’s life. You passed on the Prefect’s order to kill her, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir. He told me to get rid of her. He said his uncle would cover for him.”
The Governor gets up. “I demand satisfaction. I challenge you to a duel. You’re the arch-criminal here. Myhailov, say something. This cur is your creature. I know all about how you’ve been feathering your nest. Your under-the-table deals...” The General says nothing.

Bakios reaches into his briefcase and takes out a stack of folders. He pushes them over to Lachesis. “My Lord, General, these files are backed up by extensive audio recordings. But I think you’ll find they get to the heart of the matter. They include several transactions. It seems the Ministry of Finance was compromised, too. A man called Rasate was their pawn there.”

Lachesis flips through them, so does the General. “This is appalling. The moment you think you know a man. I’d say this case is closed,” the General remarks.
And then I step in. “Not so fast. The case is far from closed.”
“My dear Kyriaki, I understand you’re riled up about the attack on you, for which I apologise profusely. But you’re not...”
“It’s ‘my lord’ to you, Captain. You’re right about one thing: the Prefect and the Governor are complicit in criminal dealings. So are General Myhailov...and you.”
“Tread carefully, Disciple,” the General growls.
“Or what?” I ask icily. “Captain, I’ll hand it to you. You were thorough. You made files disappear from the agricultural archives. Where, by the way, your minions dug a secret tunnel. I have a picture right here.” I hold up my ‘pad. “You sold out your own minion to cover your tracks. Then you launched an attack on your own smuggling centre. Alas, you didn’t get rid of all the witnesses, and they confessed.”
“Xenos thugs I personally drummed out of the force,” he snarls.

“One of them was a good human woman. And she provided me with this,” I point at the datapad I gave Lachesis. “My Lord has seen all the recordings. You even broke guest right to tie up loose ends. When you realised all that didn’t work, you tried to have me killed. If there are really so many saboteurs in your force, then you’re an incompetent fool, but I don’t think you’re a fool. Just a criminal. Sadly, it was not enough. With the help of your maiden, I found a document containing illegal grain shipments.”
“You believe a xenos? She was a Togruta. We know what they’re like. She addled your mind. After all, it is well-known that you’re a xenos lover. There’s nothing but lust and deceit in their heart. I really didn’t want to do this, my lord. It pains me to make this personal, but I think it’s time everyone see just how...impure your assistant is.” He produces a recording device, and suddenly I hear my voice, along with Shakka’s It’s the conversation we had in the archives so long ago.

Damn. My illusion fooled the guards, but I didn’t count on him bugging that room, too. My jaw tightens. I can turn this around. He looks grave. “’Less strenuous work’. ‘Eisen is a crime lord’. You conspired with your xenos to sabotage our great nation.”
Lachesis curls up her lip in distaste, but looks expectant. “Explain yourself, Disciple.”
“Is this what the Sith Academy has come to?” the General asks disdainfully. “Consorting with Twi’leks.”
“A doctored recording. How droll.”
“Do you deny slandering our Father the Supreme Leader?” the General snaps.
“Everything I am, I owe to the Supreme Leader. I am a clone with no name or titles. You call him our Father. Well, he is my father in all ways that matter. How could I slander him? As for the rest, I fed the Twi’lek some platitudes to make her productive. It worked. If you’d managed your pet better, Bakios, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I suppose you were too busy bedding her. Shameful. You wiped your records – not well enough, since my secretary found out all about your financial irregularities. And you kept the most damning document in your study. I’ll give you credit, the code was ingenious...but not unbreakable.” I produce the folder and throw it onto the table. “I have here the shipments of the last couple weeks. And a report outlining a web of systematic fraud and theft."

“Did your Twi’lek pet tell you that?”
“No, Maiden Tycho, assigned to me by Lord Lachesis. She saved my life. Her loyalty is beyond reproach. You, the Prefect and Nass all worked together. But you three couldn’t do it all on your own. Your reach doesn’t extend beyond this miserable town. You, General, provided protection and resources and you, Governor, used your influence to keep the money flowing. Both of you received grain. I’ve found no evidence of this Rasate being complicit. He seems to have been a dupe.” I smile thinly. “You’re right, Captain, there is an organised criminal network collaborating with the Dominion. You and your friends are the ones running it.”
“Gentlemen?” Lachesis asks ever so softly, her gaze intent. “Did you receive ‘gifts’ from Hope Falls?”
Bakios is red in the face. He looks at Myhailov. “General, I’ve served you faithfully for many years...”
The General looks flustered. “I had no idea that grain had been stolen. My aides handle that business for me. It was a bad year, and we needed the supplies...”

“I had no involvement in any of this. But it seems my nephew isn’t the man I thought he was. It’s been ages since we met in person. These scoundrels twisted his mind, just as my advisors deceived me.” The Governor clears his throat. “My Lord, I’d appreciate your...aid in clearing out the nest of vipers.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Lachesis cuts in. “Gentlemen, there are big crimes and little crimes. Little crimes, so long as they don’t hurt the fatherland, are acceptable so long as their duty outweighs the faults. But you hurt the fatherland, whether directly or through negligence. You got too greedy. Too comfortable. Your actions have allowed wreckers and sloths to thrive. Our soldiers were deprived of bread because of your selfishness. And worse you tried to hide it. So I shall pass judgement, starting with you, Mr Bakios, but not finishing with you.”
“In all my years as a soldier, I’ve served the fatherland. I won’t beg for my life. I ask you only to spare my family,” he says.

“I’m not a barbarian, Mr Bakios, indeed I’m insulted by the thought I’d murder a good human woman and her children for the sins of the father. No, Mr Bakios, they won’t be harmed, despite profiting from your embezzlement. However, your family will surrender its illegal wealth. Your wife will leave your villa and start over. Your children will stay in an orphanage until a loyal family has been found to raise them.”
“His children should bear witness to his execution. So that they know what happens to anyone who tries to graft and leech from the fatherland. Just as he made them watch when he killed his colleagues.” I’d say the words leave my mouth without thinking, but that would be a lie. I am suggesting a horrible, horrible thing because I know it will help me score political points.

Lachesis nods. There is a hint of an approving smile on her face. And I feel a surge of alarm and anger emanating from Bakios. He draws his gun, but before he can shoot himself through the mouth, Lachesis has reached out through the Force and crushed it. Bakios screams in pain when scarlet bolts of lightning strike him. He falls to the floor.
“You disappoint me, Mr Bakios. I had hoped you would die with dignity, owning your crime, rather than choose a coward’s death. I would have given you the chance to give the firing squad the order to fire and bear your chest to the bullets. Now it’ll be the black hood and the execution stake, and young Kyriaki will call the orders for your death. Take him away; he will get his own squad. The xenos can be shot en mass.”

The two guards haul him off his feet and drag him out. Without sparing him a further look, Lachesis turns to her other two ‘guests’. “I’m not sure what’s more despicable. Being the orchestrator of a crime against the state or doing nothing about it and profiting from one’s negligence. Either way, you both deserve to lose your heads. But the Imperium may still have use for you. That is why I’ve decided to spare you the humiliation of having your crimes publicised. General, it’s been so long since you held a frontline command. I believe a posting of Major General has opened on the Troizen Front. It’ll give you new tales of glory to regale us with, if you survive. You will take up your new post immediately.”
“Troizen is a swampy hellhole with nothing of value. No resources, no infrastructure,” he counters feebly.
“Sounds perfect for you,” the Governor interjects tartly.
“Don’t worry, General, I already have a replacement for you in mind. You may pick your staff, within reason. I trust you understand that some of your present aides...won’t be joining you. Am I clear?”

Myhailov’s teeth grind to one side. “Yes, my Lord.”
“And dear Kollias, I haven’t forgotten about you. It seems your administration has some issues as well, so I’ll help you tear out the weeds. Your nephew will step down out of shame for his failure to live up to his duties.” She bends over the table. “One of your sons died on the frontlines, the other was raptured, so I am being lenient.”
“Your skill as a leader is only matched by your graciousness, my Lord. My family won’t forget this.”

“Don’t mistake my clemency for forgiveness. When the people I will assign to your staff give you advice, you follow it. I fear for your nephew’s safety until we’ve cleared out your inner circle. For the time being he will stay on Chios as a guest of the KEC. Have no fear, they’ll take good care of him.”
He tenses, but nods. “No harm is to come to him. No details of his shame will be leaked to the press. I want it on record that my family had nothing to do with this.” She nods. “Then we have an agreement, for the good of the fatherland.”
Lachesis’ smile reminds me of a crocodile. “Excellent. This has been a most productive meeting. We’ll be in touch. You’re dismissed. Kyriaki, stay.”

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Hooray. Bakios has been taken down and I’ll have him executed in front of his family. One of his backers is being exiled to the middle of nowhere and other has been cowed by Lachesis. I feel no triumph. Bakios is a glorified camp thug. He and his friends are not the root of all evil here. They are but symptoms of the malaise. It’s a disease I know well. Maybe I share this affliction. A bunch of innocent people died to get me this far. And more will die. I can punish some monsters, but I must keep trampling on the innocent.

And now I’m alone with Lachesis. My bad leg is giving me hell. “’Less strenuous work’, ‘Eisen is a crime lord’,” she quotes, sounding like a mocking imitation of me.
“My lord...”
She raises her hand and I fall silent. “Kyriaki, dear, sometimes the only winning move is to keep your mouth shut. I quite find my description as a purist amusing. If the circumstances had been slightly different, it might’ve been you getting frog-marched to an execution site. Or exiled to a desolate swamp to die of malaria. You got results. Better than I expected. So this little indiscretion – this moment of weakness – will go...unnoticed. No one needs to know that you bared your inmost thoughts before a Twi’lek. Clearly this recording was a malicious fake.”
“Yes, my lord.”

Her smile sends shivers down my spine and makes my skin crawl. It’s more unnerving than when she’s yelling or glaring at someone. “Then I’ll take possession of this, for safekeeping. We wouldn’t want someone with no understanding of the situation to get a hold of it, would we?” She pockets the device Bakios left behind.
I nod obediently. “No, we wouldn’t, my lord.”
“Keep your pet in line. She knows too many of your weaknesses. You’ve exposed yourself to her too many times.”
Inside trepidation crawls through me like electrical shocks. “I put blinders on her eyes. She thinks I’m ‘not like the others’. It gives her hope. That’s the leash around her neck. It helped me deliver the results you wanted, my lord. A general who thought he was above you has been banished; a well-connected governor is in your pocket. Doubtless Maiden Tycho would report any hint of rebelliousness. She’s a loyal Humanist of pure human stock.”

“Oh, yes, and idealistic. Where she comes from, people have come to view xenos as naughty pets that can be taught to play fetch. If you cannot control your xenos or contain her, you’ll force me to do it for you. Understood?”
I hold her gaze. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Good. Now for heaven’s sake, sit down. Since I’m already mothering you, would you like some coffee?”
I hate the fact that standing was starting to get stressful for me was so obvious, but take a seat, wincing as the motion causes a stab of pain in my leg. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
She puts the machine on. “Well-played. If I may, my Lord. How much of this did you already have planned out when we arrived?”
Lachesis fills the cup and passes it over, sitting back down. “’He who is without sin shall cast the first stone’. Everyone is guilty of something. The question is: whose sins are so egregious that they hurt the state and whose can be used productively? I trust you understand.”

“Yes.” I take a long sip. Even instant ersatz coffee can taste good when you really need it. “I’d like to request making Maiden Tycho’s assignment to me a longer-term one. She has been a great help. I’ve grown quite fond of her. And as you say, my lord, it’s not healthy for me to only have a xenos for company.”
“Granted.”
“I think her actions merit an award of some sort. Or a promotion. If she speaks on behalf of a Disciple, she needs a bit more authority than a Maiden.”
“Put it in writing and I’ll consider it. As an aspiring Sith, it behoves you to gather your own retinue. By that I mean a human one, not the gaggle of creatures you’ve been collecting. Be strict, but fair. Pay attention to their needs. You must build trust.”
“By not having extravagant banquets while they subsist on ersatz coffee and stew?” I ask rhetorically. There is neither mirth nor mockery in my tone.
“Yes. Fear alone will only last as long as you seem to be on top of the game. But always make sure to keep something they covet dangling in front of them. Something they can only seize and keep in their grasp by following you.”

“I’ll remember, my Lord. So what’s the next step? The town and the garrison will need new leaders.”
“Fishing for a position already?” she chuckles. “I wouldn’t aim for the Prefect’s job if I were you.”
“No, my lord. Just curious about who’s going to fill the vacuum. The locals will fear the justice you mete out as long as you’re here, but I wager you and your men will soon want to return to the frontlines to fight the good fight.”
“You’ll find out in the days to come,” she says curtly.
“I’m sure it’ll be someone who understands the fatherland’s priorities, my lord. I’m asking partly because I feel like acquiring some property. There are many soon-to-be vacant homes. Such as Bakios’.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Claim it if you want. You’re the one who ruined him. Some of my men may become your neighbours...to make sure the authorities never again acquiesce to disorder.” She rises to her feet. The meeting has clearly come to a close. “The measures authorised by me to increase production will remain in place. Don’t worry about your xenos friends. Applying Chios methods is not practical for the time being. But we’ll bring in the harvest. The first convoy is going to leave the town today.”

I finish my coffee, collect stray files and get up. “Since we’re so concerned with providing people with food, I shall follow my final lead on some grain hidden by the conspirators. I’ve made arrangements with the Captain for the use of penal labour.”
She shrugs. “Off you go, Disciple. Put them to work, shoot them if you have to. I’ll inform the Supreme Leader of our findings, and your diligence. Now smile a bit, dear. Today is a good day.”
“Yes, my lord,” I click my heels, and stretch out my arm. “Praise Vader.” I limp out of the room, taking a breath and leaning against the wall after the door closes behind me.
‘Mothering’ me. That’s what Lachesis said. I wonder what is Elpsis’ mother like? Is she strong, proud and fierce? Did Elpsis inherit her strength from her? A clone should’ve inherited her template’s memories. But all I have are a few flashes. Maybe the Jedi did not trust their flash conditioning or the Vaderites just woke me up too soon. It’s strange that I have no memories of a father, even though I’m certain that Elpsis is no clone.

Sometimes I see a diminutive, red-haired woman. She looks frail and tiny, but she fearlessly rides wild beasts. One vision shows her amidst rubble, giving comfort to dying. Our features look similar. But she rarely appears. I don’t think Elpsis knows her well. Maybe an aunt? I would’ve liked to know more of her. Another is a redhead – there seems to be a pattern here – in an elegant red dress. Her bearing is proud and she’s always beautifully dressed, but there seems to be little behind it. She reminds me of a Vaderite’s pretty ornament. I dimly remember a third redhead of unimpressive height, but commanding and regal. Men and women pay homage to her. I recall Elpsis fighting her in what looks like a dojo. They do not look much alike. Maybe she is the mother and Elpsis takes after her father, whoever he is. But is she a Sith or a Jedi? Both are vile, but only Sith have children. Jedi only have clones. But Elpsis is not vile. But are there any other paths? Maybe her parents were good to her. Mine were not. My maker was the Dominion and my adoptive parents are Lachesis and Eisen.

The cabal has been unmasked, but my business is not yet done. My own scheme has not yet been brought to fruition. Once I have the opportunity, I must get in contact with this ‘Rasate’. He seems like the pen-pusher of the cabal. The easiest to blackmail.
Shakka and Cordé are lingering outside in the courtyard. I imagine taking care of two unruly children can be tiring. But as I approach, I notice they are not alone. A youngish man in immaculate KEC uniform is standing with them. I sense an aura of the Force surrounding him.
But it is faint. Weaker than me. Not that of a trained Sith.
He’s of average height, his short dark hair is well-groomed and his skin tanned. He has the rank bars of an officer. He smiles cheerfully when he sees me, takes off his leather glove and extends his hand to me. “Ah, the intrepid investigator herself. I hope I’m not imposing, my lord. Please allow me to introduce myself. Cavalier Doctor Jonas Menkales.”
I shake his hand. His grip is firm “Disciple Kyriaki, as I imagine you know, Doctor.” I see Cordé’s lip curl up in distaste. Shakka is rigid and her eyes are downcast, but I feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Tension is written all over her. Something is off. “You’re not imposing, but I do have an assignment I must complete without delay. Lord Lachesis does not tolerate idleness, as I’m sure you know.”
He chuckles. There is a boyish grin on his face. “Oh, no, she doesn’t. I’m about to have a meeting with her myself. Works us like horses – but she brings out the best in us. I was just becoming acquainted with your retinue. Quite an intriguing xenos you have, my lord. And Maiden Tycho – what a dedicated woman.”

“Yes, they are very competent,” I say a bit tersely.
“Before you go, I understand you’re in possession of two xenos children you found on the street. If I may, I’d like to carry out a medical checkup. You never know what kind of diseases the xenos might carry. I promise I won’t impair their future usage.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Cordé suddenly blurts out. The Maiden I know would never do that. Her eyes are icy. “I have medical training and am more than equipped to carry out a simple checkup.”
“No disrespect intended, my dear, but according to your files you only received basic medical training and knowledge of human anatomy. Xenos can be carriers for all manners of strange diseases we are only beginning to understand. Sadly, they can affect us, too.”
I catch Shakka staring at me. The look is pleading. “Thank you for your offer, Doctor. But I’m fully confident in the Maiden’s skill. The xenos know she serves me, and thus will be more forthcoming when questioned about any medical conditions.”
“As you wish. I only want to avoid unfortunate outbreaks. Should you require my aid, don’t hesitate to call me. I won’t detain you any further.” I see him look to the spot where Hasapis is bossing around some goons and prisoners. “Hey, Isaac, cards later?” he calls out.

“Sure, if you’re ready to come out of your ivory tower and slum it with us grunts,” the Banneret grunts good-naturedly.
“I promise to check my privilege and talk in clear, plebeian Basic peppered with profanity, my old friend. Good day, my lord. I hope we have time to catch up later.” Menkales tips his cap and then he’s off.
Once he’s out of earshot, I turn to Cordé. “What happened?”
Shakka opens her mouth, but says nothing. “We had an unpleasant encounter with him,” Cordé says simply.
There is more to this. Cordé is as loyal as they come. She wouldn’t speak poorly of another Vaderite, especially in front of a slave, if he wasn’t extremely repulsive. But I don’t have the time to prod. “I see.” Looking at Shakka, I add. “You can have a moment with Lena while I instruct the workers.”
Cordé falls in line alongside me. “Poor thing. I feel sorry for her. But this shouldn’t detract from what we’ve accomplished! Justice has been served?”
“Bakios has been sentenced to death, the General’s been banished to a swamp hole and Governor Kollias’ cabinet will be combed from top to bottom. His nephew has been stripped of his position and will be sent away for re-education.”
The Maiden frowns slightly. “The Governor, too? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I didn’t know about him. I hope I didn’t miss anything, my lord!”

I pat her hand. “Additional evidence came to light. It wasn’t part of the intel you analysed. I’m very pleased with your work, Maiden. So is Lachesis.”
She beams with delight, blushing a bit. “I am...happy to hear that! I just want to do my part, you know. It seems a bit...never mind.”
“Speak your mind, Maiden. I appreciate your insights.”
“I do not question the judgement, but I hope that scoundrel Myhailov and Governor Kollias can’t cause any further harm. Who knows what they might plot if given the chance.”
“Your concerns are understandable, Maiden, and I encourage you to share any you may have in the future with me – in private. They come from a place of loyalty. But they’re no threat now. However, it makes our work all the more important. Villains like this come and go, but we must make sure there’s no rotten foundation for them to exploit.”

She nods after a moment. “You’re right, my lord. How can I be of service?”
“There’s a man called Undersecretary Rasate. He came up in the files, but he was innocent of criminality. I believe he could be of help to our cause though. Get me his details. And look into the matter of funding. I trust you can trace Bakios’ money.”
“Leave it to me, my lord. One of my friends is an auditor. I’ll write up a fiscal plan.”
“How are the children?”
“Being taken care of I’ve left them under supervision. They’ve been washed, given a meal. I’m going to put them to work in the kitchen. I won’t let this...’doctor’ near them. But what do you intend to do with them? They cannot stay here.”
“No. In the long term, they can work at the factory when it’s been built. In the meantime, I’m going to confiscate Bakios’ villa. They can work there as servants, though I’ll need someone reliable to run the place in my absence. Do you know anyone, perchance?”
“I think I may know just the man, my lord! He may even help with your enterprise. I’ll make some calls.” I hand over my paperwork to Cordé and excuse myself.

True to their word, Hasapis and Honna and some legbreakers in uniform have mustered a bunch of prisoners in the courtyard. As I come closer, I pull at the tangled web that is the Force. Energy fills my leg. I cannot keep it up for long, but it will let me walk without limping.
I recognise familiar faces from my interrogation session. I see Bakios’ henchwoman from the grain truck crew. Sara Filo. There is hatred in her eyes when she looks at me. I also spy the Houk. The look in his face shows he remembers the mental invasion. Lena stands a bit away from the group, looking awkward. Unlike the rest, her feet aren’t shackled. Her hands have been cuffed though and she wears a collar.
Seeing Shakka approach, Honna interposes herself between them, looming over the Twi’lek. I gesture to her. “She has my permission. One minute.”
“Boss says you talk. No funny business,” the Gamorrean grunts at Lena and steps aside. Not that they’ll have any privacy anyway. But I leave the Twi’leks to it and step forward to address the ‘work force’.
My frail body frustrates me a lot, but it has one thing going for it: I don’t need painful high heels to look tall because I am. Poor Nikolai called me statuesque once. That was sweet of him. It helps with commanding attention. Now if only I hadn’t fallen unconscious in front of some of them, but, well, the torture session and presence of goons with guns should’ve helped rectify that.

“Attention, scum, the lady’s here. You can at least try to look like a less sorry lot,” Hasapis barks.
Suitably announced, I address the motley work crew. “Your masters have been brought to justice. Bakios has been sentenced to death. The Prefect is in custody and will never return. Their bosses can’t and won’t protect you. They sold you out,” I begin. “I’m giving you the chance to save yourself from execution or a slow death in a concentration camp. You’ll redeem yourself by performing any labours I require, starting with digging up the grain you hid. Complete these tasks to my satisfaction and your sentence will be commuted. Try to run, you’ll be shot. Laze around, you’ll be shot.”
“You heard the lady, scum. Get your arses in gear,” Hasapis grunts. “Honna, you’re with them in the back of the truck.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” And so the prisoners are herded into the transport by the Gamorrean and a few other guards.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Shakka step away. “Lena, you’re with the others. Slave, get back to work,” I call out to them.
“Yes, lord, I’m ready. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, Master.” Shakka glances at Lena. “Later.” When one prisoner proves recalcitrant, Honna simply lifts her up with her bare hands and hauls her into the truck. I take my place in front with Hasapis in the driver’s seat.

“Saw you met whiz kid Jonas,” he remarks as he drives us out.
“You two seem friendly.”
“We go way back. Same company. Been in the trenches together.”
“I’m surprised. He doesn’t have the look of a soldier.”
“He’s a brave and valiant man,” he retorts, a sharp edge to his voice. He saved my life. My APC had been hit by a rocket. It was burning. We were under enemy fire. Thought I was a goner, but then that nerdy idiot pulled me out.”
Yes, quite a paragon. He upset my Shakka – he was crass enough for Cordé to be uncomfortable around him. But I keep my composure. It would seem I’ve touched a nerve. Time to change my approach. “That was brave of him. I didn’t intend to be unfair.”
“He got a medal, but didn’t let it go to his head. Doesn’t mind hanging out with us grunts. Not like some Disciples. No offence,” he adds.

“Sounds like you don’t like us much.”
“I’m no rebel. All the Xenos Guard’s claptrap is bollocks. Freedom? Pah. It’s anarchy. The strongest must rule – that’s you lot. I like the Disciples who don’t death charge across the battlefield to show how big their sword is and get us grunts killed. Who share our hardship out there on the frontlines. And don’t electrocute us for opening our mouth.”
“How dare you suggest that the Sith are not perfect in every way? Your plebeian mind cannot grasp their preternatural insight. I was schooled alongside the sons and daughters of the finest families of the realm...and kept screaming about unlimited power so loudly I wondered it might damage their vocal cords.” He guffaws loudly. “Sometimes I wonder whether their families’ bloviating about their pure, ancient blood is code for incest.”
“Ha. I like you, lord. Lachesis, Menkales – they’re the smart ones. Stick with them.”
“What does your friend do now?”
“Advanced research. Sorry, lord, can’t say more. He doesn’t talk about it. Real hush-hush. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to trust me if I ran my mouth at the first opportunity.”
“Your loyalty’s commendable.”

After a long drive, a thick treeline looms ahead of us, dark and foreboding. The road ends here. We waste no time disembarking. Hasapis and Honna get the goons organised with copious amount of yelling, cursing and the occasional beating.
“Prisoners in the middle. Any of you lot try to run off or slack for even a moment, and it’ll be your last. Stay frosty, boys, and watch your back. Errant Aetos, secure our rear, Drakos...” The noise this causes blurs into one as I look up and find, to my surprise, that the sky has darkened. It’s not even early evening yet. I could have sworn the sky was clear and bright a few moments ago.
“Corporal Honna, Lena, with me,” I command as I reach out with the Force. My senses expand, but I feel no life amidst the trees ahead of us. And it is deathly silent. “This is the right place?” I ask the Twi’lek when my Gamorrean minion has escorted her to me.
“Yes, my lord, there’s a clearing to the north, I’ll show you,” she replies, shivering a bit. It does feel colder than it should be. There’s a chill in the air. The trees are so tightly grouped together that I wonder where we can enter.
As if sensing my thoughts, Lena chimes in. “I know the way, my lord. We just have to take a detour.” With her as our guide, we move into the dense forest. Guards flank the prisoners, directed by Hasapis.
Honna is at my side, moving surprisingly fast for her kind. “You say you were here to...close a deal, then you saw them. Was there anything unusual?” I ask our guide.
“There was...,” Lena pauses for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I hid in the bushes when the soldiers showed up. Then suddenly I heard a wail. I turned and there was a little girl. A Twi’lek. There was a bullet hole in her head,” she takes a breath. “I reached out, and she was gone. I don’t think the soldiers noticed anything. But then I heard yelling, and a gunshot. I fled.”

I glance at Honna. “I take it that’s one of the phenomena you wanted to mention, Corporal?”
“Forest’s cursed. My squad was dumpin’ bodies here. Then suddenly one of my mates started screaming. He ripped an eye out. I tried to stop him, but he bit me. Had to put him down.”
And then I feel like something is crawling over my skin. “Murderer! Thief!” The voice speaks in a whisper. It comes from just behind me. I jump, hand reaching for my blade and spin around. But there is no one there, just the track back to the road.
“You hear them, lord?” Honna grunts. “They don’t rest easy here.” Looking at Lena, she adds. “Twi’lek, c’mon. You’re the guide.”
“Yes, this way,” Lena takes a breath. Honna stomps on ahead, leaving me to follow. I feel the myriad emotions of the penal labour – expectant, nervous, angry. I steady myself, and move on. But then suddenly something wet drips onto my face. Another drop falls, then another. I taste copper in my mouth. I raise my hand to wipe my face. When I look at the glove, it is coated with red viscera. Fresh, wet blood. It came from out of nowhere. None of the others seem to have noticed. I walk onward into the darkness.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Frak, frak, frak.

Vexa knows me. She sent the message for Firith and me. Did she tell Master? Kyriaki didn't say anything. She couldn't have told her...yet. We're in KEC Central. Steady, Shakka. Calm down. You can keep this under control. You can get out. And she's a kid. You pulled her into this. I take a few deep, calming breaths as I lead the two girls away to the servants' building.

"We don't know each other," I hurriedly whisper to Vexa, keeping my voice as low as possible. "We never met, got it?"
There's a moment of understanding in her dark eyes. "I don't know you," she says flatly. "Who are you? You're the Disciple's slave?"
"Personal slave," I reply a bit indignantly. "Shakka Fiatkin."
"Is she going to enslave us, too? Ollia asks after I've shown my credentials to a guard outside and we've been let into the building.
"She'll give you work to do..but nothing too bad." Hopefully nothing that involves sneaking around the place and getting manhandled or shot at. "Master won't hurt you."
"Butcher's here," Vexa interjects. Her tone is laconic, but she can't quite keep the fear out of her words. She's right to be afraid.
"They say she drinks Togruta blood, has lampshade made of Twi'lek skin and uses Cathar and Wookiee fur for rugs," Ollia says fearfully.

"Those are...stories." I'm sure the lampshade's true. I've seen them in too many Vaderite houses.
"She killed everyone on Chios. Men, women, children – murdered."
"Yes," I speak in a low growl. "And if you two want to survive, you'll avoid her and keep your head down. The best way to do that is do what Master says. She won't hurt you."
I say this while I'm planning to make my escape because I don't trust her. Because the chance of freedom, however slim, is better than being held on a leash. Ollia nods, looking doubtful. "She helped us. She wants something from us."
"Let's get you cleaned up first, girls. Before Cordé raises a stink." That makes Ollia giggle a bit. "And here we are, I guess."

The layout of the building is confusing. So many rooms. It's almost like Eisen's ego demanded his servants have a building as big as the villa, just without the glitz, gold and glamour. Fortunately, I was already here last night, so it doesn't take us too long to find the shower. "Quickly. Get in, get washed, get out."
Vexa looks a bit incredulous when she steps inside. "This is...nice." Even I look a bit confused, it looks a lot cleaner than I'd expect. "The soap's clean." The girls quickly get undressed. I just stand at the door obviously. Whatever Cordé thinks, the girls don't need mummy to hover over them and show them how to clean themselves.
"The water's warm. There's...shampoo!" I hear Ollia say. For just a moment all worries have been banished from her voice and she just sounds like a little, carefree girl. Then, of course, it all comes crashing down and reality hits us again like a cannon ball.
"What do you think you're doing here? Get out right now!" a woman in a servant's uniform shouts in a shrill voice. At first I think she's a human. But then I see the star sewn to her jacket.
"Master ordered me to get these girls cleaned up. My Master is Disciple Kyriaki," I state coldly, trying to sound as officious as possible.

Now that I've gotten a good look at her, I see her skin is green. Must be a Mirialan. But it is a very light shade. Almost enough to pass as a human unless you're real close to her. "Then take them where their kind belongs. This is the near-xenos shower. Can't you read the sign?" she angrily points at the door.
I put my hands on my hips and get in her way. "I was allowed to come here last night. Ask my Master. Or your boss."
"We allowed you as a favour for her Lordship, but these little runts do not qualify." Angrily, she jabs a finger at her. "Take them to the true xenos showers, and be quick about it! We already have to clean up because the Rodian's made everything messy." She looks at Ollia in distaste. "Besides, the feline might shed everywhere.
"Humie arse-kisser," Vexa mutters.
Immediately the Mirialan zeroes in on her, ignoring Ollia. "What did you say, you little brat?!"
I get in the woman's face, so she can't see the little Rodian. "She. Said. Nothing. Leave her alone."
"You dare give me lip?"
"She said nothing. We're going to leave, and not bother you anymore," I say through gritted teeth.
"Get out before I report you. Your kind's shower is on the level below."

"My Master's the supreme leader's apprentice. You don't want to bother her," I growl. The girls, still wet, are already getting dressed. I shepherd them out and then lead them through the corridor and down the stairs. Vexa shoots the pompous cow a glare, but says nothing. Ollia's mane is damp, and water drops onto her clothes. Fortunately the corridor's deserted. "I'm sorry, girls. I should've known."
"We're used to it," Ollia tries to brush it off, but a moment later her brave front melts away and she angrily brushes tears away. "Why are they so cruel? All for a clean shower."
"Enough for many to sell out," Vexa states flatly.
"I kinda...pity her. Must be scared of suddenly not being a 'near-xenos' anymore and going back to living like us, if she doesn't kick us enough."
"Don't bother think about the why. Collabs don't deserve our pity." Only thing worse than a Humie holding the whip is a 'xenos' doing it for them to score points.
Ollia looks a bit doubtful. "I guess...never mind. They're good at that. The Humies. Getting us to do their dirty work."
"Looks like one of them. Humie blood or desperate?" Vexa says quietly. She pats her friend on the shoulder. "You're a tiger. You got claws."

"Yeah. Sharp ones. No one can take them from me. And, hey, least we get a shower." The new shower is predictably less nice. For one, the showers are smaller and there's only a few.
"No mould," Vexa comments in a tone that makes it clear the lack of it is unusual in her life. I know the feeling. Suffice to say, sanitation is crap in Prosperity Quarter. You're lucky if you have a small piece of soap. Or running water. In your overcrowded, filthy apartment. And you know what: this here is still a step up.
Anyway, the showerhead is dirty and grimy, and the tiles are stained. There's one towel, and it looks like it hasn't been replaced in ages. Bet they could have done so any time, but the butler doesn't just because he can.
"Just clean up fast, girls," I turn on the shower tap. "Water's clean at least." But cold. "You got no soap, but..."
"We do," Ollia suddenly speaks up, and fishes a large piece of soap out of her pocket. She smirks mischievously. "I, um, forgot I had it. I'd give it back, but the mean lady said anything I touch is dirty." Vexa smirks at her.
I smile slightly. "I didn't see anything." They get cleaned up as best as they can. I help Ollia wash her mane a bit. Then they get dressed. Of course, they still have their old clothes. "Alright, girls, let's get some food in your bellies. There's a canteen on the upper level."

"One for 'near-xenos' and one for 'xenos'?" Ollia asks.
No doubt the question's rhetorical, but I answer anyway "You know it." The building has separate canteens. One for xenos, and one for near-xenos. Humans eat in the main building. Naturally the one I take the girls two is the least nice. There aren't many people in it right now.
I fetch a tray and two bowls for them. "ID? Ration cards? Theirs, too." An overworked looking Rodian snarls sitting at the counter at us.
I fish into my pocket and present our credentials. My ID has 'PIAD' stamped on it. That stands for 'Personal Indentured Asset Disciple'. Vaderites love paperwork as much as they love uniforms. Both are good ways to sort people into different categories of those who get stomped and who do the stomping. "Shakka Fiatkin, personal slave of Disciple Kyriaki."
She examines them with a bored look on her face, then hands it back. "I know who you are. You ate your fill this morning. They're not on the register. Food here's for staff only."

I suppress a groan. "They're part of my Master's retinue. Master made it very clear they must eat. If they don't, she'll see it as disrespectful to her."
She glances at Vexa, and her expression seems to soften. "We're out of meat," she says icily. "Only gruel."
"Alright, fine." We wait as she fills the bowls with watery food. The sort you might as well drink instead of eat.
Then she shoos us along. "That's it. No refills. Move along." I take the tray and lead the girls over to a free table in a corner. By the way, the windows are barred. The table is stained, the chairs are hard and uncomfortable, but we're undisturbed.
"Dig in, girls." Man, that sounds lame. "Not tasty, but you need your strength." And dig in they do. Poor things. It tastes like nothing, but it's better than starving. If Cordé were here, she'd whine about their lack of 'decorum'.
"Meatballs," Vexa suddenly whispers, fishing out a tiny ball of meat. She glances towards the Rodian woman, but she's serving some other guy. She reaches into the gruel with her hand, and fishes out a bunch of them.

"That's...nice of her. Eat up. I have some too," Ollia says cheerfully. Too cheerily.
"No, you don't," Vexa says and dumps the whole load of them into her friend's bowl. "Eat."
"You've eaten almost nothing this week," the Cathar protests.
"Like you have. Keep your voice down. Eat."
Ollia looks down at her plate. I hear her stomach growl. She picks up a bunch of them and puts them back in Vexa's bowl, along with some gruel. "You need your strength." It sounds like she's making fun of me. I smile at them. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
"We didn't have breakfast," Vexa points out while swallowing her gruel.
"This is a late breakfast." That makes me laugh. Even Vexa's lips make something that's almost like a smile. I reach out and ruffle Ollia's mane a bit.
She flails at me. "Hey, not fair. Do you know how long it takes to make it look right?"
I chuckle. "That's the advantage of lekku: it always does." Naturally our moment of levity and peace doesn't last for long. Inevitably, Cordé pops by.

I notice she's not alone. Oh, lovely, it's the butler. He wears a silly waistcoat, grey striped trousers, white shirt and black tie. He carries himself like he owns the place and he has a monocle because of course he does.
"Oh, there you are." She gives the girls a once-over. "Now that's better, you two smell a lot better now! We still have some cleanliness standards to work on, but it's a step. But, oh my, you really need new clothes. We can't have you running around in rags."
"You needn't worry, Maiden. I'll make civilised beings out of them. Or a close approximation thereof at any rate. Why, I even taught a Gungan proper Basic once," the oaf says pompously. Vexa tenses, and I notice he's carrying a cane.
"A noble and difficult task," the silly cow says earnestly. I'd like to see her try learn Twi'leki. "Girls, this is Mr Goren, butler of the Supreme Leader's villa."
"We've met," I say, "ma'am."
"Indeed we have. A Twi'lek on the Leader's estate. How queer. I trust you remember my words about the consequences of immoral activities under my roof," he peers at us through his monocle. "Anyhow, I shall get you two processed and assign productive work to you two," he looks at the girls."
"We won't cause trouble, Mr Goren," Ollia says.
"I should hope so. I know proper manners, decorum and respect for private property are in short supply among your…tribal dens, but here we conduct ourselves as civilised beings. You will address me as Mr Goren or sir. Understood?"
"Yes... sir," Vexa speaks.
"Yes, sir," her companion follows.

"My Master instructed me to inform that the girls are her messengers. They're part of her retinue, sir. She wishes to educate them. Master stressed that I should tell you, sir," I add quickly.
He frowns. "I see. Well, her Ladyship's decisions are her own. However, if I see any unwelcome behaviour or acting out I will apply corrections, so watch yourselves, children."
Cordé coughs slightly. "Her Lordship."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The correct form of address is 'her Lordship', Mr Goren. Any Disciple, no matter their gender, is to be addressed as lord by a citizen." She's got that eternal know-it-all look on her face. How typical of her that she doesn't say anything about him thinking it is fine to cane kids.
For a moment there's a scowl on his face. "Ah, of course. Just a slip of tongue. I have complete respect for her Lordship. Female Disciples...when I was young...ah, never mind." You haven't even met her.
"As the good book teaches, it is not gender that makes a Disciple, but strength, fortitude and character." Yes, Cordé, that's absolutely it. "Now, girls, finish your meal and wipe your hands. Vexa, you have stains on your mouth." I roll my eyes. "Shakka, I require some files from her Lordship. Do be a good girl and fetch them for me."
"Yes, ma'am." I get up. "See you soon, girls." I try to sound reassuring as I smile at them.
Cordé hands me a paper with the names of the files, and Vexa wipes her mouth, probably imagining Rodian curses. They can get quite creative. "Will Master be back soon?" she asks.
Cordé has not been patronising enough, so she pats her head. "Your Master is on a very important mission for the people of Hope Falls. Don't fret, she'll return soon, and when she does she'll be eager to hear about your progress. Now off you go, girls."
I leave them with these inspiring words, and head out of the staff building. Outside the gardeners are still at work, perfecting a garden for an egotistical windbag who'll probably never visit. I wonder how Lena is doing. Her and Firith. Soon, Shakka. The guards give me disdainful looks, but at least I'm not groped when they frisk me.

So I enter the main building, and naturally I run into a pompous pen-pusher who likes to kick slaves to make herself feel mighty. "Are you sure you're in the right place...xenos? Your kind belongs next door." the receptionist snarls. Same woman as last time.
Oh, frak off. "Maiden Tycho sent me to fetch some of Master's files for her, ma'am."
"Files, you say? How do I know you'll do what you should with these files and not try to steal them, or eat them or whatever your kind do with paper?"
Deep inside I'm seething about this stupid cow. "Maiden Tycho can confirm, ma'am. She said it's very urgent."
"We'll see about that, xenos. Stay where you are. If she doesn't vouch for your story, there'll be consequences." So she dials the number on her comm. "Yes, Maiden Tycho? There's a Twi'lek slave here..."
I hear Cordé's voice through the comm. "Shakka Fiatkin?"
"I don't learn xenos' names. It's a red skin."
"It's her. She has to pick up some files from my lord's room. It's part of an important assignment that must proceed without delay."
The receptionist looks like she's swallowed something foul. "Well, if you say so. I trust you understand the importance of keeping your pet in line. I assume no responsibility if the files or anything in the Disciple's quarters is damaged. You will be liable..."
I get the weird feeling of being grateful to Cordé since she cuts her off. "Thank you, that will be all. I expect her prompt return with the files."
The receptionist scowls at me. "What are you waiting for, xenos? On the double. And remember, there are cameras and security everywhere. A guard will be watching you."
"Yes, ma'am." And so I go on and collect the paperwork. Kyriaki's bedroom is clean and her files are neatly organised, so it doesn't take long.

As I step back out into the courtyard, I can't shake off the feeling that I'm being watched. I turn and I see a young human male in KEC uniform staring at me. He's got the rank bars of an officer. At first I think he's just being a perv and ogling me, but then I notice his gaze is a lot more...analytical. Like I'm some specimen in a lab. My blood runs cold.
Then he opens his mouth. "Say something."
"Uh, what?" I blurt out. "I mean, sorry sir. What did you say?"
He claps his gloved hands. "Your Basic is near-flawless. Remarkable. No hint of an accent."
"Can I help you, sir? I'm the personal slave of Disciple Kyriaki. My Master's with Lord Lachesis, but..."
"Oh, I'll make her acquaintance soon enough. Right now I'm far more interested in you. Say something in your native tongue."
I'm awfully tempted to say he's an idiot, but he may know Twi'leki. I can't risk it. So I say: "'Hello, my name is Shakka Fiatkin." It feels weird to speak in my people's tongue. Even with Firith, I mostly speak Basic.

My own race's language feels alien to me. I speak haltingly. You know why that is? Because the Vaderites ban it. School doesn't teach it in Prosperity Quarter. I learned my people's tongue because I went to a hidden school.
He's stepped close enough that I can smell his cologne. There's a predatory gleam in his eye. He's undressing with his eyes. My heartbeat quickens. "Good girl. Now say 'hello' and move your lekku, as your kind does."
Sweat is gathering inside the palms of my hands. "Hello," I say, raising the tip of my right lekku. And then he touches it. I feel like something foul and disgusting is crawling over my skin. Please, make it stop. Let go.
"Now please demonstrate the articulation of this prehensile muscle," he says and grabs it forcefully. I yelp in pain.
"Please, sir, you're hurting me."
"I never quite understood point of this muscle. Your brain is awfully exposed. But the ability to use it for communication does give you an advantage. Hmm." His fingers crawl over my skin like a spider. "I wonder how much human blood must you drink to achieve such a magnificent red colouring."
"Sir, I haven't...I've never."
"Sh, don't talk. Is there a specific blood type required? What role does human flesh play? The good book says the Twi'lek feasts on human blood and flesh to change colour, but how does this work in practice? No one has ever set out to document it, we just assume it. It is, with all respect to the first Supreme Leader, not scientific. And it is hereditary? I wonder, if I cross-bred you with a yellow Twi'lek, what colour would the offspring have? Is it a mix of the two? Or does the male dominate over the female?"

And then the last saviour I expected comes. "What is going on here?" Cordé exclaims – no, shouts. "Cavalier Menkales, with all due respect, you're hurting the slave. You know how sensitive Twi'lek lekku is."
"Intimately, my dear Cordé. Whatever discomfort I'm inflicting on her is nothing compared to the agonies her people inflicted on ours."
"Cavalier, I must insist. You're scaring her, and she's committed no offence to warrant it," Cordé says in a low, surprisingly cold voice. She steps forward to stand at my side.
"You do realise who you're speaking to? A superior officer and a Disciple."
"I do. That's why I'm appealing to your sense of honour. Punishment is to be reserved for a xenos who commits an offence...and then it must be delivered without malice. You're hindering her from carrying out the tasks mandated by her owner, Disciple Kyriaki."
And then he finally lets me go. I take deep, calming breaths, trying to stop trembling. My eyes are downcast, and filled with shame. All I can do is stand here. I can't run; I can't protect myself; I can't even scream. That is what it means to be a slave.

The pity I see in Cordé's eyes just makes it worse. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want to be a 'thing' that cannot ever wake up and not be afraid of being beaten, sold, hurt or spat on.
And naturally the scumbag in uniform is enjoying every moment of it. "Sometimes I forget that you never served on the frontlines, Maiden. You only know the tame, docile xenos of the home front, not the beast they become when we lower our guard."
"I have seen both, Cavalier. I haven't served in battle, but I've survived xenos betrayal and terrorism. Shakka is a loyal worker."
"A fascinating specimen, you mean. I would like to conduct further studies. Maybe the Disciple will loan her to me."
"Her lordship is very insistent that she's not for sale. I was instructed accordingly the moment I entered the Disciple's services."
"I shall enquire, but I'd understand if she doesn't. I wouldn't want to part with such a well-groomed creature either. Alas, there are so few red Twi'leks available. My comrades-in-arms are extremely thorough when it comes to, ah, removing threats. I can't fault them. 'Where the Twi'lek is, there is the partisan'. But it does complicate our efforts to understand these creatures."
And then I hear footsteps and catch sight of a familiar head of black hair. Kyriaki has arrived. Immediately, the creep's attention shifts to her and he's all smiles. Master, please set him on fire. She doesn't, but she's not happy with him either.

I know the signs when I look at her face. Most of their conversation passed by me like a blur. Then he's finally gone. I can't bring myself to tell her what happened. What point would it have? We talk briefly. Kyriaki lets me have a chat with Lena. Well, say goodbye to her. The goons will be watching. Still I light up a bit. Handing Cordé her files, I walk over to where Kyriaki's goon squad have assembled the prisoners.
One of the thugs won't let me see Lena, but Kyriaki isn't having that. And so it's just us – and the goon watching us.
"Hey," I say a bit lamely.
"It's been an...eventful two days. Not exactly the way I expected to meet Firith's cousin. His sister, really," she chuckles a bit. It sounds forced.
"We'll have all the time to chit-chat and make fun of him once you get those cuffs," I try to be reassuring. "Just...keep your head down, stay close to Master." I'm definitely trying to reassure myself.
"Yes. If, uh, something happens, my son and Firith...help them. Even if it means...them serving your Master. Things will get worse here."
I grab her hand. "Don't say that. It'll be fine. And," I search for words. I can't speak frankly with her with all those goons and Kyriaki around. "Things may be changing...for us." And then our moment together is already over.
"Goddess protect you...and all of us." We hug and then she's being whisked away, lost in the throng of prisoners. Kyriaki boards the truck, and then it's just me and Cordé.

"I am," Cordé begins. Is she fidgeting? "I am absolutely disgusted by Menkales' behaviour. He was...out of line. He should've known you're not like the other xenos, and even if you were, his behaviour would've been cruel. An officer should know better than to stoop to the level of xenos barbarians." Is this seriously supposed to make me feel better?
I say nothing. She pats me on the shoulder. I hate feeling her hand on me. "I'm sorry. I know this must be discouraging for you, trying to do the right thing, and brutes like that can't tell or appreciate the difference."
I look her straight in the eye. "It's almost like there are good xenos and bad humans, ma'am."
Her mouth opens, then closes, and opens again. "You've been working non-stop, and the past few hours have been...distressing for you. Take a break until her lordship returns."

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

The blood on my glove will not go away. What a fitting metaphor. And more blood drips on my face. I taste it in my mouth, I feel it on my face.
"My lord...there's blood coming from your eyes," Lena says timidly.
I blink. I didn't feel anything. "It's an illusion," I say firmly. "You want to clear your name. Then don't let ghosts control you."
"Yes, my lord."
But I can't deny that the forest unnerves me. Blood has also poured onto Hasapis, Honna and the other guards from the ether. The prisoners notice, and it makes them restless. The voices do not help.
Now everyone can hear and more often than not see the spirits. Noncorporeal apparitions of the condemned manifest, all bloody and with bullet holes inside their bodies, and they wail about the injustice they suffered. And they warn the prisoners.

"I had a family, and you took it away!"
"Murderer, thief!"
"You'll join us soon."
"Kill the Vaderites!"
And it is getting colder. A shiver runs down my spine. "I've had enough. Just get it over with. At least I'll have company here," the Houk prisoner growls, and stops walking.
"Move," Honna grunts, raising her baton.
He spits at her. "We all end up here. Don't matter how far we creep up Humie arse." And then she strikes, and he cries out in pain when electrical shocks course through his body. "Get it over with."
Honna steps, and then strikes the prisoner next to him. Smart girl. He cries out in anguish, falling to his knees. "Please..."
"Leave him, and get back here," the Houk roars, still in pain.
Honna looks to me. I nod, and she strikes the prisoner again. "Move, or he suffer," she growl. The Houk glare at us with eyes filled with hatred, but takes a step forward.

With the exception of Lena, all prisoners are shackled. Two ankle shackles are attached to each other by a short length of chain. A couple prisoners form a chain gang each. It keeps them from running away. They can only shuffle forward.
We walk on into the darkness. And then suddenly I hear Nikolai. "We murdered those kids! We shouldn't have shot them." I tense. How do the spirits know that? He died far away in the Academy. He has no way of being here.
"We know all your sins," voices speak in unison. "Vaderite." It feels like spiders are crawling over my skin. I take a breath, and I realise I'm sweating.
"I trusted you!" Tara cries out, and I see her body hanging from the tree, lekku and montrals mutilated. "But I was just another tool. You killed me. Will you Shakka, too?"
"Or Ollia and Vexa," the apparition of a Twi'lek girl says, a bullet hole inside her skull.
"I don't fear ghosts." I don't. I don't. Fear is the little mind-killer, the slow death.
"My lord, we must move. The men are getting restless," Hasapis grunts, dragging me out of my stupor.
"Yes," I nod, and raise my voice. "Steel your minds. The illusions are only as powerful as you allow them to be."

"Yes, lord," Honna says, though I see uncertainty in her eyes. We eventually come across a clearing.
"Here, my lord."
"This is it?" I ask Lena.
"Yes, my lord. The Sorrow," she confirms. The Force and my natural senses tell me she has to be right. The stench of death hangs over it like a pall. It reeks of the dead. The voices grow louder. But as we approach, I find that is not the most unnerving thing.
"What in hell," Honna gasps when we see the graveyard is crawling with insects and huge snakes. Not a single spot seems to be free of them.
The prisoners and the guards look visibly unnerved. Some of the prisoners try to backtrack and have to be forced back with threats and beatings. "Cursed, my lord. Cursed," Honna says, shaking her head. "Bad idea."
"This is crazy," a guard mutters.
"I'm not going anywhere near there. Don't care what you do with me," a woman I interrogated declares. And judging from the mumbling in the throng, she's not alone.

And then it rains – but it is a rain of blood. I blink and wipe blood from my eyes that has blinded me. "Everyone stay in line," Hasapis bellows, brandishing his pistol. "But then lowers his voice when he looks at me." My lord, I'm no coward, but this creeps me out, and the men are spooked."
A guard glares at Lena. "You led us here, Twi'lek whore! This is your hocus pocus."
"I...this wasn't there when I came, my lord. But this is the spot." She points at the epicentre of the creatures.
"I don't like the whores, but soldier, get a hold of yourself," Hasapis grabs him by the shoulder and forces him to face him. "We follow orders, we clear?"
"Honna, if anyone breaks ranks, kill them," I state coldly. I look at the prisoners and the guards, uncertain and unwilling to move. Then I take a step forward towards the cursed ground. There must be a logic behind this. The first lesson a sorceress learn is the need to separate truth from illusion.
Why would there be insects and snakes mixing? The feeling of crawling all over me intensifies as I step forward. The stink of death is so profound it makes nauseous. Suddenly I feel dizzy, and I stumble.

Fear is the little mind-killer, the slow death. I will face my fears, and let them wash over me, and when they are gone, only I will remain. And so I bend down and pick up a snake. The moment I touch it, it fades to the shadows. I look around, and the illusions have vanished. I look at my crew. "The illusions are only as powerful as we let them be," I speak calmly.
Having recovered his composure, Hasapis bellows out commands. "Time to earn your right to breathe, prisoners. Start digging. Team, make sure they don't slack and keep an eye on the perimeter. We're the KEC. We won't be frightened by ghosts." And so the digging starts. The prisoners set to work with shovels and other tools. Here and there, a guard steps in when it looks like they're not working fast enough. But it seems they're motivated enough.
And they dig up bones. Lots of bones. The Sorrow is an apt name. This place is a graveyard. But none of the dead have been given their own graves. Their family members...if any live, have nowhere to go to pay their respects. They have just been shot en mass and then dumped into a mass grave somewhere in the forest.
The bones keep piling up. It is like every inch of ground I stand on lies upon dead bodies. I am walking on corpses, and breathing in death. One of the skeletons being dug out is very small. Like a child. I clamp down on a growing feeling of nausea. "Keep digging," I order. "You won't join them if you carry out your tasks obediently."
It is still raining blood. Indeed, it is pouring. The energies of the Force swirl through the air. Blood drips onto my face and stings my eyes. I lose sight of the physical world, the Force touches me and I see.

Fear is rank in the air when the prisoners are being herded. Twi'leks, Togruta, Gungans, Duros and others – they have all been brought here by the Public Force. Men, women and children. I see women with babes on their breast, trying to calm the little ones.
Bakios is heading things. He's radiant and in best of spirits, trading jokes with a KEC man I don't recognise. Among the guards, I see Honna. A PF scribe jots down the prisoner's name, and they hand in their meagre possessions. Some guards pocket the submitted chronometers and scant jewellery, but most of it is collected. It's a bureaucratic process that works like a well-oiled machine.
The Public Force makes the prisoners undress. They even rob them of their shoes. The poor, exposed souls shiver, robbed of their dignity. A couple xenos women are responsible for sorting the clothes. A minion catalogues them. But clothes are not all they take. A Mirialan woman is shorn of her hair. This is collected, too. The prisoners, dressed in their underwear, are forced to dig pits. A few beg. Some cry. Many use the last the chance to say their last goodbyes.
"Please, spare her. My daughter...she's all I've got. I have no other family. I know about the black market. I can give you information," I hear a man speak, and turn my gaze to see...a badly bruised Togruta male plead for the life of...Tara.
It's unmistakeably her. A younger, frightened Tara. A Public Force officer strikes him with a whip and tells him to get in line, but then Bakios sees them. His gaze falls on the girl and there's a gleam in his eye. He exchanges a few words with the man. "Not her."
Tara has to be practically torn away from what I think is her father. She is led away to the edge of the pit, and made to watch while the other prisoners keep digging. One prisoner tries to make a run for it, but is shot.

The sky grows dark. Then the prisoners are forced to lie face down on the trench floor. People who don't immediately lie down are shoved and kicked into the pit. Even women with children at their breast are not spared this fate. Honna takes her place in the firing squad. And the shooting starts. The killers stand at the lip of the exacavation, shooting the prisoners beneath them in the back of the head with submachine guns. It is an efficient process. It saves bullets, and it means they don't see their victims' faces. Tara's father dies. She sobs and wails. I look to the pit, and see blood seeping from the lekku of a blue Twi'lek girl. And suddenly the Rodian boy I killed is looking back at me.
Once the shooting ceases, three of the xenos women who'd been cataloguing the victims' possessions have to walk on the bodies. With their bare feet, they have to pack down the corpses and throw a layer of sand and dirt on top of them. After a moment, I realise the point of this. Not all victims have been shot. It is supposed to make sure the next batch can lie down. They're making them press the bodies down as if they're grapes on harvest day. One of the girls assigned to this horrible task, a Rodian girl, seems to look straight at me, horror written over her face. I feel some of the victims are still alive when they're being trod on. I can hear their breathing; feel their pain. The footwear of the helpers above presses down on them. I imagine their bodies must be numb. But they're covered by the sand. And more bodies will pile up upon them.
Meanwhile, the shooters are taking a break. Local xenos helpers have to provide them with food and alcohol. They're all drinking whiskey. Some guards are joking, a couple look sick. Honna looks haunted, staring at the pit. A comrade nudges her with his elbow and passes over a bottle, and she takes a swig. Bakios walks around, giving his minions a friendly pat on the back here, an encouraging word there. He passes out cigarras, promises them loot and alcohol.
The KEC officer does not mingle with the shooters. It is not difficult to figure out why. Most of them are xenos, after all. He just watches in his immaculate grey uniform with the fancy trenchcoat. Bakios lights a cigarra for him.

And then the process begins over again. A new batch of prisoners is led into the pit. When the Mirialan boy is led to the pit, the child suddenly cries out: "My mother's half-human! Please, sir."
The humans burst out laughing. "If it's true, prove it: show us her papers," Bakios says. The boy looks frightened.
"Then you'll let me go?"
Bakios bends down so that they're on the same level. He pats him on the shoulder. "Scout's honour. Help me help you, and you'll be okay. You just gotta do this for me, buddy."
The boy swallows. "Okay."
"Come, I'll help you," one of the women who sorted the clothes says, taking his hand. The boy manages to find his mother's papers among the clothes of the people who've been shot. When he finds her jacket, he almost breaks down in tears, but he forces the tears away and runs back to Bakios, handing him in the papers and her star of Luke.
Bakios studies them. "Well, I'll be damned, a genuine near-human." The KEC man has walked over and takes the documents. He gives them a cursory glance.
"I can take him in, sir," the helper intervenes, realising what's up. "I'll look after him. We won't need more food. He can share my ration card."
"No mudbloods," the KEC man tosses the documents into the pit. He walks away without even looking at the boy, taking a drag of his cigarra.
Bakios shrugs. He knew what would happen. "Sorry, buddy. Orders are orders. But look, you'll be with your Mum. Into the pit with him."
"You promised! You promised!" the boy cries out, but is dragged away. He is forced to lie down in the pit along with the rest, over the bodies of those who've already been shot. Then they're shot, too. It's an assembly line. It is quiet for a while. Then from the direction of the trench I hear a child's cry. "Mama! Mama! Mama!" A few shots. Then it is silenced forever. I am frozen in time. I can only watch.

And now only Tara remains. There is a thousand yard stare written all over her face. She remains there while the clothes and valuables of the condemned are distributed among the shooters. Honna helps herself to some of the loot, too. Tara looks numb when Bakios approaches her. "Now that you've killed all my family, kill me."
"Your old man gave his life so you could live, girl," he chides her, as if he didn't just murder him. "And I made him a promise. Now you can follow him into the pit or you can...let me protect you. I would've protected the boy if I'd been able to...but you..you I can look after." A moment passes. "Look me in the eye, girl. Can you cook?"
She looks up. "Yes."
"Good. The wife needs a maid." He puts a hand on her shoulder, running it down her montrals. She flinches, but he grabs her. "I'll feed you, clothe you, and all you have to do is obey. Come on, girlie. Don't look back. There's nothing for you there." She looks like she'd rather rip his heart out. But what can she do? Her expression turns blank. His goons take her away.
The last bodies are buried, and the soldiers are marching from the site of the massacre. But one of them lingers behind. Honna. She looks around to make sure no one's around, heads into the bushes and vomits.
Then I suddenly hear loud footsteps. She tenses and tries to clean herself up hastily. Too late. A huge Gamorrean who looms over her. I think it's Gorn. Bakios' goon. "Don't let them see you."
"Just the booze. Drank too much," she says defensively.
"Don't let Humies see you. Humie gets cold feet, he talks his way out of it. No harm comes to him. We say no, we go to the pit." Then he stomps on ahead. Honna wipes her face. I hear noise coming from deep inside the pit, like a burrowing sound.
She turns around, gun in hand. Is someone still alive there? Trying to dig their way out before they're crushed and suffocate? I dare not hope it's the boy. Honna lowers her weapon, shakes her head and walks away without investigating.

And suddenly I feel a sharp jolt in my skull. The blood has been wiped from my eyes, and I see. I blink, trying to make sense of things. How much time has passed? If any. Everything looks exactly like it did just before I had the vision.
I lock eyes with Honna. People are staring at me. I take a breath, and notice I've dropped to one knee. Hastily, I get up. It does not do to appear weak. "Carry on with your work," I snap. And then I feel the disturbance in the Force. A loud cry, like the wail of a banshee, tears through the clearing.
As powerful as a sonic detonation, forcing me and various guards and prisoners to the guard. I clutch my eyes, and blood seeps out. Just as I try to regain my bearings, ethereal shapes emerge from the ground. The spirits have risen and they coming for us.
"Ghosts! Don't let them touch you!" Hasapis shouts. "Use Arc Casters. Batons if you have to! Don't let the prisoners get away!" Some prisoners try to run, as much as you can while shackled, but submachine gun rounds tear through the air towards them.

However, the ghosts seem to ignore the prisoners. They are here for us. The perpetrators. Soldiers try to keep them at bay with their electrical weapons. Quickly, I draw my blade. The Force imbuement makes it glow with enchanted power. There is no time for regret or guilt. It is them or me. I choose myself, and slash. The imbued blade carves through a Mon Calamari's spirit spectral arm, then I run him through. An enchanted blade can destroy ghosts. He vanishes.
Then I hear a yell. "Death to the Vaderites!" Turning, I see a soldier's eyes have turned black. He's possessed! He squeezes the trigger and fires his submachine gun. I draw on the Force, deflecting some of the rounds. But one grazes my shoulder, and I wince from the sharp pain. And then I suddenly feel cold. Very, very cold.
I hear a cry. "Murderer! Thief!" I know that voice, just as I know that shape. It's the boy. The Mirialan's spectral hands seize me. I can feel the power that permeates the grave empowering him. My limbs feel like lead. No, no. The sword falls from my grasp. Of its own accord, my mouth is pulled open and the spirit forces herself into me. I can feel its presence filling me, taking control of my body. And my power.
Gathering all my power, I push back. I manage to will the ball of flame forming in my pall to set a tree aflame instead of soar through the air towards a loyalist soldier. I can hear the spirit's voice inside my head. "You promised! You promised! But you killed us all!"

"I didn't kill you." My mind fights against his. I cry out, feeling a sharp pain in my chest.
"You're a Vaderite. You killed my family, you killed everyone."
"It wasn't I...but I wear the uniform. I'm sorry for what happened to me. I'm not like them."
"You lie." Pain surges through my body and I buckle. I feel both too hot and too cold.
"The man who did this to you is my enemy. I'm going to kill him. But I can't let you control me. You must go." Beads of sweat form on my face, slowly dripping down, as I push against the spirit's will.
"You'll trap me again. You'll leave me here, cold and alone." The ghost's voice is angry, but vulnerable and afraid. Like the child he was when he was robbed of life.
I could do so. It would be easier. "No...I won't. I'll...give you peace." It will drain me. It will leave me vulnerable. It is stupid of me to do this. Which is exactly why I must do it. "You'll be with the rest of your kin." And so I reach out through with the Force.
Imagine taking someone's hand firmly, but gently, and forcing a door open with all your might. It is like a veil has been lifted from my eyes. I can perceive the nexus of horrors the atrocities have spawned here. I can see the fabric of reality has been weakened. I stop pushing the spirit away, and instead will my energy to flow into him. It feels like an electrical surge is crawling over my body. And I see the chains tethering him to his this place. Reaching out with my will, I shatter it.
It is hell for my body. The power required makes me double over. "There," I take his cold hand into mine. He looks up to me, surprised. "You can go now. I don't know for how long...go. Leave this horrible place. Be free." My body jerks. Then it is just me inside my mind and body. My body is a mass of pain, and I'm baked in sweat.

The scenery around me has descended into a chaotic melee. I see Hasapis electrocute a spirit with his arc caster before bashing a possessed soldier. I cannot tell whether his attacker is dead or unconscious. But then two Twi'lek spirits come for the Banneret and Honna.
The Gamorrean cries out in pain and fury when a ghost grabs her. Her body jerks awkwardly. I hear her mutter words like a mantra. "I am not weak, I am strong, I am Honna, I'm me. I'm not letting any ghost take me over. I am not weak, I am strong, I am Honna, I'm me." I feel her fight against the spirit trying to seize her mind and body. The ghost pulls away, and she slumps against a tree, shaking and breathing heavily.
I'm panting like I've just run a marathon. But my senses prickle. I turn, premonition screaming inside my mind. And then I shake when Hasapis fires a full blast of electricity from his arc caster. My crude prosthesis twitches badly. Circuits are fried and my hand hangs limply. Smoke coils from my glove. I try to form a fireball, but his gauntlet-covered fist throws a savage punch against my face. Blood pours from my nose, and black spots swim through my vision.
And then he is upon me, crushing me beneath his weight. My blade is so close, but the Force won't heed my command. He's too heavy. Too strong. I'm not strong enough to push him off. His hand wraps around my throat. I choke, desperately gasping for air. My vision closes in from the outside, like a black circle closing in. It is getting dark around me. Then suddenly the pressure recedes and he howls in anger.
I realise Honna has slammed him in the side with her rifle butt. Snarling in anger, he lunges at her. The two face off against each other. My head hurts and my vision is blurred. I can barely make out what is going on. I see them trade blows. Honna is strong, but Hasapis can match her and is faster. I'm guessing he's enhanced. I hear a loud grunt, and make out blood pouring from his ear before Honna spits something out.

Then there is the crack of a gunshot, and the Gamorrean staggers, bleeding from the shoulder. Sitting up, I reach out with the Force. Just fast enough to yank the barrel aside and make his next shots go awry and hit a tree. With a roar, Honna rams Hasapis and disarms him. He staggers back, but grabs a grenade, pulls a pin and drops it. Eyes wide, Honna kicks the explosive away. At the cost of him striking her with his combat knife. Blood seeps from her stomach. Meanwhile, there is a loud explosion in the distance, throwing up earth and grass. But we're unhurt by the detonation.
And I force my will upon him. Invisible tendrils of the Force surge from my fingertips. The spirit fights back. The strain is strong enough to be painful. My head hurts from mental shards slicing into my mind, and my nose bleeds. My weak body is not made for exertion like this. But I persevere regardless. I don't have the energy to free this spirit, too. I can only cast it out. So that's what I settle for.
Hasapis howls in pain and fury, and the ethereal energy is torn from him. Then he falls to the ground, unconscious. The spirits have dissipated into the void. Honna looks down on him and gives him an angry kick to the face.
"Enough," I command, without sounding particularly authoritative. "Restrain him," I call to one of the minions, looking at the Gamorrea with disdain. "And give her medical attention. Now." I put more venom in my tone when they don't respond fast enough for my tastes.

"Yes...my lord, right away, my lord," the goon says and scampers off.
My limbs feel too heavy and my body too exhausted for me to dare move. Covered in sweat, I'm panting heavily, and look up at Honna. My legs feel like jelly. Safe is safe. "Continue the work. If anyone doesn't obey..."
"Honna smash," she finishes, though it lacks her bite from earlier. Maybe it's tiredness. Or the memories of this place. She clutches her wound.
"I know you're a lot smarter than you let on," I mutter. She looks at me strangely, but says nothing. "Thank you. You saved my life."
I feel uncertainty inside her. A Sith is only nice to a xenos for one reason. "Honna serve Disciple," she says simply, and stomps away.
I look around, as Honna moves swiftly to turn my orders into action. What a mess. My gaze turns to the pit the ghosts arose from just a few moments ago. Bones lie everywhere. I'm sorry. How hollow that sounds.

And then I see him. The spectral shape of the Mirialan boy has manifested in front of me. He is clothed and free of bullet wounds. He doesn't smile, but nods curtly. I feel his voice touch my mind. You kept your promise. Then he walks from the pit and fades away into the Force. One spirit has been freed. But others remain trapped. The dark power still permeates the air.
Bakios will die. He deserves it. Another scumbag will take his place. I'm up against a machinery of death and destruction. But I have the will. I finally find it in me to rise to my feet, though I have to lean against the tree while I regain my bearings. "Prisoner Fiatkin?"
"I'm here, my lord," Lena responds, wringing her hands nervously. "The shooting started and I, uh, took cover."
"Smart. Stay close to me. This should be over soon." And hopefully yield the results I want. I don't want to have to lock her up again under less pleasant conditions. Hasapis comes to. He groans as he awakens and looks confused when he sees he's been cuffed. Then realisation dawns upon his face.
"My lord...I," he begins, words failing him. I recognise the look in his eye. He knows the consequence of attacking a Disciple. "I...have no excuse," he says at last. "A KEC soldier should be stronger." No attempt at a stammered apology. Somehow, I prefer it that way.
"Yes. But I know you fought against it, and you'll never let this happen again." I make a gesture, and the cuffs fall from his hands. Then I stretch out my hand. Vengeance is short-sighted, as satisfying as getting rid of the KEC thug would be. He'd deserve it. But I have a hook now.
He takes the hand. In his grasp, mine looks small and delicate, vanishing inside his large, callused one. How deceptive appearances can be. "Yes, my lord. With your permission...I'll see to my men. Get you a list of casualties."
"Granted. Let's find the container and get out of here." The work continues. Hasapis delivers a report on losses and the wounded. No prisoners managed to escape. Some tried, but didn't get far because of the chains. A few guards are dead or wounded.

Then finally I hear the words I've been waiting for. "My lord, we've found something!" Immediately I head into the pit. I wince when bones crunch beneath my boots. Lena follows me, trying to dodge the bones that lie strewn across the earth.
The workers quickly part to let me through. I see fear in their eyes. A large container lies in the pit. Hasapis wrenches it open. It is filled with grain. I smile thinly, glancing at Lena. "This whole mess was worth it, after all."
"I kept my end of the bargain," she speaks. "You will release me?"
"Consider the charges dropped. Clearly the traitor Bakios arrested you because you knew too much of his criminal dealings. You'll sign a form confirming this."
There is a knowing look in her eyes. The system will not admit it's wrong. One of its minions was just corrupt. She plays her part. "Yes, my lord. I am grateful to you for your...commitment to Imperial justice."

Hasapis is busy directing the workers to move the huge container and informing our driver we need pickup. While the container is being lifted by sweating workers, I notice something peek out of the pit it just vacated. It looks like paper. Bending down, I pick it up and open it. The writing is barely legible, but I can make out the photo of a Mirialan woman.
Suddenly there is a jolt my skull. I see soldiers leading xenos to the pit, and amidst the mass of victims I see a woman yell. "Ahase, tell them I'm half-human. Show them my pass. You're near-human...." A rifle butt is smashed into her face and she is thrown into the pit. My mind flashes to a green skinned boy screaming. Then the scene fades away and I'm back in the present. I pocket the document.
"Somethin' up, m'lord?" I tense before realising it's Honna. "Ready to go when you are."
"I'm fine. Let's leave this place behind us for good."
"Good for another round if more ghosts come," she grunts. Her eyes and her surface thoughts tell a story other than the bravado. They convey regret. I don't prod. And so we go.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Our drive back to headquarters passes in silence. My prosthesis has started to work again, but still sluggishly. My throat itches and there's an ache in my skull. Hasapis is sitting in the back with the goons and the prisoners. He's probably happy to avoid sitting alongside me. I told him that after such a blow to morale, the soldiers needed a commander's presence. Instead Honna is driving. She is not talkative at all. The silence suits me. And so we drive out of the forest, and through the decrepit streets of Hope Falls. Eventually the mansion turned KEC HQ looms ahead of us.

We drive into the courtyard, and then the workers start unloading the grain container. I leave that part to Hasapis. However, as I disembark the large truck, I sense a familiar presence nearby. Darth Lachesis. Accompanied by Captain Diamandis and a masked, female Disciple I don't know. I study the newcomer. She's in a grey uniform and there's a sword in her sheath. Her mouth, jaw, nose and most of her cheeks are fully covered by a metal mask. But her blue eyes and short black hair are visible. She has a cybernetic arm that looks like it could snap a grown man like a twig. I do feel just a bit jealous. It certainly looks more powerful than mine. But also bulky and even more crude. Her breathing is like an incessant rasp. What catches my eye is a metal panel on her chest. A breathing apparatus? Accident or excessive Vader worship? But my attention is drawn away from her to my boss. Darth Lachesis is standing before a KEC soldier. He's young, nervous and clearly terrified, as if expecting vengeful red lightning at any point.

"I have reported here, Squire Kynnos, that you refused to open fire on the saboteurs who had been discovered sabotaging the grain supplies. Is this correct?" she demands.
"Yes...Lord Commander. I...couldn't do it. They just looked...just like women and children. It didn't feel right."
"You doubt the orders of my representatives?"
"No, Lord Commander! I just...I've never killed anyone who wasn't holding a weapon before. I...I couldn't do it. That probably makes me weak."
"I know this man," I hear Captain Diamandis mutter to Lachesis. "Seemed promising during Operation Blackfyre. Shame he turned out like this."

To my surprise and his no doubt, she places a hand on his shoulder. At first he flinches, but no vengeful Sith energies engulf him. "It does, my boy, but not everyone has the heart and stomach of the Vader. I sense no lie in your words, you are driven by ideals and youthful visions of how the world should be?"
"Yes, Lord Commander. I still wish to serve the fatherland, but...not in that way."
"Then you shall, my boy, you shall. For the duration of this operation, you'll be exempted from firing squad duty. Instead you'll catalogue the grain and confiscated items. I shall organise a transfer to the KEC Logistics Corps. There you shall provide your comrades with the bullets, rifles and uniforms to do the job you cannot."
"Thank you, Lord Commander!"
"We all serve in our own way, Kynnos. Prove me right by being the best logistics clerk in this region. Dismissed."
"I will, Lord Commander, I won't let you down!" he snaps to attention, saluting, and then hurries away, not believing his luck. He won't have to shoot women and children anymore. He'll just support those doing the killing. Someone else will take his place. But I am...surprised. It is possible to say no.
"I'll pass on word of his transfer to his platoon leader," Diamandis says. "And make sure the men know to leave him alone. They'll make fun of him for being a wimp, but nothing else."
"Has anyone else refused?"
"Just him. Most are veterans. But it's affecting them. It's not the same as fighting on the frontlines. Some are enjoying it a bit too much. I'd suggest you address the men. Remind why we're here and what our mission is."
Lachesis nods. "Good idea." Then she looks in my direction. "I know you're listening, Kyriaki. It's rude to eavesdrop, but I'm in a good mood, so I trust you learned something."

I walk over to her, bowing my head slightly. "My Lord, I was just wondering how the machine can operate if a cog can...opt out."
She chuckles. "Brotherhood, faith, duty," Diamandis answers. "No man wants to abandon his brothers in arms. If he doesn't do an unpleasant job, he's forcing someone else to step up. You don't want let down your family."
"You haven't served on the frontlines, Kyriaki. You don't know the bond that forms between soldiers in the trenches. It's stronger than durasteel. A smart Disciple doesn't lash out like a three-year old whenever a good man under her command has a moment of weakness." Lachesis glances at her Guard Captain. "There was this Sith Lord we served alongside who had a habit of executing subordinates for the pettiest of reasons. What was her name again? Darth Terror?"
"Darth Torment, Lord Commander."
She snaps her fingers. "That's it! The official story says the Dominion killed her. I believe one of her own men fragged her. Sadly, no one's ever stepped forward, otherwise I'd give them a medal. Terrible name, too." She looks at the very mechanical Sith. "In the event that you become a Sith Lord, do spend more than one second before you settle on a Darth name. We already have enough fools making us a laughingstock.
"I'll take it to heart, my lord," the other Disciple responds. Her voice has a deep, bass quality. "I suspect some of them consult a list of taken names and a thesaurus to find an open slot into the cringeworthy territory they usually go."
"At least if you stab me in the heart one day I can go to Vader knowing I trained you to have some class." So this is Lachesis' apprentice? Before I can pursue the thought further, the Sith Lord's attention is back on me. "Kyriaki, now, you're here and you didn't start sputtering excuses the moment I laid eyes on you, so I trust you have something for me?"

"A container full of grain, if you would follow me." I lead her to the truck, where the container has been offloaded by now. The female cyborg in her retinue comes along with her. The container is opened up, and Lachesis inspects the grain for a couple moments.
"I see your little excursion was worth it," she finally says. Then her gaze falls on Lena. It's the look of a predator staring at helpless prey and deciding whether to sink its teeth into it. "This Twi'lek was your source."
Lena looks utterly terrified. Her eyes are downcast, and she's shaking. "Great Master, I...uh...I...," she stammers, lost for words.
"Disciple, I did not give your peon permission to speak. Remove it from my presence. Before I do so myself."
"Corporal Honna, take the Twi'lek to the staff building. Look for my slave. Maiden Tycho will sort out the details."
"M'lord," the Gamorrean clicks her heels and leads the terrified Lena away quickly.
"Oh, and Kyriaki. See that I never hear of that one again. I tire quickly of xenos appearing where they shouldn't. Am I understood?" Lachesis adds.
"Crystal, my lord. It may interest you that we encountered some...strange phenomena while securing the grain."
"Elaborate."
"The site was cursed. We were assaulted by visions...and the spirits of the dead. Executed criminals, no doubt. They tried to possess us."
"Possess you?" the eyes of the Sith cyborg accompanying Lachesis seem to light up.
I look at her. "Yes, I was attacked...as was Banneret Hasapis." I pause, dramatically. "He was able to fight it off, and rally our men."
"Is that so?"
"Yes...Lord Commander, though the Disciple's...exaggerates a tad. Did my job, that's it. I've had my doubts about her, but her leadership saw us through," he speaks after a moment. "We lost people, mostly auxies. A couple wounded. But two of our own fell. Errants Stavros and Aetos. Good men."
"They'll be remembered. I'll write a letter to their families," Lachesis says.

"I'm a military man, no mage. But I think the mechanics of the possessions and visions merit investigation. We have to make sure our boys have the best conditioning to resist mind altering effects," Diamandis opines.
"Maybe I could interview Disciple Kyriaki, Master?" the female Sith asks eagerly. Her blue eyes seem to gleam with curiosity. "It could be of great value for my work." She stretches out her flesh hand to me. "Sibylla Laskaris, Paranormal Division. Charmed." Up close the rhythmic sound of her breathing is heavy and pounding. Lungs must be straining against a mechanical respirator.
"Meet my apprentice, Kyriaki. I trust you can indulge her for a few minutes?" Not that a query from Lachesis is something you can say no to.
"Gladly, my lord."
"Come to me when you're done. Sibylla, forward your findings to me. Captain, a word..." As they walk away, I hear Diamandis speak. "I recommend outsourcing the, ah, clearing operation to the xenos. Easier for our men."
"Can the xenos be trusted to do their job?"
"I think the crackdown has made them all too willing. I've spoke with Commander Gorn..." Then they are out of earshot as we head into the mansion.
"This way," Sibylla leads me down a corridor. "I've been wanting to meet you for a while."
"Oh? Why the interest?"
"Why not? We're the next generation. It pays to know one's colleagues."
"And one's competition?" I ask playfully.
"Two sides of the same coin." She walks at a brisk pace. It frustrates me that I'm still too drained to strengthen my leg, and so I walk with a limp. It vexes me even more that she notices and slows down a bit. She eventually comes to a halt and opens the door to a small room. It is what passes for modest in the villa.

"Water?" she asks.
"Yes, please." My throat feels dry. She pours me a glass, and sits down in a leather armchair, getting out a notebook.
"So to recapitulate, you found the container at an execution site haunted by spirits. I take it the area was permeated by Force energies?"
"Correct. It was a mass grave. Our perception was reality was warped in the forest. The sky turned dark, we heard wails of the dead." I pause to take a long sip from the glass. "A horde of snakes and insects had seemingly infested the site, but they were illusions that vanished when I touched them."
She jots down some notes. "Let's talk about the visions. How vivid were they?"
"Very...visceral. According to locals, they avoided it because they could drive people crazy. Even suicidal. I received a...vision after banishing the snakes. Of the execution of criminals."
She looks up from her notes. "Did you experience it as a participant, a prisoner or an observer?"
"The last. Some of the apparitions blurred with people I'd known from elsewhere. Enemies of the people I'd killed."
"Curious. A small nexus then. Given thought and will by the consciousness of the trapped. Able to pull memories from your mind. Did the nexus give you a rush of power?"
"No, far from it. I gather it was trying to trap me. Perhaps weaken my mind enough I'd be an easier target."
"I see. But you didn't feel the presence of the Light?"
"No, only hatred and pain. I was able to pull myself out of the vision." Not quite true. "Then spirits rose from the graves."
"Before we get to the possession attempts themselves, what was the state of the bodies in the graves? How far along was their decomposition?"
"Far. The grave was overflowing with bones. They were sticking out of the earth."

"Corpses not burnt," she mutters to herself, making a note. "The spirits tried to take control of your bodies. How lucid were they? How strong?"
"Fury drove them, yet they were lucid enough to speak and choose their targets. They ignored the workers. I suppose they identified them as 'kin'. I doubt any were Force-Sensitive in life, but I gather this place was...empowering them. I slew one with my enchanted blade, and it seems electrical weapons repelled them. But when a spirit entered me, it was like being paralysed and encased in chains. Breaking them was a matter of...will. Of knowing oneself." I could mention that Honna successfully resisted possession, but best not. I suspect Sibylla would want to 'examine' her.
She taps her pen against the table. "That'll make tests difficult. If they attacked anyone, we could just expose some bound workers."
I raise an eyebrow. "Tests to develop counters?"
"Among other things," she leans forward. "There are many such nexuses on Tephrike, born of conflict and bloodshed. Chios has one, so does Palmyra. We will have to contend with the restless ghosts. But it's my personal theory that we could...use them. A soul is pure energy. It's been my theory that it would be feasible to develop a soul snare device, for want of a better word, to harvest the lost, and use them to power machinery. Think of it as combining several spirits into a single processing unit to increase its power."
I frown at her. "That is an...interesting theory. These souls have been driven mad though. Being trapped here leaves them with nothing but wanting vengeance. Wouldn't a machine powered by them be unstable?"
"I've considered that. My hypothesis is that one could keep the trapped souls in a dream-like state. They are at peace, content, tranquil, performing roles that come natural them. Reality is perception. Every moment we perceive goes through a filter."
"An ingenious solution. I suppose you'd have to isolate them from Force-based tampering. Mentalism, empathy, anything that could make them question the simulation." I raise my hand. "I'll admit I'm not in this field. My experience leans more towards alchemy. Enchanting clothing and the like."
Sibylla nods enthusiastically. "Exactly, Kyriaki! You have a keen mind, I approve, even if this is not your field you think logically. Something so rare these days. Yes, we have devised a method of shielding from outside influences, be they Force based or electronic. We also wish to ensure they cannot be tampered with by the cursed Jedi or the scum rebels in the swamps. I wonder whether that disturbance you found in the forest could be harnessed for a prototype. Think of how many...superfluous eaters could be made productive...I hope I haven't gone off on too much of a tangent."

This woman is dangerous. "Perish the thought. It's nice to talk to someone who wants to use sorcery to innovate instead of just retread the same ground. At the Academy every student just wanted to create the next soul-eating sword of doom or a bigger Terentatek." We share a laugh. "Speaking of craftwork, I must say your cybernetics are rather...striking."
"Particularly, my 'box'?" she asks, chuckling. "I suppose you're wondering whether I deliberately scarified myself to be closer to the Vader."
"You don't strike me as masochistic or obsessive."
"No. I had an unfortunate injury early on, and this is the method I have now to breathe." She shrugs. "It has its downsides, but unexpected advantages, too."
"You can't be choked and it deters unwanted suitors."
"The Humanist Superman wants his mate to be strong, but not too strong. She must be a beautiful showpiece and bear his children. I'm free of that nonsense. The bedding, coitus, child-bearing – it's all so messy." She looks me up and down. "That wound on your face will scar, and you're a clone. But I reckon some strapping knight will want to carry you off sooner or later."
I suppress a shudder when she mentions the bedding. A disgusting, vile tradition. I can envisage it before my eyes. After the wedding feast is over, my lord husband's sweaty, drunk male guests grab me, paw at me like a piece of meat and make drunken japes, tearing at my clothes until my body is exposed for them to ogle. Then when my husband comes to the wedding bed, they stand outside, making ribald jokes until it's been confirmed that the 'act' is done.
"Let him. He'll be too busy bragging about his manhood to notice he's going where I want him to."
With most of her face covered, it is hard to read her expression. "My sister's husband would benefit from such 'guidance', but the oaf's old enough to be your father." She arises. "Perhaps we can continue our conversation at a later time. It doesn't do to keep my Master waiting. Thank you for your time."
"No, thank you." I hesitate for a moment, then bite the bullet and stretch out my hand. "I'll have to mention your insights to the Supreme Leader when I meet him." I pause for a moment to let that sink in. Access. It's all about access. Her grip is firm. "Perhaps we can...help each other. Two female Disciples, trying to navigate the labyrinth that is our order and leave their mark. I have a project of my own I want to pursue here."
"Oh, truly? What sort?"
"A more conventional one than yours. But I do believe there's room for synergy. We both want to cut down on waste."
"We should discuss this further. Hmm, have you met Menkales?"
"Just before I went to the forest. Very full of himself."
"He's smart, but his methods cross into pseudo-science a lot. He asked me to meet him in the library later. Why don't you join us? It'll be informal. There'll be drinks, intellectual talk."
I'd rather shackle and gag Menkales and throw him into the pit with the ghosts than give him the time of the day. But I smile. "Count me in." I limp out of the room, and head straight for Lachesis' office. What I really want to do is check up Shakka and the children...but it does not do to keep Lachesis waiting.

When I reach her office, Menkales is just leaving. He has that annoying boyish grin on his face. "My lord, I understand you and Isaac had a close...encounter of the paranormal kind in the woods."
"You understand correctly, Doctor."
"I'm sure it's a riveting tale. Sibylla must be eating it up. Thanks for keeping my friend alive."
"He's a good soldier." I glance at the door. "Her Lordship is waiting for me."
Pity I don't manage to wipe that grin off his face. "Ah, yes, of course, don't let me get in the way. No rest for the wicked."
And with that he walks away and I knock on the door. When I open the door, Lachesis is sitting behind her desk, flanked by Diamandis, her ever-present shadow. Wordlessly, she raises a datapad with an invisible pull and levitates it into my grasp. "Disciple, take these orders to the 'council'." The last word drips with derision. "You're familiar with them, and I can only endure their bleating for so long."
I take the datapad in hand, surprised. "Yes, my lord."
"Go ahead, read them. You're too smart not to."
I do so and I feel a shiver. "You want to purge the hospital."
"We're clearing it of superfluous elements," Diamandis states.
Lachesis' pale blue eyes are on me, so cool my blood runs cold. "Hope Falls is still lagging behind. If the town is to provide the necessary grain to feed our people, rations will have be cut, labourers will have to make do with less and work far longer. There'll be less food to go around. In such a situation, there's no point in feeding the superfluous. How they execute this order is up to the council. Doctor Menkales will oversee the selections and provide...advice. But they will carry out the action."

"Make sure every councillor signs the order. It shouldn't be difficult, with a family member of every councillor in our custody," the Captain adds. They're in custody because I suggested it. I trapped them. "The PF will provide the manpower. Xenos auxiliaries, minimal human presence."
Realisation dawns upon me. "You're making them shoulder the responsibility."
"I'm giving them a chance to prove their loyalty. There's one lesson I learned very early on Chios. The best way to cow the xenos is to make the different races devour each other. The Duros will not shield the Twi'lek if his own tribe is on the line, and the Gamorrean loathes both. All are repulsive, but some we can tolerate longer than others. Once you've passed on my message, do feel free to pay the Bakios' villa a visit and evict them. Do with their possessions as you please. You have your orders, Disciple. Get moving."
But I don't turn and leave. My boots might as well have been nailed to the carpet. "I'd like to volunteer to help oversee the selections, my lord. I could be of use there."
"And how do you figure that, Disciple?" she demands, stern and implacable as a rock. I could bring up my factory idea. I could really stress that there are many patients at the hospital who could be of use elsewhere. But will that argument work on Lachesis? I know her disdain for xenos, even slaves. Menkales could scheme to try and sabotage me. He's not far above a squib, but a scumbag I cannot easily push aside. I must play this game differently. I must save who I can, and get Sibylla on my side.
"Efficiency, my lord. I'm a known quantity to the xenos. You know what they're like. They're devious by nature – and corrupt. They know I'm a Sith. They cannot hide deception from me. It'll make Menkales' work easier. The two of us can pool our efforts."
"Sort it out with him. Don't undermine his authority. You may go, Disciple." And so I salute and limp out of the room. Time for another conversation I really don't want to have.

I find Menkales in the hospital section with Hasapis, a patient and a nurse. He reads something on a clipboard, then signs. "Make sure he receives a regular dose of painkillers," he tells. "But carefully measure it!"
"I don't want drugs," the patient groans. I notice his leg is in a cast. "I can do my job."
Menkales sighs. "Do your stormtroopers make people suicidal or are they already that way when you hire them?" he asks Hasapis, who throws up his hands.
"Soldier, follow the good doctor's orders, and you'll be back in the field in no time. Be a bad patient, and you'll have me to answer to, got it?"
"You're a bad patient, Banneret."
"Do as I say not as I do."
"I...succumbed. I attacked my brothers. Shamed my unit. I don't deserve to be in the KEC."
Hasapis grabs him by the shoulder. "You had a moment of weakness. You think you're the only one? Those goddamn ghosts want you to wallow in self-pity." There's naked fury in his words. "Is that the kind of man you are? A quitter? Someone so frightened by xenos ghosts he abandons his brothers?" I wonder whether the soldier saw his boss succumb. The fight was quite chaotic, so maybe he did not see it.
"No, Banneret, I...I don't want to be that kind of man. But how can I look them in the eye? How can they trust me again?"
"They'll see you're working your arse off. It won't be easy. When we're back at base, I'll arrange a training programme so we've got the tools we need to resist mental attacks. We're the KEC, we never run from a challenge."
"No, Banneret, we don't. Stormtroopers lead the way."
"The Banneret is right. A nexus of spirits is not to be taken lightly. It's a dangerous even for Sith. I'd be happy to contribute to your programme. I cannot bend minds, but I know quite a bit about the theory behind it. Perhaps I can rope in my friend Sibylla."
"Thanks, Jonas."
"Ah, speak of the Disciple," Menkales turns when notices me. "My lord, I was just telling this young soldier he hasn't dishonoured himself. Perhaps you, as a Force-wielder, could give him perspective I lack."
The soldier looks at me nervously, inclining his head slightly. "My lord..."
"Look up, look me in the eye," I say authoritatively. "I am a Disciple, and as you no doubt know, even I struggled against the spirits. One tried to possess me. I overcame it – because I have abilities you don't have. That is no blemish on you. Your brothers don't hate you. You will regain their trust, of that I have no doubt." Briefly my gaze drifts to Hasapis. "If I can arrange it, I'd be happy to join this training session and share my knowledge of how to resist mental manipulation. Now focus on getting better."
"Yes, ma'am, I will."
We leave the patient's room. "Hey, my lord, thanks for saying that," Hasapis says, sounding a bit awkward. "He'll appreciate it. Not many Disciples would bother."
"I've learned from Lachesis, as we all do. Doctor, a word?"
"Oh, sure. I can spare a moment. Isaac, catch you later?"
"Right, you two talk about voodoo or whatever it is you'll do to yap her ears off. I'll check on the rest of the men. You need me for anything, lord?"
"I've got to handle some matters in the staff building. Then we're going to pay the Bakios vill a visit."
"Got it." Hasapis slaps Menkales on the shoulder and marches away.

Menkales shakes his head and looks at me. "Forgive me if I'm being unduly forward, but I couldn't help notice your limp. I see your leg's giving you grief. Perhaps I could run a medical check-up?"
"No need." My tone is probably more brusque than it should be, but whatever. A Disciple can't show weakness.
"As you wish. I know the Force has blessed you with...special talents. But overreliance on them takes a toll on the body. Particularly on those with a...delicate constitution. Anyway, what did you want to speak to me about?"
"It concerns your upcoming assignment – at the hospital."
"Ah, yes, unpleasant business. But it's for the greater good."
"Indeed. I understand you're responsible for the selections."
"Well, in an oversight capacity. I'll assess the fitness – or lack thereof – of the patients. Just to make sure the xenos are making, ahem, medically sound decisions. The acting chairman's a Duros, so I guess he'll want to spare his kin by singling out someone else. Fine by me," he shrugs. "Someone I judge capable of labour will return to work immediately. A couple will stay as a favour to the council. Sadly, I think most patients are too far gone. The xenos run the hospital poorly. Unsanitary conditions, theft of medical supplies. Some patients have hereditary defects. Drags on the community. It's very sad, but we can't let sentiment cloud our judgement. It's the duty of the medical profession to remove cancer from the racial corpus."
"Indeed. And when the superfluous have been separated from the productive, will they be eliminated immediately or do you have a purpose in mind for them?"
"That will depend on the condition I find them in. My work is vital to our nation's health. It requires a stream of specimen to run tests on. I'll probably allocate a few to dear Sybilla. It infuriates me how opaque her work is, but I understand its importance. I can't help but wonder whether you have a personal interest in the patients' fate?"

"Suffice to say I have a project of my own. Industrial in nature. It requires, as you'd put it, specimen. They don't need to be as strong or fit as a peasant, but they cannot be completely feeble either."
"I see what you mean. You want to make a deal. Has Lachesis assigned you?"
"She's given me free reign to sort matters out. I believe the two of us can reach a mutually beneficial agreement."
He looks thoughtful. "I hope you don't intend to just leave me with the xenos that will collapse the moment they feel a slight breeze. My, ah, work requires quality specimen, insofar as they can be found in this miserable place."
"What kind of work?"
"Advancements in medicine, and our understanding of xenos biology, treatment for radiation, high altitude tests to enhance the survival rates of our pilots, among other things. I won't bore you with the details. Future generations will be grateful," he says with pure fervour. He believes with every fibre of his being that whatever perverse things he will do to his 'patients' serves some nebulous greater good.
"I see the importance of your work." And I feel like I'm soiling myself. "We both want to get the specimen we need to serve the fatherland. If you work with me, my presence will smooth things over. The PF knows me. Besides, the hospital is in the city centre. I don't think an evacuation will go unnoticed. But the presence of a Sith is a deterrent."

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "You have a point, my lord. The mob may take umbrage at our efforts to help them."
"Now the standard method of a Disciple would be to pull rank on you, but Hasapis has praised you for your bravery and he's no liar. So I want to work with you."
He scowls at me. "Don't forget, my lord. I report to a Sith Lord other Disciples tremble before. I'm not someone to be pushed around," he sneers. "But I can see the advantage." He reaches into his pocket and takes out a list. "That's what I want. Take a look."
I take the paper and read. It's a veritable shopping list. Overwhelmingly human-like, particularly Twi'leks. "I'm particularly interested in the females," he says conversationally. "They have great potential for study. For the Twi'leks, I must have a selection of different colours."
That's why he was interested in Shakka. I don't know what he'll do to them, but I know it'll be horrible, and I'll be complicit. I'm deciding who lives or dies. I could say no; I could say I don't want to be part of this – and condemn everyone. Mitigation, it all comes down to mitigating evil. "I get my pick of the children."
"I need them for my work. Besides, it would be cruel to break up families if a sibling or parent goes with me."
You don't know the meaning of the word cruel. I swallow the words on my tongue. "When we leave Hope Falls, I'll report back to the Supreme Leader. Lord Lachesis is a powerful woman, an incredible patron. But it wouldn't hurt to have the Supreme Leader take an interest in your work, would it? Particularly when a bean-counter whines about the budget." I didn't say that I'd tell him anything nice about you.
There is a sparkle of ambition in his eyes. "First pick. You'll have to give me some leeway with the adults. I can throw in some of the elderly – if any are of use to you." He extends his hand. I feel like I need a very thorough shower when I take it.
No shower can wipe the dirt away. "Long as I get my pick of the least sick. See you at the hospital, Doctor." With that I head out. Time to see Shakka, check on the children and make sure Lena gets back home. Some tangible good, for what it's worth. Just a day more. I can send the children to the Bakios villa. I just need someone reliable to watch it. Lena and Shakka's cousin can get jobs at the factory that keeps them out of harm's way. I just need some time. Time, and resources. It will work. It has to.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Mr Goren the pompous prick has taken the girls' fingerprints and puts us to work...peeling potatoes. You see, all those 'brave' KEC lads, especially those injured in the Dominion's 'cowardly' attack, need their veggies. Poor boys. Goren – yes, it's Goren, not Mr Goren, get used to it, jackarse – shows up on occasion, hand on the whip on his hip. He lashes out once, whipping another Twi'lek worker's hand, then goes on a tangent about how grateful we should be.

But mostly we're left alone. It's dull and monotonous, but there's no creep doctor or Sith. Eventually Cordé and Goren come and say the paperwork is finished. Before we go, Goren searches us for stolen potatoes. He doesn't catch the ones Ollia hid in her shoes. Cordé sends me off to fetch some clothes and tells me where to go to get them and to meet them in the basement. Fortunately, I don't have to go to back to the villa. I don't ask where the clothes are from and the Mirialan responsible for handing them over doesn't say. I can guess. Murdered 'xenos'. They could have belonged to the people from Lena's home. Children were among the arrested. It makes my skin crawl. At least the blood's been washed out.

After some searching, I find the 'servant room'. The basement is cold, dreary and clammy with a strange smell. Most of the room is filled with boxes, but there's a pair of mattresses in the corner. The bulb hanging from the ceiling glows faintly. Cordé is in lecturer mode. "Now, Ollia, I know things might be a little freer where you're from, but here tidiness is paramount. That includes sweeping up after yourself after you shed. I'm not sure whether you moult or similar, but it's important not to leave fur around the place...could give people allergies, and wouldn't want that, would you?"
Ollia looks agitated. "Humans 'shed' their hairs too....ma'am. We know how to be tidy."
"There's no need for pique, it's unbecoming of you, my feline friend. Just prove you can be responsible and we won't have to discuss it again." She pats her on the back. "And, Vexa, I know it's not your fault, but your kind has a rather...musky odour. You need to care to make it more pleasant."
Vexa glares at her. "Yes."
"What was that?"
"Yes, ma'am," she says through gritted teeth. "Thank you, ma'am."
"There's a good girl. I'll get some deodorant for you."
"The Maiden minces words too much. Rodians smell like animal droppings on the bottom of your boot," butler jerk-face says.
Cordé looks at him sternly. "Mr Goren, that was uncalled for."
"You have a woman's gentle heart. But a spade's a spade. The moment we blur the line between man and beast, we're lost."
Cordé shoots him a frosty look, and opens her mouth. The petty little jerk deserves a lot more than a tongue-lashing, but they're going to have to deal with him till Kyriaki does something to move. So I step in. "Oh, ma'am, I got the clothes. Figure the girls would like to change." "The clothes? Oh, good. Put them on the bed. Mr Goren, let's give the girls some privacy."
"Don't be tardy, girls. And make sure you dispose of your filthy rags. They're probably full of lice." I drop off the clothes and pat Ollia and Vexa on the back before stepping out.

But then I suddenly hear loud stomping coming from down the corridor. Honna. My heart skips a beat when I see Lena following her. "Who's that?" the monocle-wearing jerk-face puffs himself up.
"The Gamorrean is her lordship's guard."
"Me serve Sith, sir. Sith say bring Twi'lek to Maiden. Me obey," Honna grunts.
Jerk butler sighs and looks at Cordé. "Gamorreans. Hopeless cases."
Cordé wrinkles her nose. "But their naive simplicity does them credit. You've returned – I take it her lordship fares well?" Cordé asks.
"We were attacked by ghosts, ma'am, but the Disciple overcame them. We found the grain," Lena says, and looks at me. "I told you things would work out."
"This is accurate, soldier?"
"Yes, ma'am," Honna grunts.
"Splendid. Then we just have to sort out the paperwork. Soldier, return to your duties. I'll take it from here." She knocks on the door. Girls, are you done?"
At that Ollia and Vexa step out. Their clothes are baggy and at least a size too big for the girls, but at least they're clean. "Ready, ma'am," Vexa says laconically, holding Ollia's hand.
"There, that looks a lot better. Mr Goren, may I impose on you and handle the formalities of Ms Fiatkin's release in the office?"
"l'll escort you there. A Maiden shouldn't be alone with two of these creatures. Girls, back to the kitchen with you. Those potatoes won't peel themselves. Oh, and Cathar, should you catch any mice, don't just leave them lying around." Ollia looks like she's close to hissing at the arsehole.
I bend down so I'm face-level with them. "I'll be...back soon, girls. Sure Master will check up on you. You won't be here long."
"More space than the old place," Vexa says flatly.
Monocle eye glares at me when I follow.
"She's cleared," Cordé interjects.
"Remember not to touch anything, girl. Don't think I haven't heard of your indiscretion in the restroom. She's a bad influence on the servants," monocle-eye says as an aside to Cordé.
"Indiscretions?"
Great. "Went to the wrong restroom." Frak it. I'm tired of this crap. "The xenos showers aren't..." I'm about to say something I really shouldn't. Maybe Lena remembers Firith doing that. Either way she gives me the look.
She mouths 'don't', and speaks up. "I'm sure Shakka just wanted the girls to be clean and presentable, ma'am, so they meet this house's standards. Maybe she misread the sign. You know how we Twi'leks are, sir."
"All too well. That sign is supposed to be idiot-proof. I guess next time we'll have to draw a Twi'lek on it to make the point clear."
"It won't happen again."
"Cleanliness is next to godliness, but we can't have everyone mixing or someone will get sick," Cordé says in her annoying mum lecturing the kids voice. "Just don't do it again."
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."

Finally, we're at the office. Cordé spends some time in a room next door on a comm, then prints out a document, comes back and hands it over to Lena. "I've confirmed with Captain Diamandis that you're cleared of charges. Here's the form of your release. You sign here."
"Alright, ma'am. Thank you." Lena takes the paper, looking uncertain as she runs her finger down. "Err...I cannot read this, and I don't know how to write my name."
Of course, that jerk of a butler has to open his mouth. "I suppose a Twi'lek's shameless promiscuity leaves you with no time for an education. I hope you don't use your new-found freedom to indulge in sin again."
Thankfully, the table hides my hands. They're balled into fists. I imagine wrapping them around his pasty neck and strangling him. "Is it alright if I sign with an 'X'?" Lena asks, raising her head slightly, though she keeps her eyes downcast.
Cordé smiles. I guess she thinks she's being indulgent. "Yes, that's fine. By signing, you confirm that your unlawful arrest was the doing of the criminals Bakios and Nass. You have been freed by the mercy of the Imperial State. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am. Here."
"The wheels of Imperial justice can be slow...but they turn inexorably." Dream on, Cordé. She presents an ID and stamps it. "And these are your papers."
Lena looks up at Cordé and me. "I am grateful. To you and her lordship, to the Imperium, ma'am." She takes a breath. "I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but would it be possible to look into the case of the other residents who were arrested with me? The criminal Bakios ordered their arrest to hide his crimes. They're good folk. If any of them did something, I'm sure it was only a minor infraction."
"I promise I will put in a request for their release," Cordé says, and for some reason, I believe she means. She's naive enough to think Mummy Lachesis will let the innocents go if she asks nicely and writes a report about Imperial justice.
She fetches a key and undoes Lena's cuffs. The cuffs spring open, Lena clenches and unclenches her fingers and rubs her wrists "Thank you. I can go home now?"
"When her lordship comes and lets you out, yes. Shouldn't be too long. You can sit down till then."
"But not in my office. I have work to do," the pompous oaf huffs.
"We won't impose on you any longer, Mr. Goren. Shakka, escort her out, please." I turn around to go out with Lena, and I hear Cordé 'hmmph'. For some reason, I glance at what she's looking. Who'd have thought, everyone's favourite Vaderite trash mag is lying next to the oaf's paperwork. Let me guess, he just reads it for the articles.
"What are you looking at, Twi'lek? Shoo! Do I need to get out my whip?" Lena tugs my arm, and we quickly get out, standing outside.
"The Stormer?" Cordé scrunches her nose in disapproval.
"A respectable magazine every Party comrade should read. Without it, many citizens would still be woefully ill-informed of how depraved these rainbow-coloured creatures are."
"The Stormer's cartoons are an embarrassment to Humanist journalism. It doesn't condemn the Twi'lek's sinfulness; it revels in it and skirts the line to pornography."
"Pah, Aristides Vlakatos tells the unvarnished truth your generation doesn't understand. Maybe you should read his article on telegony. A human woman must only to lay with a Zeltron or Twi'lek and take his seed into her once for her body to be irrevocably changed. Even if she is impregnated by a human man of unimpeachable pedigree, her children will be xenosspawn. And the women are even worse. Bewitching human womenfolk to partake in perversion. You should lock up that Twi'lek you've been doting on. Before she can drink more human blood and become red like your pet."
Corde's gaze is cold. "Mr Vlakato's brand of snake-oil and pseudo-science is a disgrace to the good people of the Imperium. Telegony is a debunked theory based on wishful thinking, aberrant method and disgraceful self-interest. Everyone knows that heredity is the main determinant of humanity. And whilst those who choose to...lay...with a xenos are morally depraved, it does not cause a metaphysical metamorphosis, except of the metaphorical sort." She stares at him with narrowed eyes. "And I will manage the xenos myself, thank you. Mr Vlakatos is a horrid man. He was rightly put on trial for assaulting a human maiden."
"And acquitted by the court when it was determined that she'd been a woman of loose morals who could not be assaulted."

While the two argue, Lena and I just stand there awkwardly, looking at each other. "When human forced me to sit on his lap and grabbed my lekku, I was charged with incitement to indecency," Lena whispers. We share a look. She raises one of her headtails. There are scars.
"Bastards." Funny how we're both stupid primitives and devious super demons who can turn a human 'superman' bad just by waving our lekku at him. "Did anything happen in jail?" I whisper.
"Just beatings, electrical shocks," she shudders. It was bad. "The usual. It's done. I'm out. I'm not telling you anything new. It's every Twi'lek's story."
I just want us to get the hell out. Maybe we can just...slip away and say we're watching over the kids. Or getting Kyriaki coffee. Come on, Master. I don't want to stand here like an ornament. I don't want to think about..what happened with the doctor.

"Loose...morals?" Corde's fists ball and she plants her feet apart and glares at the monocle-wearing oaf. Cordé, strangle him, please. "Mr Goren, I like to think the best of all men and women in the Imperium, and that those who do not live up to the standards of our Lord Vader are an aberration. And you, Mr Goren, are abhorrent if you believe that. Mr Vlakatos was married at the time. Doesn't that count as loose morals to your mind? The young lady was of impeccable lineage and was just starting her job as a junior secretary when she says she was assaulted by him in his office. I have read the details and they are shocking. This young lady's life has been given a blow I can only hope it will recover from with time and compassion, especially as she has been smeared by these scandalous journals. Everyone knows the only way he got off was by the passing of bribes to those justices, a sad indictment on the good lawmakers of the Imperium. I trust the Supreme Leader will see and deal with this issue very soon. For now, I do not want to hear any more of this sexist, disgraceful talk again, Mr Goren!" She grabs the magazine and tosses it into the dustbin.

The jackarse sputters, glaring at her red-faced with a look of naked shock on his face. His nostrils flare. Is he going to strike her? And then I hear the boss. Couldn't you have waited just a little bit, Master? If he'd smacked her, you could've choked him. "What's going on?" Kyriaki limps down the corridor into the office. "Explain yourself."
"Ah, my Lord, such a pleasure – a pleasure – to see you." And now he's suddenly a sycophant, bowing and scraping like a good dog. "I am heartened you are here. I was just telling Maiden Tycho how impressed I am by your leadership skills. You have your xenos well in hand. The Maiden could learn so much from your poise and control."
"The Maiden helped take down a cabal of traitors and personally slew an enemy of the Imperium, a feat even more impressive considering she's no soldier or Disciple, just a woman who knows right from wrong."
"Well, I – what I mean..."
"I didn't come here to listen to you grovel." She glances at us. "The details of the prisoner's release have been settled?"
"Yes, my lord. Ms Fiatkin is free to go," Cordé says, a small smile on her face.
"My servants have been given accommodations?"
Naturally the oaf tries to get a word in again. "I saw to it personally. They're in the basement. I have impressed upon them not to get up to mischief."
She says nothing for a moment. There's a strange look in her eyes. She looks...burdened. Then her gaze is cold again. "Do they have what they need to wash and clothe themselves? They're my personal servants; I can't have them running around smelling like a sewer. Simply sprinkling some water on them won't do."
"Slave Shakka did what she could to make them presentable, my lord. But they need soap and some clean towels," Cordé says.
"Mr Goren?"
The jerk preens himself. "I shall endeavour to provide this, my lord...but I am not sure I have cleaning solutions for the furred xenos' pelt. It shall just have to make do."
"Soap should suffice. I understand you have a lot of work to do, so Maiden Tycho will assist you and verify that the task has been carried out to my satisfaction."
"I don't require the aid of a shr... - uh, yes, my lord, she'll be very...helpful."

"Excellent. I won't detain you any longer. Slave, xenos, come with me." She says nothing until we're out in the courtyard. And suddenly her tone...softens. "Lena, you leave immediately before someone comes up with an excuse to accuse you of something. Do you have a place to stay?"
Lena nods. "Yes...I think. I've probably lost my spot in my room, but if I have to sleep in the corridor that's no big deal. I've done it before. Better than...the prison," she shudders.
"Your husband?"
"He's ok," I chime in. "He helped me find that smuggler warehouse."
She reaches out and drops some things in Lena's pocket. I blink when I realise it's money. "Lie low. Follow the curfew. For a day, two at most. Then I can have you moved. Bakios' family is going to be given an eviction notice. I'll need someone to keep the villa in good order. And then I have my...project. Understood?"
"Yes, my lord. You're being very...kind."
Master looks...I can't read that expression. She's fidgeting. She never fidgets. What's wrong? "Shakka, take her home. Take this," she hands me a key. "Make sure she's got a place, then come back here."
"You still looking into this smuggler business, Master?" Two KEC thugs pass us, so I lower my head. "Some of these evil, anti-Imperial gangsters may still be about. I heard they use tunnels to move their cargo. I could try to looking into that."
"No, it's too dangerous," she says immediately, like machine gun fire fast. What? Like all the other snooping she made me do wasn't dangerous?
"I can handle myself, Master."
"The ringleaders have been taken down. Their partners will be cutting their losses. They'll be paranoid about us being on their trail. Anything that remains now is a matter for the police." Damn it, I need an excuse to slip the leash. This may be my only chance to meet the rebels. To be free. Think quickly. "Understood, Master. I could, um, see if I can find anyone suitable for your project. The factory. Folks who'll work hard."
"A factory? I could use my contacts to help Shakka out. I know many in the local community, my lord," Lena says.
Kyriaki nods after a moment. "Alright, but don't get into trouble and don't stay out long." She looks up at a camera and gestures with her hand, walking away to the garden. We obviously follow. What's going on? She doesn't say anything until she comes to a stop in front of the fountain. A KEC groundcar roars out of the courtyard. "If you, or any of your friends, need something from the hospital...get it as quickly as you can. Get in, get out. And if you have friends there, they must check out. I...overheard a conversation. The KEC is planning an operation. The hospital may go into lockdown before that."
Lena's eyes widen. Not because the Humanists are being murderous arseholes, I figure. But because one of them is...warning us. Even I'm surprised. "I...understand, my lord. Thanks. I'll spread the word...quietly."
"Be discreet. If you get caught up in this or someone names you, I won't be able to protect you. Off you go, xenos. Don't lose the car again." Then she turns and leaves us. We get in the car. Neither Lena nor me says anything until we're well away from the villa.

It's Lena who breaks the silence while I drive. "Your Master's a Disciple."
"The sword and the fireballs must've been a giveaway."
"I'm serious. Why'd she warn us? I know she wants influence in this town and she's less cruel than the others, but..."
"She's different," I sigh. "Look, it's hard to explain. She killed a woman who was like a big sis to me."
"Vrerkh," Lena mutters. I glance at her in surprise. "Firith told me about her. Said she protected you."
"She did more than just that." I feel like there's a pit in my stomach. Of sorrow and misery. "She was gonna die anyway. Humie thugs were beating on her. Kyriaki...kept her from suffering. But if it hadn't been for her, we wouldn't have been caught. Kyriaki's the reason I've got this frakking collar 'round my neck."
"Then why?"
"She...doesn't like what the Disciples do. How they treat us. She's a clone or something. The Jedi made her...but her template's from...outer space."
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "Koa. That makes no sense."
"Tell me about it," I mutter.
"There's no life out there. The Plague killed everyone. We all know that."
"You listened to that broadcasts about Castle Maysaf? Kyriaki says her template's people blew it up."
"You honestly believe that? It sounds to me like there was an earthquake and the castle collapsed because they built it on top of a big rock. Or one of the Vaderites' experiments went wrong and they're too embarrassed to admit it. So it had to be 'Starspawn'."
"Look, I don't know what's true. Never been to Maysaf, never been to space. All I know for sure is she's a clone of someone who really pissed off the Vaderites. At the Academy, I overheard acolytes gossiping about how Achilles – Furcht's piece of shit brat – had his goons strip her naked and beat her in the throne room."
"And now she works for Eisen."
"Yeah. But Butcher Lachesis' holdin' the leash here."
"She mentioned a factory. That's what you meant when you said she wanted to 'get some people out'."
"Somewhere less shit, yeah. Textiles."
"Shakka...I guess you're not my good-sister strictly speaking, but you feel that way. You have a strong Tuka...like Firith. Do you trust her? As much as you can trust a humie."
"She...won't be cruel. She's fair. But we'd still be slaves. All it takes is one Vaderite shutta who's higher up in the food chain to be in the mood to hurt some xenos. And if she has to sacrifice a few of us, she'll do it."
"For us, there are no good choices. We can just pick the least bad one to protect those we care about. If serving this...Sith is what it takes to get back with Firith and Alask and buys my family – you included – some time..."
"When I showed up on your doorstep, you didn't trust me because I was a Disciple's pet," I point out a bit sourly. "Sorry."
"You wouldn't have trusted me either if I'd been in your shoes."
"No. There may...another way. Firith and I...we've been talking..."
"Check point." I hope for a day when I won't have to hear that word again. A checkpoint of Vaderite thugs looms ahead of us. I slow down the vehicle.

"Halt, papers!" A Houk guard barks. He practically snatches our papers from my hand. "Get out. Hands on the trunk." Quickly we disembark. Lena's kinda trembling. Oh, great. It's the arseholes who robbed the Mon Cal family. Frak. "Boss, it's the Twi'lek snoop, and look she brought a friend," he bellows.
The humie PF thug saunters towards us, grabbing the papers. "You again," then he glares at Lena. "Weren't you in jail? Who let the whore out? Search them."
"I was released. By the Disciple. I was cleared of all charges. The Butcher ordered me to go back home." Not totally true, but the mention of her name is enough to give the Houk pause. For a moment. "Don't bullshit me."
"Check the papers." I stiffen when I feel the Houk's big hands on my body. Upside? He's not a perv, unlike the Humie. He's just rough.
"Wormhead has cash," he grunts.
"Check the papers," I repeat. "I'm the personal slave of the Disciple. Bet you know her by now?"
"Turn around, whore." He grabs me by the chin. "You know what I could do to you and no one would give a frak? You could've just been killed by gangsters or the rebs."
"You know what Master can do? Bet Bakios does now."
"The Disciple's expecting her slave to report back in – soon. She'll be angry if she doesn't. She knows Bakios still has people in the force," the thug glares at Lena when she speaks up. She flinches under his gaze, but keeps talking, in a low, frightened voice. "She'll look here first."
"Bakios was our guy. Looked out for the grunts," Houk snarls. "Want me to rip chop off their tentacles, boss?"
The humie scumbag looks me with pure hatred, and suddenly lets go of me. "Give them the cash back."
"Boss?"
"Frakking do it. Get outta my sight, whores. I'll remember you."
Quickly we get back in the groundcar. Inside, I take a breath. I hear shouting from behind us. Turning, I see the thugs are holding two Twi'leks at gunpoint. An adult man and a little girl. "Please, sir...we've done nothing...we're just..."
The humie yells at them. "Smuggling grain, delivering secret messages to the Xenos Guard?!"
"No, sir...we want no trouble. I'm taking my daughter to the hospital. We have a permit here."
"Obviously faked."
"We've got cigarras, some cash...it can be yours!"
"Attempting to bribe a police officer, committing treason..."
My hands have grabbed the wheel so tightly my knuckles bleed. I should turn around. I could. Then I hear Lena's voice. "Go!"
And there's a staccato of gunfire.
"Father...no..."
"Run!" More gunfire. And then there are no screams anymore. I hit the engines hard. Dimly, I hear the humie thug shout as we speed away. "You saw that? That wormhead was shot while resisting arrest for sabotage. We had no choice."
The checkpoint vanishes behind us. Lena's hands are shaking. "We're clear. You're safe, we're safe." I sigh. "Frak."
"You had no choice."
"No, we didn't. That's the whole frakking problem."
"Goddess, take these poor souls into your embrace, ease their pain and spirit them to Atlan."
I snort. "Maybe she should do something useful and kill those humie frakkers. Sorry...I'm so tired of this shit."
"No, you're right. I pray every night that she does. But we can only...hope and do what we can." She looks tired when she runs a hand over her brow. "When you left...my son was okay?"
"The Mon Cal guy said he'd look after him. You said you trust him?"
"Yes...he's good people." Another intake of breath. "You went through a lot for me."
The road's bumpy. We drive past broken buildings with smashed windows. No need to maintain anything if it doesn't serve the humies. "I don't want more of my family to die." And we will if we stay. Sooner or later, we'll end up like Tara. Decision's made. We're gonna get the hell out – all of us. "Listen, Firith and me, we got a plan..."

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

It's done. The devil's bargain has been made. I once read that you never notice the devil when he puts his hand on your shoulder. That's nonsense. I've made many bargains. It's necessary. The Rodian kid whose name I don't even know, Tara, the patients...Save some, condemn others. This is a necessary evil. But no shower can wash the dirt away.
Having guided Shakka and Lena to the groundcar, I see them off and head back to the staff building. The building is almost as huge as the villa and its layout just as confusing. Where are the girls? The kitchen, maybe.
Fortunately, I don't encounter the idiot butler on the way. Here and there, I run into alien workers. Every time I do they flinch, bow and give me a wide berth. Their auras smell of fear. I find Ollia and Vexa in a room on the floor, smearing polish over boots. Looking around, I notice there's quite a pile of boots in the corner.

"Children, the Master is here. Pay your respects," a feminine voice commands them. My eyes flicker towards the source of the voice. She could almost pass for human. Not that it helped the Zeltron bookkeeper or the Mirialan family. But the bald xenos is unnaturally pale and papery with gaunt cheek bones, a willowy build and grey markings around her colourless eyes. She's dressed as a servant. No collar around her throat.
The white skinned xenos gives a perfect curtsey. The kids bow awkwardly. Vexa barely lowers her head till a stern look from the pale woman makes her cast her eyes down to the floor.
"My lord...you honour us with your presence," their apparent supervisor says slowly. Carefully. "How can we be of service?"

"I'm just checking up on things. I see my servants have been put to work."
"Polishing the boots of KEC soldiers and human staff, my lord. But if you have a different task for them..."
I raise my hand and she is quiet. "That won't be necessary. You supervise xenos servants?"
"Yes, my lord. Under Mr Goren. I cook, too."
"What's your name?"
"Ismene Pala, my lord."
"Quite a human-sounding name. I don't think I recognise your race."
"Umbaran, my lord. We aren't part of the master species, but Imperial scientists have ruled that we're...distantly related. We have some human blood."
"Curious." Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ollia stiffen at that. I step forward to get a better look, and study their faces. No bruises, no sign of them being hurt. "My servants aren't giving you trouble?"
"They're obedient. Vexa is too surly, but she does her job."
"Good. Come here, kids. Don't be shy." Nervously they put down their cleaning stuff and the boots and come towards me. "I have something for you." I reach into my jacket and fetch a bag of candies, holding it up.

"For us?" Ollia asks incredulously. "My lord?" She almost reaches out to the package, then stops, lines of worry crossing her face.
"Not hungry, my lord," Vexa states. "Full."
"They're not poisoned." I fish a sweet out and swallow it. "Very tasty. Unfortunately, I can't eat more because I've been told I need to lose weight." I've always been skinny and sometimes had to steal to get food at the Academy. But we have a sexist culture that says women should starve themselves for a man. "But you two look like you don't have enough meat on your ribs. Take them."
"Thank you, thank you," Ollia declares excitedly.
For just a moment, Vexa's gaze seems to soften a bit. There's something in her eyes. Child-like and innocent. I lost my innocence long ago. "Thanks, my lord." Reality will soon hit again like a brick wall again. But it feels...good to make them happy.

The pallid xenos coughs. "Um, my lord, you're most generous, but there are rules about what the servants can get and when. Mr Goren's...very clear on this."
"The will of a Disciple is a rule by itself, isn't it?"
"Yes, lord. But Mr Goren will think they stole them."
I look at the girls. "Girls, hide them until you're in the basement. Don't eat a single one until you've finished work and in your room. You must be on your best behaviour. Understood?"
"Yes, my lord," Vexa says.
"We'll be good. We'll clean all the boots before you know it...my lord," Ollia adds more animatedly. "Please, my lord."
I hand over the packet. Vexa takes it. "There you go. Now get back to your chores."
"Tell the Master thank you and bow to her," Ismene orders them sternly. Each girl does so. "Remember to always do that."
"Would you like us to polish your boots too, my lord?" the Cathar girl asks. "Not that they're dirty, but we can make them shiny again. I'm very quick."

Now that she mentions it, all the excitement outdoors hasn't been good for the polish. I hadn't even noticed. Lachesis' boots are always pristine. But I shake my head. "No. Carry on, girls."
The girls get back to polishing. But as I turn away I glimpse them exchanging look before the Rodian speaks up. "Master stay here long?"
"So many keep asking me, is there a betting pool somewhere?"
"What happens to us, Master?"
"You will go where the Master says and do as she commands. Be grateful for every day you spend in her service, and not in the gutter," Ismene chides her. "My lord, she's new and doesn't know yet how to behave. Please don't take offence."

I can imagine what they're thinking. I'm buttering them up, then I'll just leave them with Goren or throw them back into the streets. Or give them to a vile KEC doctor to play with. "You're my messengers and servants, remember?" I look each of them in the eye. "You'll stay with me. Today, you work in the household. Tomorrow...we'll see about other tasks."

I look to the Umbaran. "How large is this villa's staff?"
"Presently it has a dozen plus Mr Goren, my lord," she responds smoothly. But I sense..uncertainty. "Half or quarter xenos for above stairs roles, less...complex tasks for xenos."
"I heard there were eight," Ollia suddenly says.
"Please repeat that, girl."
"I...um...thought there were a dozen...Master."
"You thought? You mean someone told you."
"I don't remember. Maybe I heard wrong."
"Ms Pala?"
The Umbaran doesn't flinch. I do sense an undercurrent of fear from her, but also something else. "I believe your servant misheard. There are twelve staff members. One is sick and another was injured in a storm. Two more are on extended leave."
"Ah, that explains it. I hope they return to their duties soon. We wouldn't want the Supreme Leader's estate to be short-staffed. Carry on, girls. Be obedient. I'll be back later and review your progress."
But as I turn to go it is the pale xenos that approaches me. "Pardon, my Lord, and my apologies if this is forward, but I need to discuss something privately with you, if I may?" I nod and we walk out into the corridor. "I have found some information which could be harmful to some...especially me if I'm found with it."
"What is it?"
"I believe it's best if I show you, my lord."
"Fine, lead the way." At first I think she's going to lead me to the servant quarters, but she proves me wrong. She takes me down to the bathrooms. It's cold here.
Ismene walks to sink and pulls a bathroom mirror from the wall. I glimpse at the sink and notice how dirty it is. Good gracious. The towel doesn't look any better. "Here, my lord," the Umbaran says, handing me a file with papers in it.
I flip through them. "He's been skimming on the side." Is there someone in this glorified camp who isn't corrupt? But then, why shouldn't they be? Our whole system runs on graft. Everyone, villain and hero, has to use it. She says nothing. Smart woman. Her silence is answer enough.
"If word gets out…"
I bring my finger to my lips and she's quiet. "Your commitment won't be forgotten." She smiles thinly. And I feel something else emanate from her as she puts the mirror back up. Satisfaction. And then I think of Tara's bloody corpse dangling in the air. I can bring down petty, little tyrants, but not the big ones. Frustration gnaws at me. Even more reason to ruin this one's life. I stuff the papers into my jacket. I'll have to seal them away. "Having seen the sink, I don't think I want to see the showers." I look at one anyway. Dirt and grime everywhere. It's a wonder I haven't seen mould. But then I may have just not looked thoroughly enough.
"Mr Goren has forbidden staff from cleaning the xenos showers, my lord. They are not to be given cleaning tools."
"We'll see about that. Get back to your duties, Ms Pala." Speak of the devil, and he shall appear in a pompous package with a monocle. We run into Goren while walking up the stairs.
"What are you doing here? Ismene, I hope you have a good explanation. There will be no…perversion on my watch."
"Her lordship…asked me to show her the bathrooms, sir." She looks to me nervously.
"I did."
"My lord, I must warn you, the blind-eyed xenos is devious. Don't fall prey to her foul seductions."
"I am a Disciple. The Force gives me a far greater insight into the xenos mind than you can conceive."
"Be it as it may, walking among the muck is far beneath you, my lord. Leave them to me."
"I saw quite a bit of unnecessary muck down there. You will let your staff clean the xenos bathroom properly."
"What nonsense has Ismene told you? Does she wish to share her shower with these creatures? Cleaning their showers is futile, my lord. The xenos will just make them dirty again. They like to live in filth!"
"If you never let them try, how do you know?"
"Just look at how they live outside of this estate."
"And I have two servants who shower there, as the racial laws mandate. Those servants do all manners of tasks for me. If they fall ill because of bad hygienic conditions, they're not just useless to me, they might get other people sick. And I'll hold you responsible for it. Have the showers cleaned. You will allow them to clean the shower. You will forget Ismene was here with us. You will go now." I reach through the Force to touch this pathetic idiot's mind. It's not a suggestion reinforced with a gentle Force-tug, but a command imprinted on his mind.
"I…I," his eyes glaze over for a moment, as if he is dreaming, and there is a look of pure confusion on his face. I give him another push, inscribing it in his mind. "I will…a-allow them to clean the shower," he says the words in a dull monotone. "Ismene was not here with us. I will go now."
Wisely Ismene says nothing until we're well out of earshot from him. "My lord, thank you."
"You'll be alright?"
"Yes…with your permission, I'll return to my duties." I stop by my room and seal the papers away. It'll do for now. On the way out, I text Cordé. She'll take them in hand. I pick up Hasapis and Honna on the way out.

"All ready when you are, my lord," the Banneret grunts. I guess he's gotten over shock over being possessed. No silly comments about xenos either. Good. "Menkales was grinning from ear to ear when I saw him. Looks like you two are getting on just fine."
"We serve the Imperium," I say stiffly. As stiff as my neck feels. "And we have no time to waste. First stop is the council building, then the Bakios villa."
"Very good, my lord. Speaking of which, I sent some of my boys over to keep an eye on the villa. Make sure that they can't make a break for it."
I frown. "I trust your men will be discreet about it?" I rub my neck, trying to relieve the tension its muscles.
"Don't worry, they know their job. They're in civvie clothes and they've never been in the neighbourhood before. They'll comm us if traitors try to smuggle the Missus and the kids out. The Captain sent one of our boys over to school to give the kids 'a lift home' if you get my drift." I hear Honna grunt something at that, but she says nothing.
"Good thinking, Banneret." I doubt the neighbours will be eager to help Helena after Bakios shot a bunch of them. We get in the groundcar and take off – away from headquarters into the town. There are few people in the streets, save for guards on patrol. The locals know harassment and worse await them at a checkpoint. And he who does not work shall not eat. What xenos are up and about in the streets are doing menial tasks, eyes downcast. Their auras are awash with fear, anger and pain. I notice the gallows have been taken down. Instead there are big, red posters, proclaiming the names of those who have been executed. My suggestion has been adapted. Good on me, helping the Humanist State become more efficient at repressing the downtrodden.

The council residence is called 'Government House'. It is a drab, concrete building enclosed by a wall. As our groundcar approaches the building, I notice something odd. "That's not the Imperial flag," I say, pointing at the red-green-blue tricolour flying from a pole in front of the building.
"Not allowed to fly Imperial flag, m'lord," Honna grunts. "This the old one – from before."
Hasapis snorts. "What she means it's from the time of the system. "Back when xenos bankers owned everything."
"I reckon that one didn't have Sith arcana on it," I mutter. For Sith sigils have been woven into the flag. Just to rub it in who truly holds the power in this town. I rub my temples, feeling my skull pulse painfully. Damn it, not now.

PF goons – mostly Gamorreans and Houks, though I a few Zabraks - salute when we drive through the gate, but I feel their resentment reverberate through the Force. I take a breath. I cannot show doubt or remorse. Time to put on the mask; time to play my part; time to be Lachesis Junior. I should've worn something more imposing.

When we disembark, I see the honour guard is accompanied by the councillors. I recognise Zal Vanwe, the Duros councillor, Bri Kivok, the Zabrak, and Taala, the Twi'lek among them. The Twi'lek is leaning heavily on a cane. A deep, hate-filled scowl is written across her face when she locks eyes with me. Evidently they were told to expect me...but not why. With Nass out of the picture, there's no Gungan councillor. No one is there to speak for them.

The Duros steps forward to greet me, bowing his head. The other Councillors follow, though Taala looks like she'd rather spit in my face and strike me. I'd want the same if I were her. "My lord, we're...honoured by your presence," Councillor Vanwe says carefully. "I must say you're here sooner than expected."
"I'm here by the orders of Lord Lachesis."
"What is the bidding of her lordship?"
"In a moment. This is the whole council?"
"Yes, yes," he gestures to a huge Gamorrean. For a moment, my thoughts flash back to the massacre. He was there with Bakios...and Honna. He saw her. "You're familiar with Commander Gorn?"
"We met," he grunts. "My lord."
"Yes...when we arrived in Hope Falls," I state. "I believe the traitor Bakios introduced you as the man who oversees the xenos for him."
"Was PF before him. He not like me. Would rip his entrails out. Said so to KEC man."
"Commander good soldier, m'lord. He loyal," Honna grunts.
I raise my hand. "And if you'd tried to blow the lid on his deeds, no one would've believed you. Bakios had powerful friends. But they have no power now. Nor does he. My own bodyguard is one of your soldiers, and she's proved herself. You'll get the chance, too." Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Honna stiffen, but she says nothing. She knows all too well what prove yourself means in Vaderite language.
"Honna good soldier. Just tell mah boyz who need to die."
"Perhaps we could take this to the council chambers...and you can inform us about her lordship's orders. If you'd follow me, my lord," the Duros speaks up.
"Lead the way."
Because the Vaderites have to let the council at least pretend it's a government and give it some perks, the building has electricity. The lights are on. Here and there, I see a bullet hole in the walls. I would not be surprised if there are more scorch marks, but the propaganda posters promising xenos a bright future must do a good job covering them. Opportunities! Blooming fields! Homes with electricity and clean water! Autonomy! I almost laugh when I see a grandiose, somewhat faded poster proclaiming Eisen to be the great liberator. We pass some offices where staffers are hard at work. If you didn't know the truth, this could be any office building for a municipal government.

Zal leads us into meeting room with a clean, round table. We all take our seats. "Can I offer you anything, my lord? Tea perhaps?"
"Let's get straight to the point." I fish Lachesis' datapad from my jacket and hand it over to him. "These are her lordship's orders," I say blandly.
He reads them, freezes. Sweat drips down his brow. His upper limb trembles. "What does it say, Acting Chairman?" the Rodian councillor asks, looking worried. No response.
"Zal, what is it?" the Zabrak demands more brusquely.
"Lord Lachesis has...ordered the hospital to be cleared of...the unproductive." He takes a breath. "My Lord...please, may we present a petition to her lordship?"
"The decision has been made."
"We'll do everything to fulfil our duty to the Imperium, but this...," he pauses, as if struggling to find the right words. To walk the tightrope. "I request a grace period. Surely the requisitions are going a long way to meeting the Imperium's needs."
"Unfortunately, that's not the case. Hope Falls has a lot to catch up on. The most vulnerable won't survive tighter rationing. There'll be less food to go around. We must conserve what remains here for the productive."
"Let us at least talk to the doctors first. The hospital can prioritise those likely to recover...but let them remain here, for now. For heaven's sake, these are the loved ones of the labourers working in the fields. Word will spread. If they're deported...productivity will suffer. I can't guarantee there won't be civil unrest. This plays right into the hands of the rebels and the Jedi..."
Everything he says is true. But it doesn't matter. Please, Shakka, spread word. I hold up a severe finger. "Lord Lachesis has made it clear her decision is final. She has full authority in this matter."

"This is getting us nowhere," the Zabrak slams her fist on the table. Cordé had called her slimy. But when I look into her eyes, I see something else: desperation. "It's going to happen whether we agree or not. If we don't...everyone will suffer. I don't want my people to be on the chopping block. My people are loyal, obedient. We're not that far removed from humans. The many shouldn't suffer due to the actions of the few. My lord, I propose that groups that haven't broken faith be allowed to retrieve their most healthy. The burden should be placed on...the less desirable."

"We all know who you mean by the less desirable," the Twi'lek hisses. "You want to sell us out."
"Bri," the Duros says sternly.
The Zabrak throws up her hands. "Duty comes before sentiment. Zal, do you want to explain to Duros families why all their sick loved ones were taken away in chattel wagons? What about you, Sharog? Karlous?" She looks at a female Houk and a male Mirialan.
"I was chosen to keep my people safe...and I will do what I must."
"Mah boyz get left alone?" Gorn grunts. I nod. "Got recruits there." The Houk mutters something and nods curtly, but I feel sadness.
This is just what Lachesis and Menkales wanted. "The operation will be carried out by the PF. How soon can you move?"
"Tomorrow morning."
Several councillors look aghast. "Every Councillor must sign this order. I'll be here for a bit. Anyone of you who wishes to make...arrangements with me can see me in private. My guards and Commander Gorn," I briefly glance to the big Gamorrean," will keep watch over you, for your own security." No chance of them hatching a plan with minders in the room.
"Councillor Yanwe, I assume there's a suitable office for me?"
"The liaison office. It's unoccupied," the Duros clears his throat. "My lord...I'd like a moment of your time..."
"You can't seriously be considering this?" the Twi'lek snaps.
"Taala, I'll do my best to minimise suffering. But we must accept reality. We must make sacrifices."
"You mean sacrifice the Twi'leks, the Mon Calamari? Maybe the Nautolans, too? The most sick of your own people. In the hopes that this will somehow appease the beast? And what comes then? First they come for us...then for you. It will never be enough. Until we're all ash." The Nautolan just looks resigned and grim, jaw clenched tight and grinding his teeth.
"Councillor Taala Olgkru, you're getting dangerously close to sedition. For your own sake and your people's, control yourself," he says sharply.
"Or what? You'll throw me to the wolves, too? I'm...prepared to die." She's looking at me now. "Take me for my people. I'll even sign a confession. Say I was the evil Twi'lek temptress. Shoot me, give me to your doctors to stick syringes in me, I don't care."

I look her in the eye, gaze at the other councillors - and their fearful, angry and sad faces - and feel pathetic. Do I really have to do this? I could work with the council to undermine the order....somehow. Help more people slip the net. I feel disgusting. There's no turning back.
"One martyr only removes one person." I wince as I feel a pulsing pain in my skull. It feels like my head is in a vice. For a couple seconds everything around me is so damn blurry. I take a breath. It's not getting better. I need to hold on to the table to keep myself stable. "It doesn't remove the unproductive in the hospital. You can join the transport – and leave your people without a voice in this town – if it appeases your conscience. And condemn everyone." As I limp to the door, I need to call upon the Force because I'm swaying slightly and I don't trust my weak legs.
"You alright, m'lord?" I hear Honna ask quietly in her gruff voice.
Frak. It's obvious. "Fine." I turn to the councillors. My vision has cleared, the pain remains. "Think quickly...think of your loved ones, who are presently enjoying our hospitality. I really want to return them to you once the town is safe again." Anger is written across the Twi'lek's face, but her shoulders slump in defeat.
My head is not getting better. I limp obviously as I step into the liaison office, barely paying attention to the large portrait of Eisen on the wall. I force myself to assume proper posture, back straight and eyes alert, when I sit down into the leather armchair. Frak. Wordlessly, Yanwe sits down.

"I understand this is a difficult situation for you, Councillor. For what it's worth, I don't support this decision, for the very reasons you mentioned."
"That is cold comfort, my lord."
"Yes, I suppose it is."
"I have to sign off on the killing of my citizens. I wouldn't be surprised if a bomb explodes in this very building, and I wouldn't be able to blame whoever plants it."
"I'd restrain my candour around officials, if I were you, Councillor."
"Does our deal still stand then?"
"Yes. As does our agreement for the safety of your family."
"When you take our people away...will they suffer?"
"It will be quick." It's a lie. Doubtless he knows it. But some lies make the cold, heartless reality easier to swallow.
His expression is resigned. A broken man who knows he can only make a decision he'll hate himself for. "I want protection for Duros patients."
"Done. All but the most critical cases. There'll be a medical evaluation...but the doctors will treat Duros most favourably."
"What about Twi'leks? Mon Calamari? Nautolans? Can I petition for their lives?"
"You may."
"But then I'll have to sacrifice Duros to compensate?"
"Yes. Depending on how many. I hate to say it, but there's no way around it, Councillor. A large number of patients will be removed from the hospital and never return home."
There is a moment of silence. "I can allocate more workers for your project." Beads of sweat drip from his forehead. "I dig some digging and found a good spot. There's an area of light forest and bush to the south of Hope Falls. It would need some clearing, but you could use the wood for worker housing and fences."
"Make a list of anyone under your protection."
He nods, and takes out the datapad. His hand is shaking, but he signs his name beneath the order that says this is a council decision. "I'll have to make some calls."
"Make it quick. Send in Councillor Krivok. I'll see Councillor Olgkru last." He leaves, I grit my teeth and rub my temples, trying in vain to soothe the pain lancing through my skull. Somewhere in Chaos, Achilles, the sadistic monster, is laughing gleefully. Damn, the light is too bright. I wave my hand to turn the lamp off.

I'm not alone for long. I get the feeling that Councillor Kivok rushed to the office as soon as Yanwe returned. "My lord, thank you for receiving me." She's practically bristling with nervous tension. "I hope the scene earlier hasn't reflected on us too, um, poorly. The council will really do all it can to fulfil its obligations. We're not insurrectionists. I have no truck with people like that." She talks as rapidly as a machine gun fires."
"As you say, Zabrak are not far removed from humans."
"No, we're not. Not on the same level as the master species, of course, but we try to look towards the human part of our heritage," she slows down, taking a breath. "I'm a realist, my lord. I'm here for a single purpose – keeping my people safe, by any means. I know people are going to die. I can rage against the stars, or take the deal that gives my people a chance to see their sick friends and family again. At the end of the day, it's everyone for themselves. I won't trade my people's lives. So here I am. Can you guarantee their safety?"
"All but the most critical cases. The KEC has no interest in bringing lasting harm to the Zabrak community."
"I see, I see. That is most generous. Would it be...would it be possible to make some exceptions? I know we're strapped for resources, but some of my people who have distinguished themselves as members of the community – including a model worker – have elderly relatives in the hospital. Many don't have long...but it would mean a lot if they could be with them when they pass." Her eye is twitching. And her right hand clutches a locket hanging from her necklace. I pick up distress through the Force.
"You seem unsettled, Councillor. What's wrong? Am I correct in thinking there's a more...personal element to your petition?"
"My father. Oagrug. His health is poor, but he's my father..."
"You gave up your sibling – your brother, I assume – with barely a look at him. Were you indifferent or just playing along to keep it from hurting you?"
"I know my role in this drama, my lord. Zal tries to bargain for everyone so he can feel better when he picks his people and a few token non-Duros. Taala wants to be the martyr because somehow that will make her death more dignified when one corpse stinks as much as the other. I'm the 'filthy appeaser'. Someone has to be it. I'm prepared to bargain. Food for workers, servitors, whatever. My people know you don't get anything without hard work."
"Thank you for your candour, Councillor. Your father will be exempt."
"Thank you, my lord. I won't forget this," she signs and clears her throat. "I've thought about the project your...aide mentioned? I think there's a way we Zabrak can really contribute."
"Elaborate."
"We can supervise, guard. Bakios didn't recruit many of us. For good reason. We're a martial people, not dumb brutes."
"Indeed. I'll consider your offer, Councillor. You're dismissed. The Mirialan is next." And then the others come. One after another. But as we come closer to the end of the line, they get more desperate or resigned. It is increasingly a blur for me. I find it hard to concentrate. It gets difficult to recall the conversations in detail.

The male Mirialan comes in with a smile, as through the whole meeting is agreeable and conciliatory. Karlous accepts what must happen, and tries to ingratiate himself. "My Lord, I accept what is necessary to put these bad times behind us, and I remain committed to continuing this relationship on good terms. Supreme Master Eisen set us free. We are humanity's obedient subjects, my lord. But we can do more. Servants and maidens drawn from my people could relieve the women of the Imperium of tiresome domestic tasks. Maybe you would like an obedient valet? Or a maid? Well-trained, ready to obey your every command and lighten your burdens. As a gesture of gratitude for ridding us of the traitors."
I blink. And I see Bakios' hand crawling over Tara, while he stares at her lecherously. I see the pure terror in her eyes "No!" My voice is louder than it should be. The Councillor looks shocked. "No, that won't be necessary. Someone obedient and dutiful, able to perform multiple tasks."
"I'll get right on it, my lord. I know just the person."

The female Houk adopts a comradely tone with me. Not as a friend, of course. But as a business associate. She offers more recruits for the security forces and then her own services to help with any problems. "You can rely on us, and the piggies, m'lord," she declares gruffly, smashing her fists together. "We know who's in charge an' we can help yous stay that way!"
"I'll consider it. I may have use of some muscle."
"You're the boss. Just have your people gimme a call."

The Nautolan is grim. He makes no protest. All he does is look me in the eye. "If this is what my lord demands, we shall comply," he says flatly. No begging, no last-minute bargaining, no fawning. But I can feel the rage simmering beneath the stoic expression. I respect him more for it. He signs and leaves with the barest of niceties.

The Rodian Kriurl is the very opposite of the squid. He begs and pleads for his people, and it frankly annoys me. His muck is terrible, assaulting my nose. Force, can't he shut up? "Please, my lord, is this really necessary? I beg you, have mercy. My people have done nothing wrong. We'll work harder. You must..." and I cut him off.
"I must not do anything. Do you realise who you're speaking to? There's still room in that pit we've dug for Bakios and Nass."
He sulkily gives in. "Great Lord is merciful. We never meant to imply otherwise. We accept your benevolence, my Lord."

Finally the only one left is Taala. My head feels like hell. I feel a loud ringing noise that I just cannot blot out. I've given up trying to soothe it. "I'd ask whether it will be the camps or the execution pit," she states. A pause. We both know she wouldn't believe if I told her a convenient lie. "How many will be left?"
"Those who can return to work promptly. The young."
"And they'll receive the least medical care and the fewest calories." It is a statement, not a question. "Fine. Well done, my lord. The Vaderites," she stresses the nickname the Vader cultist brigade hates so much, "have successfully pitted helpless, unarmed people against each other."
"You crave martyrdom," I mutter. My body feels too damn hot. "A Vaderite with less self-control or imagination would grant you your wish. But I'm cruel, so you won't get it. And you love your child, so you'll force yourself to live through the horror. Your signature, Councillor."
She sneers, but signs. Hatred flows through her. "Here, my lord. The Imperium has the pound of flesh it wants. The elderly, the sick."
"You're dismissed, Councillor."

It has gotten dark outside, but the light agitates my eyes too much, so the lamp remains off. How fitting that I be surrounded by darkness. I wipe sweat from my brow. I press buttons on the comm to call Lachesis. "Report, Disciple," Lachesis says curtly when the call connects.
"I've passed on your message, my lord. The...the," it feels like someone has stabbed me in the head with an ice pick. The jolt of pain are so severe I have to pause, and take a breath. My throat is sore, and pain spikes in my chest
"Not boring you, am I, Disciple?" Lachesis snaps. "Or is there something more fascinating just off camera you're staring at?"
"No, my lord, apologies, just got a bit of a headache," I mutter, trying to pull myself together.
"Yes, yes, life is suffering, pull yourself together for my benefit. You can attend to it when we are done. Continue your report."
"The council will carry out the order. A...division has been arranged. The lion's share of the...removed patients will be from the least desirable alien species. Twi'leks, fish, Gungans, squid, Rodians. The others will give up the most sick."
"As intended. Glad to hear you kept your wits and weren't suddenly swayed by misguided pity. How soon can the auxiliaries carry out the action?"
"Tomorrow morning."
"Sufficient. Guards will be posted overnight to prevent any sudden...discharges. Now I believe you wanted to pay the Bakios family a visit. Claim your reward, Disciple. Bakios' execution has been scheduled for tonight." She cuts the call, and I'm left alone in the darkened room, breathing raggedly.