Private The Valkyrie's Diary (Solo thread)

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Lena looks at me like I've lost my marbles. "You're crazy."
Feels weird being Firith now. "I told my cousin the same thing."
"There's soldiers everywhere. And drones in the sky. The PF is bad enough. They're cruel thugs. Killing a Twi'lek is sport for them. But it's not just them now. It's Butcher Lachesis. The PF can be bribed to look the other way. The KEC can't."
"Get kicked around by the thugs in black long enough and you'll notice they're just as dirty. The price is just higher," I retort as I steer the groundcar past ramshackle buildings. Most windows are either broken or boarded up. A body hangs from a lamp post. Well, what's left of it. The crows have been eating their fill. Was this the woman I saw being lynched? I suppress a shudder.

"I'm serious, Shakka," Lena says irritably.
"Me, too, good-sister in spirit. Me, too," I bite back. "You saw what just happened. Hell, see that body over there? Could be you one day. Probably will be. You want your kid to...grow up here?"
She's quiet for a moment. "No. But I want him to live," she sighs. "I assume you have a plan. Let me guess, it involves that Zeltron hussy Firith works for." She evidently notices my surprise, and snorts. "My husband doesn't have secrets from me. I know what he does to help put food on the table. We can't be picky about how we get it."
"Well, that's good. Makes things less awkward. "Supposed to help us get an in with the Guard."
"The Guard, of course."
"Our great and noble saviours," I roll my eyes. "If you're useful to them." And if one of our guys happens to get blown up by one of their roadside bombs, that's tough. Ditto if they stage a hit on a humie patrol and the Vaderites wipe out an alien village that just happens to be nearby. But, look, since all your family was murdered, why don't you join the Guard and get revenge? They people's army is recruiting. It makes the bile rise up in me. I try to swallow my bitterness.

"You're bartering," Lena realises. "You're using your access to a Disciple to give them information they want." Her eyes widen. "Shakka, you're not going to help them carry out a hit, are you?"
"No," I say quickly. "Just information."
"If they want you to plant something in KEC headquarters, arrange a distraction, whatever – don't do it! You'll die. They have a Sith holding court. And there'll be reprisals. That raid you saw was bad enough. When I was in the prison, people were being beaten and shot throughout the night. I heard the screams. When the humies got drunk, they grabbed some prisoners in my cell at random and beat them, while we had to watch. They burnt a Twi'lek's hands so bad the skin was peeled off. They...said they had Twi'lek gloves now." She takes a breath. "At midnight, they dragged me and a little girl out into the courtyard. One man held a gun to my throat. He was drunk. I thought I was going to die. He fired. It was a blank. They killed the girl. Her blood...her blood was splattered across my face."
"I'm sorry."
She wipes tears from her eye. "Imagine what they'll do if one of their bigwigs is attacked."
Look, all I'm going to do is give them info about where Bakios has been hiding his shit before the humies get it."

"Alright." The road is bumpy and the groundcar wobbles a bit. But we've reached her place. "If we manage to get out, there may still be reprisals."
"I know...but they don't need a reason to murder people. And here we are, home, not so sweet home, I guess." I stop the groundcar and get out.
Her shoulders slump. "They'll call me a spy," she says as she disembarks, and gives me a look. She looks agitated, twitching slightly. Her eyes sweep over the street, like she's scared someone will suddenly pounce. "We must spread word of what your Master said. Keep people away from the hospital. Best leave out the part about hearing it from the 'kindly Sith'. We overheard KEC goons bragging about it."
"And no mention of 'kindly Sith' setting you free," I mutter. A corpse still lies on the street, stripped of all possessions. Two crows are picking off flesh.
"Yes." She knocks on the door. Two quick knocks. "It's me...Lena." A hard knock. The door opens just a bit, but a big Gungan stands in the doorway, blocking us. He looks familiar. But there's a bruise on his face that wasn't there before.
He holds a knife in his hand. The Gungan looks like he's seen a ghost when he stares at Lena. "Lena..the PF nabbed you. What are you doing here?"
"I...I got lucky."
"One night in a PF dungeon and back already?" he sneers at her.
"I didn't betray us, Taroq! What do you think happened in prison? We Twi'lek are the last people humies treat with kid's gloves."
"And I know people do anything to get out. Just one night. Must have been really good...or really bad, if they let you go afterwards. Even brought the humie pet." Lena's cheeks are red with shame and anger.
The one thing that pisses me off more than this crap is that I know I'd do the same as him. My hands are clenched into fists. I'm fuming. "Hey, who you're calling humie pet? Lena..."
"I'll handle this, Shakka. They let me go because I had dirt on Bakios and one of the humies wanted him gone to make herself look good."
"Bakios?"
"Word must've travelled down the grapevine. He's outta the picture," I interject.
"And the KEC's here instead," he says pointedly.
Lena takes a step forward. "I belong here. And I want to see my son. I need to."
"Go up," the Gungan cuts her off, stepping aside with a sigh. "No guarantees you'll be allowed to stay. Your husband's here, too."
"Firith?"
"Won't be allowed to stick around. Think your cot's taken."
"I figured," she says flatly.
Sighing, he steps aside. Then suddenly we hear shouting coming from inside. "You frakking thief!" Hearing the angry voice, Taroq grunts. "Not again."

Many faces I saw during my first visit are gone. A lump forms in my throat when I realise that most will not. In the unlikely event that anyone else gets released, they'll just go back to die later. Either by collapsing in the field, being shot for 'breaking curfew' or simply to waste away here. Most of those I see in the tiny, dirty rooms or corridors look sick or injured. Some have faces marked by rashes. As Lena and I pass, a few non-Twi'lek shoot us hostile glances.
Here and there, I them mutter. "Lena, you're back!", "how'd she get out?" "humie spy," "whore." I see her tense and she looks like she's about to confront one of them. "Not now," I hiss to her in a whisper.
Lena stops when a Mon Calamari woman calls her name. "Lena! Do...do you know what happened to my Roalaa?" she asks her pleadingly.
"I'm sorry, he...he didn't..." Lena stammers, reaches out to take the woman's hand. "They killed him..."
"No, no." Tears run down the Mon Cal's face. "And they let you out! Why?"
"Shih, wait..." But she's already turned away, crying.
I take Lena by the arm and lead her further inside. As I walk through the corridor, I stumble over a sleeping Zabrak, and hit the floor hard. "Sorry, sorry," I say quickly, getting to my feet. No response. She's thin as a rail. "Hey, you..." I shake the body a bit. Then I freeze when I realise she's cold, and not breathing.
Lena looks close to tears. "No, that was Levrae," she says sadly. "Her father's...still imprisoned. Frak. He asked me to look out for her," she sighs. "Hey, that girl here is dead..."
"Let's go," I tug her by the shoulder. We get away as quickly as we can. One of the residents has noticed the body and picks it up.

Then I suddenly catch sight of a blue Twi'lek male, throwing a punch at a Rodian. "Thief!" he yells. "Give it to me!" he punches a Rodian in the face, then shoves him into the wall. He seems to be trying to grab something, but the Rodian bites his hand and then kicks him. "Leave me alone, wormie! It's mine!" People move out of the way as they beat on each other. I grab a hold of Lena's shoulder before she can step in.
Just as they are in the middle of facing off against each other, the old Mon Calamari hastens between them, looking out of breath. "Do you really have to do the humie's jobs for them?" he yells. The Twi'lek tries to get around him but Tarog seizes him from behind. "Stay put," he growls.
"Now what the hell's this about?"
"I was just minding my own business. Then he attacks me!" the Rodian exclaims.
"I was out in the fields, working all day. Then I come and see sucker-face strut around with my chrono," the Twi'lek snarls. "He won't give it back."
"You lie, wormhead," the Rodian fires back. "It's mine. I found it. No way a Twi'lek would be given a chrono."
"Alright, both of you calm down. Where'd you get it from, Abez?" the Mon Calamari says tiredly.
"From my family. It's a heirloom. Aramgir, it's the only thing I've got left from my parents. But he just had to steal it."

"Can you prove it's yours? Got an engraving or something?"
"No," the Twi'lek sighs. "Look, it's mine. You know how the humies are. I couldn't show it off or they'd call me a thief and shoot me."
Aramgir looks at the Rodian. "Liung?"
"He can't prove anything. I found it, it's mine. And he just attacked me."

"Taroq, let him go. How important is this thing to you? Important enough to fight over it while so many of our friends are in jail and we don't know if any of us will be alive in a month?" the Mon Calamari asks intently. The Twi'lek looks down. The Rodian glares at them, but slips the chrono off and tosses it to the floor. "Fine. I probably can't get batteries for it anyway," he growls and walks away.
The Mon Calamari picks it up with a frustrated sigh. "Abez, I hate to say it but..."
"You want to give it up."
"Look around you. We were barely scraping by before the Butcher came. People are collapsing in their cots and dying. People are offering their kids to humie thugs! We need anything we can trade. Every valuable, every heirloom helps."
Abez looks at him sceptically. "You really want to barter it for the 'good of the community'?"
"Abez, I'm old. Chances are I won't be around for long. What point would there be for me to hoard it?"
And then I hear a familiar voice from further down the corridor. "I know a dealer." Firith steps in. "May I?" he asks. Aramgir glowers at him. "Just taking a look. Hmm doesn't look bad. Enough to barter." He hands it to the Mon Calamari. Then he sees Lena and sputters. "Love...I thought...I thought I'd never..."

"Firith...I...," Lena takes a deep breath, looking like she's struggling not to rush towards him. Composing herself, she looks at the two. "Aramgir is a good man. You can trust him. We're all in this together."
He narrows his eyes. "All in this together – curious that you'd say that. You're back already. No one else is."
Firith glares at him. "Are you calling my wife a collaborator, Abez?"
"Enough! I just broke up one fight. I won't have you two start another, so calm down," Aramgir growls at them.
"Sell the chrono. I haven't forgotten where my people stand." Abez stalks off.
Aramgir shakes his head, pockets the chrono and looks at us. "Lena...and Shakka, was it? Come with me."
"I'm coming with her," Firith insists.
"Alright."
We fall in line. But as we walk Firith suddenly stops and pulls Lena into a hug. "I thought I'd lost you," he exclaims. "What did those bastards do to you?"
"I'm back now...and we're together. Is Jela alright?"
Firith looks sad. "Tired. He had to work in the fields. I bribed one of the pigs to put him in my work crew and give him light work. He got out early, love."
"Where's he now?"
"With some other kids. Some folks got grabby fingers, but I salvaged some of your stuff. Luckily I didn't leave the special stash here." He glances at me. "Cuz, thanks for everything."
"Let's not get the champagne bottles out yet," I joke lamely.
He gives me his usual big brother look. "You alright? You got mixed up in this PF business?"
"No big deal. We still got more drama ahead of us."

We find ourselves in the room where I first brought met Aramgir. Taroq takes up position at the door. "When I saw the humies force you into that van, I thought you were gone for good, Lena," Aramgir speaks, looking all grave.
"So did I," she fidgets a bit. "I don't know what happened to Bola. Last I saw her one of the goons dragged her away. I didn't see her again. Shakka, do you know more? She's the Rodian who was on the committee with us."
I try to think back to our visit to the jail. "She was being dragged to interrogation. Don't know more. Wait, I think the goon was the Gamorrean who's my Master's bodyguard."
Aramgir rubs his bald, domed head. "If she's not out now, she won't be getting out. Which begs the question of why you were released." The Mon Cal stares at Lena, his large, gray eyes boring into her.
"She said something about helping them screw over Bakios, boss," Taroq speaks, looking sceptically at her.
"I told them about a grain container."
"And Shakka and me digged up some dirt about how he's been feathering his nest," Firith states, whereupon I nod.
"How'd you get the information?" Aramgir asks.
Cuz shrugs. "Channels you don't want to know about."

"You buy this, boss? We got the rules for a reason," Taroq throws in.
Aramgir rubs his temples. "If there's one thing the Vaderites love as much as stomping on us, it's eating each other. You can stay – for now. You'll face a vote."
"Of course, thank you, Aramgir," Lena takes a deep breath. "There's something else you have to know."
"Something from her Sith master?" he turns his large, grey eyes to me.
"No, something we overheard some KEC goons brag about," I respond.
"They want to clear the hospital," Lena explains. "By that I mean kill the sick, anyone they think is a 'useless eater'."
"Frak," Firith slams his hand onto the table. "Butcher Lachesis wants to continue what she started."
"They haven't squeezed us enough for that…yet," Aramgir retorts. "They'll wait with killing everyone till then."
"Then it's the first step. How many of us will be by the end of the year?"
"I've been through this before. The Vaderites didn't bring enough manpower to slaughter the whole city They'd need the PF to do the legwork. They do things slice by slice. Divide and conquer. Do you know if they're going for all the sick or are they targeting specific groups?"

I shake my head. "No idea. But we know who's on their shit list."
"Nass was a Gungan, and Twi'leks, Togruta and Mon Cal are their favourite bogeymen," Lena says.
"How much time do we have?" he asks her.
"They didn't say, but from the looks of it not much."
Taroq suddenly retrieves a piece of paper. It's a picture. He hands it to me, and I freeze when I see the face. The same smug, gap-toothed smile, the sadistic look. "There's been rumours about him being around. You seen him at KEC Central?" the Gungan asks.
"Yes," I swallow, "yes, he's there."
"Show me," Firith demands. "Who is he? What did he do to you?"
"Doesn't matter. He's a KEC scumbag. Name's Mengales or something."
"Menkales," Taroq says with a snarl. "Progress inmates know him as the Angel of Death. Anyone who falls into his hands is better off dead. The world is his lab and we're the guinea pigs." He points to the scars on his face. "He wanted to see how we respond to different types of liquid. Or he just felt like it. So he submerged Gungans in oil."
"Frak." He was in Progress. He suffered under that monster. I just thought he was being a jerk to me. Frak.
"I got lucky. He grew bored before he could try out the acid bath. His goons had a Twi'lek for him. I don't know the details of what he did to her. It was days until I saw her again…when she flung herself at the electrified fence. Her right lek was gone. When he saw her, all inmates in the section had to assemble and stand outside for hours from morning till night – during a heat wave. No food, no water, if someone got tired they were beaten."
Lena's lip trembles a bit. "I…caught a glimpse of him while I was imprisoned by the KEC. He was touring the cells. Some prisoners were dragged out for him. He came to my cell. He didn't do anything, just…stared. Like he was staring a piece of meat. I heard him mutter 'if only you were red'." Hearing that makes a shudder run down my spine.
"Did he -?" Firith starts. "If you need a moment…"
She shakes her head. "A guard told him he couldn't see me without the Disciple's permission…We have to spread word that the hospital's not safe."
"Starting with the wounded in this block, then spread out. Tell them to hide. But be smart about it. We can't cause a panic and tip the Vaderites off," Aramgir states. "Taroq, you know your way around the district?"
"I'll hit the road."
"We also have people in the hospital."
"We're not going there, Lena. The Vaderites won't release you a second time," Firith insists.
"If it's not under lockdown now, it will be soon," Aramgir tells her. "We've got…let them go."
Lena opens her mouth, closes it and nods. Firith takes her hand. "Yes…we have to," she finally says. "I can go with Taroq when we're done here. Firith…is there any way for people who need medication to get it through your…contacts?"
"Not at prices they can afford, love. Little supply, lot of demand, and lots of danger since the Butcher came to town. The smugglers are scared," he frowns. "I know of a medicine woman though. A Gamorrean."
I snort. "A Gamorrean? Really? The pigs are the boot stompin' on our face. Collabs, the lot of them."
"They're bastards, but beggars can't be choosers," Aramgir interrupts. "What's her name?"
"Iggirc."
"Alright. I'll make a list of people who need urgent help and take it to her. I figure you got things to talk about," he glances at Lena.
"Yes…I need to see my son, find my things and get my cot back. Or find somewhere else to sleep."
"Sort it out between yourselves. Civilly." Aramgir sounds weary. His skin looks old and leathery. Firith, Lena and me head out.
"Firith, can you fetch Jela? Shakka and I'll check out my cot. If I'm lucky, whoever's taken it also has my things and hasn't bartered them yet."
"Yell if there's trouble."
Off we go, through increasingly crowded corridors. But what we see when we find the room isn't what expect. Lena navigates the bodies lying in the room. The air is stale. "Ahem, excuse me," she clears her throat. "That's my cot," she says sharply.
The person lying in it turns. I gasp when I see her. The Nautolan's tendrils are badly burnt. Even the haphazardly applied bandages can't hide it. "Lena?" she asks groggily. "I thought you were done for."
"Awinn? What happened to you?" Lena asks in shock.
"Oil from a mechanical thresher," Awinn sits up, wincing in pain. "I'm very sorry about taking your spot. I just really needed somewhere to crash and you, well, people normally don't come back when the humies nab them. I'm gonna be moved to the hospital soon. I heard they brought in fresh blankets and filled up their stock of painkillers."
"No, no…you can stay," Lena says quickly. "Don't feel bad, and don't go to the hospital!"
"What do you mean? What's wrong?"
"Keep the noise down," someone groans.
Ignoring whoever it is, Lena sits down next to Awinn. "The hospital's not safe," she says quietly. "The humies are going to round up patients to kill them."
"You're serious. I believe you. What…what should we do? It…hurts."
"Aramgir knows someone who can help. Make sure he knows."
"I will," Awinn sits up, wincing in pain. Then her eyes widen in shock. "Frak. Iacenda's there!" she shouts. Some others in the room stir. "What the hell's that noise?" one yells. It's too dark for me to tell who.
"Sh, sorry," Lena says placatingly. She takes Awinn's hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."
"She has a chest infection. It got pretty bad," the Nautolan shaking. "I have to tell her."
"Lena, listen to me, if you go there, you'll die," she puts a hand on the uninjured side of her face.
"I can't just...give up on her."
"It's a one way trip there."
"Then at least she won't be alone."
"Shakka?" she calls to me.
I step towards them. "I had a friend once back in the ghetto. A Trandoshan. Her name was Vrerkh. She was my best friend, big sister, guardian. Then...the Vaderites murered her." My voice threatens to crack. I won't cry. "Her last words were that I should live. Someone had to." My hands clench into fists. "These bastards want to kill us all. We have to live...if only to spite them."

Her shoulders slump. "I'm sorry Ia." Tears are running down her face. "Check under the cot. There's a box. Most of your stuff was gone when I came here, but I kept what was left."
Lena fetches the box and looks through it. I see her clutch a locket, and I catch a glimpse of a picture of Firith. "Oh, thank you, Awinn. Thank you."
"Least I could do."
I reach into my pocket. "Here, for you," I drop a few Imperial Credits into her hand. They're not worth the paper they're printed on, but it's something. Something to get you through this hell for a little bit longer. "Take them." She looks at the credits in surprise, then smiles. "Thanks. That's kind of you."
"Us xenos got to stick together and piss off the humies by not being polite enough to die."
She sniffs. "To hell with them. All of them."
"We resist every moment we breathe and say we're sentient, no matter how many times they try to slaughter us like beasts," Lena says. "I'll be back later, Awinn." As we leave the room, I hear Awinn sob. Holding the box, Lena walks out with me. "Awinn Tektu. Can you…mention her to your Master?" she whispers. "She mentioned she wanted people for a factory, didn't she?"
"Yeah, textiles, clothing."
"Awinn's good at maintenance. She'd probably do a better job than those 'superior' humie engineers."
"I'll tell her when I'm back. Anyone else?"
Lena frowns. "Off the top of my head – Dia Nilim. She's young, but I know her mother taught her about sewing. Poor kid. Orsk Fiteth, a Bothan, and Wrea Akkor, a Rodian. They know a bit about machines. I'll tell Aramgir to…reach out and to talk to other block committee heads. Whatever happens, I can do this at least."

Then a little ball of energy races towards them. "Momma!" Suddenly Lena's boy has wrapped his arms around her in a fierce bear hug.
"Sh," she brings her finger to her lips. "These people are trying to rest. Awinn is in a bad way."
"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I..just when those humie arseholes took you, I thought I'd…never see you again."
She hugs him close. "It's okay, everything's alright, I'm back. No one's going to take me away again." He sniffs a bit. "Did they hurt you?"
"Let's not speak of what happened, just look forward."
"We're all gonna be together now? Daddy, too."
"We're family, we'll stay, together," Firith reassures him.
"Good. I don't want those arseholes to take you."
"They won't…but we must be very careful. And mind your language, young man," Lena says sternly.
"But that's what they are, momma."
"Don't look at me," Firith chuckles a bit. "I'm always a model of good manners around him."
I just can't let that slide and elbow him lightly. "Uh-huh."
"You're supposed to back me up, coz." He pats Jela on the shoulder. "Your momma's very brave. She stood up to the bad men. You remember Shakka? She helped get her out."

"Yes!" he looks at me a bit shyly. "Daddy told me all about you! He said you're real cool and helped bust momma out. Can I call you 'Auntie'?"
"Sure, always wanted to have a nephew."
And then he sees the damn collar. "You're a slave. I'm sorry." Simple, innocent words from a kid. They shouldn't affect me like they do.
"Don't be sorry, not your fault."
"I wish you were free and not a slave of these ar…," I can tell what the boy's about to say, but he bites his tongue, "evil humies."
Firith squats down to be on the same level as Jel. "We'd all like that. But you must be careful with what you say and where. Things are very dangerous now, and I don't know when they'll get better. We'll get through it, but for that we have to stick together and watch out. Understood?"
"Got it. I…won't let you down."
"I know you won't. You're a good boy, so proud of you."
"Firith, Shakka mentioned you had a new employment opportunity. Something to help us get through these difficult times. I think you should really look into our options." Lena glances to Firith. Her expression is grave. "We must all stick together."
I blink, then I understand what she's getting at. A ghost of a smile dances on Firith's face for a short moment. "Yes, you got it. I, um, have an appointment soon."
"I was going to tag along. You know, help with my owner's connections. I got, um, a reference."
"Then there's no time to waste. Opportunities like this come and go." Her gaze settles on me. "We're family. All four of us."
"Yes, we are," I look at Jela. "Take care of your momma, little man."
"I will. You take care, too."
I pat his head. Firith gives Lena a hug and a kiss. As we head out, I catch a glimpse of Lena taking Jela aside and whispering: "You need to listen very carefully. You can't say anything around the humies or their goons, but you must tell your friends…"

"So, um, our appointment," I mutter to Firith as we head for the door.
"Yes. You brought a 'reference'."
"All about how great a worker you are. There's no better one. You'll be a great asset for the factory."
"The very best." The door creaks open, and we walk out. It's getting dark.
"Curfew's coming, we got no time to waste," Firith says.
"Do we have a long way to go?"
"Not much. That's your car?" I nod. "Leave it. Folks might get twitchy seeing a groundcar with the KEC logo. I'll do the talking. You show them the goods, but let's not drop it into their lap too easily. Or we'll look desperate."
"We are desperate."
"Too desperate."
And so make our way past decrepit buildings and dirty streets. When we cross the road after having left the block, we suddenly hear the deafening wail of sirens. Frak, it's the PF! Firith grabs me and we duck in an alley behind some garbage. The sirens are so loud I must clamp down on the urge to cover my ears. Firith peers out. "That's…an ambulance."
I look up. "As big as a bus." Our eyes lock. My blood runs cold. It's already starting.

Then we hear a voice through a loudspeaker. "We're here for anyone who's ill or has been seriously hurt. The Rising Hope Medical Facility has received fresh bed clothes, and a full stock of medical supplies. Every patient will get a fresh meal. Refusal will be penalised, so do the right thing for your family and your community."

"Bastards." The bile rises inside me. "Look, one of them is a Twi'lek," I point at the lackey yelling through the loudspeaker. Of course. Gotta reassure the lambs while you lead them to the slaughterhouse.
"Frakking collabs," Firith grunts. "We can't stop them. Come." But I hear the sound of metal clicking against the pavement. Turning I see a Rodian hobbling on crutches. His gaze is fixated on the huge ambulance. "Friend, what's going on?" he calls to us.
"Get away, it's a trap!" Firith shouts to make himself heard over the noise. "Don't listen to them."
But the collabs have spotted us. The Twi'lek lackey and two big Houk goon quickly crosses over to us. Firith blinks when he sees him. "Day'lec?"
"Firith, what are you doing here? Staying out of trouble?"
"Doing my best. Just on my way to the labour office. What's all this about?"
"Doing my duty, my friend." The lackey turns his gaze to the Rodian. "Comrade, we're here to help. You're a worker?"
"Yeah, just heading home, doctor. I have my papers right here, and a certificate from my supervisor," he coughs.
The schutta gives him a fake smile. "No need for that, comrade. We're here for you. You shouldn't have to work in your state. Come, we can help you."
"You're a frakking liar," I snarl at him.
"Please, sister, we're all in the same boat."
"Didn't the KEC just confiscate Rising Hope's supplies to help their wounded?" Firith asks pointedly. "Come on, Day'lec, you have so few supplies you have to get them through…unofficial channels. Humies don't share. Your hospital's packed. I know this guy. He's productive. Just…leave him."

"Yes…I do support work for his crew. So thanks, but I'll pass. I'm not feeling that bad, doctor. I've been feeling a lot better. I don't want to take a bed from someone who really needs it. I'm supposed to show up to work first thing in the morning," the Rodian says firmly and tries to turn. But the Houk thug blocks his path and puts a hand on his shoulder.
"You want help," the thug grunts.
"The orders come straight from the Health Authority."
"Damn it, you know what the humies want," Firith growls. "What happened to the guy who stole painkillers for the poor sods who couldn't afford to go to the hospital? Are you that much of a bootlicker now?"
"You really should come with us," the blood traitor says in that faux nice voice.
"How do you even live with yourself? Doing the humies' dirty work. It's bad enough when they do it," I point at his attack dog, "but one of us?"

And the mask falls. "Listen to me carefully," the doctor says flatly, all trace of faux kindness gone from him. "The patient is going to the hospital to receive the best care there is. Would you really want to deny him that? We Twi'leks are a generous, obedient people, aren't we?" he turns to his two thugs. "Assist our friend here on board and get him settled. And you two…scram. I'd keep your words to yourself if I were you, others might take them as…subversive."
"Wait, I have cash…it's yours, take it..." The poor Rodian is shaking when a thug grabs him and hauls him into his ambulance. He cries out in pain, losing one of his crutches. But the thug doesn't bother pick it up. "My name's Seychi Thoska, block 007, tell my…" Then the door is slammed shut.

"Just one question: will you do that to your fellow Twi'leks, too?" Firith asks the traitorous bastard. "Because that test's coming…if it hasn't already."
"You go now," the other Houk thug growls at us. And he slams his baton into Firith's chest and shoves him into the dirt.
"Bastard!" I throw myself at the goon but he backhands me with his gauntlet. Pain explodes inside my skull and the thug grabs my lekku and squeezes. I scream in pain. My head connects with cold, hard pavement. I taste blood on my lips. Firith is down, trying to protect himself as the other brute beats on him, kicking him viciously.
"Stop!" the Twi'lek lackey snaps. Frak you, traitor. "You could never see the big picture, Firith. Don't interfere again." Then the bastard walks away and gets in the ambulance. I catch my breath as it speeds away, and try to get up.
I hear Firith, groaning in pain and holding his rib cage. "Frak You okay?" He wipes some blood from his face and manages to stand, taking small gulps of air.
"Not so much. You?" When I rub my head and lekku, blood drips on my fingers.
"'bout the same. Backstabbing motherfrakker."
"You knew that arsehole?"
"Used to." He takes my hand and helps me up. "Let's get outta here." In the distance, the ambulance's sirens howl.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Driving into the human quarter of Hope Falls is like visiting an entirely different city. One with beautiful villas, pristine lawns and big groundcars. Clean, tranquil, orderly. The humans who dwell here – the families of Public Force officers, officials from the labour and agricultural agencies etc. – don't have that they will starve to death or not receive medical care. Whatever happens, they will receive priority care. Each house has electricity, clean water, and a fridge full of food. Their children will never sleep in filth.

My face contorts in pain as I hear a loud ringing that feels like it is coming from my head. I press my fingertip to the opening of my ear, trying to stop it. We drive past a playground. Children are riding on a swing. I suppose their father was not shot by Bakios at his party. But maybe they have school friends will are. Their parents will tell them to forget about them, that is was all for the good of the State. And raise them to be the next generation of loyal murderers and administrators of death.

KEC soldiers are standing in front one of the cottages. The man of the house must've been one of Bakios' guests. There's a truck. Armed men and xenos labourers are loading furniture and other items into it. I suppose someone will have a present for the wife soon.
I breathe in. Dimly, I hear Hapasis grunt something in the comm. "That was the patrol," he says. "All's in order, my lord. The missus and the kids are staying put."
"Good." I wipe some sweat from my brow with a rag and glance at my hired help. "I take it you've never been here, Corporal?"
"Was here, m'lord," she says to my surprise. "Fightin' zombies."
Now I'm curious. "Zombies?"
"Sith make super crop with witchcraft. But…," she pauses, as if mulling over her words, "something go wrong. Boss say Dominion do it."
The Dominion, of course. "You mean the Disciple was a quack, and needed to save face," I mutter.
"Me not understand how your magic work, m'lord." Smart evasion. "Folks eat it, get sick, then poof – they're monsters and eat people. We put them down." She points at a building. "We use flamethrowers and bombs. Drop building on a horde. Bosses not happy with Honna. Workers have to pay fine."
"Yeah, heard about that," Hasapis chimes in because he can't stop annoying me. "Frakking Jedi stirring up trouble, I heard. Some of the poisoned food got out of Hope Falls. Knew a buddy who got bit by one of them, had to put him down."

The ringing won't stop. I look at the perfect lawns, and clean cottages, and all I feel is anger. No one will ever be hung from a lamp post here or fed to dogs. "Frakking degenerates," I curse, not caring who hears me. "They're lazy, weak and cowardly. They contribute nothing, but blather about their bloodline. We should just shoot them."
"Damn, my lord, that's hardcore," Hasapis grunts and I realise he sounds…impressed. "You'll fit right in with us. We're the real Humanists."
Oh, shut up. "There, that's it," I growl, rubbing my temple. Honna brings the groundcar to a halt before the Bakios villa. Not far from us, there's another groundcar. Public Force license plate. Hasapis nods to them as he gets out.

As I arise and step out, I feel dizzy and faint. Everything looks foggy. I hold on to the groundcar, taking several deep breaths. Finally the fog clears and I take my first steps towards the door. At least my minions have the sense not to add to my indignity by drawing attention to it.
"How do you want to play this, my lord?" Hasapis asks.
I notice him and Honna have pistols drawn. "Put those away. I'll have a chat with Henna. You two secure the home and make sure there's no funny business. Above all, make sure they don't pack anything other than essentials."
"Me come inside?" Honna asks, looking surprised.
"Yes. You're loyal."
The butler must have seen us coming, for no sooner have I rung the bell than the door is opened. "Oh, my lord," he splutters, "come in. We have awaited your coming with great expectation. If there is anything I can do you need only ask." Then he looks at Honna and pales. "Oh...my lord, pardon, but the...uhh...bodyguard may frighten the children. They're not used to seeing one of their...kind...."
"She's coming with me," I push past him. "Where is Mrs Bakios?"
"In the living room with the children. I've personally seen to it that Master Bakios' study has, uh, remained untouched." As I limp inside I hear noise coming from inside the living room.

"Will Papa be back soon? I tried to call him, but he's not picking it up."
"You know things are difficult for your father at the moment, Alec."
"Those guys weren't PF. What happened to the guy who usually picks us up?"
"Roel, everything will be cleared up soon."
"When will Tara come back?"
"Alec, I already told you. She was bad and had to be sent away."
"But…Tara is nice to everyone. She'd never hurt anyone. I miss her."
"She's not coming back. End of the story."
"Why don't we call, Kyri? She'll know what's up."
"Paula..."
"She's here." She says the words before I've even stepped into the room, and races towards me. "Kyri! Do you know where Daddy is? Strange men picked me…" Then she sees Honna and flinches. "Mum, there's a pig…" She trembles, looking at the Gamorrean fearfully. "Kyri, why'd you bring a monster here?"
"What's it doing here? Papa said…," Alec starts.
"What happened to my father?" Roel demands, looking suspicious.
Quickly Helena gets up and puts her hands on trembling Paula's shoulders. "My lord, welcome in our home. I've been expecting you." The matriarch of the family regards me coldly. "We can discuss matters in private. Your…creature is unnerving my children. Could it be posted out of sight?"
"Where I post my bodyguard is my concern. She will remain here whilst we discuss matters."
"I'll keep an eye on the xenos," Hasapis grunts. For a change, his penchant for butting in and opening his mouth is helpful. "Now go with the Disciple."
"I'll be back soon, children."
"Mama," Alec tries to reach out to her.
"Be on your best behaviour. Your father and I love you." She walks out of the living room with me.

"Your husband's study."
"You're going to search it anyway, so we might as well," she says frostily. When I step into the study, it looks a mess. Various books and papers are scattered all over the desk. I take the seat behind it and gesture to the other leather chair. Force, this desk is ridiculously big. So tasteless. Fire crackles in the fireplace. My gaze falls on the wall safe. "Sit."
"What will happen to my children? Where will we go?" she asks without preamble.
"I suppose this renders the obligatory query whether you know why I'm here superfluous."
"My children were suddenly 'picked up' at school by unknown men, and driven around town before being dropped off here. Your thugs are still watching our house. I cannot reach my husband and the Public Force refuses to tell me what's going on. It wasn't hard to figure out," she says bitterly.
"And yet you waited."
"For the children. Perhaps when you have some of your own, you'll understand. I assume a female Disciple is still expected to bear children."
"They are, but I can't."
She looks at me in shock. "You…I thought…how can someone like that be a Disciple?"
"Quite in spite of the Academy's best efforts. Just that good, I suppose."
"All these years being the good wife, the good mother…to have it taken away by someone who will never bring new life into the world…and not be constrained the way I was. I suppose you can't understand a mother's love any more than I can understand the Force," she scoffs.
"Your children won't be harmed. But you will never seem them again. You'll lose the house and start over."
"Will they be taken care of?"
"Yes."
"Don't separate them. Don't punish the children for the father's crimes. Please."
How many xenos children have we murdered or sent to the slave mines for crimes their parents didn't even commit. "That depends on your cooperation…but I've no interest in hurting children."
"Where will I go?"
"To be determined. An AC labour camp, I'd assume." If she'd been a xenos, a stay in the camps would've been a black hole. But she's human.
She glances at the liquor cabinet. "I assume I can still have a drink? The last time I'll be able to afford liquor this good."
"Go ahead." She walks over and pours herself what I imagine must be rather expensive wine. " What did you know about your husband's criminal activities?" I prod as she sits down. In truth, it doesn't matter, but watching her squirm a bit affords me some amusement.
"I suspected something was off…but that's it. A wife is not supposed to question her husband. She must stand by her men. That's what the State teaches us." Bitterness rolls off her tongue as she drinks.
"You knew what he'd do to his colleagues to 'watch the fireworks'. You let him take your boys."
"And I have no doubt you've done the same and worse at the Academy, my lord." Her words are like ice. "The price we must pay. Well, the game's up now. I always thought it would end this way." she sighs. "He used to be different. Gentle, dutiful. But…power went to his head. Those things he did to the xenos girl were…unconscionable. Perhaps he…deserves his fate for what he did to her."

"He killed her." The ringing in my ear is like a crescendo. I wince, taking deep, steadying breaths.
She slams her hand onto the table and rants, seemingly not noticing. "He should've done so a long time ago. Instead he took her into his bed! He sullied himself. And doomed us all. It's divine wroth. Can you imagine how humiliating it was? Knowing he was committing such a vile sin in the house we were raising our children in. Thank the Maker he didn't get the whore with child."

And I have heard enough. After everything, this is enough. Perhaps it's just the culmination of all the evil I've seen – and done. And the knowledge of all the evil I will see and do. The sheer callousness. She can't even muster basic humanity. It's ordinary men and women – like her and her disgusting husband – who keep the machine running. Not just the Sith.

The Vaderites enslave millions and work them to death, and the good Imperial citizens don't care. The Vaderites slaughter xenos, even children, and the good Imperial citizens don't care. The Vaderites murder the mentally and physically 'defective', and the good Imperial citizens don't care.

And then they whine about injustice when the noble Humanist State gives them a taste of the medicine it administers to those 'unworthy of life'. The truth is, only a fraction of the Imperium's population are Sith. And most are incompetent idiots. They can't be everywhere, Force choking anyone who doesn't shout 'Praise Vader' loudly enough.

They'd be nothing without the willing complicity of ordinary Imperial citizens.

I hate her. I hate the lot of them.

If only I could line up all Sith, all their hangers-on, lackeys and profiteers in orderly columns and gun them down in orderly executions. If only I could make them feel the pain they have inflicted. But I can't…Yet.

But I will.

Today, the small criminals. Tomorrow, the big ones.

"You knew – you knew all along," I hiss. "But it didn't matter as long as you got to enjoy your cushy life style. You knew what he was doing to her, and you sit here and whine. I'm not sure what disgusts me more – his sadism or your callousness and whining. You're utterly reprehensible."

Her face is red. "You…" Her mouth opens, but no word will cross her lips. My power will see to that. Her face is contorted into an expression of rage.
"Shut up. Unless you want me to add being an accessory to shaming your race to the list of charges against you. Your husband is a thief and a murderer, and you and your family will watch him die. I pity your children. You have ten minutes to pack." And then I let go.
"You can't do that! I need to make sure my ch…"
"Five minutes. Make sure to prioritise. One second longer, and I'll have you kicked out with nothing but the clothes you're wearing. Understood?"
"Yes, my lord," sneers through gritted teeth.
"Your key."
She throws it onto the desk. That felt good. When we leave the study, the butler is already standing in the corridor. No doubt he listened to the whole conversation. Whatever, he wastes no time with fawning, "My lord, I cannot thank you enough. Mr Bakios was a tyrant. When you first came here, I wanted to warn you, but he threatened me…"
"You bastard, you backstabbing weasel," the fallen lady of the house snaps at the worm. Truly, they deserve each other.
"I can't stay silent any longer. My lord, thank you for freeing me. I was like a slave. Bakios was a dreadful, dreadful…"
I have no use for a parasite. "You're fired. Leave now." He scampers away. When we return to the living room, Alec, Roel and Paula are sitting at the table, as far away from Honna as possible. Hasapis is standing at the table. The Gamorrean is standing in the corner, watching them. The children look to their mother and immediately flock to her.
"Children," Helena takes a breath, then hugs them one by one. "Your father and I…we love you more than anything."
"What happened, mother? Did the Sith hurt you?" Roel speaks first, glaring at me.
"Roel, you remember what you learned at school, what your father and I taught you: The Supreme Leader is always right; the Party is always right. Your fa…"
"He's not coming back?" Paula exclaims, massaging her temples and shaking.
"Your father has done…bad things. He's realised his errors and made a full confession. He's not coming back."
"No, that…that's not true," Paula yells. She looks at me in desperation. "I thought we were friends. Tell me it's not true! Daddy is a good man!"
I notice the cutlery on the table and the cruel set have started to vibrate. Curious. This is not my doing. And I feel a surge of rage. "She took Papa away! She's going to take Mama away!" Roel yells. And then suddenly a kitchen knife is in his hand, pointed at my throat. Honna draws her gun. Alec is crying, and Paula shaking.

"Maker, Roel put the knife away!" his mother shouts.
"She killed Papa! She's hurting my family!"
"Honna, put the gun down," I state calmly, and take a hold of the blade. It cuts my skin. That is fine. A little blood is nothing. "Your father's not not coming back, boy. You're the eldest. His firstborn son. Do you want to doom your siblings? Your mother? You have a responsibility to them."
"Roel," Alec says timidly.
"Let go."
"I hate you," the boy snarls, but he drops it. But the cutlery is still vibrating. A fork on the table spins and spins. I can see the threads of the Force, leading back to…
Helena has thrown her arms around a shaking Paula. Tears are dripping down her face. "Paula, I'm your mother, and in your heart I will always be your mother…and you my daughter. We have a bond of love; a bond of blood. But the Leader has spoken."
Paula bites back tears. "The Leader has spoken." A fork rises ever so slightly, then suddenly the vibrating has stopped. "I trusted you," she looks at, eyes full of sadness, disappointment and accusation.
Little Alec is crying. "Oh, stop whining and man up. Time for you to be a big boy," Hasapis grunts because of course he does.
"Don't speak like that to my son, you heartless brute!" Helena snaps.
It's time to get this over with. "Your father committed treason and has been found guilty of crimes against the State. You know the penalty for that. Your mother will be spared. You won't see her again. You have five minutes to pack. Honna, make sure they stick to it. Banneret, tell your comrades to pick them up. The children will wait them outside." And with that I walk out of the living room.

The butler seems to have made himself scarce. Good riddance. Back in the study, I take a look at the papers strewn across the desk. Glorious Conflict is lying on the floor. I pick it up and notice pages have been torn out. My gaze turns to the wall safe. Curious. A key pad, but no key. Doubtless Shakka would have some ingenious way to open it.

I run my hand over the door. Fire is an option, but if there are papers inside it, heat would damage them. I take a step back and take a deep breath. Sweat drips down my face. It feels like my head is throbbing – a horrible, pulsing pain. I almost buckle, staggering. I need to grab a hold of the desk with one hand to keep standing while my other gestures to the door.

My body shakes as power surges through me and I pull. The door is torn from its hinges and hits the carpeted floor. I fall back and pain shoots through me as I hit the shelf. It takes me several moments to stop shaking. I wipe blood and sweat from my forehead. Finally, I dare to stand, trembling. But the safe is open. Immediately, I rummage through it. At first I just see a bunch of documents – the deed on the house, what looks like Bakios' will, letters. Oh, now look at this? Cloth bags. Two bags with gold coins. A third has gems and gold and silver ingots.

I could take it all…

No, I can do one better. Quickly I open my handbag and stuff it with gems and some coins. Coins are heavy – especially gold. But I get a good amount. I cover them with a sweaty rag to muffle the noise and zip it shut. Then I quickly rearrange the bags, redistributing the remaining coins and putting all ingots in one.

Not a moment too soon. I hear the noise outside. "Banneret Hasapis!" I call out, voice hoarse.
"My lord!" he rushes into the study. He takes one look at the open safe, then the bags on the floor, raises an eyebrow. "Bakios' treasure, I presume."
"Precisely. Just like the grain he stole, it's the property of the Imperium."
He picks up a bag, and we hear the coins click inside it. "You...uhh...want me to pass this all through to headquarters, my lord?" He seems shocked. He expected me to pocket it. I have, but not all.
I nod. "See that you do, Banneret, every last coin."
"Of course, my lord."

Now that the living room is not crammed with guests and I don't have to deal with the Bakios family, I can take a good look at the living room. Force, it's tasteless. The bright white of the walls contrasts with black cornices and brass displaywork. And it is packed with furniture. A white desk, black sofa, white and black striped floorboards. Such a gaudy, wasteful eyesore. I wonder how much it all cost; a lot no doubt. Much more than a mere Major's salary would allow. If anyone actually cared they could have seen that he must have been robbing the Imperium blind for years to accrue this.
"I wonder what Lachesis' house looks like," I comment to Hasapis.
"Not like this, lord," he replies flatly without hesitation. "Lord Lachesis doesn't have any use for this sort of frippery. Much more plain and useful. She is much less into displays."

I glance over. He really believes it, a cult of personality almost. I don't argue the point, but if a Major can embezzle this much a Sith Lord must have a fortune tucked away, even if she deliberately uses normal furniture to put on a show. Still, I suppose there is a lesson to be learned. The exercise of power is more important than enjoying its trappings. Affecting an air of modesty can help gain you obedient minions. "I'll get rid of this flummery when I move in. Hold a yard sale or something. All my friendly neighbours can pop by and squabble over furniture."
"Get to know before you get rid of them?" he asks with a cruel grin.
"Something like that."

Time to have a look at the bedroom. "You finish," I hear Honna grunt loudly.
"I just need one moment…"
"No more."
"Just one, you brute!" Helena's voice is shrill and angry. I expected the bedroom to be luxurious and it does not disappoint. It is dominated by a big four poster bed, all crisp white linen.
"Your time's up," I state flatly, and glance towards Honna. "What was she trying to take with her?"
"This, m'lord," she grunts. Helena glares at her with pure revulsion in her eyes as the Gamorrean passes over some shiny jewellery.
I take a moment to examine a nice necklace. Hasapis just folds his arms and looks bored. "Just toss her out."
"Your stay in the labour camp may be short if you behave yourself, but your opulent way of life is gone for good," I remark. "You won't need these anymore."
"Is this what the Disciples have come to?" she snaps. "Theft? Your monster stole a ring from me!"
I make a show of glancing at Honna. "Corporal, did you illegitimately take something for your own use?"
"No," she grunts. She's lying.
"I sense you speak truth. Mrs Bakios, everything you own was bought with stolen funds. I'm merely returning your jewellery where it belongs." Oh, yes, I truly am. Well, most of it. Her precious baubles can be used to help people who deserve it.
"But this comes with me," she holds up a violin. The very one Bakios gave Paula. "It has no value to you, but it has immense value to my daughter. It was her father's last gift for her," she insists. "Please."
His last gift, you say? I doubt he walked into a shop and bought it. But then I remember Paula. I feel pity. Soon she'll have to watch her scumbag father get mowed down. It's not her fault her parents and the whole land she lives in are wretched. "She can have it. Now get moving. Honna, if she doesn't get a move on, beat her."
"Yes, m'lord. You move," Honna grunts with a cruel gleam in her eye. Suitably motivated Helena grabs her suitcase and hastens out of the bedroom.

The kids are waiting outside. With them are two plainclothes goons, and a matronly woman dressed in Amidala Corps uniform. The children looked afraid. Paula has been crying. Her eyes light up when she sees the violin, then she looks sad again. Remembering her father no doubt. Helena hands her the instrument. "Daddy, daddy," I hear the girl mutter.
"Ah, so the wife of the traitor Bakios is finally here," the Amidala Corps woman says with all the bossiness and none of the misguided compassion of Cordé. "You're tardy. It sets a bad example for the children, though it is probably the least of your sins. Not to worry, the State will take their education in hand and raise them to be the loyal citizens their parents failed to be."

Helena looks like she's about to say something, but swallows and shoots me a hateful glare. Paula looks betrayed. Roel and Alec's faces are stony, like they have been carved out of granite. "They're all yours," I tell the Corps woman. "Take them back to headquarters. I'll follow soon."
"Very good, my lord. Come on, children." Flanked by goons with very visible pistols in their coats, the Bakios family embarks the groundcar, and they are driving away.

I turn back to the house. "Time to see what the kitchen has to offer." The kitchen is spacious and beige colours make it look elegant and shiny. Cordé would say some pithy platitude about how cleanliness is next to godliness. I can imagine Helena saying it, too. Except Cordé wouldn't be vindictive. I imagine Tara being beaten any time it was not polished to perfection. Doubtless Bakios loved having an excuse to hurt her. What catches my eye is the wine rack. That liquor is damn expensive.
Hasapis whistles. "The perks of being a bottom-feeder. Send that to HQ, too?"
"Yes, except these two." I pick out a bottle. "That's for me, and this is for you." I hand another to the Banneret.
"Oh, thanks, my lord. I'll share it with the boys."
I inspect the fridge next. It is well-stocked. I glance at Honna and pick out some raw meat. "For you."
Honna grunts something and looks at me oddly. Don't Gamorreans eat raw meat? But she takes it. "Thanks, m'lord."

My gaze lingers on a photo of the family. The happy couple is in the garden, surrounded by smiling children. They're having a barbecue. Family. I dread the thought of having one. For I'd have to raise a child to believe in a system that is utterly evil. Or tell the truth and raise them to pretend they believe it is good and befriend other children who are being raised to be vile. I don't know which is worse. "Do you have family, Corporal?" I ask out of nowhere.
"Father die when I young. Was Public Force before me, I take place. Momma live. She medicine woman. Help people."
"You mean a witch doctor," Hasapis interjects. These witches just give the savages a bottle of coloured water and tell them they feel better. It's ignorant barbarism." Honna's nostrils flare. Her jaw tightens, but she stands where she is. I feel the rage bubbling beneath the surface…but it's contained. She knows how to keep her anger in check. A lesson many a Sith acolyte never learns, no matter how much you beat it into him.
I know about supposedly 'advanced' human medical practice and it's barely better, it just uses more fancy words. "Your words are noted, now can we please move on?" I demand impatiently.
"Ready when you are, lord. Pity we can't hit up your new neighbours yet. Bet they're dying to meet you. But then we'd miss Bakios getting his just deserts."
"They'll get to know me soon enough. We're done here." I lock the door behind us. When I come back here, I'll clear out all the gaudy nonsense.

This house will be quite big for one person. No doubt I'll need my own household staff to look after it for me. A way to keep a few people safe. As safe as you can be in hell. "I imagine all the parasites living here would have xenos slaves too, isn't that right, Banneret?" I say as I limp to the groundcar.
"Probably, my lord. Can't expect the lazy sods to do their chores on their own."
"The Bakios family is not the only one being evicted. Any idea on where the slaves would be sent?"
He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Some of our officers would like the idea of having a slave at their beck and call to polish their boots, but Lachesis doesn't tolerate nonsense like that. Jonas will nab a couple. Guessing the rest will be put to work, for what good that'll do. Rich sods like the weak, 'civilised' xenos. Doubt any of them have ever gotten dirt on their fingers. They'll have to give them a good whipping."
Yes, Tara's life was so pleasant. "Then it's pivotal we put them to work somewhere useful, and make sure they don't slack off. Any idea who I'd have to talk to about this?"
"Probably some bean-counter in the quartermaster's office. I'd ask Diamandis."
"I will, thank you for the information." I am happy to see the human settlement vanish from my sight as we drive away.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Shakka​

We can still hear the sirens howling in the distance. Somewhere, innocent people are seized and dragged away like criminals to be murdered. And it's our own people doing it. How many Twi'leks are helping the bastards who hate our guts?

Bastards.

Sometimes we hear sporadic gun shots. Most of the time it's just sirens.

"Damn it. I shouldn't have let her go."
"Lena? Don't think she'd have stayed put."
"She wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she could've helped someone and did nothing. But I can't lose her." He balls his hands into fists.
"I haven't known her for long, but everything I've seen tells me she's smart and resourceful. She's got a job, we've got ours. We gotta focus on the mission. Or we all die."

He stops, looking at me. "Drone," he grabs me by the arm and we quickly hide in a trash container. Peeking out, I see a drone sweep through the sky. Looking for someone to mow down? Or just flying about to scare people? "When did you get all wise?" he speaks when it has passed.

"I had a big brother. Even if he comes up with crazy schemes a lot." A pause. "And she's not alone."
He nods. "Yeah. Taroq's no sellout. Never liked me – the feeling's mutual. But he wouldn't turn." He takes a breath. "Time to get this over with."

Turns out the 'bar' we're expected in is not the kind you get wasted in. Firith takes me down a water lined and to a maintenance tunnel. Disused, it seems. The tunnel's dark and narrow, with a couple piles and dim lighting. "I don't think I'm gonna order a pint here," I mutter sarcastically.
Firith doesn't respond in kind. I get it. "Don't mouth off around these guys. We got one chance – that's it."
Eyes are on us. I can feel it. "And they won't trust the 'Sith pet'. Got it."

"Stop," a voice suddenly hisses in the shadows. "Hands behind your back. No funny business."
I can't see the gun levelled at me, but I know it's there. So Firith and I do as they say. "We're unarmed," my cousin says.
Then there's rough hands running over my body. Unlike the Vaderite goons, this one doesn't cop a feel. Just search me for weapons, and check me out with a scanning device. I yelp when they yank my neck and scan my collar. Now I get a good look at him. Frak, it's the Houk from the checkpoint! The image come flooding back to me. Dead Twi'leks, laughing thugs. "You," I hiss. "He's PF!"
"Shakka," Firith snaps.
"We've been betrayed!" I try to jab my fingers into his eye, but he grabs my hand.
"I'm with the rebels," he growls. "Two," the thug calls out to a figure I can't see. "Twi'leks. Male, female."
"Bring them in," another voice suddenly says.
"Move. Slowly."
We're led to a rough table with a single chair. Actually the 'table' consists of two barrels with a plank on top. The chair is a smaller crate. There's a pistol on the table. The only lighting consists of a candle. A female Zabrak wearing an overall that's seen better days sits at the table. One of the horns on her head looks broken. "Firith Tiatkin," she says, cigarra in hand. Smoke streams to the ceiling. Her features are hard to make out through the haze of smoke. I see some messy dark hair. "Call me Kinrath." The big spider in the web. I catch sight of a male Twi'lek standing off to the side. No doubt he's armed. He never takes his eyes off me. "We don't have much time, so state your case."
"Good evening, everyone," Firith's tone is different. Confident. Smooth. He glances at the Houk goon. "Hello, Uruk." His tone is like he's greeting an old friend. Makes me remember seeing PF thugs at the smuggler's den.
The goon's not feeling chatty. "Talk to the boss "
"You brought a Sith pet,"the Twi'lek minion says accusingly. Makes me bristle. Jerk.
Firith just looks at 'Kinrath'. "No worries, I'll make it worth your while. You know I work for Barah. I know you do business with her."
"What does your boss have to say?" Kinrath asks.
"She wants to survive and make a killing. Bet you'll get an offer from her soon, if you haven't already. I also know you guys can't be happy about the price she demands. It's one big ripoff." It's Firith's salesman voice. The one I've seen him use whenever he's making a deal. "And now demand is skyrocketing, but supply's down. Well, I'm here to help you cut out the middle man."
"Continue."
"As your man so eloquently noted, my cousin's a slave. Not just any slave, but of a Disciple. Now I know what you're thinking. This is a setup. A sting op. Can't fault you for that. But think further - she has access to the bastards who've been turning this town upside down. Who does all the paperwork for a Disciple? Their slave. She's key to all this. Shakka, if you'd please explain."

I clear my throat. Don't mess up, Shakka. "My Master's a Sith called Kyriaki. She gets her orders from Dear Leader and the Butcher. She's been the one investigating smuggling. I do the paperwork and tech stuff for her. That means any intel she gets goes through my hands. Bakios was skimming big-time. The Vaderites seized a lot of what he nabbed, but not all of it. I know where he's been hiding his stuff. Grain, ammo."

Probably a lot more of column A than column B. I may not have been totally truthful with Kyriaki when I kept complaining about the encrypted documents I had to decipher. Well, I wasn't lying about hitting a roadblock. But I was also stalling.

"And all that can be yours. No need to pay smugglers you know are thinking 'bout selling you out to make some coin," Firith adds. "But time's a wasting. If you wait too long, the Vaderites or the smugglers will get their greedy paws on it. Shakka will get dragged away by her Master and my family and I will probably be dead along with a good chunk of Hope Falls. I know you guys are hitting the Dominion hard. They're going scorched earth on any territory you win, aren't they?" he lets the question hang, and shrugs. "Food for your soldiers, and your civilians."
Kinrath takes a drag. "What do you want in return?"
"Safe passage for my wife, kid, Shakka and me. You free Shakka of her collar, you help us get to partisan territory."
Kinrath's face is half-shrouded by a haze of smoke. "I'll need proof that your intel is genuine."
"I have coordinates to a dump right here," I say. "Can take one of your men there."
"And we're supposed to believe a Sithling lets her slave just walk out with her files?" the Twi'lek demands. "Boss, this is bullshit."
"Just walk out? I've risked my life."
"The Sith didn't let my cousin walk out with the goods. She used her smarts and put herself in great danger," Firith says. "She's offering you an opportunity."

"We know what the Sith are like, boss. Those witches can get their screws in your head and you serve them without even knowing it. She has to prove she's on our side. Use her 'access'. Plant a 'surprise' for her masters in their HQ."
I open my mouth, but Kinrath speaks first "There's other ways she can prove her loyalty without committing suicide," the Zabrak says calmly. The smoke has cleared and she stares into my eyes. "Because proving loyalty is important in this situation. Tell me about your master." Kinrath stubs out her cigarra, then takes out another and lights it with a small, ornamental lighter. I spy a Vader mask on it.
"She's smarter than the average Sith. Good at making you think she's your friend," I start, hesitantly. "She can do some witchcraft I don't think is common to Sith. Can summon fireballs, mind frak people. But she can't keep it up for long. See, she's got a weak heart, so she's sick and stuff. I've seen her faint after doing some mojo. She struggled in a fight with a bunch of PF thugs. Needed a pen-pusher to save her arse." Still protecting her. I hate it. "She wants to set up a sweatshop in Hope Falls. Maybe you can sneak some spies into it."

The Twi'lek bends down and mutters something into Kinrath's ear too quiet for me to hear. She waits till he's finished then raised a hand and he steps back. "That's enough. You'll take Uruk with you to the cache tonight. If this checks out, we'll arrange for pickup and help you get to Free Tephrike. You give us every piece of intel you have."
"Once my family and I are safe," Firith says calmly.

"Yes. And if this is a ruse, you die. I have eyes of my own in town. You won't see the knife that ends you coming."
"Crystal. Something up, Shakka?" Firith asks.
"We've met," I point at 'Uruk'.
"PF checkpoint. Not proud of what I do there, but the job comes first," the goon says.
I remember two dead Twi'leks. I remember poor people being beaten, humiliated and robbed. "Bet it has its perks. Funny that everyone accuses me of being a spy."
"I wear the uniform and do the humies' dirty work so I can help the cause. Sure you know a bit 'bout hiding what you are," the goon says coolly.
My jaw is set. "That's different
"We all make sacrifices for the struggle."
"Let's remember why we're here," Firith intervenes. "We all got reason not to be thrilled with one another, we all have ways to screw with each other and we can only get what we want by working together."
"Indeed. Two Twi'leks wandering around at curfew hour is suspicious. A Houk guard and two Twi'leks looks quite different," Kinrath and tosses a packet. Uruk catches. Cigarras."If you need a bribe. Now go."

There is little light when we leave the tunnel. There's just the moon in the sky and the searchlights. No light burns in the 'residential buildings'. 'Inferior xenos' don't need working electricity. I'm used to it from Prosperity Quarter. Hard to imagine that a city awash with light is just a stone's throw away. Then again, ever since Kyriaki made me her slave, I've discovered that power dies over there on a regular basis.

I glance to Firith as we hit the road with our Houk minder. Yes, we have to take a chance. And I can get rid of this damned piece of metal on my neck. "Where to?" Uruk demands in a low voice.
"Um, based on the intel the cache's in a side trail of the main road. Couple miles away from the forest with all the ghosts."
"That's all you have?"
"Bakios is a gangster, not a moron. Not totally. He didn't leave a map with an 'X' to mark the spot."
"Hey, we'll find it," my cousin the negotiator says, stepping between us. "You just keep the thugs in khaki off our backs."
"You do your job, I do mine."

Turns out, it takes us ages. It's dark, and there's no clear directions. We fumble in the dark a lot, evading patrols. Then we finally find the spot. By the time the digging is over, we're muddy, dirty and sweaty. My heart thunders in my chest so bad it hurts. But it's all there, hidden in metal drums or plastic – clips of ammo and at least one RPG.
"That enough? That enough for you?" Firith asks as Uruk inspects a barrel.
The Houk looks up, smiles grimly. "That enough. You two did good."
Relief washes over me so profoundly I start laughing. We're in business. Quickly we bury the stuff again and head back.

It's like walking through a ghost town. The road is deserted, no lights are on. It's gotten chilly at night. And yet we're not entirely alone. "Cover!" Firith hisses when a groundcar's engines roar. Heart thumping inside my chest, I bolt, just before searchlights start to bathe the road in light. I leap and splash into the water, right into the ditch. The ditch is dirty, muddy and slippery.
The water is damn cold, and moving fast. I struggle, but I'm being swept away and pulled down. Firith grabs a hold of me. Gunshots bark. His lets go, crying out in pain.

BAM
Firith!
BAM
And then there is only darkness. Oh, frak, I can't move a single muscle in my body. Mindlessly, I shout in bad Twi'leki as I sink slowly into the dark pit. I try to wave my arms and legs furiously, but I'm solid as a statue. I'm still breathing real fast while I sink so I can get some water in my lungs. My eyes burn. Something sharp cuts into my leg.

Then suddenly a strong hand grips me and pulls me out of the darkness. I cough painfully, breathing raggedly as I spit out water. Uruk holds me tight and pulls me to the bank. "Firith?"
"Quiet."
"I'm here, coz, I'm here," Firith's arm is bleeding. "Barbed wire."
BAM

Water splashes all around as bodies fall into the ditch. Then we hear arrogant, sneering voices. "I'll have to hand it to the xenos, this lot didn't beg. Not like the last batch," one says. "Hey, Tobias, don't look so glum."

"This is beneath us. We're stuck in a dump that smells of piss and shit and our enemies are...unwashed xenos peasants. We're Knights; we should be on the frontline, driving our sword into the Jedi's heart. And bombing the Xenos Guard terrorists out of their swamps."
"You should appreciate any downtime, Tobias. It makes combat more exciting. Besides, we can't march on empty stomachs, can we? Auntie Lachesis is making sure the quartermaster won't screw us over again."
"Hmm I suppose the job here helps weed out the weak. I wouldn't want a coward like Kynnos watching my back in a real fight."
"He seemed solid in basic, but then he just abandons his comrades like he's too good for us. Auntie Lachesis is too kind sometimes."

The thugs are getting closer. They're coming to the edge of the ditch! "Down." Are you crazy, coz? I bury my head in the wet grass, holding on to a tree branch.
My eyes are burning, my body is cold.
I can feel my limbs growing heavy.
The current is pulling me again.
"Come on, let's get back. I don't want to be late to be late when Menkales and Sibylla play the Dark Father's March." I almost slip when I climb out of the water. But we get out, dirty and soaked. The groundcar roars away.
My body is shaking and I cough, spilling liquid over the grass. There's blood on my leg. "Need to go," Uruk coughs. I look back, and see corpses in the water. They're all Twi'leks. "Shakka, can you walk?" Firith's asks, voice full of concern.
I wince in pain when I get up. Can't stop shivering. "I'll be fine. We're all hurt. Let's go. We don't have long to go." We can make it, we have to. We're so close.

We're almost back in town when we run into a patrol. "Hey, stop, identify yourself!" a voice barks in the darkness. Three thugs. PF.
"Limp," Uruk hisses at me in a low voice. "Easy, Gorb, the wormheads 're with me," he barks at what seems to be the leader of the patrol. Another Houk. Their guns are raised.

"Uruk, whaddaya doin' here with two wormies? Ya don't patrol here. Shouldn't ya be back in the barracks?"
"Ya know how it is, man. Sith gets on the captain's case, he gets on the sergeant's case and then we have to work overtime. Sith lady had some bodies she wanted buried." Uruk slides his finger against his throat, like he was beheading someone. Taking the cue, Firith holds up the shovel. "Shoulda been a quick job, but you know how the wormies are. Lazy and weak."

"I hear ya," but then the Houk goon looks at us closely. His gaze falls on my clothes, wet, bloody and covered in mud. I make a show of swaying, and wince, as if in pain. It's not hard to fake because I am.
"Looks like you did more than dig some graves. What's that about?" the goons points at us.
"Oh, the clumsy wormie fell into the ditch. They were too dumb to get out, so I had to jump after 'em."
"Sir, my leg hurts, can I sit down?" I ask timidly.
"Shut up, wormie."
"Sir, my cousin is hurt," Firith pleads.
Uruk smacks him across the face! "And you'll hurt even more if ya don't shut your trap."
"Hmm," the thug grunts. "Lotta effort for two wormies."
Uruk sighs theatrically. "Yeah, but I was told the Sith's real attached to her." He leans forward conspiratorially. "Special services, ya know. Ya know how those humies are with their personal slaves. But ya didn't hear this from me. I got a little something out of it though," and with that Uruk fishes out the packet Kinrath tossed him.
The other Houk's eyes light up and he takes some cigarras out. "Oh…well, better not keep the Sith waitin'. Move 'long."

"C'mon, wormies, scamper," Uruk barks, waving his pistol. When the goons are out of earshot he says, "Hey, nothing personal. I got no quarrel with Twi'leks."
"You have to keep up appearances," Firith says evenly.
"Lot of my folks don't realise it, but we all got the same enemy. Some of the Guard's fighters are Twi'leks. They know they're done for if the humies get them alive."
Wouldn't stop you from killing us 'for the mission'. "Yeah, well, we don't want to fight. Long as you get us out, we're cool," I say, and wince from the pain in my leg.
"We need to get patched up. No point in making plots when we die of infection," Firith says with a groan.
"Yeah, especially since I have to spend the night in Sith central. There'll be questions." Bad enough that my clothes are dirty.
Firith nods. "I know someone who can help."
"Reliable?" Uruk asks.
"Won't talk. Could use some cigarras to get past the gatekeepers though."
Uruk hands over the packet. "Make it quick. Stay away from patrols. I'll go ahead and fill Kinrath in," he looks at my collar. "Fetch someone who can help you out."

We manage to make our way as well as can be expected from two people who are wearing bloody, soaked clothes and have to irregularly hide in alleys or among rubbish when patrols pass by. Fortunately, there aren't that many.

We're just about to cross into an alley when suddenly a figure approaches us. "Hey, Twi'leks!" We spin around, expecting a thug in uniform, but it's a Cathar! His mane is long and wild and his fur scraggly. But he looks friendly.
"Who are you?" I ask.
"It's better if we don't exchange names," he says, panting like he's out of breath. He gives us a one-over, staring at our messy state. "I don't know what happened to you and I don't want to…but stay away from the hospital. The humies have something planned. Come dawn, it will be a slaughterhouse."
Firith and I share a look. Word is spreading. Thank you, Lena and Taroq. "Thanks for the info, friend," Firith says, smiling slightly. "Where did you get that from?" Testing him.
"Someone reliable. It's better if everyone knows as little as possible. Can't betray who you don't know. If you see an ambulance, hide. If a doctor knocks on your door, tell them everyone is fine. Spread word."
"We will," I swear. "Thanks for your help. You better hunker down, too. The humies are extra aggro now."
"Here, take this, friend. If you need a bribe," Firith fishes two cigarras.
The Cathar stuffs them into his pocket. "You'll be cutting it close, but there's a medicine woman in Block 015. The collabs live there, so the PF leaves them alone. Maybe you'll be lucky." Then he runs off into the night.
"Block 015's for the 'favoured xenos'?" I ask. Frak, my injuries itch. The beating from the goons doesn't help.
"Gamorreans, Zabrak and so on. Bit less of a shithole than where Lena lives. You'll see."
"I saw some Zabrak at her place."
"The ones who felt through the cracks and pissed off someone higher on the food chain. Come on," Firith walks on.
"If it's collab central, is it safe to go there?"
Firith shrugs. "Everyone collaborates, everyone cheats. We'll have to pay a toll. The medicine woman's fine. The gatekeepers are jerks."

Turns out it's something that looks like an actual apartment building. One that's really fallen into disrepair, but still. No lights, save for candle lights, but still. Firith knocks on the door several times. "State your business" a voice demands.
"I come bearing gifts."
"Twi'leks don't live here."
"We need to see Usnac."
The door opens slightly. A Duros and a big, burly Houk stand in the doorway. Figures. One's the gatekeeper, the other's muscle. The Houk is holding a big clug in his large hands. "Oh, it's you. You know the drill," the Duros says.
Firith fishes out a bunch of cigarras. The Duros inspects them. "That won't do."
"It's the standard toll."
"And she's been getting plenty of customers."
"Shouldn't she be setting the rates?" I butt in.
"This isn't a Twi'lek house. Your sort pays extra."
"Fine," Firith growls. "Shakka?" he prods me as he hands in two more cigarras. I throw in a note of paper money. "That enough?"
The Duros snatches both from us and hands some of the 'payment' to his goon. "Wahtug, show them the way. Make sure they go to the Matron and nowhere else."
"Touch nothing," the Houk grunts, swinging with his club through the air. Shutta. "You make problem, I smash your faces." Quickly we file into the building and follow. The stairs creak beneath us when we climb them. But as we get to the first floor, I notice the paint on the walls is faded and flaked. The metal is rusty. The hallway smells of boiled cabbage, dirt and old rag mats. A lightning bulb flickers irregularly. But there are no bunk rooms open for anyone to see. Real apartments! Privacy!
The Houk stops at one of the apartments and knocks on the door. I spy a wooden nameplate on the door. "Matron, customers for you!" he bellows.
The Gamorrean sow who opens the door is about middle-aged. She's big and her long green-brown hair is worn in breads and covered by morrts. Icky, parasitic bloodsuckers that stink. Gamorreans like them for some reason. She has sharp tusks and is wearing a robe that's seen a lot of wear and tear. And she looks pissed…but not at us. "Wahtug, don't you raise your voice with me. There be patients here. You know they need rest."
The Houk visibly cringes. "Sorry, ma'am. Told the wormies you're busy, but they barged in. I'll tell them to bugger…"
"And don't you be talkin' over me," she snarls. "No manners, no manners." She looks at Firith with her close set brown eyes. "They rip you off again?"
"We just paid the toll as usual, ma'am."
She jabs her finger at him. "Boy, don't you lie to me, too."
"You heal, we keep the bad dudes out, ma'am, so nothin' happen to ya," the Houk grunts, but Usnac is…staring at me.
"Oh, it's you. My lil girl talk about you. Come in. Come in," she ushers as in with a sweeping gesture with her large hand. "And you," she glares at the Houk muscle, "shoo, trouble me no more." She slams the door shut after we enter. "Take your shoes off," she barks at us.
"Yes, ma'am." Firith and I look at each other a bit bemused as we take off our messy, muddy shoes.
"Now what ails you?"
"We, um, got cut up a bit. Fell into a ditch. Just need to get patched up," Firith says as we step in.
"Hmm. Say no more. Take them messy clothes off and don't make much noise."
I notice a gap cut in a wall, and hear a slight groan. I take a peek through the gap. The first thing I see are bandaged tendrils peeking out from the covers on the cot. Awinn? "Don't wake her. She need rest," the medicine woman chides me. I catch a glimpse of other people sleeping, but there's no time for a better look.

Obediently, Firith and I follow her. There's a bed in the corner for Usnac, and a couple tables that I guess are there to help patients. There's some cabinets with medical equipment, potions and stuff. I see some improvised boiling water pots. Must be there to sterilise equipment. She's lit a few candles. Quickly, we strip off our wet, dirty clothes. My shirt's practically clinging to my skin and I wrinkle my nose when the smell floods my nose. As I pull it off, I catch sight of a black and white picture hanging on the wall. It shows Usnac, a Gamorrean male with his hand protectively resting on the shoulder of a little Gamorrean girl. She's holding a doll that's missing an arm and smiling shyly. Her tusks are so small. Those eyes…it's…
"Yeah, that's me and Honna with her papa," Honna suddenly stays when she stomps back to us, carrying used clothes. "He's gone now, bless the spirits. So just me 'n her now. My lil one says you're a good sort, dealin' with Sith business. Nasty stuff to get dragged into. So I'll help you." Honna looks so innocent in the photo. Usanc drops the clothes at our feet. "From a patient, should fit." We say our thanks and slip on the skivvies.

Honna's mother fetches her tools and sets to work. After cleaning my wounds with water, getting glass shards out with tweezers and drying the injured spots, she applies antiseptic. It stings! "Cease your yowling, it's just a scratch!" she chides me when I groan in pain. "Need to treat it 'fore the wound goes bad. If that 'appens you'll have plenty of cause to yowl." Then she puts Firith through the same procedure. He yowls, too. I'm about to make a joke and then I get a good look of his back. Frak, it's covered by a mass of scars. A few are still an angry red.
"You wait. I'll make a poultice. Just a couple minutes. Old family recipe. My ma taught me," Usanc mutters and goes off to rummage in a cupboard to fetch some herbs.
"Um, ok. Can we help somehow?"
"Fetch the Wunnokawa. Upper cupboard. Name's on the bottle. Then chop 'em. Lemme handle the rest."
"Don't believe what the humies say. It's better than a lot of their 'cutting edge science'," Firith whispers to me as we tear and chop. Then Usanc adds some water and grinds the herbs into a pulp, before she pours them into a vial and sets it over a candle. While it burns she looks appraisingly at Firith, and smirks. "Hmm, if I didn't know you were taken already I might admire those fine calves!"
Despite myself, I giggle. "I better tell Lena she has competition, coz."
"Traitor!" Firith declares with mock outrage.
Usanc makes me lie down and rubs the poultice into my leg. Her hands are a bit rough, but the poultice feels soothing. Firith is next. Then she's off again for a bit, mixing something.
"Drink this," she holds out a cup. I wrinkle my nose when I smell it.
"What's that?"
"Slows the swelling," Firith explains. "Tastes horrible. Just swallow it quick." I gulp it down and, frak, it tastes horrible. I feel a strong urge to spit it out. Feels like I have to puke. But I swallow it, and so does Firith.
It'll take ages to get that taste out of my mouth…but I feel a lot better. It doesn't itch anymore. "Thank you, ma'am."
"Yeah, thanks for your help," Firith says.
"Wait, I have a little something for ya," she gets out two small vials of powder. "That's free. Mix the powder in water and drink. Once every night." she raises a finger. "No more."
"Understood, ma'am. Thank you." Firith looks a bit sheepish. "I hate to inconvenience you more, ma'am, but could we wash our clothes here? We can pay extra."

Usnac peers at us. "Go to the sink, be quick." Kyriaki has a washing machine back home. It works decently enough…when the building has power. She was so happy when she got her own, then power went out…and when she got it back the machine started from the beginning again. Her clothes were very well washed. Anyway, we have to use water and some soap. But then I notice Usanc...scrutinising me. "You got a good figure, girl. That Sith you're with hasn't been asking for no special favours or nothing has she?"
"Matron!" Firith exclaims, looking angry…but there's something else in his eyes. Concern. He was thinking the same. "Don't talk to my cousin like that."
I feel…disgusted. "No," I state quickly and sharply. The mere thought makes my skin crawl. I think back to Menkales grabbing my lekku, and staring at me like a piece of meat. I shake my head, lekku twitching. "No," I repeat. "She never has…and I wouldn't let her."
"Sorry, dearie. You know how them humies are. I'm glad it's…not like that for you. Any nasty thing them humies make you do is on them, not you."
I don't want pity. I just want this damn thing off. I don't want to be afraid anymore. "My cousin is a slave, it's bad, she doesn't owe anyone an answer and she's not responsible for what her master does," Firith states firmly in his big brother voice.
"Firith, it's alright. Let's just leave it at that," I sigh. "Let's dry the clothes."
"Yes, right. Rather the roof than the cellar. You have a fire pit there, right?" Firith asks. "If anything of yours needs drying, I can carry it for you."
"Yes, yes. I go with you. Then no one give you lip or they get 'nother thing 'comin." Then she glances at me with an expression I can only describe as motherly. "Girly, you better stay inside till your clothes 're dry. Go lie down. Should be a patient cot free."
"Thanks, ma'am." As if on cue I yawn. The mere implication of sleep seems all the reason my body needs to remind of how…tiring today has been. The healer collects her stuff, and she and Firith leave. I pretty much stumble into the patient room and fall into the nearest cot. It's uncomfortable, and the room is cramped, but it's a chance for rest. A nap at least.

The nap doesn't last long. My eyes flutter open as I hear the sound of footsteps. The first thing I see are bandaged tendrils. I blink. It takes a moment to remember where I am. I'm safe. I'm at Honna's mother's place. Never thought I'd associate that with safe. "Awinn?" I ask groggily, stretching.
"Oh, I'm sorry…I didn't mean to wake you. Shakka? Lena mentioned you," she says tiredly. I notice dried moisture on her face. Tears, I figure. "I just, uh, got up to get some water. It's so hot."
I sit up, rubbing my eyes. "No, it's okay. I gotta go soon anyway. Glad you got help."
"Yes, yes. Taroq and Lena brought me here. The guards were…not nice, but Usanc helped me, no questions asked. Said I can stay the night," she gulps down most of her water and then pours what's left over her skin. "I didn't...expect that from a Gamorrean."
"World's full of surprises."
"Yeah," her shoulders slump a bit. "Before I ended up here, I tried to get to the hospital."
"Awinn," I start, but she raises her hand.
"I didn't get anywhere near it. There were patrols everywhere, I had to hide...and I panicked. Taroq and Lena grabbed me. Taroq yelled at me. I was so mad at them...and scared. I'm a frakking coward."
"If you'd gone there, you'd have died, and she'd want you to..."
"Live," her voice is hollow. "And who's there for her now? She's family. I hate them. The humies, the collabs, all of them."
"Me, too."
"She'll be gone...and I'll still be there. Sucking up to her killers. I just feel so helpless."
"I felt the same when Vrekh died." Since then I've been running errands for her killer. But I don't mention that.
She pauses, lowers her voice, "I was told your, um, Master may offer work. Lena said she's not as evil as the others."
"There's worse Sith. Being a slave isn't fun with any."
"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to upset you. I just…I don't think I'll survive the year if I have to go back to the fields. And our 'noble guardians' the partisans won't care."
"No, no, it's alright. She…won't hurt you." I suppress a groan, wincing in pain as I shift to take her hand. "I was gonna mention you to her."
"Please. Aramgir's…making a list…"She sounds sleepy and tired. I can feel she's drifting off. Maybe I'm keeping her up.
"Rest now, Awinn."
"You…," and she's fallen asleep.

"Shakka, you awake?" I hear my cousin ask from outside.
"Sh, people are sleeping," I chide him. "Coming." Trying to walk as quietly as I can, I sneak back into Usnac's apartment. My cousin and Honna's mother. I rub my eyes. "How long was I out?"
"It's morning. You slept like a log." I want to elbow him, but I'm tired and still in some pain. "Clothes are dry. We better get going if we wanna get home in time," he continues.
"Just give me a moment. Thanks for your help," I say with a glance at Usnac.
"Stay outta trouble, lil one. Come, handsome man." Firith handles payment with the help of little cash I have left, and I get dressed. After being dried over a fire, the clothes feel warm.

We can avoid a bunch of roaming patrols, but not all. The guards are more than a bit drunk. I can smell the cheap booze off one as he snatches the ID from my hand. It's dark, but I swear I saw him at the smuggler's den. He grunts that I can go, but they get nosey about Firith and shove him up against a wall. One of scum recognises him. Firith pays a bribe, and promises to get them some smuggled booze. Then they let us go.

Kinrath is still where we left here, though standing rather than seated. There's less smoke, but a bunch of cigarette butts in an ashtray. Now I can get a better at her. Tats are spread across her face and a scar runs down from the middle of her bottom lip to her chin. Someone else is sitting at the table, but their back is turned. Judging from the pointed ears, antennae on their head and green skin, it's a Rodian. "Any trouble?" Kinrath asks immediately.
"Had to dodge some patrols, nothing major. We took the long way," Firith says smoothly. "Your man told you what we showed him?"
"Yes. We have a deal. Now your collar…," Kinrath trails off and the Rodian who's been sitting at the table with their back turned to us gets up. His clothes are dirty and he's short even for a Rodian.
"Well, what have we here," he says. He limps over to me and examines my collar, running a scanner over it. The device beeps. "Hmm, a Mark III. Crude, but effective enough. You're lucky it's not the newest model. I've seen that do some nasty things…"
"Nasty? If this goes wrong my brain will splatter over your face."
"Then stand still and let me work." He begins attaching small charges around my collar. "Micro ion charges," he explains.
Sweat is dripping down my lekku. My hand trembles a bit. "Um, is that safe?" Keep it together, Shakka.
"You'll be fine, coz," Firith says, then looks at the Rodian. "It is safe, isn't it?"
"Of course it's safe, unless you have any implants, augments or electronics on you. There's also a small chance that it might interfere with your lekku and brain waves."
"How big is small chance?"
"What do I look like, a mathematician? Like five percent."
I open my mouth…then I feel a powerful electrical surge through my head and all turns dark. When I wake up my head hurts. I look up at him and realise I'm on the floor. "Was that the five percent chance?"
"Nah, your head's still attached. This happens to everyone. But it's all done now. Try not to do anything to get yourself zapped."
"It's off," I say, not quite believing it.

"Yes, that's what I said. Well, it's still on, it just won't work if your master presses the button," the rebel rambles on but I'm not paying attention. I touch my neck and the collar. It feels hot from the detonation, but it's…inert.
"It's off," I repeat. "Thank you."
Firith helps me up and pulls me into a hug. "And soon it'll be gone for good, coz." I throw my arms around him. For a moment we just hug, then reality gets back to us. I pull back and look to Kinrath.
"So when can you get us out? I don't have the dets about how long my master will stay, but I doubt we have long. And she won't let me keep snooping around."
"Yes, if you loosen the leash the slave gets ideas," Kinrath states. "It'll happen tomorrow."
"When exactly?"
"And how will you get us out without the humies getting the drop on us? There's checkpoints, drones and the gate's guarded. Our best bet's probably crossing the river," Firith chimes in. "But we won't be all in one place. I'll be out in the fields, and I figure my wife will be too unless she manages to contrive an excuse. And Shakka will have humie goons watching her."
"I'll find a way to slip out. I know my Master, just leave that to me," I state. "But I need a signal. Figure you can't sneak a courier into Sith central…but I have a comm."
"Arrangements will be made for you to be…sent away. You'll know when it happens," Kinrath tells Firith. Her eyes settle on Uruk before darting to me. "Your Master puts a lot of trust in you." Her face is not shrouded by a cloud of smoke anymore, but it might as well be for how little her expression gives away.
I stiffen. "It's for her to yell orders at me when I'm on a mission."
"There's the risk that it will be monitored," she says.
"She thinks she's broken me in."
Kinrath purses her lips. "Give me your number." I do so. "'Hi Jaina, your parcel is ready to collect from Amaxon Industries. Please notify the depot for a suitable time and data of collection.' That'll be the message. Delete it the moment you receive it. And go to the waterfall."

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Kyriaki

​

Darkness has descended upon Hope Falls. Literally and figuratively. As we drive back to KEC headquarters, we barely see any light burning in the various buildings, including public buildings. This also applies to most of the few scattered lamp posts. I'm certain we passed a downed electrical pole on the way.

The soldiers must rely on torches, or the lights of their rifles and vehicles. The contrast to Adlerberg is stark. The Ministry of Propaganda likes to tout that the city is fully electrified, and we often see images of Dominion towns and cities that are completely pitch black, alongside brightly lit Imperial cities.

I can't say for certain whether those photos are actually from the Dominion. It's doubtful we're able to do much field work there. Blackouts are common in Adlerberg, even in the human areas, save for the places where those on top of the pyramid live. I'm not that high up, so I've learned to stock up on candles. But it's not the same. I'll always have a comfortable bed to sleep in and will never go hungry.

The drive back is a blur. The streets are deserted save for troopers. Orpo green, KEC dark grey and PF khaki all blur into one for me. My head pains me. Tiredness is setting into my muscles. I just want to lie down and sleep…in a comfortable, warm bed next to a lampshade made from Twi'lek skin. In a villa built on plunder and murder.

When the images of the dead children in the forest and of Tara come to haunt me at night, I will not look away. I must look back. Always. Someone must keep them in her memory. And spill blood for them. The searchlight from a checkpoint are so bright I cover my eyes, groaning. It burns. Suddenly my attention is aroused by the sound of vehicle engines. A convoy of military groundcars and two trucks drives past us – in the other direction.

"Must be food transports," Hasapis opines. "Might even have those containers we found, my lord."
"Already on the road. Procrastination is not in Lachesis' dictionary," I respond, rubbing my eyes.
"The Lord Commander takes care of her own. Always has. Unlike some of those idiots we call generals." The disdain in his tone is palpable. Honna is quiet. It's hard to see her face in the car window, but I get a read on her through the Force. Disdain, contemplation. She is listening to every word. Weighing it.
"It sounds like supply issues are a protracted problem," I comment. "Is it really that bad in the army?"
"There's an official answer to that and another one, lord."
I suppress a yawn. "I'm sure the latest bulletin of the propaganda ministry has a comforting one, so let's skip that and speak candidly."
"It's not that bad for the frontline troops since they're always fighting. But it's shit in the reserve and don't get me started on the militias. Weekend warriors. Do you know what 'cooping' means?"
"Afraid not. I assume something negative."
"Recruits are on the rolls, and that's the only place you find 'em. All the supplies, pay and gear end up in the colonel's pocket."
"And thus doesn't go to the frontline where they're needed."
"Bingo."
I'm starting to get an idea of why Lachesis was so eager to take up this task, even though on first sight it's beneath a Sith Lord to micromanage and frankly something for the police. But this mess is all the better for me. I can use this. I love corruption. "Sounds like our supply system is a beast that needs wrangling."
"Lachesis would light a fire under their arses if she had a free hand. What's your angle?" he grunts, then adds, "my lord."
How much of I say will find its way back to Lachesis? He doesn't want me to reveal that he succumbed to the ghosts and tried to murder a Disciple. But the thug is her man and my minder. "I'll be candid, Banneret, though I don't have to explain myself. I'm not the sort of Disciple who'll be storming trenches, swinging an enchanted greatsword. But I want to fight to ensure the home front doesn't stab you in the back. I won't pretend to share all of Lachesis' views, but where I differ it's a matter of methodology, not goal. We have a shared interest in combating corruption. If the xenos Jedi win, we're doomed."
"That we are, my lord, that we are."
The villa slash KEC headquarters looms ahead of us. The guards wave us through. Bigwigs and KEC troopers are assembled in a courtyard illuminated by torchlight. I spot Lachesis, Cordé, Diamandis, Sibylla, Menkales and the General among the crowd. Helena and her children are standing further away with the Amidala Corps woman and guards. Then there's some PF goons and what's left of the council. Of course, the xenos stand far away from the humans.
"Honna," I say as I rub my temples, "your team in the PF – is it the same one that blew up zombies with you?"
"Mostly, m'lord. Tough crew. Strong. Loyal," she stresses the last two words. "Ain't no quitters."
"All Gamorreans?"
"Most."
"Remind me tomorrow if I forget. I'm in the market for new soldiers." I really need to meet the smuggler cabal's man in the finance ministry to my hands on more of their ill-begotten gains.

As the groundcar comes to a halt and I disembark – more unsteady on my legs than I'd like – there is the bark of gunfire. A human male hits the ground, joining two other corpses. He's wearing uniform, but it is hard to make out much. I limp over to the throng. "You're tardy," Lachesis greets me. "Busy claiming the spoils of war?"
"I brought liquor for the boys. See, Bakios had a well-stocked cellar. Too much wine is bad for me, so I thought I'd give them a treat." I notice a flash of concern on Cordé's face. Do I look that bad? Best not to think of it. I look towards the latest corpse. "Who was that?"
"The swine who betrayed me," General What's-His-Name says caustically. I should probably remember it. But my head is throbbing like hell. I'm guessing whoever was just shot was whoever he scapegoated for the smuggling deals with Hope Falls' administrators.

"I'm sure your staff will be a model of honesty with him gone, Myhailov," Lachesis remarks dryly, helpfully providing his name. "The Supreme Leader and I will help you pick it." She's enjoying this. Perhaps that's her weakness.
"This isn't the end. I will return to the Supreme Leader's table when I have conquered Troizen."
"Make sure your men have treatment against swamp fever. I hear it's rampant over there. Isn't that correct, Doctor Menkales?" Lachesis rubs it in.
"Ah, yes, Lord Commander. Endemic even. Quinine. I believe Sibylla has an expertise in keeping the mosquitoes away."
"From the Academy."
"You can impart all your knowledge later," Lachesis states, all business again. "Captain, bring Bakios in."
There is a gasp from the Bakios family when the fallen patriarch goes on his last walk. He isn't looking good. He wears the attire of a common criminal, not his uniform. "Father!" his eldest son calls out. I hear crying from the children. "Shush, children. Be strong – for yourselves, for your father and me," I hear Helena try to calm them.
Bakios sneers. "I've served the fatherland and done nothing the Sith have not done ten-fold," he declares. "The Maker will judge my soul."
"If he exists, he has better things to do," Lachesis says acidly as he is tied to the execution stake and blindfolded. "Disciple, do proceed."
I limp towards the firing squad. "Mr Bakios, you are guilty of treason, theft of Imperial property and murder. Your sentence is long overdue, and will finally be carried out. Present arms." By now this is all very familiar. Moving as one, the soldiers raise their rifles. Most are KEC, but I spot PF goons among the shooters. What a surprise, Commandant Nerachus is among them.

But I hear a wail of despair and rage. "No, no!" the girls shrieks.
"Paula, get back here!" her mother yells frantically, trying to grab her.
"No, father!" And then I can no longer deny or ignore what I felt in their former home, for the Force erupts inside her. Untrained, unrefined, but filled with rage and grief. The instinctual blast of Force energy knocks her mother back, pushing her into the ground. Two of the shooters are thrust into the dirt. I stagger as it slams into my knee. Pain surges through my weak leg.
"Paula!" I hear one of the boys cry.
"Daughter…what are you doing? Stop!" that is Bakios, voice filled with fear and terror. "Stop!" The girl stands there, shaking as tears drip down her cheeks, in the grip of powers she cannot control. I can feel the energy crawling over her body. Rifles are levelled on her. "Hold fire," I hear Diamandis command with calm confidence.

Reaching out with the Force, I touch her mind. She is a storm of emotion, caught in a whirlwind of rage and fear. Let him go, give me my father back, give me my mother back, my family…she roars in her mind. In my grasp the Force wraps around her mind and body, deadening her senses. Feeling energy leave her, she struggles, but there is no training behind it. Sleep, my command echoes in her mind. She drops to the ground, going rigid.
Her brothers rush to her, but troopers grab them. "She killed Paula!" the younger boy yells. They struggle. Indeed I'm certain the oldest tries to bite one of the troopers. Not that it helps at all. "Boys, stop!" their mother yells. "Now. For your sister's sake."
"Listen to your mother. There's nothing you can do. Obey the Leader," Bakios orders sternly. "Please leave my boys alone. They're just acting out of grief. They're good lads. They'll serve the Imperium loyally."
"Let them be," I speak. "They're not guilty. Only he is. Fire." Shots ring out and Bakios is riddled with bullets.
"Thus to all traitors!" I hear Necharus declare loudly. Must be really eager to ingratiate himself. Ignoring him, Lachesis walks towards the prone Paula. Turning her around, she looks down at the girl. When she looks up, her expression is…intrigued. Like a shark that has smelt blood. "Hasapis, take her away. Do not harm her, but slap a collar on her and make sure there's a reliable guard at the door. She will be trained," she shoots Helena look, "as she always meant to be."
"Right away, Lord Commander."
My gaze settles on Helena. She looks crestfallen…but not surprised. Resigned. I step over to her. "You knew." It is a statement, not a question. "But he didn't."
Her voice is choked with emotion. Tears have made a mess of her makeup. "I knew what you Sith would turn her into if you took her. And now I can't even say goodbye to her. I hope you're satisfied."
"I take pleasure in your husband's death, and in your life being ruined. I feel sorry your sons, and I especially feel sorry your daughter. You and your husband's actions have given her the worst of all futures. Matron, take them away."

Paula's rigid body has been picked up and is being carried away. She looks so deceptively peaceful. Poor lass. The academy will be hell for her. She will be utterly broken or die or come out of it twisted and warped. Like we all do. Maybe I should've killed her. I could still spare her. It would be a simple matter of reaching out and making her heart stop. It's not like I haven't murdered a child before. What's one more? And then I feel my invisible grasp has already wrapped around her. Sweat drips down my face. It takes all my focus not to sway. There's that awful, queasy feeling in my stomach like I'm about to vomit. I drop my hold. The moment to spare her has passed.

Chairwoman Nass and Ral Kel, the fallen Prefect's Duros secretary, are next, along with a mixture of xenos I don't recognise. What all the latter have in common is that they belong to the disfavoured xenos species – Twi'lek, Rodian, Mon Calamari. None of them look good. They are beaten when they stumble. Quickly I wipe the saliva from my mouth, hoping no one has seen it. Nass is limping badly, but nonetheless the Gungan walks with her head held high even though I feel every step must pain her. "No thank you, sir," I hear her say in a hoarse, pain-filled voice when a soldier is about to apply a blindfold. The trooper seems taken aback, as if not sure whether to beat her or not for speaking up.
"Leave it off, and proceed," I snap. Then the order is given, and the soldiers fire. Bodies drop like sacks of empty potatoes. Some fall on top of the corpses of those who were shot before them. Soldiers go around to check everyone is dead. A few more gun shots and it's over. Xenos minions start gathering the bodies for an unmarked grave.

"The Gungan died with more dignity than I'd expect from a species so cowardly. Well, well." Smug satisfaction rolls off Lachesis' tongue. "The Bakios family is more interesting than I thought. Curious that she wasn't tested. It's quite fortuitous that I brought you along, Kyriaki. If you hadn't suggested that the child should witness the father's death, we might never have discovered her."
There is a flicker of emotion on Cordé at the mention of me making the children witness this. Troubled? She sighs. "It's sad her awakening was so…traumatic. The Disciples can turn this girl into a force of good for mankind, but I fear for her mental state. It won't help if she suffers stigma through no fault of her own."
"Her memories could be altered. It would be efficient," Sibylla suddenly opines. "Let her be reborn as a ward of the order."
"It is the most humane solution, my lord," Cordé says thoughtfully.
That child just saw her father shot. He was a horrible man, but her father nonetheless. "It won't be true loyalty, just an illusion. A mind is a delicate thing. Even with the best reprogramming, flashes of memory may remain. If her conditioning is broken, she will explode in hatred for the Imperium," I point out.
"If it's done incorrectly," Sibylla responds dispassionately.
Lachesis cuts into the conversation smoothly. "I have full confidence in my Apprentice's skills. She's all yours, Sibylla...try not to make a mess." She turns to me with a dispassionate gaze. "And should she break her conditioning she would have demonstrated her strength. Strength which will either be harnessed for the Imperium...or wasted on futile acts of rebellion leading to her demise. Either way, a good example." Her gaze is unsettling, as if she's staring into my soul. Paranoia fills me, but I remain calm. "The dramatics are over. Tomorrow, more work awaits us…but for tonight we have a little get-together scheduled, Kyriaki. Your pets aren't. Young Sibylla and the good doctor are going to regale us with a musical recital later. Don't dilly-dally you two. We do need some ambience." She turns away. Honna grunts something and heads away.

"I didn't know you were so musically inclined, my lord," Cordé says. "I really wanted to play the flute when I was young, but I just couldn't get the hang of it." She pointedly only looks at Sibylla even though Menkales is right next to her.
"I play the piano. Probably the only lesson from home that I actually enjoyed. I play, and I feel free," Sibylla replies. "But Jonas here can reduce grizzled veterans to tears when he gets out his violin. Chazowa veterans tell stories about him reviving their fighting spirit while Dominion artillery rained hell on them."
"Now you're giving me performance anxiety," the doctor of death jokes. "Music speaks to the soul, unearthing sorrow and joy, reminding us of our infinite fragility and strength. It helped us endure those dark nights of terror."
"You'll have to tell me all about it," I speak smoothly. "I'm sure you'll live up to the hype, doctor. No pressure."
"Thank you for the endorsement," he tips his hat. "See you in a bit," I notice how Cordé shuffles away a bit as he passes. Sibylla follows him.
"Just a moment, Cordé," I say and go after Honna. Or rather I limp. "Corporal," I call out to her. Mercifully she has not walked far, quickly turns and comes back.
"M'lord?"
"Do me a favour and check on the children, would you? They should be in the basement. Make sure…make sure they're alright."
The Gamorrean scrutinises me, nods. "Will do. M'lord better go. There's vipers all 'round her. But she can count on Honna." She stomps away, and I head back.
"Right, to the festivities," I mutter to Cordé. "Don't celebrate too hard. Something tells me we'll have an early morning tomorrow," I try to joke. I'm not good at jokes.
"I'm not given to excess, my lord. And this should be a solemn occasion, not a party," she states primly. She regards me with that eternal mother look. "Are you alright, my lord? I don't mean to pry, but earlier I could not help notice…"
"I'm fine," I cut her off. The courtyard is filling with even more people. Even the wounded are in attendance, as shown by a crippled KEC soldier in a wheelchair being wheeled in. Hasapis has returned, helping some minions carry a bunch of huge crates. Then he proceeds to distribute wine. "And remember, you got the lady to thank for the booze," he bellows! "So let her know you're grateful." I feel rather embarrassed when a couple soldiers start singing my praises and thanking.

Diamandis, Menkales and Sibylla are chatting chatting animatedly. Squire Kynnos is standing in a corner all alone. The courtyard is a cacophony of sound, but all conversations die down when Lachesis strides towards the spot where corpses lay just a few moments ago. Soldiers erupt in cheers. "Auntie Lachesis! Auntie Lachesis!" many call out. It takes a while for the noise to die down. But they fall silent when she waves her hand. "Comrades, don't worry, I'll keep this to the point. You're not here to listen to long-winded bloviating." Some laughter. "Just two weeks ago, we pacified Phaestos. We barely had time to rest before we were sent to Hope Falls. You've done your duty, but it hasn't escaped me there have been murmurs of disconcent, of confusion. The xenos Dominion bombed us and killed our friends – our brothers. Why haven't we struck back? Why do we have to hunt down common thieves?"

She pauses. "I'm with you all the way. We will avenge our brothers. We will drive a blade through the Dominion's heart. And we will drive the Xenos Guard out of the swamps. But to fight we need food. Every piece of grain, every loaf of bread we recover saves human lives. Of our comrades, our families, of all our fellow humans who are counting on us. And we cannot tolerate nests of pestilence in our midst. You fought on Chios, at Chazowa, at Adlerberg. You have seen what the xenos hordes and criminal scum are capable of left unchecked.

"There are those who feel that we should show mercy, that we should not turn the screws, that we should show sympathy for the traitors and scum." And then I feel like her eyes are right on me. Boring into my soul. I tense. It's just paranoia talking. Next to me, Cordé is breathing in deeply. Lachesis continues her speech. "To them I say, humanity is facing unending peril; will you be found wanting when the need is here?" I catch a glimpse of Kynnos with his shoulders slumped.

"Whether xenos fall down from exhaustion while toiling in the fields interests me only in so far as the harvest is brought in for our people. When someone comes up to me and says: 'I cannot take the grain from these xenos women and children, it is inhuman; it would kill them,' then I have to say 'you have placed your ego over your blood, because if that grain is not taken from them, human women and children will starve; your comrades will starve.' Not everyone will understand that. But that's fine. We're not like the cowards who think they can pass judgement even though they've never been in battle. Never had to watch their comrades get blown to bits, then climb over their bodies and fight the scum of the galaxy. We're strong; we're firm. We complete this task just as unsentimentally as all things must done in this war of racial struggle: unsentimentally, but from the bottom of our hearts for the fatherland."

And then without prompting, soldiers start to clap. "Praise Vader!" Diamandis calls out in a sharp, commanding voice. "Praise Vader!" the call echoes across the hall, rising like a crescendo. So this is how we embrace evil, with thunderous applause. Eventually, the noise dies down.
"Are you alright, Cordé?" I ask quietly. Are you finally realising what sort of people you serve? That is what I really want to say.
She almost jumps when she hears me, flushing. "I'm fine, just…it's a lot to take in…to think about," she stammers.
"If you wish to talk…"
"I appreciate that…but you have many burdens, my lord."

Meanwhile, Lachesis is addressing the crowd again. "Captain Diamandis, begin distributing the packages. As always, wounded and distinguished rankers come first. Let it not be said that the common man doesn't get his due."
Now I know what the crates are for. Clever. Portray slaughter and theft as a noble task, flatter the soldiers by telling them they're part of the elect, then bribe them. Soon packages are being distributed among the soldiers. Some limp forward on crutches or roll in their wheelchairs. They're given packages of food, items of clothing, chronometers, money – all manners of stuff that I suspect has been confiscated from traitors and 'thieves'. But some get more exotic gifts that I suspect come from Lachesis herself. Common soldiers cheer, but I feel ripples of discontent from some officers in their shiny uniforms. No doubt they don't like the rankers coming first. A few receive gifts from Lachesis in person. Hasapis is one of them. He looks like a schoolboy when she hands him a pistol. "This is great, Lord Commander! Thanks."
"Your thanks is unnecessary, Banneret," I hear her say with a chuckle. "Repay me by using it on some of our enemies."
"Yes, Lord Commander!"

Among the crowd, I spot Necharus, looking very out of place. "Just the man I wanted to talk to," I mutter and head to him. "Come on," I tell Cordé.
"Who, my lord! What an inspiring speech, don't you agree? It felt like a bath of steel," Commandant Nerachus says sycophantically. "Such firmness of purpose."
"The last few days have been a trial for your department. I trust Bakios' execution won't disrupt its firmness of purpose."
He waves his hand dismissively. "The few disloyal who remain are known, few in number and short on time. We stand as one man behind the Imperium. It's a shame it came to this, but, but we must be pitiless against enemies within and without. I assume you will be leaving our humble town soon."
I nod. "I must report to the Supreme Leader. He expects me to speak to him in person," I stress the last word.
"A shame we can't work together longer...but a Disciple's duty to the Imperium never ends."
"As a matter of fact, I think we will have ample opportunity to cooperate. You see, I intend to put down roots here."
His lip twitches a bit. "Oh, will you be taking the Prefect's post?"
"No, my interests are more...commercial. There's just one thing that needs clearing up. While I was studying Bakios' files, I came across your name. As one of his collaborators."
"That cannot be," he sputters. "It is a forgery. I had no part in his criminal activities. He never liked me. He tried to get rid of me for."
And I fish a piece of paper out of my jacket pocket. Entirely random, but it has an official looking seal. "I have the document right here." His face is as white as a clean bed sheet when I wave it around. "Do you know what we do with things like this?" A ball of fire manifests in my hand and the paper goes up in flames. "It will be our little secret. No reason to confuse the narrative."
"No, my lord." He takes a breath. I can feel the hatred seething inside him. "If there's any way I can be of assistance."
"I intend to set up a business enterprise. I understand we have quotas to meet, so it won't consume a lot of manpower. Mainly workers who would be no use in the fields anyway. But I need it to be understood that they are not to be harassed. I will be responsible for disciplining them."
"I would never dream of stepping on a Disciple's toes...but I'm must uphold order in this town, and I'm only in charge of the prison."
"With Bakios gone, there's a vacancy," I smile. There, imagine yourself in his heat, you slimy scumag. "I don't think the top spot has been filled yet. I have yet to confer with Captain Diamandis on the matter, but I'd like someone in charge who understands the new realities. I think we can both do without direct KEC oversight."
"Yes, it's a distraction from their real duties. I think this could be the start of a...fruitful relationship. Might I ask who those workers are?"
"Maiden Tycho will give you a list." A glance at my minion. "Remind me, Maiden, what was the housing block that Fiatkin woman lived in?"
"Um…Block 005, my lord," she says after a moment, clearing her throat. "For ease of identification, I suggest issuing special permits for the workers. The councillor for labour affairs can handle the details."

"A good idea, Maiden," the pompous lackey says. Hearing someone approach, Necharus turns. "Oh, Captain Diamandis! Enjoying the festivities?"
"It's not a party, Commandant. We're here to honour our men, dead and living, and affirm our faith."
"Of course. I've learned so much from your noble bearing. Well, don't let me detain you unduly. Praise Vader!" He clicks his heels together and stretches his arm out.
"What a pathetic little creature," Diamandis mutters dismissively when he's gone. "You're up next, Maiden. Go to the Lord Commander. You're up soon."
"Me?" Cordé squeals, looking like a deer caught in the headlight.
He smiles at her indulgently. "The Lord Commander rewards good service, Maiden. Go on, get your…well, I can't ruin the surprise, can I?"
Cordé looks at me hesitantly. "Go, Maiden. Don't keep her lordship waiting," I say encouragingly.
"Yes, my lord," she finds her voice again.
"Is this practice tradition in Lord Lachesis' forces?" I query as I watch Cordé hasten away.
"These men have been in the field for a long time. She's paid for prosthesis out of her personal purse when the Veterans' Department wouldn't cover the cost. When they retire, anyone who wants it will get a land grant."
"On Chios."
"And one day in the lands we'll liberate from our enemies." He lights a cigarette, and puffs on it, holding the smoke in his lungs. "After we've removed the squatters," he exhales. "Might I ask what you talked about with that slime, lord?"
"Just assessing him. I have an interest in seeing the PF reformed, as I'm sure you can imagine."
"Quite. You did spend a lot of time being inconvenienced by 'rogue' members. But as I recall, you accused Necharus of being on the take. You must suspect he had something to do with the attempt on your life."
"You said it yourself. He's a pathetic little creature – and a malleable one. We filled the PF with xenos to keep the lesser beings divided. They'll always be thugs; they just need to be our thugs. He's a familiar face who can reassure them…and understands the new reality, guided by the KEC."
"Just watch out for snakes like that, my Lord. The cowardly can still strike from the shadows. Keep him on a short leash if you want him as your minion."
"Speaking of snakes, I saw the traitors' houses were being cleared out. What will happen to their servants?"
The Captain has an expression of puzzlement. "Be reallocated I guess, maybe disposed of if they're useless," he says nonchalantly, as calmly as if he is discussing something as banal as the weather. "Why do you care about the xenos?"
"Because they're production ingredients for a business enterprise. Clothing and so on. I'd like to have a look and see if any of these creatures can be of use."
"If you want a bunch you can have them, just make sure they don't get lazy or cause trouble for others. Spare the whip, spoil the xenos, know what I mean?"
I chuckle. "All too well. They'll work diligently if they know what's good for them. I think their labour should repay the KEC for cleaning up this town, don't you think?"
"Boots, my lord," he says. "For the rainy season. Excuse me, I have to get back. Talk to me when you have something set up."

Hasapis is showing of his gift to his friends and comparing presents. And Cordé has finally been called forward. I have to strain my ears amid all the noise to hear what Lachesis is saying. The Force helps. Cordé looks sullen, while Hasapis saunters over to me with a broad grin. "Look what I got!" he shows off his pistol. It looks like a small hand cannon, with engraved Vaderite symbols. The handle has real wood. "Fires explosive rounds. Great against Jedi." He looks into the direction of some officers who are lining up for their rewards now that the rankers have received their share, and laughs. "Look at how prissy that twat looks," he declares, pointing at one of them.
"I did detect some resentment from a few of your officers," I remark.
"They want it all for themselves. Back in my battalion, we had a pompous jerk who didn't care about us getting expired MREs while he was wined and dined. When Lachesis found out, she sent him to the 'house of poor nourishment'," he grins. "Had the pleasure of dropping him off. Still remember her instructions to the cook: 'No variety. Overcooked. Tinned food with no fresh vegetables. Badly prepared. Past expiration date.'"
"She has a flair for poetic irony."
"You could say that. Hey, Maiden, show me what you got. Some bauble?"
"Oh, this necklace," Cordé fidgets a bit as she shows it to us. It's a necklace of silver with a small ruby in the pendant. "It belonged to...a xenos. I don't know who…"
"Who cares?" Hasapis cuts her off. "Whoever it was, she stole it."
"I wish I knew her name. Who she was. But...I suppose we have to be hard." Cordé says the last part mechanically, like she's trying to convince herself.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it, lass. You and me should hit the shooting range sometime. Heard you're a good shot."
"I'm not interested," she responds curtly.
"Leave her alone, Banneret," I interject, looking at him sternly. The courtyard is slowly emptying. "The recital is about to start. Come on." I don't particularly want to attend. My head throbs and all the standing has caused my leg injury to flare up. But I must maintain appearances. At least I'll be able to sit.
"Jonas reserved some seats for us. I'll show you."
"I'm surprised you have appreciation for culture," Cordé says a bit tartly
He smirks. "I can put holes in bad guys and enjoy some good music. When it's not bourgeois crap."

And we are off to the ballroom. It is not hard to find in the villa and predictably grandiose. Ornate chandeliers hang from the ceiling. The large size comes in handy since it is filled with soldiers. Staff members are serving drinks.
As Hasapis said, we get good seats. His is a bit away from ours. Cordé cannot stop fidgeting. She's still holding the necklace and periodically looks at it, sighing. She tenses when I take her hand. "Sorry, my lord, I…"
"Put away," I say in a quiet whisper. There's applause when Sibylla and Menkales, the latter holding a violin case, enter the ballroom and confidently stride to the piano. Some soldiers call out their names.

Menkales waves at them. "Thank you, thank you," getting his violin out. "Ready when you are, Sibie."
"Tonight we play the Dark Father's March," Sibylla announces and sits down at the piano. Silence fills the hall as the pair begins to play. A violin-piano duet is not the easiest combination. At first glance, a violinist makes a racket in front of the piano, relegating the latter to a supporting role. But they work so seamlessly you could not imagine anything else. Two artists weaving a flawless tapestry together.
Every note of their tone is a thing of beauty. The sound of the music is piercing, penetrating. Their fingers move with flawless grace.

"What did Lachesis say?" I ask quietly.
"Lord Lachesis congratulated me on my, um, 'heroism'. I don't see why I should be singled out for it, but…" Cordé begins self-deprecatingly. "She must've sensed I was a bit uncomfortable, and asked me what was wrong. "I said I was uncertain about so many being killed instead of being given corrective measures. She said: 'You grew up on a farm, girl. So did I. Nature teaches us to cull the diseased, the inferior and the unfit. You must tear out the weeds, or they will destroy your crops. When you had a herd of nerfs and one was sick and not giving what it needs to, did you let it keep consuming resources? Of course not, you butchered it...for the good of all. We must not let sentiment distract us from our task.'"
She looks around, biting her lip nervously. "They're listening to the recital," I say calmly, guessing what she is worried about.
"I listened to her speech. All I could think of was that Twi'lek we helped, those children, your slave," she shakes her head. "The Party's always right. I've always been…too soft."
I lean in to her. "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," I whisper. It's what we're told and taught. And yet this room, this ceremony proves otherwise. An elite of tyrants listening to (admittedly good) music played by a butcher and an amoral scientist after having handed out the spoils of the less fortunate. "True strength lies in rising above the herd." I glance at the necklace she holds. I shouldn't push it any further, so I just give her what I think is a meaningful look and return focus to the music.

The recital is powerful. Fluid. Overwhelming. It's perverse. They are horrible people, but they have artistic talent that should have made them famous. But they've chosen to be evil. But I find it more and more difficult to focus on the recital. My breathing is fast. Too fast. Out of nowhere, my heart is racing. My hands feel clammy and sweaty. Sweat pours down my face.

Oh, Force. No, no, no. Make it stop. Make it stop.

"My lord!" I hear Cordé call out in alarm. "She needs some water."

But it feels like she's miles away. My heart is beating horribly. I get a gripping sensation in my chest and throat. It feels like a vice is squeezing me. Then I start shaking everywhere. I feel like my body is moving at the speed of light. I want to run, but it feels like I'm frozen. The recital has come to a close, and Lachesis has walked up to Sibylla and Menkales. The crowd is clapping.

And I cannot hold myself any longer and run, as fast as my weak legs can carry me. I need fresh air, I just need to be…anywhere. Anywhere where they cannot see my shame. As I stumble, I hear Lachesis' mocking words. "As least young Kyriaki is polite enough to wait until the show is finished," I dimly hear her say to Sibylla as I stumble out.
"Jonas will help fix her up."
"We'll see...." Whatever else might have been said is lost as the door closes behind me. Pain surged through my body like wild fire, and I collapse in agony.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Kyriaki
​

Everything hurts. I can't move. I can barely breathe.

Gods, it hurts. Make it stop.

Muffled voices. The light hurts so much I can barely see. "We must lie her down. I'll get her in a stable position. Careful with her head." I feel hands grabbing me. I smell lillies as I struggle to force air into my weak, weak lungs. Cordé.

But she's not alone. "Maiden, does she have any medications or conditions?" No, no, not him. Don't tell him, Cordé. Say nothing. I can fix this.
"Uh, she has a...weak heart, Doctor."

"A weak heart...I see," Menkales says in that cold, clinical voice." I must give her an injection."
"Wait, Doctor Menkales..."
"It's the only way."

The headmaster's hate-filled, scornful face flashes appears before me. "Tell me, young one, how many Imperial Credits does a citizen suffering from hereditary defects cost the community?"

"Useless eater! Useless eater! Defective mongrel!"

I want to scream when I feel a cold hand on my neck. But my tongue is rigid, as if paralysed. I can do nothing but lie there limply. I struggle to touch the Force, but I cannot reach it. And then I feel the needle pierce my flesh.

I failed.

Now there's no one to protect Shakka. Or the children.

My last conscious thought is that I'll die without ever seeing Her. Everything goes dark as the void swallows me.

And then the darkness recedes. I awake with a start. I'm alive. I recoil from the light, needing a few moments to get used to it. But it doesn't burn like it did before. Where am I? My hands move with glacial slowness as I touch my arms and limbs. No chains, no ropes, no dark, cold room. There's a cushion beneath my head. I'm lying on a couch. Rubbing my eyes, I see shelves filled with books.

The first thing I hear is the continual rasp Sibylla's breath. "Just as well you're not an infiltrator, they'll hear you coming a mile off," I try to joke lamely.
"But at least I'll reach the target!" the Disciple responds and walks over to me. I blink. I'm not hallucinating. I'm alive. We're in the library.
"Sorry for disrupting your performance," I give her an apologetic smile. "I enjoyed it. You and Menkales have talent."

"Thank you. You were in a bad way. Take it easy, my lord," a masculine voice says. Menkales. He walks over to me and I realise there's a device strapped to my arm. I stiffen, but he looks at me reassuringly. "Just something to check on your heart rate. We can remove it now."

It's like he's an entirely different person. But then I'm not a xenos. Never forget that you're in a room with monsters, Kyriaki. "You saved my life." Realisation dawns over me.
"It's thanks to Maiden Tycho's quick thinking that you got help in time," he says, looking at her with a smile as Cordé steps forward.
"Doctor Menkales' aid was invaluable," she says, forcing a smile. "You gave us quite a shock, my lord. You've been exerting yourself far too much! You need rest and a good meal."
"I...thank you for help, Cordé. And you, too, Doctor."

"Just doing my duty, my lord. I think you can sit up. But best not do any running tonight. It would be ill-advised," Menkales says. Like he's just a normal doctor. And not a creep and a murderer. With his help I sit up. Cordé fetches me a glass of water. I say my thanks and drink slowly.
Menkales and Cordé have a glass each. "I'm abstaining from liquor. It doesn't mix well with work," he explains.
Sibylla taps her mask with a skeletal finger. "And this doesn't mix well with liquid outside of a sterilised environment."

"I think the Maiden's right, my lord. Some food to settle your stomach would do you good. At least a snack and some juice," Menkales said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I know the ministry says we should be frugal with our meals but I think you've taken that too much to heart, my lord. You're far too thin."
There's nothing lecherous in his gaze when he scrutinises me. Just like any other doctor. It would be different if I was a Twi'lek. A piece of meat for him to take apart. I suppress a shudder. "Not a fan of the 'perfect' figure of a Wolf News anchorwoman?" I try to joke.
"That network really sets the wrong example for young girls," Cordé says primly. She's absolutely right.
"I can't tell one of them from the other. I've seen more individuality in Dominion clones mass produced on the assembly line," Sibylla remarks.

"Technically, I am one of those clones," I point out. "Though it seems...all the others died. I suppose I was the special one." I stretch a bit. My limbs feel tired, but it's progress. "Cordé, can you get the butler to fetch some food? And make sure to get some for yourself."
"I shall, my lord. And you shouldn't stay up much longer. A good night's sleep cures many ailments." How can you sleep soundly after all the murder?

"Kyriaki," is what I say instead. At her puzzled look, I speak again. "Kyriaki is sufficient...when we're alone. I look at the doctor. "And...for your as well."
"Oh, my lord...um, Kyri...Kyriaki, you h-honour me," Cordé gets all flustered. Her face turns scarlet, just as I imagine Elpsis' hair looks. As mine looked before I dyed it black.
Menkales is a lot more composed. He grins broadly. There, let him think we have a special bond. "And it's Jonas for you, Kyriaki. I'd be happy if we can be friends. I will naturally observe all rules of propriety in public."
"Back in a couple minutes, my lord...uh, Kyriaki. This will take getting used to. In a good way!" Cordé says hastily and quickly turns on her heels.

"I could give you a full medical in Adlerberg," Menkales suggests, sitting down on a chair near me. I stiffen, but as I look into his eyes and reach out through the Force I feel...concern. "I think your problem lies with your heart and blood pressure. That's what's causing you to faint, but I'd like to run a full exam. We can make arrangements to keep everything confidential." His gaze is completely serious.

"Thank you for your offer. It's very kind of you. But I'm too busy right now. You know about my project. And I imagine you have much to do as well. I already feel much better thanks to your help. Let's talk about it at another time."
"Very well, just think about it. It's no sign of weakness to seek help."

"Jonas knows his craft. I'm standing here because of his care," Sibylla interjects. "If you prefer more...esoteric healing methods, I could alchemise you a bit. Side effects might include a desire for raw flesh, tentacles and a penchant for mustard seeds. The last one is true, actually, I created the most adorable Sithspawn who loved mustard seeds. He didn't last long though before he broke apart into goo, but it was a good start."

That makes me laugh. Quite a bit until I have to cough and my throat itches. "Have you thought about perfecting the process and unleashing them on the Dominion? They'd be all out of mustard."
"Tell that to the Magister of Biotic Science. At the academy, everyone wanted to make the next Dark Blade of Darkest Darkness to eclipse the Light," Sibylla says dismissively.
"And you wanted to make adorable Sithspawn and build a ghost-industrial complex."
"Oh, the ghosts came later. I started out making...enchanted locks."

I raise an eyebrow. "Alchemised," I surmise. "You applied the principles we use to imbue our blades and armour."
"Precisely. Supernaturally strong; they'll never grow rusty."
"How come no one ever thought of that? It's brilliant."
"Why, thank you. Too complex for broad-scale production, but something for a secret vault or sensitive areas in an important base."
"Or a factory. Imagine an unbreakable piston in a mill or forge."
I can't read her expression due to her mask, but I detect amusement in her aura. "Thinking about your own project?"
"As I said, there could be room for synergy."
"I can confirm Sibylla's not exaggerating," Menkales chimes in. "I have a set of her locks for my lab."
"Where's that? Chios?"
"Oh, no, not anymore. I haven't been there in a while. I try to join the boys when I get the chance, but my real work takes place in Camp Progress. You've heard it?"
Of course I have. Everyone in the Imperium knows the name. How could they not? It's next door to Adlerberg. Drive half an hour with a groundcar, and you'll see the perimeter. Walls, watch towers, barbed wire, soldiers. But no one talks about what goes on there.

"Familiar with it. Never visited it. I gather the antisocials, xenos and criminals are in good hands. What's your position there?"
"Camp doctor. I see to our men's good health and make sure there are no epidemics. Whenever a new transport arrives, I try to be at the ramp to assess the new arrivals. Some can work, others are too far gone, but may still be useful in other ways."

He says it so casually. I can imagine him standing on a ramp when a cattle wagon with openings covered in barbed wire arrives, and a mass of frightened, malnourished prisoners is forced out by the guards with yells, beatings and lashes. I imagine him with a cheerful smile on his face, whistling and making light-hearted jokes with his colleagues as he sets to work. And decides who lives or dies. Who will toil and work themselves to death, and who will be murdered right away or given to him to experiment on.
I sip my glass. "So what we'll be doing tomorrow. No wonder we could reach such a productive arrangement. You're very committed."
"I strive to advance our species." There's a glint in his eyes. "Knowledge, progress – that's what I want, Kyriaki. For mankind, for Tephrike."

"Yes, progress...," Sibylla starts, but then cuts off when we hear footsteps from outside. Vexa and Ollia walk in, balancing plates of foods, followed by Cordé and a grumpy looking Goren. "Chin down, look at where you're putting the plate, not your betters. Make sure you don't spill anything. This is the library of the Supreme Leader, not a tavern!" he barks at the girls. "Now where's the table..."
"It's fine," I interrupt, stretching out my hand. "Just give me the plate."

Ollia passes it over, looking demure. I feel flush with embarrassment when the scent of food makes my stomach rumble. Nerf steak with cherries and mashed potatoes. It all looks fancy. Her eyes linger on the meat just a moment longer than proper. Poor girl.
"Girl, do not covet what your betters have rightly earned, be grateful for the chance to serve them," the butler snaps.
"Sorry, sir! Just making sure I hadn't spilled anything. Y'know, it would be...bad if the carpet got dirty," she says quickly.
"Especially since we're in a library," I add. "She's just been doing her job. No doubt she has taken your strict discipline to heart."
"Hmm. I should hope so. The steak is fresh, my lord. The nerf was just slaughtered today."
Vexa gives a plate to Menkales. I don't take my eyes off him when he reaches out for it. Ollia is fidgeting, her Rodian friend cocks her head to take in the room. Looking for exits – and signs that someone will strike her, no doubt. "I don't think I've seen that one. She has the look of someone plucked from the street."
"They belong to me," I state.
"Ah, I see. Don't be nervous. You've nothing to fear from me," Menkales says ever so softly, smiling. It's even creepier than his usual behaviour if you know who he is. Reaching into his jacket, he picks out two snack bars. Vexa slightly raises her chin a bit to see what he's holding, but doesn't move, standing there rigidly, hands clasped in front of her. Ollia is looking at the floor, legs together, playing with the hem of her outfit. "I'm not trying to trick you. Which one of you wants a treat?" Cordé's jaw tightens as she glares at him. "It's too late for sweets," she states icily. "Doctor."

I wave my hand tiredly. "It's fine. For this night. Share them. "
Slowly, Vexa takes the proffered snacks. "Thank you, Master. Sir."
"Now go to bed, girls. Don't leave the basement. If you do, there will be trouble. You don't want that. Shoo."
"Good night, Master. Thank you, Master," Ollia says, bowing her head. Vexa follows suit.
"I shall make sure they don't get up to mischief, my lord," Cordé promises piously. While her eyes are on Menkales.
"They need to work more." the butler grumbles like the arrogant oaf he is. He looks at Sibylla. "I've been informed you require special preparations to eat, my lord. The requested room has been sterilised for your use. Do you wish anything in particular?"
"I bring my own food. Make sure the room is untouched."
"Yes, yes, of course, my lord."
Force, I'm so hungry. I have to restrain myself to maintain propriety instead of gouging myself. "Oh, Mr Moren, some fruit would be nice," I call after him just as he turns to leave.
"Of course...my lord," he says through gritted teeth. "Shall I prepare them in any way or would you just like...fruit...on a plate?"
"Fruit on a plate."
"As you wish...my lord."

"A greenie and a feline. At least there's no risk of someone treating such creatures like a human child," Menkales shakes his head when they've left the library. All his fake kindness has dissipated. "Quite a stroke of good luck for them that they ended up yours, Kyriaki. Who knows what could've happened to them if they'd been found on the streets without gainful employment.
"Who indeed. The Vader works in strange ways." I cut a piece of my steak, and bring the fork to my mouth. I chew slowly before swallowing, look back down at the meal. Was the nerf taken from a farmer by thugs along with crops? Was a family left to starve, or were they just shot outright? My cybernetic fingers twitch. "Now, where were we again? Something about progress?"
As expected, Sibylla pounces. "Ah, yes. What we sorely need! I visited the camp a years back. Jonas showed me around. The selection methods are scientific," she says with a side-glance to Menkales. "How we utilise prisoners selected for labour is not."
"Ah yes, Sibylla has ideas about the labour force and efficiency," Menkales says with a wry smile while he helps himself to his meal.
"Anything is more efficient than dragging xenos around and working them to death," she said stiffly. I am interested for a moment, Sibylla is surely not motivated by altruism. "Slave labour is inherently inefficient because it relies on the xenos. If our system of rule has shown us anything it is that the xenos is lesser to us, so why are we relying on them for vital industries and production? They are in many ways a weakness since we need to feed them enough so that they work, which is taking resources from others who need them. No, my research and theories propose a better solution; machines powered with the Force."
"Animated by living essence?" I enquire.
"Yes. Xenos, criminals, work-shy. Fertilise the soil with their remains. The machine will not tire, need food, rebel or try and escape. That is the future of menial tasks, not xenos scum. We'd honestly do better evicting almost all the xenos from the Imperium save for a few, and save on the drain on resources to support them."

And there it was, my brief flicker of hope is gone. Unlike Menkales, Sibylla is not blinded by a malignant ideology; she just looks at an illogical realm logically. She's dangerous. Very dangerous. One day, I will have to kill her.

"Let the Dominion or Xenos Guard feed them. Perhaps we can trigger another Great Famine by driving the hordes across the border. Another thing for the Jedi to deny," Menkales comments with an amused smirk.
"I'm serious," Sibylla states flatly.
"I know, Sybie. You know my opinion. Having such larges hordes of these creatures is problematic from the standpoint of racial hygiene. We've welcomed the pollutant into our midst. But the house slaves are the worst. We're lucky most xenos can't reproduce with us, or we'd be inundated with bastards."
"It's not about hygiene, Jonas," Sibylla retorts. "The Imperium doesn't need them. We're better off without a mutinous underclass."
"Tell that to our good national comrades who don't want to do the work the slaves do. Or the corpos who pay us for them. So we are left with a racial cesspool."
"It's inefficient," she argues.
"I'm a realist. We cannot dispense with them in one go. Chios was a...special case in many ways. Your technology won't be broadly available for a long time. But humanity is under continual threat from the xenos. Within, without. I do what I do to study and understand them, to know your enemy you must understand them, as distasteful as that might be. But one must also use the enemy to one's advantage. Rather than let them laze about and plot we make use of the ones we have here. As long as so many workers are in uniform, we have manpower gap."
"Not the least because every pretentious fool with a fancy title has their little vanity project to siphon off labour."
"That's why I'd nationalise all slaves..."
"Won't help as long as..."

The conversation fades a bit into the background for me as the butler returns with a Duros, who's carrying a plate with some fruit. "Here, my lord. Is there anything else, my lord? I live to serve, my lord?"
"No, you're dismissed." I take the plate without bothering to look at him.
"Yes, my lord. Why are you just standing there?" he growls at the servant. "Shoo. There's still cleaning to do, and the brats need their nap."

Rolling my eyes, I turn my attention back to the terrible duo. Menkales seems to be in the middle of something. "...really need to finish that paper on Sithspawn labourers..."
"If I may," I raise my hand like I'm back at school. It has the desired effect.
"Look, Sibylla, we've been yapping so much we forgot about our new friend. What kind of impression are we conveying? Especially you."
"I was talking about the future. You derailed me," she counters, though there's no anger in her tone. "Sorry, Kyriaki."
"It's alright."
"Well, what do you think?"

"I think...," I clear my throat. It is still itching. "We must not be constrained by outdated methods. We say nature is the survival of the fittest, that is to say the most adaptive," I say with a nod to her. "That said, the xenos aren't going away any time soon. We must phase them out wherever we can, but if we adopt...drastic measures without forethought it would produce...turmoil. The xenos are never our friend. They must not be allowed to pollute our blood," a glance at Menkales.

"But they are divided. We must keep them that way, binding those we need to us through a...selective system of incentives and disincentives. See, as long as the view of a work-horse is constrained to whatever is in front of it, it will accept any incentive placed at its nose. Remove the binders, it will see what its fellows are being fed and demand the same. The others notice, and you have an endless cycle of waste. But if the horse knows no better, you can even trick it into thinking that its fellows are suffering just as much if its fodder must be cut, within reason."
"Are you critiquing my Master?" Sibylla asks. "I'm sure I swept the room for bugs, but who knows..." It's too dead-pen for me to tell whether she's making a joke or not. Damn that mask.
"No. Lord Lachesis has energetically responded to a den of corruption. Human lives first – always. But we can't make policy ad hoc. When we punish a beast, we communicate the reasoning clearly, set boundaries and give it treats for good behaviour. It might still yearn for freedom...but will fear the risk. Even a nerf that produces less milk than its fellows is still useful."
"Well said, Kyriaki!" Menkales says with a smile. Is he flattering me, or is he genuine? Maybe both.
"Yes, it's certainly an interesting theory you've put a lot of effort into," Sibylla says. Her eyes are on me, unreadable, for a moment.

"Just a thought. I intend to put to the test soon. Science is a process of discovery, after all," I say with a shrug.
"Yes, indeed," Menkales says as he wipes his chin after helping himself to some meat and gravy. "Would you like to read my paper when it's ready? I'd appreciate your insight."
"The one about Sithspawn?"
"Yes. We use alchemy to create war beasts and zoo attractions, so why not labourers? We already have the science to bring the xenos back to their natural, animalistic state."
"The machine is superior," Sibylla opines. "You can actually use it for complex tasks because it's not driven by instinct."
"And that same instinct means the beast cannot rebel, which I can't necessarily say about the machine. I think you're a wee bit biased," Menkales replies with a smile.

There is a kind of easy-going camaraderie between them. Maybe it's a bit like watching a brother and sister bicker. I would not know. If Eisen is the father and Lachesis the mother, are Sibylla and Menkales meant to my closest thing to siblings? My sister and brother in murder and evil. The thought is like bile in my throat. I'd...I'd rather have Cordé. And Shakka. Who I put in chains. Where is she? She should be here by now. Is she alright? I clench my cybernetic hand, feeling a stab of phantom pain. Damn it.

I almost don't notice when Menkales addresses me. "You've barely eaten, Kyriaki," he looks at my plate critically. His is almost empty, even though he's talked so much.
"Oh, I'll have more when my stomach's settled a bit. The fruit's helping," I lie. Picking up an apple, I take a bite. "You two seem like peas in a pod. How did you meet?"
"I was wounded in a bombing. Light Sith heretics. Menkales saved my life. Put in the box and all."
"I saw the doctor botch the job and stepped in," Menkales adds.
"My parents 'wasted no expense' at fixing me up. Probably the greatest gift they gave me...even though it was just to protect an investment," she says darkly. There it is again, that contempt when she mentions her family. I must dig deeper, but carefully.
"They never knew what they had in you. Their loss. Anyway, we clicked. few months later, Sibylla saved my life from Light Sith assassins. I still remember how she tore through the xenos lovers. It was like a dance."
"Hmm I heard of these 'Light Sith' at the academy, but the curriculum didn't go into detail. They're terrorists who betrayed the Imperium because they claim the Vader commands them to free the xenos?"
"Fools and weaklings. Couldn't handle the teachings of the Imperium so they went soft and started following tenets like the Jedi," Menkales opines.
Sibylla's reaction is more studied, a glance at me. "Yes, they follow a radically different and inferior path. Rejects from the academy, do-gooders and idealists, xenos lovers and traitors. But these 'Inheritors of the Light Father', as they have absurdly named themselves, lack the resources and strength to make a real impact."
"I recall reading them having a hand in that uprising in Prosperity Quarter years ago. Was their leader ever apprehended?"
"Furcht vaporised their headquarters." That's not really an answer. "A group of anarchists is a mob, so despite their odd attempts they're nothing to be concerned about," Sibylla says. How much does she believe, and how much is being said because it's expected?
"We just have to be always on guard against deviancy and treason," Menkales declares piously. With him, I think there's no question that he buys into it.
I pour some water into my glass, then his. "Here's to that," I raise my glass. "And to the competent Imperials."
Menkales raises his glass with a smile. "To the competent Imperials." Our glasses clink together. One day I will wipe that smirk from his face, and make him suffer.
"I'll drink to that in spirit," Sibylla says wryly. But as I drink, I sense a familiar presence through the Force.

Then I hear the approaching footsteps, and there's a knock on the door. "Master, your slave's here to see you."
"Come in," I call. A moment later Shakka enters, followed by Cordé. My Twi'lek visibly stiffens when she sees Menkales. She is not looking good. Her clothes look a bit dirty, and she's limping. She bows her head. "Sorry for interrupting, Master. Maiden Tycho said I should report to you here."
"It's fine." Haughtiness seeps into my tone. My eyes travel over her. Is that smoke I'm smelling? "I assume you completed your assignment."
"Um, yes, Master."
"Are you hurt? No need to be afraid, my crimson skinned creature," Menkales says in that calm, creepy voice. "Come over here, and tell us what ails you."
I notice that Cordé immediately walks forward, positioning herself at Shakka's side. There is a deep scowl on her face. My Twi'lek has gone rigid. "I must report to Master, sir," she states.
I put down my glass. My legs feel wobbly when I get up, but I manage to stand. "I'm afraid we have to cut things short. My slave has to give her report and I'm feeling a bit tired." As if on cue, I yawn. "Thank you again for your help," I look at my two 'friends', "and the delightful, riveting conversation. We really have to do this again." I pick up my plate with what's left of the food.
"A pleasure, Good night, Kyriaki," Sibylla says. I sense amusement emanating from her, but I'm not sure what the source of it is.
Menkales is all smiles again. "We three will make a good team. See you tomorrow, my friend. If there any complications...you know who to call." I shake hands with these two polite, intellectual monsters and go.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Shakka​

And so we're back to me. Not quite where I left off. From the povery-stricken, decrepit, drab shithole barracks and blood-soaked ditches of Hope Falls to the villa where the elite wine, dine and plot how best to starve thousands of people.

Fortunately, my groundcar wasn't stolen. And the guards at the gate don't make get out and submit to an 'inspection'. So I pass through easily enough, letting out the breath I totally wasn't holding, park the car and get out.

Okay, gotta find Master. And spin a good story for her. The courtyard is almost empty, just some goons on patrol. I can hear music coming from the main building. Some classical shit. I'm about to walk over, then I hear a call.

"Oi, little red!" I spin, realising it's Honna. This could be bad...or good. The Gamorrean stomps over me, puffing on a cigarra. "You look like shit," she grunts as she looks me up and down. "One of mine or humies?"
I freeze for a moment before nodding. "Humies." Not totally true, but close enough. A pause before, I add: "Met your mother. She's...nice. She helped me."
Her expression softens a bit. "Mama's a good soul. Better than me." She sounds almost...melancholic? Sad. Then she slaps me on the shoulder and I almost stumble, making me glare at her. "Don't ya worry none, little red. I won't tell on ya."
I look up to her, and when I speak, the gratitude's not feigned. "Thank you, Honna."
"Frak. Don't ya get all huggy on me. Got a rep."
"Yeah sure. What's going on here?" I make a circular motion with my hand. KEC and PF thugs are coming out of the main building, laughing. Some look drunk.
"Humies havin' a party," she snorts. "Honna not invited. Or little red. Jerks."
What are they celebrating? Killing a bunch of people who can't fight back and condemning the rest of them to waste away and die? It feels like bile in my throat. It's not fair. None of this. But nothing's fair in hell. Get a grip, Shakka. "Figures. I gotta see Master."
She points at the big building. "With the other bigshots. Little Sith don't look good."
Despite myself I ask, "What do you mean?"
"Little Sith won, but she don't look happy about. Mama'd tell her to eat more."
"Yeah, I'm sure," I mutter, not really worried about that. She's better off than all those folks starving and dying. "Bet your mama'd also tell you not to smoke."
Honna lets out a loud snort. After a moment, I realise she's laughing. "Yeah, she would. But ya don't hafta tell her. Ya should get going. Report to the boss."
"Yeah, I better. Stay safe, Honna."
"Ya, too, little red."

She marches away and I head to the main building. I've just limped my way in when, naturally, there's goons. "You're in the wrong place, wormie. The servants' entrance is around the back. Bugger off," one snaps. I stiffen when I hear the voice and turn.
Two thugs I've met before. The same men Firith and I had to hide in the ditch from. Who murdered my people and complained about it being 'beneath' them. "What are you to, Twi'lek? Planning to sneak in and steal our food?" the other demands.
Frak. Goddess, I don't believe in you, but if you're real and got a moment, please don't let them recognise me. "No, sir. I'm here to see my Master. Master Kyriaki. She expects me back."
"She looks familiar," the other remarks. He glances at his buddy. And for a moment it feels like my heart stops. Then he continues. "I've seen her around. That sickly Disciple never goes anywhere without her. Guess she needs someone to catch her when she faints. I swear she follows her into the bedroom, too."

"Your Master's busy, and this is a xenos-free building. Only essential workers."
I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. Keep your nerves together, Shakka. Don't jolt their memory. You're just the xenos slave who has to see the boss. "I can't keep her waiting, sir. Or she'll be angry. Please. You can ask Maiden Tycho." One of the thugs looks to the other. "I know her. Got singled out by Auntie Lachesis at the ceremony. AC woman."
"Right, the softie. Keep an eye on the wormhead. I'll fetch her." It only takes a few minutes for Cordé to come here. A few agonising minutes that feel like eternity while the thug stares at me. And beads of sweat form on my lekku at the prospect that he could recognise me.

Finally, Cordé arrives. "Oh, Maiden, the wormie here insists the Disciple..." one of the goons starts.
But Cordé interrupts him. "Yes, that's her!" she declares loudly. An embarrassed flush spreads across her cheeks. "She must come with me immediately. I thank you for your diligence, Errant. I will bring her to the library. She won't be there long. Doctor Menkales and Disciple Laskaris are there, too. I'll make sure she doesn't get the carpet dirty." My blood runs cold when she mentions him. My skin crawls.

"We'll escort you. You know the regs, Miss. We can't leave you alone with this...devious creature," one goon states.
"Fair, but you leave her to me."
"Don't get your knickers in a twist. Me, I want to see the Doctor," the other thug says. "Not every day you get to watch a hero play for you."
Yes, what a hero. Cordé grits her teeth. "Yes, indeed."
"Have you heard the story of how he saved the division at Chazowa?" the goon continues conversationally.
"No," she states laconically.
"Modest guy. He doesn't brag. He used rabies. Infected a bunch of xenos, dropped them behind enemy lines. They attacked the uninfected, those attacked others. Wreaked havoc among those blasted Windians. He risked his life to make sure it worked. Hasapis had to bail him out."
"That is..."
"Poetic, I know," the other goon says. "Those damn Twi'leks and Muun banksters created the Plague, and he gave them a taste of their own medicine."
"Yes, it is," she says quietly. At least they're ignoring me. As we pass a room, I catch a glimpse of humies drinking and filling their plates at a buffet. Some are singing Vaderite songs. The sight makes me sick. My stomach growls. Everything they have they built on our suffering.

Finally, we're at the library. And then I see him. The monster. With her. My legs go stiff when the creep looks at me like a piece of meat. Something he'd love to prod and inject chemicals into. Or worse. A lab rat. Frak, I just want to kill the monster. I try to get through as best as I can with the normal platitudes. Cordé...stands up for me.

Master shakes his hand with the monster and the Sith cyborg with the mask like they're old pals, picks up a plate full of tasty looking food and we can finally go. Just as we leave, I catch a glimpse of the two KEC goons quickly cornering them.
"Hello, Doctor, my lord."
"My dear Errant, in Humanity's Blade, we don't call a fellow soldier 'my lord'," Menkales corrects him with a chuckle. "I'm sure Sibylla won't take choke you."
"No, she won't," the Sith says wryly. "Relax, soldier. We're all comrades here."
"Right, sorry, Crusader! We really loved your performance."
"Yes. Would you...terribly mind giving us an autograph?" the other goon asks, sounding like he's asking two jizz stars.

"More interested in fanboying than killing and dumping civilians," I mutter acidly. Then I tense, jaw tightening. I shouldn't have said that.
"Yes, indeed," Kyriaki says quietly. "Come on."
Master is silent as we get some distance to the library. She briefly stops when we pass the room where the most of the thugs have finished stuffing themselves. A bunch of them are still smoking and drinking while minions clear away the buffet. She walks in, and starts shoving leftovers onto it before exchanging some words with a servant who's clearing stuff away. When she comes back, she's holding two plates and both are covered in clingfilm. She shoves the second into my hands. "Don't drop it," she orders me curtly. She doesn't say anything else until we're out in the courtyard. Then she looks me up and down, raising an eyebrow. "You're hurt. What happened to you? What the hell took you so long?" her voice is low, but insistent.
"Sorry, Master. We had to, uh, take a detour."
"A detour?"
"Master, thugs were grabbing folks on the street!" I don't need to fake the outburst. Just draw upon what I've had to bottle up. "The sick, the wounded. Like you said they would. There was this guy, a Rodian. Firith and me tried to help him. But the arseholes beat us up. We had to hide in some garbage to shake them off." It's a lame story. Good thing my clothes are dry and not totally filthy anymore.
"Really?"

"My lord, Shakka is an obedient girl. One of the good xenos. I'm sure she's telling the truth." Leave it to Cordé to be condescending even when she's being nice.
Kyraki holds my gaze for a long moment, jaw set sight. "Alright, fine. You shouldn't have done that. I can't protect you if you get into fights." She's actually buying this?
"Yes, Master," I say tiredly. "That guy was innocent."
"Why would they..." Cordé mutters, then trails off. Her eyes widen. 'Nature teaches us to cull the diseased, the inferior and the unfit,'" she mutters. Quoting her stupid book again so she doesn't have to think for herself? But she sounds...sad.
"The hospital will be purged tomorrow," Kyriaki states. "That's why Menkales is here. Anyone considered unfit will be eliminated."
"The Imperium wouldn't just kill them for...no reason. Are you sure they haven't...done something?"
"It's all who are too sick to work. The order comes from on high. It's what the council meeting was about."
"You're...part of this?" Even I'm taken aback by Cordé's suddenly accusing tone. I'm struck by the expression her face. Shock. Her upper lip trembles.

I should get mad, too. I want to. But I'm strangely calm. Empty. All these people will die, and she's in it. But...it doesn't surprise me. I think back to Lena, scared and shaken. Menkales' lecherous grin. If only you were red. Mitigation, my arse. Who'll be his number one victim? People like her and me.

Tomorrow, I'll be out. No more bowing. I just have to play along. I stay silent, looking at the floor as we step into the servants' building and head down a corridor, while they talk over me.

"You heard Lachesis' speech, Maiden."
"There must be...someone we can petition. I could..."
Kyriaki's words are sharp and cutting. "This was always the plan. "I'm doing what I can to mitigate matters. You can help me, or not."

"Uh-uh, Master, I got a list of folks from the barracks Lena stays. Folks who'd need...help. And who could help out in the factory." I pass over the paper I got from Aramgir when Firith and I stopped over on the way back. Awinn's name is on it. "I met that Awinn girl. She's good with maintenance stuff. Dia Nilim can sew, Orsk and Wrea know a bit about machines."

I rattle off the names I know from Lena. There's others Aramgir jotted down. All from species we know are on the Vaderites' hit-list. Kyriaki scrutinises it. They're divided by species and skills. "Thank you, Shakka." She passes it to Cordé. "Tomorrow, I need you to liaise with Necharus about this. And inspect the house servants Diamandis rounded up. Pick out all the useful ones. I want you to take a broad definition of useful. A very broad one. Can you do this?" And then she leans forward to her. "'The needs of the many..."
Cordé swallows. "'Outweigh the needs of the few or the one,'" she finishes solemnly. Sounds like another hypocritical Vaderite slogan.
"Shakka, you'll stay in tomorrow. Don't set a foot outside of HQ."
She wouldn't buy if it I don't make a token protest. "Please, Master, let me come with you to the hospital. I can...help. Pick out people to save." I look at her pleadingly. "It's my people there."
"No," she states firmly. "No. My judgement cannot be seen to be influenced by a Twi'lek. And...I don't want you anywhere near Menkales. You stay here. Help Cordé."
"Master..." I sigh, and bow my head. "Yes, Master. Just so you know, Awinn's sis is there."
She rubs her temples. "I'll see what I can do."
"Probably a good idea if you want a motivated worker…Master."
"That's enough."
"I'll make sure she stays put, my lord. And make sure no one bothers her. I'll also call that...friend I mentioned to help with your enterprise," Cordé declares. "Get some sleep, my red skinned friend. Tomorrow we will...do what we do what we must." There is a hint of a crack in her voice. "By your leave, my lord?"
"You're dismissed, Cordé. Get some rest. If you run into Necharus, tell him I want a word. In private."
"And you don't forget to eat your dinner, my lord," the Cordé says in that eternally preachy voice of hers. "It's probably gotten cold." Her big brown eyes dart over to me. "You haven't eaten anything either." Yeah, because xenos are supposed to starve.
Kyriaki takes her arm. "Cordé, get some rest."
"Yes, my lord."

My eyes briefly follow her as she leaves. "What's up with her?"
"Real existing Humanism is not living up to the dream."
I scoff. "All she needs is a pithy slogan in her stupid book. Tomorrow, she'll be back to normal."
"Perhaps."
Something's up with the lighting, so we have to walk slowly as we descend down the stairs to the basement. I guess replacing the light bulb won't be a priority, since this is the place where the 'xenos' live. Kyriaki briefly has to stop, and leans on the wall. She has what I call her magic scanning look on her face as she gazes across the stairway. "All of this wrong," she mutters, so quietly I barely hear her.
"No justice in this world," I say quietly.
She suddenly turns to look me right in the eye. With her pale face, shrouded by the darkness and only dimly illuminated by the light, she looks like a ghost. "Not unless we make it. I will do all in my power to protect you and your family, Shakka. You understand that, don't you?"
I meet her intent gaze. "Yes, Master. You...kept your promise to help Lena. I know you'll do...everything you can. I..believe you when you say you don't want things to be this way." But it's not enough. It's not even her fault really.

But, whatever happens, I'll be the slave. The lesser one. Flimsily protected by a piece of paper that says I'm slightly less expendable than someone who just collapsed from exhaustion in the fields or a mine because a Sith put a collar on my neck. Until her plans require sacrificing me. We walk down in silence, and she knocks at the basement door.

"Girls, it's me. Are you awake?" There is the rustling and shuffling of little feet on the floor, then the door opens little Ollia peeks out. Vexa is at her side, looking intent. "Master?" the Cathar visibly suppresses a yawn, quickly opening the door as she sees us and stepping aside.

Both girls are dressed in oversized nightclothes that are too big for them. I can't help suspect they belong to xenos the humies murdered. But they're out of their dirty rags. The basement's still cold and stacked with boxes. But now there's some extra blankets and there's a camp light for illumination instead of just the old, crappy bulb.
"Hey, girls," I say. "Looks a lot better now. Settling in well enough?"
"Better, yeah. Mr Goren...got us soap," Ollia looks up at us. Both she and her friend have remained standing.
"Good to see he's useful for something if you scold him enough," Kyriaki mutters. "I see you helped yourself to the sweets." She points at a packet on one of the beds. "Enjoying them?" I notice there are two snack bars there, too. Unlike the packet, they're unopened.
"Taste good. Thanks," Vexa says...laconically. She looks at us with caution. Or rather at Kyriaki, taking careful note of her stance, her expression, her eyes.
"The candies were very nice!" Ollia declares with probably exaggerated exuberance. But with her eyes she's watching the doorway. Like she fears Goren or some other thug might suddenly pop up behind us to hurt them. "We're very grateful, Master."
I close the door. "It's just us."

"You can sit down, girls. I'm not here because I need something cleaned," Kyriaki states. They settle on one of the mattresses and she puts the plate down on the blanket. Following suit, I put mine down, too. There is a gasp from the children when she pulls off the clingfilm. Both of them are so thin and skinny my heart breaks for them. "Candies alone are bad for you and you shouldn't stuff yourself...so this is, um, for you. And Shakka. I better not hear anything about one of you not sharing."

Ollia's eyes go wide at the sight as she stares at the leftover meat on the plate. Vexa pinches herself, as if to make sure she's not dreaming. "Why?" the Rodian asks quietly.
"I take care of my own. And," Kyriaki pauses, takes a breath. "What is being done to your kind...is wrong." Vexa and Ollia look at each other, say nothing. "Eat." They start digging in. Ollia immediately goes for the leftover meat. My stomach growls, so I join.
Kyriaki smiles thinly. "Did you have a place to stay before I met you?"
"Innocent Orphan Home," Ollia replies, munching on some meat. Perhaps realising she has her mouth full, she swallows. "But it's not good. Sometimes bad men come. Take kids away," she shakes her head.
I take her furry hand, stroking it. Looking at Kyriaki, I say: "Master, I know what those places are like. Crowded, underfunded, dirty. Good caretakers are over their heads, bad ones are in bed with the thugs."
"PF men?" Kyriaki nods.
"Bigshots," Vexa interjects while munching on some bread.
"Someone in uniform wants a servant, he takes an orphan. Kicks them back into the street when he doesn't want them anymore. Or sells them," Ollia adds.
Kyriaki sighs. "These men are evil. I won't...do this to you. I suppose my word means little, understandably, but I won't." She runs her hand through her hair. "Maybe I'll shall visit this orphanage. Maybe some children can be put to work...productively."
"We have friends there, Master. They'd be good, they'd work hard," Ollia declares eagerly. Vexa shoots her a look.
"Hold that thought. Why don't we talk about your courier duties? You must meet all manners of interesting people."
"We get package, drop it off. Don't read it. Can't," Vexa says laconically.
"Smart. Why don't you tell me about your last assignment?"
And my heart thumps inside my chest just as I was reaching for a potato.
"We made a delivery," Ollia suddenly speaks up. "Found the package in a rubbish bin. No one's surprised 'bout kids looking through garbage for some food. We hid it in the knot of a dead tree trunk in the woods."
"By woods you mean the Sorrow, perchance?"
She shakes her head. "Nah, the ghosts are...scary. And there's been too many thugs mucking about. Folks having secret meetings. We went to the woods near where the ditches are. Then we marked a piece of wall with some chalk to show we'd done the job."
I manage to keep my face expressionless. I bloody hope she doesn't look into things. Trying to seem normal, I stuff a potato in my mouth. "Very professional," Kyriaki smiles. "I'm curious, are all your assignments dead drops?"
"Uh, no," Ollia says. "We meet the sender sometimes, never whoever who gets the message. Sometimes there's no time for a dead drop."
"And have you had any of those face-to-face encounters lately?"
Damn. "Yeah," the Cathar pauses. Anxiety rises inside me. "Night before you meet us...there was someone." Perspiration is gathering on my hands. "A Zabrak. Male."
Vexa's looking intently at me. Finally, she opens her small mouth. Don't say it, don't say it. "That's right," she says at last. "Pale. Jerk."

"I see," Kyriaki says thoughtfully. Is she buying it? "So, who usually tells you when there's something to do? Someone must send you these messages. Or make sure your clients know who to contact," she asks innocently. I see both the girls pause, they know this is a kind question, but it could turn bad if there's an answer their 'benevolent' mistress doesn't like. I want to intervene but shouldn't, might draw undue attention.
"Well, you see, Master, we just hear things around, we never know who...." Ollia says tactfully. "Someone wants something moved. We dunno who, just happens," Vexa adds. This isn't an answer, and we all know it.
But to my surprise Kyriaki just smiles. "I'm sure you girls would tell me if it was someone bad like the Jedi or the Swamp Guard, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yeah, totally, Master!" Ollia declares enthusiastically.
Vexa is much less ebullient. "Sure."
Internally I wince a bit, but Kyriaki just rubs her hands. I can hear the whirring of servos in her metal hand. "Excellent. Thank you for being so forthcoming."
What is she playing at? This is very suspicious. My breathing's steadied. "You're very smart kids," I say. "Master, it's been a long day for them."
"Oh, yes. By all means, enjoy your food."
"Speaking of food, who gave you those?" I point at the snack bars on the bed before Kyriaki can start prodding them again.
"Scary doctor man," Vexa replies. My blood runs cold.
"Yeah, we, um, didn't feel comfortable eatin' it," Ollia adds.
That monster probably poisoned it. "Don't. He's a very evil man," I snarl. "Master, he shouldn't...be left alone with them."
"He won't," Kyriaki says. "'Scary doctor man' is a good description. His name is Menkales. He hates your kind. If he acts nice, he's just trying to lull you into trusting him so he can hurt you. He's an evil man, but influential." She leans forward. "I am a Sith, he's not. He cannot take what's mine. I will protect you from him. He cannot touch you...as long as you obey me and work hard. Do you understand?" The kids nod. "When I'm not here, Maiden Tycho has my authority as far as you're concerned. When Ismene or Goren gives you a chore, do as you're told, but Tycho overrides them. Make sure she's aware of what you're doing and where you are. Ask for her when there's trouble."

"Ismene's okay," Ollia says after a moment, mouth full. "Sorry," she adds, perhaps afraid someone will tell her off for talking with a full mouth. She chews on her food and swallows. "So is Maiden Tycho. We'll pull our weight, Master. We won't mooch off you." Vexa grunts something that I suppose is supposed to show agreement.
"I know you won't, girls." Kyriaki gets up from the bed. "Well, finish up, little ones, I'm sure you have a long day tomorrow. That goes for you too, Shakka."
If only you knew. "Yes, Master. You too."
"Good night, Master," Ollia speaks up.
Kyriaki is already at the door and turns, smiling slightly. "Good night, girls." Then she opens the door and limps out, closing it. I say nothing until I can't hear her footsteps anymore. "Thanks," I breathe in deeply.
"Don't tell us what that thing was about," Ollia says warningly.
"I never met you till I saw you at the villa." We quickly get back to eating. The food is cold and it's leftovers, but it's food. Actually, proper food. We finish up our meal in silence. "Look, girls, things aren't fair for us. We gotta watch what we say, and be careful. Humies will use any excuse to screw us over. But all we can do is stick together and survive."
"Yes," Vexa remarks. She gathers some sauce that has dripped on her chin and licks it from her fingers.
"You gotta be good. Obedient. Even if it makes you feel dirty inside. Do whatever you have to survive till you're old and strong enough. Don't try and fight the humies. Not yet."
"Got it." Ollia is still eating, but Vexa stares at me.
"Something on my face?" I ask to lighten the mood.
"I want something to read."
"What? Why?"
"To learn. Can you get me something?"
"Vexa, if the humies find out, they'd hurt us," Ollia cuts in anxiously. "You know what they did to the kids at the secret school."
"So I teach myself. No school, just me. I want to learn. I'll be careful," Vexa insists, unusually animated...and words by her standards.
"Not that simple," Ollia retorts. "You have to learn to play dumb. All the time. One slip, and they'll know."
"We owe it to the dead," Vexa says flatly.
"Girls." Reaching out, I take one hand each from both of them. "Ollia's right. You have to be super careful. Hard to hide when you can read. You'll look at a document differently if it's not just garble to you." Vexa huffs and opens her small mouth, while Ollia listens silently.
"But," I continue, "learning skills the Vaderites don't approve of makes you valuable. If there's one thing I've learned about them it's this: they make up their stupid laws as they go along. They'll break them when it's convenient...and kill us when it's convenient, too. I can read, I can slice. It's helped keep me alive because I can make myself useful. Master won't hurt me for knowing shit...but others will because every educated xenos is a threat to them. So I've trained myself to be the clueless dumb xenos. Sometimes, I slip up. I've paid the price. You must be better than me."

"Olli?" Vexa asks quietly, staring at her friend. I try to read the look in her eyes and I see something I hadn't seen before. Vulnerability.
The Cathar reaches out and takes her hand, nodding to me. "It could...help. We learn together. I watch your back, you watch mine."
Vexa squeezes. "Always."
"I'll try to get you something, Vexa. Just so you know, it'll definitely be humie garbage." The idea of ripping a few pages out of Glorious Conflict to teach them how to undermine Malitia's sick rambling makes me smile. Imagine the look on Cordé's face about the holy book being vandalised. I won't do that, of course, but it's funny to think.
"Thank you." First time I've seen Vexa smile. It's thin and fleeting, but I know she means it. I release the girls' hands and pull her into a hug. She stiffens, but then relaxes, wrapping her short arms around me. She sniffs quietly. Letting go, I hug Ollia. The little Cathar melts into the embrace, throwing her arms around me. "You're good girls," I say. "Stick together, be smart, keep your heads down."
"You, too," Ollia says firmly, yawning slightly. I feel so bad about leaving them...but this is my one chance. Kyriaki won't hurt them. To my surprise, I don't believe Cordé will either. It'll be hard, but they're smart. They can make it.
"Right, bed time for you. You got a long day tomorrow, so tuck in!"
"You sound like Ms Tycho," Ollia mutters.
I mock glare at her. "That hurt. She's prissy, I'm not." The Cathar giggles a bit. Even Vexa cracks a slight smile. I pick up the plates, and Menkales' snacks. "I'll take these away."
"We weren't supposed to eat now. Will you get in trouble?" Ollia asks, sounding a bit worried.
I shrug. "Master got the food from the humie buffet. I'll just say I'm dropping off her nightly snack."
"Good night," Vexa looks up at me.
"Night, kids."

After bringing the plates away, I hit the shower. The pure xenos one. Just to make sure I can't get delayed tomorrow because Goren decided to be a jerk and change the rules again or I have to put up with his lackey whining about it. There is mould in the shower, and the water is cold, but I don't care. There's some soap there now, but not much. The kids will need it tomorrow, so I leave it. I've kept Menkales' snacks, though I felt like throwing them away. I'm not gonna eat them, but who knows if they might come in handy. I'm exhausted from all that's happened today, yet giddy with excitement when I finally reach my room on the ground floor.

It's the size of a broom closet and has two mattresses in it with rusted iron bedframes. There's light snoring coming from one of the beds, but then the Mirialan's eyes shoot open and she sits up, glaring at me. She looks as if she has a bad smell under her nose. "Must you make such noise? You should've been in bed by now!" she snarls.
"Sorry, had to do chores for Master."
"Riiight. Don't think for a moment you're something special just because you're Master's a Sith. You're a Twi'lek, you're a slave. Nothing will ever change that."
"Hard to forget," I mutter. This is getting me nowhere. I raise my hands placatingly. "Look, sorry for waking you. It's been a long day, and I just want to get some sleep. I'll probably get moved tomorrow, then I'll be out of your hair."
She lies back down in bed and pulls the covers tightly around her. "You better. Just...be quiet, go to sleep and don't bother me." As if I was the one who started complaining. "This place is going to the dogs, letting wormies in here. I shall raise this matter with Mr Goren tomorrow." But even the collab cow can't ruin my spirits. My heart is racing when I quickly undress and fall into my bed. I can't quite believe it. Tomorrow's the day. This is really happening. Tomorrow, I'll save myself, or die trying.

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Kyriaki
​

How do you sleep after you've condemned a little girl to be brainwashed, and sentenced countless innocents to death and experimentation? I should be spending a sleepless night. But exhaustion produces a dynamic of its own.

And I do not help anyone by wasting what little strength and vigour my feeble body possesses. And so, in spite of myself, slumber claims me. The first rays of sunlight stream through the curtains as my eyes flutter open, and I wake. I rub my eyes groggily. As I stir, my gaze falls on the abominable lampshade I by now know to be Twi'lek skin.

Sitting up on the bed, I stretch. Stretching out with my will, I can feel the Force in the distance. I will need my strength, just as my will. Closing my eyes, I focus my mind on my breathing.

Slowly I stretch my neck. My head turns to the left, then to the right, then back again. And again. I flex my neck, gently tilting the head forward, chin moving down as fast as I can.

The energies of the Force flow through me.

In my mind, I perceive a candle. The flame flickers in out and as the darkness closes it. I reach through the suffocating darkness to grasp it. I feel heat spread across my body.

And I allow myself to remember. The Rodian boy whose name I never learned, Tara, Shakka, even Paula. I will remember them all. Those I have condemned to suffer. Those I will condemn to suffer.

I tilt my head all the way backward, gazing up at the ceiling. I imagine the sky above. Thinking further, I imagine the heavens filled with starships of impossible design, raining down death and destruction upon all that is horrid.

Until all has been burnt to ash.

The Force writhes inside me.

I am pulled out of my meditation as I hear a prolonged rasp from outside before I hear a knock on the door. "Sibylla? Come in." Time to make nice with the polite, evil scientist.
She steps in, raising an eyebrow as she looks me. "By all means, continue. Some morning exercise?"
"Menka...Jonas suggested some exercises to help against dizziness. I figured I could combine that with meditation." I look her up and down, notice she's fully dressed. "Please don't tell me I missed my own operation. That would be mortifying," I try to joke, cracking a smile.
"No, no, your patients are still sitting tight for you. Literally, perhaps...but I'll let Jonas say more." Her voice is filled with wry amusement. She points a metal finger at me. "You look much better!"
"Jonas' medication did the job, as did some rest," I shrug, stretching. "Flawed Dominion science will not chain me. Only spur me on to avenge myself on them for the bang-up job they did."
"Indeed," she cocks her head. "You know how unprecedented it is for a clone to be given a place in our order?" What is she playing at?
"And I will dedicate myself to repaying the order by clearing out those who take our Father's name in vain. I have no connection with my template other than genes."
She sits down on the bed. "No memories?"

"A few flashes here and there. Annoyingly vague. I know she slew many Jedi; I know she has great power, and lacks the purity of will to direct it."
"You've never been the least bit curious about what would've transpired if she had found you instead of us?"
"Oh, I have. And I've concluded that I would've been a slave of xenos ideologies, just like her. Besides, she left me to the Jedi and Achilles' monsters." I lean forward. "Should she return I would love to meet her though...with her collared and chained so that I can tear her knowledge from her mind. I go crazy when I think of what the Imperium could do with the star people's technology. It bet the xenos lovers just stole designs made by true humans, so it's ours by right anyway."
Sibylla's mask makes it difficult to discern expression. Much of her face is shrouded. "Your fervour serves you well," she comments. It was impossible to tell if she was making fun or serious. But then a thought seems to strike her and her blue eyes light up. "A functioning hyperdrive would be a...great boon." Is that her hook? Yes. Curiosity. "But before we can grasp the stars, we reorder the earth."

I rise. "Then we might as well start by reordering this town." My gaze briefly lands on my crumpled uniform. "I hate to impose...but you wouldn't happen to have a pair of robes I could borrow?" I ask a bit bashfully. "I didn't have the chance to pack properly before I drove to Hope Falls, and I don't fancy wearing the clothes of a corpse. Besides, I'm certain that uniform was made for a man."
"Of course you can borrow a set! Anything for a fellow Apprentice. Well, many things. Try not to get them too damaged. Blood stains are fine but make sure they're your enemy's not yours."
"That's kind of you. Thank you. I promise only to get xenos blood on it."
"Back in a bit." She stands up and strides out.

While she is gone, I quickly get washed. I was too tired for a shower last night, so it is particularly welcome now. Even though it cannot wash away the dirt that has truly soiled me. When I get back, I dry myself off a bit and quickly retrieve my inhaler from a cupboard. Bringing it to my lips, I take a puff. For a moment I feel a bit shaky. I can feel my heart beating faster. But my chest doesn't pain me. I can deal with minor side-effects; I cannot abide another public collapse. Then I hear footsteps outside. Quickly, I put the item back and grab my towel. I'm drying myself off with a towel when I hear Sibylla outside. "Come in." Stepping inside, she lays the neatly folded robes she's carrying on the bed. "This should mostly fit. I have a good eye for measurements."
"You're a life saver."
"A fashion saver, at least," she jokes. Like we're best friends. Like I'm not about to go off to condemn innocent people to death and she won't be doing vile things of her own." And you won't even see any stains if you get blood on it. Should I give you some privacy?"
"Nah, it's fine." With that said I put the towel away and slip into the dark robes – tunic, trousers and so on. Checking myself in the mirror, I fix up my tousled red hair a bit. "All good. I better get a move on before Cordé tells me off for not eating enough."
"You won't hear any nagging from me. Food is...an unpleasant necessity."
"You have to eat nutrient paste?" I ask feelingly, realising what she means. Her mask must make consumption difficult.
"I wouldn't recommend it. The xenos starve because they'd rather that than the paste." I force myself to laugh at the grim joke, and slip my boots on. I've stepped outside the room when she suddenly puts her metal hand on my shoulder. "By the way, how is your slave doing? She seemed quite beat up."
I'm momentarily caught off-balance by the sudden enquiry. "She is alright, and she'll spend the day at HQ assisting Cordé," I reply evenly.
"That is good. I wouldn't want my new friend to lose a valued servant. You two seem...close," she puts an unnatural amount of emphasis on the last word.
"As you say, she's a valued servant...as valuable as a tool is for any engineer. The more she thinks she is safe with me, the more productive she is. Consider her a test of my ideas on controlling lesser beings."
"Naturally. Some of our comrades might...misinterpret things." She takes her hand off my shoulder. "Something to keep in mind," she says lightly. If I could see her mouth she might be smiling. Or not, the mask makes it hard to tell. "Just keep an eye on her. I sense an independence and will in that one."
"Yes, I know. Don't worry, I've got it covered," I say. Do I? Well, I have an idea.
"Good, I'll leave you to it. Have a good day, Kyriaki."
"You're not involved in today's operation?"
She pats my shoulder. "I've a special mission of my own."

I make our way to the dining room, passing KEC goons going about their business or heading there as well. I catch some staring at me. Sometimes I glean surface thoughts, or pick up murmurs. 'That's her. The weak Sith.' 'We used to have standards, now Eisen lets clones taint the gene pool.' My eyes lock with the last one.
Judging by the rank insignia, I'm guessing he's an officer of some sort. "Is there something on your mind, soldier? Something you'd like to share with me?"
"Uh, no, my lord, just heading for breakfast," he says. "We were just talking about the op, right."
"Don't drag me into this," his companion states.
"Truly? I heard something very different. I'm sure the Supreme Leader will be very interested in your critiques of his policy. I would be happy to assist you in bringing this matter to him directly if you wish?"
"No, no, my lord. I'm...sorry. The Supreme Leader's always right."
"He towers over you like the highest mountain peak. Compared to him, we are all pipsqueaks. Anyone who believes they know better than the Leader is stupid. Never forget that."

Stepping into the dining room, I spot Cordé already seated. She seems to be reading something in her notebook. She's so distracted she only looks up when I'm standing at the table. "Oh, my lord, my apologies. Good morning."
I raise an eyebrow when I notice there are two plates with food. "Have you decided to take the place of my mother since I never had one, Cordé?"
She flushes. "Well...I know you're occupied, so I decided to save you some time. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
"I'm teasing, Cordé. Thank you." Sitting down, I help myself to some bread.
"You're welcome," she says brightly. Too brightly. For a couple minutes there's silence as we eat. Well, surprisingly, I'm doing most of the eating, whereas Cordé is just picking at her food. Food stolen at bayonet point. The thought causes a lump to form in my throat. I feel sickened, even as my stomach growls. I stop eating.
After a while it gets too much for me. "Speak."
"It's...nothing," she sighs. "I've talked to Captain Diamandis. He'll let me inspect the servants while you're carrying out your assignment."
"Good. Remember, apply a broad definition. Someone who doesn't entirely have the skill set can still be trained."
"Yes, my lord. Banneret Hasapis and Corporal Honna have been given their orders." Her hands are shaking slightly when she raises her cup of tea. "So this is really happening...the hospital," she says quietly.
Reaching out with the Force, I stabilise the cup in an invisible grip before it can fall and spill its contents. "Yes. And I'm counting you to do your duty. For the greater good. Can you do this?" People are engrossed in their conversations and their meals, but you never know who is listening in.
And then an incredibly chipper, evil doctor joins us, a smile on his face. "Ah, there you are! Good morning, Kyriaki! Hello, Cordé."
"Hello, Doctor," the Maiden says through gritted teeth.
If he notices the hostility, he doesn't show it. Or maybe he's realised his cheerfulness annoys her more and takes pleasure in it. "Feeling better, I hope?"
"Quite so. Your suggestions helped."
"Happy to have been of service. Do you mind if I join you?"
"By all means."
He sits down with his tray with food and a steaming cup of coffee. "So, ready for our mission?" he asks casually while he puts three spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee and stirs it.
"Absolutely. Has the Council been in touch?" I take a bite from my sandwich.
"According to Diamandis, one of them will be on the spot to give us a list of exemptions and provide 'oversight'," he chuckles. "I bet the poor buggers drew lots to pick the 'lucky' one to be sent."
"We'd best arrange extra protection for them. Once word spreads, they'll be a target. Speaking of which, I assume you have a plan to pull this operation off without causing a public disturbance? No matter how many lies we tell them about moving them somewhere nicer, the patients will be terrified. Scared people do desperate things."
He sips his coffee. "You've read my mind. Or maybe great minds just think alike! I came up with a way to, uh, streamline the process. In fact, I was partly inspired by Maiden Tycho," he points his mug at her.
"Me?" If looks could kill, he'd be ash.
"Why, yes, I recalled a comment from you about how messy these roundups and executions are. It made me think about how even some of our lads are being emotionally affected by this rough business. So I thought 'what's the best way to make the process as orderly as possible for everyone involved?' By now every patient will have had breakfast. No exceptions. What they don't know is that the nurses have added a strong sedative to their food and drink. They'll still be asleep when we arrive. No screams, no teary scenes where families are broken up, no psychological distress for our auxiliaries. We simply load the unproductive in trucks. By the time they wake up, they'll be miles away. Their families will receive false death certificates." His tone makes it sound almost banal, like he's discussing the logistics of moving lots of furniture.
"Yes, I'm sure it's very efficient, "Cordé states tersely. Getting up, she looks at me. "I have some urgent paperwork to take care of before the inspection. By your leave, my lord?"
"You may go, dear."
Menkales sips his coffee. "What's up with her? She was always a bit idealistic."
"She's sheltered, that's it. No concern of yours." There is an edge to my voice.
"Oh, I mean her no ill. Perhaps a talk with her superior will help her recover her equilibrium."
"I'll take it under consideration. Anyway, your plan is sound. Good to know we won't have to put up with screams and begging. So distracting. Almost sounds like you don't need a Sith to keep order, but then there's always an X-Factor we can't account for."
"And that is any scientist worth his salt has backups and redundancies built in," Menkales declares happily. Finishing his sandwich, he wipes his mouth. "Shame Sibylla isn't coming, but maybe there'll be another time."
"I hear she has a secret mission. Must be important."
"Don't feel left out. She hasn't told me either! Anyway, shall we?"

Force, it's hot outside. Temperatures have soared. Honna and Hasapis are waiting for outside in front of our groundcars. As is, unexpectedly, a stone-faced Squire Kynnos. Hasapis salutes me. "Good morning, my lord! Not wearing our colours anymore?"
"Yesterday's excitement left a bit of a mess. The uniform wasn't a good fit either."
"Shame, you wore it well. Anyway, ready to head out." He shakes Menkales' hand. "They let you out of a lab for a change, eh, Jonas?"
"Just briefly. I'm still getting used to the sunlight."
"You know what's expected of us, Banneret?"
"Pest control. I'd rather be on the frontlines. But someone's gotta do it. And orders are orders. Isn't that right, Kynnos? He's here as our accountant. Better not chicken out because some wormhead tart gets all teary-eyed."
"I know my duty, Banneret," Kynnos says flatly.
"Enough. I won't tolerate bullying. We're not here for bickering or our personal urges," I say this knowing full well Menkales will definitely enjoy every moment. "This is an unfortunate situation, but we have a task and we will carry it out in an orderly fashion. We can't afford public disturbances. We leave patients who are economically viable or have been exempted; take those away who are beyond hope. In uncertain cases, Jonas and I will have the final word. The xenos will do most of the work for us. We supervise them...and keep our eyes open for surprises." The Vaderite platitudes come easily to me. Honna's fist clenches slightly. In the Force, her mind has abruptly turned calm and blank. I glance to Menkales. "Jonas had the foresight to ensure that the patients should be asleep when we arrive. But we know this town has rogue, treasonous elements. So be vigilant."
"Well, said, my friend. Now let's not keep our 'allies' waiting," Menkales declares cheerfully."Why don't the four of us all drive together?"
"Sounds like a good idea to save fuel," I nod.
"He just wants to show off his new car," Hasapis snorts, elbowing his friend lightly. "After you were finished with book club, he spent ages racing across Hope Falls."
"I seem to recall that you begged me to let you drive it," Menkales counters as he leads us to his shiny, blue car. "Ah, there she is!" he declares proudly.
"A Starlight, correct? So that was your gift."
"Mhm. An Mk2! You can actually drive it without having break downs all the time!" He claps his hands. "The Prefect was so kind to part with it. Can your xenos drive?"
"Yes. Honna, get in the driver's seat."
"Yes, m'lord."
"No room for you, Kynnos, take another car and follow us," Hasapis growls at the young Squire as he comes to a halt
Menkales gets in besides me and fetches a tissue to wipe his brow a bit. "Good gracious. I'm damn glad I don't have to spend all day out in the fields," he jokes. What a piece of human excrement. So I drive off with a trio that only has one member I actually want around.

There is a fair bit of distance between the villa turned KEC HQ and Hope Falls itself. Impractical for an emergency response, but it allows the 'master race' not to see what Humanist 'progress' has wrought in this benighted town. Hear no evil, see no evil. As the gates, watchtowers and perfectly manicured lawns fade away, we drive past the fields where hundreds upon hundreds of sweating xenos from a myriad species in threadbare clothing or simplistic, identical jumpsuits are tending to crops or to chattel. All under the watchful eyes of guards and overseers. The temperature is still rising, and it is bound to get hotter.

A Gungan has collapsed from what I'm guessing is sheer exhaustion. No surprise – they are amphibians. They cannot labour without end in the overwhelming heat. I reach out with my Force Senses, and feel no signs of life. I hear a cry of agony when a Gamorrean overseer viciously whips a Nautolan female. Through the Force, I hear Honna...counting the trees in her mind. I blink, and realise what she's doing: Trying to think of anything but what is going on before her.

Sitting in the front seat, Hasapis looks over what's happening. "Looks like your people are keeping the scum in line, eh Corporal?" he asks Honna jovially.
"Yes, sir, we do our job," she replies calmly.
"Look at him!" Hasapis declares when a Zabrak rushes to join the Gamorrean, and they both beat on the helpless victim. "Eager to suck up. Didn't know they had the horns in the ranks, too."
"Not many," Honna mutters.
"I imagine they've had to replenish their numbers a bit after recent events," I comment, not feeling interested at all.
"Should just stick with the piggies, the Houk and the lizards. They do the job, and don't forget who calls the shots. If you privilege the xenos who look similar to us, they'll start thinking they're near-human. We already have too many stupid humans who think they are."
"They provide useful data," Menkales says darkly.

The fields, barns and tents soon vanish, though the roads remain poor as we drive into the decrepit husk of a town. "I told them to take those down. So unhygienic," Menkales mutters, sounding annoyed as we pass a Duros hanging from a lamp post. There's a placard around his neck, proclaiming him to be a thief who stole from the people.

The irony is staggering. "And look at this rubbish," he points at litter on the streets. "Did you see how dirty those labourers were? If the xenos don't learn basic hygiene, I'm afraid we'll have to do the whole thing all over again soon." You know what greatly amplifies infectious diseases? Hunger.
"So true. Morally the xenos will always be filthy, but physically? Not if they are properly domesticated. Much like how pigs can be well-groomed, really," is what I say instead.

As we speed past a building, I spot KEC and PF coming out of a building. They're loading up food, and dragging xenos out...including children. The kids are from a myriad species, but mostly the 'undesirable' ones. They have been cuffed. Some are beaten. Every instinct inside me compels me to yell at Honna to bring the vehicle to a screeching halt, to get out and...pull rank and bluff my way through to end this and save at least some? To end this pathetic farce and unleash fiery retribution? But I don't, and we drive past.

The hospital is a drab, ugly building made of concrete. Public Force soldiers armed with rifles and pistols have set up a checkpoint outside as we drive up into the courtyard, I see more armed goons, along with ambulances. None of the guards are humans. Most of them are Gamorreans and Houk, but I also spot a few Zabrak. I wonder whether a certain Councillor pushed for that out of anticipatory obedience. When we walk into the building's foyer, it is deathly quiet. You'd expect to see overworked receptionists to man the enquiry desk, taking calls, checking name lists on a computer or a clipboard, dealing with patients or next of kin.

You'd expect hectic activity. A group of people, standing about, holding photographs of their loved ones and showing them to whoever could possibly give them some information about their fate, or asking for medical treatment. Other people would be huddled together in the corner. Some making conversation, others weeping. Visitors would be there for with flowers for hospitalised friends and loved ones. Perhaps ambulance technicians would rush a patient on a gurney to the emergency room.

But there is a deathly silence when we step in. So quiet one could hear a pin drop. The patients' loved ones are working in the fields, jailed or hiding. Anyone who's sick or injured and wasn't here already is trying to avoid being nabbed. Menkales whistles a cheerful tune. "Stop clenching your jaw, Kynnos. Or your teeth will shatter."
"Yes, sir," the Squire says stiffly. His entire posture is rigid.
Menkales pats him on the back. "Smile a bit. You're too young for frown lines."
And then I'm at his side. He looks surprised when I speak. Well, that and afraid. "It's normal to have moral qualms, soldier. Even the Vader was not immune to them. Only a sick individual enjoys this. Only a machine doesn't think for itself. But we do what we have to...for the greater good."
"I...yes, my lord. Don't worry...I'll do my duty. I won't fail you."
"I know, soldier. You can always speak with me...or Maiden Tycho. I find a woman's perspective on such matters can be like a fresh breeze."

The foyer is all but deserted. There's just one Mirialan receptionist manning a desk. She looks she's having the worst day of her life. Bri Kivok is standing there with with Gorn and a Duros who must be a doctor based on his uniform. Guess the horned one drew the short straw. The Zabrak Councillor looks grim, dressed in dark robes, when they approach us. "My lord, I'm here as the representative of the Council to ensure the smooth running of the...process. The Council appreciates the assistance of the Imperium in this difficult time and is ready to move forward with the necessary measures," she says mechanically in typical bureaucrat speech.
"I wish we could meet under more fortuitous circumstances. I understand how difficult this must be for you," I respond with the expected platitudes.
For just a moment there is a crack in her wall. "Leadership is...about making the choices other people can't so that they don't have to, my lord." Then it is closed again. She takes a breath, fishing a piece of paper out of her pocket and handing it to me. "I have here a list with exemption requests, sorted by name, species, age, employment and qualifications."
I glance over the list. Menkales leans over to have a look, but doesn't seem to bother much and nods. I give it to Kynnos to record. A couple members of the disfavoured species are on it, but most are the elders of those who are in the Vaderites' good books. "Instruct the men accordingly. Who's the head doctor? You?" I look at the Duros. "Yes. Doctor Rul Zhilweis. Responsible for the medical evaluation."
"Under my supervision, of course," Menkales interjects with a smirk. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Rul?"
"Yes, sir."
"I know Rul from before Hope Falls was founded. The good lad used to be my assistant. Smarter than the other eggheads. It's almost like working with a human...," Menkales pauses dramatically, "undergraduate."
"I learn something new every time I meet you, sir," the Duros replies obediently. But I feel resentment bubbling beneath the surface.
"The boyz are ready. Say the word," Gorn grunts. Impatience swirls around the big, burly Gamorrean.
"Doctor Zhilweis has carried out Doctor Menkales' instructions. He's personally made sure everything is ready," Bri says briskly, giving the Duros an expectant look.
"The nurses administered the sedatives," Zhilweis reports crisply. "I took the liberty of...preparing some cargo for you in advance, Doctor. Twi'leks. They're already in the van."
Menkales' eyes light up when he hears how obedient Zhilweis has been. "Marvellous, what a good fellow."
"I will have to inspect this batch before we leave," I interject. "To make sure they're truly unproductive."
"Of course," Menkales concedes with a smile. He rubs his hands together. "Let's get started, shall we?"

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Kyriaki​

A hospital is commonly seen as a place of healing. Except here. Vaderite medical science is already bad for people it is not actively trying to kill. But these people have no value to them.

People here are dying a slow death.

One facilitated by the criminal neglect, sadistic cruelty and rancid stupidity of the evil men and women who govern this depraved country.

What a convenient way to manufacture a 'rationale' to purge and murder undesirables, all the while claiming its' all their doing.

The ward we approach is overcrowded. Patients of various species have been crammed together in a room like sardines. Many have hollow bellies and sunken cheeks. The bed linen is dirty and sometimes even bloodstained. I swear I saw mould in the corridor outside. Menkales 'tsks, tsks' as we see a rat scurry past. "Rul, how often must I tell about the importance of hygiene?" he chides him patronisingly.
"I do what I can, sir. But I have too many patients and not enough staff. Many patients just want to wallow in filth," the Duros doctor says flatly. "Gamorreans are...," Gorn growls at him, and the head doctor evidently course-corrects. "Even they aren't as bad as the damn Gungans and Twi'leks."

Menkales patronisingly pats him on the back. "Don't worry, old bean. I know how attentive you are to my lessons. I know it's hard, but you have to tame these wild creatures."
"In the future, we'll impose more rigorous checks," Bri chimes in, wrinkling her nose at the foul odours in the air. It smells of sweat, vomit, blood and urine. "And implement a more thorough separation of patients by species. I don't want to point fingers, but species more inclined to criminality also tend to be dirty." I know exactly who you mean. Always angling for an advantage for 'your kind'. You learned from us.

"Perhaps we should keep chatter to a minimum," I interject, my voice laced with irritation. Irritation is not strong enough a word for what I feel in the depths of my soul, but it is all I can allow myself to show. "Lest everyone wake up prematurely." As I catch a glimpse of the flooring beneath a bed, I notice it's covered in dust.
Menkales nods. "Let's get started," he says in a low voice. I swear I can sense lice in some of the patients. "Rul, it's your show. Proceed." It quite evidently is not his show, but the Duros takes that in stride.

The first victim is a Twi'lek male. What should be the white of his eyes is pink. His eyelids are swollen, and his lips and blue skin look blotchy. Even his lekku skin is mottled. His breathing is weak. "N'eta Adais, welder. Suffered a cut while performing construction work. The wound was infected," Zhilweis explains dispassionately, voice low. "Unfortunately, we had to prioritise and so he's in late stage sepsi..."
"I've seen enough. Not just a male, a half-dead one," Menkales interrupts, huffing. "This subject is not worth my time. And not yours either, my friend," he says with a nod to me.
For a moment, I feel strong urge to say no. To stand up for him, and stand up to the unfairness of it all. A minor injury like this could have been easily fixed, if anyone had bothered. But no one did, and now he's on death's door. Maybe with the Force...I shut down this train of thought, and harden my heart. "No, he isn't," I say without emotion. "Terminate him."
"Take him off the list," Bri orders, for the sake of formality. She signs, the doctor makes a note and Kynnos crosses a name off his chart.

And so it begins. We inspect patients, Menkales and I make the decision. Names are crossed out or underlined. I don't know any of these people, but in the span of a few minutes at most I decide who lives or who dies.
As we approach a rugged looking Gamorrean whose right hand is a mere stump covered in a bandage, and whom the head doctor introduces as Zezzaut, noting he's a nerf herder, Honna becomes distressed. "M'lord," she says in a tone I can only describe as pleading, as odd it hears to use that word in connection to her, "he's kin. Please. He do nothin' wrong."
"He won't be much use with one hand," Menkales remarks. "But consume calories better allocated elsewhere. But up to you."
"His sort love to stuff themselves," Zhilweis mutters.
Gorn glowers at him. His nostrils flare, and the Duros takes a step back. "Sith gave me her word," he grunts.
"He stays. I can find use for him."
"Yes, my lord," Kynnos underlines his name on his chart. Visible relief washes over Honna. Her gaze lingers on her relative for a long moment, before she quickly joins me.

"I believe you'll find the next specimen to your liking, sir," I hear Ru tell Menkales in a low voice. "Kinia Coryak." Even before a broad grin forms on Menkales' face, I can feel his smug satisfaction and excitement.
"Oh, my, this creature is perfect for my studies." A female Togruta. On first sight, I cannot detect anything wrong with her. There's a bruise on one of her head tendrils, but that's hardly serious. Then I notice her eyes are swollen and eyelids crusty. But that is all.
"That's just an eye infection, and she looks well on the road of recovery to me," I interject.
"It is clearing up," Zhilweis concedes, pausing as Menkales shoots him a look, "but she has a record for being work-shy."
I raise an eyebrow. "A matter of discipline enforcement, not a medical problem."
"My dear Kyriaki, we had an agreement," Menkales speaks up, "you can hardly expect me to make do with specimen that are so sick the slightest breeze will knock them over. You get your pick...I get mine." I look at the patient we're haggling over. I feel the life inside her, hear her breathing. She's someone's daughter, maybe someone's sister. I make my decision, nodding mechanically.
"You can't fault me for trying. Take her."
But in the meantime she has started to stir. Her eyes open with a start. "What...doc?" she asks, confused. Then she beholds the two humans in their uniforms, flinching. "What's happening?" she gazes across the room, anxious.
Bri takes the initiative, stepping forward to take her hand. "I'm Councillor Kivok. Don't be afraid. This is just a routine inspection to improve conditions here. You and a couple other patients have made such amazing progress, so we're going to move you to another facility so you can recover in peace."
Kinia's eyes widen in alarm. "No, no," she exclaims. She swallows. "Ma'am, sir...I'm feeling a lot better. Please, don't move me. My eyes are a lot better. I can go back to work right now. I can work longer hours..."
"Sedate her," Menkales orders.
"No, no! Please...I'll show..." She tries to get up and when Zhilweis tries to grab her and apply his syringe she struggles against him, trying to force him off her. "Please, my lord! Let...let me be your servant," she begs. "I'll...ser..." Her eyes are filled with terror and anguish when she feels her limbs grow heavy. "No..." she fights me every moment as I press my will upon her, even biting the Duros doctor. As I impose my will on her, I feel her emotions so viscerally it hurts my head. But her eyes close and she slumps, falling into a deep sleep. "Take her away," Zhilweis snarls. I realise my nose is bleeding and wipe the blood away.

The tumult is making other patients restless. Some are waking up. I hear gasps, shouts, begging. Gorn and Honna brandish their guns. "Shut up, or you die!" the Gamorrean commander yells. A Bith patient takes one look at Menkales, gets up and makes a break for it, running towards the window. But Honna is upon him and roughly yanks him back. Yelling at him so loudly he clutches his sensitive ears in pain, she throws him to the ground and punches him. "They're going to kill us! They're going to kill us!" I hear patients cry.
"Cease fire," I say sharply. "Everyone stay where they are." Drawing deep upon the Force, I will a ball of flame to manifest in my hand and hold it up so they can all see. Energy crawls across my arms. Patients freeze at the sight. "Councillor, remember our deal."
Bri looks in shock, but walks to the centre of the room. "Some of you are being moved...for your own good. This is a sacrifice we must make. If you value your families, you will obey. Anyone who causes disorder will suffer the consequences."
For a moment there is quiet. Patients who are awake are paralysed. Fear and anxiety is spreading through the room at the sight of the menacing weapons and uniforms. "Bri?" a weak, frail voice speaks, and she stiffens.
"Father," she addresses the elderly Zabrak male. "Everything will be fine. You're safe."
"What have you done?" he coughs violently, his body shaking. "My Bri...I knew you did terrible things for us to survive, but this...how could you." He looks at the female Togruta being dragged away. "You're taking her away to kill her. Do you think me that blind? Vaderites, take me, too. I'm old. Leave the girl."
Her composure cracks. "Are you mad, father? You have no idea what you're talking about. My lord, the drugs have addled his mind," she tells me. "We had an agreement."
"Shut up. Take me. Come on, Sith, do it. I hate the Vaderites. I've stolen grain. I go to bed every night hoping you all will be blasted to smithereens," he all but shuts, coughing up yellow mucus.
"I know what you're trying to do," I inform him coolly. "It won't work. You'll be spared, whether you want it or not."
As I turn away, I hear him curse in Basic and in his native tongue. The one thing I pick up is, "you're no daughter of mine. Go!"
"Move him to a better room without all the riff-raff," I hear Bri hiss to Zhilweis.

"This is just wasting time. Send in the boys and drag them out," Hasapis opines. "Shoot anyone who resists."
"We don't want to make a mess of things, my friend," Menkales says. "Gorn, get extra guards on this floor. No one gets out. Get the useless eaters out." Patients beg for their right to live, for last words to be sent to their loved ones.
"I will vet those I am owed first," I inform him flatly. A young Nautolan woman catches my eye. Painfully thin, she's skin and bones. Her eyes are bloodshot. She looks sick, but not unsalvageable. There's some mucus on her chin. I sense fear in her, but she's doing her best to hide it. "Who's that?"
Zhilweis consults his notes. "Iacenda Tektu, my lord. Bad chest infection." Already the condemned are being removed by nurses and guards. Those who make too much noise get a beating. Quickly I move over to her.
"Iacenda Tektu, are you related to Awinn Tektu?" I demand.
Sweat drips down her tendrils when she looks up to me. "No, I don't know her, my lord," she says firmly. Too quickly.
I lean forward. "Are you related to her? Your life depends on your honesty." Screams can be heard coming from behind her. Patients are being forcibly sedated. "Answer me."
She takes a breath. "She's my s-sister."
"Are you a labourer or something? What skills do you have?"
"I'm...I'm a weaver. I'm good with cloth."
"Cloth is good. Very good." I only realise know my flesh hand is shaking and I clench it tightly. "Jonas, the Nautolan here is spared. Kynnos, make a note!"
"Right away, my lord."
"Doctor, make sure she gets proper care. I want her to be able to work soon." I feel the wave of relief wash over Iacenda. "Thank you...my lord," she whispers.
Menkales has returned to one side. He takes one look at the Nautolan patient, smirks. "An apt choice, my friend. This is really a good day for both of us."
I feel a spark of pain in the stump of what used to be my right arm. Phantom pain. "Yes, it is." And so the process continues. Menkales and I inspect the patients, Ru provides information and context. Bri and Gorn argue in favour of whoever is their own.

When we inspect a Mon Calamari and a Rodian patient, my mind flashes back to my arrival in Hope Falls. Seeing a Mon Calamari collapse from exhaustion and Shakka's cousin got beaten bloody when he tried to help him. It's the same amphibian. His skin is red, parched and dry. His lips are cracked. "Common labourers," Zhilweis explains. "Gowhar and Seychi Thoska. The Mon Calamari suffered a heat stroke. He's been here several times due to the heat. No doubt because he's work-shy and feeble."
"He's very thin," I remark. Understatement.
Zhulweis coughs. "Everyone gets their due, but I must prioritise."
"Performance-based feeding, my lord," Bri chimes in. "He who doesn't work gets their least to incentivise him."
"Very socially conscious. What about the Rodian?"
"His legs are broken," Zhulweis explains. "He gave us a lot of trouble. First he resisted being taken to the hospital. Then he refused breakfast until he was 'convinced' to take the sleeping pills."
"Smart man," I cannot resist commenting sardonically.
"Undisciplined and selfish," Zhulweis responds sourly.
I frown. "I'll take the Mon Cal."
"He's all yours. We have more than enough of the amphibians back in Progress for my immersion research," a grinning Menkales chimes in. "I'll take the sucker-face. He doesn't need to be able to walk for me to study his eyesight."

So it goes on for a while. Things are quiet in the other rooms. Menkales is in the best of spirits, whistling and making jokes. It makes it easier to stake my claim to more patients. Children remain. But not enough. Never enough.

Finally we reach the neo-natal ward. Bri and even Zhulweis look uncomfortable as they approach it, seeing the sleeping babies. A lone Mirialan nurse is monitoring them. "I think we can cut this short. We need our young...even the Twi'leks. The old are gone," Bri says with unusual firmness. "Take them, and there'll be turmoil. We can only cover up so many sudden deaths."
"Yes," Zhulweis agrees carefully. "Some will likely not...survive this year, but their blood should not be on our hands. It would be...bad for morale of my staff."
"We have no interest in taking the youngest. Whatever failings the parents might have, they have innocent minds that can be moulded," I state.
Menkales just smiles. "Oh, I fully agree. We're not monsters, after all." And I have no doubt that he fully believes he isn't. After all, the entire of society validates him. "I just want to take a peek." As we pass the various infants lying in the humidifiers, sleeping with deceptive peacefulness, Menkales gasps.
"Oh my, my, it's red!" he exclaims in surprise, pointing excitedly at a sleeping Twi'lek boy. "How can it start out red?"
"Sh," Bri hisses.
Ignoring her, he looks at me a bit sheepishly. "I must study this creature!" He raises his hand, seeing me about to forestall him. "Just this one infant. I've already conceded several xenos to you. This could be a scientific breakthrough."
"What would you do with it?"
"Oh, so many lovely things," he rubs his hands. "For decades scholars have debated whether xenos culture is inherited or inherent. I've worked with children before...but babies are so rare in the camps. Most are stillborn or the mothers foolishly try to hide their infants. But now I can put the theory to the test – by raising the infant in complete isolation."

No.

Bri looks deeply alarmed. She opens her mouth, closes it suddenly. "Sir...," she trails off, sighs. "Very well," she says flatly, sounding resigned.
"Such a study would shake up the academic world, sir," the Duros says fawningly, "but the infant is already ill. It might not survive being moved."
"Ain't one of mine," Gorn grunts with an indifferent shrug.

Don't make me do this.

Hasapis just folds his arms. "You're making way too much fuss about a xenos whelp. Get it over with." Kynnos is staring at the wall. But I feel he's distressed.

The phantom pain inside my stump is like the sharp stab of an icy kife.

And my words are just as sharp, cutting through feeble attempts to stay the monster's hand. "It's yours," I force myself to smile at him. "Consider it a favour between friends. For science."
"M'lord, I go help the other guards," Honna says suddenly. "Make sure there's no trouble." Quickly, she heads out of the room.
"Thank you, my friend," the monster grins like a schoolboy who just got an early birthday present. "Rul, I trust you can come up with an appropriate legend."
"Jusha," Zhulweis calls to the nurse, "what's his name? Is the mother still in our care?"
The Mirialan nurse winces when she's addressed. "Uh, no, sir. She died in childbirth. She called him Pazo."
"Well, that...simplifies the issue," the Duros coughs. "We inform the next of kin the baby didn't make it."
"Splendid. I'll take him with me right now. Kynnos, retrieve the child."
Kynnos winces like he's been struck by lightning, paling. "Y-yes, sir." He reaches for the baby, placing one hand under his head and the other under his bottom. The boy wakes up and cries. "There, there, you'll be fine, everything will be fine," he says gently. His eyes meet mine.

And I know what I must do.

Force, the baby is small, so thin, with protruding ribs and sunken eyes. His belly is swollen with hunger. When Menkales gets his grubby hands on Pazo, the baby sobs. My poor boy, my poor boy.

I'm sorry.

Menkales strokes and pinches the crying infant's cheek. Did his mother ever get to hold Pazo? Or did she die before he could ever be held in her arms? "Sh, Uncle Jonas will take good care of you, little one." The baby grabs his thumb and he winces. "What a strong a grip. You're a little fighter. Just what I need. You're going to be part of something incredible. 'Hush, little baby, don't say a word,'" he sings.

And I wrap my will around the helpless infant's heart.

What I should've done to Paula.

I'm so sorry.

I feel his life end before it even began.

His breathing stops. The life leaves his eyes. "He's dead," Menkales exclaims angrily. He throws the poor baby onto the floor.
I give him an apologetic look. "Must've been the shock of being pulled out of the humidifier...and his weak xenos constitution. It does confirm our theories about Twi'leks being inherently feeble." I feel sick to the stomach, like I'm about to vomit.
"I said he probably wouldn't survive being removed, sir," Zhulweis points out.
Menkales scowls at his minion. He looks like a schoolboy whose favourite toy was taken away. A malicious, evil schoolboy. Truly an exemplar of the human superman. "Yes, you did. Thank you for your insight, Rul," he snarls. "Damn it."
"I could, ah, look for a replacement, sir. But off the top of my head I don't think we have any other Lethan Twi'lek infants, and even if we did it would take a while to find one robust enough. I'm sorry, sir."
"Then I'm not interested. Ah, well, there'll be other opportunities. Let's finish our work." As we head out of the ward, I see the Mirialan nurse gently pick up the discarded. I hear her sob, and hum what I guess is a lullaby in her native tongue. I notice Kynnos has lingered as while, eyes fixated on the same sight. For a moment our eyes lock. Without a word, we quickly depart the room. The noise has woken up more infants. Their sobs echo in my mind while I walk away. But I can't show emotion; I can't.

Speaking of skeleton staff, that is not entirely correct. We find a bunch of sleeping staff members – guards and some nurses - in a nearby room. There are glasses and half-finished plates with food lying around. "What the hell is this?" Gorn yells.
"Why am I not surprised?" Hasapis asks rhetorically.
"Rul?" Menkales demands expectantly.
"I gave strict orders to my staff," the Duros doctor says defensively. "This must be the doing of that Twi'lek doctor the health authority forced on me."
"Arrest him. This wouldn't have happened if you employed more Zabrak," Bri remarks caustically. "They're all yours as far as I'm concerned."
"Let's get them out. Consider it compensation for your loss," I say to Menkales. Some of the unconscious staff members are slowly stirring. Gorn beats a slumbering Gamorrean, slamming him into a wall. Hasapis joins him, beating on slowly stirring staffers.
"If they ate the food, where are the patients it was meant for?" Menkales wonders as the staff members are dragged out with the help of Gorn's goons.
"We could split up and have a look around. They can't be many," I suggest.
"I can go with you, my lord," Kynnos suddenly speaks up.
"Very well. Hasapis, come with me," Menkales orders. "And you," he jabs his finger at the xenos, "there better be no more screw-ups."

Leaving the staff members to be dragged out and beaten, Kynnos and I depart the room. The Squire is stone-faced and silent while we make our way down the corridor, checking room after room. The 'evacuation' is already starting. Patients who have been selected for deportation are being dragged out. Some go quietly because they're still sedated, others are beaten. Eventually we come across an abandoned room.

Stepping inside, I come to a halt when I hear noise from below the floorboards. It sounds vaguely like whimpering. "Did you hear that?" Kynnos asks quietly. Nodding, I squat down on the floor, and stretch out with the Force. My senses expand, and I feel there are people below, hiding.
"Rats," I mutter, "it's just rats."
Kynnos puts his ear to the floorboard, then looks up, and locks eyes with me. "You're right, my lord, it's just vermin. We'll have to call an exterminator to sanitise the hospital."
"Once the hospital has been cleared. Maybe Menkales and the PF had more luck," I get up. "We won't be able to carry out a thorough search until the evacuation is complete."
"Yes, my lord."

Please, whoever you are down there, get out.

We leave the room and I instruct the guards this area is clear. They leave, and we come past a restroom not far from here. I give Kynnos a look. "Nature calls...even for Sith. Back in a moment. If you see any staff, tell them we thoroughly searched this level."
Once I've closed the door behind me, I can no longer control myself. The edge of my vision is starting to go black and there's a queasy feeling in my stomach. Hurrying to the nearest toilet, I find it is dirty, but I simply vomit into it.

Angrily I brush away the tears forming in my eyes. I cannot cry...about what I've seen done, what I've done. I cannot react to the horror in the way...any sane person would. Nothing is sane here. Nothing is right.

In a sane world, you would not murder an infant. In a sane world, that would not be a mercy. My body is shaking. Shakka was born in a place like this. Did she see babies being killed as an infant? Did her mother even get to hold her before she died? Did she even die, or did a monster like Menkales simply have her taken away so he could run sadistic tests?

When I came here, I was arrogant, foolish and deluded. All I thought of was keeping my hands clean. I told myself I was a better person because I didn't beat my slave. I was not. I am not.

And until the day I kill Menkales, Eisen, Sibylla and Lachesis, I will have to play my part. Be their best friend. I wish...I wish I could make all the Sith, all the Imperials, all the 'good, innocent citizens' feel the same terror...the same pain and fear as the patients I just sent away to suffer.

Not today.

But one day I will.

And then I will show them no mercy, for they deserve none.

Slowly, I calm down, breathing heavily. My heart thunders in my chest. I can do this. I must do this. For Pazo, for Tara, for Kinia, the Rodian from the forest...for all those I have condemned to suffering and death.

Gradually, my breathing stabilises, I flush the toilet and get up. I scoop up water from the tap to drink and wash the vomit off, then wipe my face with tissues. Kynnos is loyally waiting for me outside. "Uh, my lord, a patrol was going to check the room. I informed them there's no one there," he reports, standing so ramrod straight he might as well be on parade.
"Good man. Come on."
"Yes, my lord. Uh...my lord," he pauses, fidgeting nervously.
"Yes?"
He shifts uneasily on his feet, looking around the corridor carefully, and lowers his voice. "It felt dishonourable to…lie to them. But also to let them..," he trails off, looking haunted. "Women…children. That boy was a Twi'lek…but he was just a baby. He looked like…like a human baby…just red and with those little worms in is head. He…wouldn't have hurt anyone," he whispers, sighing.
Stretching out with the Force, I feel no presence nearby. We're alone. But I must be careful with my words. Anything spoken rashly could have…bad consequences. I lean in close. "What does your order's code teach you?"
"To serve mankind, to defend the fatherland from the xenos, to protect the innocent, to obey the Supreme Leader. So many vows they make you swear."
"And what if they conflict?" I pick up on his train of thought. Vader's breath, he looks so young. Bizarre of me to say given, you know, clone who's far younger than he is, but it feels like I'm the one with the life experience. He can't be older than twenty. Raised on stories of noble knights fighting monsters. Welcome to the real world, Squire.
"The Leader is always right," he says stiffly, mechanically. A mantra he knows to be empty.
"Yes, but we can't ask him for his judgement on every case. He's far from the…situation. We can only act as we think the Vader would. He was a strong man who did what was right even when he faced the scorn of his peers. For the greater good." I give him a significant look.
"The greater good," I hear him murmur as I walk away.

We rejoin the rest of the group in the hospital foyer. "Any luck? We found nothing," Menkales speaks as he catches sight of us.
"Same here. We will have to double patrols. Scour the town for escapees," I respond.
"Get it done," Menkales snaps at Bri and Gorn. "If anyone has slipped the net, it will be on the council."
"I'm not involved in security arrangements," Bri points out, "but I would gladly contribute all available resources to the cause."
"Don't need her. My boys will find and break 'em," Gorn growls.
"They will be found, sir!" Zhulweis proclaims. "I will personally question every member of my staff."
"Let's focus on the situation at hand. At most it can only be a few patients. A large group would've been noticed. We'll be able to search the hospital more thoroughly once the evacuation is complete," I state, forcing myself to smile at Menkales. "Barring this hiccup, the operation has gone well. I commend your planning."
The monster smiles. "You're too kind. We have one inspection left."
"Yes, Zhulweis' pre-selected batch. You've been very accommodating to me, so I'll be generous." As Zhulweis leads us out to the ambulance, I can see patients being loaded up into vehicles by Hasapis, Honna and Gorn's goons. Here and there, I hear screams, and begging. But the patients are weakened by sickness, injury and malnourishment. It's no contest. There are beatings. Indeed, several patients are so weakened they need their tormentors to help them walk. Menkales yells at a guard to stop beating a slow patient so brutally because it would ruin his test subject. Some of the sleeping staffers suffer the same fate. Among the throng, I catch a glimpse of a male Twi'lek in a doctor's outfit, with a bleeding lekku. "This is a setup!" he cries. "I did all you wanted!" A guard slams a baton into his face.
I glance at Zhulweis. "I trust you've made a list of all patients claimed by me. I need them ready for labour deployment soon. I'd be most unhappy if when I come to collect them, I find that my work force has suddenly been halved."
"I've already given orders for them to be separated from the other patients. They will be fed and given priority care, my lord. And know they have only your mercy to thank for..."
"It's not my..." I trail off, growing tense. There is a feeling in the back of my mind. Something is wrong. Danger. The Force directs my gaze to a trash can. "Get…" Words are silenced by the thunderous boom of the explosion…

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Shakka​

I awake with a start. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. "Ahh, subject 1604 is awake." Menkales smiles down at me. No, this can't be. It's not real, it's not real. I try to move...I can't. Heavy straps hold my wrists and ankles. Worse, I feel my sensitive lekku are being stretched out behind my head as I lay on the bed. I try to scream but my mouth is sealed shut.

It's not real, it's not real.

"We will start with a tissue collection from the headtail. Well, from both of them, make sure they're the same."
"Shall we give her anaesthetic, sir?" a human nurse with an AC armband asks.
The monster scoffs. "Of course not, we need to observe changes in physiognomy and readings, and we'll only get that if she is conscious."

A feeling of pure terror fills my chest. My body trembles, and sweat pours down my back as my eyes dart across the room. The shelves are packed with jars. I shiver when I realise one has an eye in it. And then I see...shrunken heads. No, no, it can't be. The lekku are mutilated...

"Your cousin and his mate," the monster says. "I'll hold on to the boy for a bit. Don't worry, you'll join them..not for a while though. I have some students at university who will appreciate having high-quality specimen to study."

You monster, you monster. I hate you, I hate you. I try to struggle, to back away, to do anything. But I can't. My entire body is shaking. Tears run down my cheeks.

"Hoping for your master will do you no good. She can't hear you, she won't save you. Not after your infantile rebellion, not after Sibylla and I agreed to back her to the hilt. The three of us will rise to power together. All it took was...a few minor sacrifices along the way. For the greater good. Did you really think it would be so easy? We've been monitoring you through your collar throughout. When your friends destroyed it, it triggered an alarm. Speaking of the Swamp Guard, they've been taken care of."

And then I see Kinrath, gagged and strapped to another bed. She's bleeding and wires have been attached to her head and snake onto her chest. "Thanks to you, we can finally restore order to this wretched town." I see him delicately select a scalpel from his array of tools. "I'm...well actually I'm not sorry...this will hurt...a lot." And then I feel nothing except pain...

I awake abruptly with a scream, bathed in cold sweat. My cheeks are wet and I can feel my heart thumping inside my chest. I look around, touch my headtails and check myself for restraints. No torture room, no binds, intact lekku.

I try to catch my breath. Just a dream.

"Did you really have to make such a damn noise?" my roommate from hell shrieks. You don't hear me complain about her snoring.
I glare at the Mirialan. Breathe in, breathe out. I so want to lash out...but I know better. "I'm sorry. Had a bad dream."
"First I have to share my room with a wormie, then I can't get my sleep because of you," the arrogant cow snarls.
I get up, wanting to be out of the room as fast as possible before the damn collab starts ranting again. "This was my last night here," I remind her flatly.
"It better be. And don't even think of using our shower," she huffs. "You probably have lice. Now we have to delouse the whole room. Mr Goren will hear of this." She's still ranting while I grab my stuff and head out.

I don't have to tell you how tempting it is to the fancy shower she's so proud of...but common sense wins out. So the pure xenos shower it is. It's as dirty as ever. I have to wait a bit while other servants shower. I cringe when two of them get into an argument about the soap and come to blows before another breaks it up. Just a tiny piece of soap's left when it's my turn. Either all the xenos servants had to really take advantage of having something to clean themselves with while it was there or Goren or the silly cow stole it. Maybe both.

When I get back after washing myself, the collab is gone and my stuff has been tossed into the corridor. For a moment of feeling of panic rises inside me as I rummage through my few possessions and don't find the datapad. Damn it, did she take it? I should've hidden it better. Focus, Shakka. But after searching the room a bit, I find she tossed it into the corner.

Picking it up, I feel like laughing. The screen is a bit cracked, but that's it. Quickly, I switch it on and check it for signs of tampering, but turns out nothing's been deleted. She must've tried to access it, and got frustrated because she couldn't crack the code. Better not leave it here though. So I take it with me after getting dressed, and make my way down to the basement. But when I go in after knocking, the kids aren't there. My mind flashes back to the dream. To Menkales staring at them in the library. I shake my head. It's nothing. He can't risk his little understanding with Master. A lump forms in my throat as I think of her. Are they already at the hospital? Sighing, I quickly head out to the dining area. This will be a long, hard day, better shove something into stomach while I can.

Servants are already seated or getting food when I arrive. I recognise the old Rodian lady from yesterday standing at the counter as I approach. I clear my throat after grabbing a plate. "Hey," I say, trying to get her attention.
"Hey, Shakka, long night? Getting on with your roommate?" she asks sarcastically.
I suppress a groan. "You know it, Khee, best of girl pals. I'm looking for the two kids I brought here yesterday. Cathar, chatty, nice girl. Rodian..."
"Very quiet," she interjects. "The little sisters. They're in the kitchen. It's a work day for them," she says sternly, emphasising the last words.
"I gotta check up on them," I insist. "Master wants to make sure they're well-behaved."
She scrutinises me a bit suspiciously before softening. "One minute, and don't take anything. Mr Goren is," she lowers her voice, "very determined that the rules must be followed. If you want to eat, you take what's on the menu."
"Got it, thanks. What do you have for me?"
"Sadly no soup to..."
"Excuse me," and then I sigh in annoyance when I hear an all too familiar, shrill voice. Turning, I see the Mirialan, hands on her hips and nose wrinkled in contempt. She looks down at my plate, raises an eyebrow. "That's not for your kind," she hisses.
I suppress a groan. It's not worth it losing my cool now. "Sorry," I mutter.
She picks another plate from the pile and holds it out to me. It's corroded and dirty. "That's yours. You should have stopped her," she scolds the Rodian.
"I have many patrons and I need to make sure they've got food," she retorts defiantly.
"Look, it was my fault, okay? Sorry," I interject. "Here, take it."
"I wasn't speaking to you, wormie. And you," she glares at the woman at the counter, "do you have any clean plates for us near-humans or do I have to use the one she took from us? She's probably gotten bacteria all over it."
"Half-blood," the Rodian corrects caustically.
"What?"
"Half-blood. Mr Goren is very insistent we use the right words. Would you like to discuss it with him? This is the only near-xenos plate left." The Mirialan's nostrils flare and glares at her furiously, but the Rodian doesn't budge. With a huff, the collab practically rips the plate from my hands and pushes me out of the away to jump ahead of the queue. "Frakking greenie," another servant mutters.
"Make sure you pick the right cutlery," the Mirialn snarls. Without a further word, the Rodian shoves food onto her plate. After her it's my turn.
"Mr Goren has said that we must all make do with less, just like the soldiers of the Imperium," the Rodian woman mutters while she puts hard bread, oatmeal and some partially rotten fruit on my plate. And all I can think of is last night's absurd party. The brave and noble stormtroopers are totally living in deprivation.

I just nod mutely, ask for a cup of ersatz coffee and take my knife and fork. Naturally the cutlery is as stained and corroded as the plate. Food rests cling to it. Anyhow I sit down. I have a cast iron stomach. Living my life, I had to get one. It won't be a feast among the rebels either. But the hypocrisy is so rancid I feel like gagging. Anyway, hunger and the knowledge I probably won't get anything for quite a while makes me eat. The bread is not only hard, but a bit stale. I wash it down with the coffee, which smells awful and tastes like mud. I bet it has real mud in it. If this was ersatz coffee for humans, it would taste like dishwater. If you close your eyes and concentrate a lot, you can taste a teeny, teeny bit of coffee.

Getting up I walk to the kitchen. Rodian lady lets me through, bless her. Inside I find Vexa and Ollia hard at work, scrubbing plates in the sink. Vexa looks up, mutters 'hi', goes back to cleaning. "Hello, Miss Shakka!" Ollia exclaims a lot more exuberantly.
"Shakka's okay. Miss sounds like I'm super old," I joke lamely.
"Just a bit. You're not too bad though, for someone who's big and old," the Cathar retorts.
It does bring a small smile to my lips. I put the plate down. "How are you holding up?"
"Okay," Vexa says.
"We slept alright. It was...quiet," Ollia adds. "You okay? Master, uh, say something?"
"Yeah, you know, peachey. Nothing from Master. I just wanted to check up on you girls."
"Oh, okay. That's nice of you," Ollia says a bit distractedly, knitting her brows. "Don't think you should be here though."
And just this moment I hear footsteps outside and Goren's Umbaran minion steps in. She could always pass for human, if it weren't for her bluish-white skin and colourless eyes. "You're not assigned to kitchen work, Shakka. And you already ate your fill. Out."
"I was just checking up on my Master's servants. Making sure they're productive and alright."
"As you can see, they are," she states sternly. "They don't need you whispering indecencies in their ears. If you don't have anything useful to do, I can assign a task for you. Away from them."
"I have to report to Miss Tycho. She's expecting me," a glance at the kids. "Bye girls, see ya when you're...done with everything."
If all goes well, this will be the last time I ever see them. And if it goes poorly it'll probably be the last time too since I'll be dead. Part of me feels...bad about leaving them. It'll be fine. They're smart and tough. Kyriaki won't hurt them and Cordé will watch out for them. Please, Goddess, I've never believed in you, but keep an eye on them at least. If there's a chance in hell of any of this working out, I can come back for them one day.
For just a moment Vexa looks up at me and hmmphs. There's a...strange look in her eyes. Then she nods and look back at the dishes.
"See you later, Shakka," Ollia speaks up, raising her small, furry hand to give me a wave.
As I walk away, I hear the Umbaran boss the kids around just before I close the door. "Don't clean her plate, or that of the other pure xenos. Only the human and near-xenos ones."
"What about after?" Vexa asks quietly.
"What do you mean, speak up?"
"We can clean ours when everything else is done?"
"Very well, but only when everything else is done properly. Now, get to it, girls. Good work." This amount of conversation having exhausted the Rodian girl, she just looks at the Umbaran and nods, getting back to work.

Quickly I leave the canteen and then head out of the building. Damn, it's hot outside. It has no business being this hot. And then I think of the poor sods who'll have to work in the fields in the scorching heat until they collapse.

Ok, to the humie building. I walk past the ridiculous fountain, up to the doors and prepare myself to get bullied by KEC scumbags again and I suddenly hear the whirr of servos, and a terrifying rasp that makes a shiver runs down my spine despite the heat when suddenly the Sith 'borg steps out.

Sibylla is what Kyriaki called her. "So, you're Kyriaki's Twi'lek slave. Interesting." Her gaze sweeps me like a searchlight. It's not like that creep of a doctor, she's not perving on me, she's assessing me. Judging me. I feel like being under a microscope.
"Yes, my lord," I say meekly, hoping she'll just move on by.
"You're very close to your Master. She places a lot of trust in you. Gives you an unprecedented amount of freedom. What do you think of that?" It feels like her eyes are boring into me, taking me apart, piece by piece.
"I'm a simple xenos who needs a Master to think for her, my lord. My duty is to serve my Master, not judge her. I'm...grateful for her guidance."
"Hmm. Tell me, Shakka, what do you know about the terrorist gang called the 'Republican Guard'?"
Panic rises in me, but I desperately keep my face neutral. Think, Shakka! "They're wicked xenos trying to disturb the peace of the Imperium. They're wreckers and saboteurs trying to lure us from the pure path." Party line, that should work. I can't see her reaction behind the mask except a slightly raised eyebrow. "
"Indeed they are. Interesting. Return to your duties," she says calmly. The two thugs standing guard are laughing, but fall silent when her gaze turns to them. "She may pass." Then she walks away. I'm sweating. When she's gone I feel my heart thumping. All my fears come rushing back. What does she know? I'm sweating. I seek out a basin in the xenos staff restroom and wash my face. I can't let Cordé see me like this. Fortunately, there are no further surprises and so by the time I reach her office I've mostly got a handle on my nerves.

Cordé is sitting at her desk reading through official looking documents and scribbling stuff down when I come in. "Oh, Shakka, good day!" she says in her usual chipper voice, but it feels...forced. Just like the smile on her face. It doesn't reach her eyes. "I hope you slept well!"
"Much as you can, given the circumstances, ma'am."
To my surprise, she doesn't give me a lecture. "Yes...they're...not the best," she mutters, sighing. "I had...a lot to process. Anyway, I've been going through the forms required to get a new business in a xenos reservation approved. It's an awful lot of busybody work."
The document in front of her has the letterhead of the Ministry of Finance. Or, as we like to call it, the Ministry of Theft. "Master's a Sith, ma'am. Can't she just...snap her fingers and get it approved? Say the Vader appeared to her in a dream and told her to build it?"
And momentarily the Cordé I know is back. The exasperated school principal explaining something to a dumb pupil. "Don't be daft, girl! That may be how things work in your Twi'lek den, but the Imperium is a civilised nation governed by laws," she declares pompously. I mentally prepare myself for a long-winded, prissy lecture, but then she looks dejected.
"That's what it should be," she murmurs. She moves some stuff around, but is inattentive and her cup drops. Quickly I grab the papers before they can be covered in coffee.
"You –" she starts. Is she going to blame this on me? Then she sighs.
"Sorry for not wearing gloves," I say sheepishly.
"We can make an...exception in this case, thank you. Put them on the shelf for now." I do so, she grabs a towel and starts mopping up her desk. "Good on you for taking them. Printing them out was a chore."
"Let me guess, five pages a minute?"
"Yes! And it made such an infernal noise I got complaints." She puts the rag away. "I am," she takes a breath, as if she's struggling to get out whatever she wants to say, "for what it's worth...I am sorry about what's being done at the hospital."
"Yeah, me, too," I mutter. Please don't drag this out. "But...there's still people we can help. I know you and Master...aren't like Menkales and those other thugs, ma'am. You're a good person and you're doing your best." Every word feels like a betrayal, but I have to save them. If there's any chance of them sparing some people from the worst.
Her lips curl into a smile. "And you're a good xenos. All xenos and humans should work together the way we do!" I cringe when she says that. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to notice. "The children are alright?" she asks, sounding concerned – for real. But she just can't understand what it's like to be one of us. Yet patronising pity is the best a xenos can hope for. Ollia and Vexa will need it.
"Yes, ma'am. Washing up."
"Good, good. I'll check on them later. That...vile man won't touch them."
"He scares them. They're good kids. Smart, too. Just need a chance. Anything you want me to do, ma'am? Master told me to help."
She seems to compose herself. "Oh, yes, there's much work to be done! I've already passed on the list to that slime Necharus – repulsive, slimy man, I hate having to rely on him." In other words, he's every humie bigshot, but I know better than to say that.
"Yeah, me too. So what do you want me to do, ma'am?"
"Well, I have a...," Cordé trails off when she checks her chrono. "But first I have to inspect the servants! Come on. I need someone to take notes. And...you can give me advice. When I ask for it," she adds sternly, thrusts a clipboard and a pen in my hands. Quickly I hasten after Cordé, making sure to stick close to her. She's my protection against being harassed by the black and grey-clad thugs the damn building is packed with.

After walking way too long through a building that's a monument to one monster's huge ego, we end up at our destination. As we approach, I can hear Goren's in the middle of a speech. "That's my girl. A group leader in the Damsels of the Divine St. Padmé!"
"Uh-huh." Just my luck, it's one of the KEC thugs from last night. From the ditch. He sounds bored. I think it's 'Tobias'.
"Can I see?" That was the other.
"She turned eighteen a few months ago. Good genes, if I may say so. The Racial Health Department has already certified her. An exemplary young girl...but I worry about what you hear on the news today. Today's youth has so many queer ideas."
"Yes, I'm sure that's interesting. Can you stop bothering us now?" thug number one grunts.
"She's very beautiful..."
"What she needs is a good man. A brave knight. Someone who can cherish and command her..."

Cordé clears her throat. "I'm here for the inspection."
Immediately he turns, staring at her moodily through his monocle. "Oh, it's you and your pet." He wrinkles his nose glaring at me. "I knew I smelt something foul. She had a wash, didn't she?" Yeah, in your dirty shower, arsehole. As I step in, I see the servants are washing uniforms by hand, submerging them in basins and scrubbing them.
"My lord instructed you to ensure the showers were cleaned," Cordé responds. "Per the order of Lady Kyriaki I'm here to inspect the servants and determine which should serve her. Captain Diamandis has agreed. I must ask you not to obstruct my task."
"Obstruct?" Goren laughs. "Young lady, when you've grown up you'll regret not appreciating my guidance. These creatures are inscrutable and venal. If it weren't for me, they'd just be lazing around."
"Can we get on with it?" thug number one demands. "I have real work to do." Shooting me a dirty look, he taps his gun. "Make sure the wormhead behaves herself." Thug number two puts a photo away.
"Yes, yes, I understand how important your mission is. We all serve the great cause of the Supreme Leader! I have a special bond with him, you know."
"Really?" Cordé asks sceptically.
He gives her an arrogant smirk. "Above your clearance level, my dear." Looking at the servants, he barks, "line up, you lazy rabble!" as the bastard shouts, he retrieves his whip from his belt and cracks it. It snakes through the air and almost lashes across the chest of a Cathar.
"That was unnecessary," Cordé states as the poor servants quickly drop what they were doing and form up.
"You presume too much, woman," the oaf snaps. "You're skirting dangerously close to fraternising with these little beasts."
"Don't do it again. Or I'll report you to my lord."
"Like she never whipped some xenos at Sith school. Don't get your knickers in a twist. Your pet does as she's told because someone beat some discipline into her once." Don't let it show, Shakka, don't show any emotion. I just keep my eyes down.

Cordé bristles. "Shakka, with me." She walks down the line, I follow. "My name is Maiden Cordé Tycho, I serve Lady Kyriaki of the Disciples of the Vader. State your name, previous master, and skills," she says to the Cathar.
He's a big guy, with black fur and broad shoulders. But there's scars on his face. His mane is long and wild. I suppress a wince when I see a brand on his hand. "Crahton, ma'am. Former master - Captain Villius. I'm a worker, hauler, whatever needs strong arms."
"Appropriate use for a savage," butler jerk-face scoffs, peering at him through his stupid monocle. "Take him if you want. Just make sure to give him a good whipping once in a while. You can take the beast out of the jungle, but making a man out of the beast...well, that's hopeless. "
I can see the Cathar fighting back a snarl. "He'd be good at hauling stuff in Master's factory, ma'am," I tell Cordé quietly.
"Mr Goren, we must domesticate the xenos, not abuse them. We do this by example, understanding and setting boundaries." I cringe when Cordé says that. The KEC goons laugh at her naivete. She flushes pink, but shoots them a death glare then looks back at the big guy. "Crahton, list your former duties."
"I did the heavy lifting when Master's house was built. Then I worked in the garden. Master put me to work on a canal."
Cordé raises an eyebrow. "A canal? I didn't see one on our way to Hope Falls."
"Was never finished, ma'am. We dug a trench...but then we were told to pack up return to our duties. Sabotage, the bosses said."
"Sabotage?"
"I don't know the big picture, ma'am. I just follow orders. Workers kept turni' up dead, tools disappeared."
"Bet the canal wasn't anywhere near the river, ma'am," I say whisper to Cordé.
"I know all about that canal," the blustering oaf waves his hand around grandly. "The corrupt cabal was working with the Jedi dogs! And these lazy workers were in on it. I sent a detailed report to the Supreme Leader."
"Curious that my lady never mentioned this report. She received her assignment directly from him," Cordé comments tartly.
Goren screws his stupid monocle tighter into his right eye. "His Excellency and I share a profound bond."
Goddess, can't you just fall down the stairs or something? Luckily Cordé cuts him off before he can puff himself up anymore. "Be that as it may," she says, "my lady can use someone accustomed to honest labour. Shakka, write his name and personal details."
"Got it, ma'am."
"Watch yourself around that beast, Maiden," 'Tobias' jabs his finger at Ligarla. "My mates and I have seen their handiwork first-hand. Remember the St. Padme Mission. They killed everyone. Women and children, too. The savages chased some of the missionaries into the forest, made a game out of hunting them before they ripped them apart. It was sport to them. Even the little cubs the missionaries had raised as their own. Give them an inch, and they bite your hand off and swallow it raw."
Cordé bites her lip. "Hmm, I remember. I know settlers whose homesteads were sacked. Sometimes the beast is too strong. We can civilise the cubs...but an adult servant of a corrupt thug may be very difficult to reform."
"But that wasn't him, ma'am. He's a strong, dependable work. I think he'll do well. Ollia will feel less alone if there's someone from her race to talk. Their people are tribal...as you know, of course," I say quickly before she can continue angsting. "Master trusts your judgement."
"Tell me what work needs doin', ma'am, and I'll get it done. If there's other Cathar 'round, I'll make sure they stay outta trouble."
"Lady Kyriaki entrusted the choice to me. And I decide my decision stands. Shakka, write that down."
"Yes, ma'am." I have already, but I move my pen to make it look like I'm jotting notes down.
"Who's making the decision? You or the rainbow?"
Cordé regards 'Tobias' coolly. "I've made my decision. Thank you for input. Next."

The next servant is a Togruta girl. She's very thin. The moment I lay eyes upon her, I tense. Those dark purple marks on her face and lekku. It's like staring at a ghost. I almost miss Cordé playing three questions again. "Lilgarla, ma'am," the Togruta says softly. "I served Lieutenant Xanthippus and his wife. I can sew and weave, and read and write."
"Oh! That's unusual for your kind!"
"I only know a bit," she responds quickly, but calmly. "Mistress made me do grocery shopping and Master made me take notes."
"I know all about Xanthippus. An unscrupulous scoundrel, one of Bakios' cronies," the lord oaf sneers. "And all manners of queer talk about his wife. I wouldn't put it past either to commit acts of indecency with this creature."
I realise I'm still staring when Cordé addresses me. "Is there something on your mind, Shakka?"
"Uh, sorry, ma'am, it's just the pattern of her markings."
"You mean tattoos?"
"Err, no, ma'am. Togruta are born with stripes. They change as they grow and change as they age. Ligarla, are you related to Tara? Bakios' servant. She had the same tattoos."
Lilgarla lowers her gaze, eyes downcast. "My sister was a criminal and a traitor. She disobeyed the natural order. Her punishment was just," she says mechanically like she's rehearsed it a hundred times and is on auto-pilot.
Cordé's demeanour seems to change. "Chin up, look me in the eye, girl." Her words are sharp, but her face has softened. "Your cousin was...a brave woman. She gave her life to bring your Master's evil nature to light. What he did to her was...unconscionable. Only someone truly cruel and wicked would deny you the right to grieve for her."
She doesn't cry. She doesn't dare to. Probably thinks it's a trick. Instead she just nods. "Thank you, ma'am. I'm...grateful to the Disciple for bringing him down."
"There, there. You'll meet her soon. We need a seamstress, and someone who can take roll calls."
"I will do as you command, ma'am."

"And you?" Cordé asks, approaching a well-built female Zabrak with scruffy hair and stained overalls. Her face and bare arms are scarred and tough. Her wrists bear the telltale signs of long restraint.
"Zoranya. Captain Astyges. Mechanic, chauffeur, hauler."
"Mechanic? What did you do for the Captain? Who taught you that skill?"
"Me. Drove the Captain. Fixed machines."
"You insolent devil, you will address the Maiden properly, and with proper answers!" Goren blusters, getting close to her and threatening with the whip.
But Zoranya doesn't flinch. "Yes, sir. Ma'am, those are my skills."
"Watch this one, Maiden, her few words hide an uppity spirit! You will need to thrash her to keep in line I think."
"Thank you, Mr Goren, I will take that under advisement. I'll take her, too. Shakka, make a note."
Zoranya looks at Cordé, ignoring him. "Thank you, ma'am." She has clearly been thrashed a lot but it has not broken her.
"As a half-blood, you are a breed apart from the other...xenos. It's our duty to set an example for them so they can learn. But don't let pride poison your mind. You will carry out all your tasks diligently."
"Yes, ma'am."

The next one is the only Twi'lek in the group. She has blue skin and there's a scar on her neck that's just about hidden by a scarf. She's twitching nervously and gives me a hopeful look. I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. "Hello, ma'am," she addresses Cordé demurely, "thank you for giving me this chance, my name is Milana Qual."
Goren jabs his finger at her. "You mean Opal," she sneers.
Cordé raises an eyebrow. "Explain yourself?"
"That is my...stage name, ma'am. I'm an entertainer and an actress."
"A minstrel show performer. Let's not use euphemisms, temptress," the jackarse interrupts her.
There's sweat dripping down her lekku, but she keeps her cool. "Captain Onasis had me do chores and perform in the theatre. Sometimes I gave performances for workers who'd overfulfilled work quotas, ma'am."
"Hmm," Cordé frowns. "An 'actress'. I'm looking for workers for an enterprise that will be run in accordance with the highest moral standards, not a...sin pit. There will be children there!"
"Ma'am, she can learn other stuff," I say quietly. "And having some entertainment here and there - just some singing and stuff – would help raise folks' spirits."
"Yes, I learn very fast, ma'am. Please, just give me a chance. I've got family to support. My mother's ill..."
Cordé waves her hand. "You don't have the necessary skill set, and I have doubts about your moral character. Some time spent in the fields will allow you to reforge yourself into an honest woman. Then we can reassess you."
"Ma'am, please, she won't make it. Master ordered we..."
"Shakka, enough! Think of the greater good, not just your people," she snaps. It shouldn't feel that way...but it feels like I've been physically struck. Milana is still begging and pleading, but Cordé has already walked away. My heart sinks when I see the desperate look the poor girl gives me. She's crying. The thugs laugh. Frak you, Cordé.
"Ma'am, please! I can..." she tries to dash after her, but thug number two shoves her to the floor. I feel like ripping his heart out, but all I can do is stand there.
The arsehole spits on her lekku. "You won't seduce a pure maiden on our watch, 'actress'," the monster snarls at her. I'm sorry.
Cordé notices, and I'm foolish enough to hope she'll do something about it. "Errant, go easy on her! Or she won't learn anything. We can't stoop to their level." Racist humie cow. She's just as callous as all the rest if a 'xenos' doesn't fit into a neat little box.

"Shakka," she calls out. "Shakka, bring me the list." I force myself to turn away from poor Milana and walk towards the damn humie. "You're a good girl, but you need to be more disciplined. Otherwise you'll suffer lots of unnecessary misfortune," the cow lectures me in that infuriating, nagging voice of hers. Like she didn't just stand there while one of the humie thugs beat an innocent woman.

A well-trained dog, that's what she us to be. What she wants me to be. "Yes, ma'am. Here, ma'am." "I just want what's best for you, girl." She gets out her pen and signs. "Bring this to Captain Diamandis' office. It's near Mr Goren's office."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm so sorry." Just as I step out, I hear a soft voice and turn, seeing Lilgarla walk towards Milana, bending down. "Not all is lost, don't give.."
"Girl, you're done here. You'll be given new duties. That goes for the rest of you, too," 'Tobas' yells at her.
The Togruta sighs, looking sad and walks away. Crahton grinds his teeth and gives Milana a solemn nod as he leaves. Stone-faced Zoranya just frowns and walks to the door. Goren is already barking out orders at poor Milana. I'm sorry, sister. I vanish into the corridor.

Frak it, when will the Guard send the damn message? If I stay here much longer, I'm going to snap. Calm down, Shakka, keep it together. Just a bit longer.

I find the office well enough. Naturally, it's not as simple as knocking on the door and dropping off the paper. "You're in the wrong place, wormie. We didn't book any dancers," a KEC goon standing guard leers at me.
"I need to deliver a report to the Captain, sir," I say, trying to keep my voice even and demure. "Maiden Tycho sent me."
"The Captain's got more important things to do than deal with filth. Give me the report and scamper, girl."
"I was ordered to give it to him, sir."
"The little wormie thinks she doesn't have to show us any respect because her owner's a Sith. A very sickly, weak Sith," another goon snarls. "Thinks we can't touch her."
Then suddenly the door opens and Lachesis' goon-in-chief steps out. He looks annoyed. "What's going on here?" he demands.
"Uh, Captain, we were vetting the xenos...," one of them stammers.
"So I see. By making idiotic comments about someone who's your better. Where's your honour, your discipline? You can always join Myhailov in Troizen! Go report to your Banneret." Quickly they make their exit, shooting me dirty looks. "What do you want, slave?" Diamandis snaps at me. "That's for me?"
"Yes, sir, from Maiden..." he pulls the list from my hands. "Tycho," I finish. "The servant list." He reads through the list, nods, and puts it away. He doesn't leer at me, he just looks at me like I'm an...ant. A gnat that's so beneath him it's not even worth wasting energy. "Acceptable. Now get out of my sight." I walk away as fast as I can without getting into trouble.

Just a bit longer.

Miss Holier-Than-Thou is back in her office, doing her paperwork when I return, but looks up upon hearing me. "Any trouble?"
"No, ma'am. He said it's fine."
"Good," she leans back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We've accomplished something today. These people will be safe and do honest work." You could've saved another one, but you're too much of a callous bigot. While I'm silent, she prattles on. "I didn't enjoy turning that Twi'lek away, Shakka. I couldn't pick everyone; she had no useful skills and her character was...questionable. It was a hard decision. Not done out of malice. You have to understand that."

What the frak, you want sympathy now? You want your slave to tell you that you're a good master so you can go to bed thinking you're the good Vaderite and everything is fine and dandy with Humanism? Go to hell. I force my lips to move. "Yes, ma'am. Do you want me to help with paperwork, ma'am?"
"These needs to be sorted." She pushes over a stack of files. It's...big. "Separated by type, alphabetical order, colour-coded and labelled. I think you're ready for some responsibility, so once you've done that, fill out Form 27a and Form 27b and print them out. Don't sign them, obviously. If you need any help, call me. Make sure you wear gloves when you touch any official documents."
"Yes, ma'am."
She tosses a pair of gloves towards me. As I slip them on and take the files, she just has to open her mouth again. "Oh, and coffee would be nice. Feel free to make yourself some too. Skim milk, no sugar. It's bad for you! You know how to use the coffee machine?" If only I could pour her damn coffee over her head.
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

I don't like admitting it, but I need the coffee. It tastes way better than that junk in the canteen, and because it's meant for humies the mug is actually clean. Armed with a steaming mug of caffeine I set to work. It's tedious and annoying. AC lackey is writing something, doing research and making notes or on the comm, talking to bureaucratic humie drones like her. And so things drag on. I sort her damn files, and fill out her forms.

What a surprise, the only difference between 27a and 27b is one word. But they go to different sub-sections of the same department and that makes it serious business. She was right – the printer takes ages and makes a damn loud, grinding noise. Must have real bad motors!

Cordé insists on checking every damn page. I'm in the middle of organising more files when suddenly my comm vibrates in my pocket. My heart skips a beat. This is it. This has to be it. Good thing I put the comm on silent.

Fortunately, Cordé's buried her nose in paperwork. "Err, ma'am," I speak up, trying to sound as submissive as I can. Trying to stay calm, and hoping she won't notice my sweaty palms.
"Yes, Shakka?" she looks up. "Are you already through with tasks? Remember, haste makes waste!"
"Not done yet, ma'am. I'm being extra thorough, like you said. I just gotta go to the loo."
"Oh very well, very well. But be quick and make sure you...clean up after yourself. This is a civilised place, not an outhouse. Remember, the xenos staff restroom. I know you're not like the other xenos...but we must follow the rules."
"Yes, ma'am."
My heart is thumping in my chest when I leave the room. Immediately, I look around, then fish out my comm. There it is. The message I was waiting for. Quickly, I hit delete.

Suddenly, alarm sirens howl. I freeze. This can't be...

A burly KEC thug charges across the corridor. He's kitted out in full combat gear, urban camo armour, face hidden behind a helmet, rifle slung over his shoulder. Frak, frak, frak. He runs towards me...and just shoves me aside.

I cry out. Then I realise he's run past me, boots thumping across the carpet. As I make my way to the exit, I soon realise he's not the only one. Armed and armoured KEC goons are racing out of the building into the courtyard.

The Republican Guard.

No one seems to notice me as I climb out of an open window. Crouching, I sneak to the fountain and keep my head down as NCOs bark orders, soldiers pile into their vehicles. The first groundcars race out of the gate, and I rise and dash towards a bush.
With every step, I can feel my heart thundering inside my chest. This is happening; this is really happening. Silently, I count, waiting in the bushes. One...two...three. I climb up the wall.

"Stop!" a human voice shouts.

I don't stop. I don't freeze. Not anymore. I climb faster, as the rifle is levelled at me. And then I almost lose my grip when I hear a deafening explosion.

A truck goes up in flames, debris flies through the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the soldier is struck by debris. I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder, and throw myself over the wall.

I'm out.

I've done. I've done it.

 

[Kyriaki]

Kyriaki
​

I come to, with the blast still ringing in my ears. The high-pitched ringing sound makes me wince. Blood is dripping from my ear. But I am otherwise...unhurt. Dust clings to my robes, but my limbs are all there and I don't feel the white-hot stab of shrapnel. Strange. Maybe it's because I wasn't walking at the head of the pack.

I look around and see Gorn is covered in blood. Or rather what's left of him is. One of his arms is a bloody mess. His elbow is badly mangled, and he's struggling to keep his guts inside. He won't make it. I can feel his life force dissipating. He wheezes heavily.

"Sir, sir!" I hear a voice cry out. It's Zhulweis. The Duros has a cut on his face and is bent over...a bloody, suffering Menkales, pressing against his chest. "Everything will be fine, sir. You'll be fine. Stay with me," I hear Zhulweis assure him while Menkales cries out in anguish. For just a moment, I perceive a change in Zhulweis' aura as Menkales struggles to breathe. Satisfaction. But when I blink I only feel abject terror. "I need a stretcher now! Or the KEC will have your heads!"

"My lord! My lord, you alright?" Kynnos' frantic voice pulls me from my daze.
"Yes," I speak haltingly. My throat feels dry.
"Can you stand, my lord?" he extends his hand, then withdraws it. "I mean no offence..." He's bleeding from a cut on his forehead.
I just grab his hand and he helps me up. "We have no time for this, soldier. Honna?" I call out.

"Here, m'lord," my Gamorrean guard grunts. Her uniform is torn and her left arm hangs limply, obviously struck by fragments. But she stands defiantly.
"What's your condition?"
"I live, arm hurt," she responds flatly. There is a flicker of something on her porcine face when she looks at Gorn. "Commander."
"Honna," he grunts weakly, raising his hand limply. "Spirits call. Keep on fightin'. Let no one ground ya down."
She bends down. "Go with the spirits, chieftain." He stops breathing, and she closes her right hand into a loose fist, touching his brow, then his mouth. "You were a right bastard, but ya looked out for me and mine," she grunts softly.

"Help," I hear Menkales groan, spitting blood. His face is so pale. No longer the proud master of life and death, the Humanist superman who delights in tormenting xenos babies Just a pathetic, frightened man. I can smell the blood oozing from him. He tries to raise his hand. "Kyri..."
Hasapis lies nearby, bleeding and cursing. "You frakking save his life, or I'll rip your frakking heart out, egghead!" he yells at the Duros. The bomb has ripped Hasapis' right leg away. If the strained breathing is any indication, there must be some internal damage, too. Good. I feel their pain, and I revel in it. It feels glorious and invigorating through the Force. Not far from them the KEC man who rode with Kynnos has been ripped apart.

"Oh, my lord, good to see you're alive!" Bri exclaims. "If something had happened to you... Damn terrorists. They'll pay for this! You fools, don't just stand there, get help for the wounded! Lock down the building," she yells at some of the guards.

"Calm down. The bomber may still be at large," I snap, wincing from the pain in my head. Then suddenly my comm. link beeps. Groaning, I grab it, and see it's Cordé's number. "Kyriaki."
"My lord...Kyriaki, what happened? We heard there was an attack on the hospital...and then a bomb exploded at HQ!"
"Same here. I am unhurt. Are you alright? What about Shakka?"
"I wasn't at the blast area. The bomb exploded at the gates. They must've planned this. But Shakka is gone!"
"Gone?"
"We were doing paperwork, then she excused herself because she needed to go to the restroom. I got worried that one of these...ruffians might be hurting her and went looking, then that bomb exploded. And now I can't find her. Do you think she might be..." Cordé talks as fast as a machine gun. I struggle to get a word in until I reach a point where I can cut her off.

"Cordé, you did nothing wrong," I interject firmly. I can fix this. I can hear my heart thunder inside my chest. "Shakka is...performing an important task. Keep an eye out for her, but don't do anything rash. Inform Sibylla, and no one else."
"Kyriaki...I don't understand."
I spare the suffering Menkales a glance. Great. Now I need him alive. "Cordé, you have to trust me on this. As my friend, I must be able to count on your discretion in this matter. And on hers. Can I count on you?"
I hear her sigh. There's a moment of silence. "Yes," I hear her say, but my attention has drifted elsewhere. We're not the only ones who were hurt. I see wounded guards, and a few condemned patients have been injured by the blast wave or shrapnel. Their pain reverberates through the Force. If they die it will probably be a more merciful end than whatever horrors awaited them in Menkales' torture chambers.

But I have no time to put names to the faces, for my gaze settles on something...unusual. As guards and medical personnel run hither and zither, one person calmly purposefully walks away from the chaos. Green skin, dark hair...hospital attire. Most people would be more...frantic.

Realisation dawns on me as the Mirialan – a woman, by the looks of it – vanishes into the throng. "Doctor, stabilise him," I jab my finger at Zhulweis and the groaning Menkales. "Kynnos, cut her off." And then I take off. Hearing me, the Mirialan bolts, vanishing behind an ambulance, and I dash after her in a Force-enhanced sprint, running past blood and wounded bodies.

"Stop!" a PF guard yells at the running Mirialan, raising his gun. But she is faster and fires a small pistol. He cries as the bullet strikes his leg and his shot goes wide. She keeps on running, but I have gained ground. The gate looms ahead of us.

I pick up the pace. But suddenly I feel a spark of premonition inside my mind. I 'see' the bullet leave the barrel of her gun and shoot towards me before I hear the crack of the gunshot. On instinct, I've already reached for my enchanted blade...And then I remember it is not there. I must have lost it when the blast hit me.

Frak.

Stumbling over some trash, I feel a stab of pain in my bad leg.

The bullet shoots towards.

Time seems to slow.

The bullet flies so close I can smell it. Feel the heat.

My abdominal muscles tighten and the Force surges through every fibre of my being. I grab the bullet with the power of my mind. The bullet is frozen in the air, but a few millimetres from my skull. The projectile wobbles, as the laws of physics try in vain to propel it onward. Blood drips from my nose, and my head throbs painfully. But the bullet keeps hovering in the air.

Then there is a crack of a gunshot and the Mirialan yelps in pain, falling. Kynnos emerges from behind her, holding the smoking gun. He kicks her pistol away, never taking his eyes off her. The boy may have potential.

Through my will I manage to force the bullet to fall to the ground, and I step forward. Now I can finally get a good look of the fugitive. My mind flashes back to the hospital entrance. The receptionist. She glares at me with fear and hatred in her eyes.

Time for some theatre. "Your determination is admirable, and futile," I state "Your actions won't just bring great suffering to yourself, but all your kind, too."
"And the more you tighten the noose, the more of us will fight back," she snarls, clutching at her wound.
"Whom do you serve? The Dominion, the Republican Guard?" I hiss at her. She spits on the ground. "Frak you, monster," she snarls.
As I step closer, I can hear her heart hammering. "You act defiant, but I feel your fear. I can smell it. We Sith can inflict agony you can't possibly. One last chance." Sirens are howling in the distance, and I can hear goons running towards us.
She shakes her head, and spits on the floor.
I lift my mechanical hand at her face. "Your choice." For a few seconds there is nothing, and she tenses. Then I see her squirm.

I know exactly the way this technique feels...because I was on the receiving end more than once at Achilles' court and later in the academy. It starts with a squirm running from the pit of your stomach to your throat, akin to something being extracted from you on a hook. Tension hits your temple, as a pair of screws drills into the bone.

It brings tears to her eyes. She cries, and I stretch out my hand until it hovers over her brow, jabbing my fingers against her forehead as if I'm driving a knife through her skull. Straight into her mind. Like a stab of a hot knife through flesh, my power burns and slices through her mind.

She pulls back in a vain attempt to get away, but Kynnos has grabbed the back of her head. "Who?" my voice thunders inside her mind. Her face is baked in sweat, and she screams. As I rip and tear through her mind, I see flashes of memory. A starbird. A shadowed face almost wreathed in smoke, with what looks like horns poking out. I feel the emotions swirling inside her. Fear, anger, naked terror...determination.

I perceive a flash of something in her mind. Something she is trying to trigger. I home in on it. A capsule embedded inside her tooth. For just I relieve some of the pressure.

She bites down on the capsule. Within seconds her arms begin to shake. It begins at the tip of her fingers and spreads to her chest. "Cyanide!" I hear Kynnos yell. Quickly, he grabs her by the throat. But it is too late to keep her from swallowing.

White foam dribbles from the side of the Mirialan's mouth, and down his chin. As I hear the goons surround us, her eyes spasm shut and her body goes limp. I take a breath. "The traitor killed herself. I was too late," I declare. "Good work, Squire."
"I wish I'd seen it coming, my lord," he says modestly.
"She didn't escape back to her masters. Inspect the body," I brush it off. Groundcars bearing PF number plates burst onto the courtyard. "We have wounded. They need help immediately," I bark at soldiers and medics rushing out.
"Just her pistol and this, my lord," Kynnos says, holding out the woman's comm to me. I pocket it quickly.
"Thank you, come on." With purpose I stride back into the hospital, passing the chaos at the entrance. Wounded patients have been carelessly left to bleed out. It's a ghastly sight. There are only a few, but their wails echo across the courtyard. So much blood. Is that healthy Togruta I sold out to Menkales among them? Did she manage to make a run for it during the chaos? Or is she already in one of the ambulances, sedated and still damned? I walk on. The guards just stand there.

Kynnos clears his throat, looking very pale. "My lord, there must be something we can do for these... people! It's...wrong to just leave them to suffer."
"They're condemned to suffer and die regardless," I snap. I step over a body and walk past a Rodian with maimed legs, covered in blood, begging for help. The poor creature raises a bloody hand missing two fingers.
And then Honna stomps into my field of view. Bending down to the Rodian, she mutters something I don't understand, but it seems to calm him. Then she brings her massive hands to his throat and snaps his neck. "Ease their pain," she growls at Kynnos...but I feel like her fiery gaze is directed at me, too. Her voice is even rougher than usual, like the growl of an angry Akk Dog. Her arm is wrapped in a makeshift bandage. It is soaked with blood.
Kynnos is evidently too shaken to preach about insubordination. "Ease their pain," he mutters, drawing his pistol. "I can do that. You should get your arm looked at. By your leave, my lord?"
"Yes." Without a further word I head for the entrance. As I step in, I hear Kynnos mumble what sounds like a prayer before there is the crack of a gunshot. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

The patients the medical staff actually bothers to treat are not hard to find. I pass Hasapis being treated in one room. There's cursing coming from there. Then I hear loud shouting from where I sense Menkales' faint aura. "Nurse, get the ventilator started!" Zhulweis yells.
"Uhh...Doctor, we're still awaiting parts for that..."
"Dammit, just get the oxygen tank then and we'll do it manually. If only...urgh. Get the sedatives prepared, make sure it's the human one." The Zabrak nurse practically rushes out of the room, running past me as if the hounds of hell are on her heels.
"Are you telling me you can't treat him?" Bri demands, sounding frantic.
"I can...I will. Now let me work."
"Enough," I snap as I step in. Menkales looks terrible. They've bandaged him up. The bandages are bloody. His skin is ashen and I don't need the instruments to notice that his pulse is beating rapidly. His lips are bluish. "He's going into hypovolemic shock!" Zhulweis shouts. "Administer fluids now. We need a blood transfusion."
"Sir, we don't have any human..."
And then Menkales vomits. It would be such a fitting irony if he were to die here in due to poor facilities.
I take a breath, and place a hand on Menkales' sweat-covered, cold forehead. "You may have to catch me in a moment," I remark as I sink once more into the Force. Frak, I hate that I have to do this. Hate it. Hate it. He should bleed out, suffering every step of the way until he finally crosses over and his is tormented in burning hellfire. The nurse runs back into the room with the tank, Zhulweis practically tears it out of her hands and does his thing.

The energies flow through my veins. Every fibre of my being feels like it's on fire, as I draw upon my rage, anger, fear and hatred. I can't afford to let him die yet, much as he deserves it.

But it won't be pleasant. The darkness, for all its power, is poor at healing. This time there is no convenient goon to drain. The energy will have to come from me. The Force coalesces around my hand and dark tendrils sprout from it. I break out in cold sweat as the energy is drawn from me and flows into him. It looks like oily worms are crawling over him and sinking into his skin. Menkales screams in anguish, his pulse racing. He deserves it and more. I cannot fully heal him, nor do I intend to. But if the doctor does his job, I can stabilise him so he can get proper treatment. Menkales' body convulses and spasms. "My lord, he's going to have a heart attack," a nurse exclaims worriedly to Zhulweis.
The Duros brushes her off. "Don't question the Sith. Do your job and help me." I sway as the sickly looking, writhing tendrils spread over his body. Blood drips from my nose, my hands feel clammy and sweaty.

The nurse has placed a small tube into Menkales' vein, and fluids start flowing into him, while the Duros sets up the tank. Slowly Menkales' pulse rate slows and his body stops trembling. Oxygen begins to fill Menkales' lungs. "Breathing is normalising. He's stable...for now," Zhulweis wipes his sweat-covered forehead. "Thank you, my lord. He's not out of the woods yet. He'll need a blood transfusion, we'll have to move him...but he has a chance."

The medical staff's actions fade into the background for me. Feeling a surge of dizziness overcome me, my head starts to spin and I fall. Before my head can hit the ground, Bri catches me. "See how we can support each other, my lord?" I'd like to see your face when I choke you. "What you did was incredible. Come on, there's a chair here. That was incredible. Do you need something?" she asks nervously as she guides me to a chair.
"Water," I rasp. My throat feels so dry.
"You heard the Disciple, get her a glass of water!" the Zabrak councillor yells at the nearest nurse. "Did you find the bomber, my lord?"
"She's dead."
"May she be damned forever. What...what was her species?"
"Mirialan. The receptionist. But she must've had help."
"I never trusted those arrogant greenies. Always acting like they're green-skinned humans when they fill the ranks of the blasted Jedi. Always consorting with the wormies. They've been trying for years to steal our council seat. My community will condemn this atrocity. The council didn't know of this evil plot. We will wipe out the terrorists root and stem, I promise you." Trying hard to sound strong and forceful.
A nurse rushes back into the room, holding a glass. With a shaky hand, I take it and swallow most of the water in one gulp. "Be quiet," I snap. "I don't believe you were involved – or the council. But there will have to be reprisals, and you know it. Someone's head will have to roll. Remember, we have hostages." She swallows and nods mutely.

Reprisals, such a nice euphemism. Many hostages are children. I wanted to avoid a massacre...and establish leverage, and I've just provided more sacrificial lambs.

Damn Vaderites, damn rebels.

"Yes, my lord. I only want to assist you," she says, chastened.
I give her a nod. "And I will be an honest advocate for your community." And suddenly my comm rings. At first I think it's Cordé again or even Sibylla, but then I see the number on the display. With some effort, I get up and step out into the corridor. "Yes?"
"My lord, it's Necharus. I hope you're well! I heard about the...incident. I immediately dispatched my men to lock down the area. They should've arrived by now..."
"I'm aware. The PF took casualties. Gorn is dead."
"A shame. He had our porcine auxiliaries well in hand. Our press department will write something uplifting about his noble sacrifice. Good thing we only sent xenos with you."
"Do you have something relevant to tell me? I have a crisis to manage."
"Oh, my apologies. I would never dare waste any of your time. In the light of our recent conversation, there's a serious matter I thought you should know..."

 

[Kyriaki]

Shakka​

I'm out. I'm out.

I can't believe I did it. Feels like it's happening to someone else and I'm just along for the ride and watching while not-me takes the plunge.

But I did it.

And I need to get the hell away from here. I've penetrated the inner layer of this stupidly grandiose villa. My back hurts and there's a cut in my hand. Probably from shrapnel. It stings, but there's nothing I can do at the moment.

Smoke rises from the inner gate. The orange flame of the explosion has ripped an armoured groundcar apart. The hood and roof have been torn off. It's chaos. Soldiers are crying out in pain, medics are rushing in to help; goons are dragging their comrades out of the wrecked vehicle. Guess stomping on innocent people isn't fun anymore when they have the temerity to fight back instead of kindly letting you murder them, huh? Can't handle it when the tables are turned, arseholes?

But as much as the bastards deserve it, I can't waste time enjoying the sight. So I quietly take off. After all the time I've spent here, I've got a pretty good idea of the place's layout. The grounds and surrounds of this place are magnificent. Ridiculously so.

Everything is pastoral and picturesque in the grounds of the Dear Leader. Hard to imagine that a couple miles away there's a town where people live in squalor and poverty, with little food, no electricity, no clean water, no sanitation.

As I make my way through the carefully laid out gardens, I tense and quickly dive for cover behind a tree when goons rush across the road towards the gate...leaving a truck on the roadside. I take a chance and sneak towards it, and make a quick inspection. I know how to hotwire a vehicle...I push that thought out after a few seconds of thought. Too much of a risk of getting pulled over. Or of my new 'friends' accidentally shooting at me. And there'll definitely be a security check at the second gate.

So instead I check the back of the truck for anything useful. Unfortunately, the Vaderites weren't nice enough to leave a gun behind, but I find a medkit, a pair of binoculars and a coat with a hood. I throw the cloak over my shoulders and use the hood to cover my headtails, and quickly climb out.

"Move it, boys! We'll find the terrorist scum and make them pay!" one of them yells as I duck for cover behind a tree. While they embark, I open up the medkit and wrap a bandage around my still bleeding hand. The truck takes off, and I start making my way out of here.

All I have to do is hustle along the trees, and stay in cover, using my cloak and the trees to get as much distance between me and the grounds as I can.
Eventually, I reach the outer wall of the villa grounds. Looking through my binoculars I see guards at the gates. All KEC, all wearing parade white armour and with rifles in their hands. With their faces hidden behind helmets, they look like machines. And there are cameras. Figures. I've got no weapons or sorcery, so I circle around them. They can't patrol along the whole wall.

Eventually I find a bunch of trees near the wall that grow right up to it. About a hundred metres from the gate. Through my binoculars I see what looks awfully like barbed wire. And there's a small wooden hut nearby. I guess that's for a guard to keep watch.

As I get closer, I flinch when I hear an animalistic growl. Slowly, I turn to the source of the noise. But the expected bullet or shouting doesn't come. But I hear the sound of padding claws over soft ground. Slowly, I turn to the source of the noise.

It's..a big kath hound. Covered in fur, coloured brown and with two large tusks. Its mouth is full sharp of teeth, and it growls at me. Tied to a post on the ground. My heart thunders inside my chest. Sweat trickles down my lekku. The Vaderites like to use kath hounds to track fugitives down and rip them apart. But I see no collar, and Vaderite goons don't suddenly appear out of the bushes. My instinct is to run...but that'll just trigger it and alert the guards. I lower my head, as if bowing, making myself look small and non-threatening. Then I slowly take a step back, then another until I've reached the trees.

Turning, I settle on an old tree with large, strong branches that I figure should be able to support my weight, and widening bark. It takes some effort to reach the lowest branch, but I can grab it with one hand, while my arm wraps around the trunk. Pain from the fall makes me wince, but I can grip the sides of the trunk with my thighs and calves and start my climb. Then I go from one branch to the next.

Ripe red apples hang between the trees and the leaves, tempting me. No apple trees in Prosperity Quarter. Almost no trees there, to be honest. The Vaderites chopped them down when they noticed we'd tried to use them to hide or climb over the wall. And good luck getting an apple in the ghetto. Some of the humies who visited the ghetto to gawk at us 'dirty savages' liked to throw rotten apples at us. They laughed when things were so bad we fought over a single mouldy apple full of holes.

I learned to climb without a rope from early on. Tugging each hold before I put my weight onto it, I pull myself up onto a higher branch, sweat gathering on my lekku. Up in the trees, surrounded by leave and apples, I look down and wait for the guard to pass by. Taking off my cloak, I gather it in my hands, aim and drop it over the barbed wire. My heart skips a beat as it falls, covering a small portion of the wires. I take a breath, and jump myself.

Damn. It works. The cloak cushions my fall, and I'm not cut up by the barbed wire. I get a couple nicks, but I can handle that. Nothing compared to what I'm used to. Suddenly the kath hound starts barking loudly. The guards will hear! It's only a short leap over the wall. I can't take the cloak with me, so I drop down to the ground. Immediately I press my body against the wall. Reaching up, I try to grab the cloak. It has become entangled with the wire, so with effort I tear it off. The torn and shredded outfit is useless now, so I stuff it under a tree.

The guards at the gates are a good deal away from where I landed and distracted when a groundcar comes through the gate, and so I make a break for the woods. As the soldiers vanish from my line of sight, I finally feel some calm. But as I go deeper and deeper into the forest, following the directions Uruk and Firith explained to me, I can't help wonder how...odd it is that there are no patrols.

Must've been a hell of a distraction the Guard arranged. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Shakka. Always forward, always forward. It's my only chance. The forest is so peaceful. Like the poverty, the filth and the killing fields are in another country. Birds chirp, bugs thrum in the grass, and deer graze. I can't remember ever seeing so much unpolluted green. If only it wasn't so damn hot. On and on I walk.

After walking for ages hearing no sound other than my breathing and the noises of nature, I hear movement among the trees. My heart skips a beat and my blood runs cold. I fear I've been made. But the expected bullet doesn't come. Instead I hear a deep growl. "Skeesh!"
"Opadda!" I respond quickly. A strong, violet, four-fingered hand reaches out and grabs me, pulling me behind a tree, and I'm face to face with the hulking giant that is Uruk in his khaki PF uniform. His other hand is holding a gun. The bone ridges on his skull are covered by a helmet. "Nice to see you, too." The big Houk guffaws. "Were you followed, little red?"
"No, big guy." Gotta respond to a lame nickname with one that's just as bad. "Where's my family? Did they make..."
"Yeah," he cuts me off. "Waiting for you at the waterfall. Scouted ahead to make sure you got out of Vaderite central."
"With the info you need," I finish for him. "Don't worry, I got it."
"Good. We already moved that cache you showed me." He takes a peek beyond the tree to make sure no one's following us, then turns and gestures me to follow. I don't need to be told twice. We're on the clock.

We can already hear the low rumble of the waterfall from afar. Uruk barks 'skeesh' and gets 'opadda' in response, and the rest of the group appears out of the bushes. My heart leaps with joy when I see Firith, Lena and little Jela. The boy runs towards me, throwing his small arms around me. "Auntie Shakka!" he calls out, then flushes. "Sorry."
"It's okay, kiddo. Happy to see you, too." Smiling at Firith and Lena, I notice there's a female Gungan and a burly male Togruta keeping watch. Both are scarred and armed with guns.
"Hey!" Lena says. "Good you're here. You made it out of the villa without trouble?"
"A bomb has a way of distracting folks," I say casually. "You?"
"Nothing that dramatic. Far as my work crew knows, I was whisked away for an extra strict regime of hard labour," Firith replies.
"And I'm jumping through bureaucratic hoops at the labour office and filing divorce papers," Lena adds, hands placed on Jela's shoulders.
"I'm crushed by the divorce, but a long whipping session is helping me process it," Firith says with a smirk. "We can swap stories when we're out of Hell Falls. The river's not far, but getting over won't be easy."
"We have strategy," the Gungan says. "Yousa give us information."
"She needs her collar off, too," Firith says firmly. The Gungan and the Togruta nod, and I fish out my datapad and hand it over to Uruk. As that collab cow noticed, it's encrypted. Now the rebels do have their own slicers. Probably ones who are better than me since I don't make a habit of slicing into military grade networks. But it gives us some insurance. Meanwhile, the Togruta has produced a pair of boltcutters.
"Me or you?" Uruk asks Firith.
"I'll do it. Hold still, coz." A side glance at the rebels. "It's safe, isn't it?"
"Coz, just do it," I grunt. Firith places the blades on the lock of the collar, positioning the bolt near his waist. He holds tightly onto the grips of the cutters and squeezes the handles. It's silly, I know the ion charge deactivated the collar...but part of me just can't believe there might not be a failsafe hidden in it. Firith grunts. "Just a moment longer, coz."

Then the collar breaks open, and falls onto the grass. For the first time in over a year, I feel the cool air brush against my neck. My hand reaches up to touch the sore flesh. The collar always felt tight and heavy around my neck, making my flesh bulge around the top and bottom. It always itched when I swallowed or turn my head. Always reminding of what I am.

For as long I wore I was just...a thing. Less than a person. "Told you we'd get it off, coz," Firith says with a smile.
"You did, you did." Impulsively, I pull him into a hug. Lena joins us and we embrace. For a moment it's just us three, then I snap back to reality. "Let's get the hell out of here." I hide the broken collar in some bushes so it doesn't immediately get spotted.
"Alright, follow me. Stay close," Uruk orders.
The Togruta rebel shoves a rucksack into my hands. "Carry this. It's got our supplies," he states. Lena and Firith are carrying one each, too. Little Jela sticks close to his mother when we begin our march.
"We're really leaving the humies, mum? We're joining the rebs?" he asks excitedly, but also sounds a bit nervous.
"Yes, sweetie. We're going to Free Tephrike. Now remember what I told you. We must all stick together. This won't be easy, but we can make it."
"The rebs are fighting. Will Daddy have to fight, too?"
Firith, who has been talking up ahead with the Togruta, turns to look at his son. "We'll have to our part, but we'll all be together," a side-glance at our escort, "ain't that right?"
The Togruta nods. "The Republican Guard sticks to its word."
"Are there many Twi'leks with you rebels?" the boy asks.
"Lots. One of our top generals is done," he gives the kid a smile.
"Really?" Jela looks astonished, and it saddens me that I get just how he feels. Go to Vaderite school and they'll hammer it into your head that a Twi'lek is dirt. "But no humies? They're mean."

The Gungan rebel has been scouting ahead as our point man...point woman, I guess. Suddenly she comes to a halt. Raising her hand she makes a circle with the pointer and thumb, pointing the others fingers forward. I don't know how these military signals work, but I can guess the meaning. Uruk responds immediately. Fingers facing forward and his palm to the earth, he fans his large hand. Immediately the Gungan and the Togruta hid in the foliage.

"Line up. Look afraid," Uruk grunts at us. Jela yelps when the huge Houk suddenly grips his shoulder. Lena glares daggers at him. "I won't hurt you, kid. Promise," Uruk growls under his breath.
"Sir, don't hurt my son, please...," Firith begs, raising his voice. Just as the sound of boots on the grass approach.
Uruk gives him a theatrical smack across the face, making her stumble as the goons step into view. "Shut up, wormie! I can always gank you. Starting with the brat. I'll kill you last," he jabs a finger at Firith, whose hands are balled into fists, jaw tight and nostrils flaring. "That's right, ya can't do anythin'. You Twi'lek men are all weak." He spits on one of his lekku.
Firith mutters something very rude in Twi'leki. "What was that? What did you say, wormie?" the Houk snarls.
"Firith, stop. Sir, the cache is close. I'll show you!" Lena interjects.
"I don't care about them, but you can't hurt me!" I shriek. "I'm the Disciple's favourite."
Uruk smacks me as well. Hard enough to sting real bad! "Typical wormie. No loyalty. But you're outta luck. Your mistress will forget 'bout you once she gets a prettier wormie who doesn't mouth off." He turns his gaze away from us as the patrol comes close. "Flash!" he barks.
"Thunder," a rough, coarse voice responds. I know that voice.
"Gorb, what the frak are you doin' here?"
"Could ask you the same. Whatcha doin' with a bunch of Twi'leks again?" the Houk demands suspiciously. He's not alone. Three other PF thugs are with him. A Gamorrean, a Zabrak and a humie woman. She shoots me a look of pure disgust. Lena fidgets when she sees her, and realisation dawns upon me. The woman who led the round-up at her block. Great.

"Explain yourself, Corporal," she snaps. "Didn't you hear about the terrorist attack?"
Uruk salutes. "Sergeant Maniatas, I'm here on a mission. Sith orders. Those wormies know where ol' Bakios hid one of them caches. We gotta find it before the rebs snatch it up."
"Really? And they sent only you to retrieve it?" she snaps. "What's the brat doing here?"
The Houk shrugs his huge shoulders. "To keep 'em in line, ma'am. All you gotta do is hold a gun to the lil brat's head or give him a smack and they start squealin'. They try to run, he gets his brains blown out." He levels his gun at me. "That prissy cow thinks she's all high 'nd mighty because her master's one of them Sithies. But I'm breakin' here in."
"Cut the bullshit, Uruk," the woman snarls. "I know who that slave is. Lot of our boys died because of her and her mistress."
"But weren't they all traitors, ma'am? Boss man gave a big speech 'bout that this morning. Wouldn't want anyone to think you're on the wrong side."
"Are you threatening me? Unfortunately, you won't live to tell anyone your lies. You have no special mission, you're all traitors!" She brings up her heavy pistol.
"Easy!" Uruk shouts. He's looking intently at a spot in the woods ahead of us, but I don't know why. "Do you wanna miss the spoils in the cache? We each help ourselves to some of them, you get first dibs."
The goons hesitate for a few seconds. "Kill the traitors!"

And then everything happens very fast.

I know my role. I'm no fighter, I don't have superpowers. So I throw myself to the ground, ducking for cover. Immediately, I try to crawl to the bushes, hoping I'm small enough to avoid the crossfire as bullets start flying, ricocheting of the trees. Each gunshot is like a thunderclap. I can feel my heart thump inside my chest. But, as it turns out, our friends are prepared.

The Gamorrean thug suddenly stumbles and falls back, riddled with a spray of bullets. The Gungan rebel. The Zabrak levels his gun at the foliage, firing a burst towards the foliage. Bullets fly over my head and ricochet from the trees and I silent pray to whichever spirit might be listening to keep them away from me. But suddenly two strong arms grab him from behind. He struggles, a dagger slides across his throat. There is a gurgle, and his killer throws him to the ground. The Togruta.

Uruk has backhanded the humie woman, making her sprawl, and bullrushed the Houk thug, keeping him from gunning us down. When I look up, the PF thug is beating on him with his fists. Uruk is being pushed back, but then he grapples him and tears through his throat with his teeth before stabbing again and again.

Then there is a sound like a thunderclap, and Uruk staggers. The humie cow stands above him, holding her gun. And there is a sudden discharge of energy, accompanied by a high-pitched whine. The beam cuts through her like a hot knife through butter, frying her combat suit and leaving her chest smoking. Who the hell was that? Suddenly my commlink beeps. I blink and pick it up, seeing I have a new message. All it says is 'you're welcome'. What the hell?

My mind snaps back to what matters. "Firith? Lena? Jela? You ok?" I shout. Getting to my feet, I rush towards Uruk. Funny how not so long ago I wanted him dead, just like the rest of the collab scum. "I'll make it. No drama. Just give me a medkit," he grunts, panting. "We gotta keep movin'." The Togruta wraps a bandage for him, while he pops a stim.
I can hear Jela being soothed by Lena. "It's OK, sweetie, all the bad people are gone now. Shhh."
I see Firith go over to them and hug them both. "Not long now." He picks up his son and gives him a kiss. "Close your eyes, Jela," he says, carrying the boy past the scene of violence. "Now open them, look at that river ahead, that's our path to freedom. You see it?"
"Yes, dad."
"Good boy."
"Big guy gonna be okay?" little Jela points a small finger at Uruk.
"Don't ya worry about me, kiddo."

"We should grab the weapons." I pick up one of the pistols lying around. It feels...freeing when I've got one in my hand. Course, I'm no soldier. I'm not stupid, I wouldn't bet on myself if I had to go up against stormies who know what they're doing. But I'm armed, I'm uncollared. Quickly we get moving. Lena grabs one, too. She looks a bit awkward and nervous holding it. "I've...never fired a gun," she confesses nervously.
Firith takes her gun as we walk. "This is the safety. Switch it off before you fire. Hold it with both hands. When you have to shoot, aim for centre of mass. If we run into trouble, hide with Jela, keep your head down, fire if a humie bastard is close."
"Yeah, don't give away your position unless you really have to. But when you do, don't hesitate for a second," I chime in, rubbing Jela's head.
"That goes for both of you, too," she insists. "We keep each other alive. Ryma geeyi'tak allesh."

Before us looms the little river and the waterfall. The air is humid and smells of water and algae. "Okay, how do we get over here and past the traps?" I ask aloud what I guess everyone in the motley Twi'lek group is thinking. The Gungan just smirks at me. "Logs. Come." She guides the rest of us to the sandy bank, and starts digging up sand and moving away rocks.

Quickly we join in, and within a few moments we've dug up a bunch of logs. "The ford is shallow there," the Gungan points. "The logs are your guide for any spikes in the water. Yousa push them down with the wood."
"We know the way, we go first," the Togruta states. "Shakka, you follow."
"What about them?" I point at my family.
"Right behind you, little firecracker," Firith says with a thin smile.
"I'll watch their back," Uruk promises, assault rifle in hand.

And so I wade into the water after the Togruta and the Gungan, holding tightly onto my log as I push it before me like a shield. The Gungan's movements are fluid and with natural grace, like it's no different from walking on grass. Then again, she's amphibian. She must be relishing the chance to be back in the water after a day in the heat. But her natural grace lets me see the best places to stand and move, so I follow where she goes.

I try to cling to them as closely as possible without accidentally hitting one of them with the big stick of wood I've got to carry around. At one stage the Togruta reprimands me for accidentally poking him. I'm embarrassed, but he takes it in good humour.

The cool water runs up to my ankles. My shoes and socks are soaked. The log hits something hard and metallic, and I push with all my strength to knock it away. It's shallow here, but the water is soon almost coming up to my waist.

I'm dripping with water when I finally come ashore. The Gungan and the Togruta are already there, and in cover, one keeping an eye on the river and the other on the forest ahead of us. I drop the log and turn, waving to the others on the other side of the river. "Come on, time for you to get wet," I joke, badly.

"Laugh it off, cuz," Firith retorts and starts wading through the waters, following the path we used as closely as he can while doggedly pushing his log. So far, so good.

Then everything starts going wrong. First I see a man-sized shape moving among the foliage ahead of us. I tense and grip my pistol tightly, hearing even more movement. The Togruta calls out "danger!" And then KEC and PF goons swarm out! Among the armoured, faceless Vaderites, I catch a glimpse of Honna's hulking shape.

Master.

No, no, no, this can't be.
My breath quickens and my heart races. The hands holding my gun are clammy and sweaty. Vrekh's words come to me in a flash. Remember: sight alignment and trigger control.

"You're surrounded, Swamp Guard! Surrender now!" I hear a male humie voice shouts. And I find my voice. I won't be led like a lamb to a slaughterhouse.

"Frak you, humie shutta!" Bringing up my pistol, and aiming, I press the trigger, firing. I miss, because of course I do, but it gives a Vaderite scumba something to seek cover from. I fire again as I rush to a tree to hide behind. "We need the red wormie alive!" I hear one of them yell when soldiers start shooting.

And the Gungan's on the ball, hurling a grenade down towards soldiers, while the Togruta sends them a burst of bullets. I throw myself to the ground while shrapnel tears through the air with blast and heat. There is a loud boom that throws up earth and sand, and I hear the cries of wounded Vaderites. More gunfire comes from the other side of the river – Uruk and Firith are spraying the Vaderites with bullets. Damn it, run, you idiots.

There's too many of them. Way too many.

"Run!" the Gungan shouts at me, and then I see her dash through the smoke with a war cry, shooting. Quickly, I move, trying to weave a way through the chaos. Where? I dunno...but I can't go back.

I catch a glimpse of the Gungan gunning down a Vaderite goon before throwing a knife at an ambusher. Then suddenly she is lifted up by an invisible force and hurled through the air into a tree.

Master.

Then I hear gunshots.

My heart thunders so loudly in my chest it feels like I'm about to explode. Everywhere I look there's Vaderites. Crawling across the grass to stay out of the way, I see the Togruta trying to keep Vaderite goons at bay with bursts of gunfire.

And then Honna comes from the other side, axe in hand.

I do something very dumb. "To your left!"

He sees her too late.

His cries of agony fill the air when she brings down the axe and cuts off his hand. Last thing I see is him thrusting his knife towards her body.

I crawl away, if only I can keep my head down...it looks like there's a thicket nearby. "There she is!" a Vaderite thug yells. I bolt, then abruptly turn when goons come charging my way. But there's nowhere to go.

Nowhere to run. Holding my pistol with shaking hands, I press the trigger, and there's a loud cry when a Vaderite goon rushing towards me is shot in the knee and crumbles to the ground. But more goons just take his place. I can hear Honna stomping towards me. "I want her alive!" I hear Master shout.

I'm not going back. I'm not going back.

Sorry, Firith.

I jab the gun against my throat.

But then all of a sudden a small ball lands at my feet. And then there's a loud ringing sound that knocks all coherent thought out of my mind. I'm down on the ground, blood dripping from my ears while my brain feels like it's been scrambled. I reel when a boot smashes into my face, and I'm dragged out.

Blood pours from my face, and I feel dazed, unable to fight back. I can still hear gunfire, and shouting, but I don't know from where. Then see him, and my blood runs cold.

Firith has come ashore on my side. He's bleeding, and there's pure anger in his eyes. "No! Come and take me, you shutta bastards!" he shouts, a hailstorm of bullets erupting from a machine gun he must've stolen. A Vaderite falls, riddled with bullets.

They all level their guns at him.

No, no, no. Please, Goddess, no.

Uruk and Lena must still be on the other side. He's drawing fire. My stupid, brave cousin. My big brother in spirit. I want to scream. A bullet strikes him, and he staggers, but keeps firing. Then another, and another.

Each shot is like a stab to the gut. Bleeding from dozens of bullet wounds, he falls to the ground. Tears run down my face. He's gone, he's gone. "Get them!" the monsters start wading through the water.

Then suddenly there is the loud whine again, and a Vaderite goon's head explodes, smoke rising from his armour. Another beam of light slices towards them. Where the hell was it when Firith needed it?! I catch a glimpse of Uruk, Jela and Lena racing off to the trees on the far side of the river. But there are goons giving chase...but it's only a few.

And then I hear her come.
Why? Why couldn't she just...let me go?

A KEC thug grabs the back of my head and slams me face-first into the dirt. "Bow before your betters," he snarls.
"Frak off, murderer!" He's about to do it again when the mistress of murderers raises her hand.
"That's not enough. We're done, soldiers. Good work," the author of my suffering says smugly. "We've got what we came for."
"My lord, the wormies and traitor Uruk got away," one of the monsters says.

"They're irrelevant, Crusader. They can run, but the other team is already moving to intercept. We got what we came for. You have wounded, see to your men. And search our rebel friends. Papers, comms, maps – anything that can help us put an end to the Swamp Guard in this town once and for all. Dismissed." The thugs go and she looks down on me and smirks. "My dear Shakka..."
I spit at her. "Just kill me now, murderer..." I don't see the dart coming until it is too late, and it's pierced my neck. My body goes limp.
"I'm so proud of you," is the last thing I hear before a black bag is forced over my head and everything goes dark.

 

[Kyriaki]

Kyriaki​

It's done. I betrayed her...for the 'greater good'.

Or just to protect my position.

It's not my fault. It is my fault.

The escape plan was sound. Audacious, reckless, but sound. If I hadn't told that slime Necharus to monitor Shakka's calls, it might've succeeded. But then it's not like I didn't smooth things over for her a bit.

First I killed her best friend, now I killed her cousin. I may not have pulled the trigger, but I bear the responsibility. I created the circumstances that made it happen and was fine with sacrificing him. More red for the ledger I can never wash away.

What's left is...damage control.

Several hours have passed since the ambush. "...keep me informed of any change in their condition, doctor," Lachesis speaks and puts the comm down. She looks at me with predatory eyes, as if ready to pounce at any moment. "Menkales is expected to recover, Hasapis' life still hangs in the balance."

"We all pray for their swift recovery, my lord," I say evenly, hands clasped behind my back. A bead of sweat trickles down my neck. Keep it together, Kyriaki.
"Praying is worthless, girl. The Vader has no mercy, that's why he's a god. And the 'Divine Padme' stopped being useful the moment she decided to become a weepy womb on legs. I am sure he will be gladdened by your prayers though. The sincerity of which I can clearly see...."

"If there's any way I can help, my lord..." I start, but the look in her eyes silences me.
"You expect me to believe this was all a ploy," she snaps. I try not to noticeably stiffen when her cold eyes bore into me. "Did you know the Swamp Guard would attack my people?"

She has, of course, already asked me this question. This is about wearing me down, to see if I crack and contradict myself. "I didn't know their target...but I knew they would strike somewhere. They'd lose all credibility otherwise. The presence of so many Imperial officials was too good a chance to pass up...and we just cut their supply chain when we did in Bakios and company. I saw a chance to rid us of their presence. As a matter of fact, Counillors Vanwe and Kivok helped give me the idea."

Lachesis raises an eyebrow. "The xenos knew about the Guard and didn't tell us?"
"No," I respond promptly. "They had their suspicions of rebel activity, and, well, they have every reason to want them stamped out. In the event of a takeover, they'll be the first to be shot for collaboration, and it's easier for a terrorist to get to them than an Imperial official. But they couldn't act themselves because they have no sway over the PF. A fully correct policy, but unfortunately the people who did were traitors. Vanwe mentioned his suspicions about shady activity in the tunnels, and I remembered that hidey hole I noticed in the archives. Getting rid of the smuggler clique would be a blow for our enemies, but unless we dealt with them too they'd continue to infest Hope Falls. But...the rebels aren't stupid. I had to dangle a carrot in front of them to tempt them to step out of the shadows. I knew they'd call her via comm, so I traced her calls."

Lachesis purses her lips. "Your slave, and her intel."
"Yes." Shakka didn't have her datapad on her when we caught her. It wasn't in her room either. So far no one has noticed the discrepancy. Good thing I didn't advertise her computer skills too much. "The ideal recruit. A Twi'lek slave full of hatred for the Vaderites, and an inconceivable amount of access because her arrogant master thinks her so docile she doesn't need a good thrashing. I collared her and killed her best friend, so sad. We lost people today. That's...unfortunate, but necessary. Their sacrifice will be honoured because it served a purpose. Sibylla's team will destroy the rebel nest."

If they find something. They used the messages on the commlink and the coded instructions I found to triangulate a location. The next node of the underground rail. It all depends on whether the rebels haven't cleared it out by now.

"And when we present the rebels' corpses for the cameras," I continue, "it will be clear to every peasant in this town that their only option is obedience."

"If," Lachesis says acidly, "I am so pleased you showed the initiative to carry out your own covert operation with your pet xenos. The results, should they be acceptable, are worthy. I am, however, curious why you did not seek to involve myself nor Sibylla...or any others I have asked...in it? You place great faith in that red-skinned harlot, more than you did with us.... Moreover, I am both surprised and intrigued she was so willing to sacrifice her own kin. We all know the xenos are selfish, venal and impulsive, but usually they do not so readily offer up their own species. Others, sure, but not their own. Certainly not to their enchainer. Just what did you promise this crimson siren to achieve this, Disciple, hmm?"

"I had to act fast, or else the cell would've vanished from our radar completely. Given all the traitors was around, it was crucial to avoid a leak. This was my first time running an operation like this; I know I have much to learn. I don't have your wisdom or experience...yet."
"No, you don't. Whether you acquire it remains to be seen. So cease the flattery, and continue."
"Yes, my lord. Like all her kind, Shakka is a deceitful, venal creature. But not stupid. She worked with the Swamp Guard during the the Prosperity Quarter uprising, and they left her in the cold when things got tough. I promised her a good position in my factory. As long a leash as is acceptable for a Twi'lek, oversight over the serfs. She spent her life living in filth and fear, and now she had the chance to matter."
"And her kin?"
"Protection...if they could be swayed. Firith was probably a lost cause, but I had some hope for Lena Fiatkin after I'd displayed my generosity, but it seems sense is a rare currency among these rainbow-coloured creatures."

Lachesis smiles unpleasantly, like a crocodile. I feel a sudden stab of panic as to what she is going to say. My flesh hand feels clammy and sweaty. "Indeed it is. And once Sibylla has executed the raid on the nest of scum I am sure...." She is cut off by a loud beep on her desk. Her eyes not leaving mine she presses a button, a speaker connected to her commlink. "Yes?"
"Master," Sibylla's voice, the usual rasp of breath. "We were able to locate the xenos lair and raided it. Minimal casualties on our side, killed three of the scum and captured two more. They were hiding a supply of weapons and ammunition. Imperial design. It matches standard PF gear. Looks like their leader wasn't here. No sign of the redskins either. I will set trackers after them."

I dare not let out the breath I've been holding. I wonder how many successful 'intelligence coups' are actually just a case of someone screwing up and making up plausible sounding nonsense to make it look like a success.
"Good work, my Apprentice. Do so, and take pictures of the nest. Then return here with haste." She cuts the call and pours herself a glass. "A good result, would you not say?" she asks.
"I'm happy it justified the risks, my lord. We must publicise it as soon as possible."
"Indeed." She pours a second glass, and offers it to me. "Now, I desire to meet this brave and noble xenos of yours when Sibylla returns. She deserves to be...rewarded...for her efforts. Don't you think?"
Her smile has not wavered. It is not a nice smile. What will she do to Shakka? But I can't refuse. "It will be a great honour for her, my lord." I drink. It's water. Figures, Lachesis would not anything compromise her judgement at work. "May I speak to her first? The operation was very stressful for."
"She's not a prisoner. By all means. Oh, one more thing, your little beast had a taste of freedom. No matter how brief it was, no matter what you promised her, no matter how benign she thinks you to be...it will linger. Just as she'll remember your scheme condemned what's left of her family. Now go."
"I'm prepared for that eventuality, my lord."

I leave her office with a heavy heart. I do not break my stride in the corridor. It is only when I've reached a restroom that I finally feel free from her aura. I take a deep breath and wash my face.

Because she was a 'helpful xenos', Shakka hasn't been chained up in a cell. Instead she's locked in a room in the cellar. I tell the guard at the door he's relieved and can go for his coffee break. Steeling myself, I step in. No camera hovering above me. Thank the Force for small mercies.

"Come to gloat?" Shakka is sitting on a bench. The light flickers above us, casting her in a pale light. She's dirty and her eyes are...dead, empty. She's been crying. Once more, she's collared. "When's the execution, oh great lord?" she snarls.
"There won't be one. You're the hero. You did everything I asked for. Luring the Swamp Guard to the waterfall, so we could get the drop on them. Their lair has been destroyed."
"Frak you, Kyriaki, frak you!" And suddenly she launches herself at me. I'm caught off-guard by the sudden outburst. "You killed my best friend, you killed my cousin, you chained me!" Her fist slams into my face and I reel, followed by a kick that makes me stagger. She swings another punch at me but I wrap my will around her. Paralysing energy seizes her and I intercept her blow with my crude prosthesis
"Yes, I did all that. I'm...sorry," I state as she struggles. "I understand you hate me. I do, too. I know you'd like nothing more than to kill me. And I wouldn't blame you. Sometimes I feel like just taking my gun and putting an end to things. I've treated you...atrociously, and what I did to you wasn't even the worst. But we are here and now and you can play the role of a hero and survivor or die like anyone else in the way. I assure if you someone else had caught that would've been your fate."
"You could have just ignored what happened and let me go. I did all you asked. I just wanted to be free...to be a person...to be with my family," she retorts defiantly. At least she's stopped struggling. I let go of her hand.
"No, because it would've threatened our project. A Sith who can't even control her own slave can't be expected to run a factory. More people die. And they would've still hunted you. The one reason you got even so far was because I called off the patrols. And because in the end I chose to save you, but do not test me on this or I will drop you. So what's it to be? Are we going to walk out to Darth Lachesis and let her 'congratulate' you, or do you have a death wish? Think quickly. You can die futilely, or you can get a position that will let you help some people in this hell on earth." She wraps her arms around her body, turning away from me. "It hurts...I know. Know that Lena and her son got away. So did the rebels' leader. I can't say what'll happen to them now."
"They'll punish them for my 'betrayal'. They'll definitely kill me if I ever see them again."
"You – probably. But Lena's a smart girl. She'll talk her way out. We didn't find your datapad, so I reckon you put all everything you knew on it and gave it to them. The point is they're alive. Firith...was a brave man. But he didn't die in vain. He died for them...and you."
Her back is turned to me, but can I hear her sobbing. "So...we just go back to...how things used to be? I'm at your beck and call, risking my life for you just so you can score points and tell yourself you're the kindly Sith. I have to take whatever abuse your Vaderite buddies dish out when you're not there?" she spins around, seeing the look on my face. "What you thought, everything was tea and crumpets just because I could wave a badge around? Think Menkales was the only creep? I'm not a person…I'm a thing."
I open my mouth, but it takes me a moment to find my words. It hurts more than the blow to my face...because I know it is true. Every word of it. "I didn't...Things will be different now...you knew matters were...unpleasant for you, all those petty bullies and that your assignments put you in...danger, but I..."
"You didn't think," she cuts me off. "Because a xenos will never matter as much to you as a human."
"No, I didn't," I sigh. "I'm sorry."
"Just a piece on the board." Her eyes are cold and hard when she looks me. "Well, that's all you are to me, Master. We're not friends, we're not partners in crime; you're not the kind master. I hate you. I'm a tool to you, and you're a tool for me to protect people and get revenge. And one day I'll get back at you, too."
"Hold on to that feeling, let it give you purpose...and think carefully before you choose the best moment to exact your vengeance. When I came here, all I wanted was not to get my hands dirty. Then I saw the plight of the locals and I...felt I had to something. Now...," I trail off.

Now I just want to burn the system down, even if I immolate myself in the process. No matter what comes after. Through the Force, I feel presences approaching. Even from afar, the dark aura is so tangible it feels smothering. Even Force-blind Shakka tenses. "Showtime," I hiss, wiping my face with a handkerchief.

I hear the tell-tale rasp of Sibylla's breathing, the door creaks open, and she steps inside along with Lachesis. "Look, Apprentice, the good xenos herself." The smile on Lachesis' face sends shivers down my spine. Shakka visibly stiffens, eyes downcast, and hands trembling.

"Your Master has regaled me with tales about your...heroics. Truly intriguing stuff. I couldn't believe it. I was wondering whether young Kyriaki had gone soft and that there might be...other reasons for her advocacy for you. Indecent ones. But Sibylla confirmed to me that you delivered a whole Swamp Guard nest into our grasp. Sibylla, show the xenos her handiwork. Look up, xenos, see what you wrought. What do you say to that, girl?"

With glacial slowness, Shakka raises her chin, and looks at the photos. They show broken, burnt bodies. I think one's a Twi'lek...a male one. Her expression is numb, but her upper limb trembles with fear. Her jaw is wound tight. I feel the hatred the sight stokes inside her. Doubtless Lachesis feels it, too. She's drinking it in. "They were e-enemies of the Imperium...m-my lord," Shakka says numbly. "Indeed, xenos, and we brought them to justice because of you and young Kyriaki here. What a pair you are. How do you feel about turning on your kin?"
"Th-they...they disobeyed the natural order," she stammers, faltering.
"Speak louder, girl."
"They disobeyed the natural order. I...I s-serve, Master."
"Good girl. And we'll make sure the Swamp Guard knows that a specimen of our most fervent racial enemies has seen the light of the Imperium. A Twi'lek as obedient as you is a truly rare creature. A real unicorn. We must do all we can to make sure you don't...fall into the wrong crowd. Those terrorists...you'll be lucky if all they do is cut your throat. Fortunately, my dear Sibylla has a solution."
Suspicion swells inside me. "What kind of solution?" I ask with feigned calmness. "I trust it won't impair her utility. She's an investment."
I hate that I cannot see Sibylla's lips move, but her eyes sparkle with amusement…and eagerness. "It will only increase her utility to you, my friend. It will mark her as a special slave. The most loyal and favoured. No one will dare lay a hand on her…and we'll always know where she is. I need your help to administer the mark."
Shakka opens her mouth, then closes rapidly. She's trembling. Lachesis just raises an eyebrow, looking at me silently. Judging. I understand all too well. This is a test for Shakka…and me. "You have it. How very thoughtful of you. Shakka, lie down on the bench." She swallows hard, lying down. Fear, hatred, anger – all these emotions surge through her. And Lachesis eats it up.

"A drop of your blood, please?" Sibylla asks. "Smear it over her forehead." Blood, of course. Sith sorcery swears by it. I make a quick incision and smear it over her forehead. Shakka's lip trembles. She quietly hums something, like a mantra to calm her nerves. This must be hell. Being so…helpless after being so close to freedom. Sibylla's blood intermingles with mine.

"I need to stamp her face, you will join your power with mine and the spell will take effect. Take my hand," Sibylla says softly, as she reveals a shaped metal template. I nod, and she lays it on Shakka's blood-smeared forehead. Her grip is firm when we join hands. I feel something akin to a spark of electricity when our hands join. It soon becomes a surge.

As Sibylla begins to chant, the temperature in the already cool basement begins to drop. She speaks in an arcane tongue. Suddenly what I can only describe as black ink comes out of the shaped metal. Shakka shakes in fear as the stuff leaches under her skin. Her whole body trembles. "Don't fight it. It's futile," Sibylla says dispassionately.
"It burns!" my Twi'lek cries out frantically. "When will it stop hurting?"
"Never…it is the reminder of your status…and your ties to the Sith," Lachesis' words are cutting.
"I used the lowest powered version. A small mercy perhaps," Sibylla speaks. "You can remove the metal now." The shaped metal feels hot to touch when I take it off, revealing an angrily glowing brand on her forehead. I can feel the rune's power through the Force. Shakka touches it and immediately withdraws her hand as if burnt, whimpering. "Oh, and the brand won't come off, even if for some reason you scour the flesh from your face, it will still burn. You will become used to it in time."
My heart rebels, but my lips obey my mind. "And the Swamp Guard will forever consider you tainted by the Force and your betrayal," I remind her. "You are now among the first of the Imperium's servants, marked for Sith, slaves and rebels alike."
Lachesis smiles malevolently. "Whatever infantile dreams of rebellion your cousin and the Swamp Guard filled your head with…forget them. Because if we catch even a whiff of betrayal, your master will not protect you. Your every movement, your every thought will be known my apprentice and your master."

I can't hear her thoughts. But my perception of Shakka's aura is...different. I'm acutely aware of her presence in ways I wasn't before. I hear her heartbeat keenly. It thunders in my ears. When I stare into her aura, I see a woman desperately, frantically struggling in a cage, held back by shackles of iron. It goes almost unnoticed when her collar opens with a metallic click. I saved her life, and trapped her in an even worse cage.

"You won't need that anymore," Lachesis says with her patented crocodile smile. "Not when you're such a well-behaved xenos. Come on, Sibylla, we're done here. Kyriaki, do join us. Maiden Tycho will assign quarters to your slave and find work for her. You've proven yourself. It's time for a debriefing with the Supreme Leader."
"Yes, my lord."

Ah, yes. The Leader.

What's done is done. I have my clout; I've made allies among some of the Imperium's worst. Now it's up to me to use my influence to make sure all the sacrifices were worth something.

The Rodian boy, Tara, baby Jusha, Kinia Coryak, Shakka, Firith…their suffering will not have been in vain. Shakka will never forgive me. I will never forgive myself. But I will fulfil my pledge.

It's not enough to mitigate the Imperium's evil. The Imperium itself must die, come what may. If I burn with it, it will be a good end. 'And to all doubts and questions the apprentice of the coming Sith Imperium knows only one answer: But I have the will!' I do indeed.

 

[Kyriaki]

Kyriaki​

This is the denouement.

Once again, I'm on my way to Sophiahall, driving across a vast ghost highway. Barring the occasional military traffic, it is all but deserted.

Hope Falls has long faded from sight, and we've already passed the broken vehicles the Dominion turned into flaming wrecks during our first journey to the 'reservation'. I'm told our retaliatory strike created a blazing inferno on the other side. Who knows. I couldn't care less.

But I'm leaving more than a benighted town behind. Shakka has stayed behind, too. Our…I hesitate to call it friendship, for it wasn't one. I poisoned our relationship even before it began.

I can't seem to protect her without hurting her every step of the way. Regardless, whatever we once had, it's gone, and it would be too much of a risk to take her to the palace of vipers. Cordé remains as well to keep an eye on her, and handle all the formalities involved in getting the factory running. Honna remains to watch both.

Thus I am left with Kynnos. He's pleasant enough company. It's not quite fair to him when I glance towards the driver's seat and think it's all wrong because he isn't a red-skinned, female Twi'lek with computer skills and a grudge against all things Vaderite. We follow Lachesis' armoured groundcar at an appropriate distance.

"You've never met the Supreme Leader, have you?" I ask to break the silence.
"No, my lord. I saw him once…from afar. In Skywalker City."
"So you were at the battle. In Lachesis' corps, I assume."
"First Company, Second Battalion Chios' Wroth. We fought our way through the city. It was brutal. The streets were narrow, there were bullets flying everywhere, everywhere. And RPGs – lots of those. Tanks went up in flames. We lost lots of good people." A shadow seems to flit across his face.

I have memories of my own. Of finally escaping Achilles' clutches. I was so afraid, and so happy on that day. I broke my chains, and replaced them with a different set and a longer leash. Then I started chaining others. Thus is the reality of being a Sith.

But I don't feel sympathy for the innumerable humans who died on that day or had their livelihoods destroyed when bombers overhead and rained down death. They chose this. Only fitting that the war came to their doorstep, and their homes burnt.

I felt sorry for them back then. I don't anymore.

Evil men in oversized palaces play with people like chess pieces…but they can only do it because so many 'ordinary, innocent Imperials' let them. But..some can be salvaged. Perhaps.

He's not Shakka…but he can be useful. He has doubts and something like courage. "It must've been difficult," I start, "fighting other humans, I mean."
"They were traitors, my lord." The response is near instantaneous. I wait for more, not saying a word. "But it…," he pauses, weighing his words, "wasn't what I'd expected my first combat deployment to be like. See, I enlisted with all my friends. The whole town was called up. We were so happy when we ended up in the same unit. Then the battle happened. My squad had to come to the rescue of another unit who'd been pinned down. My best friend was hit by machine gun fire. He took a bullet for me. I dragged him behind some rubble to help him…but he bled out in my arms. The traitors flanked us. I killed my first man close-up with a knife when my gun jammed. My comrades drew fire, and I snuck up to drop a grenade in the pillbox."
"You avenged your friend. Sounds like you were very brave."
"More like lucky and angry. All I could think of was that I couldn't let my family, my friends down," he sighs. "Many didn't make it." The dark shadow passes over his face again. "Somehow, I did."
"The Dark Father and the Divine Padme protected you," I say solemnly. "You honour their sacrifice with the good you do."
He looks a bit sheepish. His gaze turns back to the road as we take a turn. We're passing the forest the Leader claimed as his personal game preserve. "Were you there, my lord?"
"Oh, yes. On the other side, in a manner of speaking. I was the Usurper's prisoner. Locked up in the tower with all his hostages meant to be executed if the city fell. I was no warrior, I had no Force training, but I wouldn't wait meekly for the butcher. So I took my fate into my own hands, with a little help."
Suddenly there is a spark of recognition in his eyes. "You were the prisoner who took down the shield generator. "One moment everything our big guns threw at the Keep just bounced off, the next the shield was down and we stormed in."
"The very one."
"I, um think, I saw you, my lord. In the courtyard. You probably don't remember me. I was just one stormie among many. You were the Sith in the…," he trails off, as if looking for a politic way to express the unglamorous sight.
"The shaking, trembling fawn in a torn, ill-fitting dress next to a giant amazon in chromium armour and a silly cape. Yes, that was me. I threw my hands up at the Imperial Guard and yelled I was on Eisen's side. I shouted so loud it hurt my throat."
"It was...a moment of distraction from what had happened, my lord. The Lieutenant shouted orders, and when I looked back you were gone, and we were heading inside. I wondered what happened to you though. That giant amazon looked like she'd shoot anyone dead who laid a hand on you."
"Yes…she was protective," I mutter. Where is Nikita now? What would she think of me? "I'm no military expert, but one thing perplexes me: You showed your courage and skill in a big battle, but you've remained a Squire."
"The Vader chooses those who show valour. I...just need to continue to prove my worth." His words are so pious, but there's that slight moment of hesitation. No doubt someone in the chain of command noticed he had something like qualms about wanton murder. Not good for your career prospects.
"Then may He recognise your worth, and through him your superiors. You displayed courage when others would've been craven."
"I did what I had to, my lord." Kynnos falls silent as Sophiahall draws close. Eisen's mansion near Hope Falls was already absurdly opulent, but Sophiahall makes it look bourgeois. Kynnos handles the formalities as the men of the Life Guard check our Ids and scan the vehicle. "What was it like? To meet the Leader."
"The Leader...," I take a moment to gather my thoughts. "The Leader is formidable. Many have underestimated him. Most are dead. He has this remarkable ability to set you at ease and make you feel like you have his undivided attention." None of this is a lie.
"I had this dream that one day I'd meet him and he'd pin a medal to my chest," he shakes his head. Interesting use of tenses. No more words pass between us as Kynnos steers the transport onto the majestic courtyard, past the great avenue of trees and statues. I take one last look of myself in my small mirror. A pale face with a scar and smooth lips stares back at me. The scar on my face itches lightly. My black hair is worn in a single braid. Polished black boots touch the ground when Kynnos opens the door and I step out, clad in black robes.

Lachesis' car is already there when we step out. She's in her dark grey Lord Commander's uniform. I know the Imperium has showered her with medals, but she only wears three. The Grand Cross of Valour hangs from a ribbon around her neck; the Imperial Order with swords is worn on the pocket of her tunic, and the Blood Order on her chest.
"You made it on time, good," she says imperiously, as if I was lagging behind. Not my fault her car is faster. Kynnos shrinks from her gaze, bowing his head deeply.
I just incline my head slightly. "My lord. Thought you'd already be in conference."
"You carried out your assignments under my command. Only appropriate that we meet the Leader together." To keep an eye on me, of course. "Besides, Sibylla and I were giving our newest pupil a tour."
Two figures turn away from the statues and head towards me. One is, of course, my cybernetic 'friend'; the other makes my jaw tighten as a shiver runs down my spine. A little bundle of energy runs towards me. Stretching out her small hand, she calls out: "Praise Vader!"

It looks like Paula.

It sounds like Paula.

But it's not her anymore.

How much does she remember? Did Sibylla replace her memories wholesale or just give them minor tweaks? The fact that she's already presentable within such a short span of time would suggest the latter.

She's wearing the black uniform of a junior Sith cadet, with trousers and a cap. Her eyes have none of the loathing she should feel, only the excitement of a child. "Hullo, Mistress Kyriaki! I missed you." I notice Sibylla raise an expectant eyebrow while Paula looks at me with her big, eager eyes.
My heart rebels, my mind commands, and my lips move. "Oh, sweetie, I missed you, too. I'm sorry I've been absent lately. Are you...doing alright?"
"I'm great doing great! Mistress Sibylla has been so helpful and patient with me as I begin my ascent. I'm going to start training with her this week."
Sibylla's expression as ever is nearly hidden. She places her metal hand on Paula's shoulder. "You have begun your journey well, Paula. Soon you will show your true value. The Force is strong in you, I can feel it. My dear Kyriaki, a glorious day, for sure. We will receive our just rewards from the Supreme Leader."
"Yes, and they will be just punishments if we continue to dilly-dally. Come," Lachesis commands imperiously. "Where is he?" demands from some lackey.
"I'll wait for you, my lord. I'll be right there if you need something," Kynnos says as I move to follow. "The Supreme Leader is in the basement," a fancily dressed adjutant beckons us, "please follow me." Just then he spares Kynnos a glance. "You, too."
The squire looks like a deer caught in the headlight, and points at his chest. "Me? There must be a mixup, sir. I'm just a..."
"Come, or don't, but stop wasting my time," Lachesis hisses, and walks past the adjutant, Sibylla and Paula in tow.
"Er, should I kneel? Salute him? What should I do first?" Kynnos asks me nervously as we follow Lachesis' brisk pace.
"A salute suffices," I respond softly, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Speak when spoken to. He'll do talking." Sibylla and Paula are up ahead, chattering away. Even Lachesis seems to join. Any time I catch a glimpse of Paula looking my way I just feel empty, but I force an encouraging smile. My jaw tightens when I hear her laugh at something Sibylla says.

The adjutant leads us through the massive mansion. Ornate artwork, expensive furniture and sculptures are all on display. Xenos servants scurry about, cleaning and performing menial chores. They quickly avert their eyes from Lachesis. A Togruta cleaning the floor looks frantic when the Butcher passes and starts wiping it with twice the vigour, eyes so downcast her face almost touches the floor. As we're led down into the basement, I can hear voices.

"This infantile rebellion is becoming a nuisance. It's hurting ore shipments to my...our factories" That's Thrul.
"Sounds like it's more than a nuisance, eh?" and that's Eisen.
"I have devised a strategy to crush it. I merely require some additional resources."
"The Skyhammer Fleet reserve has some bombers to spare. Burn the villages, enslave any who can provide labour, kill the rest."
The adjutant knocks on the door. "My Leader, Lord Lachesis and her entourage are here to see you!"
"Excellent!" There is a shuffling of feet and the door opens with a flourish, and the big man waddles out, all smiles. He's wearing his 'Master of Mankind' outfit, the attire of the Master of the Sith. It's almost...comical. There is a half cape in black velvet, high tan leather boots with numerous silver buttons which cover grey trousers with a red stripe down the side. Then there's a grey jacket and a coat adorned with medals and insignia, and then a rail conductor's cap on his head. The whole effort reminds me of an overly dramatic penguin. Or if someone fused the outfits of a rail conductor, an air marshal and a business suit.

"My friends, my friends, I've been expecting you. I have so much to show you!" He makes a beeline for Paula, who immediately raises her arm and chants: "Praise Vader, praise Eisen!" "No need for that, little one. We're not on a parade," she says indulgently. "Call me Uncle Eisen. How are you doing, Paula?"
The child blushes. "You know my name...I mean, of course you do. You know everything."
"Let me let you in on a secret, my dear," he leans forward conspiratorially. "I don't, in fact, know everything. But I make it my business to know everything that's important."
She knits her brow together. "But how'd you know what's important before you know it?"
The Leader guffaws. "From the mouth of babes! That's the dilemma. Day after day, someone comes into my office and gives me a big stack of files, and I have to figure out what's important and what's just busybody work. But when I heard about you, it all just clicked to me. You've taken your first steps into a large world! We expect great things from you."
"I'll make you proud, Uncle Eisen! I'll be strong like Mistress Sibylla and Mistress Kyriaki!"
"And we'll be watching your career with great interest."

She's still basking in the afterglow of the Supreme Leader's attention when he approaches...Kynnos next. Lachesis' lip curls in annoyance. "Kynnos, is it?" Eisen asks jovially.
"Yes, my Leader!" Kynnos automatically starts to raise his name for the Humanist salute...then seems to realise Eisen is standing right in front of him, and he'd end up laying a hand upon the imperial body. "Hail my Leader," he says a bit awkwardly.
"Relax, my boy. I just want to thank you for your service to my ward. She's quite dear to me."
"Just doing my duty, my Leader."
"Loyalty is such a commendable thing," Eisen says indulgently, looking him up and down. "But, my boy, you're too thin, you need to eat more. I hope it's not becoming a trend among today's youth. I already have to remind my Kyriaki to take care of herself." He snaps his fingers, and his adjutant joins him. "Lieutenant, take this good fellow and young Paula to the dining room."
"As you command. Follow me."
"Thank you, my Leader," Kynnos looks a bit overwhelmed.
"Bye, Uncle Eisen!" Paula gives a wave before following the minion.

Eisen's gaze follows them for a while. "Ah, to be young again! They grow up so fast, don't they, Lachesis?"
"The girl has potential. The boy is good for bean-counting and being Kyriaki's chauffeur. He lacks the stomach for the real work," Lachesis remarks disdainfully.
"For every task there's a man or woman," I interject gently. "He displayed a cool head at the hospital. My Leader, I'm honoured to be in your presence again."
"And I've been looking forward to hearing all about your adventures," he points at my face. His voice is as warm as an arm around my shoulder. "You're injured."
"A minor wound, but a useful lesson."
"Just as long as you don't skip dinner again." He wags his finger at me.
"Promise."
"Good girl." He greets my cyborg friend next. "Sibylla, my dear, did Hope Falls inspire you to create any new inventions?"
"It yielded valuable data for a long-term project. In fact, I'm putting together a presentation for you. It'll please you to hear that Kyriaki is collaborating with me on it."
"Oh, is she?" he asks with a raised eyebrow as he beckons us to follow. "Come on. So nice to see you two getting along."
"Yes, Sibylla and I have had many fruitful discussions. Peas in a pod, you could say," I add as he leads us into the basement. I'm not sure what I expected to find inside, but it definitely wasn't this.

It's a massive model railway.

Yes, you heard that right. The supreme lord and master of the Imperium has a model railway to play with like a schoolboy. It takes effort for me to suppress a chuckle.

Fortunately, Thrul is there to liberate me from any merriment. He's exchanging words with a female minion whose face is obscured by a veil and a hood. But he walks over when we step in, black cape flowing behind him. The way his head with the wrinkled saggy neck protrudes from his overly tightly collared shirt reminds me of a turtle. But with his skeletal appearance he could pass for a reaper. His thinning hair is slicked back with gel, and behind his glasses his narrow eyes gleam. He wears the uniform for Party bigshots – stark white jacket, black pants. With plenty of gold ribbons and bling. Strangely, he's wearing more medals than Lachesis, but I can't recall him having any great battlefield victories.

"Ah, my dear Lachesis, fresh from the sticks! How many xenos did you kill this time? I hope you left enough rabble to work for us?" When Lachesis smiles, I'm reminded of a crocodile. Thrul's is just oily and greasy.
"Hello, Thrul, still enjoying the Supreme Leader's hospitality, I see, sedentary creature that you are," she retorts.
"I have, in fact, been coordinating the logistics of our vast empire while you chased grain thieves on the frontier, my dear."
"I have heard, dear Lachesis, that Comrade Thrul has been making great strides in his sector towards resource utilisation," Eisen suddenly interjects innocently. A smug smirk curls from Thrul's lips.
"In a sector far from any danger. I'm sure the resources are well-invested. His palace gets bigger every year," Lachesis says caustically. Sibylla's expression is unreadable.
"However," Eisen continues, "Lord Lachesis' efforts in pacifying Hope Falls are of great interest to me. I hear you are still having trouble with Amphipolis, Thrul?"
Thrul makes a dismissive gesture. "A momentary disturbance, my Leader. Within a fortnight the slaves will be ground into dust...without compromising the realm's stability." His gaze turns to me and he gives me what he must think is a pleasant smile. "But where are my manners? I haven't even greeted the delicate rose in our midst." I stiffen when he suddenly takes my hand and kisses it. "Welcome back to civilisation, Kyriaki."
"Thank you, my lord." I force a smile.
"You must relish the chance to wash away the stench of that xenos cesspit. How did you find that horrible dump?"
"It was an educational experience."
"Evidently one you didn't emerge unscathed from. What happened to your face? My poor thing. No need to worry, I can easily remove that scar. A simple alchemical operation. No Sith lady should be marred by such blemishes."
Lachesis rolls her eyes. "It was inflicted in combat, my lord. A valuable lesson never to let down my guard. Your offer's generous, but I must decline."
"It's your choice, of course, my rose. Your future husband will appreciate you looking as perfect as science can make you."
"Curious how no one expects a male Sith to doll himself up, no matter how 'blemished'. A Sith is more than appearance, Thrul...as you well know," Lachesis interjects icily. "Perhaps we could move on with business, my Leader?"

"Hmm? Ah, right. It's just so entertaining watching you to go at it. We could make a whole show about it. I'm thinking of calling it 'Yes, Dark Lord?'" Neither Lachesis nor Thrul looks amused. Eisen shrugs. "Neither of you can take a joke." He shrugs, presses a button and the trains start moving. "Lachesis, your report, please."
"The PF and the city administration have been purged of traitors. Moff Kollias has been...cooperative. General Myhailov is on his way to the Troizen Front, where he'll hopefully rediscover his martial vigour battling rebels and malaria." While she crisply delivers her report, Eisen keeps playing with his trains. "Measures were taken to relieve the town of the burden of feeding the unproductive. The Swamp Guard cell was crushed. The photos of their corpses have been spread across the town. The population has been cowed. We'll extract every last piece of grain and wheat from Hope Falls, even if thousands have to starve to feed our people."
"You put out a small fire in that cesspit, well done," Thrul mock compliments. "But how sustainable are your measures really? The moment we turn our attention to other matters, we'll be back to square one."
"Xenos greed and xenos dishonesty will be a fact of life until we've expelled them from our living space. We can't do it now, so we keep them in line by controlling the food and with an iron fist," Lachesis retorts tersely.
"We'd be better served uplifting the half-bloods. The more we deprive the enemy of human blood substance, the better. Without it, this racial mush is leaderless. I've had promising results in my sector. The bastards aren't human...but closer to us than pure xenos. They feel the call of the part of their blood that's human."
"In the mind of the deluded who let a xenos stab them in the back because it looks human. Need I remind you the bomber was a Mirialan and the terrorist leader a Zabrak? They got to keep their old and receive a larger allocation of rations, that's enough. I hope all those lurid rumours about what goes on at your palace are just...rumours. Lack of racial consciousness has always been your weakness. Along with your failure to understand security concerns."
"And lack of vision yours," he sneers. "The ring leader escaped, didn't she?" Sibylla stands silently next to Lachesis. Even the part of her face that's not masked gives nothing away. But her eyes are vigilant like a hawk.
"Broken, humiliated and filled with distrust for any native who comes to her with a sob story after our successful sting operation."

"Yes, yes, I am sure these matters are of great interest," Eisen suddenly interrupts, sounding rather bored. He beckons me close. "Apprentice, come, I have something you, the new model of the Adlerberg Express! Hand painted too...not by me of course...but still!"

The bickering fades into the background for me as I quickly join him at the massive railway. "Oh, my, that's truly intricate. I bet the trains runs on time!" I joke.
He laughs. "Always! And the train tracks are free of garbage and mines. The lighting is better, too. Look, freight trains, passenger trains, military trains - they all move in perfect order. It's all connected to a cogitator that automatically calculates itineraries, routes and timetables, but I can modify them manually." Each track is illuminated by LED lighting, and there are hundreds of holograms of little people boarding the trains or loading cargo.

"Is that a Dominion train?" I point at a big, primitive looking model in the corner.
There's a gleam in his eye. "Yes, yes. An ugly thing. And look, with this overhead airplane system, I can bomb it! The system automatically tracks the time below and the plane above." He presses an button, and the train starts moving across the tracks. Another click, and suddenly a model TIE flies into view and little 'bombs' fall onto the train. The system makes loud noises simulating an explosion, and holograms on the train flicker out of existence. I obediently clap my hands. "If only it were so easy to bring order to a chaotic world. When it's not Jedi terrorists, it's bickering Sith!" he declares.
"My Leader has so many cares," I say feelingly. "But this railway is a model for the whole Empire. It's orderly, it's constructed, it's progress. All directed by the invisible hand of a master-builder." I give him an adoring gaze. "And I want to help you give the Empire the order it deserves, starting in Hope Falls. Together with my friend Sibylla."
"Thesis, please?" Eisen pulls out a cigarra package. That's a good sign. Thrul has already fished out his fancy looking lighter, but before the creep can act I've already summoned a tiny flame in my palm and lit Eisen's cigarra for him. The Supreme Leader brings his cigarra to his lips and inhales.
"Hope Falls will always be a place of degeneracy. The xenos must atone by making do with less. But we can increase their output through rationalisation and diversification. Hope Falls' most important production factor is...its people. They're evil, born in sin, incapable of good without the grace of the Vader. But even a pig can be groomed. My Leader has unparalleled knowledge of the beasts of our world. The Houk is as strong as a bantha. It doesn't think beyond its next meal and is happy when it has someone to rough up; the Gungan is a simpleton, who follows orders well enough, but can't handle the heat; the Twi'lek is devious and weak. Put the wormhead to work in road construction, and it will collapse without doing anything useful. But each beast has different strengths we can harness by opening the town to investment and building basic light industry. My Leader knows how to balance the carrot with the stick to discipline wayward subjects. The savages still use ox to plough. That's inefficient. If we supply them with tractors too outdated for our farmers to use, we can increase production. We don't let them build their own and control the fuel, so they can't get up to mischief. I'd like to employ a select number in a factory to provide our soldiers with uniforms, boots and bandages."
Now Eisen looks at me like I have his full attention. "Hmm, so you would want to bring them into our manufacturing? A curious step, and you would propose this on a large scale?"
"I would make it a privilege for the select few to incentivise them. We can use this as a test case for reservation development by moulding xenos the way we'd train our hounds and bullocks. If we manage that, we have order. Otherwise...chaos ensues."

I make a gesture, and a couple switches and gears click. The perfectly synchronised railway starts to move out of sync. A miniature freight train goes down a different path straight into an oncoming miniature passenger train. Another becomes stuck half-switched to another track. "Shame, it was working so well." Hopefully I didn't break any of Eisen's toys.
"If you broke one of my trains, you have to pay for it," Eisen jabs his finger at me, but there's mirth in his eyes.
"You can take it out of my salary, my Leader. When I get one," I joke. "Anyway, we should give due consideration to half-bloods...but not favour them too much. The moment you raise them too high, the mongrels think they're our equal. A Gamorrean, a Nautolan will fight tooth and nail to curry favour because they know otherwise it's back to the gutter. Besides, the more alien they look, the less there's a risk of...immorality. I've been quite successful at breaking in my slave. To a point where she betrayed her own kin."

"Little children make poor field labourers, and letting them laze around just allows agitators to fill their heads with unwholesome ideas. There's no point in giving them an education beyond the most basic. But I can use some in a factory. The parents will beg us to use them, and willingly work over-hours. The useless are sent back to the fields...or recycled."

I sense Lachesis and Thrul have ceased their philosophical discussion, and are looking at us now. Time for the next step. "Apologies for getting long-winded...I'm a bit excited!" I give him a bashful smile.
"Have no fear, girl. You know you can tell me anything," Eisen says indulgently, shooting the others a look. "Don't interrupt her."
"Thank you. You see, this where my friend Sibylla comes in." I glance towards her with a bright smile. "It was truly fortuitous of Lord Lachesis to bring us together. During my investigation, I came across a haunted nexus...and friend Sibylla had some truly ingenious ideas about how even the condemned can make a useful contribution to our economy."
"Through mechanisation, automation, alchemisation," Sibylla joins in. "Through the Force, we harvest their life essence to power machinery. In time, automation will enable us to phase out conventional xenos labour in significant portions of our economy. Kyriaki's report on the haunted forest was...insightful. She has a knack for...managing the xenos. It was her scheme that made the Swamp Guard reveal itself."
"The Hope Falls nexus is minor and, I'm certain, tameable. But to harness it for this project we need peace and quiet. That's more easily achieved when the xenos have buy-in and police the natives for us."
"The Disciple has been thinking a lot about the xenos and how to make use of them. Perhaps a little too much," Lachesis comments acidically.
"I merely wish to use our resources productively, my lord. As you say, we're stuck with them for now, so they might as well be useful."
Eisen considers the whole matter, and slowly nods. "We have enough xenos to provide you with a test best. But bear in mind, my dear, I shall expect results. If the xenos are less effective after six months then the project will be liquidated...along with those employed in it. I'm most interested in that ghost strategy of you and Sibylla. If it works it could be an answer to save from toil...but I would want extensive testing. I suggest you discuss your plans with Lord Skaer...he will doubtless be interested."
He looks at his minions. "You're dismissed. I need some privacy with my ward to discuss personal matters." They file out of the basement.
"The young rose has blossomed. I'll see you later, dear," Thrul tells me with a smile. It sounds more ominous than pleasant. Sibylla gives me a nod on the way out.

When they're gone, Eisen looks at me. "You have a good mind and a way with words."
I bow my head slightly. "All thanks to your guidance, my Leader."
"Kyri, my dear, we're alone, you can tone down the brown-nosing. A little bit," he chuckles.
"I'm only being honest. You opened the door to a new world for me, and I walked through. If you hadn't saved me, I'd be dead."
"Quite right, and you've more than validated my decision. I've been thinking about your future quite a bit lately. At the risk of sounding like a cliché, where do you see yourself in ten years?"
"Well...I hope to serve my Leader in whatever capacity he deems wise. I believe my strengths lie best in investigation, auditing and project management. I could supervise the xenos labour force to ensure my Leader's projects come to fruition."
"Good answer, my dear. But there's one thing missing. A very crucial thing. You need a husband. Fortunately, I've spent the last few days looking for a worthy suitor for you. I can say with absolute confidence that I've been successful. A very powerful, strong Sith."

I can feel my heart thump in my chest. I take a deep breath. I'll see you later, dear. I feel nauseous. "My Leader...I...Lord Thrul is surely a powerful vassal...but..."
"What? Good heavens, do you really think I'd marry you to that creep?" Eisen exclaims, looking...offended. "I'd thought you knew me better than that."
"Oh...I'm sorry, my Leader. Just a...misunderstanding. I feel very foolish."
"You should. Good grief, that turtle goes through wives faster than Lachesis turns xenos to ash. His latest is your age. So...unseemly. You won't marry him; you'll marry his second son Pyrros."
My head is still spinning. I must fight back against the feeling of nausea. "My Leader, if there's any way to avoid...I would rather...not. I can't bear children. Wouldn't my husband feel insulted by a barren wife? I can serve you better if..."
Eisen puts a hand on my shoulder, and just for a second it's a little tighter. He leans in close, standing only a few centimetres away from me. He looms over me like a giant. "We must all do things we dislike, my dove...until such a time as we have the means to ignore it. Please, Kyriaki...for me. I would be ever so pleased by this and ensure that your plan for the xenos is put into effect directly..."
"Am I just a pawn to you then?" I demand, showing more emotion than I should, as if a sudden madness has overtaken me.
He smiles and gently squeezes my shoulder. "My dear, everyone is a pawn. Lachesis, Sibylla, Thrul, your driver, the xenos scrubbing the floors. All are pawns, but not all are valued equally. Perhaps one day you will understand what it means to command, what sacrifices need to be made, and what games must be played to survive. For now, trust me, my sweet. Thrul's boy is young, eager, a better catch than most, and in the end may be beneficial to you. Can you do this for me, Kyriaki?"
I know I'm beaten, I have no choice, so might as well not make a fuss. Shackles of gold are shackles still. I smile. "I submit to your wishes. House Skleros is a proud and ancient bloodline. You honour me."
He shakes his head. "Honour, honour, we both know it has no meaning. When I was young, I thought it did. " His eyes travel across his model railway, settling on the toy aircraft. "Well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. I'll be candid. I wish the world wasn't so cruel, I wish someone like you could marry for love and when you are ready. But when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. The price of the throne is that I must sell like my children like prized cattle for political advantage. I love my daughter dearly. She's a remarkable girl, but she doesn't have the Force. Not in any meaningful way. You do." He looks at me intently, implication clear.

For a moment I'm quiet. How much of this is manipulation, how much of it honest? Maybe a bit of both. "It's the mark of the great to make hard choices, without taking any joy. I'm...touched by your care for me. You've been...like a father to me. If this is the way to repay you for raising me so high...I ask that I be given the chance to meet my future husband before the wedding, and that I have some input on the marriage contract. I must be able to pursue my projects independently. I'm of little use if I have to go through my husband before reporting to you. Likewise, I must be able to hold assets in my own name."
"Done. I already made it clear to Thrul. This won't be easy for you. Thrul is...well, you know him. The negotiations weren't easy. He quibbled about your infertility. I said: 'So you would decline an offering from the Supreme Leader'. Then he said: 'Oh, no of course not. But in the interest of preserving a pure bloodline I would compromise. Of course there should be a joining, your ward and my son, but perhaps not my eldest son. He has a duty to procreate and continue to empower the human species with his genes.'" He imitates Thrul's pompous, smug voice.
"What is my husband like?"
"A warrior, brave, fearless and handsome. Also a troll and a show-off. I won't lie to you; he's sired bastards and will probably not keep to his vows." He looks at me seriously. "I've found you a whelp you will control, and if he lays a hand upon you, my knights will take it from him, but I suggest you find a commonality and try. It is easier if you care for one another. Remember, you won't only have to appease him, but Thrul and his clan. They're a difficult bunch. Very big on tradition. But you're a smart girl."

So I'm chained once more. Shackled to the family of a creep and sold off to a Sith brute. But...I can and I will turn this to my advantage. I will charm; I will lie; I will smile. And then I'll go for the jugular and destroy them.

I swallow. "I'll do my best to make it work, my Leader...and I'll be an earnest advocate for you interests in my...new family."
He gives me that smile that is plastered on photos and posters across the Imperium. "I know you'll make me proud, dear. Since the day we first met, I have watched over you, waiting as you grew in strength and cunning, until you are able to assume your true place. You'll be my inspector, my standard-bearer. Don't worry, I don't expect you to carry my banner in hand, except in your word and deeds. Where there's a disturbance in our economy, an act of sabotage, you will go, find out the truth, and report back to me."

How fitting to tell me now. A sop to balance out the bad news.

But...an opportunity.

I drop down to one knee, bowing my head. "I I vow that I will faithfully discharge my duties and render unconditional obedience to you, Supreme Leader. I shall give you the loyalty of a daughter to a father. May the Vader strike me down if I break this sacred oath.

He grins and offers his hand. "A wise woman once told me our destinies are written in the stars. I was just a pilot. And then I discovered I can command the Force. Like me, you will learn the embrace the new role fate has bestowed on you," he gives me a smile I can only call fatherly.
"Yes, my Leader. Might I share my impressions of certain people from my assignment?"
"Let me guess, Lachesis. You don't like her."
"Actually, working under her was quite...insightful. I would've handled certain matters differently. She is very set in her ways...but I respect her drive, her energy. She has her troops well in hand."
"Hmm, that she does, that she does," he mutters. "Anyone else? Be brief."
"Sibylla and Doctor Menkales. Sibylla is intelligent, professional, thinks outside the box. The scientific community can only benefit from someone like her. I was...less impressed with Menkales."
Eisen scratches his chin. "Think I've heard the name. Chazowa correct?"
"Yes, the rabies attack. An ingenious application of biowarfare. He's a talented doctor, too...but success has gotten to his head a bit. He's sidetracked by experiments of dubious merit. The way Twi'leks change skin colour is an academic curiosity, not worth wasting funds and squandering workers on."
"I see. He's Lachesis' pet, but I already threw her a bone."
"A wise decision, my Leader. And," I raise my hand when his brow creases, "one last, I promise. Mr Goren. The butler of your mansion."
"I barely know the man. What about him?"
"He keeps bragging about being close to you. It's creating the wrong impression, and I have evidence that he's been embezzling your funds by pocketing the salaries of non-existent staff members."
His expression darkens. "Give the evidence to my secretary, and feel free to hand him this Goren his eviction notice. Actually, since you're going to be spending a lot of time there anyway, you might as well make sure the villa is kept in good order. Consider it your dowry."
"You're too kind, my Leader."
He pats me on the shoulder. "Now enough of the serious talk. How about...some golf while we wait for dinner?"
This is so surreal. "I've never played it...but I'm willing to learn!" I say with a smile.
"That's the spirit! Come on, girl."

 

[Kyriaki]

Kyriaki​

The golf course is predictably gigantic. Eisen never settles for half-measures. When he wants something, he goes all-in. It has to be big, grandiose and ridiculous. Trimmed, sterile grass and ponds as far as the eye can see. Bronze statues stand amongs the trees. I can't help but wonder how much water this nature-themed amusement park uses up.

In case anyone was pondering this undoubtedly pivotal question, it seems I'm not cut out for a career as a golf player. More's the pity. Eisen keeps getting his ball in the sand trap, and I know for certain he's not using the Force. I, on the other hand, have no clue what I'm doing. I'm just awkwardly swinging a club around.

Annoying.

Finally Eisen waddles over after claiming another hole. "You know, just a year or so ago, I was holding a tournament with a few of my advisors. They were all too scared to put up a fight, so they made all the usual rookie mistakes. Even those I know are masters of the game. Against all odds, one of them beat me. I winked at him and he froze. His face turned red and I swear I saw his veins bulging. I wondered whether I should call a doctor. Everyone had turned so quiet the only noise came from the birds. The poor fellow almost jumped when I patted him on the back and gave him one of my special golf clubs as a reward. 'To the fortunate goes the victory, my boy. The trick is being fortunate when it matters. For now, take this as a sign of the time you defeated the Supreme Leader in sport. But remember, in serious matters the stakes are...higher.'"

"I'm not losing on purpose, my Leader. I'm not used to this game. It wasn't part of the Academy's curriculum."
"I must endeavour to fix that! Anyhow, it's not so hard to learn. Your biggest problem is that you're…overthinking things, and you're trying too hard to emulate my swing. That never works. We have very different body types, my dear! I like cake and ale too much, you like it too little!" he laughs good-naturedly, slapping his massive bulk.

Despite myself, I crack a smile. "I see what you mean. I must find my natural swing."
"Precisely. With that in mind, there are some fundamentals I can show you."
"Please do," I nod.
"For starters, you're standing too far from the ball. Setting up to the ball wrong means you have to add movements in order to get to the right positions in the swing. And you're gripping the club too tightly. It's creating tension in your hands and wrists. Move up a bit, and soften your grip, my dear. There, that's better. Now you want to set up a target line and a proper swing path. Don't scoop the ball. I know it seems like the obvious thing to do, but getting the ball up is all about hitting its sweet spot, and following through with your swing."

I frown, thinking. I don't care about this silly game, but it behoves me to show interest. "What if I create a lag in my swing? To make sure my angle of contact hits the sweet spot?"
He grins. "You're learning. Bend your knees a little bit, it helps your aim. Now focus, relax and aim. Golf is not so different from using the Force, you know. Or politics really. You set yourself a target, make sure you're in position, aim, strike. Your golf club is a precision instrument, not a hammer."

"Position, aim, strike," I mutter to myself, shuffling my feet so I'm in position. Focus, it's just me, the club and the ball…and the jovial tyrant. One day, I'll set the precious artwork he loves to drole about ablaze. Today…I humour him by playing his game. I turn my shoulders, bend my elbow slightly, and begin my swing. The club hits the ball, sending it flying, and it lands in the hole. "I did!" I exclaim a bit theatrically.
"That you did, my dear. Keep it up. The Imperial Golf Championship is only a few months away!"
I chuckle. "An entertaining thought. But I'd need lots of practice and a good teacher. Does Thrul's estate have a golf course as marvellous as this one?"
"No, he doesn't play. He prefers other hobbies. Xenos zoos, watching gladiatorial combat. Childish really, but the masses like some entertainment."
"Does he enter the ring himself sometimes? Or shoot Force lightning at beasts from an elevated platform?" I ask airily.
"You're thinking of Darth Megalos, my child," he points a meaty finger at me. "And it would behove you to show your future father-in-law some respect. Remember, you will be under his authority."
I make an effort to look contrite. "I will show him all the deference he is due as my patriarch. But he's not the man who saved from perdition. I can't and shan't ever forget who raised me from nothing. I must ask, what makes him so important to merit your attention?" And me being sold to him, but I hide my bitterness.
"He's a cog. A sometimes difficult, yet important cog. He combines Party and business interests with being a bastion of Sith respectability. He's old Sith blood, you know. That has meaning in certain quarters. He has ambitions on my job – but all of them do," Eisen shrugs and starts walking down the golf course, with me following quickly. "However, he's just smart enough to realise he's in no positionyet to make a play. So he gathers the scraps I give him, and he gives me his 'loyal' service."
"And Lachesis detests him. Keeping him at court keeps her on her toes," I remark, and I'm rewarded with a satisfied grin.
"Bingo. Neither is suitable for my throne. Lachesis would turn half the Imperium against her in the name of purifying it. The oligarchs would throw a fit at the idea. The corpos would open their coffers for anyone ready to challenge her. Even if she crushed the insurrection, her warmongering would drive our enemies to set aside their mutual hatred long enough to make common cause against us."
"And Thrul?"
"He's more cautious. But snobbish, cruel, obsessed with his ancient bloodline and all that rot. I make no apologies for all the bodies I've stepped over to get here. They were in my way, so I put them in the dirt and moved on. But he enjoys it. The people won't love him. They'll fear him, and one day they'll hate him. It's better to be feared than loved if you can't have both, but do all you can to make sure you're not hated by the plebs. Sooner or later, their hatred of you will outweigh their fear."

You think the xenos don't hate you?! Madness! I quench the fire inside me. He said 'the people'. The xenos aren't people to them. They can hold them down as long as the 'good, ordinary Imperial citizens' remain loyal.

"As the Usurper learned," I remark, he smiles. Condemning his rival always pushes the right button. "Then I'll make his servants love me and and fear me and, through me, make them love and fear you even more."
His eyes are keenly placed upon me, and they gleam like those of a predator lurking beyond the fringe of a firelight. "Remember, the people's love is fickle. One moment they'll worship you, the next they'll shout 'crucify her'. You must listen to what they want. You must promise to give it to them, and they'll eat out of your hand. If you can't deliver on your promise, lie to them, distract them, invent an an enemy for them to direct their anger towards, anyone but you. Don't be content with just telling them what they want, invent what they want next, and make it so real you can dazzle them with it, bind them with your vision. But you can't rule on empty promises forever, so make sure to throw them enough scraps to fill their bellies, but not enough to fully sate their appetite. Make sure they're happy, but not too happy, so as not to need your rule, to not crave for themselves your love."

I watch him intently, following his every word. "Remember, you'll always have enemies there. As an outsider, a woman, a frail clone, as my spy. Everyone will want to use you for their games, get rid of you, or both. Be hard, don't be afraid to be cruel and callous. The people are vicious, greedy, short-sighted, stupid. They'll swallow almost anything if you package it right. But never forget, terror is a means to an end, not an end. Do you understand?"
"As Sith we answer to neither gods nor men…but we can't rule without the people. They're the ones who make it possible for us to wage war, grow our food, mine the metals, build the weapons, hold down the slaves. As long as I have them eating out of my hand, I will always outnumber my enemies. I can't impress anyone through feats of martial prowess, but I can win them over through propaganda, public goods."
But it's not the 'innocent Imperial citizens' I will strive to win over.
"Good. Do you know why I built Hope Falls? Why I really built it?"
"Every citizen knows what happens to a xenos who gets taken away at night and is never seen again. But they don't want it shoved in their face. Better to believe a happy illusion that the xenos is fine, productive and content. In Hope Falls, thieves hang from lampposts, children are shot."

I think back to Cordé and how she reacted. And how murder has become bland routine in Hope Falls. "Appease a man's conscience by making sure ugly things happen far away from his doorstep, and you can get him to do anything you want. Tell him they're terrorists; tell him thanks to Hope Falls he can put bread on the table."

I think back to poor, brave Tara, and the council meeting where the councillors signed death warrants for their own people to appease monsters. "And it taught the xenos a happy lie, too. A hope for them to cling to. That they'll be spared if they're productive enough. Hope is the great deceiver."

"And now thanks to you, they'll have a new hope to cling to. And our loyal citizens will get affordable clothes, along with cheap bread. Your plan follows my vision, that's why I authorised it."
"As a bonus, Lachesis has been shown her limits and now that Thrul has seen you endorse my proposal he'll see having a frail clone in the family will be beneficial, after all."

"Mhm," he rubs his chin. "When was the last time you prayed?"
I frown, caught off-guard by the sudden shift. "Not since you freed me. I don't look for a salvation from a man in the Nether."
"Neither do I. The Vader is the exemplar all Sith should aspire to. But does he fling lightning bolts from the Nether when we pray loudly enough? Doubtful. But it behooves you to be pious and make sure people see it. Next time you're in Adlerberg, go to the temple, pray and make a donation. Make a habit of it when you're married. Thrul's people are believers."
"Alright, I'll go and…pray,"I grimace with distaste."I need a bigger salary if I'm supposed to buy some priests though."
He evidently finds my discomfort amusing, laughing. "Don't be cheeky, child. Remember, you can't impress the plebs with martial vigour. Technocrats are respected, but no one loves them. You'll need to make use of every asset. Familiarise yourself with scripture well enough you can use it to your advantage. Sprinkle your speeches with the occasional quote."

Further talk about how to play the role of the model Vaderite is cut short by a massive Akk Dog running towards us. "Look, who's come to visit us! Come here, Cesar." One moment he's rubbing the dog behind the ears, the next the huge beast is licking my face. I awkwardly pet it. "Who's a good boy?" I coo. "I missed you, too." It looks cute when it's acting like an overgrown dog, but it could bite my head off and swallow it in one gulp.
"And, look, he brought a friend," Eisen says with a chuckle. "Have you come to whisk my apprentice away before my lessons bore her to death, sweetling?" I look up from the beast, and see a young, dark-haired woman a bit older than my apparent age in a yellow dress that shows off her long legs. Her toenails are…nice. Painted soft dawn-pink and slipped into delicate white sandals with two-inch heels. She has striking amber eyes, and cute freckles on her nose. I blink to clear my head.
"I'd never dream of it, papa. I just wanted to meet your mysterious and famous apprentice myself!" she declares cheerfully.

It's Eisen's daughter. Cyrina Dragourmis. She's stretching out her hand to me. Damn, how do I respond? Best be respectful. So I incline my head slightly and take her hand. "It's an honour to meet you, my lady."
She just chuckled, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh my, no need for that! I'm not a princess, dear, just a friend. It's Cyrina to you."
"Yes…Miss, I mean Cyrina." She's put her arm around me. Her scent, fragrant and sweet, wafts over me.

"You told me she knew her courtesies, papa, but not that she was that dedicated to them."
"Contrasts well with Achilles not knowing any, doesn't it? Relax, Kyriaki, you're practically family," Eisen says with an amused chuckle."
"By the way, papa, mother wanted to have a word with you about preparations for the Yule festival. And Sour Sith wants to talk to you about something."
"Oh, what?"
"I don't know. She just had this serious business scowl on her face."
"That doesn't narrow it down, sweetling. She always has one! Anyway, a Supreme Leader's business is never done. Kyri, I leave you in Cyrina's capable hands, she'll take good care of you."
"Yes, why don't I show you around? Then we can get to know each other better."
I sense no deception from her. Just…cheerfulness. My lips curl into a smile. "It would be my pleasure." I bow my head slightly to Eisen. "Thank you for the lesson, my Leader. I appreciate it deeply." Cyrina takes me by the arm, and we head off.

"Cesar," Cyrina raises her voice and whistles to get the huge beast's attention. "Come." Obediently the Akk Dog trots after her. "I know you've been here before, but papa didn't get the chance to give you the scenic tour," she says good-naturedly.
"No, I saw a bit of the garden," I say. "It was…a welcome respite."
"From what Achilles put you through?" she asks…and dare I say her look is sympathetic. "What an evil, wicked man. Good thing papa destroyed him. You and him. He talks about you a lot, you know."
"I'm honoured he's taking me under his wing, and strive to serve him to the best of my abilities." "Kyri – I can call you Kyri right? Don't be so formal. I'm not a spy. I'm not going to rush to papa and tell on you the moment you loosen up a bit."
"Yes…Cyrina. I didn't mean to imply that." But you can never know. "I think you'd make a good spy though. You're very charming!"
"Oh, really? A fun thought. But I'm not sure I could pull off the dramatic car chases and firefights with arch-villains."
"Let me let you in on a secret. Most of spywork is…waiting. Living in cubicles, going through files, hoping to catch a missed lead. Then something happens, there's a brief moment of excitement, before it's back to…paperwork."
She giggles. "Imagine if that was the plot of the next Mar Jade movie! People would feel cheated. You're the first clone I've met, you know. Not what I expected."

"In a good way, I hope?"
"Oh, yes. Honestly, I've always been a bit curious about how, pardon the language, clones work. How much do you inherit from your template? You share the same genes, but there's more to humans than that. Did you inherit any memories?"
This could get problematic very fast. "A few flashes. Inconcrete and frustrating. But I believe it's better that way. I could not be tainted by her false beliefs."
"It's not your fault your template did bad things. You're your own person. I…can't imagine what it's like growing up without a family, being told to feel ashasmed for who you are, to be tortured for someone else's sins by a sick psychopath. You're a strong person to have lived through what you did."
"It was…horrible. But it made me strong. Without it, I wouldn't be who I am. I'd have stayed a little bird. Forever caged and naïve."
"No," she says with a firmness I wouldn't have expected of her. "Suffering doesn't make you strong, it just reveals strength you always had, even if you didn't know you did."

If I hadn't experienced the Vaderites cruelty first-hand, I wouldn't have recognised their evil. I'd be just as rotten as…your father. All those who profit from the infamous, shameful system.

Or just look away and see no evil.

Like you.

"I…," I pause, taking a breath. "I never saw it that way. I'm not sure I agree…but I needed to hear that," I take her hand.
"I meant what I said, Kyri. I feel so sorry you had to go through what you did, but I admire you for overcoming your trials. You didn't need to suffer to you make you strong."
"That's a very…unorthodox, un-Sithian view," I point.
She flips her hair. "Good thing I'm not a Sith then! And I'm the Supreme Leader's daughter, so what I say can't be unorthodox, can it?"
"Meaning I'd be violating orthodoxy if I didn't give your words the consideration they deserve."
She grins crookedly. "Exactly. I'll just have to remind you till you believe it heart and soul. Come on. I take it papa already showed off his golf course. Do you like the game?"
"He used it to give me some valuable insights. But I think the game is not really for me."
"It's not for me either. Not for lack of trying on his part. I prefer tennis. Look, our tennis court over there." She points towards a massive enclosure surrounded by trees. Everywhere I look, the grounds are neat, tidy and beautiful. Orderly flower beds, trimmed grass, ponds. Just like the mansion in Hope Falls, except on a far bigger scale. What a waste. "We've hosted tournaments on occasion. And we have a swimming pool further down."

"I love swimming. I don't get the chance that often, but swimming a couple laps helps me relax. Puts my mind at ease."
"A woman after my own heart. I have to show you our pool. But my true love is fencing. Not to brag, but I've won a couple tournaments. Third place in the Imperial Fencing Championship."
"That's impressive! Would you…mind teaching me a bit? I learned how to use a sword obviously, but I'm not much of a fencer."
Clearly the right thing to say. She beams at me. "It would be my pleasure! I rarely get to cross blades with Force-Users. Not since the acolyte of Darth-What's-His-Name threw a tantrum when I gave his handsome, arrogant face a nice little scar. How long are you staying?"
"I'm afraid I'm off again next week, but I'm staying over the weekend. If we don't make it, we can arrange a date some other time."
"We can start right after dinner and go from there! Our dojo is magnificien, and we've got some neat trons to train with." She looks down at my scabbard. "May I have a look?"
"By all means." Slowly I unsheathe the sword. Seeing me draw, Cesar growls, baring his huge teeth. Cyrina pets him. "Safe." He relaxes, and I and hand the sword to her, holding it in both my hands. Like a knight presenting her sword to her lady, I guess. She takes the sword by the hilt, examines the runes and gives the blade a few practice swings. "This is well-balanced, good craftsmanship. Not big and bulky like the swords I keep seeing Sith carry around. But these runes…it's still alchemised, isn't it?"
I nod. "You gave a good eye for detail. I imbued it. It doesn't have all the traits of a Sith Sword, but I can actually hold it and manoeuvre with it."
"The weapon must match the wielder," she agrees, and hands the weapon back to me. "I use a rapier. Alchemised, but light for me to wield it. A gift from papa."
"You two must be very close," I comment innocently.
"Is that so surprising? I know being Supreme Leader and all that can be pretty intimidating. It's hard for people who don't know him like me to see the person behind the uniform. But he's as human as all of us. He loves his family deeply."

I actually believe he does. He'll also tell his minions to murder innocent women and children by the thousands, then go off to play golf or drool over his artwork. Because they're not people to him like you, they're just…things in his way. "I don't doubt it. He's watched out for me…more than any other Sith Master would." He'll just also sell me off for political advantage, but, hey, he'll give me good life advice on the way.

"Oh, yes. Not like Sour Sith and Creep Sith!"
I furrow my brow. "Sour is…"
"Lachesis!" she interjects. "And Creep is Thrul."
"Appropriate names," I I have to suppress a giggle at the nicknames, bringing my hand to my mouth. "I think so. Never ever seen Lachesis smile. She's just grumpy all the time, and Thrul is…just weird and creepy. Feel like I need a shower any time he takes my hand."
"More like a long, warm bubble bath to be extra thorough."
"Vader's breath, yes. I'll say, not all Sith are like that. I like Science Sith. She's polite and smart."
"Science Sith…you mean Sibylla Laskaris."

"Bullseye. Science and Sour. I wonder how Science puts up with her. How did you do it?"
"Surprisingly, by standing my ground when she chewed me out. Which happened a lot. She thinks I'm a fool, but it seems she prefers that to a craven."
"Well, that's something, I guess. So happy I don't have to work for her. I'd go stir-crazy. Only thing worse would be Creep. Science's doing well for herself though. She messaged me about you, by the way. Said you the, I quote, 'competent Sith club has one more member now'."
I smile slightly. "Sibylla's a friend and I like working with her. So…what's your nickname for me?"
She just flashes me a crooked grin. "Still got to come up with one! Don't worry, you're going to get a nice one."
"I hope so."
"Speaking of our mutual friend Science, how's Doc doing? Jonas. She said he was hurt pretty bad by the Swamp Guard."
"Bomb attack. He's out of the woods, and they put him in a KEC hospital. But he'll need intensive care for a while."
"Thank the Vader you were there to help. Can't imagine what the Swamp Guard hoped to accomplish," she shrugs. "They just make things worse for everyone."
I pause, choosing my words carefully. "Did Jonas ever…speak about his work with you?"
She makes a dismissive gesture. "He doesn't brag, and I don't needle him. I know he does experiments and they're, well, distasteful, but he's an honourable man. He should just drop all this…ugly stuff, and devote himself to medical practice."
"Yes…or music. He's…very talented with the violin."
"For sure! He'd be a star. But he's convinced himself the things he does are for the greater good. I think it's because of Sour. She talked him into it, and he's such a loyal man."

Yes, that monster is such a nice guy. And you're horrid for making excuses for him, for refusing to tear the veil from your eyes. I wince when an intense feeling of pain suddenly creeps into my cyber-arm. I take a breath. Cyrina looks at me with concern. "Are you alright, Kyri? You don't look well."
"No, no, it's fine," I say hastily. To distract her, I point a bony, metal finger at an imposing looking structure. Two masked guards clad in imposing scarlet armour are posted in front of it. An aura of the Force surrounds them. It feels twisted, powerful and wrong. "What's that building for?"
Cyrina's expression turns solemn and grave, all traces of levity vanishing from her features."My mama's mausoleum," she says quietly.

Her mother…but she told Eisen…oh, I remember. Instantly my mind flashes back to distant memories of my lessons. In my mind, I hear Achilles ranting, dressed in his absurd gilded armour and waving his sword around. Eisen thinks he can contend with me! So be it. That fat oaf is weak and senile. He couldn't even save his wife from bleeding to death in the birthing bed. All for a Force-blind brat.

"Your birth mother…I'm so sorry."
"Lady Sophia. I…never knew her. She was very sick. Papa did all he could to save her, but she died giving birth to me. All I have of her are holos, pictures, stories…and this." She opens up the locket on the pendant around her neck.

I lean in to get a good look. The face of a tanned, dark-haired woman stares back at me. Her hair falls like ribbons behind her ears. She's beautiful in a regal, aloof way. Her amber eyes radiate power and control. "She's beautiful, like her daughter. You have her eyes."
Cyrina smiles a bit shyly. "I'm not that pretty," she says self-deprecatingly. "You're really beautiful though, but you need to eat more."
I groan. "Everyone keeps saying that."
"Well, I'm not everyone! I'm a princess, remember? You have to listen to me."
"Didn't you say you weren't one?"
"And now I am," she gives me a playful swat. "Would you…like me to show you the mausoleum?"
"I'd be honoured."
She takes my arm again, and we walk towards the imposing structure. The two sentinels step aside and open the massive black door. As I pass one, I once again feel a sense of…wrongness. The Force is there, but twisted. He turns his head, showing me an expressionless mask. Looking into his aura is like staring into a void…but I feel a hint of familiarity. For just a moment, it feels like I'm hearing a pained, agonised screech in my mind.

My mind flashes back to that day in Eisen's tent. Eisen stands over a prone, maimed Jedi. His lightsabre glows a bright scarlet. The Jedi's hand is a stump. "Slay me, fiend," the Jedi declares, groaning in pain. "You only delay the inevitable."
"Slay you?" Eisen exclaims in mock horror. "No, my dear Jedi. I hate waste and I've ways to make use of you…"

I suppress a shudder, and cross the threshold. Cesar waits for us at thedoor. Inside the floor is made of white marble. There's incense in the air and torches light the way. Cases seemingly carved into stone hold artefacts that I presume belonged to the Sith Lady in life. My skin tingles from what feels like sparks of electricity. The Force permeates the room.

Frescos on the wall tell Sophia's story. Her rise as a Sith, striking down Jedi and Vong, Eisen's courtship of her, their ascent as a power couple, and finally Sophia's death. I see Eisen mourning her and cradling a little babe in his arms, while her spirit rises into the Nether, where a masked Vader greets her. It is…kind of sweet. Until you remember who they are and what they stand for.

"The tomb," Cyrina says quietly, guiding me to it. A single rose rests on a grave of black marble trimmed with gold letters with the epitaph. I bend down to read the words.

HERE RESTS LADY SOPHIA DRAGOURMIS THE CUNNING, LORD OF THE SITH, SLAYER OF HERETICS, STORMBORN, LIGHT OF THE NORTH, BELOVED WIFE, PARTNER, MOTHER. MAY HER LEGACY ENDURE THROUGHOUT THE AGES AND HER COMMITMENT TO HER PEOPLE BE HONOURED.

How many people in Hope Falls, Chios and Prosperity Quarter have been dumped in unmarked mass graves? How many xenos gravesites have been bulldozed? One day, I will do the same to this place.

"Any time papa is here, he goes to her grave and replaces the rose himself. Sometimes he spends hours here alone. We had to flee when those Light Sith terrorists took over, but he wouldn't leave without mother's remains," Cyrina explains softly.

"A beautiful love. He cared for her deeply, and she lives on in you," I say feelingly, looking at her.
A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips. "Now you sound like papa. He took her death hard. Told me stories about her…but he never held it against me." She turns, beckoning me to follow.
"I imagine many Sith were lining up to fill the void before her body was cold," I remark as we walk back into the light of the day. Cesar immediately trots after us.

"You don't know half of it. I was just a child, but I caught up fast. Servants talked, Sith kids mocked me about how I'd soon be replaced. Seemed like barely a day would pass without some bigshot showing up and asking papa to wed his daughter. Or a Sith strumpet tried to seduce him. 'We'll ascend to glory together, and you will finally have the strong Force-Sensitive heir you deserve, not a squib'," she mimics what's actually a pretty good impression of a pomous Sith.
"All about power and wealth, no surprise. How did he react?"
"He was polite, he humoured them…and kicked out anyone who insulted me, and never invited them back again. Papa didn't remarry until I was a teenager."

"Iphigenia Jaqeli, right?"
"The one and only. A Sith like papa, but she went into acting instead of the military."
"So…how are things between you and your stepmother?"
"I wasn't…keen on her at first. I never knew my birth mother, but now it felt like I was losing what little part of her I had left. If papa was moving on from her…what was left? Bit silly, I guess."
"No, not silly. Understandable. All you had of her were someone else's memories, and you feared you'd lose even those, and that she'd be one of gold diggers who scorn you for being a 'squib'."
"Yes," she nods. "I was very cross, sullen and petulant. Tried to avoid her and threw myself into fencing. Then one night after a hard bout she came to me and we…talked. To my surprise, we found we had a lot in common. It's a bit like having an older sister. Papa likes to joke we get on better with each other than with him," she chuckles.
"That's great. You know, I saw one of her movies while I was training."
"Which movie? I didn't know they had a cinema at your swamp academy."
"They didn't. We got a special showing during a visit to Adlerberg just before our final trials. One last moment of respite before we were thrown into the fire. It was the Handmaiden's Sacrifice."

"That's one of her best roles. Papa met her at the premiere way back, so they keep showing it every couple years."
"Her acting was…captivating. The moment she spoke, it was like she was speaking straight to me. Like I was right in the scene with her. Everything else faded away."

It's true – all of it. Now I have the perspective to understand why they showed it to us, right after we spent a day touring the ghetto and being encouraged to mock the poor inhabitants.

Cyrina smiles. "She cannot summon lightning storms or move boulders with her mind, but her voice is enthralling."
"Truly. That man they got to play the Vader was too wooden. It's like they just picked someone who was big, muscular and great at telekinesis and called it a day. Even before his ascent, the Vader had…gravitas. He has none."
"The actor's drama queen. Avoid him at parties."
"Thanks for the advice. So…is there anyone special in your life?"
"Oh, here and there," she winks at me. "Fun lads you can have a good time with. Settle down with? Not for a while if I can help it."
"No strapping young war heroes lining up to take a knee and ask for your hand?" I ask with a teasing wink. "You are, after all…"
"The Supreme Leader's princess?" she interrupts.
"I was going to say beautiful, charming and witty, but yes, that's also undeniably a factor."
"Flatterer. It's not easy to find someone who sees me as a person, and not as a way to get easy access to to court. Papa told me early on I must have a proper marriage. We Dragourmis have standards to uphold. But he won't force someone on me I detest."

I can't help feel a stab of jealousy. So you get to choose…we'll see how long that lasts. "That's…good..that you have a choice. He cares for you."
"I heard someone has already been chosen for you," she looks at me…sympathetically. How much of that has been stage-managed? "I'm sorry this was all sprung on you like that. In a way, I feel responsible."
"I don't blame you, or your father. What a father wants to do isn't always in line with what a Supreme Leader must do."
"Now you sound exactly like him," she takes my arm again. "It's not an easy situation for you. Women in our position must make the best of our circumstances. I know your groom somewhat. We met way back when one of Thrul's many, many relatives was trying to persuade my father to marry her."
"I haven't had the pleasure yet."
"Others sing his praises, especially martially. Very comely, too. I think perhaps though he is not so focused on the…higher arts. A man born for jousting and battle, you see."
"How much does he resemble his father? Thrul makes me…uncomfortable."
"I know exactly what you mean. Pyrros is…not cruel. Oh, he'll think he's better than you, but he's not unreasonable."

"I was told he's sired bastards."
"Oh, yes, he got two common girls with child. One was a maid, the other an officer's daughter and a nurse. He shut them out of his life the moment they grew round."
Pretty toys he discarded the moment he had to take responsibility. Figures. "Speaks poorly of his character."
"Aye, but on the bright side it means you won't have to raise his bastards for him. Everyone knows they're his, he's acknowledged them," she furrows her brow. "I have a question…if it's not too personal."
"Ask away."
"Do you want children? I mean…can clones even have any?"
"I'd like to. But I can't. None of us can. I don't know if it's by design or a curse of the Force."
Cyrina pats my hand. "I'm sorry, sweetie. But on the bright side, it means you can have fun on the side so long as he's clean," she gives me a wink.
Oh dear, this is embarrassing. "I..well," I sputter, feeling terribly foolish, "I never thought about that. You're teasing me! It would dishonour me."
"Not if you're discreet about it, sweetie. He will go forth and plough foreign fields, so why should he have all the fun?"
"I wouldn't even know how. I mean, I've never…" My cheeks are heating up. And then she pulls me closer to her.
"That's where big sis comes in. Big sis knows all the tricks, and will share her wisdom with you, and find you cute boys to have fun with."
"That is…kind of you." With my cheeks no doubt as red as Elpsis' hair, I look around, searching for a distraction. I find it when I behold an absurdly huge fountain. Copious amounts of water sprout from…something that looks awfully like the Vader's lightsabre.
I point at it. "Vader's breath, who talked your father into that monstrosity?"
"Smarmy Sith himself!"
"I really need a list of these nicknames," I mock grumble.
"Skaer, silly. He called it majestic! When I saw it I said: 'look, the Vader's sabre is leaking!'" Cyrina laughs. "Don't tell papa I said that. He gets upset when I joke about it because it cost a king's breakfast to instal."
"Maiden's honour. Did Smarmy Sith inflict any more abominations on the estate?"
"Here and there, but most of it was built before his career took off and he started inflicting his architectural genius on cities across the Imperium. Word of advice, don't move to Humanist Destiny if you can help it."

"I've seen photos. Huge buildings, statues, construction sites, prefabs. But no people. Other than construction workers and bureaucrats."
"It's so eerie. Walking through the massive boulevards between those huge monuments…it feels like you're being crushed beneath white marble. Half the city was torn down to make room for new buildings, but many are still unfinished. One of the buildings was so heavy it turned over and sank into the swamp.Formularbeginn City of Humanist Destiny? More like City of Humongous Scaffolds? Or City of Horrific Smells. We're the master race, but we can't build proper drains. Shameful. I prefer Adlerberg. That ghetto's an eyesore, but the city's alive. Sadly, I have to pop by in Destiny once in a while to smile for the cameras and promote my work."
"What kind of work would that be? I don't think you mentioned."
"Jewellery, cosmetics, sometimes clothes. I make some bespoke items for very special customers. I've used my brand to raise money for charity."
"What a coincidence, I'm something of an alchemist and I've dabbled into applying my craft to dresses and jewellery."
Her eyes light up. "Now I remember! You made that cloak for papa. Very fetching. You have to make one for me too."
"For you…I'd make more than an enchanted cloak," I smile at her. "Maybe I'm being a bit presumptuous, but I'd love to work with you. I know I'm just a knight fresh out of the academy, and you surely have many talented alchemists eager to enchant your creations…"

Hook, line, slinker. Cyrina opens her mouth wide, like she's in shock. Then her lips curl into a smirk. She has a pretty smile. "There's so many queuing that I've never seen them! Truly, I'd love to collaborate when you have the time."
"I absolutely do. Maybe whilst I'm here you can show me some of your collection, so I can sample it and see where I can pitch in."
"Absolutely. By the time you leave I'll have you loaded with perfumes," she flips her hair. "Hmm Science mentioned something about you setting up a factory."
"It's in the making as we speak. My secretary is seeing to it back in Hope Falls. We're going to manufacture uniforms, garments and more…special work."
"Hmm I have some half-blood seamstresses and embroiderers in my employ, but Humanist Destiny is no place for xenos. Maybe I could send them over to you to work on joint projects. I'd have to send someone over to inspect your facility first though."
"Naturally. I'm new to business, so I'd benefit from a second pair of eyes before we enter the market. I think this is the beginning of a lovely friendship."
"You bet. We're going to do incredible things together," she declares eagerly.

Our trip through the gardens continue. Cyrina chats good-naturedly, pointing out sights or telling me funny anecdotes that make me laugh. "Don't tell papa, but I gave up my maidenhead in that maze."
"That sounds a bit uncomfortable," I comment.
"A bit, but I chose well! He had some experience, so he knew what he was doing."

Then I suddenly feel a sense of déjà vu when we come across a very familiar place. A bench near some rose beds. Just a mundane bench…but it as meaning to me. I remember.

It was just after Eisen, Lord of the Sith and Supreme Leader of the Imperium, saved me from being Achilles' playing and took me to his grandiose residence. It was late but the Supreme Leader, dressed in a coat and a gaudy uniform, took me out into the garden on a clear night to see the sky. "Do not be too long, my dove, you will catch your death of cold," he said.

And then he left me. I sat on the bench and stared up into the sky, full of anxiety. For all I knew, I had exchanged one cage and one jailer for another. Eisen had been all smiles and bonhomie, but a smile just makes it easier to hide a dagger. Yet I feel happier, than I'd been in my short life. I lost track of how long I stared into the sky, eyes full of wonder. Eventually, the pattern of stars and the cool breeze lulled me to sleep.

I was very tired, so it was when dawn was coming and Eisen came out again to see me leaning back against the bench. Gently, the Leader roused me from her slumber. "Watching the stars all night? My dear, if you wished to use my telescope you'll find it provides a better view. Come inside when you are ready...we have much to do." My one night of contented peace before it all started again. My one night where she could forget.

"Kyri, are you alright?" Suddenly I feel Cyrina nudge me. "You're not falling asleep on me, are you?"
"No, no, you're absolutely not boring me," I'm quick to assure. "Just memories. I had my first peaceful night ever on this bench. Feel asleep watching the stars."
"Aww, that's sweet. My step-mother is a great gardener. She oversees all of this," Cyrina makes an expansive gesture with her hands. "I enjoy plants well enough but not as much as her! This has been her paradise I think."

There's some commotion as xenos and half-bloods bustle about, doing menial chores. None wear collars, but all avert their eyes from me. All are well-dressed in clean clothes and look well-fed…but I feel great fear in them. A Zabrak servant, recognisable by the horns on his head, is bending down to water some plants. I spot a name tag on his back near the neck. It says 'A'.

Suddenly I hear soft footsteps. A tall, statuesque, olive-skinned lady wearing a regal scarlet dress walks down the path. Her long, luxuriant raven hair is piled on top of her head in an elegant and intricate style, serving as her dark crown. She is sweet-smelling and buxom. "Ay, see to the weeding by the hedge maze. Dee, you will assist Kay with the vegetables," she declares. Those aren't real names. Cyrina shows no reaction.

Immediately, the slaves scamper. Seamlessly, they drop whatever work they were doing and act. I feel no fear rising inside them…but a powerful compulsion that cannot be denied. The lady's voice is soft and melodious, its very sound like an enchantment. They move as if entranced. Even I feel enchanted for a moment, as if there was no voice more beautiful and no creature more luminous than this woman. A soft whisper urges me unward to obey. Heeding it seems so natural, for every word drips with wisdom I blink, clearing my head, and the moment passes.

When I open my eyes, I just see a female Sith who won't even give her slaves the dignity of their own names. She holds out her hand with perfectly manicured fingernails to me. "Lady Iphigenia Dragoumis. And you are the Apprentice I've heard so much about. I hope my daughter has been a good hostess."
"The very best, my lady. She's been most gracious showing me around."
"Kyri needs to come here more often, mother. She's very smart and sweet. We're going to go into business together," Cyrina chimes in.
Iphigenia raises a delicate eyebrow. "Tell me all about it over dinner. Come you two, before it gets cold."
I steal a glimpse at the servants while I follow. They're robotically going about their tasks. Gently, I probe their minds, but there's…nothing. No fear, no resentment…all I perceive is their lady's command, repeated in their heads over and over again.
"Find something interesting, Kyri? They're too empty-headed," Iphigenia suddenly says.
Quickly I pull away from their minds. "I was just making sure they're fulfilling their tasks diligently. But you really have them well in hand. You must tell me your secret, lady."
Her lips quirk up slightly in a small smile. "Training, moulding and boundaries, dear. My Little Banthas don't need constant supervision or whips. An act of kindness, isn't it Cyrina?"

"Absolutely," Cyrina sounds bored. "Will Science be joining us, mother?"
"Alas not. She's already departed on pressing business with her young apprentice and Lord Lachesis. Lord Thrul will be there though."
Cyrina huffs in a most unlady-like manner. "Couldn't Papa have ordered Science to stay and come up with an errand for Creep? Something he has to cross a continent for. He's been here for days."
"Remember your manners around him, Cyri. You know how important he is to your father."
"What about his manners?" Cyrina retorts.

Ah, to be as privileged as you, daughter of the supreme master. So smart…but you don't understand what a vipers' nest you live in. What do you think will happen to you if Eisen loses his crown?

"He's a repulsive man, sweetie. When your father saved the Imperium, he inherited all manners of holdouts from failed regimes. He can't get rid of them all at once because then our country would go through another horrible war. They're cogs, he gives them the tasks they're suited for and replaces them when he doesn't need them. If suffering through dinner with Thrul is the price you have to pay to help your father, that's a minor sacrifice." I give her my most placating smile and reach for her hand. "Besides, do you really want to leave me alone with him? I'll have to put up with him for years."
"Look at you, the little politician," Cyrina says airily. "But fine, I see your point. I will endure him for your sake, Kyri." Dark clouds are appearing in the sky. "It's going to rain soon. Best get inside."
"Ah yes, good for the flowers. I call in my Little Banthas when it's too hard, but they don't mind a light shower," Iphigenia laughs.

It starts with a small drizzle. We quicken our pace, as large clouds blot out the sun. We get out first splatter of rain when we're halfway there. We have no umbrella, but Iphigenia and I show off with some creative telekinesis.

By the time we're inside the mansion it has become a furious downpour. As I pass a large, panoramic window and hear the rain pound against it, I can see the servants are still toiling in the rain. A wall of rain has moved over the trees. So much rain is falling that the sound has blurred into one long, whirring noise.

The servants' clothes are completely soaked. Many look like they're shivering. But when I touch their minds, I hear nothing but the command imprinted on them. "Shouldn't we, uh, call them in, my lady? The Gungan will manage, surely, but the others might catch a cold," I say.
Iphigenia gestures dismissively. "It's just a light shower, dear. Their clothes are easily cleaned and dried. They'll be as good as new tomorrow!"
Cyrina has already walked on without comment, but I hesitate. My eyes remain glued to the window, looking out as the rain grows more intense and the wind roils. Iphigenia sighs and says, "your heart is generous, my dear. Very well. I'll call them in and they can finish with inside jobs." She snaps her finger and whispers something. Abruptly, the servants cease their tasks and robotically march to the servant quarters. Not run, march like on parade.

We reach what I assume is a more private dining room, with opulent furnishings and a table made out of some rare wood. Fire crackles in the fireplace. The crystal of the chandelier splinters the light like a diamond. Thrul and Eisen are already seated. The supreme master gets up and claps. "Look what the cat brought in!" he bellows. "I hope you didn't catch a chill. It's a bombing weather outside," he laughs.
"No worries, we dodged the bombs," Iphigenia jokes, and walks up to him to give him a kiss on the cheek. How much of this is show?

Thrul gets up and flashes us what he must think is a charming smile. "Cyrina, you grow more radiant every time we cross paths."
"Hopefully not so radiant I'm on fire. That would be…unfortunate," she responds. Iphigenia gives her a look, Eisen visibly suppresses laughter.
"Perish the thought." Alas, now Thrul turns his attention to me. "Ah, my sweet Kyriaki, such a pleasure of you to join us." I stiffen when he takes my hand and kisses it.
I can feel Eisen's presence boring into me. My heart wants one thing, my lips say another. "My lord, we've met twice but have had so little time to talk. I hope to change that."
"Fear not, sweetling, we shall see a great deal more of each other…in the years to come."
"Yes, I'm…greatly honoured by the prospect of joining a family as respected as yours, my lord. I can't wait to meet your son. I've heard tales of his martial exploits."
"He'll be a good husband to you, I assure you, and you will be a daughter to me." He pulls up a chair for me as we sit down, no doubt thinking he's being a great gentleman. He's about to sit down next to me when Cyrina suddenly plants her butt on the chair. Her lips quirk into a smile. "Thank you, my lord. Very thoughtful of you."

For just a moment, his face twists into a rage-filled scowl before he gives her an obviously fake smile. "Thanks," I mouth at her when he's not looking. . A soft cushion soothes my back, but all I can think of is whether it's been stuffed with the hair of a sentient beings. Mirialan maybe? Or Wookiee? "The Great Tournament seems like a suitable occasion, don't you agree, my Leader?" Thrul continues, looking at Eisen.
"Hmm, a splendid idea. It's right around the corner, isn't it? Will gallant young Pyrros joust and fight in the melee?"
"What better way for him to prove the demonstrate the strength of his genes? Struggle and conquest are what show a man's mettle."
While Thrul pontificates, Cyrina leans forward to whisper to me, "Maybe he'll crown you his queen of love and beauty, Kyri."

The scent of food wafts into my nose. It smells delicious. My stomach grumbles. I have to catch my breath, feeling sickened. Xenos servants enter, carrying ornate antique silver trays filled with plates of food and champagne crystal glasses. With them is a weedy little man in a formal frock coat. A collection of spoons dangles from his neck.

Eisen claps his large hands. "Ah, right on time."
"Finally. I'd like some of the…," Cyrina starts.
"It needs to be tasted first," Iphigenia chides her sharply. Cyrina looks a bit sullen and leans back in her chair.
"There's no rush. It won't get cold so soon. Mr Mold, do take your time," Eisen says indulgently. I imagine that's not his real name. Regardless, 'Mr Mold' is not complaining about the nickname. Instead he starts applying his craft, fishing out small pieces of food with this or that spoon, smelling and tasting. Each time he replaces the spoon.
"Mr Mold?" I whisper to Cyrina, who shrugs while the taster spits out a piece of meat he just sampled and applies disinfectant.
"Sometimes it's Spymold. Papa thinks it's funny."
After a couple minutes, Mold gives his last spoon to a servant, who's wearing gloves and wraps it in foil, and bows. "It is safe, my Leader."
"Bravo," Eisen looks at me with a grin. "Mr Mold and his family has been working diligently with us for years now, and always does a good job, don't you?"
"Yes...my Leader," he says quickly. I sense nothing but fear and disgust.
"Good man! I don't know why he's so damn thin, he eats some of everything I do, and I do not skimp on my meals! Anyway, you're dismissed. My friends, help yourselves. There's more than enough for everyone."

The dinner is absurd and tasteless in its opulence. They feast on a whole suckling nerf with an apple in its mouth, potatoes, honeyed chicken and an emerald green salad sprinkled with mulberries and red and brown gravy. Cheddar cheese, finely diced onion, carrot and parsnip complete the meal. And, of course, the finest wine. This is not a dinner, it's a feast. Hearty, rich, and tasteless.

They're all happily eating, drinking, making merry like they have no care in the world because they're on top of it. I watch Eisen attack the meat and cheese with gusto and Cyrina savour blood oranges, and I think of xenos so thin they might as well be skeletons, and little babes with bellies swollen with hunger and ribs poking out. I feel sickened.

My stomach growls with hunger, and I hate it for it. "My dear Kyriaki," Eisen says, pointing his fork at me, "please have some more! I feel you make me look bad by being so slight besides my more robust personage!"
"Now, papa, let her eat at her own pace. Not everyone has your appetite," Cyrina says teasingly. "But do try some of the meat, Kyr…it's very good."
"And try the goose fat on your bread," Iphigenia gestures 'helpfully' to a pot of lard. "It's absolutely delicious."
I suppress a sigh. It won't be politic to be rude. "I am…eating. I just have a sensitive stomach," I say lamely. Reluctantly, I help myself to some food and take more than a few bites. I'm in the middle of quietly chewing on some cheese when I catch sight of Thrul staring at me. He licks his lips. I put my fork down, feeling I have no appetite. Beneath the table I feel Cyrina squeeze my hand. I curse myself for my weakness being so obvious.
"Now you're not eating, Lord Thrul," Iphigenia reproaches him, and I find myself feeling grateful because it forces the creep to look at someone who's not me.
"I beg a thousand pardons, my lady," Thrul picks up his glass and takes a sip. "This meal is fabulous. Especially the honey and the cheese. My compliments. You've outdone yourself."
"I'll pass on your compliments to the cooks," she says dryly. "So, my lord, what are your plans? We've enjoyed your company for several days. Lord Lachesis just left on an important mission to fortify our western borders. After that Dominion attack, we need a strong border wall more than ever." . Her hazel eyes sparkle with mirth as she speaks. "Surely my husband wouldn't force you to remain idle without a task just as vital."
"Well, I'm sure dear Lachesis is well-suited to whipping conscripts into shape. As for my humble self, the day of the Grand Pilgrimage to the Wellspring of the Dark Father's Majesty draws near. From all corners of the realm, the highborn and the lowborn, the young and old, will travel to the holy place to receive the Dark Father's blessing. In the Supreme Leader's name, I shall see to it that they receive protection and offerings," he declares pompously, cutting himself some nerf meat. "Naturally, I'll also make sure the Temple receives its due."
"Make sure you crush those rebels well in advance. Be a shame if the pilgrims were waylaid by bandits on the way," Eisen instructs him through a mouthful of nerf meat, even as he cuts his meat for another bite.
"I've already issues orders to my commanders. The troops are on the move as we speak. The terrorists will burn, my Leader, as will anyone who gives them shelter. Anyone we don't need as a labourer."
I spare Cyrina a glance, but there's…nothing there. No sign of being troubled the way Cordé would get when a Vaderite bigshot announces something that contradicts her rosy view of Humanism. "Well, let's hope it works out for the pilgrims. Kyri and me are going to be business partners. She can do all these neat things with alchemy, and I'm going to show her how to fence."
"Maybe then I won't be the worst duellist of my class anymore," I joke. I'm not really being self-deprecating. I didn't win any duels by being good at swinging a sword.

"You're an alchemist?" Thrul's eyes sparkle. "I had no idea you had an interest in the Art."
"I dabbled a bit at the academy, and picked up some tricks."
"False modesty is unbecoming, Kyri. You did good work with my cloak," Eisen interjects.
I incline my head slightly. "You're too kind, my Leader."
"So your work with cloth? When do I get a cloak?" Iphigenia asks with a chuckle.
"I asked her first," Cyrina mock grumbles.
"Please don't argue about the labours of a humble alchemist fresh out of the academy," I joke. "I'd be honoured to make something for you both. I work with cloth, yes, but I've branched out to metallurgical alchemy. It's so easy to destroy things…and sometimes necessary, but I'm fascinated by creation."
"Alchemy is no mere Force technique, it's an art," Thrul bloviates, guzzling his champagne. "Once you've mastered it, you realise what the world truly is – a canvas awaiting the stroke of a master."

The urge to mock Thrul's bloviating is strong, but it would be…foolhardy. Like it or not, I will have to put up with this disgusting creep for a while. Until I can make him suffer. Eisen is eating, but I can feel his attention is on me. Expectant. So I force myself to look Thrul right in the eye. "That was truly poetic, my lord. I take it you're an alchemist yourself? Which field do you focus on?"

Oh, how smug he looks. "My dear, I've studied all fields of alchemy. But it is the field of life that fascinates me more than anything. Life is like clay waiting to be moulded by the hand of a master. We humans are so limited today, so flawed."
"Are you saying I'm limited?" Eisen asks with deceptive joviality, munching on a potato.
"You are the chosen of Vader, my Leader," Thrul replies with the smoothness of a professional sleaze. Answering without answering. "A truly exceptional individual. But we can't deny that as a species we're diminished compared to our ancestors. It wasn't always so. The scriptures speak of a time when Man bestrode the galaxy like a colossus. Pure, unaging, free from all restrictions of the body and spirit. We manipulated the Midichlorians to create life; we shaped entire worlds. Before our ancestors had a moment of weakness and devolved. I have devoted years of study to devising ways to returning the worthiest of us to that enlightened state. My creations can make Man stronger, fitter, more attuned to the Living Force...and rid us of imperfections. Blindness, hereditary diseases," I suppress a shiver under his predatory gaze,"...infertility."
"It certainly sounds like you have everything considered, Lord Thrul. Tell me, have you succeeded in reaching the enlightened state you mention? Are all men therefore to look in your image?" Cyrina asks cheekily.
"So long as the god-man isn't a twig like you or Kyriaki, Thrul," Eisen says. "Or as big as me, I suppose," he slaps his massive bulk and guffaws. "We need a healthy balance. Like my wife!"

As if cue, Iphigenia takes up the metaphorical he's tossed her. "I think I understand what Lord Thrul means. He means that the physical shell is less important than what is within, and that if we enlighten the soul then we shall become greater. Some people have further to ascend than others though I dare say...."
"Hear, hear. Some will be left behind, alas, but that's just evolution." There is a thin, malevolent smile on Thrul's face. "Kyriaki, dear, you've been silent. What do you think about overcoming the prison of mundanity?"
"I think you both bring up interesting points," I start carefully.
"Do speak freely, dear. We'll soon be father and daughter. There should be no secrets between us." "It's no secret that my genes are flawed. I was born in a laboratory, far from Vader's sight, with neither mother nor father. But my soul, though caged in a frail body, was that of a Sith. I believe the Dark Father saw this and his spirit hand nudged the Supreme Leader to shepherd me from the lies of xenos and traitors. I was tested, and found worthy enough to rise above my base origins. My will conquered my weak body, yet I still find myself held back. My health is delicate, I can't bear children and I fear that if I could, they'd inherit my curse but not my will. In spite of our eugenics programme, our society is still afflicted by the diseased and the impure. If we could unlock ways to rid ourselves of some of these defects…I believe it would be a boon to us. No more wastage, no more euthanasia. Likely not in our lifetime, but as Sith we must take the long view."

Cyrina elbows me lightly. "I didn't know you were so devout, Kyri."
I shrug. "I'm private about personal matters. But look at my life – at all many random, implausible events that led me, a sickly clone – here. It's inexplicable without the Dark Father's guidance. I was made to suffer, so that I might know struggle and become greater than my genes."
"My dear Kyriaki, I've taught you too well! You now sound like Skaer!" Eisen comments, looking unusually…thoughtful at me.
"Please, father, don't insult sweet Kyri like that," Cyrina says with a laugh.
"Now, now, my Leader," Thrul interjects. "Dear Kyriaki is merely showing her capacity to grasp concepts. I look forward to educating and moulding her further to full understanding of the mysteries of the Force."
I don't flinch from his cruel, creepy eyes. "I look forward to completing my training…father."
He reaches over the table and grabs my hand. I force myself not to flinch. He grins creepily "And I promise you, my dear, you will be freed from your curse and give my son strong, pure heirs..."
I'll be your little bird, saying all the pretty things you want. You won't see how strong my beak is, monster. "May our bloodline endure through the ages and symbolise the union of our houses."

Thrul rises and raises her glass. "A toast, my friends. To the Imperium and the Great Vader!"
"To the Supreme Leader, my husband," Iphigenia declares.
"To dessert!" Eisen says with a laugh, just as servants once again enter the dining hall, bearing plates. Glasses clink together.

Yes, puff yourselves up, laugh, toast and grandstand all you want.

I'll be the serpent in your garden.

You won't know what hit you, won't see me closing in.

Because no Sith would ever climb the ladder just to burn it all down when's on top.

Let my hands be hate, my eyes revenge. For years I focused on one thing only: Survival. For years, I looked to the sky and hoped against hope the Phoenix would descend from the stars, save me and burn the Vaderites.

But miracles only happen in stories. To hope for a saviour is cowardice. She's not here, she's out in the stars. This is my mission.

 

[Kyriaki]

Shakka​

I cringe when the piece of chalk scrapes along the chalkboard while Miss Swokuo writes down the assignment. There's about a dozen of us in the tiny class room. Not all of have a wooden bench to sit on. The walls are cracked, and there are no windows. But the floor is clean. Miss Swokuo makes sure it stays that way with us.

Everyone's here because it's the only place we can learn. She makes sure we get a decent meal at least once a week. Miss Swokuo turns around. "Can you all read this?" she asks. A dozen heads nod. "Alright, then get started. Which number is 3^(4)÷3^(2)?"

I jot notes down on my paper, doing calculations. I know it! Quickly, I raise my right hand. "Miss Swokuo, I know, I know!" I declare loudly, trying to get her attention.

But she gives me a brief look and then immediately looks elsewhere. "Anyone else?" Her eyes settle on a Rodian girl. Oh, that girl. "Yes, Cha?"
"Uh, two?" Cha answers a bit hesitantly. Oh, come on. I knew the answer.
"I'm afraid that's incorrect," Miss Swokuo says gently. Cha looks dejected. "Anyone else?" the teacher waits for a few seconds.
"Me!"
"Shakka."
"it's nine!"
"Correct."
"Know-it-all," Cha mutters. What the hell's her problem?
"I learn stuff. You'd know the answer if you studied more," I shoot back at her. "We're not just here for the food, y'know."
"Piss off. You're just a mean wormie."

I'm about to fire back, then I hear Miss Swokuo's sharp voice and her look of…disappointment. It cuts deeper than any knife. "Shakka Tiatkin, Cha Vloska," I wince when I hear my full name. "You're better than this. No one here is stupid, no one here is more deserving of their place than anyone else. Class, why shouldn't we be squabble among ourselves?"

A Cathar boy raises his hand. "Because we're all on the humies' shit list, ma'am. They want us to fight each other so they can pick us off."
"Mind the language, Tarba, but you're right. Now…not every argument is that dire. People will always have differences, but you must remember one thing: none of us is unworthy, we all have our strengths and weaknesses, and we're all in this together. Cha, you're not foolish, you do good work in history class, you just have to work on your maths a bit. Shakka, I know you're good at maths, but when one of us is struggling, we help them up. Understood?"

I feel small, and annoyed because she's right. "Yes, ma'am." I know what's expected, so I look at Cha. "Sorry, I don't think you're stupid."
"I'm sorry for calling you a wormie. You're kind of a know-it-all though."
"I do know a lot," I can't help snark.
"Shakka, why don't you explain how to solve the problem?" Miss Swokuo interjects, holding out the chalk to me.
"I can" I walk up to her, take the chalk and scrape it across the board. "You got to subtract the, um, exponents. That's 4-2, and solve for 3^2. See, it expands into 3 x 3 and equals 9. That clear?" Heads nod.

"Good work, Shakka. Now let's…" Suddenly there's a loud knock on the door. I freeze, and the piece of chalk falls from my hand, hitting the floor. Who can this be? Is it the humies? Looking around, everyone looks like they're thinking the same. I feel sweat dripping down my lekku.

"Stay seated, children," Miss Swokuo takes a breath, quickly walking over. She peers through the peephole. All our eyes are glued to the door when she openly it slowly. But there's…no one there. She bends down, and comes back. I let out the breath I was holding, but then I see she's holding a piece of paper. "What's wrong, ma'am?" Cha asks nervously.

"I'm sorry, kids, we must cut class short," she says finally. "Go home immediately, stay out of trouble – and remember, you're all in this together. Learn, keep your head down, and when one of your own is stumbling, help them up."

"Ma'am, what's going on? Are you in danger?" I urge, my eyes silently begging her to tell me what's up. There's something very wrong about this. I lean forward towards her. "My cousin…he knows people, if you gotta hide…"
"Shakka, my dear, it's very important that you do as I say. Go home, study, survive." Her tone is as firm as steel, but the look in her eyes is…pleading. Her lekku twitches. Then she opens up her bag, and hands me a book. "I wanted to save this for later. It's very advanced for your age, but you have a mind for sums."
I take the the book in my hands, running my finger down the worn cover. I can feel tears forming in my eyes when I look at her. "I'll treasure this, ma'am. Thank you…thank you for everything." She puts a hand on my shoulder.
"One day…one day things will change, and it'll because of kids lik you, Cha, everyone here. But for that you must…survive. This is a bad world, and you'll be forced to make compromises that keep you up at night…but never forget who you are."
"I won't, ma'am. I promise." My eyes dart towards Cha, who's looking at me just as intently. "I promise!" Miss Swokuo gives each of us a hug, and we file out as quickly as we can.

An hour later, my bare feet itch on the cold, hard ground of the street. It's very late. The streets are dark, shrouded in heavy fog. Not that there'd be any light even without the fog. Only a scant few public buildings in Prosperity Quarter have electricity. That, and orange security lights…and the lights of Adlerberg.

Just a stone's throw away. Get past the wall, and you're in a city of lights, running water, proper drains, stores crammed with food, and full of humies.

Here it's darkness, poverty and fear. Rundown, decrepit buildings loom above me menacingly. The street smells of rubbish, piss, shit…and death. How many lives am I breathing in? There are bodies lying in the streets. They've been stripped of everything – even their clothes are gone. I quickly back away when I realise one is that of a Twi'lek boy, belly swollen with hunger, clinging to what must be his mother. She's thin as a rail. Their eyes are dead.

Angrily I force back my tears, and make the sign of the Goddess with two fingers. Back then…I still looked to her comfort. Then I quickly back away, making sure my backpack is secure. The cool wind makes me shiver. My footsteps are muffled, echoing eerily down the empty alley. Well, empty save for the hawks picking at bodies and street urchins rummaging through the trash.

More often than not, I'm one of them. But now I don't have the time. You don't want to be caught by the pigs after curfew.

I tense when I hear the crack of gunshots in the distance, of windows being smashed. Somewhere, the collabs are dragging people from their beds. Frakking pigs. I hear a child's wail before it is drowned out by music thrumming from across the wall. Somewhere out there on the other side, the humies are partying.

I pick up the pace, breathing intensifying, hugging my cheap plastic bag close to me while I dash past heaps of garbage and dripping pipes. I should be fine. Normally this block doesn't get patrolled much. I timed it well. I watched their patrols. Then suddenly there's sirens blaring. What the hell's going on?

"Stop!"

Abruptly, the urchins start to run. So do I. Panic spreads inside me. So silly, so silly. My heart thumps inside my chest so loud it feels like it might burst.
It's not far, it's not far. The sound of boots smashing against the ground comes closer and closer. I have to take a hard turn when a groundcar suddenly screeches past. Only the pigs have those. The orange searchlights are so bright I have to shield my eyes.

But when I turn and run into the nearby alley, a high fence cuts off my escape. Frak. "Stop! You've got nowhere to run, girl!" The angry voice bellows. I try to climb up, but then I suddenly cry out in pain when the baton strikes, sending an electricial surge coursing through my body. Everything hurts, I can't move, I can only cry.

I hit the ground hard. "Mercy, mercy!" I cry out. He stops striking. My body is shaking, but I can get a good look at my attacker.

Of course it's a collab. Not just any collab, one of the few Twi'leks in the humies let into the ghetto police. The lowest type of collab scum who'd jump at the chance to hurt a kid to please their humie masters.

"Get up. Show me your papers," he demands.
"I…I…lost them, sir," I stammer. "Please, sir, they're back home…I work at the factory. I know I did wrong, but I had a late shift. You know how the overseers are."
He smacks me. "Don't lie to me, girl." I yelp when he grabs my right hand and examines my palm with the brand. "Work-shy, too." His nostrils flare and his eyes fall on the bag. "What's in there? Skipping curfew to buy contraband on the black market, eh? Stealing from honest folk."
"No, sir! I don't steal! It's just…it's just…"
He cuffs me to the fence, then picks up the backpack and shakes it, letting its contents fall out. But there are no cigarra packets in it, or potatoes, half-rotted apples or ersatz coffee. Just books. He picks one up and flips through the pages. He looks. completely dumbfounded because who'd risk their life breaking curfew for that? "What the hell is? What do these symbols mean?"
"It's…maths, sir. Algebra, quadratics."
"You're lying. It's a code!Formularbeginn Where did you get these? Who gave them to you? The underground?"
"No one, sir. I…found them in the trash. I was looking for food…but I found them. Please, sir."
He's quiet for a moment. Doubt? "You're not allowed to have these. We're not allowed to have these. "They're just books! Schoolbooks! I want to learn. I'm not a beast! We're not beasts. No matter what the humies say! How can you do their dirty work?"
"You're coming to the station with me. The humie will know what this code means."
Anger hits me like a flood. "You…you're worse than the humies."
He raises his baton again and I close my eyes, certain he's going to strike me.
But then no attack comes. "Who goes there?" I hear him shout. Timidly opening my eyes, I see he's turned away from me.

And is glaring at my protector, standing in the alley with his dirty trenchcoat. "Officer Drudoan, it's Firith. Firith Tiatkin. Remember me?"
"Firith," the pig mutters. "You helped my little girl. What the hell are you doing here?!"
"I know it's curfew, sir. I'll be out of your hair soon…but please listen to me."

I want to scream. No, Firith, go. He's a pig, he's gonna call backup. Because of me, you'll get hurt. I messed up everything.

"Make it quick, boy," the pig sneers.
"That girl's my cousin, sir. Well, she's more like a sister to me. She's got no one. It's my job to protect her. Just like you have to watch out for your daughter. I know the humies are ridin' you hard, sir. You gotta do what you have to keep her safe and put bread on the table. I remember how you scooped her up in your arms and she clung to you for dear life after I rescued her from that well."

"You're wasting time! Go!" My hear thuds with fear. For myself and Firith.
But my mule-headed, smooth-talking cousin ignores me, focusing all his attention on the pig. "That girl's all I have, sir. You don't want to do this – not really. We can work something out.

The pig's jaw clenches, he sighs heavily and looks down at the baton in his hands. "Mr Fiatkin, I believe you wanted to pay off a fine for an administrative violation."
Firith nods with a fake smile plastered on his face. "Yes, sir." He reaches into his coat, fishes out a packet and takes out some smokes. "Good stuff, sir," he says smoothly.

The pig grabs the smokes and stuffs them in his pocket. Bending done, he undoes my cuffs. "I'm giving you a free pass once. If I catch you again…," he lets the words hang and walks away.

Immediately Firith is standing above me, helping me up. "You must be more careful, cuz. You're hurt! Thought I'd lost you!"

I throw my arms around him. "I'm sorry. I messed up! This street is usually quiet, I watched the patrols.…" the words leave my mouth as fast as bullets from a machine gun.
"You're alive, that's what matters. Come on, let's get moving."
"Wait, my books!" Quickly I begin gathering them up. Firith helps, glancing at the book the pig was holding earlier. "Zenobia's Mathematics Primer Level 2a?" he frowns. "Some heavy stuff, cuz."
"Miss Swokuo says I'm further than the others in class," I say proudly, stuffing the book into my backpack
Firith takes my hand and leads me down a path. "You almost got killed for class. Shakka, you can't take risks like this," he chides me.

I know he's right…but it's not fair. "I want to learn. You said we have to hold on to what dignity we've got left, and that I must develop my skills if I don't just want to be ground down by the humies. In class, I'm treated like a person."
"Yes. And you must learn to be subtle about it. If the humies suspect you're anything other than the stupid xenos, they'll kill you. Just like…" Suddenly he's quiet, a shadow passes over his face. Quickly we duck as a drone flies overhead.
"Like who?" I whisper. "What happened? How did you know you had to save me anyway?"
He sighs sadly. "You can't go back to the underground school. Ever again." I open my mouth, but he brings a finger to my lips. "I was tipped off. There was a raid. Miss Swokuo…she's gone. They took her."
"No…it can't be," I can't control the tears dripping down my face. It all clicks together. This is why she made us go. I just didn't want to face the truth. "She was good, she never hurt anyone!" I sob quietly.
"Sh, cuz, I'm so sorry."
"Whata about her family? Goddess..my friends. Will they take them, too?"
"I don't know. I think it was just her closing shop. They have Miss Swokuo in custody, and they…I'm sorry."
"She's dead," I finish for him.
The drone is gone, and Firith takes charge again, guiding me away into the shadows. "Why do they do this? Why do they have to be so cruel?"
"Power," he replies simply. "Only thing they care about. All humies are the same."

A black van screeches across the road in a cloud of black smoke. I freeze at the sight, trembling. The humies use those. They come at night, drag you from your bed, and take you to the camps.

You never come back.

You don't even get a grave.

Your family isn't allowed to mourn.

Frak, do Miss Swokuo's folks even know?

Maybe she's still alive? Is she trapped in the van? What about Cha, Tarba, and the others?

"Shakka, come!" Firith grabs me by the arm, and drags me along with him. All I feel is numb. Empty. I won't let them win. I won't ever trust a humie. We say nothing until our home looms ahead of us. The door creaks when he opens it. The hallway smells of sweat, death and decay. I try to sidestep bodies sleeping on the stairs.

Our room is dark, cramped and dirty. It smells of sweat and many other things that come from packing people together like sardines. Someone groans when I accidentally step on them. Whoever it is mutters a curse, then goes back to sleep, snoring. Firith vanishes into his hidey holy. When he comes back, I'm staring out of the window into the darkness through a window patched with cardboard. I see rotting houses, their sides shored up with baulks of timber, and their roofs with corrugated iron, craters from bombs, heaps of rubble, and broken buildings that caved in long ago. I hear the shrill sound of sirens, and it makes me think of Miss Swukuo…and the dead mother with her kid. I wipe a tear from my face. "Eat, cuz, you're a growing girl."
"Not hungry," I mutter.
"She'd want you to carry on," he insists.
"Like mum and dad. I never even knew mum, then those bastards killed dad and now they've…killed her. Tomorrow it'll be one of my friends…or you. They're killing us every day, every hour."
"Then every day we manage to survive is a small victory. Every day we keep a bit of our dignity, no matter how many times they try to hammer into our heads that's we're not sentient," Firith counters firmly. I turm, and look into his tired, but determined eyes. He's holding two bowls of gruel. It's so grey it looks like cement slurry.

I sigh. "Sorry you had to give up the smokes for me."
"It's nothing. I'll find something else to trade. Something'll come up. Always does," he brushes it aside with a gesture. But he can't brush aside how thin he is, or how hollow his cheekbones are. This isn't living. We're already like ghosts, and the ghetto is a graveyard.
"We wanted to barter them for food. We're barely scraping by, and I know you've been skipping meals for me."
"We'll manage," he says firmly. "Don't worry."
"But…"
"Us against the world. You're right, y'know. You're good at maths."
"Can that help you some way? I wanna help. I want to learn," resolve fills my voice. I can't put everything on his shoulders. I can't let Miss Swukuo die for nothing. "I'll teach myself. And…I'll pass on what I know, like Miss Swukuo."
He scratches his chin. "You can't go back to…you know where. But starting tomorrow, I'll show you a bit about computers. It'll be real helpful for…business. I only know the basics, but I've got a friend. A Trandoshan."
"A lizard? You nuts?! They're slavers and…"
He brings his finger to my lips. "Sh, people are sleeping, cuz. This one's different. You'll like her…"
"I'll believe it when I see it. But…I trust you.. I'll learn. I swear. I'll show them," I say quietly, For a moment I turn, and look back into the darkness. "I'll show them."II'll show them all."
"We'll show them. Us against the world, cuz."
"Always." And then suddenly I keel over, feeling a burning sensation across my face.
"Shakka, are you ok? What's wrong?" Firith asks in alarm. It burns, it burns so hot I scream, and before my eyes he goes up in flames.

"Shakka? Shakka?!" I hear a distant, increasingly shrill voice. Then suddenly a firm hand shaking me. Suddenly the landscape shifts around me.
The brand burns.
"Fi…," I almost cry out the name before it comes flooding back to me. I'm not in a dirty room staring at the darkness outside. Firith is dead. I failed him, and there's no escape. "Are you listening to me? This is no time to dawdle!" Cordé snaps.

The haze vanishes from my eyes. We're in front of a prefrab factory building made of concrete. There's a couple trees nearby. "Sorry, ma'am. Won't happen again. I was…um…distracted," I say lamely.
"You mean daydreaming," she says tartly. "Well, we can't afford any distractions today. Kyriaki will be here soon, and we have an inspector from the Labour Front coming along. Everything needs to be ready! This is a great opportunity not just for you, but for all xenos in this town."
I cringe. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." The brand burns. "I…haven't been sleeping well, but I'll manage."
I feel her hand on my shoulder. "You must take better care of yourself, my red skinned friend. If there's anything I can do…"
"I'm fine," I cut her off brusquely, shoving my hands into my pockets. I don't want her damn, patronising pity. I want Firith, I want my family, I want the brand gone. "Ma'am. As you say, honest work focuses the mind. I should get started."

Firith's words are like a soft breeze. Every day we manage to survive is a small victory. Every day we keep a bit of our dignity, no matter how many times they try to hammer into our heads that's we're not sentient. But do I have any dignity left? Firith always knew his course. Now he's gone.

"That's the right attitude, dear. Just keep what I said in mind. Anyway, go check on things. Don't let anyone push you around. Your workers need the firm but fair hand of a mother. They have, um, been through a lot of…unpleasantness. I want everyone ready for inspection when Kyriaki arrives."
"Yes, ma'am. Why does this inspector even need to come? Master got the Leader's go-ahead."
"Because we live under a system governed by laws. The Leader approved the idea, but our government…," Cordé snaps, then suddenly, looking…contrite. "You know how it is, every department feels it's qualified to meddle. The inspector's father is a Sith Lord," she sighs, "so we have to…indulge her. The rules are different for them and not everyone is like Lord Kyriaki. So just…be on your best behaviour, leave the talking to us and it'll be fine."
"Yes, ma'am."
I'm about to head off but then I see Cordé fidget. She has that look on her face as if she's trying to work herself up to something. Finally, she says, "I really wish your family could be here today. If only things had worked out differently."

My brand burns so bad I wince in pain. I struggle to breathe; the world swims dizzily. Why does she have to bring this up? Does she want to test me? More likely she thinks she's being nice, in her usual patronising way. "My cousin was a traitor, ma'am," I say flatly, in a voice as dull and bland as a tron's.

The brand burns. "We should get going, ma'am." Without waiting, I start heading towards the building. I can handle the pain; I can handle the pain. I'm about go in when suddenly I hear the screech of a groundcar's brakes.

It can't be Master, right? My hand reaches up to my brand. It always…burns more intensely when she's close. But I haven't felt anything…beyond the usual.

But, no, those aren't her license plates. And Kyriaki would never wear a brown uniform that…gaudy. Who comes up with these garish ribbons? The gaudily dressed woman struts towards us like a self-important peacock, followed by a muscle-packed, square-jawed thug in uniform. She struts over to us with the air someone of thinks she's the goddess' gift to the world. "Where's Lord Kyriaki?" she demands.

Great, here we go again.

"Her Lordship is en route as we speak. She has entrusted me with the management of her affairs until her return. Any questions or concerns are to be addressed to me. I take it you're the inspector from the Labour Front?" Cordé says confidently, stretching out her hand.

The humie doesn't just take the hand, she grabs it with a hand wrapped in a leather glove. "You're damn right I am, Maiden. Katia Giannou. Chief Inspector of Beauteous Labour and Works. I answer to Lord Skaer and National Leader Birotis. Don't think for a moment our approval is a done deal. We're the guardians of social harmony and labour peace, the protector of the rights of the Imperial worker. I haven't even entered the factory and I can already see their rights are being violated."
Cordé arches a brow. "How so?"
"You let the xenos pick your workers for you without involving our department. What measures have you taken to make sure useless eaters aren't just using your factory to avoid honest labour in the fields, where they'd produce food for our people."
"At the risk of being flippant, I think anyone who believes working for Lord Kyriaki will be an easy ride will soon be disabused of that notion. All workers have been vetted – many by herself. And we're hardly the first business to work with xenos authorities to select labourers. Our plans have been known for a while…and yet this is the first time your department has asked to be involved."

The pompous peacock's eyes flash with anger. "Our department has so many duties. We can't chase after every enterprise in less critical sectors. It's your job to come to us, lay out a plan, then we determine whether you meet Imperial standards. By the way, where are the human guards? Do you at least have human overseers? Xenos are unfit to serve in the manufacturing process except in menial roles that are beneath the dignity of the human worker."
"As I'm sure an unbiased inspection will show, all xenos have been assigned tasks they're suited for, based on racial and individual aptitude. That way we encourage cooperative behaviour. Hope Falls is a xenos settlement…and we can scarcely ask the honest human worker to move here, considering their standard of living would drop and life here can be very dangerous. Besides, if my Labour Ministry approved statistics are right, we have labour shortages," Cordé responds.

Goddess, can't we just get on with it?

"And do you consider it fair for our brave soldiers to return home, only to be told that their jobs have been outsourced to 'model xenos'?" the pompous cow snarls. "And that creature there," she jabs a finger at me, looking like she has a bad smell under her nose. "The xenos who betrayed her own kind. Xenos, how do you feel about that?"
Act, Shakka, act. I force my lips to move. Words come out, all lies. I'm sorry, Firith. "They…they were traitors, ma'am."
"So you betrayed your own kind for a promotion, very loyal. Or a ploy. How will the indentured assets do their jobs with a wormie encouraging sedition and laziness?"

"Shakka's loyalty is beyond doubt," Cordé declares hotly. "A xenos she may be, but she displayed greater fealty than…many of our human officials here. Now we can bicker outside and make a mockery of ourselves in front of the xenos, or you can have a look around and we can talk in my office. I'm sure our supervisor will be able to give you a detailed briefing on the inner workings of our enterprise. Lord Kyriaki will be here soon, and she won't tolerate any needless delays."

"Ma'am, maybe while you do that I could go ahead and check on things? Make sure no one's lazing around. It's…not right for a slave to be idle while her betters discuss important business," I speak up carefully.
"Yes, you may go, Shakka."
The pompous ass of a woman glares at me, but nods. "Yes, show me inside, but don't think I didn't come prepared. You don't deny that large stocks food were requisitioned for these…creatures? In a time when the honest human worker has to tighten his belt for final victory. This is a factory supposedly engaged in war-critical work, not a hotel…"

I blot out the cow's rant as I get as much distance between them as possible when we walk through the building. I take a breath, trying to focus on what I must do. Never forget who you are. Miss Swokuo's words come back to me. I must do this. I must. For Firith, for Miss Swokuo, for Vrerkh, for Tara, for Ollia and Vexa…for myself.

As I walk in, I hit the punch clock under the watchful eye of a Zabrak guard. The device stamps my time card. As if the number on the card wasn't enough, a way too cheery, feminine voice drones out of the machine. "Welcome to Hopeful Prospects Manufactory! Today you have four-teen hours of productive work! Your contribution makes the Imperium stronger!" Frak it, it sounds like Cordé. No, even Cordé at her worst doesn't sound this annoying.

Lotta hectic activity on the factory floor. Folks are moving stuff around, setting up machines or already getting them to work. I'll admit, I don't really know how a clothing factory works, but I'll figure it out. As I look for familiar faces, I come across Crahton and…damn, the Mon Calamari Firith helped. The memory of Firith being whipped for showing basic kindness comes rushing back to me. Damn it, Firith.

They're hauling a massive box on a trolley containing what looks like cloth. The big Cathar spies me staring at them and stops, sweat dripping down his mane. "Shaka…," he starts, then stops, smiling a bit sheepishly. His eyes briefly fall on the armband I wear on my right arm, with the letters 'FO' written on it in black. They stand for factory overseer. "I guess I have to call you ma'am now, huh?" he asks nervously. Ma'am feels wrong. It's what you call the bigshots. The patronising Amidala Corps bosses, the female KEC torturers. Is that who I am to them now?

This is a bad world, and you'll be forced to make compromises that keep you up at night. "Yes," the word leaves my tongue rapidly. "In public, when we're on the job."
"Got it…ma'am," he says, but then I how intently he's staring at me. I can guess what he's staring at, "What the hell did they do…"
And just this moment the brand chooses to flare up in pain. Does it do that on purpose? "It doesn't matter," I cut him off sharply through gritted teeth.
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry," he looks at his partner. "Uh, that's Gowhar. We've just been helpin' with hauling. Gowhar, this is the overseer I mentioned. The woman who help…"
"I know who she is. Saw her with the Sith," the Mon Calamari cuts him off , mouth twisting in disdain. His eyes are defiant, but have none of the kindness of Crahton. I can guess why. His tone makes it sound like an accusation. Much of his skin is still red, inflamed by the skin, and his lips look rough and dry. "Knew Firith."
"We shouldn't be speaking about him."
"No, ma'am, we shouldn't. Is there anything else, ma'am? There's more boxes where this came from."
"No, carry on." I cringe. Not firm enough. You must be better, Shakka. They're turning when I clear my throat. "I'm the overseer. I work directly for Lord Kyriaki. If there's trouble, if someone's being hurt, if you need something, you come to me and I'll do my best to sort things out. But I can't help anyone if everyone doesn't pull their weight. I can't do my job if I don't know what's going on." I don't know where this outburst comes from. But I look at Crahton. "You said you could watch out to keep folks outta trouble, I'm counting on you. Things may be better now, but we know how easy we can end up on the chopping block. All it takes is for one us to frak up. We've got one rule: survive, and we can only do it together."
"Got it. Haven't forgotten what you did for me, ma'am. Come on, Gowhar." Gowahr gives me a long look, but says nothing, just nods and walks off.

The floor is like a giant square of 9x9 stations each working to make the uniforms at once. The whole production floor is one level but above it is a somewhat perilous series of catwalks to access the roof or check the power conduits that run down from above. And, of course, there's cameras in the corners and hanging from the catwalks. Big Mistress is watching us. Always. I fight the urge to touch the skin around my brand. It won't stop itching. I need to remember these people's faces, and learn their names. All of them. I couldn't free myself, I couldn't free my cousin, for all I know his wife and kid are dead in a ditch.

Maybe I can keep these people alive. Because if I fail…what point did surviving have? What point did bowing and scraping and humiliating myself time and again have? Frak, who am I kidding. It's all going to go pear-shaped. Whatever.

Where to go? Oh, I know. Check the fire exits. They were always locked at the last factory I worked at to keep us being 'lazy' and 'stealing'. Guess what, a fire broke out. There were only a few buckets at water to douse the flames. Worse than useless against a massive fire.

I saw people crushed as they struggled with the doors. People jumped to their deaths. I was almost crushed myself. Fire burnt my skin. I shudder at the memory as I make my way to the exit. Firith…bailed me out. I was so frakking scared I didn't want to let him go I saw him. I was just a kid. The camera watches me as I approach the exit. Yeah, go ahead, report me. This one's in working order. I back away quickly before whichever overzealous pen-pusher is watching me through the camera decides to write me up for wanting to bail.

The next fire exit sticks. Try as I might, it won't budge. Quickly I hasten back where I came from. Crahton and Gowahr are hauling another huge box around, but stop when they see me. "Something up, ma'am?" Crahton asks, all business.
"Need your help for a sec at one of the fire exists. The door's sticking."
"Got it, ma'am."
"I'll get Zoranya to help me," Gowahr says flatly and walks away. Without a further word, Crahton follows me back to the exit.
"Tried to push it open, won't move for me, maybe it'll…" I trail off when he pushes against the door with all his might, and after trying a couple times he forces it open, grunting.
"Okay, it's not working, and the latch isn't sliding in." I know my way around computers and electronics just fine, but this calls for someone who's more of a machinist.
"Gotta make it fast, and on the cheap," Crahton grunts.
"And we're expendable," I mutter darkly. Not on my watch. "I need someone to check the spring. You know anyone?"
"That Awinn girl. The squid. Want me to fetch her?"
A knot forms in my throat. She knew Firith, Lena and their kid. How'll she respond to me? Doesn't matter, this isn't about my feelings. "Yeah, do that. If someone gives you trouble…say, uh, Maiden Tycho wants us to make sure the factory complies with the Imperium's high standards of occupational safety and health."
Crahton somehow manages to keep a straight face. "Yes, ma'am."

I'm left alone with my thoughts for a few moments. Just me and the noise of machines in the distance. I hate silence, I hate being idle. When I'm alone I…remember.

I push back against those thoughts when I hear footsteps as Crahton and Awinn approach me. "Ma'am," Awinn says, and there's no reluctance or disdain her warm voice.
"Hey, Awinn, you're looking a lot better." Her tendrils are still criss-crossed by pinkish scar tissue, but the angry red burn scars have faded, and she's back on her feet. There's some grease on her cheek.
"Yes, and my sister, too. Thanks to you." Abruptly she pulls me into a hug. I tense, before awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. She pulls back, looking sheepish. "So you got a promotion. First time I've seen a Twi'lek be a boss, but it suits you," she leans forward. "Have you heard anything from your second cousin?"
"My second cousin?" I blink, realising what she really means. "Uh, no. You know it takes ages for letters to arrive. But I think she's fine. I've heard nothing bad."
"That's good. She deserves a good life," Awinn clears her throat. "So…work. Crahton said there's something wrong with the spring."
I make a gesture with my hand. "All yours. Lemme know what's up." I give her space as she examines the spring. Only takes her a couple moments.
"It's jammed. Happens a lot," she surmises.
"That difficult to fix?" Crahton asks.
"Nah, II just gotta take the mechanism apart, and fix it up. I've got my screwdriver. All I need is something flat and metallic to lever everything back into place. Oh, and some oil for the door."
I look to our Cathar friend. "You heard her, let's see what we can scrounge up." Surprisingly, we manage to fetch all this stuff with what by Vaderite standards passes as minimal fuss. She takes the mechanism apart, screws things back together and soon it's back in place. Crahton and me quickly oil up the door.
I wipe some oil from my face with a rag. "Thanks, guys. I'll keep checking, but you keep an eye on the exits, okay?"
They nod. "Been locked in before. Don't want a repeat experience," Crahton comments.
"Or get burnt by faulty machinery," Awinn says, wincing slightly. "I'm pretty much the go-to mechanic as is. Together with that surly Zabrak."
"Zoranya?" I ask.
"The one and only. Always has a glare on her face."
"She's tough, drives the bosses mad," Crahton says approvingly.
"Hopefully not too mad," Awinn comments. "Anyway, you got a moment, ma'am? My sis has her shift now. Say you're checking on our work."
I frown, thinking. "I can spare a minute. She's one of the weavers?"
"Yeah, it feels goods to have her close again. Things got…bad at the hospital," Awinn visibly shudders. "Would be good for her to knowthat someone like us a bit higher up the ladder she can go to."
"Just don't expect miracles," I remind her sternly. It comes out sharper than I'd like, but it's for the best. "There ain't any in this world…not for us."
"Surviving a bit longer's enough," Crahton grunts. "I'll get back to work, ma'am."

Iacenda is easily picked out, though I don't get the impression that's what she wants. But there aren't many Nautolans around, and she's wearing an ill-fitting overall that looks way too big for her. Her body seems to disappear in it. The only thing she can't hide are the long tendrils protruding from her head. She's hunched over the table, head down and eyes completely concentrated on her work.
What surprises me is that her sewing machine lies on the table unused. Instead she's working with needle and thread. Awinn clears her throat to get her attention. "Hey, sis, there's a friend who wants to see you."
So engrossed is Iacenda in her work that she doesn't respond right away. When she does after her sister lightly taps her shoulder she almost jumps. Her large black eyes grow wide. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't hear you. I'll be more attentive," she says shyly, looking embarrassed. Poor girl. Now that she's raised her head and looked me I notice she's wearing a magnifying glass over her right eye.
"It's fine, just checking up on things. I'm Shakka Tiatkin," I say softly.
"The overseer? Uh, hello. It is nice to meet you…Miss…ma'am," she bites her lip. "I'm sorry…what would you prefer me to call you?" she asks, sounding a bit stilted.
Awinn rubs her shoulder. "It's okay, sis," she says quietly.
"Miss or ma'am is fine in public. Outside of that…my name's enough. I'm just making my rounds, checking up on things. What are you working on?"
"Oh, just some test weaving and embroidering, ma'am. I managed to make some insignia for KEC officers. The supervisor said it's a special order."

I feel the bile rising in my throat. This poor girl saw innocent people dragged from a hospital, a place that's supposed to be about healing, from the KEC and their lackeys, and now she's forced to make fancy insignia for them.

I want to take her in my arms. Kyriaki talks a big game about how this place will make things better…but the only thing it's better at is using us for their benefit. This is a bad world, and you'll be forced to make compromises that keep you up at night.

So I swallow the bile in my throat, suppress a sigh and check out her stuff. "This is done?" I point to a neatly organised pile on the table. There's some other stuff lying around like hoops, linen and cotton, fabric markers, scissors and a drawing.

"Yes, ma'am. I hope they're acceptable," she says modestly. She still won't really look me in the eyes. I pick one of them up an embroidered patch with the ebon claw on it. Next to it there's two rank bars. I think one's for a Captain. The collar tabs have stylised Sith lightning. The last one I look at is a patch with a longsword embroidered on it. I feel a shudder when I remember the same patch on Lachesis' and Hasapis' left forearm. This is her division's symbol.

I quickly put it down, looking at the drawings and then her. "Just acceptable? Thiese are good, real good." If only they didn't have these horrible symbols and all they represents staring back at me. If only it wasn't just about feeding the vanity of murderous butchers. But I force myself not to think about it, but about her. This woman had been hurt, she has been wounded. But she has talent. Maybe she'll make it. I have to try.
Iacenda visibly blushes. "Thank you, ma'am! I'm glad it meets our standards."
"You don't use the machine?"
"It's fine for standard, but all the fiddly stuff is better done by hand. It's more precise, you see," she replies.
"That, and the machines aren't that great, ma'am," Awinn interjects, a protective hand laid on her sister's shoulder. "Need a lot of calibrating. Otherwise…stuff goes wrong. Accidents happen."
Go figure. "We'll have to check on the machines," I mutter. Smiling at Iacenda I say, "Anyway, you got talent, girl. Who taught you?"
"Um, our maternal, ma'am. Our paternal taught Awinn about machines," she replies, then suddenly gets flustered when her sister gives her a look. "Sorry, I shouldn't use those words."
It takes me a few seconds to catch up before I put two and two together. "You're from the Dominion."
"One of them border villages that keep changing flags," Awinn interjects. "Well, the Vaderites took it when we were kids. Then it was back in Dominion hands, but by then we were…," she pauses, as if trying to find the right word, "gone."
"We never served Jedi. Never met any," Iacenda adds in quickly. "Just clone bosses from the big city."
I have no clue what life's like in the Dominion. Maybe one day I'll ask the two what it was like. Vaderites say it's hell, but of course they'd say that. The Guard says it's just different brand of Force-Users stomping on your face. Is it better if the witches are your own kind?
"You're fine," I'm quick to assure them. "Just keep things on the low, okay? I'd love to talk more later. You've got a gift, Iacenda, so it would be nice if you could head some courses for folks who aren't as far as you. No pressure."
"I'd like that, ma'am," Iacenda says shyly.

Our chat comes to a close when suddenly I hear Zoranya's gruff voice from behind me. "Squid, generator's playing up. Need you to calibrate." I didn't hear her coming. Makes me wince. Either I'm rusty or she's way too good at sneaking up on people.
"Sure thing, Horns," Awinn responds.
The Zabrak gives her a stern look at the nickname, but says nothing and nods towards me. Her face is covered in grease and there's a fresh scar on her cheek. Her muscles bulge beneath her overall.
"Something up?" I ask.
"Generator. Boss," Zoranya replies, as if that explains everything.
"Zoranya's been fixing a fuel generator in case the main power goes out," Awinn responds. "Well, more like when. Happens all the time in town. This baby's reliable. You just have to give it a lot of love."
"How'd you get your hands on the fuel?"
"Improvised," Zoranya explains tersely, sounding like she's already exhausted from that much small talk.
"This is important, Zoranya," I retort sternly, lekku twitching. "Even humies have to ration it. I don't want us to get in trouble with the bigshots."
"We won't. Heard 'bout some goons who got nervous about the stormies. They needed to get rid of fuel fast. Honna and me 'negotiated'." That's probably the most I've ever heard her say. I'm not sure whether to be pleased at her showing initiative or mad at her for being rude.
"Alright, fine. Good thinking. But keep me in the loop next time you make off-the-books purchases. It's for all our safety."
"Boss." Having apparently exhausted her capacity for a proper conversation, Zoranya just looks at Awinn, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
I'm coming, I'm coming," Awinn exclaims in slight exasperation, her tendrils swinging around as if matching her mood. "See you later, sis."
"See ya," Iacenda says, tendrils swaying slightly. Awinn grabs her tools and hastens off after Zoranya. I give Iacenda a pat on the shoulder. "Let me know if there's trouble or you need something." Then I'm off, too.

My commlink beeps and I walk away from the rows of tables to get some privacy. As much as you can when there's cameras everywhere. I pull out the commlink and sigh when I see it's Kyriaki's number. Can't she beam her messages into my head since her tron pal forced a magical brand on me? I don't want to find out.

Anyhow, here goes nothing, so I access the message. Delayed. Fool Sith went on joyride, had accident. Have to use bumpy side roads, it says. Numbskulls. Situation? I can practically hear her annoyance. Great. I don't want to deal with her, but the longer it takes her the more chance that prissy cow has to mess things up for us.

Doing my rounds. Folks are at work, I quickly respond. Pausing, I look up. Cordé and Miss I'm-Oh-So-Important-Bow-To-Me-Filthy Xenos are standing on the second floor, staring down on us peons. Miss-What's-Her-Face has an angry scowl on her face and looks like she's in the middle of a rant.

I'd feel bad for Cordé…but she sold out that poor girl. All because she didn't fit into her neat little box. Milana did nothing to her. If that shutta decides to have one of us beaten or shot for being 'uppity', what will Cordé do? Give a lecture? Stand aside and then whine about how unpleasant it was for her? She has been…better, but how much of that will stick when the chips are down?

Are they still monitoring my comm? Can't take any risks, so I finish the message with a neutral 'the gov rep's here' and press send. It doesn't take long for me to get a response. Leave her to me. Maintain order among work force. Yes, Master. Of course, Master. Now hurry up.

Anyway, I'm half finished with my rounds, but now I'm nearing the awkward part. As I near the steps up to the office I see Lilgarla and Ismene at the bottom of the stairs, and hear the rustle of fabric. Lilgarla is sewing some embroidery on a uniform for an order whilst Ismene is checking paperwork. Both are clearly marking time until Cordé and Miss Pompous and Important are done.
"All well?" I ask.
Lilgarla's eyes settle on me coldly. "Everything is in order," the Togruta says flatly. "...Ma'am." The last word is so delayed, so grudging that it's got to be deliberate.
"I have reviewed the situation. It is, as she says, in order," Ismene's silver eyes stare into and seemingly through me. We are 'equals' theoretically, and she does not show deference, rather there is again a flat professionalism. The Umbaran's stare is disconcerting, but I don't flinch from it.
"Good to hear it. Same on my end." I look at Lilgarla. No way not to make this awkward. "Sorry I couldn't be there for Tara's funeral."
Lilgarla's lips tighten. "It was a family matter."
"We shouldn't discuss personal matters during work time," Ismene interjects.
"No, we shouldn't," Lilgarla's eyes turn back down to the uniform she is sewing a patch onto.
I suppress a sigh. "Fine by me. I was just paying my respects. None of this would've been possible without Tara."
Lilgarla's eyes are on the uniform, but I can hear the pain in her voice."Yes," But when she looks up her gaze is arctic. "Ms. Pala and I are very busy. Is there anything else we need to discuss…ma'am?"
"Business stuff," I stress the last two words as I try to clamp down on my annoyance. I'd feel the same way if I were here. Tara was used…but it wasn't my fault. But it's pointless to argue. I just need to look in the mirror to remind myself what they see. The collab who sold out her own family.

"I checked out the fire exits. Most are in order, but one was stuck. Awinn and Crahton fixed it, but we've got to check them regularly."
""That is an important find," Ismene says crisply.
"Are the cloth supplies ready?"
"The logistics have been organised," the paleskin says primly. "Your job is to manage the factory floor."
Oh, come on. I cross my arms. "Fine. If you say you've got everything ready. I know special orders are coming in fast. We should organise a briefing on workplace safety for the workers so they don't hurt themselves fulfilling them."
I half expect Ismene to 'put me in my place', but she makes a note on her clipboard. "I agree. We'll prepare some briefing materials, go over them, then announce a date."
A small success at least. "While we're on the topic of briefings, I think Iacenda would do well teaching a course or something on sewing, embroidery and all that. Especially without relying on the machines. They're not that great, and Party guys will want detail work."
"I've seen her work, ma'am. She's very good. Would do well in a small group." Lilgarla's eyes settle on Ismene not me, and there's no delay when she calls her 'ma'am'.
"We can make an announcement. Workers can earn extra credit by signing up and completing the course," Ismene remarks.
"Credit?"
"I'm preparing a proposal for a point system. A way for workers to receive additional benefits, and punish bad behaviour."
"Makes sense." My eyes dart over the mass of people busy labouring on the floor. "We've got vulnerable people here - folks newly discharged from hospitals, children."

I think back to a Cathar mother and her little girl, emaciated, dirty, desperate. "Gangs steal, traders swindle. It won't help my girl. Please, take her. Give her to your Master. Thea is a good girl. She can help in the household. She learns fast. Your Master won't be disappointed."

Frak it, I should've taken her. I look at my two 'fellow' clerks. "Any work they do must be proportionate."
For just a moment, the ice is burnt away by fire. Ismene's eyes narrow. "I can assure you, Shakka, I have no interest in damaging these children," she snaps. "They'll be given tasks appropriate for their age, fitness and skills…and I trust you will do the same."
"I used to be one of these kids, Ismene. I haven't forgotten."
"Were you able to stamp your card? All comings and goings must be registered."
"Yeah." I really want to mock the stupid voice, but I swallow the snark. "Did anyone have problems with the system? We'll have to make sure people don't stamp for their buddies."
"We'll supervise the clock between the three of us to make sure no one is cheating. I've prepared a provisional plan," Ismene fishes into her pile of of documents and hands a folder over. "I'm aware your service to Lord Kyriaki will sometimes take you out of town on…special missions, so do inform me if the schedule requires adjustment."
Lilgarla mutters something. I catch 'missions'. It sounds derisive. "If you have to suddenly leave town, I'll need a headsup so we can adjust," Ismene continues.
I take the folder. "Sure. Same for you two."
"Of course."
"Have food supplies been organised, ma'am?" Lilgarla suddenly asks, looking straight at Ismene. "I've spoken to other workers, and they're worried about the new regulations. Many only have class C ration cards. Hospital patients got theirs downgraded to class D."
"Everything's been prepared. Their cards will be updated later today. We've already filed the paperwork with the council."
My muscles tense, and nostrils flare. Frak, it's so damn frustrating. I've risked my life to make this happen. I didn't kill Tara, I didn't betray Firith. "So you got it all figured out. Good. I'll go back to managing the factory. Make sure there's no hold-up. If we can't fulfil our orders, it won't be for lack of effort on our part," I inform them flatly and head off.

I'm pissed off, frustrated and then I come across a male Twi'lek and a female Rodian just standing around…chatting. Oh, for frak's sake. Quickly I stride over to them. "This isn't a social event. Don't you have jobs? Get to work. If you have none, I'll find you some," I snap.
The male Twi'lek looks a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, ma'am. We were waiting for our shift to start. Guess we lost track."
"Make sure it doesn't happen again. You work on the floor?"
"Yes, ma'am, we'll get started."
But the female Rodian doesn't budge. She just stares at me with disdain. "Don't let her push you around, Ipac."
"Khiill, this isn't worth making a scene about…" he reproaches her.
My eyes narrow as I stand right before her. "Khiil, is it? Your shift starts now. Get to work."
"You're not the boss of me, collab," she snarls.
"Did I stutter? Get to work."
"Or what? You'll beat me? You think you're so high and mighty, but you're just a bootlicker who gets to strut around because innocent people died to get you this cushy job," she shouts so loudly everyone must have heard. My eyes dart across the factory floor. It feels like everyone has stopped working and is staring at us.

Looking up, I see Miss Important and Cordé are still standing there. I feel my heart thump. How much time do I have before the goons come? Ismene, Lilgarla, Gowahr, Crahton, the Tektu sisters…they're all watching me. Judging me. I hear murmurs among the workers on the floor. My hands are balled into fists. It would be so easy…Taking my silence as a sign of defeat, the Roddian presses on. "Everyone knows it. You're a sellout."

But, no, that's not who I am. I take a breath, unclenching my hands. "You're right. People died so I could strut around with a fancy title, bossing people around. Just like they died so you could be here – all of you. Tara, Milana Qual, all those people in the hospital…Fir…" my voice almost cracks and I angrily hold the tears back.

I'm not even bothering to keep my voice down. Let them hear, let them all hear. "People are dying as we speak. They die in the fields; they die in the streets; they die in prison; they die in the orphanage; they die at the gallows. You got a chance –all of you. What makes me worthier than them? Nothing. What makes you worthier than them, huh? Nothing. If you don't do your frakking job, you're spitting on their suffering and failing everyone who's counting on you. Lots of people want us to fail. They want us to die, alone and forgotten like the rest. So do your goddess-damned, frakking job, you hear me?!"

There's a chorus of murmurs among the crowd. I see a couple nod, then without words they go back to work. Khiil looks around, seeing how alone she is now. "Fine, fine calm down, I'll do it," she mutters.
"I don't want anyone here to get kicked out or die. This is the first day, we've all been through…bad stuff. So I'm letting this slide. But if you don't pull your weight, you'll get the shit jobs and barely enough to scrape by. And if you keep it up, you'll be booted out. I won't be able to save you…or try. Got it?"
"Yeah," she says through gritted teeth.
"Lilgarla, find her something to do. Make sure she's paired with someone who doesn't chit-chat."
"Yes. She'll be spending the day counting uniforms."
I turn to Ipac. "Go to Iacenda Awinn, help her with anything she needs."
"Yes, ma'am. Nice speech. You're right." He walks away, and I hear very familiar, loud stomping coming towards me. Honna. But she's not alone.
And so last of all we come to the 'supervisor'. Some humie sent here to keep an eye on all the xenos, make sure we do things right. Naturally I'm suspicious who they'd send to watch over us, and the fact it's a buddy of Cordé's makes me think I'm in for a pious lecture.
However, as I approach where Honna is I'm surprised by what I see. The human is a man in early middle age, but he's in a wheelchair and missing both his legs just below the knee. He wears the uniform of the Imperial Army, a Sergeant, but it's rather old and tattered. His face is marked by a large scar disfiguring his cheek, and one eye is covered by a patch.
To my shock and suspicion he smiles and raises a hand.
"Ah, you must be Shakka, yes? Did I say that right?"
"Uh, yes, sir, you did," I say, unsure if he's being genuine.
"Great to meet you. Former Sergeant Abraxos Pallodos, but you can call me AB. I was just talking with Honna here. You've got a good security person here. Turns out her cousin and I served together at one point. Didn't end up so well for either of us," he adds, glancing at his legs.
"Mine field," Honna grunts.
"Still, don't mind me, Shakka," the…strange humie continues. "I'll roll around and be here if you have any questions, need any forms signed, but I'll leave you and Miss Ismene to handle the day to day running."
"Well...thank you, sir," I say, still shocked. Is this some sort of trick?
Something must have shown as he laughs. "Look, I know, who is this humie and why isn't he carrying a big stick? Well, there's a long story to that, Shakka, but basically I see everyone here as a person. Now, you have to follow the rules and the laws, but I'm not going to step on...or I guess roll over...your toes so long as you do your job. Anyway, anything to report?"
"Uh, things are fine, sir. One of the doors wasn't working – it's been handled. Folks have started processing the orders for uniforms, embroidery and stuff. I checked the fire exits. We'll have a progress update for you soon," I pause, thinking for a moment about how to phrase the awkward part. "Two workers needed directives. It's been handled. No further problems."

Ismene clears her throat, and I tense. Will she use this chance to make me look bad? "Something up, Ismene?" 'AB' asks?
"It is as Shakka said," the Umbaran replies after a moment. She has the factory floor under control. We have some suggestions for educational programmes, the introduction of an incentive system and such. They'll be on your desk by the end of the week at the latest."
"Good. Anything that's going to cost time or money will need my seal on it, but don't hesitate to knock on my door and make your case. At most, I'll say no. Then I don't want to hear any buts, but I'll tell you why I have to put my foot down. Good? Good. Honna, anything further?"
"No, boss. Got a guard at every door. Good people. From me ol' squad. Did patrol 'round the place, nuthin' new," she grunts.

The Gamorrean gives me a look I can't quite decipher. She's always been hard to read. And she helped Master put me in chains again. I try to swallow the bile in my throat. I didn't see her fire on Firith. 'Just' our allies. It doesn't make it better.
AB gives her a cheesy thumbsup. "I think Lord Kyriaki will be here soon so let's give her a show, yeah?"

Just as it sounds like this might not get too annoying I hear boots clicking against the floor as Cordé and Miss High and Mighty come walking down the stairs, with the latter's hulking bodyguard in tow. "Ah, AB, I trust everything is well down here?" Cordé asks warmly. "Chief Inspector Giannou had some questions. I've done my best to address my concerns, but you'll be more involved in the details than me. It concerns legal matters."
"This factory – I am using the term very loosely – is violating a whole laundry list of regulations from the Revised Imperial Labour Code," the pompous cow thunders.
"Then please tell me, ma'am, and I'll do my best to come up with a solution."
"I strongly doubt that. Look around you. Just a few moments ago a female Twi'lek," she points her finger at me, "was in close proximity to a male Twi'lek. And this is far from the only case of female xenos working in the same environment as males of the same species. The law forbids it. It will cause impure distractions. Togruta and Twi'leks are particularly lusty and governed by primal instincts."

Deep breaths, Shakka, deep breaths.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lilgarla staring at her with pure venom. Ismene just looks stoic, but pats her on the shoulder. The Togruta slowly lowers her head.

"That law was repealed by the labour ministry," 'AB' states. "Impurity will be monitored. People will come here to work. I catch anyone frakking, they get the boot."
"If that's the case, are you familiar with the Law on Modesty and Purity? Female xenos must cover their heads and hands in the presence of humans."
The cow's legbreaker silently looms above AB, arms crossed. He towers over him. But the humie sergeant remains calm. "But ma'am, that law's never been enforced. Even the armaments ministry doesn't bother. Besides, these people work with machines. It would be dangerous for them. And honestly, look at these people. Where will they get the gloves and headscarves from? I'd have to start a fresh production line just to clothe them. Huge waste, am I right?"
"Hmm. Perhaps," she states sourly. "I hope you're familiar with local laws. The Moff-Governor himself signed an ordinance setting a 7pm curfew for xenos. Notwithstanding the delusions of these savages, Hope Falls is part of our nation. And yet there will be workers coming and going at all hours. Don't you see that might cause trouble? Nay, it will inevitably cause trouble. Who knows what they'll get up to."
AB raises his hand. "Believe me, I know how important security is, ma'am. They'll be closely monitored coming and going from their quarters. Which, by the way, are on the premises."

I can see the cow about to explode. You know, watching humies yell at each other while acting like you're not there is what passes for comedy for us. I hold my breath as her face turns nearly as red as mine. "Well...well...this building doesn't comply with building code 2711 subsection ii. There is a requirement for at least one window or skylight for every thirty square foot!"
AB smiles calmly. "A requirement I've not seen followed on any official government office. Nor...on yours, Inspector, if I remember correctly."
"Are you accusing me of breaking the law, Mr Pallodos?"
"No, ma'am. That would be slander. Just pointing out that government offices across the country have realised the code's not practical. I guess someone just got a bit overzealous. Is there anything further?"
She looks apoplectic with rage. "I'd have hoped a veteran would have a greater understanding for the necessity of order. But then you have a record of liberalist sentimentality…and deviance. Weren't you accused of being a buggerer?"
Cordé steps in between them. "Chief Inspector, I respect your office, but I can't tolerate the vicious slander of a veteran who gave his limbs for the fatherland. Besides, what kind of example are we setting for the workers?"
"This isn't over. I will inform Lord Kyriaki of your obstructionism! And my superiors."
"Excellent, I look forward to it," AB says. "Thank you for your assistance."
She storms off in a huff.
"Right, let's get rolling. Cordé, lovely to see you again, we'll have more time to chat later. To your posts, everyone!" AB says with a wave. He wheels himself towards the door from which the sound of an approaching vehicle comes.

Not all of us just line up outside. Just Ismene, Lilgarla, Honna, the humies and me. There's a hierarchy because of course there is. Humies towards the end near the door, xenos towards where the boss appears.
"You're one space down for me," Ismene declares sharply.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I mutter.
The car door opens, and Kynnos disembarks, wearing a spotless KEC uniform. He opens the passenger door, and stretches out his arm. Leave it to the Vaderites to be overdramatic.

Then she steps out of the car. The moment I catch sight of her I feel an icy chill pass through my brand and then my whole body. It's warm outside, I was warm until a moment ago, but I feel a full-body shiver as if ice is flooding my veins, like someone has walked over my grave. She may well do that. It's so sudden and unexpected I almost forget to bow my head along with the other 'xenos'. Ismene elbows me. I yelp and lower it, still shivering. All the humies raise their arm in salute. "Praise Vader!" And there is that awful chant again.

Slowly, I raise my head just slightly as it dies down. I can't describe it, but there's some kind of shimmering aura surrounding Kyriaki. I can't feel the Force, never could. Is this the brand making me see it? What did they do to me? Kyriaki is dressed all in black. Black dress, and cloak, black gloves. She looks like a gaunt skeleton in a black dress, her dark hair looking like a hood covering part of a skull. The only colour on her are her blood-red lips and pale blue eyes.

"My lord, welcome to the Hopeful Prospects Manufactory," Cordé declares. "I hope the journey wasn't too inconvenient."
"Annoying. At least there's one idiot less to mess up the gene pool, but he could've had the decency to shoot himself or something instead of inconvenience me. But I'm finally here and that's what matters," Kyriaki says irritably. Then her red lips curl into a smile. The one I know is her really insincere one. "Chief Inspector Giannou, good to see you. My compliments to your father. I learned at the Academy about his deeds during the liberation of Adlerberg, but I didn't even know until recently about the role he played in providing dignified housing for state employees. You could say I have a home because of him. He paid for some of the reconstruction work out of his own pocket, didn't he?" Kyriaki hates her Adlerberg apartment. The lift never works.

"No expense is too great to give mankind its pride and dignity back, my lord," pompous cow bloviates. "My father didn't want any honours, only to serve."
"A rare mind set, alas. I try to cultivate it, nonetheless. I hope my employees have shown you hospitality and given you a transparent overview of things?"
"I have no doubt that you instructed them to do exactly that. But they've been obstructive and disobedient to your commands, my lord. The code violations of this factory are legion."
"My lord, this is…," Cordé starts before a stern look silences her.
"That's unfortunate. Dreadful even. I gave express orders that this facility had to conform with the highest standards of Imperial construction and labour," Kyriaki shakes her head. "Alas, I've already got orders from numerous high-profile clients. One of them is the Supreme Leader's daughter. So I simply can't delay opening the factory. Is there no way to get a waiver? We will, of course, carry out a complete overhaul when feasible."
"Well," the cow rubs her hands, "I understand you are not an ordinary case, my lord. You're an extraordinary one, who was shamefully misled by her trusted underlings. Perhaps we can make an arrangement. My office is engaged in numerous important ventures. Very resource-intensive ones. If you were to show your support, my superiors would surely understand that exceptions must be made…"
"A very reasonable offer, Chief Inspector. Why don't we talk in private, away from the riff-raff?" Kyriaki shoots me a look of disdain. "Tell me everything that is wrong about this place, and how we can smooth things over."
The cow looks smug. "It will be my pleasure, my lord."
"Boss?" her legbreaker asks, frowning.
"She'll be perfectly safe. I am a Disciple, after all." And Kyriaki grins. It looks like…a crocodile, like Lachesis. She makes a gesture and walks towards a couple trees. The pompous cow follows.

"That dreadful woman besmirches Imperial honour with every word that comes out of her fetid mouth," Cordé states. "I'd give her a piece of my mind."
"I'm sure her lordship has it under control," Kynnos says, clearing his throat. "It's, um, good to see you, Maiden Tycho."
"You, too, Squire," Cordé smiles warmly. "A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. I'd thought you'd transferred to the KEC Logistics Corps."
"I did…her lordship requested I assist her. The Captain agreed since her lordship will be helping us out with supplies. And..there are things here I couldn't just leave behind."
Cordé nods. "I know what you mean. Well, it's, um…good you'll be around."
"Smalltalk later," AB growls. "I'm trying to listen."

That is, however, an impossible mission. Our fearless leader and the pompous cow have come to a halt before a tree. Immediately the schutta starts running her mouth. Damn it, it's too far away to hear anything. Kyriaki just stands there, silently. Then she suddenly leans forward to the Vaderite lackey's ear, and puts her hand on her shoulder.

When they come back, the lackey is trembling a bit. "I believe we've come to a reasonable agreement," Kyriaki says.
"Y-yes…my lord," the cow won't look at her.
"What's wrong, boss?" That was her thug. "What did she…"
"Everything is fine. Fine. After careful consideration, I realise the circumstances require a temporary…relaxation of standards. Matron Tycho, I apologise for being…overzealous."
"I'm glad the matter is resolved," Cordé says, blinks. "Matron?"
"Oh, I forgot that. The Amidala Corps still needs to send you the paperwork, but consider it a done deal," Kyriaki says.
"Congrats, Cor," AB chimes in.
"Well deserved!" Kynnos declares.
"Thank you. I'll do my best to live up to my new responsibilities," Cordé says piously…because of course she does.
"I'm sure," the cow mutters sourly…then looks down on the grass when Kyriaki glances in her direction.
"Perhaps my servitors can make a dress for you," Kyriaki continues, then she smirks. She never smirks. Never ever. And proceeds to drop a bombshell. "For my wedding, you see."
"Wedding, my lord?" Cordé exclaims.
"There I go again. My thoughts are so scattered. In his grace, the Supreme Leader has selected a husband for me. A gallant, handsome warrior from a family of impeccable Sith lineage. Lord Pyrros Skleros. Tales of his courage and strength have never been far from my ears. And those tales have taken root…deep inside me. My happiness knows no bounds," she gushes.

That grin is plastered on her face, but you smile with your eyes. Hers are flat and dead. Like someone about to be led to their execution. She sounds like a robot that's just opened a sub-routine called 'happiness' and is trying to simulate it. Sucks to be you, doesn't it Master? Maybe now you'll understand what it's like to be someone's plaything, helpless to deny them. At least your husband won't kill you and hang you from a lamppost. Or maybe he will, the inner voice whispers darkly in my mind. What will happen to us then? And I feel a cold chill again. I grit my teeth and groan, brand burning with an icy fire.

"C-Congratulations, my lord!" the cow declares overeagerly, apparently eager to score brownie points. Or maybe just hoping sucking up will allow her to go. "He's truly a worthy match, my lord. He tore down a Jedi temple all by himself."
"Well, um, congratulations, my lord," Cordé says, shifting awkwardly.
"Wish it's all you hope for, my lord," AB says vaguely. "Pardon me for asking, but what does this mean for the factory?"
"AB, isn't it? Cordé speaks highly of your service record."
"I was just a lucky bastard who survived when a lotta men, good and bad, didn't, my lord. But I'm at your service."
"Then know that everything continues as planned," Kyriaki states, suddenly cool and implacable. Her eyes are like a thousand burning chips of ice, deeper than any snowdrift. "The factory stays under my name, as will any subisidiaries I might set up. My beloved Pyrros will be busy fighting our nation's enemies. All business decisions bear my seal. You manage the factory for me; you report to me; you speak in my name. And you won't make the mistakes of the past. I expect a high level of productivity. That is impossible without preserving the workforce. Rules must bind management and workers alike."
"My lord, I think I speak for everyone when I say we'll back you one hundred percent," Cordé says piously. "May we show you around? It would be good for the workers to see you."
"By your leave, my lord?" the cow asks timidly. "I must…make my report."
Kyriaki gives her a bored look, like she's already forgotten she's there. "Yes, by all means. Give my regards to your father and our mutual friend Mr Rasate. And…don't forget what I told you." She speaks the last words through gritted teeth, a deadly edge contained in her words.
The cow swallows hard. "Y-yes, my lord." The cow can't scamper away fast enough with her thug following on her heels.

Smiling wryly, Kyriaki walks over to us. "Honna, any issues with security?"
"Not 'oday, m'lord. Week ago some of me old friends showed up."
Kyriaki raises an eyebrow. "PF? What did they want?"
"'Construction permits', they tells me."
"Uh-huh, I assume you dealt with it with your usual grace and diplomacy."
As if in response, Honna just cracks her knuckles.
AB chuckles. "That man Necharus apologised. Said it was a 'misunderstanding'."
"It's disgraceful that such a degenerate is still in command," Cordé remarks acidically.
"He's a placeholder, and he'll outlive his usefulness even sooner if he gets in my way. I'll pay him a visit while I'm here," Kyriaki states. Then suddenly her eyes dart towards Lilgarla. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name?"
"Lilgarla…my lord," the Togruta's hands are clasped together and shake slightly under Kyriaki's scrutiny.
"Lilgarla," Kyriaki mutters, as if trying to place the name. "Tara's sister."
"Yes, my lord." Her lekku twitch uncomfortably, she breathes in deeply. I see a fearful, probably also hateful, gleam in her eye. Ismene looks at her in concern. Never thought I'd see that look in those cold silver eyes.
"I'm…sorry for your loss. Your sister was a brave woman. She helped me bring down an evil man. But I promised to keep her safe, and failed."
"It was for the greater good, my lord. The fault lies with that savage, not you," Cordé interrupts because of course Master needs a damn pep talk.
"Yes…the 'greater good'." Kyriaki quickly looks away, like she can't bear looking at the living reminder of the woman she used and sacrificed. I catch a glance of Lilgarla clenching her fists for a moment as soon as Kyriaki's back is turned. "Shakka, do show me around."
"Yes, Master," I say and head to the door. Kyriaki walks alongside m as I point this and that out. The guards salute her. "That's our clock," I point at the machine. "Someone comes to work, leaves, goes on a break, they stamp their card there."
"You have taken precautions against cheating." Kyriaki doesn't ask, she states.
"The three of us will make checks," I state.
Kyriaki nods, glances at the camera hovering above us. "AB, you can access any of those?"
"Yeah, from my office."
"Good. As…recent events have shown hygiene and sanitation are important concerns in this town. We don't want the hospital to be overflowing again." Lilgarla looks down as Kyriaki speaks, Cordé looks uncomfortable. "What measures have you taken?"
"Workers are being assigned to cleaning duties. A few full-time, some on a rotational basis. It's good work for elderly labourers, and children," Cordé speaks. "We've set up some pit latrines."
"Toilets would be nice, Master," I mutter.
Kyriaki shoots me a cold look. "You know that's not possible." Of course, it's possible for the humies.
"The latrines should be sufficient, my lord," Ismene speaks crisply. "We've installed some basic seating. The workers just need access to cleaning materials. If we have the resources, we could build a roof over a few of the pits."
"Make it so," Kyriaki states. Ismene makes a note on her clipboard.
"There's a bathroom for human employees, and any guests." Nice to know it's still natural for you, AB. "We keep it locked. The key's with me."
"There's an infirmary for anyone who gets injured," I report "You know, accidents can happen, and the hospital isn't a place…many want to go to." Understatement.
"A small cache of medical supplies is kept under lock and key," Ismene adds.
"But we don't have a professional doctor yet," Cordé says. "Just some volunteers with basic training…and a Gamorrean witch doctor who works part-time."
"Mama is healer. No witch," Honna growls.
"Easy," Kyriaki looks around. "Can someone here vouch for her qualifications? I'd rather keep this in-house as much as possible. Shakka, anything to say?"
"I've worked with Gamorrean auxies before, my lord. Their healers aren't doctors like ours, but they provide folk remedies. Herbs, balms and all that, not mumbo-jumbo. She's legit," AB points out.
"Shakka, opinions?"
It's so tempting to say nothing…or undermine Honna and get some payback. She didn't kill Firith..but she helped. But…Usanc patched me up and kept quiet. And…how many here would I be hurting if she lost her job? "She's real good," I interject aftera moment. "Patched me up when I was on that special mission. And Awinn wouldn't be on her feet again without her."
"That suffices for me."

People are hard at work on the factory floor, though there's chatter. But any talk dies down the moment the group catches sight of the big boss. I hear some murmurs. A few dare to look up at her, most look down on their machines and workspaces.

I catch a glimpse of Crahton, helping workers out with some heavy gear. He momentarily freezes. I feel some satisfaction at the fact that Khiil is in a corner counting uniforms. She draws in a breath. Iacenda was just bringing her a batch and stops dead in her tracks. I'm grateful for Ipac putting a calming hand on her shoulder. Awinn and Zoranya are just walking back in from what I guess was work on the generator. Both are covered in grease. When they catch sight of us, Zoranya looks stoic, Awinn worried.
"Shakka," Kyriaki doesn't have to raise her voice for it to be cutting and sharp. "Do be so kind and announce me."
"Yes, Master." This is my life now. Playing the part. I clear my throat. "Attention! Lord Kyriaki…," I pause for a moment. Is it Kyriaki Skleros now? I remember the chill. Best not. "Her lordship honours us with her presence," I finish, feeling really ridiculous. The murmurs have died down, the machines have come to a halt. You could hear a pin drop. All eyes are on us. "She has good news. The factory's been approved."
Some workers, obviously intimidated, have begun to bow. One even prostrate herself. Kyriaki makes a gesture. "As you were. I'm the ward and standard-bearer of His Eminence the Supreme Leader. This factory is mine. But you work me as employees…not slaves."

Employees who can't quit without being branded as 'work-shy' and 'troublemakers', but okay. "You'll be entitled to a meal, you'll receive payment for your work, and assistance if you're sick or your family needs help. If there's an emergency, give notice and we'll work something out."

"You've endured…horrible things. You suffered, you watched friends die." It's probably too far away for any worker to see clearly, but I see her metal fingers start twitching. With every twitch they tremor. She clenched her robotic hand tightly. "I cannot change that…but I'll do my utmost to ensure this enterprise is run…humanely and have instructed my staff accordingly. There'll be no beatings, no executions. I will personally execute any overseer and any guard who abuses a worker. If there's trouble, speak to Shakka first. She is your spokeswoman and my voice on the factory floor. Lilgarla and Ismene will process orders, handle logistics, and roll calls. All three have my trust." She pauses, letting it sink in.

"But make no mistake, my kindness is not meekness. You will carry out your tasks diligently and obediently," her tone cools. "Anyone found to be work-shy will be punished. You won't be harmed, but I'll cut your salary, make you work longer hours and my staff will assign you the most unpleasant tasks. If your bad behaviour persists, I will fire you and it's back to the fields or construction work. No doubt you'll be categorised as asocials. You and your family will only be eligible for starvation rations. But if you'd rather try your chances elsewhere…the KEC is always looking for labourers. So let's avoid that, shall we? In my absence, AB and Matron Tycho run the factory in my name. Treat them with the same respect you'd give me."

The speech is met with silence. Am I supposed to give a speech about how kind and just our mistress is? For frak's sake, let me keep what little dignity I've got left. I look around, shuffling awkwardly on my feet. Then AB starts clapping. Then Cordé, then Ismene. Bit by bit, the workers join. Finally, I do, too.

"Alright, playtime's over. Back to work everyone," AB announces when the polite clapping finally dies down. Good. It was getting awkward.
But as everyone starts going back to their normal routine, I can suddenly hear noise coming from beyond the doors. "Go," a rough, coarse voice growls.
I glance at Kyriaki. "Excuse me, Master." She nods and I walk towards the source of the noise. The closer I get the more annoyed I am as a I hear a very familiar, pompous voice. "Out of my way, you brute! I must see her…" I roll my eyes. Mr Goren. Of course.

A big, one-armed Gamorrean is towering over the jackarse. A suitcase lies on the floor, obviously crudely forced open. Goren is clutching two bottles protectively. "Those are for her lordship, you savage, not you!"
"You watch your mouth. Or get teeth knocked out"
"Do you have any idea who I am?! I'm an agent of the Supreme Leader, I can have you tarred and feathered for your insolence! Now let me see her lordship!"
"Boss is busy. She don't wanna see you." The Gamorrean takes a step forward, looming over him. Goren backs away in fear, almost stumbling.

"That's enough, Zezzaut," I say…against every fibre of my being that wants him to throw this jackarse out.
"Oh…it you," the jackarse declares pompously. He's sweating like a pig. "I must see your Master, girl. I've come bearing gifts."
"Master is very busy. She had a long, stressful trip and is inspecting her factory."
"It is important! I must see her. I'm her loyal supporter. I accommodated you and the other ragamuffins in defiance of all standards of decency, I even let some servants work here. So call your brute off!" he shouts.
Zezzaut just raises an eyebrow, as if silently asking me to let him off the leash. I sigh a bit theatrically. "I'm sure Master can make time for a brief chat, Mr Goren. Follow me."
Naturally he can't even say thanks. "Finally!" he pushes past me, practically running like a pack of kath hounds is chasing after him.

Kyriaki is looking at some embroidery with Lilgarla and Cordé when Goren rushes into the factory hall. "My lady…I mean, my lord, your lordship, finally we meet! Welcome…welcome back to Hope Falls. I've been trying to reach you."
Kyriaki looks..bored and annoyed. "Oh, have you?"
"Yes, yes, I left messages."
"I'm very busy, you know."
"Oh, of course, you are a master of the Sith and I'm your humble servant. I'm truly blessed that you're taking time out of your busy schedule to meet me."
"What do you want, Mr Goren?" Cordé snaps.
"I'm here to wish her lordship good health, and assist her in her duties."
"Assist me?"
"My mind is brimming with ideas. The mansion is ready for you take up residence. And…I don't come empty-handed," he holds up his bottles. "Imperial Theed Winery. Absolutely delicious. Her Holiness St. Padmé savoured it at court." Yeah, it's made from the blood, sweat and tears of slaves, arsehole.
Kyriaki takes the bottles, looks at them, hands them to Cordé. "This is a blatant bribe, my lord," Miss Preachey just has to state the obvious.
"Ya think?" AB asks sarcastically.
"This is between me and her lordship," Goren huffs. "They are from the Supreme Leader's wine cellar…and, well, you are his ward, my lord."
"How much is this worth, Goren?"
"Oh, very valuable, my lord!"
"If I may, my lord, I believe the value of each bottle is at least a thousand credits, possibly twelve hundred. I remember him boasting about it," Ismene states. "I dare say we could feed the whole factory for a day with one."
"Nobody asked you, white eyes! Her Lordship has a much finer sense of taste and skill than simply selling it, I'm sure...."
Kyriaki looks at Goren. "Thank you the bottles, Mr Goren. I'm sure these people will appreciate your donation to their wellbeing. I have no need of you. You're dismissed."
"What?! No!"
Kyriaki just ignores him and looks at the Umbaran. "Ismene, would it be too much of a burden on you to keep an eye on the mansion's servants in addition to your duties here?"
"My lord, I can manage that, too. Much of it is maintenance, so it's not very time-intensive. Someone may have to cover for some of my duties. Lilgarla would be a good choice. We work," she makes an odd pause,"…well together."
The Togruta looks momentarily surprised, then inclines her head slightly. "I would ready to assist, my lord."
"Thank you both. You'll answer to AB. Mr Goren, the Supreme Leader no longer has need of your services."
"You can't fire me! I don't work for you!"
"Corruption is a crime. As is wasting my time."
"I demand an audience with the Leader!" he sputters. "It's that blind-eyed xenos, isn't it? She has fed you lies!" he angrily gestures at Ismene, then me. "And the worm!"
"Do leave the bottles. Please close the door behind you."
"You will regret this! I send reports straight to the Supreme Leader! I report directly to one of his top agents. His name is Agent Skiazo. I've provided crucial intelligence…"
"An 'Imperial agent'? Or an enemy spy?" Kynnos challenges him, looking suspicious.
Goren breathes in deeply, red-faced. "He's an Imperial agent! I have his credentials. Not that they'd tell a grunt like you. I know secrets, I know about all the business in this town. Sometimes I entertain officers from the base at the mansion…"
"Honna," the Sith says.
Goren's blovating is silenced by a blow that cracks across his face. I see blood filling his mouth. He squeals loudly and pathetically when Honna grabs him by the shoulder. I'm certain I heard something snap. Ismene is smiling. "You'll tell me everything about this agent of yours…or things get very, very unpleasant for you."
Kyriaki looks at me while Honna manhandles the jerk butler. "Has anyone checked on Vexa and Ollia? I expect them to be productive."
"I assigned them to assist Usanc in the infirmary," Ismene replies.
"I can check, Master," I speak up. "The infirmary was next on my list anyway." Kyriaki nods and follows after Honna, as she drags a squealing Goren away.

The infirmary is tucked away in a remote corner of the factory. Enough for simple workplace injuries, though I fear what will happen if there's a pandemic and a lotta workers fall sick…And we're pressured to send them to the hospital so that it can be 'cleared of useless eaters' again. How far will Kyriaki go? Actually, screw that. I know exactly how far she'll go, what kind of people she'll sacrifice, and it terrifies me. My muscles contract, and I feel a searing pain in my skull. Enough to force me to hold on to the door, and make me pant. That damn brand. Does it react to my thoughts now? I'm going to go crazy if I have to bear it for the rest of my life, or even a year…

I suppress a shudder and put on a smile as I step in. It's small and basic. Three beds at the moment. Two are fully made. There is a slightly sour smell of vinegear in the room. Hence the open window.

Right now the infirmary is unoccupied, save for Usanc and the kiddos. The Gamorrean matron seems to be showing them how to wipe bed clothes. "Humies like them chemicals, but that shit's expensive, I tell ya. 'asteful people, don't be like 'em. Listen to your Auntie Usanc, vinegar, salt, lemon 'nd baking soda get the stains out."
"And vinegar can disinfect, too, right?" Ollia says a bit shyly.
"Smart girl," Usanc ruffles her mane a bit. "So only use bleach when ya really hafta. Vexa, dearie, how are ya doin'?" Rather than saying anything, the Rodian girl simply holds up a sheet she's been cleaning. "Good work, lil one. For bandages, ya use warm water and some soap."
Vexa nods, a thin smile playing on her lips for just a moment, then suddenly she sniffs. "Shakka," she says, the antennae on her head picking up ony my arrival. Facing me, she gives me a wave. "Hello, Shakka."
"Oh?" Immediately Usanc's big dark eyes are drawn to me. Naturally they linger on the brand for just a moment. "Hullo, dear, is somethin' the matter? Someone hurt?"
"Uh, no, just checking up on you guys. Making sure you've got everything you need and the kids aren't being a handful."
"We've been good," Ollia pouts. "Auntie Usanc's been showing us neat stuff. We're making everything real clean."
"That's great, kiddo. Hygiene's real important."
Vexa stares at me intently. "What's that on your face? Are you hurt?"
Ollia looks worried. "Did Master Kyriaki hurt you?"
"The boss' mark. Don't talk 'bout it," Usanc says firmly.
"Sorry…but will we all have to wear it," Ollia shifts nervously on her feet, paws close to her chest. I shoot Usanc an apologetic look and bend down.
"No, you won't. This is…just for me, kiddo," I wrap an arm around her. "Look, some bad stuff happened, but it's not easy for me to talk about. I'm not saying this because you're silly kids and can't understand, but because I know you're smart. It's painful and we could all get in trouble. So if you want to help me…please just…try to act like it's not there, okay?"
"Okay," Ollia nods, hugging me gently. Vexa silently pats me on the shoulder.
"Thank you. Remember what I told you at the villa. Whatever happens, stick together, stay true to yourselves."
As I rise, Usanc suddenly speaks up. "I know yous didn't ask for it, dear, but you got it. Hurts bad, does it?"
I look to see if there is disdain or smugness in her face, but I see only concern. "All the time...it's better at the moment," I lie.
"It'll do that." Abruptly she says, "Kids, you finish those things, I got something to show Shakka. Come in here, little one." I follow, curious, into a little backroom. Usanc opens a small bag and produces a glass container with some gritty looking cream. It smells terrible.
"Bosses won't like this. That brand's meant to hurt. But if it gets bad and you ain't near'em. Put a bit o' this on. Might help a little, yeah?"
I'm struck by her kindness. "This is…very kind of you, thanks," I say, trying to contain myself as I take ahold of the container. Quickly, I hide it in my pocket.
"You're an alright sort and ma Honna likes you," she sighs at that. "When she put on that awful uniform, it was either that or we both starve. She 'as so young. Her pa was gone 'nd it was her turn. Paying off the debt, humies calls it." Her broad shoulders slump. "I shoulda done more ta protect her. Humies make her do such terrible things. She don't talk about 'em, but I know she hates 'erself for 'em."
"I understand," I sigh. Honna didn't kill Firith…but she helped the bastards who did. She helped kill our allies. She's a frakking collab, and yet…"I'm sorry."
"Spilled milk. No point cryin' over it, little one. Come on now, better not keep the bosses waitin'." I follow her back into the main room, where Vexa and Ollia are busy cleaning. I half-expected them to be eavesdropping, and am positively surprised they're not. Smart girls. If they don't know, they can play dumb if this blows up in my face. "All okay?" Ollia asks, looking up from their work.
"Everything's fine, kiddo. Look, I've got an important task for you. There's gonna be other kids working here. Kids who've been through…bad stuff. Who've seen horrible things. I want you to help them get the hang of the place, and stay outta trouble. If there's a problem, tell me. Can you do this for me?"
Vexa steps forward and clutches my hand with her small scaly one. Ollia takes the other in her furry paw. "We swear," she says solemnly.
"And if there's 'rouble, y'all come ta me, too," Usanc growls. "That goes for you, too, little Twi'lek," she abruptly declares fiercely.
"Yes, ma'am," I throw in a mock salute, making Ollia giggle a bit. "Anything you need?" I ask. Likely can't get too much but I can maybe ask for scraps.
"Well, we'd like ta have more medicine, but I 'spect the bosses won't like that. We'll make do. But what we need is something ta boil the stuff in ta sterilise them. Even if it's just a gas hop and a saucepan I've made do wit worse."
"Got it. I'll tell the boss."
"And make sure ya tell Honna to cut it with the smokin'. She knows it's bad." Hearing Ollia laugh, Usanc spins around and looks at her crossly. "And I better not ever see yous two lightin' up, yous hear me?"
"Yes, Miss Usanc. We use 'em to trade."
"Good girls. Make sure it stays that way," I tell them seriously. "Anyway, see you later." Vexa gives me a wave when I head out. Kyriaki is nowhere to be seen when I return to the factory floor. So I go back to routine work. Making inspections, making a list of problems and of stuff we need, encouraging workers…or reading them the riot act so they do their job and don't drag us all down.

Do everything to keep busy. Then I don't have time to feel sorry for myself. I'm in the middle of a chat with Iacenda about setting up a sewing and embroidery class when Lilgarla comes over. "Her lordship wants to see you," she says crisply.
"Alrighty. Talk to you later, Iacenda. Keep up the good work."
"T-thank you, ma'am. You take care."
I follow Lilgarla in awkward silence. To my surprise, she doesn't lead be upstairs to the office. Rather we walk outside. Kyriaki is waiting at the door. "Thank you, Lilgarla. Return to your duties. Shakka, report." The Togruta gives me a look, lekku twitching slightly, but walks away without a word.

And now it's just us. Enchainer and slave. Both so dependent on each other we might as well have been sewn together. Frak, if only I didn't have to look her in the eye and talk to her. Do her bidding time after time after time.

"The kids are fine…Master." I can at least pour venom into that blasted title. "Usanc's gonna do a good job in the infirmary. She needs more medicine though," before Kyriaki can pre-empt me, I continue on, "yes, I know, hard to get…for our sort. Though really needed if you don't want workers to get sick and end up in the hospital so Menkales can murder them."
She glares at me. Touched a nerve, I see. Good. "Are you finished? Usanc knows I can't get that so easily. So what did she tell you she wants instead?"
"Fine. Just get her something for sterilising instruments, Master. Even if it's just a converted kettle for boiling water."
"That's more realistic."
"People will get sick eventually."
"I'm aware, I'll do what I can. If need be, I have the Force. My healing is painful and substandard…but better that than the hospital."
"There's the black market," I state.
"I'm already considered a xenos lover in certain quarters, what do you think will happen when people learn I'm making black market deals for my xenos workers?" she gestures irritably and turns, walking towards the trees. "Walk with me. Any of the workers catch your eye?"
"Crahton, Iacenda, Awinn, Zoranya are all good. Crahton's tough and dependable; Iacenda great at sewing; Zoranya's got initiative and tech skills; Awinn's good with machines. They're folks I can rely on."
"Anyone who's being a problem?" she asks pointedly.
My blood runs cold. "No."
"Tell me the truth."
"So you can gift-wrap them for your Sith friends?" I retort hotly.
Her eyes narrow. "I need to know this factory will be productive. We're not running a charity. To keep these people safe, I must be able to plausibly state that my methods work. Unlike all the other measley mafias, I can't just fake the results."
"You think I don't know that, Master? For frak's sake, if this goes pear-shaped – or rather when it does – who's gonna be the one they kill? Not you. It's our lives on the line because as far as this frakked-up world is concerned, we're not people. So I'm gonna do my damnedest to make sure these people get to live. So yeah, we had some problem children. Because, guess what, every worker here has been through hell. And outside it's still hell for anyone who's not a humie. I gave them a reality check. Because if you want me to have any authority here, if you want any of those people to have the slightest bit of trust in you, I'm not gonna let someone be thrown to the wolves simply for not getting with the programme on the first day. So no, I'm not naming anyone because there's no one to boot out, only for me to watch. If it's so damn important to you to lay down the law, use your magic brand to read my mind. Or pressure your other clerks. But the workers will know." The brand burns. She's going to hurt me, she's going to punish me. But I don't dare waver. I won't cave.
"I don't need to read your mind to see that you're angry, Shakka." Her response is quiet, flat. "And you have good reason to be. I've done a lot of terrible things, and I don't doubt I'll have to do a lot more before the end."
"I'm sure you have, Master. And then you'll give a speech about how bad it makes you feel and it's a noble sacrifice. Well, guess what, you've sacrificed nothing," I grit out. My anger is rising dangerously, but at this moment I don't care. "You have the easy and safe life whilst your pawns and chattel suffer."
"Easy and safe?" she asks softly. I feel my chest tightening, I expect spectral hands around my throat. One snap of her fingers and I'd be on the block. Least I'd be with Firith and father and mother. "Shakka, you have no idea how easy and safe I could make my life. All these Sith like Lachesis and Sibylla have abandoned any mercy, pity, any conscience. They don't care if someone suffers so long as they remain on top. I didn't have to do any of this, I could have made you all crawl in the dirt, I could have KEC men with whips lashing you, but I am taking anything but the easy and safe path."
"Oh yes, you can soothe your conscience whilst profiting from us. If there's nothing else...Master." I've had enough, and I turn to leave.
"Shakka. Stop." Her voice is soft, barely heard and yet I am rooted to the ground. She moves silently behind me and I feel like this is the end. I am expecting her blade to pierce me for my impudence. "If any of the Sith Lords knew what I had planned they would kill me, and then all of you." Her voice is soft still, but cold like a glacier. "You see I've learned a couple of things, Shakka. I never fully believed, but it wasn't until I came here that I saw the barbarity, the waste, the carnage face to face. Before that…I just wanted to keep my hands clean and, yes, soothe my conscience a bit by telling myself I was better than the rest because I didn't beat you. Then I saw…the horror, oh the horror. Sparing you and the others in this factory was never an end, it was a means. My ends is the complete and total destruction of the Sith Imperium."
I feel like I want to laugh. This is so absurd, and must be a trap. I manage to turn and find her eyes boring into me. I can say nothing as she continues. "And I mean what I say. I am but a sickly, weak clone of an off-world warrior. Therefore I do not have the power to storm Eisen's tower, nor bring down the Imperium with the power that is in me. Not yet at least. But I will, and I have the plan and the means to do so.."
"I...why are you telling me? What are you telling me?" I feel my spine turn to ice. If anyone heard this we'd both be in for it, even her...but especially me.

"Because you told me I was choosing the easy and safe path. There is nothing further from the truth. I am choosing the difficult and dangerous path because it must be done. My future father-in-law is a creep, and my future husband an arrogant brute. Oh, he can't hang me from a lamppost, but he can do everything short of that. It terrifies me. Nonetheless, I've agreed to a marriage because the status it will grant me gets me one stop closer to being in a position to dismantle this hell we live in. I doubt I will see the end, I doubt anyone will know or care what I do. I seek to turn against my own people for an abstract mission which will almost certainly end with me dead in a ditch. If the Sith don't kill me, maybe you lot will. Or their enemies will. And yet I will do this because it's not just right it's necessary. The Sith Imperium must be destroyed. And now you know. One day you will have the chance to pay me back for what I did to Firith, to Tara, to all the others. But not yet, and not until my work is done. If we both survive, you see the ruin I have planned for the Sith and you deem me worthy of death, I will say it is just. But for now, do as I tell you, play the game and wait. Do you understand, Shakka?"
I literally cannot believe my ears. This must be some kind of dream. An utterly insane dream. I dumbly nod. "Good. Goren, blustering windbag that he is, seems to have unknowingly been the cat's paw of someone who's the very opposite of an Imperial agent. There's no sign of his 'handler', but I received this. It will also be kept a secret on the pain of both our lives." She draws out a small white card. The words 'The Light Father is watching you' are written on it in an elegant script. "I found this in my room. I want precautions doubled for any bugs or other surveillance." She puts the card away. Now I am going to talk about my upcoming wedding and you will pretend this conversation did not happen. Do you understand, Shakka?" she repeats.
"Yes...Master." My head is still spinning from this…revelation. I can be patient, too. I'm sorry, Firith…she will face judgement one day.
"My wedding will take place in two months in the Altar of the Sith'ari. A grand event, no doubt. Have no fear, you won't be invited. Given the company, it's for the best. It's very much on short notice, but I'd like the workers to make some outfits for a few select guests. And bridesmaids…once I have them. You'll get the silks, don't worry."
"Yes…Master. What about your dress?"
Kyriaki rubs the back of her neck. "I'll make that myself, I do have to show off a bit. But the most talented seamstresses can help me work on dresses for Eisen's wife and his daughter. I'll alchemise them and supervise their work, but beyond that it's their ball. So I'll need the best."
"You'll get them…Master." Guess Iacenda will have to do her course a lot sooner. "We'll have to work extra shifts, put less important orders on the backburner…but we can do it. For quality work, we should give folks bonuses to make up for the extra hours. Fits with the point system Ismene's been yapping about. It is for your special day after all, Master."
"Makes sense. Get Ismene to sort out the logistics," she checks her chronometer. "We should get back. The canteen should be serving food soon."
My stomach growls…even if it's just going to be gruel. "Yes, Master. There's just one more thing. I want this factory to succeed…and all your other enterprises. But in order for that to work I need your…," I falter. I cannot say trust. I just cannot. "I need to be kept in the loop about what's going on."
"There are some matters you cannot be informed about," she says flatly.
"Yes…but I'm responsible for your work force. You need them to be productive…which means I need to know enough about what's happening on top to plan. Only then can I support you, only then can I keep folks in line – and alive. You need me…Master."
She gives me a long, hard look. Then finally she says, "I do. You're the…only one of my present coterie I can rely on to see things through. There are things you cannot know, under the pain of death…but I will keep you informed." We'll see how long that holds up. She will inevitably use my just the way she uses everyone…but it's a small success. "Now off you go," she commands me sternly.
"Anything you want me to tell the workers from you?"
"What, that I won't Force choke them tonight?" she asks airily.
"I was thinking something like 'good work', Master."
"Yes, tell them that. Fluff it up a bit if you want, but not too much. I don't want them to get complacent and lazy."
I give her a look. "It's when Sith act 'nice' that we get suspicious. Because it's usually before they do something awful to us." I walk away before she can say anything. The sky is darkening. By the time I'm back, folks are already filing into the canteen. A few are already seated. Expectant faces turn to me as the canteen quietens a bit. Lilgarla and Gowahr are staring at me.

I clear my throat. "I spoke with the boss. She's happy with your work. She told me to tell you to keep it up. And she's got big news: She's going to marry a Sith Lord." Is the scumbag she's going to marry actually a lord or only a lord in the way every Sith is for us peons? Don't know, don't care. It must get really conufusing at Sith conclaves. "Now why's this important for us? Her wedding's in two months, and she wants some outfits done for some of the bigwigs. I know we've just started workin' on our regular orders. We'll have to work extra shifts, improvise…but this is a big opportunity for us. Hard to shut us down if some bigwigs are strutting around in stuff we made."

Ismene cocks her head, staring at me with her dead, pale eyes. Like she's probing for something. "It will be a difficult fit, but it can be done. The three of us will discuss this first thing tomorrow."
"Yes. Iacenda, I want you there, too."
"Me?" the shy Nautolan squeaks from her chair.
"I've seen your work."
Awinn pats her on the shoulder. "You can do this, sis."
"But that's all for tomorrow. For now…get some food in your bellies." As I walk over to take my place in the queue, I almost bump into Usanc. She's holding two plates filled with food. It doesn't look like stuff we provide. There's things that…look like big worms on them. Wait, it looks like they're slithering through the sauce. I must be imagining things. The brown colour makes it look slurry…or worse.
"Yours. Eat," she grunts.
"Err…thanks, but I'll pass."
"Don't be daft. Yous need some real food in yer belly," she practically shoves the plate into my hands. I grimace…but the smell that wafts into my nostrils is delicious. "I'll give it a try, I guess," I say reluctantly.
"Make sure ya eat up," she looks around. "Where's the boss?"
"In her office, I guess," I frown. "You're not going to…"
"Oh, yes, I am. Look at her, she's a stick. Don't them humies know how to feed their girls?"
"Master already hates it when humies try to get her to eat. We're xenos," I point out. "And she's…not in a good mood right now…"
"Save it, Red," Honna growls as she stomps over to us, a smoke between her lips. "Mama's 'ike a kath hound. 'on't let go of 'er prey." Usanc glares at her. 'hat?"
"'ut that poison 'way, girly."
"Mama," Honna grumbles,"stop naggin'. That ain't none of yer business."
"'on't be silly, girly. Yer health's absolutely ma 'usiness…as is the kids'." Maybe if they keep arguing, I can just sit down and..oh, crap, she's walking to the door.
"This really isn't a good idea," I call out to her.
"C'mon, show me 'ere her office is, little one."
I look at Honna, who just shrugs. With an annoyed glare at her mother, she stomps out the cigarra butt and flicks it hard enough for it to make it to trash.
With a sigh, I catch up with her. "I'll tell her this was your idea and I was just showing you the way," I tell her grumpily.
"Don't yous worry 'bout me, little one."
"It's more me I'm worried about."

I hear the sound of the rustling of fabric as we reach Kyriaki's office. She's sitting in a chair and there's a black dress in her colour. I notice the slight texturing along the bodice and waist of the gown with the appearance of a tree bark. She's sewing feathers into the sleeve cuffs. Some black pinions lie on the table. "What is the meaning of this?" she asks sternly as we walk in.
"For the record, this wasn't my idea, I just showed her your office, Master," I say.
"Whimp," Usanc states crossly. She puts the plate down on Kyriaki's desk. "Food. For you, m'lord."
Kyriaki grimaces in distaste. "I'm very, very busy…and are those worms? Is this some of kind joke? I'm not in the mood."
Usanc just sighs and looks at her…like I remember Firith looking at me when I'm being silly. My heart skips a beat at the memory. "Do them humies not teach ya anything about how to look 'fter 'self, m'lord'? Yer skin 'nd bones. If yous 're my daughter, I wouldn't let yous outta the house 'ntil yous got some meat on yous. And to marry ya off like that, what 're theys thinking? Not 'bout your welfare, I'm sure. Yous can take a couple minutes to look after youself. What 'appens to us if yous starve youself ta death?"

This is not going to go well. Kyriaki's blue eyes narrow, and I feel a cold chill creeping up my skin through my brand. A glass on the desk trembles. Honna steps forward to stand next to her mother, eyes concentrated on Kyriaki.
Usanc just stands where she is, looking unimpressed. The glass stops trembling. "It'll go cold if yous leave it."
"I'm well aware of," Kyriaki snaps moodily. However, she does take a sniff, pauses. "What's in it?" she asks suspiciously.
"Secret recipe, m'lord. A good cook uses what she can."
This didn't answer the question but seemed to sate Kyriaki enough for her to gingerly take a bite. Her reaction changed instantly. "This is really good!"
"Told ya, m'Lord. You take your time, there's more for ya downstairs if you finish that. And you eat yer fill, too," Usanc looks at me sternly. Honna just smirks.
"Yes, ma'am." We stick around long enough for it to be clear she's actually eating. Then Kyriaki gets annoyed and shooes us out. I sit down with the kids. Crahton is entertaining them with a story. Kyriaki is right...the food is good. I share some of it with them. Thus the day passes. Things are...not good. Firith is dead, I have no idea what happened to Lena and Jela. I hope, I really hope they made it out alive. But I won't let his death be in vain, I won't let all the sacrifices be forgotten, and I'll protect these people. If it means playing Kyriaki's game a while longer...so be it. We will have justice. I don't know how, I don't know when...but we will. One day she'll answer for what she did, too.