Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private The Valkyrie's Diary (Solo thread)

((Written from the point of view of Kyriaki, Elpsis' clone. Posts 1 -6 are copy pasted from the blog, new content comes after that)).

As a Disciples of the Vader, I have a variety of privileges. Some of them useful, others plain pointless beyond being a way to stroke the Disciple's ego. Every Non-Force-User must without fail address me as 'my lord'. I am entitled to a slave I can strike, resell or kill at a whim. Moreover, no Non-Force-User may overtake my vehicle in public traffic. The last of the three is superfluous because the highway is all but deserted. The Ministry of Propaganda never fails to heap praise upon the Supreme Leader for connecting the Imperium through a network of highways.

But few civilians have ever used them. They are encouraged to pay a few Imperial Credits each week into a savings scheme. When it reaches the purchase price, they are supposed to receive a People's Groundcar or their People's Speeder. But it almost never arrives. Sometimes it can be picked up ten years later and then construction errors – pardon, sabotage – mean that you rarely get to enjoy it for long. I am told the money goes to building new tanks, palaces or yachts for the elite. Regardless, the only traffic I see is military in nature. Trucks filled with soldiers are going to and fro. Doubtless some bear wounded who are going to receive a brief respite, while the other ferries fresh soldiers into the meat grinder. “I wonder what their destination is. To fight the Dominion? The Traitor Dark Lords?”

The Grand Marshal and Supreme Leader is, after all, not uncontested. Other Disciples dispute his claim to the throne. I am stuck with him by circumstance and common sense. He is the least insane. He can even be pleasant and congenial. Then he will casually give an order that condemns thousands to death, before going back to drool over his art.
“The newsreel s say the war goes well, Master,” my chauffeur comments. Her name is Shakka. She is a Twi’lek and my slave. It is what it is. The collar is a permanent reminder. Many Disciples would beat her for even speaking without being ordered to. Or cut out her tongue.
I do not strike her. I am not a beast. She knows that if she disobeys me, plays me false or brings me into disrepute, she will be sold to someone cruel. In the Imperium, a xenos’ place is to serve or die. The history books say that it was they who caused the Great Plague. I once visited one of the ghettos they are held in. They were filthy, thin and scared. The guide said that this was their natural state and they were atoning for their sins.

It is right and proper that they should be deferential to their betters. That is the way of the world...and yet when staring into the eyes of these wretched beings, I could not help but wonder: what did they do to deserve this? Even if a few xenos banded together and plotted to annihilate mankind, why must their descendants still pay for it? The answer for this is simple: people need a scapegoat. The human rabble is, in the end, meaningless. Every Sith is above a Force-Blind. But give them someone to fear, revile, exploit and feel superior to and they will goose-step happily.
“So they said months ago,” I respond a bit distractedly. “And now we have shortages – labour, soldiers, machines.”
“The comms are poor,” she remarks frankly.
“What?”
"That Hermes TeleCom factory I worked in – it produced faulty comms. They cut many corners." I do not punish this heretical statement. I file it away. The head of Hermes is a rich corpo who's a regular guest at the Leader's dinner table. He is not a man you want to offend. We leave the highway. Our path takes us past a vast forest. All of it is the Supreme Leader's personal game preserve.
"Good thing I never ordered that next generation comm they sent me a message..." my words die on my tongue as my chest flares up in pain. My breath is short. I wheez, trying to force air into my lungs. Wordlessly, I take the inhaler out of its hiding place, gripping it with my right hand – the one of metal and servos. I shake the inhaler, then bring it to my mouth, activate it and breathe in deeply. To her credit, Shakka has the sense to keep her eyes on the roads and not to say anything. The Force flows through me, keeping the pain at bay. My body is frail, but my will must be strong. Just like my twin's was.

I was told at the Academy that I am a ‘useless eater’ for my defective genes. I should do mankind a favour by submitting to euthanasia. I managed to survive. Some of those who scorned me – with their perfect genes and elaborate bloodlines – are dead now.
Elpsis is not flawed like I am. The Jedi tried to control her, but she cast them down. Her fire and fury destroyed her oppressors. I am not like my template. I must use other weapons to survive. Sometimes, when I watch the stars at night, I wonder whether she might be on one of them. My breathing stabilises .
“We’re nearing Sophiahall, Master,” she says helpfully. “Would you like me to accompany you or remain in the groundcar?”
I put the inhaler away. “Stay. You’ll be safe there.”

“Yes, Master.” She doesn’t sound too convinced. Some Disciples make a sport out of stealing the slaves of those they hold a grudge against. Especially if they know the Disciple has a soft spot for their serf.
“You’re my property.” My tone is firm. “That places you under my protection.” I don’t know why the Supreme Leader summoned me. He can be mercurial. But when you receive a summons from him, you drop whatever you are doing and hasten to him. I don’t think my life is in danger. Not directly anyway. I’m not important enough and, in any event, the Supreme Leader prefers to leave punishing subordinates to others.
Perhaps Shakka reads my thoughts. If they are so plain, I must get better at hiding them. “Do you believe you’ll be sent to the frontlines, Master?” It is a valid point. Is she afraid of being left behind, at risk of being seized by someone else? Or does she hope it might present an opportunity to flee – with all the risk that entails?
“You will come with me if I do.”
She is quiet for a moment. “When you tell the truth you look different, Master. Your eyes change.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I must remember not to do that again.

The estate of the Supreme Leader draws close. Sophiahall is massive, to say the least. Here, Darth Eisen, Dark Lord, Supreme Leader and Grand Marshal of the Greater Sith Imperium, holds court right in the heart of the Great Heath. It is miles away from Adlerberg, but ministers and field marshals flock here to eat up any scraps of power he may toss them. High walls surround the palatial estate. Armour-clad soldiers – the Life Guard – and Sithspawn are on patrol. Shakka steers my transport towards the imposing gates. The guards check our IDs and scan the vehicle. There is a brief lull while the sergeant on duty communicates with his superiors. Then we are let in.
The courtyard awaits us. A great avenue of trees leads to the enormous villa. There are flower beds, lily ponds, a fountain and statues. One shows an enormous Darth Vader, towering over us all. Soldiers from the Life Guard and Harrowers stand sentinel.
Shakka halts the door and opens the door for me, stepping aside as I get out. A Disciple – a Knight by my reckoning – in a blue uniform approaches us. The slave bows obediently, averting her eyes. He does not bother to spare her a look. Instead he looks at me, and stretches out his right arm. “Praise Vader!”
I return the Humanist Greeting. “Praise Vader!” Shakka says nothing. Only humans may give the Humanist Greeting. A xenos who performed it would be punished for ‘offending the feelings of the human species’.

He shoots her a disdainful look. “You let a worm head drive you around, Lady Kyriaki? They are a devious and inscrutable. You never know what they’re plotting. Houk are more reliable.”
“And stupid. I’d have to micromanage one to make sure the dumb oaf does not ram something,” I say in my haughtiest tone. “And is it not a greater show of skill to bend a wilful creature to your will than one that cannot think beyond eating, punching and mating? She is perfectly house-broken.”
“I live to serve Master,” Shakka says quietly. Her tone and indeed her whole stance has changed. She always has to be obedient, but now she is meek.
“Just as long as that thing doesn’t cause any trouble. A whipping every once in a while never goes amiss. Keeps them from getting uppity.”
“I have my methods to ensure discipline,” I say just a bit tersely. “Now if there is nothing else, I have to answer a summons from our Leader.”
“Of course, you should not keep the Leader waiting.” I would not if you were not holding me up, fool.
Regardless, I snap my fingers. “Slave, fetch me the gift. You will remain with the vehicle.”
“Yes, Master.”
“A gift?” the officer raises a questioning eyebrow while Shakka opens the door and removes the package, handing it to me. She averts eye contact.
“A token of appreciation from a humble Disciple. The Supreme Leader has many cares. So many burdens on his shoulders, you see. The fatherland depends on him. I wish to make him smile.” Oh, this sounds ridiculous. “You can scan it, of course.” And so he does.

“Come with me,” he orders imperiously. I do not fall in line, but make sure to be a bit ahead of him. Status must be conveyed. An enormous, black marble statue of Darth Vader looms over us on the way to the equally grandiose mansion. Before passing I make obeisance before it, as is the law. The Old One stares down upon us. He is clad from head to toe in his dark armour. I wonder what he really looked like before being put into a suit. The man has vanished beneath the myth. Harrowers let us pass through the imposing doors. The entrance hall is huge. Massive golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The floor is made of marble. Sunlight gleams in from the panoramic glasteel window, bathing the hall in bright light. The walls are covered in expensive tapestries and artworks. I recognise a few from the Scarlet Citadel, my former prison.

Like Achilles, my old and now very dead captor, Supreme Leader Eisen likes to show off his trophies. But unlike Achilles, he is not a creep who puts heads on spikes on display or personally torture people. He compartmentalises that part of his reign and leaves it to underlings, while his bejewelled fingers remain clean. We pass through corridor after corridor, each grander than the last. The Supreme Leader awaits. Even from afar, I sense the sheer power radiating from him.
 
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Many corridors follow. I smooth my raven dress a bit before I step into a hall even grander than the last one. It is a massive baroque gallery built to impress and show off. A gigantic, panoramic window shows off the grounds of the estate. There stands the Supreme Leader. He is dressed in flamboyant gold and scarlet robes that make him look like a wizard of old. The robe does nothing to obfuscate the fact that he is very corpulent. His cheeks are fleshy and rouged. Jewels grace his fat fingers with the painted fingernails. It all looks very campy. He is feeding a huge beast. The Akk Dog greedily swallows the scraps, then suddenly howls, having heard of me.

Without missing a beat, I immediately raise my right arm. So do the guards. “Praise Vader! Praise Eisen!” The Supreme Leader returns the salute lazily, bending his right arm. I curtsey. “My Leader, your humble servant greets you. I am honoured that you receive me in your home.” My twin can rain down fire and brimstone upon her foes. She is a warrior forged in the crucible of battle. But my body is frail and my flame does not burn as brightly. However, I have other weapons. Courtesy is my armour. Let them believe that I will sing whatever pretty song they want.

“Oh, my dear girl, come closer, Kyriaki,” he bellows. He has a strong, powerful voice that can carry across a large hall. “It has been so long. Look at you. You remember Cesar, don’t you?” he asks with a chuckle. As if to refresh my memory, the huge reptomammal rushes towards me.
“How could I forget that moment when he devoured that foolish Jedi assassin?” I ask playfully. He laughs. It is actual laughter, not a mad cackle. Eisen is...very human. It is what makes him popular among the masses. More relatable. So they follow him when he sends the fools into the meat grinder to die by the thousands for his self-aggrandisement. “Indeed! And when you immolated that foolish Jedi’s comrade. I do hope you won’t be incinerating my carpet again though.”
I’ll admit...sometimes I almost like him. “I assure you, my Leader.” I manage to maintain composure while the Akk Dog is all over me – licking and sniffing. I pet his head. “My, my, he’s grown.”
“They grow up so fast and become as strong as durasteel. I’m afraid he hasn’t that much excitement as of late, though he did get to devour some poachers. Can you imagine? The scum trespassed on my forest and tortured innocent animals for sport.”
“Scandalous. Anyone who torments a being weaker than himself is the lowest piece of scum.” Hopefully the double meaning is not too obvious. “I hope they suffered.”
“They were well and truly punished for hurting the feelings of the Tephriki people.” Then his expression shifts. “I have been following your progress, my dear. It seems that fire in you served you well at the academy.”
I incline my head slightly. “I owe it all to your training, my Leader. By the grace of your wisdom, I was given the opportunity to rise beyond my origins.”
“A wise craftsman recognises good material and moulds it the way it is meant to be.” His tone is smug. Then he points a fleshy ringer, with a golden ring and a heavy-set diamond, at the package. “Now what have we here?”

“A small token, my Leader. My efforts are humble and my skills meagre, but I wanted to convey my gratitude for giving me the chance to prove myself worthy,” I say modestly and sycophantically. I remove my hand from his pet, take the package and present it to him. His mouth curls into a thin smile as she opens it. The Supreme Leader already has everything. Perhaps he simply enjoys watching others supplicate themselves before and shower him with gifts in the hope that he will toss them a few scraps. “Oh, my dear, this is beautiful,” he declares when he sees the cloak. “And I must say that is a nice sigil. I sense the Force flow through it. It has been alchemised, hasn’t it?”

“I am glad it pleases you, my Leader. I enjoy making things. It is soothing.” I am not even making this up. “And yes, it has. I am not as well-versed in the craft as you, my Leader, but it should offer some protection against lightning and withstand the elements well. I believe it would go well with your robes.” He slips the cloak on. I help fasten it and make sure it fits well.

“I think so indeed. I see you have put your studies to good use,” he declares with an air of self-satisfaction. “They are modelled on the robes of an ancient Sith king who ruled millennia before the Great One. We Humanists are boldly building a new future, but we must not forget the roots of our order.” He chuckled. “Can you imagine that just a few days ago, the police arrested a soubrette because she made jokes about my medals and outfits?” He shakes his head. “Fools. If they make jokes about, it only proves how popular I am! Ha. Did you know that Furcht had people sent to the camps because they made fun of his high-pitched voice? ‘Lord of Fear’? Pa!”
“He was a weak, cruel man and he produced an even more degenerate son.” His death was too kind. Too gentle. As was his mother’s. But they are dead regardless. Other monsters have taken their place. And my chains have become less visible.

He jabs a finger at me. “I’ll give the old bastard credit where it is due. He was cunning. He had strength. But his purism would have been our undoing.” His expression shifts from playful to serious. “The masses are sheep, my dear. Promise them everything and give them an enemy to fear and hate, and they will follow you to the ends of the world. You must make them feel you are delivering on your promises, but always make sure they don’t get too complacent, too sure of themselves. They must always hunger for more – and see you as the only one who can give it to them.”

“I will remember, my Leader. Should I ever rule, I will make them love me – and fear me.”
He laughs. “Do an old man a favour and wait a couple years before you stage your coup.” Is there a dark undertone to his words? Have I said something wrong?”
“My Leader, I...”
He cuts me off and slaps me on the shoulder. Hard enough that I almost keel over. “I spoke in jest, my dear.”
“Of course, my Leader. I could not imagine the Disciples without your guidance.” I breathe more evenly. Trying to make light of things, I add: “Truth be told, I was more thinking about Harmony. After all the destruction the xenos Jedi and the anarchist Guard have wrought, what good humans remain must be crying out for Humanist guidance.”

His eyes gleam. “One day it will be human living space – just like all of Tephrike. It will all belong to mankind, for it is our birthright. Even the xenos will realise that they are far better off with us assuming the mantle of responsibility. Their primitive faculties aren’t made for ruling anymore than those of the beasts of the jungle. But the Vong savages and the Jedi are not our only threat. Many enemies lurk within the Imperium. False Disciples, rebels, backstabbers - the lot of them. That’s why I summoned you. Are you ready to do your duty to the Imperium?”
“Leader command, and I shall follow.”
“Then come with me. There are some people you must meet. Prominent figures in Party and State. The old guard. Watch them carefully. None of us get this far without getting blood on our hands. And they all want power.”
“My Leader does not trust them,“ I observe.
“Then the most obvious question is: why don’t I eliminate them?” When I hesitate, he prods. “Come on, girl, answer. I am not trying to trick you.”
“Because without powerful minions, my Leader would be a master of nothing.”
The gleam in his eyes is fierce and predatory. For a moment I believe I see the ace pilot who stalked the skies in search of game to hunt, before he began his maniacal drive to power. He has never stopped hungering for more. “Exactly. Anyone can master weaklings. But it takes strength to bend the powerful to your will.” Cesar trots after us.
 
Our destination is a fancy terrace. Two Disciples, both with the auras of Masters, and one Force-blind officer are busy gossiping. But they cease their chat immediately the moment Eisen comes into view. He waves their salutes off. “With no disrespect to the Vader and my own person, if we do this all the time, no one will ever get a word in. I’m sure he’ll understand. I certainly do,” he says jovially. He gestures to me. “Meet our newest Disciple. The clone of the young lady the space people made such a big deal of they cut a bloody swathe through the Dominion for her. Fortunately, we saved this one before the Dominion could mess her up,” he declares grandly, as if he was the one who, as he puts it, ‘rescued’ me.

My thoughts must be hidden. I must not just say the words, it must be like I believe them. Courtesy must be my armour. I approach the male Sith Lord first. He wears a Party uniform. His face reminds me of a turtle. “I greet you, Lord Thrul,” I incline my head slightly.
“What a fetching young thing you are. Truly a great example of human womanhood.” I stiffen. His mouth curves into a lecherous smile. Creep. “Thrul, do control yourself. Remember, this isn’t a Jedi academy where Masters lust after their clone Padawans,” Eisen chides him then laughs.

“No impropriety intended, my Leader. I’m merely pleased to see that this clone is far better put together than what usually leaves the Dominion’s assembly lines. I’ve seen some horrible things in their laboratories...if you can even call them that.”
“I was fortunate to be spirited away from their laboratory before they could ruin me. I believe we’ve met before, my Lord.”
“Oh, really? Pray tell, child.”
“It was a couple months ago at the Academy. You were giving a speech at a rally. I believe it was about the role of the Humanist Party. I was one of students in the crowd.”
He smiles smugly. “Yes, now I remember. I do like to take an active role in guiding our Humanist youth on its path to greatness. As the first great Supreme Leader said ‘he alone who owns the youth gains the future.’”

How ironic that it is a movement largely run by old fossils drunk on power. I swallow what is really on my tongue. “And the future belongs to our proud Humanist state.” I approach the Sith Lady next. “Lord Lachesis,” I bow my head slightly. Her hair is a crown of silver and her eyes are like amethyst. She looks haughty and superior. My dislike is instantaneous. If I recall correctly, she is distantly related to the Supreme Leader who was killed during the rapture. Doubtless the fact that she does not rule gnaws at her.
“I see the clone knows her courtesies,” she remarks haughtily. “But are you really with the Disciples or have you just learned to sing a pretty song? Many of the Dominion’s clones suffer from...defects - mentally and physically. Tell me, girl, what happened to the rest of your line?”

Does she know? I feel a thrust of anxiety. Pain flares inside my stomach. My vision is swimming just a bit. No now. I cannot use the Force while her eyes are on me. I must endure. I manage to steady on my feet. “To my knowledge, they perished during the fighting, my Lord. I survived. You could call it natural selection. The strong claw out of the pit, the weak perish.” My creation was a rush job. Some of my siblings died in the tank. They never even received names.
“And you have not suffered from any...defects yourself?”

I overcome. I always do. “No moment of weakness that cannot be overcome by Sith sorcery and a Humanist will to rise above my origins, my Lord. It is true that I was grown in a tank, and that I have no paternal or maternal, only a debased template, but I was raised in the embrace of the fatherland. Our way is struggle, and what greater struggle is there to break the shackles your origins placed on you and embrace the truth? Through the Force, my chains are broken.”

“I’m sure you’re not implying that I’d welcome a mongrel to my table, dear Lachesis?” Eisen asks ever so jovially. Deceptively so.
“Certainly not. I was merely concerned because of reports that this young one was woken up prematurely before the Dominion’s quacks were done with her. I would not want her to suffer due to Jedi failings. If the clone has broken its chains and dedicated herself to becoming a true warrior of humankind, all the better. I will be following your progress with...great interest.”

Finally, only the Marshal is left. Marshal Nikator is an honourable man. They are all honourable, these honourable men. So honourable he exhorted KEC death squads to murder captured xenos and 'dissidents' - children included - en masse, but to do it somewhere he and his men could not see so that his honour would not be stained and his hands remained clean. I am already disgusted. Alone among the group, he is Force-blind, so I sit down and do not bow my head. The mundane cannot rule...but someone as high-ranking as he can help determine who does. He wears a grey-brown uniform with so many medals plastered to it his torso seems to glow. “Marshal Nikator, at the academy I read all about your victory over the Vong Guard. At Ulm if I recall correctly. I strive to match the bravery of our loyal soldiers.” It took a lot of bravery to bombard a city with chemical weapons. Cesar flops down on the floor beneath Eisen.

“Our struggle is fierce, and will grow fierce the stronger we become. But we are fighting a crusade of liberation to free Tephrike from the xenos-Jedi and their slaves. Have you gotten the chance to fight for the fatherland yet?”
“I have not had the honour of seeing battle yet. But when the Scarlet Keep was under siege, and Furcht’s unworthy son got himself killed fighting the Supreme Leader, Despina Nikita and I brought down the shield generator. We killed some traitors on the way.”
“And then young Kyriaki and I killed some Jedi assassins together,” Eisen chimes in. “Ah, to be young again and experience the thrill of battle. I loved to fly my TIE and test myself against the Dominion’s best. It was glorious. I miss it sometimes.”

“But Providence had greater plans for you. When the fatherland calls, the strong answer,” Thrul chimes in. Do I sound like that when I am trying to ingratiate myself?
“I remember. Nikita. Fierce warrior...but mean-tempered, like a rabid Kath Hound. Unfortunately, she has not become the hero her brother was,” the Marshal remarks. “At least she had the sense not to go down with the false Leader.”
So Nikator knows of her. Curiosity gets the better of me. “I understand she was rehabilitated and returned to service. Do you know what became of her?”
“Last I heard, she was with a penal unit, fighting insurgents. Maybe when she returns, she will have regained her honour."

“Anyway, we are not here to reminisce,” Eisen declares. As if on cue, a well-dressed feline smile approaches. Eisen has not called for her, so he must have commanded her here with the Force. “What is your command, Master?” the feline asks. She is deferential, but not afraid, and her head is not bowed as low as that of the other slaves. Her throat is free of a collar and she bears no scars or bruises.
“Do be a good girl and arrange some refreshments for us, Miraj,” Eisen instructs her, giving the xenos a smile.
“As you command, Wise Master.” The feline bows her head briefly to acknowledge the Supreme Leader’s guests.
“Thank you, dear.” Eisen seems to sense my reaction. “Is something on your mind, young Kyriaki?”
“Oh, no, I was only momentarily surprised by the lack of a collar.”

“Just as we train our animals, we train our indentured xenos. The xenos will never achieve anything worthwhile without the firm hand of the human species at their leash. But violence cannot always be our first recourse. We don’t teach an animal by beating it, after all. As we train a Kath Hound, a Bantha and an Orbask, so must the xenos be trained to accept their place in our world. Most are only good to be beasts of burden, but some have the mental faculties to serve a higher purpose and oversee the less gifted specimen. Miraj here is one of them. Why would she need a collar? She’s practically a family. A few small gestures go a long way.”

I understand all too well. “If we condition the xenos to exploit each other for us, the privileged ones will do everything to maintain their station. So long as they are fed and the pens are locked, a farmer doesn’t have to fear being outnumbered by his animals” I think of Shakka. A knot forms in my stomach. I am not so different from this rotten cabal of monsters. We are all liars here. And the truth of the matter is that I must be the best of them all.

The Supreme Leader smiles thinly. “Good girl.”
“Of course, we must always make sure they never forget their place. And weed out those breeds too dangerous to keep around. Think of the Mon Calamari, the Yodalings, the Vong demons and the Twi’lek whores. They have been the instigators of every anti-Humanist conspiracy.” Lachesis’ voice is filled with disdain. I wonder whether she truly believes what she says or just finds it convenient to advance herself.
“Surely you are not implying that our Leader – the rightful Leader of the Imperium - is neglecting the racial question?” Thrul asks tartly. Now he looks less like a turtle and more like a snake. Eisen leans back in his chair. I can tell he is enjoying this.

“I say no such thing, do not make insinuations, Thrul. But you and I remember the day when those beasts rose up in revolt. Adlerberg was a graveyard, filled with the bodies of thousands of good human citizens. They murdered, looted and burnt. It took weeks to clear them out. All because these heretical Light Sith opened the gates to their pens. Right now, the Guard and the Dominion are at each others’ throats, but...”

“We shall crush them,” Eisen finishes. “At the right time. The present constellation is to our liking. Let them exhaust each other. And we will reckon with the gang of traitors, the xenos bandits still hiding in the forests and even that pathetic cult of Light Sith if they even still exist and weren’t just one of Furcht’s phantoms he liked to scare the Council with. Your ferocity does you credit, Lachesis, but be sure to not burn our labour supply with your zeal. It was the folly of past governments to herd the xenos in ghettos close to our cities. A mistake I will rectify. Which brings me to a matter of importance. Tell me, young Kyriaki, have you ever heard of Hope Falls?”

I furrow my brow in consideration. “I believe there was a film. ‘The Grand Marshal Gives a Home to the Xenos.’”
“Right! My great gift to the xenos! After we crushed that barbaric rebellion Lord Lachsesis referred to and brought the usurper to justice, we had a large xenos problem on our hands. Our enemies spread lies about how we had committed ‘atrocities’. We needed to clear the ghettos. They had become a breeding ground for diseases and unrest. Our people needed the space. But where to put all these xenos? Some fools wanted to execute them en masse.” He continues as the head serf and two other xenos step in. “But I had a better idea: a large agricultural reservation run by the xenos for us...under our guidance.”

Under the watchful eyes of the head slave, a Duros and a Gungan carry trays bearing drinks, cake and other refreshments. Eisen is still speechifying when the Duros suddenly spills the wine. Most of it lands on the carpet, some it splashes on my dress. The xenos looks shocked and terrified. “This one is so sorry...Lady...Master. This is one is unworthy...”
“You fool!” the feline yells. She presses a button. The Duros’ body spasms and he cries out in pain as an electrical shock courses through him. I suppress a wince. “Clean it up now.” She looks apologetically at the Supreme Leader. “He is new. He will be chastised, Master.”
“I thought the Gungan would be the clumsy one,” Lachesis comments. Meanwhile, the Gungan remains silent and continues doing his duty.
Eisen raises his hand. “Now, now, it is fine, nothing is broken.” He looks the Duros right in the eye, and speaks with the air of a kind uncle. “I am sure you will never make such a mistake again, boy.”
“No...no, Master. This one will be good!”
“Apologise to my guest.”

He drops to the floor and lowers his head to my boot. “This unworthy one begs your pardon a thousand times, Your Perfection. This one is clumsy and weak, but meant no harm.”
It is all so petty and silly. I let him hang in suspense for a moment or two, then finally I respond: “You are forgiven. You serve in the household of the Leader, so clearly you have some worth. You will clean my dress with your own hands. And fetch me a new one.”
“Th-thank you, thank you, Lady. You are most k-kind,” he stammers and quickly gets up to wipe the stains away. “This one is grateful to serve.”
Eisen grins. “You and my daughter are about the same height. She’s not here a lot, but her closet is full. It should have something appropriate.”
“I will see to it personally,” the feline head slave declares. “And make sure this one does not forget his duty,” she says with a meaningful look to the Duros.
“Now, my lords,” I smile angelically, “where were we again? Ah, yes, Hope Falls.”
 
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“It seems that some of the xenos – just a small, but dangerous minority – have taken my unending generosity for granted. Shameful,” Eisen declares with no small amount of camp. “They are lagging behind their quotas. This cannot stand.”
“We need that food,” Marshal Nikator affirms. “Especially for our brave troops, who risk their lives on the front every day while the xenos are safe. They need all Hope Falls can deliver.”
“As does Adlerberg,” Thrul chimes in. “The xenos are to work for us, not laze around. Insofar as they are not productive, they may die.”
“Subversion,” Lachesis hisses. “Word of the...unfortunate incident at Castle Maysaf has spread. It makes the lesser beings uppity. I’ve also received reports about black market dealings. The administrators are not up for the task of maintaining order. It’s time to bring down the iron gauntlet. I would undertake this task, my Leader.”

“You will inspect Hope Falls and see to it that the necessary measures are carried out,” Eisen speaks.
“It will be my pleasure, my Leader Leave it all to...”
“And young Kyriaki will accompany you,” he interrupts her before she can continue ingratiating herself.
I know what inspection means. Purges, mass graves, death. I do not want to go there. I do not want to...be the one to sully my hands more than they are already sullied? It does not matter. “I am honoured by the trust placed in me, my Leader.” The lies come quickly.

“Yes, of course, I will take the child along.” Lachesis looks less than pleased. “She can be my scribe and assist with my inspection.”
“Young Kyriaki will obey your orders and see to it that any measures you deem necessary are carried out. And she will report to me separately.”
“My Leader, with all respect, I...”
“My dear Lachesis, I do not have the slightest doubt in your skill or commitment to our noble cause. But how will our youth learn if we do not give them a small measure of responsibility? I have the fullest confidence in both of you.” Eisen is enjoying this too much for my liking.
Is he trying to get me killed? “I am aware that I have few deeds to my name and have little experience outside of the academy. I look forward to working under and learning from you, my Lord.”
If looks could kill, there would probably be little left of me. “I’m confident you’ll...prove useful.” She sounds like she would have her teeth pulled without anaesthetic. “Do not expect me to coddle you, girl. Among the Disciples, there is no room for weakness. Our way is one of blood and iron.”
“I would not have it any other way, Lord.”

Meanwhile, Thrul casually digs into his cake before washing it down with some wine. He wipes his mouth with a handkerchief. “Most of the xenos are objectively inferiors. But amidst the filth, you’ll find a few with some good human blood in their veins. Do keep an eye open for them. Some may be salvageable if we remove them from the muck and teach them how to behave,” Thrul speaks, as if he was totally indifferent to the tension in the room. Perhaps he just enjoys riling Lachesis up. “This wine is excellent.”

“I make no promises.” Her tone has grown even colder. “Scientific studies show that their xenos nature will win out over the part of their blood that is human.”
“Why thank you, Thrul. It’s from my personal wine gardens,” Eisen grins broadly. He turns his gaze to Lachesis and me. “I look forward to your report.”
“I have a small request. I have a Twi’lek in my service. She serves me as a xenos should. I would take her with me.”
“What use could one of the whores be?”
The smile does reach my eyes. “Where we are going, there will be many of those, won’t there? As my Lord has expressed so clearly and concisely, these xenos are devious and inscrutable. And the Twi’leks are the worst. I may need to the mind of one to understand the mind of another.” I Because I need someone I can speak – relatively – openly with.
“If you think your powers are not advanced enough to compel them to give you whatever information you need...then take the xenos. But you’ll be responsible for its behaviour.”
“Well, then everything is decided,” Eisen claps his large paws. “I look forward to your report. For now, do dig in. You are authorised to make examples, but remember one thing: do not waste economic assets. We can raise the dead, but they make for poor workers.”

My stomach churns. Suddenly, I do have much of an appetite. The others are happily digging in. I take my glass in hand and gulp a good portion it down in one go. Thrul is right about one thing: the wine is very good. But I cannot appreciate the taste. Matters drag on for a while. We turn from serious issues to discussing complete and utter banalities. Apparently Lord Skaer has presented new building plans to the Supreme Leader. Sophiahall needs expansion because of course it does. I smile, nod and say the right platitudes – I hope. Finally, I am given a reason to excuse myself when the slaves return and inform me they have found a replacement for my soiled outfit.

I am led to one of the many rooms of the mansion. The Duros has laid out three outfits on a couch. “Are they to your liking, my lady?” the feline Miraj – what is her species anyway? She looks like a cat that walks upright and can talk. I examine them one by one. “Too extravagant. I am not attending a ball, and even if, I would not wear that,” I remark, then look at the next. “Too revealing.” Some Acolytes, being too weak in mind and spirit to amount to anything on the basis of merit, tried to advance themselves by flaunting their bodies and whoring themselves out to their instructors. Perhaps the willingness to debase oneself for advancement is a merit in itself. I would not know. “This will do.” Simple, elegant, and it does not get in my way.

“I believe lady will look marvellous in it,” the feline nods.
“Do you know anything about Hope Falls?” I ask out of nowhere.
“It is...” the Duros is about to begin, then Miraj shoots him a dark look and he shuts up.
“The Supreme Leader is a generous man to give a city to us after the sins we committed against mankind. The people are content. They have work; they have land; they have guidance...”
I wave my hand. My eyes home in on the Duros. “You’re from Hope Falls.” He nods mutely. Fear engulfs him. Then I focus on the feline. “You’re both from there. And you don’t want to go back.”
“I serve at the Master’s pleasure. He has taken me into his household, treated me kindly, given me a purpose and gainful employment. Now I teach his indentured assets, as he taught me.”
“Evasion is also an answer. You were plucked from it, and now you really do not want to go back,” I shrug. “You’re dismissed. When I leave, pick up my outfit and clean it.” I look straight at the Duros. “Do it by hand. I don’t want it to inadvertently shrink. I’m quite fond of it, you see. Do it well, and I will put in a good word for you.”
“T-thank you. L-lady is m-most kind...”

“There is nothing kind about me.” Finally, I am alone. Quickly, I discard my soiled dress and slip into the black outfit the slaves provided me. Once that is done, I examine myself in the large mirror. I remove the black glove from my cybernetic hand and flex it. The servos hum. I never liked this ugly, metal thing. As part of our training, an Acolyte must shed their right hand, just as The Vader lost his when he battled Tyranus. We close the circle by passing through the same crucible of blood and fire as the Sith’ari and becoming stronger for it. That is the party line. Some Acolytes take it a step further by shedding more body parts to become closer to Him.

Like with everything the Disciples preach, it is about control. They torment us, we torment those beneath us. Once, a group of prisoners was told they would be free if they could escape through the forest. The acolytes were ordered to shoot them. We were graded on the basis of how many kills we’d scored and ordered to bring back a body part as proof. I fired. I am not a martyr. I am not a hero. There are no heroes here. But I am a survivor. What do I want? To survive, and not to lose myself. The first goal is easier to accomplish than the second. The tattoo on my left forearm itches.

When I return, the little session is coming to an end. Eisen is in the middle of regaling everyone with an old war story, when he breaks it off and smiles at me. “Ah, an apt choice, my dear! As much as I hate to part with your company, I trust you two can travel to Hope Falls with all due haste?” For his part, Thrul looks momentarily disappointed. I wager it is because of the lack of skin.
“That will not be a problem, my Leader,” Lachesis assures him and looks at me. A slave slips a cloak onto Lachesis' shoulders. It bears the sigil of a dragon. “Your vehicle will be able to keep up? We have a long trip ahead of us and I cannot room in mine, especially not for a xenos.”

“I’ll keep up.” Looking at Eisen, I bow my head slightly and add: “I thank you for the invitation and this assignment, my Leader. May the Force serve you well.”
“And you, my dear. Now go, my loyal servants and make the fatherland proud. Do be on your guard though.” Against rebels, or other Disciples, I wonder? Regardless, we salute him and he returns the gesture lazily. Then we are off. Outside, a veritable fleet of vehicles awaits us. I can see the merit of having some escort vehicles, but this looks like an awful lot. A very tempting target.

“This is our convoy? Do we need that many, Lord?” I ask.
“Of course we do, girl,” Lachesis declares, like she is lecturing a child. “We cannot let the servants think we are paupers, can we? Bandits abound in the wilds and though the Dominion is preoccupied with those anarchists, they are not shy about launching air raids.”
“I thought our skies were clear and our troops marching from victory to victory over the usurpers.” I probably should not have said that – certainly not in this tone. I could not help myself.

The air feels lot colder between us. I have made a mistake. Her voice is icy and menacing. My breathing feels oppressively heavy and laboured. It is like an iron chain has been wrapped around my heart. I feel dizzy and out of breath. “Girl, if you think me foolish enough to indulge your innocent doe act, you are truly delusional. So let me explain to you in a few words how the world works. Your place is to obey, that is all. Know that you are far from the first neophyte the Leader took a passing fancy to. And you will not be the last. You have no name, no lineage – just cursed genes. If I were you, I’d think of your future for when his interest in you wanes. Maybe Thrul will adopt you as a pet, though I would pity anyone who suffers such a fate. Or the Department of Racial Health will call you in for an interview.”

I sway and my legs threaten to buckle. It is futile to lash out. Her power dwarfs mine by far. All I can do is will my body not to collapse on me. “I...understand...my Lord.”
“Never forget.” She takes off, and I am left panting. My heart thumps inside my chest. At least blood is reaching my brain again. Breathe in, breathe out. There will come a time when her smug superiority turns to ash in her mouth – but not today.
Shakka is waiting inside the groundcar. Wordlessly, she opens the door and I climb in. I take a deep breath. “Follow the convoy. We need to talk.”
 
“Do you want your inhaler, Master?” Shakka asks. The estate is slowly disappearing behind us. Ahead of us lie the forests and further away the massive highways the great Leader supposedly built and which almost no Humanist Party Comrades will ever get to drive on. Most of the convoy is ahead of us, but two groundcars filled with guards drive behind me.
“No.”
“You do not look good, Master.” Is that concern? Or is the Twi'lek just testing to see whether I’m vulnerable?
“Focus on the road, slave.” End of discussion. “Keep up with the convoy.”
“Very well, Master.” Yes, she is annoyed. It cannot be helped. The hierarchy is clear. “Where are we going?”
“Hope Falls.”
There is that tell-tale pause. “Understood, Master.”
“What do you know about it? Tell me the truth.”
“Which truth would you like to hear, Master?”
“The one the Propaganda Ministry will not tell me.”
“I’ve never been there...but I know people who were. Who got out. Not that I know where they are now. It’s old history.” Briefly, she glances to me, giving me a meaningful look before her eyes return to what’s in front of her.
“I won’t make you divulge their names.” It is not a lie. It feels strange. Being honest, that is. “Continue.”

“A few years ago, after the rapture, a man called Lysenko came to Hope Falls. He was one of your Vaderite bigshots. Head of science, whatever. Anyway, being a ‘superman’ he knew better than everyone and decided he could use his mystical mumbo jumbo to create super-crops. What happened? The food was tainted. Humans were poisoned, and we were blamed for it. The locals lost entire harvests, so there was famine.”

“I never heard of that.” I frown slightly. The story goes that Lysenko died when a slave sabotaged his aircraft. Now it looks awfully like the government quietly got rid of an embarrassment. “Lysenko’s treatise on alchemy was required reading at the academy.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he’s good at making monsters, but he doesn’t know anything about crops, Master. But I guess it’s not politic to admit that a Vaderite did wrong.”
“Never use the term Vaderite in the presence of a Vaderite,” I chide her. The Disciples really do not like the word. They consider it disrespectful to the Chosen of the Great Sith’ari. They are good at finding things they deem disrespectful. “Hope Falls is behind on its quotas. Lachesis has been sent to...motivate its inhabitants.”
“With whips and graves. And you are supposed to help her, Master.” It is a statement of fact, not a question.
“It is what it is. What do you expect? She is a member of the Dark Council – who hates me simply for not having the right bloodline. The order comes straight from Leader Eisen.”
“I expect nothing, Master. You are my owner and I am your property. That’s why you saved me. My place is to obey.”

Your place is to obey, that is all. Lachesis’ words echo inside my head. I shudder involuntarily. This is silly. I am doing what I must to stay alive. It is also in Shakka’s interest. If it were not for me, she would be dead or in a camp. I do not even know these people. And they are xenos. None of this matters to me. None of this should matter to me. One day caring is going to get me killed, and yet it is the one thing that separates me from them.

“I, um, saw what happened with the Darth woman. I understand it must be difficult being inside this machine given your...situation, Master,” she says gently. What’s her angle? What secrets does this blue-skinned creature hide? Her face is a mask and her eyes are on the road. It is truly a sorry state of affairs that the being I am the most honest with – which is not saying much - is my Twi’lek slave.

“And it is within your interests that may situation remains as good as possible. Otherwise you would suffer.” Shakka gets the message and falls silent. There is that look in her eyes. What does it say? I already suffer. Those scars on her neck were not inflicted by me, but I wear the same uniform as those who did, and I have kept the collar on. She will have to accept it. Her kind is fated to be someone’s property regardless. She is best off as mine.

The trip is long. Though I fight to remain awake, I feel myself dozing off. Sleep is neither pleasant nor peaceful. Achilles, all golden mane and cruel green eyes, visits me in my dreams. He was the pathetic boy-king who thought himself a dragon, trying desperately to be the butcher his father the Supreme Leader was. The one Firemane killed when Maysaf was turned to dust. He stands before me in his ridiculously gaudy alchemised, golden armour. “Leave her face, I do not wish to look upon ugliness in my palace,” he snarls just before my gown is ripped and his armoured goon rains down blows. I scream, and he laughs.
Then we are standing before a dozen heads on empty spikes. They belong to so-called traitors, civilians who protested against his cruelty, and a servant who showed me kindness. “How long do I have to look?” the apparition of me ask, struggling to remain calm.
“As long as it pleases me,” he declares. “After I have crushed that degenerate fop Eisen and the mongrels of the Dominion, I will reckon with the outsiders. The cowards will pay for father’s murder. It is said that some Force clones have a bond that allows them to feel each others’ pain light years away.” He grabs my arm roughly enough to bruise.

“Maybe I will test this theory. Then when your template returns, I will kill her. And give you her head as a present.”
Maybe I have gone mad. Or my template’s fire has risen in me. I look him in the eye, and say: “Or maybe she’ll give me yours.”
For just a moment, he is frozen. Then his fist rams into my face. I spit blood. “Never mock your Supreme Leader, mongrel. Ramon, educate her.” I am forced down, and the whip strikes. In the end, Elpsis did not present me his head. His own foolishness undid him when Eisen’s men stormed the gates.


“Of course you’ll be fighting in the vanguard. How foolish of me to think otherwise. They say my template destroyed the Grand Inquisitor herself, and she is only a mongrel clone. You are the Sith’ari incarnate.” A howitzer blew him to bits, as Eisen tells me. Maybe she can give me Lachesis’ head. Or I will present it to her. A foolish thought. I have only myself.
My eyes shoot open. We are still on the road, but the convoy has slowed down. Vehicles are coming to a halt Then I hear shouts from afar. “Stop,” I order.
“We’re too exposed out here,” Shakka cautions me quietly. I find myself agreeing. But she obeys as she should.

Upon disembarking, I see that Lachesis has left her luxury limousine and is standing at the side of the road. “What is the meaning of this?” she thunders at a Weequay troop transport driver.
“The engines have broken down, I think, my Lord,” he speaks hastily.
“You think or you know, xenos?” a black-clad goon sneers at him, baton in hand. Electricity crackles around it. “This groundcar was constructed by human engineers. Maybe you’re a saboteur...”
“No...I can fix it, sir. I just need...”
“I would think a saboteur would be less inept. We’ll continue onward,” Lachesis cuts him off with a wave of her hand. She looks at the guard. “You, make sure he does his duty. If not, punish him.”
“It’s made by Telemachus Motor, isn’t it?” I speak softly. “I’ve heard rumours about their methods being...faulty. Criminal leeches.”

Lachesis scowls at me. “I will ask you for your insights when I deem them useful,” she says through gritted teeth.” But then we both feel the palpable shift in the Force. Premonition screams inside my mind. Quickly, I hasten back to the groundcar even as Lachesis gets back to hers and barks commands.
Opening the door myself, I get back in the passenger’s seat. “Drive. Fast. Run them over if you have to,” I order, slamming the door shut. She kicks the engines into gear. Then we hear the roar of aircraft. Someone yells, “It’s the Dominion!” Even as vehicles try to clear the road, flak tanks level their heavy guns at the sky. The whirlwind of rounds comes too late.

Our groundcar has not gotten even remotely far enough when the enemy aircraft shoot past the convoy, unleashing cannon fire and missiles. Shakka races as fast as she can, but the convoy is too large and the road too crammed for her to manoeuvre much. Then there is a noise like a thunderclap. No, it is closer to a quake. The ground trembles. My skull hits something hard. Pain spreads through my body.

Wake up, Kyriaki. There is blood and my head is spinning. I push through my haze, and realise the transport has been overturned. A window is broken, and I can feel a shard digging into my flesh. I taste copper on my tongue. Another vehicle has apparently crashed into our transport. Thick smoke makes me cough so violently that it hurts in my chest. “Slave...Shakka.” The Twi’lek does not respond. Her head had been slammed against the steering wheel. Quickly, I cut myself loose and do the same for her. Fires are spreading around the groundcar. I hear the aircraft diving down from the sky for another strafing run.

Shakka is coming with me. The door will not open. Smoke invades my lungs as I gather the Force inside me and force it open. Shakka is not heavy or even that tall, but I am not strong. Carrying her out is a struggle. Rounds hammer the road. Fire licks at my robes, seeking purchase on my body. Fabric burns, but fire cannot hurt me.
The Force roars in my mind and I bolt, willing the ethereal energies to give my weak body the strength. My groundcar goes up in flames, being ripped apart by the explosion. The force of the shockwave slams me into the ground, with Shakka in tow. But I’m alive – bruised and battered. I look up to the sky and see the aircraft are turning away. Many vehicles have been ripped apart or ignited. I look to Shakka, still unconscious on the ground. There is blood – too much.

She is badly hurt. I check her pulse. It is weak. No, she is not dying. I will not allow it. I hear a pained groan coming from nearby and turn. It comes from a guard. He bleeding badly and has lost a leg. He is already at death’s door. He is not one of mine. I reach out with the Force, and shadowy tendrils sprout from my hands. He groans even louder as agony grips him. He struggles to form words, but fails.
His eyes are pleading, but I do not care. He does not need his life force, but my slave does. Ruthlessly, I seize whatever life energy he still possesses and draw it out of him – and into her. “Awaken,” I growl. The guard spits blood and takes his last breath of air then slumps. A moment later, her eyes flutter open.
“Master?” she groans.
“It’s alright. You’ll be fine.” The attack craft seem to have turned away. There are corpses and broken vehicles everywhere. I believe I recognise the Weequay driver among the dead. I do not care. Sadly, Lachesis being among the casualties is too much to hope for. The monsters are never the ones on the chopping block. Her limousine, however, is a wreck. It gives me a measure of satisfaction.

“Clear the road. Send word to high command. The Jedi think their petty raids frighten us, but they will rue the day they struck against the Imperium. We will retaliate,” she thunders. “Where’s a functioning transport? Our mission does not allow for delays!”
This kind of incident is not uncommon. The Dominion and the Disciples periodically launch air strikes or shoot tactical missiles at each other. In any event, the Dragon Lady’s gaze falls on me. “I see you survived, Kyriaki. Stop coddling your slave. If she is defective, she can be replaced.”
I get to my feet. My legs feel wobbly and my head hurts. Blood is dripping down my forehead. Something hot and sharp has dug into my flesh. But I stand. “She is my property – and under my protection.”
Lachesis’ gaze is icy. “Lieutenant,” she thunders, “have you found me a groundcar that is still presentable?”
“Yes, ma’am. The captain’s. He got mowed down but...”
“His sacrifice will be honoured by the fatherland. It will suffice. Your pet,” she addresses me, “will ride in the truck. If it gives cause for offence, it will suffer the consequences. You will come with me.”

I nod, and without further ado she has stormed off. Next to me, Shakka has managed to get to her feet. “What did you do to me, Master?” she asks quietly. There is a measure of concern in her tone. “I felt...something. It was like...”
“I kept you alive.” There is no time for explanations. I take a breath. “I’ll see you when we disembark. We must be very careful now.” She opens her mouth, then closes it and nods obediently. We part ways. She climbs into the truck, while I head for the groundcar. It is quite a comedown from Lachesis’ limousine. Speaking of which, she is already sitting on the backseat with an impatient scowl on her face. In the Force, she feels like a barely contained wildfire. I open the door and sit down next to the driver – a human soldier. We take off, passing the wreckage and the corpses.
 
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Our significantly diminished convoy left the wreckage, the blood and the bodies behind it. The groundcar races across the road. Seated at the front in the passenger’s seat, I can hear Lachesis speaking into her comm. She is speaking to Eisen. “...my Leader, with all respect, we cannot respond with half-measures. If the Dominion has the temerity to strike deep into our territory, we should rain fire down upon one of their towns and show them what fear truly means. Or perhaps launch a border incursion. Tenopolis is within range. They’ve set up a lot of industry there – and filled it with refugees from Nexus.” I wonder what story they will feed the people. Truth be told, I wonder how many stories I see on the newsreels are true. I have been fed lies ever since my first flash memories entered my mind.

“Lachesis, my dear, as angered as I am by this cowardly attack on you, it is well within expected boundaries. We shoot some missiles at them and drop some bombs, they respond in kind to dispel any notion that the infantile Republican Guard has given them such a good clobbering that they cannot harm us,” Eisen replies. His tone is terribly casual. I wonder whether he is deliberately trying to rile her up.
“And if they strike at us with impunity, we appear weak.” Her anger is palpable. ”Coming so soon after Maysaf’s destruction, it will only feed Erlösung’s propaganda machine. It will look like capitulation before the Jedi infidels. If the lower...”
“Are you questioning my authority, Lachesis? Perhaps you imagine yourself sitting upon my throne, as the standard bearer of ‘true Humanism’? Or perhaps you wish to distract from the fact that the commander of the forces at our border was your appointee.” I did not know that. “Maybe your lack of vigilance is to blame.”
“It is to assure our dominance that I would strike. I think only of the wellbeing of the Imperium, my Leader.”

“And I am its embodiment. We’ll strike at a suitable target on their border. Our response will be unambiguous...and measured. In the meantime, you’ll proceed with your investigation with alacrity. In fact, I want you to widen it to encompass the whole province and determine whether there might not be Dominion agents at large. First, they fall behind on their quotas, and then a convoy bearing one of my most trusted lieutenants is struck by a Dominion air strike with pinpoint accuracy.”

“I will..,” she pauses. I imagine she wants to say something else, but then she drinks into the sour apple and climbs down, “see to it, my Leader. As our founding father said, where is the xenos, there is the saboteur. I will also mobilise the Kylo Vader Sky Base and pay its commander a visit.” Hope Falls will receive a new quota. This time it will be one of bodies.

Good. I expect to hear of the fruits of your work by the time the Skyhammer Fleet has retaliated. I have full confidence in you, Lachesis. You are authorised to make examples. I will confer with Marshal Nikator on a target for our retaliatory strike. Praise Vader!”

“Praise Vader.” She slams the comm down hard. “I should not have called. That coward Thrul has been whispering in his ear, I know it. You want to say something clever, girl? Go ahead, say something clever.”
My throat feels tight. I can think of a few clever things. None of them would be smart to voice. What do I say? Is this a trap? I cannot afford to get on her bad side anymore than I already am, but flattery will not work on her. And if I say anything disparaging of Eisen, she will undoubtedly report me. “The Supreme Leader sees further than all of us. We must follow him, even if we don’t always understand his commands. I believe our first objective must be to stamp out the cells of disloyalty in this province. I will do all in my power to support you in this endeavour, my Lord.”
“You’re so perfect, aren’t you? You always have the right song to sing and commit to anything. That may suffice in the academy, but will you keep your nerve on the battlefield? We shall see.”

The convoy leaves the highway. There are trees and fields can be seen in the distance. There is a river. It must connect to the waterfall Hope Falls derives its name from. It flows very fast. We pass what I believe is a masonry ditch. It is facing inward – towards the settlement. The road we traverse passes over the ditch. As we pass over it, I catch a glimpse of what I am certain is part of a skeleton. “That is the part of Hope Falls we don’t show in the movies,” Lachesis says conversationally. “Of course, every citizen knows how things are done. We just don’t talk about it.”

A large gate looms ahead of us. There is a sign that reads ‘Welcome to Xenos Reservation Zone Hope Falls.” Soldiers and tame Nexu are on patrol. The men-at-arms are a mixture of humans and xenos. The latter are predominantly Houk and Gamorreans. I see the logic in that. Both species are simple-minded brutes. Throw them a few scraps and raise them as you would a guard dog, and they will obey. There are other guards who look like...chicken? The xenos’ equipment is very basic – helmet, a flak vest and an old slugthrower. The human element fares better. Weapons’ emplacements have been set up in watchtowers. These soldiers belong to the Public Force.

No one would have dared to stop Lachesis’ limousine or demand identification. But this humble groundcar looks a lot less prestigious. So a human officer stops us. “Praise Vader! Welcome to Hope Falls. I need to see some ID.”
“Do you know who’s in this transport?” the soldier driving the groundcar snaps. “Darth Lachesis, Lord of the Disciples of the Vader.”
The officer pales. “My apologies...I didn’t know. Just a miscommunication, my Lord. If there’s anything I can...”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, get out of the way,” Lachesis snaps from the backseat. “And send out patrols. Make your xenos dogs do something useful for a change. And call the Sky Base. I want our birds in the air because apparently someone missed a Dominion air strike.”
“Right away, my Lord. Apologies again. Praise Vader!”

The gate opens and our small convoy passes through. There are more soldiers on patrol. I also see trons. I hear small drones fly through the air, keeping watch. But overall the landscape is dominated by vast grain fields. Men, women and children of various alien species are toiling in the fields. Our pace is fast, but they seem to be mostly working with their hands. They look scrawny and their clothes are threadbare. Other xenos are tending to nerfs or banthas that are grazing or drinking from the water. Not a tractor in sight. They're ploughing the fields with oxen...and in many cases labourers have literally been harnessed into the ploughs because there are no oxen. Most of the guard posts we see roaming the perimeter are xenos. Grain fields and farms stretch as far as the naked eye can see.

“Look at these beasts,” Lachesis remarks. “No doubt many laze around the moment we are not watching. Without a firm hand, they succumb to idleness. Do you know anything about agriculture, girl?”
Why does she ask this? “Can’t say I do, my Lord.”
“If you serve the fatherland as well as you say empty courtesies, maybe one day you’ll have an estate of your own, with little beasts like these to command. Give it a few decades, and this place will look very different. Clean. Pure. The whole Imperium will.”
“You mean we’ll have taught the xenos how to act civilised?” There is a Mon Calamari hanging from a tree. He bears a sign proclaiming him to be a wrecker and sloth who stole grain.
“I mean that it will be free of xenos.”
“We need them as workers. Our industry runs on them. They are everywhere – in the factories, the farms, the construction yards,” I point out.
“For now. The productive ones will live the longest. In the long run, being dependent on them would be our undoing. It leads to decadence. A few will remain, no doubt. To perform menial tasks. Or live in a state of total barbarity in lands we don’t want. As for the rest,” she trails off. “You’ve read Glorious Conflict. Our people need living space.” Inwardly I shudder and feel sickened. These are the people I serve and whose goals I further. I think of Shakka. And how long will it be until I am told: ‘we don’t need defective Disciples anymore?’ If only the Dominion attack had killed Lachesis. If I had not been so concerned with myself, I could have taken a shot at her. It would have been so easy to miss in the chaos. No, that is an absurd thought. She would have crushed me like a bug without the slightest effort. And where one Lord dies, another takes their place.

We pass through a gate upon which the words ‘to each what he deserves’ have been inscribed. Now we can see the settlement proper. Some of the drab, concrete buildings are covered in propaganda posters. In the distance, there is an enormous bronze statue of Darth Eisen. A welcoming committee of sorts awaits us. I see troopers from the Public Force and xenos civilians. I imagine the latter are the presentable ones. They wear proper clothes rather than rags. None of the xenos wear a collar, but not all chains are visible.

A man dressed in a white Party uniform and, of all people, a Gungan stand at the head of the welcoming committee. A Gungan! Can they even speak proper Basic? This one seems to know how to dress. Two officers in a Public Force uniform, a Gamorrean and a human male, stand close to them. I have no idea what gender the Gamorrean is. They all just look like walking pigs to me.

As we step out of the groundcar, a herald of sorts announces Lachesis. “Darth Lachesis, the Dragon, Lord of the Disciples of the Vader, Minister of Reclamation and Settlement, Imperial Commissioner for the Strengthening of Humanism, member of the Grand Council of Humanism...” She has many titles, though Eisen still beats her. It is almost as if every grandee is in a competition to see who can hoard more grandiose titles. Needless to say, I have one. I am just another Disciple. It has its advantages. Someone who stands on a pedestal becomes the target for everyone else's barbs.

A child’s choir breaks into a song. The uniforms of the little xenos are clean. Indeed, they look new. Quite a few of them look like a poor fit, as if they have been distributed on the quick without anyone bothering to take their wearer’s measurements. But the children are thin. Their faces look happy, but when I reach out, I feel fear.

“Resounding, like birds one after the other,
A song flies over the fatherland.
A song of hope and joy.
‘Living has become better, living has become happier.’
We beg the Great One to protect, forevermore,
Our Iron Benefactor.”


So they sing. The local officials approach us. Gungan speaks first, after bowing her head deeply. “Great Lord Lachesis, welcome to Hope Falls. We are honoured by your visit.” Her voice is feminine, and she is speaking in near-flawless Basic. I am floored. “When we heard of the cowardly attack, we were greatly concerned. It is heartening to see that you are unharmed.”
“I am sure it is, Mayor’ Nass,” Lachesis hisses. She looks like she would rather have her tongue cut than speak to a xenos, let alone acknowledge even a nominal title. There is no craftsmanship in her. I would not trust her to make a cloak for me. Her stitches would be unevenly spaced and sized, like a jagged lines across the sleeve. If conversation was a garment, hers would be crude. Thugs – that is what all Vaderites amount to. Some just have better table manners.

“The Public Force has increased its patrols to do its part to make such an incident does happen again,” the Gungan, who is apparently called Nass, continues. It as if Lachesis’ words have sheeted off her like rain does off her wall. Or maybe it is just a survival mechanism. It is one I know well: courtesy is my armour. Her tone is polite and her expression conveys submission. Her eyes tell a different story. Appeasement is her only weapon. Somehow, she seems more of a lady than this preening despot.

“My Lord,” the Party official says respectfully – but warily? “It has been a long time since Hope Falls received such an illustrious emissary. If we had had a bit more time to prepare, I would have been able to welcome you in style.”
“Or to clean up your record, no doubt,” Lachesis says coldly. “We have much to discuss. You have a great many things to answer for.”
“I assure you, Hope Falls wants nothing but to be a productive member of the Imperium,” Nass says diplomatically. The Party bigwig is holding back. It is no surprise that the Gungan has not been briefed, but it seems he has not either. She glances over to me. “May I enquire about the identity of your companion?”

Lachesis has opened her mouth, but before a word that would pigeon-hole me into a nonentity can leap from her tongue, I speak. My tone is clipped. “Lady Kyriaki. I’ve been sent by order of the Supreme Leader to inspect this settlement.“ It is all technically correct.
“Young Kyriaki has been assigned to assist me,” Lachesis interjects authoritatively. Score one for me, nonetheless.
My eyes turn to the Party bigwig. “I don’t think we’re acquainted, Prefect...”
“Nikolaos Kollias,” he finishes.
“Related to Governor Kollias?”
“He’s my uncle.” It explains a few things. Self-importance oozes from him. But I also feel uncertainty.

“We will gladly give you a tour of the settlement,” Nass speaks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the truck has come to a halt and soldiers are disembarking. Shakka is among them. She looks alright – physically at least. I contain a sigh of relief. Wordlessly she falls in line, keeping her head down. As we walk onward, various xenos in strange outfits perform a...dance for us? It looks like a cultural thing. It is accompanied by more singing. I must admit, they dance well. I wonder how long they trained for this occasion.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop prancing around,” Lachesis hisses. “And that singing – it sounds like a chorus of animals in various sharp-toothed traps.”
The Gungan passes out instructions and a minion seems to order the dancers and singers to disperse. “My apologies, we wished to give you a friendly welcome. The Supreme Leader liked the show when he visited years ago.”

“Send those brats to the fields. If they want to eat, they will work.” I can Nass’ open her mouth, but then it shuts and see nods. Lachesis preens herself. “You should have things well more in hand, Prefect. Fortunately, I’m here to make sure none of you forget your obligations. Today, we will see the true Hope Falls.”
“Major Bakios. I swear, my Lord, the Public Force has not let down its guard for even a moment. Just a week ago we taught some wreckers and sloths a lesson, didn’t we, Gorn?” the human officer brags. The Gamorren grunts something. I suppose it is in affirmative.
“We shall see how well your vigilance holds up when it is put to the test. Now, let us not dally. You will show me your fields and silos, then your books.” With these words from the lord of many titles in mind, we take our first steps into Hope Falls.
 
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It is night time and a thick fog has descended upon the forest. Kath hounds bark. Our group of acolytes advances quietly. We sneak through the woods, trying to make as little noise as possible. I hear a cracking noise and raise my rifle, but I see no one. Then there is another. In the distance, we can make out shadows. We hold our rifles at the ready. “Freeze! Stop, or I will shoot!” I call out. I can make out shapes in the fog. They are escaped prisoners. Xenos.

“Shoot the bastards,” one of the acolytes declares. It is Nikolai. The shapes are hard to perceive in the fog, but we are not Force-blind mundanes. We stand above the herd. We have the Force as our ally and it allows us to pierce the curtain that would otherwise conceal these creatures. The barking grows louder. The shapes continue to run. We know what our orders are. I fire, so do the others. The air is filled with the staccato of slugthrower fire. The rifle feels heavy in my grasp, but everything seems to happen automatically. The Force steadies my aim and guides my eye. We shoot, and shapes stop moving. After several shots, we cease fire.

“There was something there. One of them was holding something, I think.” Cautiously, we advance forward, with our rifles at the ready. Several bodies lie on the ground. Nikolai and I approach one of the bodies and turn it around. It is still breathing. Blood seeps out of a stomach wound onto the grass, coating the green with red. He is young.
A little Rodian. “Shit! He’s unarmed. It’s just a kid!” Nikolai cries out, sounding shocked.
“So is this one,” another acolyte says.
Realisation dawns upon me as I look around. “They all are.” Just like us.
Nikolai throws his rifle to the ground and approaches the wounded xenos. He takes off his gloves and kneels. “Get a medkit, fast!” He presses a gauze bandage against the wound while the xenos says something unintelligible.

“What is it saying?” another acolyte asks.
“I don’t know. Stop standing there and help me!” Nikolai retorts.
“Leave it, it’s a bloody xenos. Look how ugly it is.” Markos declares.
“Frak you. Kyri, come help me!” Nikolai yells frantically while he tries to cover the wound. “It will be alright, everything will be alright,” he whispers.
I hear him, but he might as well have been miles away. Wherever I look, I see only blood and motionless bodies. Images of them falling flash before my eyes. I hear screams. I stumble and kneel down before one of the bodies. It is a little Mon Calamari. Her eyes stare at the sky. Then her head moves and she looks at me. Our eyes meet, and in this instance the moment of the shot replays in my mind. I shot her. Then the light leaves her eyes forever. I turn around. “She’s dead.”

“So what? Let’s go!” Markos demands.
Nikolai is still pressing against the Rodian’s wound. The barking grows louder. The Kath hounds come into view. So do the headmaster and his entourage. “What is going on here? Report!” he orders authoritatively.
My gaze is empty and my words are mechanical. It sounds like someone else is speaking and I am only an observer. If only it were so. “Headmaster, I report ten prisoners have been shot while trying to escape.”
The headmaster’s gaze falls upon the Rodian Nikolai is still trying to save. “Is that the last of them?” he asks. My lips will not move. “Student, is that the last of them?” he repeats.

I find my words. “Yes, sir.”
“Son, finish him off.”
“Father, no...it’s just a...”
“Do your duty, boy. Or get out of the way.”
“It’s just a boy! You said they were armed prisoners.”
While they argue, the Rodian is still bleeding and in pain. He is suffering. I raise my gun and fire. It is mercy. So I tell myself. The lies come easily. He stops breathing.

The headmaster looks at me. “See, even the sickly girl understands Humanism. Good work, Kyriaki. That’s the kind of commitment I want. You must be as hard as durasteel.” He grabs Nikolai by the shoulder and pulls him away.
“You shame your family. Never ever contradict me in public again. Do you understand?” Nikolai is silent. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, father.” His voice is hollow. It matches the way I feel.

The headmaster turns around to face us. He is smiling. “Good work, acolytes. Keep it up. It is not easy to get past your revulsion, your fear, and do your duty. But this is a burden we must bear for our people. If we allowed this vermin to live, they would grow up, spread and become a danger to our people. They are pitiless. Remember, they who created the Plague to wipe us out. Our sole duty is to our people and our blood,” he declares.

“Now get moving. There are more of them in the woods. You can take the day off tomorrow. The acolyte who kills the most savages will get a medal. Your rifles will be inspected, so don’t even think of cheating.” Looking at Nikolai, he says in a sharper tone: “Move, get your arse in gear.”

I take the still frozen Nikolai by the arm and go. “What the hell did you do?” he shouts at me.
“Get ahold of yourself,” I snap coldly.
“I’m supposed to get ahold of myself?! You killed that boy. We murdered those kids! We shouldn’t have shot them. My father said they were armed fugitives.”
“So what? Ten xenos brats less who can throw bombs for the Guard,” Markos opines. “Not surprised that you’re the one who chickened out, Nikolai.”
“Go to hell.”
“They’re dead, Nikolai. Nothing we can do. They were as good as dead before we pulled the trigger.” I say. I feel empty inside.
“And that makes it right? ‘We were just following orders’, huh? I guess that means if you find more, you’ll murder them too.”
I cannot say it. “Not all of us have your privileges, Nikolai. We don’t all have a family name hide behind. You think I could afford defying a Sith Master to his face? You’re the son of a bigwig, I’m the defective girl.”

“Frak you.I thought you were different...but I guess not. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone.” He runs away in tears. One of the acolytes is about to go after him.
“Don’t,” I caution. “It’s not worth it.” He disappears into the fog. The acolytes begin to form up and walk deeper into the forest. I follow, but find myself trailing behind them. I cannot help turn around and look at the corpses. My stomach churns, I feel dizzy and I vomit. Then I hear an acolyte call my name. I wipe the vomit off my face.
Tracers light up the dark sky. I hear gunfire. My legs feel like lead. Then I hear another group of acolytes approach. “Hey, did y’all kill all those terrorists?” one of them asks me. I say nothing. “I asked you a question.”

“Look at her. She’s got vomit all over her,” a female acolyte says contemptuously. Then I feel her touch my mind. I push back – but too late. The dam breaks and I lose control, slamming the full power of my mind into her. She cries in pain as I breach her mind. She wants to see the horror I helped author, so she shall – and feel it herself. I just want to lash out and hurt someone who wears the same uniform as I.


Then lightning cascades over my body and I burn. Searing agony surges through me. My heart thunders inside my chest. I dig deeper, trying to tear through her mind. I want to hear her scream. Then suddenly I am lifted off my feet and thrown through the air. So is the other acolyte. I land hard and painfully. An armed instructor looms above us. “What the hell has gotten into you? You’re in the field. Take your weapons and get back to the academy. Both of you’re spending the night in the brig.”

The images of the past fade from my mind. I found Nikolai a couple days later, with a rope around his neck. He’d left a note behind. Our ‘tour guides’ have taken us to the vast grain fields. Xenos of both genders and from varying age groups – adults and children – are toiling in the fields. Many look terribly thin. The Public Force’s guards are never far. And it is very hot outside. Almost all of their work seems to be done by hand.

On the way, she has been regaling us with statistics. “We have an eighteen-hour work day. The education our young ones receive is geared towards making good workers out of them. We place a strong focus on practical learning. Our community is able to achieve an output that surpasses that of most human settlements, while only having a fraction of the labour costs,” the Gungan chairwoman explains. On the surface, it sounds like a proud executive boasting about her successes to her supervisor.

But if I dig deeper, I feel something else: fear. She is afraid for herself and her people. She knows she has no power. She must know that someone like Lachesis does not show up for a polite visit.
“Hmm,” Lachesis mutters. Then suddenly a Mon Calamari worker collapses. It must be from the heat and overwork. “What’s that fish doing? It doesn’t get fed and clothed to sleep,” she hisses angrily.
“It is being rectified, my Lord,” Nass says quickly. As a guard approaches menacingly, other workers are already busy forcing their comrade up and pouring some water over him to awaken him. He looks like he can barely stand. A Twi’lek male offers him water.
“Truly a labourer I would trust to work when my back is turned,” Lachesis remarks sarcastically.
“It won’t happen again, I’m sure. Understand, my Lord, the work is very intense. We are eager to repay our debt to the Disciples, and will do so no matter what, but our limited resources impose certain...restrictions.”

Lachesis will not like what I say. This should probably concern me more, but it does not. “You mean you could increase productivity and thus deliver more grain to us if you had a few more resources to work with?” I ask rhetorically.
“Yes, yes,” she agrees. “The first concern of the Humanist state must be the humans. But we don’t ask for much. My people are thrifty. A few tractors would help a lot. As would a slight increase in calories per worker, and some work on our sanitation system. Then less workers would get sick, and we would have a larger output. Our costs would remain low."
“Bleeding heart nonsense,” Kollias proclaims. He puffs himself up. “This settlement is productive, but in spite of the xenos, not because of them. They keep making demands of me, but expect to work less in return. Sometimes one gets the impression that they think they’re the ones running the show, not me.”
“True mastery is unambiguous, Prefect. If the dog does not recognise its master as such, then it has not been trained properly,” Lachesis says coldly. Her eyes narrow. “’Chairwoman’, the reason Hope Falls exists is to serve us, not to beg us for resources to make your life easier. If you cannot function within the parameters set by us, you cease to serve your purpose. Fact is that you’re already behind schedule.” The illogicality of this system knows no bounds.

“Our workers are toiling day and night make up for the shortfall. The Ministry of Construction requisitioned some of our fittest workers for road-building for several months. There have been some...unfortunate cases of theft by...” Nass begins, but an icy glare from Lachesis silences her.
“What is your monthly grain quota?” Lachesis demands coldly. “Well, what are they?” She knows them, of course.
“60 tons per month, my Lord. We will reach this target.”
“Double it.”
“My Lord, I beg you...the Supreme Leader promised us...”
“We can do even better than that, my Lord. We can increase our deliveries of nerf meat, too. I give you my word of honour. All these xenos need is some discipline,” Kollias puffs himself up.

“They do indeed,” Lachesis agrees. He looks smug. He does seem to notice how cold her eyes are whenever she looks at him. “I decree that the laziest and must unproductive workers must be revealed. The labourers will come together and name those who have shirked their duties. The unproductive will confess their errors, and be punished accordingly.”

“My Lord, with all respect,” I say quietly, “if every worker is looking over their shoulders that may be detrimental to productivity. This applies even more so if they are spending time castigating themselves and others. The lazy are more likely to band together against the productive to avoid being found out.”

“Your Dominion makers pioneered self-criticism, Kyriaki. I’m only following their good example. From tomorrow, the calories each labourer receives will be halved. They can earn more by being productive.” Nass has paled. The Gamorrean is silent. Kollias looks satisfied. “There is no reason to feel triumphant, Kollias. You will confess your errors as well – before the entire community.”

“But, my Lord, I did nothing wrong. I obeyed all of the Supreme Leader’s orders! It’s the xenos.” he sputters. “The Gungan is a liar.”

“And you are supposed to keep them obedient. A task you seem to have failed in,” Lachesis snaps. “The council will not be exempt from these sessions. I suggest you come up with a strategy to turn things around,” she informs Nass. “The unproductive, the lazy and the subversive will be eliminated.”

The Gungan bows her head slightly. She looks resigned. The fact of the matter is that she cannot disobey. Nor can she legally accuse the Prefect of any wrongdoing. “If that is your command, my Lord. But I beseech you to grant us a grace period for us to...adjust. At least, allow the children to have an extra share of calories. They’re the ones who suffer the most, and they’re already helping in the fields from early on. They’re your future workers.”
“Every calorie we spare can feed a human. The fittest will survive and earn their fair share.” Lachesis points in the direction of the Mon Calamari who had collapsed earlier. “An example must be made. Cane him. Make sure they see it.”
“It will be done.” Nass is about to give commands to the militia, when suddenly Lachesis shakes her head. “I don’t mean the fish. Beat the wormhead who gave him water. If someone lazes around, they have no value.”

With a heavy heart Nass nods, but the Gamorrean – Gorn – has already given the command. Two burly Public Force guards grab the Twi’lek and drag him away. The Mon Calamari protests, but is hit in the face with a baton. Blood streams down his bulbous head. A human guard kicks him, then yells at him to get up and work.

As the Twi’lek is dragged forward, a change overcomes Shakka. “No.” I sense agitation, fear and anger...and recognition. She knows this man. Her anger burns white-hot. “Firith!” she shrieks when they begin to whip him. I can envisage it through the Force. I see Shakka storming forward – and dying.

She does not get the chance. My mind seizes her. I move her legs like I would move a puppet on strings and force her back. She struggles, but her body will not obey her. It is for her own good. She screams in her mind. I hate you! I press my will further upon her.
“Kyriaki, control your pet,” Lachesis hisses.

I put on my haughtiest tone. “She won’t cause any trouble. She knows the consequences of disobedience.” At least my hold over her mind means that Shakka is only dimly aware of what is going on, and thus does not see how bloody this Firth is. The cane rises and falls. Relentlessly, it strikes his back. He tries to keep quiet, but then he screams in pain. Through the Force, I can feel his agony. Blood is dripping down his body. The blows are inflicted with the full force of the Houk guard’s arm.

After a while, I speak. “My Lord, you don’t want to waste your time with this creature. You wanted to inspect the silos. We have to ascertain whether the xenos are robbing the Supreme Leader. That wormhead must have learned his lesson. He won’t make the same mistake again. He’s not worth your time.”
“No, he isn’t,” Lachesis makes a gesture. “Tell them to desist.” The guards do so and the Twi’lek collapses to the ground. None of the workers rush to help him. They have understood.
I release my hold on Shakka. The look on her face shows naught but anger. I can take her hate. We cannot speak, so I reach out to her mind. He lives, and will die if you try something. So will you. Control yourself. Be quiet.
 
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We start walking away from the fields. “The overseer will keep an eye on that work crew,” Major Bakios chimes in. “I’ve got those two in my sights. If they don’t learn...,” he trails off and makes a cutting motion with his hand. “Once these new measures are announced, I expect some xenos to try and sneak out. The Public Force will increase its patrols. We’ve already filled the ditch with hidden caltrops and set up underwater spikes in the river. But just in case they get past that, I can organise some land mines.”

“You will report directly to me.” Lachesis does not deign to acknowledge his Gamorrean minion. Presumably she would be happy to completely dismiss it from existence. I must admit it has an unpleasant smell. “And while you’re at it, give the commander of the Kylo Vader Sky Base a call. I want some of his gunships to fly over the town. Don’t worry, Chairwoman,” at that her eyes travel to Nass, “they won’t drop bombs. After our airspace was violated by the Jedi dogs, we just want our labourers to know that the Disciples are there to protect them.” There is nothing reassuring about that smile. The fields make way for barns, easily recognisable by the smell. Xenos labourers are milking nerfs. I swallow the urge to ask snarkily whether the cattle are Imperial property, too.

The silos are about two kilometres away from the actual settlement. We use our vehicles instead of walking. Lachesis has apparently had enough of me speaking out of tune and so I do not get to share a transport with her. My feelings on this are mixed. It means I am spared her monologues, but I am also being excluded. Regardless, we requisition a speeder. Shakka is silent while driving. Her expression is empty, void of emotion. I do not attempt to make conversation with her. As we drive, we pass the actual settlement and I get the chance to take in what passes for habitation in Hope Falls.

The first habitation areas we pass are not so bad. They are dull, concrete buildings, but not terrible. They remind me of the ones shown in that propaganda movie, though they seem to be in worse condition. The windows are clean. The streets look clean and free of garbage, but there is also the distinct scent of fresh paint. But then things take a turn for the worse. The first thing that calls to me is the smell. My nose wrinkles at the appalling stench. The smell of urine is so strong that I hold my nose. I can see it in the street. It is like being in the sewers.

A feeling of revulsion washes over me. It is the same smell as in that ghetto. My teachers would have told me that it is a natural reflection of the inherent barbarity of the xenos. Without a strong human hand to civilise them, they will live in filth and revel in their degeneracy. Maybe there is something to it. Rodians, Gungans and Gamorreans have such strange smells. But perhaps the smell of urine is due to the lack of proper drains. The people look miserable. At the sight of us, a Houk mother grabs her child and quickly shuts the door. The garbage is overflowing in front of the door. Huge insects congregate around it.

Then I see tents. They have been set up in a clearing on the outskirts of the settlement. Alongside them, I see shacks, treehouses and simple dugouts. Garbage has been tossed into a pit. The locals are dressed in rags. Only a few of them have shoes. Many of them are very old or very young. Seeing our small convoy, a couple children from various xenos species run towards us. “Please, Master. Please help,” one of them begs in broken Basic. She is a little Duros. She is dirty and wearing rags. Her body is painfully thin. “Sara! Get back here!” an elderly Duros male calls out. He sounds panicked. His right arm is but a stump. The hand must have been chopped off. A nasty scar runs down his face.

“Please, Master,” the girl steps closer towards Lachesis’ speeder. “’So hungry.” No, go away, child. Go away. Those big eyes look so afraid and desperate.
“Tell these creatures to clear the road,” I hear Lachesis spit contemptuously.
“Children, you know the rules. Now go back to your family!” Nass says quickly in an authoritative tone. The children scatter out of the way just before the driver kicks the engines into overdrive and shoots across the road. I take a breath and look around.

No doubt Shakka believes I do not notice the coins she surreptitiously tosses towards the children as we rush past. Just as she probably thinks I do not know she got them from my purse. I say nothing. As I turn my head, I see the children grab the coins and quickly run away. Maybe they will be able to trade them for some loafs of bread on the black market. Assuming someone bigger and stronger does not beat them and take the coins.

I should not feel for them. I should not. It is their lot in life to toil and die, after all. But I do. I think of the dead bodies in the forest. I can hide and blindly obey. Or I can be brave, as my template was. To try and help everyone is absurd. But I can...save a few. I can get some out. Somehow. As the silo looms ahead of us, an idea starts to form in my mind. The silos are heavily guarded. There is a gate, barbed wire and guards. Xenos outnumber humans among the latter.
As the speeder comes to a halt and we disembark, I hear Lachesis remark: “You let xenos guard our grain?” There is a note of accusation.
“Short on manpower, my Lord,” Bakios says apologetically.
“And it’s a directive from the Supreme Leader’s office. To teach them responsibility, reliable xenos are supposed to be given guard duties.” Kollias lowers his voice, and adds, “I’ve had reservations about it, but, you know, orders are orders.”

“Surely you aren’t criticising our Leader’s decisions, are you?” I cannot help but ask. My tone is pleasant, but there is a threat behind it.
“Of course not, lady. His thoughts are my deeds. I just think his advisors may not have taken the risk into account,” he responds in that oily tone that is starting to annoy me.
It may be the one thing Lachesis and I agree on, for she looks irritated. “The xenos is the dog, you are the trainer, Prefect. If you cannot train the dog, what does that say about you?” she lets the question hang and gestured impatiently to Nass. “Show me the produce. Everything will be checked.”
“The facility is large and it is one of many, my Lord. It will take a while to inspect everything,” Nass responds softly.
“Is that fear I sense? You have nothing to be afraid of if you have nothing to hide. I have minions to handle the details.” And so we enter.

Needless to say Darth Lachesis does not inspect the containers herself when get to it. She has minions for that. At first everything looks fine. Container after container is checked and found to be full. But this does not last. “The weight doesn’t add up. This one is only half full,” one of her minions says.
“Same here.”
I check one of the containers. It looks fine. But I take a deeper view, and reach inside. The first layer is flour. But as for the second...”Report, Kyriaki!” Lachesis demands.
Shakka says nothing. Her expression is empty. Her eyes tell a different story. “It’s cement,” I say quietly, then in a louder tone: “It’s filled with cement.” Scans reveal that the grain in another container is of poor quality.
“Well, how do you explain this?” Lachesis demands.
“We check all deliveries, my Lord. My people know what’s at stake. My administration has no input the moment the deliveries reach the gate. This must be the work of a criminal gang,” Nass states. It looks to me like she is trying to control the tremble in her hands.

“The devious xenos stole from me, just as I warned in my reports,” Kollias points an accusing finger at Nass and the Gamorrean. “Those two are probably behind it.”
“Human watch mouth,” the Gamorrean growls. Then the pig suddenly clutches his throat, choking. Lachesis does not bother look at the creature. Her cold eyes remain fixated on the Prefect.
“Do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog, Prefect? It is in the scorpion’s nature to sting the frog, even though it means both will drown, just as it is in the xenos’ nature to swindle and steal. Are you the frog in this constellation?” Then orange tendrils of pure Force energy arc from her fingertips. He flails, and his body shakes. Then he drops down to one knee.
“Please, mercy, I will get this in order,” he begs. Nass, by contrast, does not eg when she is struck. Lachesis does not maintain the assault for so long. It is meant to teach a lesson and demonstrate her power, not kill.

“Lock her up. I want a guard – a human guard – outside of her cell twenty-four hours a day,” she orders imperiously. Two of her minions grab the Gungan and cuff her. I hesitate to use the word poise in connection with a Gungan, but she maintains it as close as her kind can. “As for you, I hope for your sake you have an explanation, Prefect. Otherwise your head will be among the many that will roll before I’m done with this sorry excuse of a town.”

She turns to Bakios. The Gamorrean has, meanwhile, stopped choking. “Major, you have regaled me with tales about the Public Force’s efficiency and loyalty, and yet flour grain was stolen from right under your nose.” He opens his mouth to speak but she waves her hand. “What is the standard punishment for thieves?”

“If it’s xenos, we chop their hands off, my Lord. My boys deliver them to me to show they've done their job."
“What a waste. They’re useless as labourers, but we still have to feed them. When the Tenth Division lost its nerve and fled like cowards at the Battle of Palmyra, what did our father Darth Malitia do to pour steel into their veins?”
“He, um, divided them in groups of ten and had them draw lots. They then used their weapons to execute the soldier who drew the short lot. Anyone who refused to participate was shot as well. Those who were left were given crappy rations till their performance improved.”

“Then you know what to do. This applies to every guard involved in guarding or checking our supplies. Until the investigation is concluded, my people will guard the silos. I will bring in additional manpower.”
He clicks his heels. “As you command, my Lord. This incident is a stain on my honour. I will wash it away.” Does he sound overly eager?
“My Lord,” I speak up, “the hour is late and this is only the first silo. With your permission, I would like to review the agricultural bureau’s books. I can compare the stocks with what has actually been registered. I may be able to determine the source of the shortages.”
“By all means play accountant, Kyriaki. It seems fitting for a Disciple of your level.” Lachesis’ tone makes it very clear that she thinks such a task is beneath a true Sith. Good for me. “Prefect, see to it that she gets the paperwork and an office.”

I need a scapegoat – someone palatable. For this I need information – and dirt on important figures. And I need ammunition to get some people out and bring them somewhere less horrid. People who will perish if they languish under the new regime. Even the most wretched xenos do not deserve to be treated like this. It must be framed in such a way the Supreme Leader will accept. And I need a place to put them and have some use for them. I do not know how many, though I know it will only be a few. I do not know or how. But I know that I will. What was it that ‘our father’ Darth Malitia said? “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.
 
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Lachesis does not join me for, as she puts it, beancounting. I suppose she has undesirables to murder. Apparently the Supreme Leader has a mansion near Hope Falls. I reckon he barely ever visits, but doubtless it is luxurious. I can imagine the town administration being compelled to invest sums and manpower into making it as beautiful as possible on the off-chance that he deigns to visit.

Regardless, it is Lachesis’ for the duration of her say. The Prefect has hastened after her like a dog who’s earned his master’s ire. This leaves me to follow a goon to bookkeeping after we have finished taking stock in the silo we just visited. The agricultural department has an office next to the central silo, so the bookkeeper is housed here. Shakka follows silently.

The bookkeeper is not human, but a near-xenos. The Star of Luke is sewn into his uniform. I narrow my eyes slightly when I recognise he is a Zeltron. I am surprised to see one of his species in a position other than that of a whore. He has violet eyes and a pink hue to his skin. The pigmentation is rather subdued, hinting at human blood in the family lineage. The status of such racial bastards varies depending on how well the Imperium is doing and on the mood of the Supreme Leader.

Sometimes they are lumped in with the riff-raff or wiped out; at other times they can become second-class citizens. They are closer to us in mind and appearance than a pure xenos, but this also makes them more risky. “Lady Kyriaki, the Supreme Leader’s inspector,” I introduce myself to this strangely coloured creature, pouring authority into my words. “I’m here to check the ledgers. I have need of your office.”
“Oh, of course. It’s all yours. I was informed of the inspection.” He gets up from his chair immediately. “Aca Iloski, I’m ready to assist in any way I can.”
“How far back do your ledgers go?” I ask as I step towards the shelf. It is filled with various folders.
“These here cover our most recent stocks, withdrawals, and additions,” he explains. Without needing an order, he immediately removes a couple big books and puts them on the desk. “Our old files are stored in the archives. It’s beneath this floor. I can take you there.”
“If you know about the inspection, then you’re aware that we’ve noted...irregularities.” I let the last word hang and look him right in the eye.
He shifts a bit awkwardly, but nods. “I’ve only taken over this position fairly recently. My predecessor was found to be dirty and punished.” It is awfully convenient to blame everything on someone who is no longer there. “We’re still working through the trouble he caused. But every delivery has been filed. Sometimes transports get lost, be it due to rebels, greedy guards or workers.They just make things worse for everyone.”

“You are a xenos, and yet you speak as if you’re not one of them. And you’re responsible for bookkeeping. Tell me, how does someone of your kind attain such a position of trust?”
“A quarter-xenos, my lord,” he corrects me gently. So he has more human blood in his veins than I thought. “My grandfather was human.”
“So you’re a man with two souls living inside his breast. Human enough to be raised above the rabble, but not enough to be one of us.”
“I serve the fatherland in whatever humble capacity I can, my lord. I have a mind for sums, so here I am.” It sounds rehearsed, like a line he has repeated time and again to armour himself with.

“What a loyal worker. I’m sure the fatherland appreciates such diligence.” My lips curve into a thin smile. “Who knows, maybe a racial examiner will discover that you have even more human blood than you thought, especially if you were to help shed light on these irregularities.” It happens rarely, but enough to give a few xenos hope. All it takes is the stroke of a pen, and a near-xenos suddenly only has 5% non-human blood. Of course, if they run afoul of a bigwig, they will be branded xenos infiltrators scheming to pollute the human gene pool. Sometimes the same examiners discover that a human is not really human at all.

There is a flicker of something on his face. It is fleeting and he hides it well, but he seems to give my word more than a moment’s consideration. Doubtless he is weighing his options. “I’ll do anything to be of assistance,” he says carefully.
“I take it you know your way around the archives?”
“Quite so. Would you like me to pick out my predecessor’s folders for you?”
“Just give me their signatures.” He needs no further encouragement and produces a piece of paper. Pen in hand, he writes down the numbers I need to identify the right folders. Then he passes it over the desk to me. “Here, my lord.”
I pocket the piece of paper. “Lock the door behind you. Then give me the keycard.” I gesture to the corridor after he does so. “Lead the way, if you would.” Just in case he gets ideas about a file conveniently slipping out of the folder. We take a walk down the grey corridor until we reach the turbolift.

“I wouldn’t use that, my lord,” the Zeltron says just before I call the lift. “The lift, uh, malfunctions a lot.”
“Noted. The stairs it is then.” As we walk down, I ask: “You studied your predecessor’s files thoroughly?”
“Quite a bit,” he says ambiguously. Enough to say he has checked, but not enough that he cannot cover himself in case I come across he missed. “If you compare them to the stocks, many numbers don’t add up. Some withdrawals are hard to trace because the signature is ineligible, so we don’t know who removed something.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Or where it went?”
He nods. “You always hear rumours about black marketeering. Not something I can investigate.”

“What was the species of your predecessor?”
“A Rodian.”
Two human guards stand sentinel in front of the archives. One wears the grey uniform of Lachesis’ men, the other is clad in the Public Force’s khaki. I wonder whether the latter will be dead tomorrow. I show my badge, wave them aside and am let through. The room is dominated by a massive cogitator that takes up most of the space. Aside from that, there are a few desks, chairs and several shelves with folders. Many have gathered dust.

“Leave,” I command the Zeltron. “I will summon you when I have need of you.” He will have to find a different office. Not that this is my problem. He bows his head slightly and turns away, closing the door behind him. That leaves Shakka and I. I feel her resentment. It surrounds her like a tattered cloak.
“Master.”
I wonder whether the guards are listening in. I must assume that they are. Always assume that someone is listening. A camera hovers above us. “You almost forgot yourself out in the fields. That was very dangerous. Very foolish of you.”
“It is Master’s right to punish me. My whole life has been punishment. What’s one more to add to the pile? After all, I’m just a xenos.”
I raise my voice. “Yes, you are, and you will show me proper respect. Perhaps you mistake my kindness for meekness. Maybe you would be happier joining your kind in the fields? You can toil day in and day out, slowly wasting away until you’re nothing but bones with a thin layer of skin.”
She flinches away, as if struck by me – or expecting a strike. Then there is defiance. “I won’t beg, Master,” she says quietly. “You can do what you want, not that I can stop it.”

While I speak, I pull upon the Force to weave my web. The guards outside hear me yell at Shakka, even after I’ve stopped doing so. The image of the master chastising her slave is drummed into their skulls until that is all they hear coming from the room. They hear a sharp crack, and then the shriek of Force Lightning. Meanwhile, in the room I say: “We have a few minutes at most.”

“Till what?”
“Till the glamour collapses. So listen carefully. I want to help some people get out.”
“You honestly expect me to believe that, Master? You...?”
I wave my hand. “I’m a Disciple? I let them beat that Twi’lek till he was bloody? You know him. What’s your connection to him?”
“Why should I trust you? Why should I trust anything you say?”
“You should not. I’m a liar, I’m a cheat, I’m a Sith. And if you betray me, well, the word of a xenos is not admissible in court. I’m also the only person who can help you. Your friend has been blacklisted. If he stays here, he will die.”
“He’s my cousin,” she admits quietly. “You won’t set him free.”

“It’s the natural for the xenos to be subservient to the human. But even beasts are treated better than this. If I dig enough up dirt to earn some clout, I can requisition him and a few others.” There are a lot of ifs in this, but it is what I have. “The young and vulnerable in particular. Give them better treatment and less strenuous work.” I’m not a monster.

“Strenuous isn’t what I’d call this.”
“No beatings, no starvation. They do honest work, they obey me, I take care of them.” I’m starting to feel a painful throbbing in the back of my head. The glamour is taxing.
“What sort of work?”
I have not thought about that yet. I feel annoyed at myself and at the question. “I’m working on it,” I huff.
“Well, I guess they can make more cloaks to bribe Eisen with, Master.”
“Mind your tone, girl,” I snap. She should not be speaking like that. But realisation dawns upon me. “That’s it. Uniforms, coats, socks – it’s all war-critical work.” A textile manufacturer. I can sell this, with the right ammunition.
Old master, new master. She hides it well, but I pick up on the thought in her mind. It does not matter. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“I need to find out about the real conditions. See if anyone in the settlement has seen anything I can use. Anything that incriminates the bigwigs. If grain and flour has vanished, it’s going somewhere. No one in the hierarchy is going to give me an honest answer, and no xenos will speak candidly to a Disciple. But they may open up to you.” Even the humblest piece can have a role to play in the game.
“And I’m marked as a Disciple’s personal slave. You lump all xenos together, but do you think my kind is trusted?” she counters, then sighs.
“You’ll make it work. Listen, Eisen is a crime lord running a continental racket. He’s rational. But Lachesis is a purist. She doesn’t just want to exploit your kind. She wants them gone. Do you understand?”
She nods mutely. “I’ll need that badge so the guards know not to beat me and lock me up, which they might do anyway.”
“If they hurt you, I’ll flay them alive.” I feel the ripples in the Force. My head hurts. “The glamour’s dissipating.”
Shakka gets the hint and makes choking noises. “I understand...Master,” she coughs. “It won’t happen again. Y-you have been very good to me.”

“I forgive you. Execute all your tasks faithfully, and we shall not speak of this transgression again.” While I say these words, I fish the badge out of pocket and pass it over to her. She has gone on missions like this before, so I had it made for her. It marks her as an accepted lapdog xenos. Xenos ‘councillors’ and guards in reservations and ghettos have similar ones.

Without further ado, we retrieve a bunch of ledgers with the files. It seems not everything is there in paper form. How convenient, if someone wants to get rid of a paper trail. “Let’s check the cogitator,” I decide and switch it on. The machine boots up and I see a loading screen. It loads and loads and loads.
I frown. “What’s wrong with the machine? Why is it frozen? Is this sabotage?”
“Let me handle this, Master.” I do not like the look on Shakka’s face. It seems disrespectful. She presses a button and the cogitator is turned off. Then she unplugs it.
“Why did you do that?”
“It’s Vision 10, Master.”
“And?”
“Old. Very buggy. Nine times out of ten, you can solve a problem by restarting. Also, disconnect it when it’s not in use.”
I huff and start looking through some ledgers. After a couple moments, she restarts it. This time it actually finishes loading. “There you go. Now to find the right folder.” She clicks through various menus.
“I can do that myself,” I insist. ”Why is it responding so slowly?” Indeed, it is taking ages to get anywhere. There are long pauses before it responds to a click, let alone open a folder. I try to print a document, but the cogitator will not respond. “Is this device really this flawed?“

“Master, I think it may be something else. Let me take over.” She accesses something called systems menu. “I’m checking to see which programmes are running.” I am not sure whether to be pleased she is being useful or annoyed at her impertinence. “Hmm. Well, this is strange. Think I know this programme. Prisma.”
“What about it?”
Her voice drops a notch. “It’s a surveillance programme. Keeps track of anything a user does.”
“I imagine the cogitator is mostly used by the bookkeeper. Maybe the Prefect or whoever the Zeltron answers to had it installed to keep an eye on him,” I say thoughtfully. “But would a simple surveillance programme slow it down that much?”
“It’s Vision, Master. But let me try something. See if I can get into the source code.”
“Source code? How do you know all this?” I have always known that she is more educated than is typical – or legal – for a xenos slave, but this goes beyond what I expected.
Her response is predictably, frustratingly enigmatic. I can understand that though. Whoever taught her would risk death if their identity was revealed. “I read and I know things. Increases my market value. Helps keep me alive. Oh...now, this is interesting. It’s not just spying; it’s deleting data,” she frowns. “I can try and shut it down.”

“But whoever activated it will notice?” she nods in affirmation. “Let it be and save as much data as you can. Can you trace the source and find out from where the order came from?”
“Sec. You got my datapad, Master?”
“It is not your datapad,” I correct her firmly. Technically, she is the one who uses it, but it is not her property.
“Yes, Master.” So she connects her device to the cogitator. Her fingers dance over the keyboard as she inputs commands. It is all more than a little esoteric for me, and that makes it annoying. “Alright, no guarantee I’ll get a lock on the source, and the pad’s memory capacity is nothing to be impressed about, but it’s something.”
Not ideal, but it will do. “Good work. I’ll take it from here. Proceed with the...task I gave you.” Let’s see what my bean-counting manages to turn up.
 
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This will be my last day in Prosperity Quarter. As part of the wholesome education we are supposed to receive at the Academy, my whole class of Acolytes was taken on a field trip so that we could see the ghetto the xenos of Adlerberg have been deported to. We saw the filth and squalor these creatures live in. We inspected workshops where xenos labour, and we saw inspected the wall that makes sure none of them can leave the Quarter. Except, it turns out, a few managed to slip out.

We helped the police crackdown on these smugglers. Now our little field trip is almost over. I pass run-down, overcrowded buildings built along streets where garbage has not been collected in ages. Xenos of various species and age groups perform menial tasks. All give my speeder a wide berth. There is one matter that drives me to the Judiciary. Having shown my papers to the guard and called ahead, my speeder pulls up and comes to a halt.

Nine prisoners have been chained to a chain-link fence at the far end of the yard. There used to be a building here behind the police headquarters, but I understand it was levelled during the uprising a few years back. Without exception, all prisoners are xenos. Among others, I see a Devaronian, a Gungan, a Trandoshan and a Twi’lek. All of them show signs of beatings. I feel...pity. I clamp down on it. The lizard looks the worst. My eyes linger on the last for a moment. Her face is bruised, but there is defiance in her eyes. She and the lizard stand close together. “Be strong,” I hear the Twi’lek say, speaking to a crying Devaronian. The latter is young. “It’ll be over soon. We’ll be at peace. You’ll see your father again.”

Order Policemen are lining up. Without exception, all of them are human. Most of them will be reservists and run-of-the-mill policemen who were drafted into the police company. Few of them will have attended a Humanist Leadership Academy or even be Party members. They will obey the order to shoot all the same. Some prisoners sob, others stand defiant or say their last prayers when the officer steps forward. She wears the colours of the Order Police. “Residents, you have been found guilty of the crimes of smuggling, profiteering, theft and leaving Prosperity Quarter without authorisation. You have betrayed the community and the Humanist State that nurtured you. For wreckers and sloths, there is only one punishment: death.”


“There are millionssss of ‘xenos’. You can’t kill all of usss,” the Trandoshan female cries out. “One day, you’ll be ssstanding here.”
“We die free!” the Twi’lek calls.
Then the officer spots me. “Acolyte, thought you’d be back at your temple by now,” she greets me good-naturedly. What a contrast to the grisly work she and her police soldiers are about to carry out.
“Still have a night. And since I helped the Orpo bring this sorry lot in, I thought I might as well be there for the end.”
“You want to watch or participate? Feel free,” she glances towards the prisoners. “You know, I get why they steal. Just look at this place. Shooting them isn’t easy on the men. Far easier to shoot a terrorist in combat, then lining up some civilians...even if they’re xenos. But duty’s duty.”
“We do what we must – for the good of humanity,” I pause. “There is one xenos I would like you to spare.”
“Mercy? You don’t seem like the type, not after you ripped that dealer’s mind apart.”

I suppress a shudder. “Perish the thought. That Twi’lek girl. She’s the one who ran that machine workshop, isn’t it? I want her as my slave. Consider it a reward for me helping you out.”
“That sneaky queen? You sure you want one of those? Give them an inch and they’ll put a knife between your ribs.”
“Then I welcome the challenge of cowing her. It’s hardly a mark of strength if I subjugate a weak specimen, is it? If I’m unsatisfied with the Twi’lek, I’ll just kill her myself. I have a requisition permit right here.”
The officer checks the documentation, and shrugs. “Your slave.” She gestures to a police soldier, then points at the Twi’lek. “Not her. Make her watch. You have the good Sith to thank.”
“No, I’m not going to be your slave anymore. Let me die with my people,” the Twi’lek shrieks. There is something visceral to her reaction. “Not again.”
“Shakka, go. Live!” the Trandoshan urges her. “Ssssomeone must live. And tell the sssstory of our hell. Live! Never forget.”
One of the guards unchains the Twi’lek – Shakka. When she struggles, the guard beats her savagely with the butt of his rifle. In this moment I interject. “Stop,” my voice is soft, but cold. “She is my property. Only I am allowed to chastise her. Guard her, but do not lay a hand on her.”

The Twi’lek spits at me. In response, I just reach up with my black gloved hand and wipe away the spittle as though it does not bother me. “I see you still have spirit. Good.” And so she is dragged away to the edge of the execution site and put under guard.
Meanwhile, I walk back to where the firing squad has formed. On average, the shooters are young. Did they imagine this when they joined the police force? Not that it matters. As I stand close to them, I catch a whiff of alcohol.
“You want to stay for the bloodletting, huh?” the Orpo captain asks jovially.
I shrug. “Good for morale, I wager. Let it not be said that a Disciple could not stand the sight of blood.”
Then it begins. There are no last words. “Present! Aim!” None of the troopers have received blanks. They raise their rifles, and take aim. Shakka watches helplessly from the sidelines. The xenos call something to her in their strange languages. “Fire!” The guns bark – once, twice.

A volley of slug rounds shoots towards the prisoners. Some miss, but most hit home. It is, after all, routine. Besides, the distance is not great. Some bodies are riddled with multiple slugs. After the shooting has ceased, the troopers approach the bodies to make sure anyone left breathing stops doing that. I hear the Twi’lek – Shakka, I remind myself – sob. The Captain joins them, double-tapping a Gungan with her service pistol.
“The lizard’s still breathing,” a trooper declares. Hearing the voice, I think it is the one who beat the Twi’lek earlier. He rams hit boot into the Trandoshan, and then puts another round in her stomach. “Stay down, monster,” he snarls.

I step forward without hesitation. “The lizards are tough. But kill it cleanly. You're supposed to be the civilised one,” I admonish him icily. “Like this.” I draw my blade. It gleams with the power of the Force. I do not have the strength to use an alchemised Sith Sword, so a standard imbued will do. It has the cutting power to make this a clean kill. Blood splatters on my robes when I stab the Trandoshan through the heart. Then I walk away.
“Is that all or do you have more awaiting execution?”
“Couple wreckers,” the Captain answers. “Bring them out,” she orders, “and you lot, get those bodies to the oven before they start to stink. The crematorium,” she explains for my benefit.
"Burn the lizard's body, but store the ashes in an urn for me." She gives me a strange look. "They will be useful for a...ritual."
The captain shakes her head. “You’re an odd Disciple, but you helped us out and I don’t poke my nose in Sithy business.”
“Far healthier that way. I need a room to talk to my slave.”
The Twi’lek’s eyes are filled with hatred when I approach her. “Go to hell. You’ve taken my friends and my freedom. You won’t take more, monster.”
I cannot blame her for calling me that. Nor can I dispute it. But only the monsters survive. “Your friend’s last words were that you should live. You can fight and perish. Or you come with me if you want to live.”

The policemen do not remove the corpses themselves. That is left to xenos helpers. They let the bodies down and put them on a cart. Their efficiency is a clear sign of routine work. Before being burnt, the bodies will be stripped of anything useable – right down to gold teeth being pulled out. The fresh batch of prisoners is already being brought out. The captain addresses them, rattling off their names. I barely pay the stump speech any mind. “...the possession or proliferation of subversive literature is punished by execution and you have been sentenced to
death by firing squad.” The rifles are shouldered, aimed and fire again.

I dismiss the guards once we have been brought to an interrogation room in the building. Shakka is cuffed to a chair. I sit down. “My name is Kyriaki. I’m your owner. You hate me. You probably wish to murder me. That is natural.” She says nothing. “Your friend – the lizard. What was her name?
“Trandoshan. She’s a Trandoshan, you hear me! A person, not a beast...unlike you and you Vaderites. And her name is Vrerkh.“
“Vrerkh,“ I repeat. The name does not roll easily off the tongue.
“Don’t say her name. You have no right to. She and all the others you lot murdered were better than you’d ever be.” She halts her tirade. Perhaps she expects to be struck. Maybe she hopes it.
“Your friend was brave. You can have her ashes after she has been cremated. Keep them in an urn if it gives you comfort.”
“After you lot murdered her. You think that will make me your loyal slave? Go ahead, whip me. Choke me. Better watch your back, or I may cut your throat.”

“Let us assume you succeed – then what? You’ll either be killed, or get sent to the camps and death is preferable to that. Someone like you – someone who snuck through the wall, facing great peril, in order to smuggle in foodstuffs to keep herself and her people from dying and how somehow acquired the skills to become a technician even though it is banned for her kind – is a survivor. Your death would be a waste and I hate waste. I want a name. A co-conspirator.”
“I have none. You already murdered all my friends, and I’m not going to give you an excuse to slaughter more of my people. You want more blood, just get it on.”
I lean forward in my chair. “I’m not talking about another xenos. You couldn’t have pulled off such an operation without help from the inside – our side. A guard who received a share of the profits to look the other way maybe?” I reach out to her mind through the Force. <<The guard who beat you and your friend?>>

She winces at the mental intrusion. I do not quite have the gentle touch. “Private Zaarin,” she hisses. I smile thinly. Will his death change anything? No, of course not. He is a trivial cog in a machine that regularly produces more like him – and me. It feels good to frame him nonetheless. I dig deeper into her mind. The word of a xenos – especially a slave – is not admissible unless it has been forced from them. The illusion will not hurt her. But it has to look seem real. <<Scream, then repeat. Louder >>.

I meet her an hour later at my speeder. As per my instructions, she has been allowed to wash and given a fresh pair of clothes. She visibly chafes under the collar around her neck. She is accompanied by a guard and what looks like a more senior officer.
“Your slave, Acolyte,” the latter says. He projects an air of haughty officiousness and speaks in a refined way. “Please sign here. To sum it up, with your signature this Twi’lek becomes your legal property. It makes you directly responsible for its behaviour. You are empowered to chastise your property as you deem necessary.”
I flip through the papers, then sign. “I’m confident she’ll be house-broken soon.”
“And before we forget, this remote control triggers the collar’s shock function. To activate, press this button. You can use these here to modulate the voltage. Would you like me to demonstrate?” There is no malice in his eyes. He prattles on about the function with an air of complete banality.
I preen myself. “I am Sith. I do not need something so mundane shown to me. If she dares to step out of line, I know how to make her regret it.”

“Of course, Acolyte. I’d advise maintenance at regular intervals though. Regardless, it’s all yours.” With that we are left alone. I take the remote, and suddenly revulsion washes over me. For a moment, I am brought back to my time in Scarlet Citadel. To beatings and indignities. To being treated as less than human. It is right and proper that xenos should be subservient to humans, as the squib should serve the Forceful. But this is...I clamp down on the thought. It will not do to show weakness.

“Master.” The revulsion is plain in her tone and her cold eyes.
“Don’t use that tone in public. You’ll be seen as uppity.”
“Maybe I want to. Or is Master concerned that the other Vaderites will think she can’t keep her pet in line?”

“Oh, all I’ll lose is social standing. You on the other hand, well, when the Disciples find that a slave cannot keep herself in check, they do not give them the mercy of a quick death. They make them suffer. Some people I know get creative and toy with their minds until they are a blank slate. A canvass upon which they can paint whatever they want.” She flinches at that. The flicker of fear on her face is brief, but there. “I won’t do that you. Speak up in private – it makes you more useful to me. Keep your mouth shut in public. Never forget that you are mine alone now.”

With that I turn and point to my groundcar's trunk. "Oh, and before I forget, here." With that I open the trunk and indicate two things: A basket with Zaarin's head, and an urn with Vrerkh's ashes. She spits on the head and picks up the urn, holding it. She whispers something in her native tongue when her fingers touch it. Maybe it is a benediction. I would not know, but I let her have her moment.

“You killed her. This doesn’t change anything, Master. So if you want to strike me for not falling on my knees, do it.”
I am so tempted to lash out. Perhaps that is what she is hoping for. I may come to regret saving her. “She was dead either way. I made it quick.”
“After you helped capture us, knowing we’d be slaughtered...Master.”
“Yes, all except you. You’re standing here because of me.”
There is a moment of silence. "What do you want with her ashes? This some kinda sick game where you do your voodoo crap with her, Master?"
"Actually, I figured you'd want to keep them. She seemed important to you."
"I want to scatter them. Let her be free."
After a moment, I nod. "Scatter he ashes to the winds when we leave. Don't even think of making a run for it. Now, you gave us quite a chase during the crackdown, so I trust you can drive this."


Perhaps it was madness that compelled me to keep her around. Maybe I saved her so that I could tell myself that I am better than the rest of the Disciples. Ultimately, it does not matter. We are not friends; we are not comrades. That would be inconceivable. She is bound to me, but I also depend on her more than I should. In a way, I’ve grown fond of her. That is dangerous.

Regardless, now it is just me in the room with the ledgers. The cogitator is making a loud humming noise. I assume this is normal. I was never what the Disciples consider a model student at the academy. My heart cannot endure forced matches for long. A Sith Sword is too heavy for me to use and grand displays of power tire me out. Weak, weak, weak, they said. Sometimes I was beaten, locked up and starved. Or given menial work any true Disciple would turn up her nose at – such as filing and accounting. Kyriaki the sickly girl. Kyriaki the pen-pusher. Too frail to be a true warrior of Vader the Sith’ari. I do derive some satisfaction from the knowledge that some of the ‘star’ students have been thrown into the meat grinder and now lie in anonymous mass graves in some long-forgotten hellhole.

Looking over the paperwork, I find that the Zeltron who is supposedly an accountant and not a whore is correct about one thing: several signatures are ineligible, especially concerning withdrawals from the stock. I jot down notes as I read, trying to find a pattern. I pause when I come across a page detailing how a few tons of grain had to be destroyed due to contamination. By itself, it is not large. Nonetheless, I jot down the amount. Then it comes up again two months later – and then again: ‘Contamination’, ‘damage from insects’, a ‘wild fire’. How curious. I continue jotting down numbers, compiling a table. I’m still at an early stage, but it is starting to slowly add up. Things do not add up when I compare the ledgers to what we actually assessed in the silo.

I press a button on the communicator, hailing the Zeltron on the number he gave me before departing. “My lord?” he sounds expectant. “What is your bidding?”
“I need a list of the specimen signatures of all competent officials,” I answer imperiously. “Now.”
“Um, yes, my lord. Right away,” he says diligently. “Anything else?”
“Mineral water. Still, not sparkling,” I respond and cut the connection. It does not take long for him to arrive. The pink xenos is assiduous, I’ll give him that. He passes me the list in a thin folder and puts a bottle of water with a glass on the table.
He pours a glass for me. “Here, my lord. Is there any other way I can assist you? Have the ledgers shed any light on the disappearances?”
“I’m still studying them,” I respond vaguely, taking a sip from my glass. I gaze at him intently. “The cogitator is rather slow. Is this normal?” I do not expect him to know anything. It is all about his reaction.

“Oh, it’s an old one. We don’t get the newest machines here.”
“Never mind. Maybe it’s just updating something. On another note, it’s been mentioned a few times that crops were destroyed due to contamination. What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, I’m told it’s because of chemicals. Dominion saboteurs stop at nothing to ruin the harvest.”
“There must be many saboteurs up and about then.”
“I’m sorry; it’s not my department, my lord. I don’t have access to the security reports. The Public Force is responsible for guarding us.”
“Yes, and I’m sure it’s most diligent. Just like the Sky Base a couple miles away. You’re dismissed.” He says the usual pleasantries and departs. When I return to my ledgers, I go over the specimen signature. The specimen of the Gungan chairwoman does not match her signature in one of the reports.
 
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((From Shakka's point of view))

I guess you were expecting Master. But now it’s me. Shakka Tiatkin. It’s my story, too, no matter how much the Vaderites would love to bury it. They don’t want us to have stories. We’re supposed to work for them until we drop dead, and then vanish without a trace. Then we’re replaced by new slaves with no memory of the past. Some of us don’t even have names – only numbers.

They bind books in Twi’lek skin and use Bothan and Zeltron hair as stuffing for furniture. Some of our skeletons are put on display like they belong to animals. I’ve seen all this. Somehow, I’m still alive – and sane, though I guess the latter’s debatable. Many good people are not. Many good people are still dying this very minute. Vrerkh was one of them. She taught everything I know. When those bastards murdered me, her last words were to tell me to live and to never forget. That one of us had to survive to tell the story the Vaderites want the world to forget.

I lived. And I watched her die. Now I serve her killer. Sometimes I hate her. It’s no longer white-hot, burning hatred, but it still there. It’s just become colder. At other times...she’s better than the rest. But she’s still one of them. But I must survive. For her; for all of us. I cannot be one of those whose bodies go up in smoke in a crematorium after being stripped of everything the greyshirted bastards can recycle. Every morning I wake up, I tell myself that I am a person, not an animal. Sometimes I think about escaping. Or imagine the space people bombing every single Vaderite to hell. It’s a nice dream.

So I have my mission handed down to me by Master. But I have other goals, too. By the time I have left the building and climbed into the speeder, it is getting dark. My first stop must be Firith’s place. I must help him. Somehow. It takes a bit for the speeder to get kicked into gear. Wonderful Humanist construction, I tell you. The best Telemachus Motor has to offer. I steer the speeder away from the silos. The first security checkpoint accepts my papers.

It doesn’t take long for me to run into another. I swear it wasn’t there when we travelled to the silos. Public Force troopers have set up a roadblock with a machine gun. There’s also a kath hound. The gunner levels the machine gun at me menacingly, while two thugs step out and approach me, commanding me to stop.

“You! Halt!” a Houk guard barks. I slow down the vehicle and come to a halt. “Papers!” he orders when he comes up to me. Quickly, I reach into my pocket and fish out the badge. But he sees the metal around my neck. “Slave not allowed to drive without Master.”
“My name’s Shakka, personal slave of Lady Kyriaki. I’m here on an assignment from my Master,” I say quickly. Breathe in, breathe out. Be docile, but don’t panic. Never panic. The Houk practically rips the badge from my hands. He’s no slave, yet he serves them. I only feel disgust. Enabler! Collaborator!
“Get out.” he commands. Quickly, I slip out of the speeder. “Turn around. Hands behind back. Don’t move.” Meanwhile, a human trooper’s closed in on us. Naturally he’s the one in charge. The Houk hands him the badge. The human does not bother to give it more than a cursory glance, then leers at me.
“Special assignment, huh? Is that code for running away? Or maybe you’re a saboteur. What are you hiding?”
“Nothing, sir,” I say quickly. “It’s part of the inspection.”

“Then let me inspect you.” Then suddenly that human bastard’s hands are roaming all over me as he proceeds to ‘frisk’ me. I hate it – this feeling of powerlessness. Meanwhile, the Houk checks the speeder with his pet kath hound. I cannot stop a pained yelp when the human grabs my lekku and yanks it hard. It bloody hurts. It takes every inch of self-control not to hit him. “I know of no secret assignment for xenos. Go back to your Master, slave.”

“My Master gave me an assignment. I have to complete it. Would you like me to ask her to verify? Then you’ll have to answer to the Supreme Leader’s emissary. And tell her why you touched her property.” I hate calling myself that, or even using her name. But I enjoy watching him squirm, as short-lived as it is.
“You threatening me, slave?” He raises his baton. Electricity crackles around it. Close enough for me to feel a zap. Don’t flinch, don’t flinch. Stand your ground. Be firm. Look that thug in the eye.
“Couple hours ago, the Supreme Leader himself received her at his mansion. He sent her here. Do you want me to call her, sir?”
“Boss, we got company,” the Houk interjects.

The human guard glares at me, then hands the badge back to me and waves me through. “Your lucky day. Get outta my sight, slave.” Quickly, I pocket the badge, get back in and turn on the engines. Only now do I let out the breath I’ve been holding. And then I see what happens to the poor bastards who come after me.

There are three of them. A Mon Calamari male and female with a little girl. They are carrying suitcases. My heart lurches when I realise that they are family and must be new arrivals. They carry everything they own.
“Whaddaya have here? Fresh fish?” the human guard sneers. “You’re new?”
“Yes, sir,” the male says. Even from a distance, he looks haggard. “Just arrived. We were told to report to administration to get assigned to a barracks. Here are our papers. This is my wife...”
The guard snatches the paper out of his hands. “I don’t want to hear your life story, fish.” He gives the papers a brief glance, then passes them over to his Houk lackey and points his baton at the suitcases. “What’s in there? Contraband?”
“Just our belongings, sir! All approved by the Commissariat.”

“Open up.” He makes a sweeping gesture and the Houk begins rummaging through the suitcases, without a care when things fall onto the ground. Finally, he holds up what looks like a violin. “Oh, look, what we got here. Who’s the musician?”
“I am,” the little girl exclaims. “I was...in the c-choir, s-sir. I love to play.”
“She is very talented,” the mother says, looking nervous.
“Play something for us.”
“Sir,” the father speaks up. “It’s been a long trip. My wife and daughter are tired. We still need to be processed. If there’s nothing else, could we please...”
“I said I want her to play,” the guard cuts him off. “After all, your wife said she’s talented.” He hands the violin to her. His other hand holds the baton.

The girl takes it with trembling hands. Her mother holds her and she starts playing. I do not know what she is playing, but it is beautiful. She has a true gift. Poor girl. I know what will come next, even before the guard rips the violin out of her hand. Then he smashes it so hard onto the ground so hard that it breaks. “This is a nice violin. You don’t need this. You xenos have no culture. You only steal from us.” Bastard.

“No, it’s mine! Please give it back.”
“It’ll make a human girl very happy.”
The little girl bursts into tears. “You monster...”
“What did you say, xenos?”
The father takes a step forward to shield the girl, but the Houk aims a pistol at him. He holds up his hands as if to pacify these thugs. “She’s just a child. It was one of the few joys she had. Leave her alone,” the mother declares angrily. The guards’ pet kath hound growls and bares its teeth.

“Aisha, calm her down,” the husband declares. “Sir, we don’t want trouble. We just want to go to our home. We’re just normal people. If there’s any we can help to move things along...”
“You think I take bribes?”
“No, sir! But you must stand watch here all day. Think of it as a...bonus. Just please, let my family pass. I’ve got some money...”
“Give it to me. And your shoes.”
“Sir...”
“Now! Before Gaakt here discovers that you’ve been smuggling contraband.”
Quickly, the male takes off his shoes. Meanwhile, the woman has pulled her daughter away and hugged her against her chest, before the guards find an excuse to terrorise the poor thing some more. “Here, sir.”
“Now that’s better. Get moving. Remember, you’re here to work, not laze around. Darth Lachesis is here to make sure you get put through your paces.”
“The Butcher is here..,” Aisha exclaims. She’s right to be as scared as she sounds. Did the Vaderite scum feed the family lies about autonomy and freedom or do they not even bother to keep up the ruse anymore?

“Don’t worry, sir. We’ll work,” her husband interjects. Quickly, he starts packing the suitcases again. Pulled out of her shock, his wife joins him. Just before she can take what looks like a loaf of bread, the Houk snatches it away from her. She backs off and he starts munching. Then he turns to face me. “Move!” There is a loud crack when he raises his pistol and shoots into the air.

Quickly, I hit the engines and speed away. This probably won’t be their last checkpoint. I see labourers – let’s be honest, slaves without the collar – head back to town. Just in time to sink their teeth into ersatz food and grab a couple hours sleep before another day of toil in the hot sun. As I drive the speeder over the road, past tents and towards the residential barracks, I soundly hear the roar of engines on the horizon. I stop the speeder and look to the sky. Two heavy gunships are circling the settlement. They dive down, flying low. I freeze, feeling a wave of panic.

Have the Vaderites written this place off? Are they going to ‘make an example’? Then I calm down, and remember what the butcher-in-chief said earlier. They haven’t finished squeezing everything they can out of Hope Falls yet. They won’t kill us all at once. They’ll squeeze us for milk until we have nothing left, then slaughter us. Looking around, I see that non-humans all around me have stopped dead in their tracks and are looking at the sky. Some run and try to take shelter. Many look afraid. It’s what the Vaderites want. Then I hear a booming voice. It’s from a loudspeaker. My ears hurt.

“Residents of Hope Falls, do not be alarmed. A few hours ago, our forces, under the command of Darth Lachesis, repulsed a cowardly Dominion incursion en route to Hope Falls. The Jedi bombers were shot out of the sky before they could lay waste to your homes. Our brave pilots are here to protect you.” Because, you know, bomber-gunships are real helpful at shooting down other bombers.

“But you must be vigilant. The Dominion has saboteurs among you. They have told you lies about Father Eisen; they have stolen your grain; they have infiltrated your government. Keep your eyes open! Report any suspicious behaviour! Remember, Father Eisen is with you. Always!”

Finally, the noise stops. The gunships circle the street once more time, then leave. The fear lingers. Quickly, I start driving again. I know the address Firith lives at – or at least lived at. It’s my best shot to start at. A cheery sign reads ‘Welcome to the Xenos Accommodations Sector’. Sounds like a holiday resort. Guess what, it’s prefab barracks.

When I stop the speeder, I catch myself holding my nose. Frak, I’ve been spending too much time in the clean, sanitised world of the Masters – where there’s sanitation, the garbage gets collected on time by slaves and the houses are cleaned by slaves. People are watching me. Some look curious, many suspicious. A Twi’lek – my own people – looks at me with open scorn. A Gungan looks away and vanishes into an alleyway.

They see the collar, but some will have also seen me in the company of Disciples. A Vaderites’ personal slave is not trusted. I wouldn’t trust one either. Suddenly, there’s a loud bang. I turn around and see Public Force goons kicking a door down and storming in. Screams and shouts can be heard from the inside. Then I hear a young boy’s voice. “Miss, you new?” he asks in bad Basic. Turning, I see it’s a Houk with a Duros offsider.

“Um, yes, visiting a friend.”
He looks at me curiously. “Saw you in field. You came with Vaderites?” Before I can say anything, he points at my speeder. “Don’t want that unguarded. Many thieves.”
“You’re offering to watch it for me?”
“I strong. No one mess with me. Miss got cigarras?” Master was nice enough to give me some money for bribes. Not that Imperial Marks are worth much.
I get out a packet and remove two cigarras, holding them out for them to snatch. “One’s for your buddy. Take good care of my bike, and you’ll get two more.” I’m probably paying than my money’s worth, but whatever. Just look at them.
“Miss nice. We take good care,” the boy swears. His friend nods silently. Anyway, I leave them to it and head towards the concrete prefab. It’s started raining. The sound of small arms fire echoes from down the street. The house looks old and run-down. The roof looks like it might collapse. I look around, and see Public Force thugs are further down the street. Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door. Two quick knocks, then one hard one.

“I want to talk to Firith Tiatkin.”
A deep, male voice responds. “We know no Firith Tiatkin. Who are you?”
“I’m his cousin. Shakka. He’s registered here. Look, it’s urgent.”
The door opens. Before I step inside, a strong hand grabs me and pulls me in. The door slams shut. Then there’s a knife at my throat and a rough hand frisking me. A big, tough Gungan with a scar across his face is holding it. “I saw you with the Vaderites,” he hisses.
“I’m a slave. See the collar!” I exclaim. I’m getting annoyed. Droplets of water drip on my lekku. The ceiling is leaking.
“A spy, you mean.”
“I’m here to help.”
“Us or your Masters?” a third voice interjects. I look up and see a Twi’lek female stepping down the stairs. For just a moment, I see a little Twi’lek boy peek out before she shoos him away. “Taroq, put the knife away,” she tells the Gungan.
“She’s not wired. No weapons either,” he grunts. Least there’s not a knife an inch away from my throat.

“I’m Lena. Firith’s wife. You can tell your owners that he’s not here anymore. He got sent to tent town. We’re good workers; we’re not involved with anything he’s doing. We know nothing.” She hides it, but I don’t miss the brief flicker on her face. It’s fear.
More gunshots outside. Right on cue. “My owner is here to...look into why Hope Falls isn’t meeting its quotas.” Frak, I shouldn’t have started that way. Kyriaki is better at this talking shit.
“Quotas dreamt up by greyshirt bureaucrats who just want us to starve,” Taroq scoffs. “We know what the verdict’s going to be. The jack-boots are already kicking doors down.”
“And if you want to survive, you’ll hear me out, ok? Look, the Party bigshot the Vaderites forced on you is trying to shift blame to you – us. They’ve already locked up the chairman. But he’s on thin ice. My master wants me to...find evidence of corruption among the bigshots.”
“Your owner is Darth Lachesis? She needs no excuse to slaughter our kind. They call her the Butcher, you know,” Lena interjects, like she’s lecturing a child.
“It’s not her. It’s another Vaderite in her entourage. Lady Kyriaki.”
“Someone unimportant then.”
“She has old Eisen’s ear,” I insist. “He invited her to his villa and sent her here personally. And,” I take a breath, “ she may be able to get some people out. Take them somewhere less crap.”
“A kindly Sith. I don’t buy it. And you’re stupid if you.” I don’t blame you, Taroq.
“Why would she do this?”

This is not the moment to give a speech about how Kyriaki is a kind slaver who happens to be better than the rest. If a slave told me that, I’d call it bollocks and think they’ve been brainwashed. Because that’s what it is. She isn’t good. At the end of the day, she’s one of them. “Status. Influence. She gets to make her mark, the Vaderites get to pretend everything is dandy in Hope Falls. It doesn’t matter why. What matters is that I’ve got family here and I don’t want them to die because Lachesis just decided to murder people at random and leave even less food for you.”

Taroq does not take his eyes off me. “I don’t trust her.”
“Neither do I, but it’s not up for us to decide alone. You’ll meet the house committee. Make your case. If they think you’re a provocateur, you won’t live to see dawn.” The stairs creak with every climb. More water drips down. Then I almost trip over a Rodian sleeping in the corridor. Wherever I look, the rooms are packed.
 
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(Kyriaki POV)

“Raise the banner! The ranks tightly closed!
The Disciples march with calm, steady step!
Leading the struggle for mankind's salvation!"

We – that is a class of acolytes and I – sing as we run across the wasteland under the burning hot sun. My heart is pounding; my limbs ache. I am thirsty and covered in sweat. I can feel the heat of the sand all over me.
We are all in full combat gear. The weight of it feels heavy on my shoulders, weighing me down. Breathe in, breathe out. I cannot stop. Chanting as one, we sing the Adras Kasidiaris Song.

“Comrades, shot by the Jedi and the Vong.
March in spirit within our ranks!
We're of their blood, and spirit of their spirit."


Breathe in, breathe out. I stagger and force myself to carry on.
“Need a moment to catch your breath, Kyri?” Markos asks mockingly. “I guess your template was just that flawed.”
Do not back down. “Funny how the Jedi cloned her after she burnt her way through their ranks,” I counter. I call upon the Force, trying to pour energy into my tired limbs.
“Yes, and you’re not her. Just a clone. An unnatural copy of the the real thing. Maybe you should stick to bean-counting.”
“Frak off, Markos. You’re just jealous because she beat you in sorcery.” That is Nikolai, coming to my defence. It is sweet – and foolish.
“Oh, look, it’s the knight in shining armour. The headmaster’s boy.”
“Come on, Markos, a clone’s not worth our time. There’s no shame in admitting you’re defective, Kyriaki. The fatherland will reward you,” Lydia interjects.

“Why are you lot dawdling?! Get moving!” an instructor thunders. Then my body suddenly spasms when bolts of lightning strike me. I shriek in pain. I am rewarded with more lightning. “Are you sheep or a Disciple? The Force will give you everything if you’re strong enough!”
Markos and Lydia take off. They are soon close to the head of the pack. The Force is strong in them. They burn as hot as a furnace. With me, it is but a sliver of the real thing. But I must persevere. I will. I see Nikolai look at me with concern. Nay, it must be pity. I detest the sight. “Don’t punish yourself like this. Let me in. I can boost you,” he offers.
“No,” I shut him down firmly. “I will not falter.” I grit my teeth and run. My frail body must not fail me. My body begs me to stop. My lungs choke for air and I cough. The instructors yell at us to sing louder.

“Clear the streets for the black battalions,

Clear the streets for the Disciples!
Millions are looking upon the Imperial banner full of hope,

The day of freedom and of bread dawns.”

It is as we run up the hill that dizziness overcomes me. My vision is getting blurry. I struggle to maintain focus. My chest tightens, flaring up in pain, and I wheeze. It hurts. Pain overwhelms my mind. Oxygen no longer seems to reach my lungs. It is impossible for me to continue running. It all works its way up to a crescendo, and I fall.

I do not know how much time passes till I awake. When I do, the landscape has shifted. I find myself in a damp, cold cell. I feel something heavy and metallic around my neck. Do not panic. Maintain control. Do not show you are afraid. I try to move, and feel heavy shackles. My wrists and ankles hurt. I realise I have been tied to a board.

“Master, she’s awake,” a guard says. Everyone seems to be wearing a mask. Suddenly a bright light is switched on. I recoil, but a guard grabs me. I try to draw upon my power, but an electrical shock surges across my neck.
“The Force is with the strong. The elect,” Headmaster Andronikos Thalakes declares. The voice sounds metallic, but I recognise it well enough. “Tell me, young one, how many Imperial Credits does a citizen suffering from hereditary defects cost the community?”
Breathe in, breathe out. “Sixty thousand, Master. I’m not defective. I am a Disciple. I...”
I get a baton rammed into my face. While I reel, someone places a cloth on my face. It completely covers my mouth and nose. By the time I feel it, water is being poured all over my face. I cannot breathe. I cannot breathe. Then the cloth is removed. I cough violently, and try to breathe.

“You are not one of us. You are a race traitor, just like your template. Where are the space people striking from? How did they murder our beloved Supreme Leader? How do their ships traverse the stars?”
Despite the cold, I am bathed in sweat. I cannot think straight. “I don’t know...I’m not with them. I’m...” I struggle, and bite the hand that tries to force the cloth onto my face. I taste blood, and then I am bombarded by a cascade of water. I try to hold my breath, but then I have to exhale – and inhale. The wet cloth is tight against my nostrils, like like it had been clamped all over my face.
I am flooded with panic. My pulse is racing. I try to fight the wave of nausea and fear. It is futile. I feel like being smothered. “Your thoughts betray you. Every night, you gaze at the stars? Why? Do you yearn for the return of the race traitors? Does your template whisper orders to you in your dreams? Or your makers?”
I lose track of time. Eventually everything turns black. When I awake with a start, the Headmaster is sitting on my stomach. His weight bears down upon me. I vomit all the water from my stomach. It pours out of mouth and all opening on my face.

I feel a sharp pressure inside my skull. Another Disciple in the room is trying to force entry. I do not have the strength to push them out. I can only take the pain and try to endure as the white-hot needles force their way into my mind. Withdraw to a place where they cannot hurt me. “She knows nothing, Master,” a voice says. It sounds female.
“Then she is of no use to us. The weak must be weeded out.”
They undo the bonds tying me to the bench and force me up. “No, no, I can be of use to the Disciples.” I vomit more water. “The Supreme Leader...” Somehow I manage not to pass out when lightning crawls over my body. Everything seems to hurt.
“Do you really think he cares about a racial mongrel?”
“My template came from the stars. I have her knowledge...”

“Humanist science does not need xenos lies.” My head hits something hard. I taste blood on my lips. They force a hood over my head and I am dragged out. Fear washes over me. No, I cannot panic. This cannot be the end. Nonetheless, it seizes me like a vice. I can barely focus on my surroundings. All I know is that I have been dragged through a corridor and then we are outside. Cool air brushes against my bruised skin.

I am hauled into what I believe is a gunship, then the roar of engines and rotors hammers my ears. We are taking off. I hear the howl of the wind. “When your limb has gangrene, you cut it off. Know that I take no joy in this, young one. Your tainted blood is not your fault. But only by cleansing itself of the soiled that can mankind can achieve its destiny,” the headmaster says over the roar of the wind.

Then I hear someone cock a gun.
No, no.
Despina was right. How foolish of me. To think I could triumph in the beasts’ den.
Don’t beg. Go out of this world with some shred of dignity.
I brace myself.
I think of a twin I’ve never met.
There is a crack of a gunshot, and I am in freefall.
And land onto the hard ground.
Blood streams down my skull. My head hurts.
It hurts...I am alive.
The hood is pulled from my head. My heart thunders inside my chest as I look around. I am lying next to the gunship. We have not taken off. I have not been shot.

The Headmaster looms over me. “I have been merciful today. Prove to me that you can rise above your debased origins. You won’t get another chance.” Then he throws a key for my collar to the ground. It is a couple metres away from me. He walks away, and I have to crawl towards the key. With my hands still restrained, I catch the key with my teeth.
I am exhausted, and in pain. But I am alive. The Headmaster will regret choosing humiliation rather than death. So will those students who scorn me. The debt will be paid. It is a struggle, but I manage to unlock my collar. The Force flows back to me – and sets me free.
On the next day I head to class. My face has burns and purple bruises. My body hurts. The doctor would not give me painkillers. Students are already up and about in the corridor. Among them I find Nikolai as well as Markos, who seems to be engaged in some sort of conversation with his posse. When he looks at me, he smirks. “Look who’s here – the clone. Did you beg your father to spare her, Nikolai?”
“Honestly, I don’t know how you can live with yourself,” Lydia says, “I mean, with the knowledge that you’re screwed up inside. Someone strong would’ve put an end to her wretched existence for the good of all.”

“Both of you, back off,” Nikolai begins but I cut him off.
“Talking, talking – it’s all you’re good for. One would think you’ve mistaken this for the academy of senators, not that of Disciples of Vader.” Some of Markos’ posse laugh. They immediately cease when he glowers at them. Simple-minded creatures.
“You mock me, clone? You’re a mongrel – your blood is probably contaminated by xenos filth. That’s why the Force is so faint in you, tankie. You come from a tank, and I come from pure human stock. My father tore down a Jedi Temple by himself, my grandfather fought in Furcht’s vanguard. I was already fighting rebel scum while Achilles had you whipped in front of his court.” He points his blade at me. Close enough that I can almost kiss the steel. Nikolai draws his own blade.

I don’t flinch. “Thank you for so assiduously illustrating my point, Random. You’ve never had to struggle. It was all simply handed to you. All these things you’re so proud of, they’re like millstones around your neck – weighing you down.” I cannot match most of them in raw power. Their auras are bright, whereas mine is faint. But I just need to apply the right bit of pressure at the right spot in the ceiling. After all, the building is oh-so-old. Markos narrowly doges the lamp post that comes crashing down. My head hurts. It is worth it.

“Imbecile, do you really think your parlour tricks frighten me?”
“Dear Markos, I don’t know what you’re talking about. These walls are old. You need to pay more attention. Randoms bleed as red as clones.”
Professor Konstantina Kalchev arrives and the students go to their seats. “You’ll rue the day the Master spared you.” Markos makes a cutting motion with his hand and turns away.
“I wouldn’t shut my eyes at night. You never know what might happen,” Lydia leaves me that as a parting shot.

“To think that those two are supposed to teach the xenos how to act civilised. You’ve been holding out on me, Kyri,” Nikolai says in quietly. “I didn’t know you had a humorous bone in your body.” His chuckle is without mirth. “Look, about what...”
“It wasn’t you. You’re not to blame for your sire’s deeds.”
“No, I’m not, but I just stood by and let it happen. Is that what a true Disciple of the Sith’ari does? Cower?”
“We do what we must to survive. I should thank your father. He taught me a valuable lesson, though not the intended.”
He looks at me like I’ve gone insane. If only it were so. “Sometimes you creep me out.”
“Good.”

The professor – an elderly lady – calls the class to order. We all arise to perform the Humanist Salute. “Darth Malitia said that the human youth must be ‘swift as a kath hound, as tough as leather, and as hard as durasteel.’ But the Great One did not want you to be mere brutes. Just as you hone your bodies, you must hone your mind. Only then can we prove victorious in the struggle that has been waged in history since time immemorial. Many centuries ago, our great forebear saw the truth when the xenos Plague ravaged the galaxy. We owe our existence to the fact that he had the strength to say ‘no more’. Without him, mankind would be no more. Monsters would have dominion over our world. But the most gifted of you will not just regurgitate, you will strive to surpass and finish their labours.”

She makes a pause. “The topic of today’s essay in Humanist Studies is: ‘The Force is the key determinant of a being value’s to the Fatherland. Discuss.’ Get started. Don’t try to cheat. If you use telepathy, I will know and you won’t like the consequences. You may only use the paper that has been provided. Ineligible answers will not be given consideration.” The professor’s assistants go around handing out papers. Some students immediately start writing. Lydia is one of them. I take a few moments to think, brooding over the question. The obvious answer is that the statement is correct. The Force is a gift to the elect. Without it, you are fodder.

But no, there is more to it. It’s a trick. Xenos are inferiors, no matter what. Forceful half-xenos cannot be part of the ethnos, no matter their power. The most mundane human, while subservient to a Disciple, is above a xenos. Because the Force belongs to mankind alone. The xenos bred with humans to steal their divine fire. Glorious Conflict says that mankind is the only civilisation-builder. The key determinant is race. And so I start writing. I throw in as many pertinent quotes from scripture that I can remember.

A day later I am called into the professor’s office. “Ah, Acolyte. Enter, sit,” she beckons me.
“Praise Vader!”
She returns the salute. I sit down, folding my hands in my lap. “I’m quite pleased with your essay. Your understanding of Gobineos’ theories has some flaws, but you grasped the seed of the question.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m stating facts, not giving you a compliment.”
“Yes, Master. I’m aware my entrance into the Order has been...unconventional, so I study hard.”

“Unconventional is one way of putting it. A clone – of a race traitor from the stars at that – created by Jedi, then handed down from one master to the next like a bad penny. A frail girl with no lineage, only her will. Some would say she’s just waiting to find a more congenial master.”
“I am a Disciple. I see all you say as reason to struggle harder. Is it not the Sith way to dedicate everything to achieve a goal, regardless of the obstacle. My body may not be the strongest, but I have the will.”
She smiles thinly. “I am curious to see how far it gets you.” With that she passes the essay over. I can various marks and some comments on the first page.
“I’ve one request.” She nods, and I continue. “If I understand correctly, you’re offering a specialised class in alchemy. I’m interested. I wish to learn the deeper mysteries.”

“Is it just a coincidence that it happens to overlap with many of the forced marches?” she asks wryly. “You’ve impressed me, so by all means get out of the sweaty hustle of the herd. In the end, you’ll have to fight in the Kaggath regardless and then it makes no difference whether you get your strength from sorcery or running in circles, only that you win.”


The memories come rushing back in solitude. I liked of Professor Kalchev, as far as that was possible. Nikolai was fond of me. Too much. Under different circumstances, I might have grown fond of him. Or maybe he was just enamoured by the idea of being the noble Humanist knight who slays the Jedi dragon. Standing up for the sickly girl made him feel good about himself. Kind, foolish Nikolai bought into all the propaganda about chivalry and honour. When he took a look in the mirror, it broke him. His final act of rebellion against a cruel patriarch. He took the easy way out.

Ironic, that the Headmaster dedicated everything to moulding us in his image, and yet he lost his son and it was a racial mongrel that graduated with honours. It is a thing to live for –outwitting, out-talking and out-thinking the lot of them. Sometimes also killing them. It is the slow knife that cuts the deepest.

The ledgers continue to be opaque. The closer I get to painting a picture, the more it is obscured. Shakka’s tracer programme has continued running. Or at least I assume it is. While the cogitator hums loudly, I get up from my chair and walk towards one of the shelves. Climbing up the ladder, I reach out to grab a new folder. Per the signature, the transports of contaminated grain to the crematorium should be recorded in it. The folder feels unusually light in my hand. Some papers slip out.

There is barely any paper in it. Curious, curiouser. Then suddenly my vision grows blurry. No, not now! My head feels like it is spinning, as if my surroundings are moving. I sway, lose my balance and fall from the ladder. I land upon the floor. Fortunately, my fall is cushioned by a carpet, muffling the sound.

I silently curse my weak, frail body. I take a breath as I regain my focus. At least I did not faint in public. I cannot allow my body to fail me like this. It can be fatal. Looking up, I see the camera. A flash of light of coalesces around my calm, and for a moment, the device experiences some static.
“Do you need help, lord?” one of the guards calls from outside.
Great. I put on my haughtiest tone. “No, and I did not give you permission to address me. Focus on your duties.”

But as my hands touch the floor, I notice something is...off about it. Now I am very curious. Stepping away, I pull it back. The dust looks disturbed at the edge. And I find a hatch. It will not yield to my grip when I pull it with my hands, but it opens up for the pull of the Force. A ladder leads down into the darkness. Looking down, I take a picture with my ‘pad, then quickly close the hatch and pull the carpet back over it.

I will look into this. For now, I get up and take the folder. It is empty. The few pages are all but ineligible. Walking back to my desk, I call the Zeltron. He answers promptly. Maybe he is sitting right in front of his communicator on the off-chance that I will call him. Good xenos. “My lord, how can I help?”
“The folder for the transport logs of the contaminated grain is empty. I trust you have an explanation.”
“That is...strange. Not that I doubt you, lord,” he says quickly. “Everything was in order during our last check. We keep a log of everyone who had access to sensitive files.”
“Well, where can I find that log?”
“It’s digitalised. Wait, I’ll get you the info.” He rattles off the information. I tell him to stay on the line, then click on the folder, while catching a glimpse on the status of the tracer programme. What a surprise, I am stonewalled. “There’s no file.” In truth, it is there, but I get an error report. I suppose it has been corrupted. Shakka’s datapad is still plugged in, so I transfer it.

“Inconceivable, th-there should be a backup, lord. I’ll have to call our IT specialist. I’ll get it done.”
“See to it,” I cut of his grovelling. “How far is the crematorium?”
“A few miles, lord. Would you like to visit it now? Should I make arrangements?”
“No. As you were,” I state flatly and cut the connection. He is either very good at pretending to be an obsequious pen-pusher, or his behaviour is genuine. I do not believe the xenos are being honest in their dealings. It would be an absurd assumption. They are undoubtedly stealing from the State. But they cannot make such a large amount disappear. The convenient answer is seldom the correct one.

I do not make much headway studying these documents before I get a call. “Yes?” I do not bother hide the terseness.
“Lady Kyriaki, I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Just looking for your lost grain.”
“Ah, have you had any success? Anything the Public Force can help you with?”
“If I need you to chop someone’s hands off, I’ll be sure to contact you. By the way, has Nass talked yet?”
“The interrogation is ongoing as we speak. She’ll be singing soon.”
“Of course. But you didn’t call me just to ask a question you know I won’t be answering.”

“Straight to the point, just the way I like it. I understand you’ll be staying with us for a while, so it’s only proper that I provide what hospitality I can offer. A few of my boys are going to have a get-together at my house later tonight. It’s not a banquet at Sophiahall, but I believe it’ll be worth your while. We’ll have good food, drinks, some music.”

I am already missing the peace and quiet. Is it too much to ask? But I sense opportunity. I will have to make sure no one tampers with my files. Then I see a new window pop up on the cogitator’s screen. The tracer programme has found an ‘IP address’. Shakka will look into this when she returns. I write it down, then close window. “Thank you for the invitation, Major. I’ll attend.”
 
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Welcome to Awkward City. Present population: Two, since Taroqg has left us to keep watch. This building isn’t a place to live – or even to exist. It’s a place too slowly rot away in until there’s nothing left but some skin on a skeleton. Some of the people I pass are well on their way there. The rooms are tiny and packed. On average I see six to seven people in one room. The lucky have cots and would have to share them. The real unlucky have the floor in the corridor. Lena pulls me away when I linger for too long. What can I really do? Feed them promises from my owner? What does she care? But I have to do...something.

“So, Lena, you’re Firit’s wife? Congrats, sis-in-law, I guess. The kid’s yours?”
She nods. “Alask. I’d hold your congratulations. Being sent to tent town’s the first step to being blacklisted. I’ll be under pressure to...distance myself,” she sounds weary. “He’d tell me to leave him.”
“Sounds like Firith. When, um, everything went to hell, we looked out for each other as kids. The hope that somewhere, a part of my family’s still alive and we’d be together again one day is what’s kept me sane. These aren’t the circumstances I’d want though.”
“You mean our Human masters march into our prison to make our life even more of a hell than it already is, and you’re with them?” she asks pointedly.

“I’m not with them,” I respond sharply. “See the collar? Know what it does when you press the button? Fry me.”
“No, you’re not,” she says after a moment. “But you’re the personal slave of a Disciple who, as you say, dines at the table of the Supreme Leader. You’re protected.” Her words sting more than they should because it’s true. “We’re expendable labourers. Maybe this is a ploy, or maybe you honestly believe what you say. But this isn’t the first time a Vaderite has used one of us to lull us into thinking they’re less terrible than the rest.”
“You think I’m a sellout? I’m one of you.”
“I’m ready to listen. That’s all. Choose your words carefully.”

A retort’s on my lips. I swallow it. A Zabrak mother is feeding her crying baby and trying to soothe it. I wince when I see how thin the little one is. A little boy is huddled close to them. I stop, take out my last ration bar and pass it over. It stings to see them like this. Once, I was like that. We got eight hundred calories a day in Prosperity Quarter – sometimes less, whenever the Vaderites felt like we weren’t working hard and dying fast enough. I know what it’s like to go hungry for days, to steal in order to survive. Now I don’t starve anymore because I’m the pet slave of a Vaderite.

More rain slips through the roof and pelts a dirty window. As I pass the latter, I catch a glimpse of what’s going outside in the shanty-town. Rain soaks the streets – empty save for the armoured, green groundcars of the Public Force, the Vaderite thugs who use them and the poor souls they’re dragging out of their homes.

I see a Gungan make a break for it and run for an alleyway. Then there is the crack of a gunshot and he crumples to the ground. With brutal blows from their batons and whips, the Vaderites drag the rest into the transport. Lena’s noticed I’ve stopped. “You see, they say we have autonomy here, but it is no different from the ghetto, she says. “Come on.” The door to what I guess is the committee looms ahead of us. I hear muffled voices from outside.

“Word is the Chairwoman got arrested.”
“The appeaser. No loss.”
“Not like she had many options.”
“Other than smiling and selling out?”
“You think whoever comes next will be any better?”
“No, but then I’m not sure there’ll be a tomorrow for us. I’ll level with you - even the PF thugs are spooked.”
“It’ll blow over. They want to squeeze us more. We got to keep our head down. Last thing we want is people panicking.”
“They got good reason to. This is how it starts when the humans decide to slaughter the bantha.”
The voices fall silent when Lena knocks the door, and opens up. A Rodian female and Mon Calamari male are sitting at a table. The Rodian looks at me with her large, pupil-less eyes. “Who are you?”
The Mon Calamari glances right at Lena. “Is she cleared?”
“She’s Firith’s cousin. The personal slave of a Disciple in Lachesis’ escort. A Lady Kyriaki,” Lena explains.
“Don’t know how much time we have, so I’ll cut to the chase. The Vaderites didn’t just arrest Nass, they’re halving your rations and doubling your quotas.”
“That’s insane. We’d starve,” the Rodian exclaims. “We barely manage on the food we have. Do they really want to lose all their labourers?” she looks to the Mon Calamari and Lena.
“I imagine they’ll be announcing this soon, so you weren’t just sent by your Master to tell us. We don’t lead the whole community. So you are you here?” the Mon Calamari asks me bluntly. He looks older than the others. There is a scar across his face.

I sit down on the chair. “You know how this goes. The Vaderites set impossible quotas, you don’t meet them, they look for a scapegoat. I know their quotas are too absurd to meet, but I figure people have been stealing stuff.”
“’We don’t steal. No one in our house does,” the Mon Calamari says sharply. “I can’t speak for other ones.”
“Look, I’m from Prosperity. Life’s not so different there. The Vaderites barely leave you any food, so got to do what you got to do not to starve. But you couldn’t get your hands on such large amounts. My Master thinks it’s someone...among the humans who’s pulling the strings. She wants assistance...and in return she can...help you.”

“Or this is just provocation?” the Rodian counters. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have any information to offer.”
“Curious that Firith’s cousin should come to question us,” the Mon Calamari remarks.
“What do you mean?” I demand. What’s he done? Is he involved in something? Something that’s bound to get him hurt?
“Go ask him.”
“Firith’s a good man and a hard worker,” Lena says firmly.
“We shouldn’t be discussing the merits of residents. And we should be going through the official channels. Would a Disciple really use a slave to ask us to denounce a member of the human administration?” the Rodian asks rhetorically. “We should talk to Gorn. There’s no point to this.”

“You don’t trust me, I get that. I wouldn’t either. But do you think Eisen sends...”
Then things go to hell. “Public Force!” an alarmed voice yells from outside. Then I hear shouts and the distant sound of jackboots thumping against the ground.
“Shit.” I curse.
“No one run,” Lena orders. “It won’t help.” I guess the obvious question on your mind is why we don’t run? Why don’t we fight back? Where could we run to? With what could we fight back? Making a last stand sounds heroic, but guess what, you end up dead. And the poor bastards who still live are the ones who pay the price. What looks heroic is often just a nice word for being selfish. By the time we are out of the meeting room, the corridor is already filled with people.

“Everyone, stay calm! Keep order.” the Rodian calls out. Public Force thugs are man-handling frightened residents – children included – and forcing them up against the wall.
“Corporal, take your team and search the building. All of you, assemble outside!” one of the thugs barks, raising her pistol. “Where’s the grain you stole?” she demands, pointing the weapon at the Rodian.
“We don’t have any, ma’am. We don’t steal.”
“What’s your name, xenos?”
“Bola Daveedo, ma’am. Member of the neighbourhood committee.”
The thug pistol-whips her. “Then no more lies, committee member. Have you had any contact with the Army of Ashla?” The what?
“Don’t know what that is.”
“Out with y’all.”

People are being dragged out of their rooms into the rain. Some are so old or weak that they need help walking. And there are so many children among them. When residents are not fast enough, the thugs help with batons and the butts of their rifles. Lena’s little boy walks alongside her. “Momma, I’m scared.”
“Ssh, little one. It’ll be alright,” she soothes. She knows it’s not true.
“Where’s daddy?”
“He’ll come. Don’t worry. Just stay calm. Don’t...don’t provoke them.”
“Right, who else is in the ‘committee’. Step forward!” the head thug – a Sergeant or something – barks.
“Aramgir,” the Mon Calamari says.
“Mum,” the little boys pleads, trying to hold on to Lena’s hand.
“I need you to be strong, little one.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek, then she lets go of his hand and steps forward. “Lena Fiatkin,” she says. “How can we help you, ma’am?”

“I know this one,” one of the Public Force thugs hisses. It looks like a sentient avian, with a long quill on the back of its head and a jagged beak. No idea what the species is. “The mate of the troublemaker.”
Frak, I step forward. “Ma’am, I’m here by the order of Lady Kyriaki. These people are assisting in her investigation into the black market thefts.” She glares at me. Quickly I continue before she can shut me up. “Here’s my badge. I can call her for you.”
“You’re so red. It’s said Twi’leks start white, then get redder the more human meat they eat. You must’ve gourged yourself, right? Or your parents did.”
“Ma’am, the Master will be dis...”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about what a slave says. Anyone who’s working for the Dominion, anyone who’s stolen grain, or who knows someone who has, step forward now.” Uniformed thugs exit the building, with a few stragglers who tried to hide in tow.
“We found some contraband, Sarge,” one of them reports. What’s the contraband, you may ask? A few potatoes, an apple and some wheat.
For a moment there is silence. Then someone in the crowd yells. “It’s her! Lena TiatkinI She and her husband are criminals. I’ve seen them hide grain!” All eyes turn to the denouncer. It is a Zabrak.
“You’re a liar,” the Rodian committee member – Bola – hisses.

“Take her,” the sergeant orders. “And her, too,” she adds, indicating Bola. Immediately PF thugs fan out. They escort the informant out before anyone can attack her, and move to grab Bola and Lena.
“Leave my mum alone!” Lena’s son cries out.
“Give her a moment at least,” I yell, though the thugs do not care. They have guns and batons drawn, but I step towards her. “I’ll tell Firith. I’ll tell my Master. We’ll get you out. I...”
“Don’t,” Lena cuts me off. I recognise the look in her eyes. Don’t make promises you can’t keep. She is clearly fighting back tears. Bending down, she hugs her kid. “Jela, you have to strong. I have to go, but...I’ll see you again. I love you.”
“I love you too, momma...” Then she is dragged away. He looks like he is about to rush after her, but Aramgir holds him back. “Don’t! You think your mother wants you to get yourself killed? You have to survive.” he says quietly.
“Everyone, stay calm. Don’t do anything rash, and whatever happens, stick together.” Lena calls out as she is dragged into the groundcar.
Bola follows her. “One day the true story of Hope Falls will be written,” she growls, then mutters something in Rodian that I don’t get, but assume is an expletive. A few more inhabitants are grabbed by the Public Force. Like Dodian and Lena, they are cuffed and forced into the groundcar.
“PF interrogators will be getting to the bottom of this. We’ll be back. And you, slave, don’t try to interfere in PF business again. Sith Master or not, we don’t play nice with uppity slaves. And you," the Sergeant points at Aramgir, "don't think you're off the hook, fish. We're watching you, too."

"I know all too well what I can expect," Aramgir grits his teeth. "Now please depart."
"If anyone of you runs, the whole lot of you'll be punished." With that the Sergeant enters the groundcar. Soon they have sped away. My shoulders slump.
“You heard Bola and Lena,” Aramgir says stoically. “Go back to your hoes. It’s curfew time. No one leaves the building. Stay inside...say your prayers.” Jela is sobbing.
“They’re going to kill us – one by one!” someone shouts. The crowd is too densely packed for me to make out who.
“If one of us runs, everyone suffers,” Aramgir states. His voice brokers no contradiction. Slowly, the crowd disperses. Many faces are downcast.
“We’re not done yet,” I insist, stepping towards Aramgir.
“I think we are. You’ve just seen how things are done. You can’t do anything.”

Probably not. “You’re not the only one who’s seen what a Vaderite purge looks like, so cut the crap. You said I should ask Firith about the disappearances. What do you mean?”
His bulbous eyes narrow. “Ask him about Barah. He’ll know what you mean.”
“What’s going to happen to momma? Will I see her again? Where’s father?” Jela looks at both of us pleadingly. My heart goes out to him. What can I say? Your mother will be back soon? We’ll stop the bad men? This world is ruled by monsters. Doesn’t matter. He’s a kid. He’s Firith’s son.
I bend down so we’re on the same level. “My name’s Shakka. I’m your dad’s cousin. I won’t lie...things aren’t looking good. But...I’ll do what I can get to your mother out.”
“They’re going to kill her, aren’t they?” Those young eyes have seen far too much.
“I’ll do what I can to make sure you get her back, but in the meantime I need you to listen to Mr Aramgir over here and stay out of trouble. She’s being strong for you, you got to be strong for her, okay?”
He wipes some tears away and nods. “Won’t they hurt you too if you do something? You’re a slave,” he blurts. “Sorry,” he adds.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.” He’s smart enough to look sceptical, but nods.
“Come on, Jela, go back inside,” Aramgir orders a bit gruffly. Looking at me, he says: “He’ll be among his people. I’ll watch over him.” The implications are obvious. “I’ll talk to the council, for what good it’ll do. Good luck,” he adds after Jela has headed for the door.
When I get back to where I left the speeder, the boys are gone. The speeder’s still there, but it turns out someone ripped out the engines. I really, really hope that the boys did it and got away. But...I don’t believe it.

Then I hear screams. Human thugs are dragging a chained Twi’lek across the street. She tries to fight back, but they just beat and stab her until they reach a lamp post. The howling mob takes pictures as she is hung from the post by the chain. They howl as they watch her struggle. My hands clench into fists. They should die; they should all die. I should do something. I should make them pay. And yet, I can’t. I feel so pathetic when I turn away.
Sorry, sister. As I slip into an alley, I hear someone yell: "There's another one of the wormheads!" I run. The screams and jeers stay with me till I’ve left the block. There’s an old groundcar on the side of the road. I really hope it belongs to the monsters. There’s no one around. Without further ado, I hotwire the groundcar and take off as fast as I can.
 
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“They’re all liars here...and everyone better than you.” That’s what Despina told me. When I think of the cage that was Achilles’ palace, I remember gauntlets, daggers, nails, whips and scissors. I remember screaming until blood flooded my mouth. I remember desperately calling out at night for someone – anyone – to come and save me. But there are no heroes. There is no justice in the world, not unless we make it. So I saved myself.

Lies and courtesies are my weapons now. How long can someone hide their true face behind a mask until the mask becomes the woman? The change is barely perceptible. But one day when you pull the mask from your face, you stare into the mirror and find that the two have become one. And you no longer mind that it is not your face or your voice anymore.

My work here is done for today. The ledgers are locked away in a safe. It took a while to get them all here. Finally, it slams shut. “The code is too simple. It is possible to change it?”
“Easily done. I’ll show you,” the Zeltron says. He is good as his word, and has enough sense to look away when I put in the new code.
“I will retrieve them tomorrow,” I inform him. “I expect every single page to be there.”
“Understood, lord. No one gets access to it. And our IT man will have the backup file by then.”
“Good. Because if anything is missing, I will kill you.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Tell me, Iloski. Do you have family here?”
“A daughter – she’s still young. My wife passed away a few years ago.”
“Of natural causes?”
He looks a bit uneasy. “There was an...epidemic. Not the Plague,” he clarifies quickly, “but the administration had to impose a quarantine. It was the right decision. She followed all the rules but, well, others didn’t and she got sick.”
“I take it she was not on the priority list for treatment?”
“There were just... normal shortages, my lord,” he insists. It sounds rehearsed. “The Imperium is at war. The doctors did what they could.”
“You’re an obedient worker, and you do not want to say anything that could jeopardise your position – or your life of your child, for that matter. Do you love your daughter?”

Now his voice is firm and he meets my gaze. “Yes, very. Very much.”
“Then you want a future for her. Something better than toiling in the fields until she collapses from exhaustion. You don’t want her to waste away in the muck and filth. Someone who’s worked so hard to rise above the riff-raff wants better. So listen carefully. There are going to some grave changes. There has been a call for extreme solutions. Past merits no longer matter.” I pause for a moment to let that sink in.
“The question is, how many will be caught in the net before the culprit is found? For her sake, you’ll think very hard about every unusual incident in your office. Every truckload of wheat that was declared contaminated after the most superficial of inspections. All the grain that inexplicably vanished in transit. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes...my lord.”
“Good. Then I can protect you. Keep your eye on the goal. And when you find something...”
“You’ll be the first and only to know,” he finishes.

I pass him a piece of paper with my contact data. “Call me on this number.” Then I turn and leave. It is time to attend the party of a camp manager. At this hour the building seems deserted. As I stride through the corridor, my comm beeps. “Yes?”
“They took her – Lena. We were talking – like you told me to – and they stormed in. They’re lynching people in the streets. Just for fun.” Shakka speaks as fast as a machine gun fires.
“Focus. Who is this Lena?”
“Firith’s wife. One of the local reps. I went out to make enquiries, like you told me to! Visited the barracks he lives in. Except he got thrown into tent city. I told them you could help...and now she’s in a PF torture chamber. She’s got a kid. He’s just a lil boy. And they might nab him, too. The kids there are so thin. Just skin on bones.”
“I see.”
“You see, Master?! A woman was lynched right before my eyes. Her killers took pictures. They laughed about it. I could do nothing. You know it’s wrong, Master.”
“Remember who you’re speaking to, slave,” I emphasise sharply cutting through her indignation with a sharp knife. She should know better than this. I clamp down on the urge to reprimand her properly, noticing that I have passed a minion, who’s looking at me strangely. Great. “You heard nothing. You will forget you saw me and leave.”
“I heard nothing. I will forget I saw you and leave,” he says robotically, then walks away with the gait of someone pulled on strings.
Fortunately, a restroom is close by for me to find some privacy inside it. I look the toilet door behind me. At least it is clean. Is it bugged? I flush the toilet before speaking into the comm. “Your anger is unproductive. People will die – it is inevitable. You want to keep casualties down? You want to save the people who matter to you? Then get a hold of yourself. What are you doing now?”

She mutters something in her native tongue. It sounds guttural and vile, like their language tends to. “Is it safe to go into details?”
The walls have ears. “No.”
“Following up on a lead. May have to maintain radio silence for a while.” There is a pause. “The PF stole my speeder. I took a car. May have belonged to one of them.”
“Don’t embarrass me by getting pulled over for exceeding speed limit regulations.” There is no mirth in my tone. “I’ll sort this out. Make sure they know to back off. You still have your badge?”
“Yes, but they don’t respect it much. May come for me anyway.”
“Don’t let anyone take it. Have they hurt you?”
“I can handle it.” Her tone is grim. Focused. Good.
“If they do, they will suffer. Avoid them where possible. Give me the number of the barracks where this happened. And the child.” She does so “I won’t be available for the next few hours. By the way, your efforts here were helpful. We shall speak later.”

“Yes, Master.” I cut the connection and head out. The air is cool on my skin when I step outside the building. Night has fallen upon Hope Falls. It is raining. I see few Public Force guards at the silos, but many troopers wearing the uniform of Lachesis’ men. A blue groundcar is parked right in front of the building.
It has a Public Force license plates. The groundcar flashes its headlights at me. When I approach, a minion in a Public Force uniform gets out of the driver’s seat and opens a passenger door for me. When I climb in, I see the good Major Bakios. “Lord, welcome. So glad you could join us,” he flashes me a smile he probably thinks is charming.
“It’s a welcome break from burying myself in paperwork. Alas, I haven’t gotten the chance to change.”
He waves his hand. “You’re a Disciple straight from the battlefield. The boys will be honoured to be in the same room as you.” Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you. His cologne is strong. The groundcar takes off.
“Will Darth Lachesis be attending?”
“Nah, she’s at the Leader’s villa. Your boss damn energetic. Brought in a fresh wind we really needed. But tonight’s about unwinding a bit.”
“And what about your boss?”
He chuckles. “That stuffed peacock? No offence to him, but without my cheat sheets he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a Togruta and a Twi’lek. He’s an expert at pulling his arse out of the line of fire, if you get my drift.”
“Do you help him with that too, Major?”

He laughs. “I keep our Leader’s experiment running. It’s dirty work sometimes. Takes a toll on you, but someone’s gotta do it. Speaking of which, it seems your slave got caught up in an incident. Interfered in an arrest, stole a PF vehicle.”
“As your men can confirm, she’s on an assignment given to her by me. And it seems like she was harassed.” We pass the better class of xenos habitations. Some windows have been smashed. The groundcar is moving further and further away from the settlement. I see forests outside of the window.
“According to her? It’s a xenos’ word against a human’s.”
“No, it’s the word of a Disciple against some lowly guard’s.”
“You know, I think my men got a wee bit overzealous. You can’t blame them though. Policing a town like this is hard work. It takes a special type of soldier.”
“Certainly, you have every reason to be vigilant. I trust you understand that I’d be very displeased if something happens to her?”
“She’ll get no trouble from my boys. I’ll make sure word gets around. I’d advise that she stick to where my lads patrol so that I can guarantee her safety. My lads are good boys, but there’s criminal and cutthroats up and about in those xenos slums.”
“She’s a tool I invested a great deal in. So if I find that she had an accident and I need to acquire a new one, I will be very...cross.”
“You value your tools – so do I. We get far better value for our money if we throw these xenos a bone once in a while. I heard about your story. The clone of a sky woman. We’re not so different really. No big names, no noble bloodline. Just our own grit. It landed you in the Disciples and me here.”

We pass through a gate and I see a very different settlement. The road is clean, there is no garbage on the streets and all guards are human. Customers – all human, of course – walk out of a baker’s. The groundcar drives towards a villa. It is a lot smaller than the Leader’s. So close to the squalor of the xenos habitations, it looks pompous and brazen.
“Tell me, have any of the saboteurs that are crawling all over the province attacked this place yet?” I ask with feigned casualness.
“They tried once. Fired shots at my car shortly after I’d transferred. Then we gave them a good clobbering. Not to worry, even Dominion terrorists won’t be dumb enough to try anything now, as much as my kids would enjoy seeing a Disciple throw down.”
The groundcar comes to a halt. He opens the door for me. I suppose he believes it is charming. I see a bunch of groundcars parked at the roadside. “How many children do you have, Major?”
“Four. My dear wife won her battle and has the medal to show for it. They’re little rascals, but I love them. Family’s everything. Keeps you grounded” Music can be heard coming from inside the house. The driver follows us, carrying a crate of beer. Bakios rings the doorbell. As if on cue, a man dressed like a butler opens up. He looks almost human, save for the green tint to his skin. He bows his head obediently and takes our coats. “Master Bakios, welcome home. Your guests and your lady wife are already assembled.”

“So I’m the late one then? Better join them before the lads complain about having no booze.” He steps aside to let me in. “Haron, this is Lady Kyriaki of the Disciples. Treat her with every respect. My dear, this is my butler.”
“It’s an honour.”
Then Bakios points towards a xenos female in a maiden outfit. She too bows her head. She has tentacles like a Twi’lek, but they run parallel to her head rather than growing out of it. Horns protrude from the top her skull. A Togruta, now I remember. “Tara, my maid.”
“Master, Mistress.” Her tone is demure. Her curtsey is practiced.
Bakios glances at his butler. “Anything to report?”
“Food’s ready, Master. But the Mistress was dissatisfied with the quality of her bath.” He gives the Togruta an accusatory look. “And there was dust on one of the shelves.”
“It is my fault, Master,” she speaks hastily. So contrite. And afraid? “I...did not watch the temperature like I should have. I was...distracted. It won’t happen again.”
“Not to worry, you know better now. I know how dutiful you are.” He pets her the way I would a dog. Her flinch is barely perceptible. If not for the Force, I would have missed the brief moment where her muscles tense.
“Master is good and kind,” is what her mouth says.

And suddenly a little ball of energy bulrushes him. “Daddy!” a little, blonde girl with her hair in pigtails calls out. He picks her up, and spins her around. “Mum, Daddy’s back!” She looks happy to see him. Like this is a normal family. In our world, the monsters are rewarded.
“Someone’s happy to see me. Look at you.”
“Do you have a present for me, Daddy?”
“Now, now, kid, don’t forget your manners. What’s the magic word?”
“Please!”
“Well, let me see.” He puts her down, makes a show out of rummaging inside a bag and pulls out a violin. I wonder whether he bought it or ‘confiscated’ it. “Oh, what we have here!”
She takes into her hands, smiling broadly. “Thanks, daddy!” she gives him a kiss on the cheek, then takes notice of my presence. “Uh, hello, ma’am,” she says shyly.
“Paula this is Lady Kyriaki, a Disciple of the Vader. The Supreme Leader himself sent her to our little town. My lord, this is my beloved daughter.”
“Oh, my lord, it’s an honour! Praise Vader!” she stretches out her arm, then curtseys clumsily. She looks to her father. “Did I do that right, Dad?”
I squat down to be on the same level as the child. “Very well, dear. Pleased to meet you. There’s no need for titles.”

“I’m meeting a Disciple. This so cool. Can you lift something with the Force? Have you killed any xenos today? Silly me, of course you have! How many?” I am taken aback by how much she is gushing. Her eyes are so innocent. The two xenos standing near us seem to have faded into the background. I gently reach out with the Force, brushing against the butler’s mind. Surface thoughts echo inside my mind. Smile and nod.
“Sweetie, let’s not bulrush our guest. She had a long trip and has been hard at work. Now let’s go join the rest of the gang, shall we?”
“Really, it’s no bother.” I lean forward to Paula, as if imparting some secret knowledge. “I didn’t kill any xenos today. But I once killed a very foolish xenos Jedi. He and his master thought they could hurt our Great Leader. If you’re a good girl, I can tell you the story. Deal?”
I see a picture hanging on the wall. It shows Bakios, Paula, three boys and his wife. He is in dress uniform, she is wearing a dress. My eyes linger on her for just a moment. Her smile looks like it was plastered on her face. She wears a bronze Mother’s Cross with a ribbon around her neck. That’s the decoration a woman gets for being a good broodmare.
“Thanks, you’re the best...my lord...Kyri,” she looks towards her father.

“Is there anything the lady requires?” the butler asks me.
“Some refreshments would be appreciated. It’s been a long day.”
“See to it,” he orders the maid, who quickly scurried away.
Without fear, Paula takes my hand, urging me on. “Come on. Uncle Simon’s been telling stories in the living room. Mum told Alec to stop playing his frakking game and set the table.”
Bakios tut-tuts disapprovingly. “Language, sweetie!”
“But Mum said it first.”
“Sweetie, sometimes grownups say naughty things they really shouldn’t. That doesn’t mean you should.”
The girl rolls her eyes, sighing. “Yes, Daddy.” She leans towards me and whispers into my ear. “Does the Supreme Leader say bad words sometimes?”
I give her a conspiratorial wink. “On occasion, but you see he has look after everyone in the Imperium. And when one of us isn’t doing our job properly, he gets angry with them because they’ve let the people down.”

I hear a booming voice coming from the living room. “So then the Twi’lek says: ‘This isn’t mine, this isn’t mine. Someone planted it on me. I don’t know no Republican Guard.’ I say: ‘Don’t lie to me, boy. You’re standing on a crate of explosives and you expect me to believe it’s not yours? Now you can come quietly, or I can make you.’ And then he starts screaming and draws a knife.”
So this is ‘Uncle Simon’. He is wearing a Public Force officer’s uniform. So are a bunch of others. Two young boys clap while he regales them with his story. Then he takes notice of us. “Look who’s there, boss man himself. And he brought booze, I hope? Took his time, didn’t he?” There’s laughter. Having seen their father, the two boys immediately get up. “I just decided to give you a couple moments of sobriety with my family before they get to see you’re really a bunch of cavemen,” Bakios jokes, giving this Simon a firm handshake. “Besides, I picked up an honoured guest.

“This is Lady Kyriaki, a Disciple.” I let him take me by the arm and lead me to a woman with pinned up hair and a skirt that reaches to her ankles. She wears the Mother’s Cross like in the picture. “My dear, may I introduce you to my dear wife Helena. She’s been the love of my life since college.”
“Pleasure meeting you,” I say softly. We shake hands.
“Welcome to our home, my lady..lord. Which address would you prefer? We meet few Disciples here.”
“How about we table the formalities and just settle on Kyriaki?”
“Then you must call me Helena. It’s nice to have another woman here – and a Disciple at that! We’re so far away from civilisation. I teach xenos women how to behave, but it’s not the same as having some proper female company.”
“You have your lovely daughter,” Bakios interjects. “Maybe we need to make another one to keep you company.”
“Yes...some time. Or we could adopt. There are so many orphans who need a father.” Is there a crack I see there? “Will you be staying in Hope Falls for long, Kyriaki?”
“Hard to tell at the moment, I’m working with your husband on a case.”

“Some xenos with long fingers have been putting them where they don’t belong. We’re teaching them a lesson in honesty.” Is it just me or is he always barging in?
“I see. Well, I know how dedicated my husband is to his work, so you’ll surely catch them soon. In the meantime, make yourself at home.”
“Thank you, Helena.”
“Mum, look what Daddy got me!” Paula exclaims, having apparently spent enough time in the background. She presents her violin proudly.
“You spoil her, dear.”
“I try to give my kids what I couldn’t have growing up.” As the two continue on, Bakios leads me away. The guests have comfortable sofas. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Naturally a portrait of the Supreme Leader takes pride of place on the wall. He is in a light blue uniform. To Eisen’s credit, while the picture is idealised, it does not hide his corpulence.

“Captain Simon Onasis. He guards our grain stocks.” The commander of the very guard force Lachesis ordered to be decimated. Does he know every tenth man of his command have been marked for death? Or has he been sentenced to join them?
The smile has vanished from his face. “A Disciple from the capital in our little town - welcome. So you’re with Darth Lachesis. I’ve been trying to arrange an appointment with her Lordship regarding the...”
“Simon, old buddy, the lady’s my guest. She’s had a busy day. There’ll be more than enough time for this tomorrow.”
“I know, I know. I just want to assist the investigation. Make sure all the facts are on the table,” he backpedals. Is that anxiety I hear? I am looking into the eyes of a walking corpse.
“I appreciate your diligence, Captain. Rest assured we are not here to run roughshod over you, but to cooperate. And we’ll leave no stone unturned to find the culprits.” The maid returns with refreshments.

I take a glass of water and Bakios presents me to the two young boys. “My eldest is with a Krypteia storm in Adlerberg, but these little rascals haven’t abandoned the nest yet. This is Roel, that’s Alec.”
“Uh, hello lord,” the elder of the two – Roel – says nervously, blushing. He looks about fourteen. “You’re very beautiful. Your robes look good on you. I mean, they fit you well.” "Papa says the Disciples are great defenders of humanity, and even the female ones are almost as good as the males!" Alec declares.
“Alec!” the patriarch exclaims.
“Did I say something wrong, Papa?”
I smile thinly. “I am sure Darth Lachesis will be most interested in your father’s observations.”
Bakios looks very red in the face “My lady, my son’s a good boy, but he doesn’t understand everything grownups say. You know how kids are."
“You mean you said that female Disciples are twice as good as males?” I am enjoying this too much. Looking at young Roel, I smile encouragingly at him. “That’s kind of you to say. You look like a nice boy. I’m sure one day you’ll make a girl very happy.”
“Hey, guys, the news is starting. Looks like a special broadcast,” one of Bakios’ colleagues declares. Eyes turn to the screen as bombastic music plays. Then a newscaster appears on the screen, framed by Imperial flags. “Good evening, people of the Imperium. Once again, the xenos Jedi have schemed to rain destruction on mankind. And once again, the Imperium has struck back.”
 
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The sounds of gunfire no longer echo across the streets. I’ve left the shattered windows, the prison cars and the dead innocent bodies behind me. If anything, the tent town looks even more depressing than before. Whatever Master did, it seems to have worked though. The PF patrols have backed off from bothering me. Part of me does wonder what Master is up to. Another part of me doesn’t want to know. She’s probably somewhere less rainy. Last thing I want to do drive into the tent town with a groundcar that has PF plastered all over it, so I stop the vehicle a good distance away. I won’t hold my breath and hope that it doesn’t get stolen. Frak, it’s still raining. Least it’s stopped pouring.

Purposefully, I make my way into the settlement, dodging puddles and sewage ditches. I keep my head high, as if trying to look calm will make me push the fear away. A tree catches my high. It’s a snag and clear of green, but someone has planted flowers beneath it. A couple kids play a game of football with a battered old ball that they kick around with reckless abandon. One of them sends the ball flying towards the flowers. Much to my surprise, one of the boys thrusts out his arm and bats it back with his hand into the field. No one chides him for it. I guess the flowers are off-limits and so violating a game rule is not worth a penalty.

I walk towards the flowers, bend down and read the little hand-printed card that lies buried among them. The note is written in Twi’leki and what I think is Gunganese: “These flowers are planted in memory of those who died fighting for our freedom. The martyrs of Prosperity Quarter will never be forgotten.” I pick up the card, and when I turn it around, I see that the following is written in Basic on the back: “This card was placed here by K. Yiarr, who takes sole responsibility for it. No hostages need be shot.” It is signed, and below the signature is a tent number and a tiny map that would help the PF arrest the culprit if the find it.

Bold. And suicidal. Carefully, I replace the card. I want to continue on my way, but then I find myself facing a Cathar woman holding a little girl by the hand. Both are dressed poorly and look malnourished. “Uh, hi,” I say lamely.
The girl looks nervous, while her mother focuses on my collar. “Hello, I’m Myhan, this is Thea. Your collar...you belong to the Vaderites, Miss?”
I feel a bit taken aback. “A Disciple owns me. One of those visiting.”
“Does your Master beat you?”
What do I say to that? Kyriaki is not good. There are no good slavers. I am property to her. But...she isn’t cruel. Keeps putting me in danger though. “She isn’t cruel.”
She seems to mull over my words, then beckons her girl to step forward. “Can you help us? Please. I’ve got nothing to repay you. We were evicted, and the thugs steal the food. Please.”
“I’ve got no money or food, sorry. But...I have some cigarettes left.” I fish into my pocket. “You can trade them, right?” It’s just a drop on a hot stone.

“No good, 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.”
“You won’t to make your kid a slave?” I am shocked, and yet not. I’ve seen this happen before. Hell, didn’t I sell myself once? This collar is what she wants? I look around and see the tents, and behind me concrete buildings filled with misery and desperation, and suddenly I’m not so sure anymore.
“We’re all slaves here one way or another. You’re fed; you’re not in this hell. I want her to have a chance.”
“Mummy, don’t give me to the humies. They beat us. Don’t leave me,” the girl begs.
“I’m doing this for you. You’ve got to live...even if we’re separate.”
“Then can’t she take us both?” Thea looks at me hopefully.
Frak. “I...”

Then suddenly I hear yelling and the thumping of boots on the ground. “Get away from the Humie lackey!” someone yells. It’s a small group – none of them are humans. They carry clubs and knives. Think quickly, Shakka. “I’m Shakka. I’m looking for my cousin. He’s a local.”
One of them brandishes her knife. She’s a Twi’lek like me – just blue instead of red. “Humie traitors aren’t welcome in this neighbourhood. Nor are spies,” she snarls.
“See the collar? I’m one of you.”
“And you drive a PF vehicle and you got one of those fancy badges. Tell me, how does someone get perks like that? By being a good Vaderite lapdog. Well, you ain’t snooping about and selling out our people on our watch.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the Cathar woman has bolted with her kid. “Look, you really don’t want to do something you’ll regret.”
The leader of the posse takes a step forward. “Who’ll make me regret it, Humie queen, your Master?”
“We can work something out. I don’t want to hurt my people.”

There’s nothing but hatred in her eyes. “You’re not one of us. Kill her!” Then they come at me. Kyriaki, a weapon would have been nice. I give as good as I can, try to dodge and weave my way out. Not that I can do much when they are many and it’s just little old me. I dodge a knife slash and kick one of them hard. Enough for me to twist a knife out of his grasp and slash. I get one good across the face. Then a club strikes me. There’s a kick in my stomach. I scream in pain when some brute grabs my lekku and pulls it hard. I fall. I manage to bite the arm that comes for my throat.

Then my head is slammed against a rock and they’re all upon me, beating, kicking and striking at me. And they’re my own kind. Pain floods my body. It hurts everywhere. Then they force me up and wrap a rope around my throat. No, no, no. This can’t be real. I struggle, but that only brings more pain. Then I hear the crack of gunshots. The leader has fallen and blood streams out of her skull. Another one hits the dust, and the rest run. “Vaderite pigs!” I hear one of them yell as I hit the ground. The shapes of my ‘rescuers’ appear out of the darkness, and as I look up, I find myself staring at a Gamorren dressed in PF colours. What the frak?

“Don’t follow ‘em, ain’t worth it,” the Gamorrean grunts. By her voice, it’s a woman. She eyes me. “You ok? What’s a Vaderite’s personal slave doin’ here? Last place you wanna be.” She stretches out her hand.
I pull the rope off and get to my feet without taking it. I spit blood. I don’t want her help. I don’t want any help from Vaderite lapdogs who make a living out of doing our oppressors’ dirty work. “None of your business,” I say coldly.
“Just saved your arse. A thank you would be nice,” she retorts.
“Or some dancing,” one of the PF goons stares at me like a piece of meat. “Don’t your ‘dance’ for your Master?”
“Wraog, cut the bullshit unless you want a beating,” his Gamorrean boss snarls. She looks back at me. “Word of advice, girl, this ain’t the place for your sort. Anyone with a badge risks being put six feet under.”
“As if you care. Don’t you have more of our people to round up for the Vaderites? Or have you fulfilled your quota for the night?” I really shouldn’t lash out, but I can’t help it. These are people who grind us down. The image of Lea being dragged away and her little boy crying flash before my eyes. If Firith being beaten till he’s bloody. Firith, I must find him.

“Oh, spare me the holier than thou act, like you’re not here to snoop around for your Vaderite boss, Twi’lek. We do what we gotta do to survive. Not all of us are thugs, but if you wanna think that to make you feel better, suit yourself.”
I’m not wearing the uniform of thugs who whip and extort their own kind so that humans toss them a few scraps. Focus, Shakka. Firith, Lea, Jela, all the people who’ve been arrested, beaten and lynched today. All the things I haven’t been able to do a damn thing about. “I’ve got a mission from my Master,” I respond curtly. “She’s not one to be kept waiting.”
“Don’t let me stop you. If you wanna find a saint in this shithole, forget it. Everyone makes compromises. On your way, Twi’lek.”
I turn to leave, but then face her again. “Is there a place folks can go after being banged up?” It all bloody hurts, but I’m not asking for myself, though I might as well let her think so.
“What, a clinic?” the Gamorrean snorts. “Rising Hope is back in town, but you’d trip over sleeping bodies on the floor. There’s a Gungan called Kurta Kimurm who’s got a place here, but all it has are painkillers. You wanna get bandaged up properly, come with us.”
My lekku hurts. “No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and shows which me which way to go. “Name’s Hennah by the way. Now on your way, Twi’lek. Don’t do anything dumb that’ll force me to point my gun at you.”

My legs are wobbly when I make my way deeper into the settlement. Most people have tents, some have makeshift huts. Sometimes I see livestock. A nerf eats some grass near a tent. A youngish Nautolan keeps watch on the cattle. Probably there to keep it from being stolen. A couple folks are roasting meat over a fire.Inhabitants watch me warily. At least the thugs have not come out of the woodwork for round two. After a while, I find the store. That’s one way of calling it. It’s basically a big tent with a restless queue. As I try to make my way through it, dodging angry glares and aggressive elbows, and search for Firith, I hear a loud commotion.

“What’s your price? Name it! Look, I got cigs. Here, I’ve got bread. You can have it all,” a Mon Calamari shouts.
“Yu not understand. We have no antibiotics, only painkillers.” I guess that’s the Gungan owner of the store.
“I know where you get your supplies from. Listen, my wife’s very sick. If she doesn’t get help, she’ll die.”
“Mesa very sorry, but wesa cannot help. Mesa can give her something for the pain. Now yousa holding up the other customers.”
“She’s going to die. Don’t bullshit. I know you trade on the black market. If you don’t help me, I’m...I’m reporting you.”
A wiry, strong looking Zabrak steps in between. He holds a baton. “It’s time for you to leave. Now.”
“No,” then suddenly I see the customer behind him step forward. Or rather limp. Firith. He puts a hand on the Mon Calamari’s shoulder and whispers something. I’m too far away to hear anything. The Mon Calamari shoots the store owner another glare, and leaves, pushing his way through.

“Firith!” I call out, seeing Firith get a packet of what I assume are painkillers from the Gungan and walk away. Hearing me, he stops dead in his track and looks at me. It’s like he’s seeing a ghost. Ignoring the crowd, I run towards him. Before my brain can catch up with me and tell me how much it bloody hurts to be me, I’ve thrown my arms around him.
“Easy! Shakka..Hell, I thought you’d died...”
“What do you mean? I sent you letters all the time.” Then I realise. “Censors.”
“Where mine ended up, too. They got less stupid and figured out our trick. What the hell are you doing here?” he looks me up and down. “You’re hurt.” He immediately fishes for his packet of painkillers.
“Don’t sweat it,” I interject. “I’m not the one who got whipped.”
“And you’re getting into trouble all the same,” he says in that big brother voice of his, leading me away from the queue. “Not that I’m not happy to see you because I am, though I hate the circumstances,” he glimpses at my collar. “I’m sorry. Saw you with your...owner in the fields.” It’s sympathy, not pity, I tell myself. I try to brush it aside. But then there’s something else in his eyes. “Did they send you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Look, I’m on a leash. They say jump, I jump, but I’m trying to keep what’s left of my family from being killed, ok? We don’t have a lotta time. There was a PF raid at your family’s home. They took your wife.”
I wince when his fist hits a tree. He grunts in anger and pain. “Shit. My son?” his hands are trembling. I see there’s blood dripping from his palm.

“Still at the house. That man Aramgir is with him. You trust him?”
He tears off some cloth from his sleeve and I wrap a bandage around his bleeding hand. “Aramgir’s good people. But if the Vaderites come again, he won’t be able to protect him. No one can protect anyone here. Frak. I must get her out.” We’ve reached his tent.
I take a breath. This is the part I really do not want to deal with. “I might be able to help you with that.” He frowns sceptically. Before he can speak up, I press on. “It’s a long shot...but I’ll need your help with something first.”
He pulls me into the tent. “So you are here for your owners.”
The words just burst out of me. “Frak, I’m a slave, what do you expect? I can’t exactly pick and choose. The Vaderites are preparing the gallows. I don’t want y’all to end up on them, okay?”
“Shakka, calm down. I didn’t mean it like that.” I know he did. “What does your master want? I take it this is about grain. Afraid I just work in the fields. Where it goes isn’t up to me.”
“I’ve heard some things that say differently. Who’s Barah?”
“Zeltron. Works with the council and the humie admin. One of the ‘sanctioned xenos’ with a fancy badge.”
“Come off it, Firith, you know more than that. Aramgir said you’re two are tight.”

“You’re a lousy liar.”
“That guy at the store was ranting about black market goods and close to run to the PF, then you talk to him and he chills. Do you know something about the black market? My master can get your wife out. But you must help me. You know how the Vaderites are, they don’t lift a finger for us unless we’re of use.”
“Firstly, don’t talk so loudly, cousin. You never know who’s listening. Secondly, everyone uses the black market. We because otherwise we’ll de, the humies because it turns a profit. And thirdly, the word of a Vaderite isn’t worth a bag of piss. They’ll screw you over for being too useful.”
“I know.” My tone’s curt. “But what chance do we have? Do you wanna see Lena again?”
“We have another chance.” Before I can respond, he raises his finger to his lips. “Barah is a middleman. Middlewoman, whatever. A fixer. Before you ask, I don’t know any of the humie bigshots. They don’t involve themselves with the riff-raff.”
“You work for this Barah?”
“You could say I’m a maid for everything. I scout out where there’s something to nab or who she can rope into doing the legwork for her.”
“Can you arrange a meeting then?”

“What do you want to tell her then? She’s not gonna spit out who her partners are, and she has always has guards. But I can do something better.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” Part of me thinks he likes being dramatic. He swallows one of the pills he got from the store. I look at him with concern, but he tucks the packet away and beckons me to follow him out. At least it’s stopped raining. We walk past tents, makeshift huts and the occasional tree. There’s not a PF thug in sight, but I can’t help feel that the armed goons who attacked me are out there – watching us.
“Walk as if you belong. Don’t stare at them,” Firith instructs me quietly. A Duros hands over a silver ring to a Twi’lek and his Trandoshan offside, and gets a bunch of potatoes. An armed Twi’lek with a bat stop us stop us. I see more waiting in the wings. He glares at my collar.
“She’s with me,” Firith steps forward. He takes the man aside and they go to a tree. They’re too far away for me to hear anything. I fidget, waiting with bated breath until he comes back – or for him to get whacked. Finally, he returns. “You’re cleared.”
“Cleared not to get whacked?”
“Something like that.” He leads me to a well at the edge of the slum and pulls out a flashlight. “It’s dried out. We’re climbing down.”
“Shouldn’t we get a rope? You got whacked pretty hard.”

“There’s steps. Just gotta be careful. Follow my lead.” And so we climb down. Turns out there’s stones between the wells for us to use as toe-holds, and someone’s put in iron bars. I climb down slowly, using the bars like steps on a ladder. Once I slip, but manage to just about catch myself. I take a breath and keep climbing. “You okay?” I hear Firith.
“Peachey.” Finally we’ve reached the ground. As Firith said, there’s no water. Even with his flashlight, it’s bloody dark. I take a step forward and stumble. I lift myself up, and when the light flashes my way I realise I tripped over a skeleton. “Frak.” I back away from the bones.
“Once there was a riot and the Vaderites cut off the water supply. Kids came here to the well. The water was dirty, but it was better than nothing. Accidents happened,” Firith explains. “Come on.” He limps past the skeleton.
I spare the remains a last glance. I’m not a praying type. The only thing I know the Force as is as a tool to oppress and beat people like me. I hope whoever died here’s at peace though. “No matter what, we’re always under their thumb.”
Before us lies a tunnel. It’s narrow as hell, but we can pass through if we crawl. “Lemme guess, it leads to the black market.”
“Part of it, yeah. Folks use the tunnels to transport the goods. No idea how far they extend. So which of the Vaderites is your Master? The old witch or the young one?”
“The second. She’s...it could be worse, I guess.”
“The worst ones are those who make you think they value you. Then one day they show their true colours,” he sighs. “I should’ve been there for you.”
“You did all you could. Saved me once. My turn to help you now.”
“No, our turn to help each other.” There’s a light in the distance. “Frak the Masters, frak their lackeys. You, Lea, Jela and me. We’re gonna to get out.”
 
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“Today, our brave boys foiled a cowardly Dominion air raid before it could reach civilian settlements in the province of Vardar. Led by Darth Lachesis, our soldiers and pilots cleansed the sky of Dominion bombers. So desperate were the poorly-trained Dominion pilots that they tried to use their bombers for suicidal ramming attacks.” The anchorman’s words are intercut with doctored ‘footage’. We see various bomber wrecks. They may be Dominion ones from another engagement, or not. It is hard to tell. Then we see TIE fighters shoot through the sky.

“After the enemy withdraws in humiliation, the soldiers are welcomed by the grateful people of Hope Falls. Erected by the order of the Supreme Leader to give the Imperium’s most loyal xenos a living space of their own, it has become a major breadbasket for humankind. Here, the xenos learn the ways of civilisation. They have rejected the lies of Jedism and anarchy.” This footage is actually real, but modified. I recognise the dancing xenos that irritated Lachesis so much. A little girl holds flowers and bows. Xenos councillors and the Prefect welcome her, but Nass is nowhere to be seen. Maybe she’s already dead.

“Together, the administration of Hope Falls and brave Darth Lachesis begin a campaign to root out Dominion sabotage. Meanwhile, the Human Protection Army strikes back against the heart of xenos Jedism.” We see mobile launching platforms – trucks – with ballistic missiles. For a moment, my breathing stands still. Could they really be mad enough to load it with a chemical warhead? Or a Despoiler?

I push the thought aside. Eisen is rational. Two missiles take off into the night sky. I’m no military expert. Most of the jargon escapes me. But I remember being frightened of missiles like this when Eisen lobbed them at the Scarlet Keep. Nikita told me they’re very inaccurate. They did not do much against the citadel, but that was small comfort to civilians whose homes were laid to waste. I wonder what the target is. Waegner plays, and people at the table cheer with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The kids at the table clap.

“Conceived by mankind’s greatest minds, the Vengeance missiles can turn a city into a sea of flames. As long as one human breathes air, the Imperium will always strike back. In other news, the Security Police stormed a compound where followers of the traitor Erlösung and the terrorist Republican Guard were working on chemical weapons intended for use against innocent civilians. But our protectors never sleep.

While the Jedi and the Guard’s Vong masters plot against the Imperium, they are busy at work decimating the human population in the territories that suffer from their misrule. We have received confirmation that the Guard is forcing human slave-soldiers to go on death charges against Dominion fortifications. The Jedi have deployed their human slaves to the most dangerous areas and deny them support.”
We see trenches, artillery fire, and soldiers charging. Part of me wonders whether they reuse the footage all the time. “Their goal is clear: to wipe out the strongest specimen that stand between and the enslavement of all of Tephrike. But as long as the Imperium stands, mankind will not perish.” We cut to a cruise ship, then see a cerulean sea, beaches and a palatial building.

“The Adras Kasidiaris, carrying hundreds of model workers, arrives at a Strength Through Happiness resort. These men have worked hard to exceed the production quotas for munitions by 150% and now enjoy well-earned leisure in the finest resort on all of Tephrike before they return to their factories.” Finally, the anchorman comes into view again. A portrait of Darth Eisen hangs on the wall behind him, framed by Imperial flags. “For the Humanist Broadcasting Service, I am Herman Weise, good night.”

“Lord, were you in that attack?” Alec asks.
“Yes, I was. The cowards attacked our convoy. And please, Kyriaki is fine. We’re not on parade, after all.”
“So you fought them!” Paula exclaims with a gleam in her eye. “So brave! I hope that missile kills lots of evil xenos. They deserve getting their arses kicked.”
“Language, Paula Bakios. We have guests,” Helena chides her sharply.
“But the Supreme Leader uses bad swords sometimes. Kyri said so,” Paula protests, looking at me for support.
“Only when he’s very angry because a human was hurt or we failed the fatherland, dear,” I say indulgently, reaching out to ruffle her hair a bit. “So listen to your mother.”
“Um, my lord, I mean...Kyri, do you think we’re going to invade the Dominion soon?” Roel asks. “My big brother might get deployed if we do. He already knows how to use a gun and his storm helped the police catch xenos when the Vong set off that big bomb in Adlerberg.”

“Lucky him,” Alec mutters. “Bet he’s just bragging.”
The Togruta maiden and the butler serve us food and drink. There’s lots of liquor to go around. I turn to the children and smile at them. “Sounds like your brother is quite the hero. I can’t say for sure when we’ll fight them. But I know the Supreme Leader will pick the right moment. And then it’s up to us to do all we can to win. We can all contribute, no matter whether we’re young or old, at the frontlines or at home.”
“Don’t talk like that about your brother,” Bakios reprimands his youngest. “Adrian’s doing his part to make our country a little safer. We should all be proud of him. Just last week, his storm leader told me what a model soldier he is.”
“Indeed, he’d do best in a guards regiment. Maybe even the Lifeguard. The Leader needs soldiers who aren’t just brave, but smart, too. It’s an honour to be chosen,” Helena speaks up.
Bakios shakes his head. “When was the last time the Lifeguard got into a real scrap? Those pretty uniforms could stand to be torn with shrapnel. He’s going to earn his spores on the frontlines like Simon and me.” He uncorks a bottle.

“You know, old buddy, I’m not sure there’ll be that much to fight when your boy gets to the frontlines,” Simon opines. “From what I hear, the Jedi and the Vong are busy slaughtering each other. We can sit back and swoop in.”
Bakios scoffs. “They’re both run by the same xenos mafia. Deep down they know mankind is the true enemy.”
“Can I join the army when I’m older, Dad?” Paula suddenly asks. “Then I can look after Adrian. He keeps getting into trouble.”
Alec laughs. “Don’t be daft, Paula. You’re a girl.”
“You’re mean. I want to be a pilot, like the Leader. I want to go into space. Can I, Dad?”
“Paula, sweetie, one day you’ll marry a husband who’ll be strong and brave and make you very happy. Men and women are made for different battles.”
“But I want to fly,” she audibly stomps her foot on the floor. She gazes over to me, as if reaching out for help. “Kyri, you fight. Are there many Disciples?”

“Not that many, but those we do have are very strong. You saw Darth Lachesis on the news, didn’t you?” She nods eagerly. “Well, your father and I work for her. The Supreme Leader recognises the value of anyone who has the talent to serve the fatherland.”
“Then why...”
“Let’s not let the food get cold,” Helena interjects sharply. I imagine this is what people would call a ‘mother’ voice. I would not know. During all this back and forth, the xenos ‘servants’ have set the table. She looks at her husband. “Georg, will you bless the meal?”
“You know, why don’t you give the blessing, Simon?” Bakios asks in that all-too-friendly tone. “We’re family, after all.”
He smiled. “Gladly.” We all fold our hands. “Ready, kids?” he asks, then begins the chant.

“O Lord, who rules over all stars in the galaxy, glory to thy name,
we share this meal in your honour,
we thank you for putting us together as a family, and thank you for this bountiful nourishment;
O Lord, help steer each family member to goodness,
let our hearts be filled by love for our fatherland;
Bless, O Lord, our Supreme Leader, in all tasks which are laid upon him.
Allow upon his course, to shine your mercy and your wisdom.
Awaken in our hearts anew,
our human bloodline, loyalty and strength.
And so allow us to be strong and pure,
To spread your glory forevermore,
for all mankind.”


“So mote it be,” we say in near-unison. It is the phrase that always come after a prayer has been said.
“The Sith’ari doesn’t walk the earth, but he sees all, hears all,” Bakios says solemnly. “He’ll be with us – always. Now don’t let the meal go to waste, guys. Eat heartily.” And so we dig into the meal. It is a hearty one. A lot of liquor flows. Bakios’ colleagues eagerly help themselves to it. I watch them out of the corner of my eye as I nip at the food. Bakios is drinking, gesticulating and sharing anecdotes. Simon and a few of the others say cheers, laugh over old jokes and stories.
It seems Helena has gotten over the ‘novelty’ of having a Disciple in the house and is in full good hostess mode. “Eat, Kyriaki. You’re so thin, dear. Would you like some wine?”
I pull my attention away from her husband. “Yes please,” In truth, I am hungry, so I help myself to the meal. “The food is good. Thank you for having me at your table.”
“Oh, don’t mention it.” The smile on her face looks very rehearsed. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been a Disciple? Where are you from?”
“I graduated fairly recently, actually. My entrance was not the most orthodox. But the Leader saw I had gone through the crucible and gave me a chance. I have a place in Adlerberg, but I’m rarely there. Work takes me many places – not that I mind. It is fulfilling work.”

There is a flicker of something on her face at the moment. “So you work directly for the Leader?”
“When he calls, I answer. We all serve him in one way or another.”
“Of course. My father was a Disciple, but he fell during the war.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” What is it like to lose a parent? I have none. The closest equivalent is...Eisen? The Headmaster? An unpleasant thought. In truth, I am wondering about whether being the Force-blind wife of a camp manager makes her a disappointment to the family.
“He left the world the way he had lived in it – serving the Imperium,” she retorts primly. How much of this is genuine? “I raise the children in his spirit. Do you have any family?”
“No, no family,” I pause – a bit too long. I have a family of one, but she is in the stars and I’ve never met her. “No ancient bloodline. Just myself and what I’ve made with my own hand.”

“I see. That must be hard. But surely that will change soon. You’re young and attractive. Men will be lining up for your hand.” Yes, because male Disciples are such enticing prospects. Her words convey enthusiasm and encouragement, the emotions I pick up from her do not. She clicks her fingers to the Togruta’s attention and raises her glass.
“Girl, don’t just stand there! More wine. And some whiskey for the boys.” Quickly the slave scurries away. I catch a nervous glance towards Bakios. Helena shakes her head in exasperation. “You feed them, clothe them, house them, and train them – and what do they do? Laze around when you turn your back.”
“Yes, it’s so difficult to find good slaves these days,” I try to make my tone as empathic as possible.
“Indentured servants,” she corrects sharply.
“Of course, just a slip of tongue. As for your query, I’m afraid I can’t spare the time for marriage. As I said, work fulfils me.”
“I wouldn’t know what that is like, since I’ve raised children for the glory of the fatherland. They are our future, you know.” Helena’s tone is just a bit snide...and bitter? “I’m no expert, but I recall it being the law that Disciples must marry. Doesn’t the Racial Health Department arrange marriages for Disciples who have trouble finding a partner?”
“I’m sure I can manage without help. Besides, I’m still very, very young.”

The Togruta slave girl returns. What was her name again? Right, Tara. She serves Bakios’ increasingly noisy and intoxicated colleagues, then comes to us. “Your wine, Masters,” she says demurely.
“Give me the bottle,” Helena orders. Taking out her irritation, I see. “No, that’s the wrong,” she declares. “You were supposed to get the Chardonnay.”
“The last bottle is empty, Master. You, uh, finished it.”
“Are you saying it is my fault, girl? You should have bought more.”
“They were sold out. I told...”
“You know, I don’t think I’ve tried this one yet,” I interject. “I’m sure it’ll taste just as nice. Pour me a glass, servant,” I stress the last word.
“Yes, Master,” her hands are shaking when she pours it. All it takes is a small tug of the Force and the glass falls, shattering into tiny pieces. She looks mortified. “I’m sorry...I’ll clean it up...” She starts picking up shards with her hand.
“Georg, your servant has messed up again,” Helena calls out.
Her husband evidently takes his time to get there. “Now, now, I’m it was just a mistake,” he says in what he must think is a soothing tone. He grabs the Togruta’s jaw and forces her to look at him. “I thought you wanted to be a good girl, Tara.”

I should feel bad for her. There is naked fear in her eyes. But all I can think of is that this is a lever for me to pull. I am a horrible person. “I’m a good girl, I’ve been working hard.”
“You should just get a better servant. Send this one back to the gutter,” Helena hisses angrily.
“Please, don’t send me back. I’ll be better...”
“Tara, you know I’m not a heartless man. I care deeply for my staff. But when you act out, I need to set you right so you learn.” She nods meekly. Her eyes are vacant. He turns to his wife. “I’ll take care of this, and then we’ll put this behind this. Now the boys and I are going to set off some fireworks.”
“Of course, you must celebrate our forces’ great victory.” Her tone is mechanical. “But make sure you discipline her first,” she shoots the Togruta a cold glare, then looks at Rouel and Alec. “Why don’t you take the boys with you?”

Bakios nods and looks at his sons. “That’s a great idea. What about you, kids? Want to see off some fireworks with your old man?” I notice how he does not invite his wife or his daughter. The latter looks just a bit put out.
“Yes, Papa!” Rouel exclaims enthusiastically. Alec chimes in, too.
“What about me?” Paula asks.
“Keep your mother company, sweetie. You can watch the fireworks from the window.” Disappointment is written across her face. The ‘master of the house’ looks at me. “Would you like to come along, my dear, or are you fine holding the fort?”
“Actually, I’m feeling a bit tired after today’s excitement,” I fake a yawn. “Too much wine too, maybe. Besides, I owe Paula a story.”
Her eyes light up. “Yes, you do!”
“A promise is a promise,” Bakios affirms because he has no shortage of pithy platitudes. He gives his daughter a kiss on the forehead. “Tell me about it when I’m back, deal?” He turns around. “Come on, lads.” Before he steps out, he snaps his finger at Tara. “Come with me.”

His minions begin to file out. Simon is one of those who approach Helena first. “Thanks for having us, Helena. The meal was lovely.”
“Oh, don’t mention it, Simon,” she smiles at him.
“You know, when things are less hectic, Sarah and I were thinking about taking the kids to Magic Park. Why don’t y’all come along? Sure the kids will love it.”
“That sounds like a great idea. I’ve been meaning to spend more time with Sarah. And our kids get on so well.”
“Excellent,” he grins and looks at me. “Always a pleasure to meet, a Disciple. I look forward to working with you.”
“I look forward to your report. I’m sure everyone involved in these criminal activities will get what they deserve,” I respond.
He gives Paula a hug and then steps out of the living room. “And now it’s just us ladies. I’m sure we can entertain ourselves,” I declare with a thin smile. “Paula, sweetie,” I cock my head and gently pat my lap. “Come over here.”
Obediently she sits down. “I love dad. But I don’t like it when he takes the boys and leaves me. It’s not fair.”

Helena opens her mouth, but I pre-empt her. “Your father loves you. He’s just a bit very protective.”
“Was your dad like that?”
“I have no father, dear.” I see a flicker of realisation on Helena’s words. I’m certain she’s mouthed ‘clone’. “I suppose the closest thing is the Supreme Leader. But then we’re all his children, aren’t we Helena?”
“Yes,” the girl’s mother says curtly. She’s watching me intently.
She seems to have relaxed. It feels awkward having her sit with me. “Tell me about how you meet him. How you killed those evil Jedi.”
“Well, I was captive of the pretender dark lord – Achilles. You heard of him?” She nods. “The boy-king was a very nasty man and a coward. He hid away in his castle, killing innocent humans. He was cruel to me. But then the true Supreme Leader marched on it at the head of an army of knights...”
I hear soft footsteps on the carpet, then Tara slips into the living room. She walks very slowly and carefully. When she bends down, she winces in pain and groans. Without a word, she starts cleaning up. Paula notices her though. “You okay?” she asks innocently.
“The servant is fine, Paula. She was naughty and had to be corrected,” her mother says sternly. “Listen to the story.”

“Right, where was I again?” I ask rhetorically. “Ah, yes. The steel of the Supreme Leader’s brave knights clashed with that of the pretender’s mercenaries. The Supreme Leader was right in the thick of things. None could match his sorcery. His presence inspired the Stormtroopers to great acts of valour and struck terror into the hearts of the wicked. However, Achilles’ citadel was protected by a powerful shield that could withstand any bombardment. I could see the battle from the room I had been imprisoned in, along with many other women of Achilles’ court. The pretender had left a guard behind to murder us. I could see the fires rising in the sky, and all those brave soldiers fighting. I could feel the Supreme Leader from afar, and I decided not to cowardly hide...”
 
It hits me like a brick. I stop moving through the narrow, dirty tunnel and stare at him incredulously. “You’re joking.”
“I’ve never been more serious.”
I snort. At least we’re not on the surface. “Then you’re mad. In case the PF knocked your brain cells out, Butcher Lachesis is in town, the place is under lockdown, your wife’s in jail and there’s a shock collar around my neck that shows the whole world I'm a slave. And that will kill me if I try to remove it."
“And you think being good drones will save us?” he counters hotly. “Where’s the Shakka I remember? The one who’d rather take her chances and face the gangs and the Vaderites than waste away in a slave factory?
“Things were different then. Then you got deported, I was enslaved and Vrerkh...” I try not to crack up, “Vrerkh died.”
“It’s not your fault she died.”

“Don’t,” I snap more harshly than I’d like, “just don’t, ok? I was careless. She was gunned down like an animal right before me and I could do sod-all. I got to live because some Vaderite wanted to have a pet.” Because I’m useful. And maybe so that she can tell herself she’s better than the rest because she spared a slave after chopping her friend’s head off.
“She wanted you to be free, coz.”
“She told me to live,” I retort sharply. “You got no right to tell me what she’d want.”

“And would you call this living? Always being in fear that your oh-so-benevolent Master might one day decide you’re too much of a burden and in need of a lesson? Or sells you off to a camp once you’re not useful anymore? Or gets herself killed and someone crueller claims you?”
“We rarely get what we want. She’s the devil I know. Have you even thought about what they’ll do to Lena and your kid if this goes south? Have you even spoken to her?”
“Haven’t been able to talk to her since the Vaderites showed up. But we’ve talked about what to do if things really went to hell. Not like I can tell her what to do even if I wanted to. I want my kid to have a chance to grow up somewhere where simply being Twi’lek isn’t a crime. Here, he’ll grow up to be a labour drone until a guard shoots him for being uppity, or there’s another famine.”
“I said my Master could get y’all out. Take you somewhere better”

“And where would that be? Her farm? Some private factory of hers? Remember, that’s how Hope Falls started. Eisen made noise about being a kind, good Master who was going to give us inferior xenos our own land. He even got those pathetic Jedi hippies to come over and go on record saying that everything was fine and dandy. Hell, that’s how they advertised that sweatshop I found you in.”

Old wine, new bottles. I’m not so stupid to think that she’s good or wants to overturn the system. Kyriaki does not see me as an equal. That’s obvious. I’m property to her. She says so herself when we’re alone. I do think she cares about me a bit. But if push comes to shove, I’m the slave who should be grateful to her for not beating me. The collar feels heavy and cold around my neck.

If I run, will she bother try help anyone? Would that even make a difference? On the one hand, a vague promise from a Vaderite, on the other family. It’s a no-brainer. “Frak it. I assume you got a plan. It better be a good one. I’m not signing up for some half-cocked scheme. And have you figured out where you’re gonna run to?”
“Don’t I ever?” I don’t bother answer that, but fortunately he hurries up. “Anyway, the weakest section is the river.”
“Which has spikes and obstacles. The humie head honcho bragged about it,” I point it.
“Yes, trying to get through it won’t be easy. It’ll be slow as hell, but it can be done. We can’t climb over the wall or use the road. We’d best do it at night. And the water will hide our scent from anyone chasing us.”
I frown. “Would be easier if we had a diversion on the other side.”
“Agreed, and that’s why I want to get in touch with the RG.”
“The Republican Guard? Fat lot of good they’ve ever done for us. We’re just a couple slaves. They don’t give a shit about us.”

“Tell that to their boys who died in the uprising back home.”
“While their high command hung them out to dry.”
“They’d just gotten licked by the DOL. Anyway, they’re our best chance. Where else can we run to? The Dominion? Hide in the woods? But you’re right: one house slave and a couple labourers don’t matter to them. Unless we have something to offer.”
I realise what he’s getting at. “It’s my mission. They could use the intel on where there’s grain and stolen goods. They have agents here?”
“I don’t their names, but I know they take a cut of the smuggled goods. Probably don’t like the price they gotta pay.”
I scoff. “Maybe they could do something helpful by bumping off some Vaderites and giving the peasants they supposedly care about so much some guns.”

“We don’t need them to care about anyone in this shithole; we just need them to help us get out.”
“And snatch your kid and conscript us to go die in a trench somewhere,” I remark caustically.
“Risk we gotta take. Better to go down fighting than on our knees. We should get moving.”
“Yeah, we should.”
“So...you in?”

I turn and look him right in the eye. As much as I can see anything given how bloody dark it is. “Yes. The last Fiatkins together again, huh?”
He smiles thinly. “Us against the world. Just like old times.” Fortunately, the tunnels get less narrow. I hear noise coming from afar. Finally, I can see some light. “You got one of those fancy badges, doncha?” Firith asks quietly. I nod. “Word of advice, don’t flash it around. People get tetchy.”
“I figured. Already got the memo top side.”

I find myself inside a market. Wherever, I look I see vendors offering their wares – talismans, clothes, food. Gungans, Twi’leks, Gamorreans, Rodians and members of various other races are selling and haggling. Some trade with coins, but most use barter. Sometimes the negotiations get aggressive. Here and there, a guard hauls a belligerent customer away or swings a baton. The air smells of desperation. It’s like people are trying to gobble up all they can...before the Vaderites bring down the hammer. I tap Firith on the shoulder. “There’s humies here,” I note, pointing at a man in PF uniform.
“They get their cut; they keep quiet.”

“Frak, I remember him.” Anger flashes inside my eyes. He’s the one who hurt those poor Mon Calamari. “And her. I know that queen. I saw her lynch one of us!”
“Shakka,” he says quietly, “not here.”
I take a breath. “I got this, don’t worry.” He leads me to a cave that looks like an improvised bar. It’s all gaudy and sleazy. Reminds me of the bars back home. A couple Gamorren guards bar our entrance, grunting at us suspiciously.

“I’m here to see Barah,” Firith says. The guards are staring at me, so he adds: “She’s family. I vouch for her.”
One of the guards picks up a comm – when was the last time I saw an alien with one? He grunts something in his strange language, then hangs up. “Go. No funny business,” he grunts and move aside. Their suspicious glances follow us as we step in.
Inside, various patrons have made themselves comfortable. I see both human and alien clients. It smells off stale beer, cheap food, blood and cigarra smoke. A Twi’lek who’s wearing very little dances on the lap of a human guard. Better not run afoul of the race police. He may get away with forced labour, she’d die.
“Humies don’t pay the PF much. We bribe him to look the other when he’s on guard duty,” Firith explains quietly. “If he sings, his bosses find out he ‘shamed his race’.”
“Won’t help if the blackshirts apply the thumbscrews,” I point out.

“No, that’s why we gotta get out. Barah will play coy. She probably has a plan B, but she won’t just tell us.” The lighting is dim. Firith looks confident, but I keep my guard. Letting it down for even a second could mean disaster.
Firith chats a bit with another guard in front of a backroom, then we are let in. The room looks real a gaudy. A Zeltron female, dressed in leather pants and a shirt, is slouching on a comfy leather chair. Her feet are propped up on a small table. There’s a pistol lying on it. Two thugs stand in the background. She’s smoking a deathstick. I suppress a cough. At the sight of us, her eyes light up.
“Look what the nexu dragged in. The prodigal worker. Heard you were almost beaten to death,” she drawls, looking at Firith.
“Emphasis on ‘almost’.”
“’Almost’ is already too much for one of my investments. What were you thinking? Pointlessly playing hero. You’ve been here long enough to know the rules.”
“I’m a slow learner, it’s true,” he says. “A good worker though.”
She preens herself. “I assume you’re here for a reason. And who’s that?” she glanced towards me. “My people saw her with the Vaderite delegation. You brought a slave here?”
“My cousin. She’s the slave of one of the Disciples.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I can speak for myself,” I interject. “My owner reports directly to Eisen.”
“Oh, what illustrious company I have! Well, then, slave of the personal lackey of Eisen, maybe your owner should know that their little purges are biting the hand that feeds them. Not that they’d listen to a slave, of course. Now if you’re here to get that ugly collar off your neck, I’m afraid I can’t oblige. I’m businesswoman, you see, not the owner of an underground railroad.”
“We’re here for business.”
“Oh? Then make your pitch,” she takes a long drag.
“It’s a great opportunity for you,” Firith stresses the last word. “For it, we need to get in contact with the Guard.”
Barah narrows her eyes slightly. “What do you want with them?”
“I know you know people there.”
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, sugar.”

“Come off it, Barah. They need grain just as anyone, especially now that the Dominion is bombing any RG village they can find. Well, guess what, those little purges you mentioned are making people topside panicky. There’s a lot of stolen grain folks want to get rid of before the inquisition knocks on their door. You’ve got a chance to cash out.”
“Hmmph, maybe. But, sugar, this isn’t the first storm I’ve weathered, and if I set up something with the RG while Butcher Lachesis is in town...can you imagine how bad that would look. I’ve made many comfortable arrangements with the humies.”
“My master, Lady Kyriaki, is overseeing the investigation into the lost produce. Eisen appointed her himself.”
“Yes, kitten, you already told me. A rather boring job for a Vaderite.”
I smile thinly. “Exactly. You think she does all the legwork herself? I examine the files for her. Transactions, shipments of grain that have been conveniently lost or been ‘contaminated’. I think your name might’ve come up.”
She gestures towards a lackey. “Fetch us some whiskey.” Then she turns her gaze back to me. “You wouldn’t find anything suspicious about me there. Besides, I’ve got more than enough dirt on them.” Her tone’s too casual.

“On the local honchos? Well, they’re busy locking them up. The chairwoman’s already being tortured. They’ve got the Prefect in their sights and I heard Lachesis mutter something about decimations. Just a few hours ago, my Master was bragging to me about how good she is at making people talk with her Force voodoo. You know how those humies operate: the first person they hang is the ‘xenos’.”
A lackey returns and hands her a glass. She takes a sip. “And you have complete access to any files your owner receives? Quite a lot of trust to place in a slave.”
I shrug. “You know how the Vaderites are. ‘Oh, I’ve broken her in. She won’t dare lie to me. Her life is so much better with me.’”
As if on cue, Firith continues: “Which means we can also find out where grains’ been hidden.”

She chuckles. “And I get first dibs on anything you know. Plus some dirt to make sure the humies don’t eat me up. They’ll be looking over their shoulders and pointing fingers at each other. Maye guns, too. Tempting thought. “Her expression darkens. “What keeps you from running to your Master and ratting me out? Especially someone who’s as quick to go behind her owner’s as you, my dear girl. Seems like a very convenient means of entrapment.” I freeze when I hear someone cock a gun behind us. Barah crosses her legs and raises an eyebrow. “Well?” the queen asks expectantly.

“There’s a tracker in my spine,” I say bluntly. “It’s constantly monitored.”
“I’m aware, sweet girl. And you’re not making a good case for yourself.”
“Then pay attention. My whereabouts aren’t actively tracked twenty-four hours of the day. So am I going behind my Master’s back? Hell yes. I’m a slave. Does that make me loyal and obedient every waking second? Do you clear all your ‘deals’ with the Vaderites first? Aren’t your best clients Vaderite thugs breaking the law?” I let those words hang for a moment “It’s a good deal for you and the RG. You make money and cause some strife among the humies.”
“And without a purge among the humies, it’s just a matter of time before they crack down on your activities, Barah,” Firith points out calmly. “Better to put them off your scent by getting some humies killed.”
She leans back in her chair. “I don’t trust ‘em, boss,” a goon says.

“And I pay you to kneecap fools, not think about business decisions. I’m on board. But don’t forget one thing: I’m watching you all. Everyone here does business with me in some form. And if you frak me over, I’ll kill you. We pull this offer together...and your Masters will suddenly hear about how helpful you were. Clear?”
“Crystal,” Firith nods. “I can handle the message. Just tell me what it is. I assume there’s a go-between.”
“’Hello, Jaina, fancy a pint at the Happy Sparrow? On me. Say tomorrow at nine? Your friend, Jacen.” Firith jots it down. A goon passes an envelope over. “The courier’s name is Vexa. Rodian. Little girl.”
He nods knowingly. “Quiet, skinny, white skin?”
“Bingo.” Her gaze shifts to me. “And I suppose you need something to present to your master so you can account for your absence, correct?”
“Something that’ll just happen to take the heat off you and your legitimate business. Something that’ll direct them to some of the missing grain – away from you.”

She smirks in that real smug way that’s starting to annoy me. “Oh, you know, there’s this really big warehouse. But everyone knows that Special Storage Station 4 has not been in use for ages. It’s just the place where old tools go. Believe me, you won’t find any old tyre treads if you go look. Now I’ve got things to do, so get a move on, my lovelies.”
“Always a pleasure, boss lady. Come on, cuz.” Firith walks out and I follow. The goons part ways outside to let us out.
“So we’re the ones with kid couriers now, huh?” My question’s rhetorical, obviously. “Brings back memories of being on the other side.” The courier doesn’t know who they’re actually delivering to or what the message means...in case they get caught and tortured. My stomach lurches.

“I know the girl. She’s an old hand at this. Reliable.” That doesn’t make feel a lot better. Outside the backroom, business continues as usual. The dancer has gone. So has her customer. Some people are drinking. I push away a very drunk humie who tries to grab me. The wheeling and dealing is still going on at the black market, but there’s a sense of urgency in the air. It’s like everyone knows that their few moments of freedom are about to come to an end. Firith leads me out through the tunnel. It’s dark as hell when we get to the surface. It makes me grateful for the torches some folks have lit. “You know where this Vexa is?” I ask quietly.

He nods. “She’s one of the mail kids.”
We stop at his tent to pick up some cigarras. After leaving tent town and passing way too many checkpoints, we reach what Firith tells me is the Innocence Orphan Home. It has no windows. Instead it has small holes with thick iron gratings.
“They say it’s for ‘security’. To keep the kids from ‘falling out’,” Firith says sarcastically.
“You mean running away,” I snarl.”
“’Iron for iron, donated by the Iron Man.’ That’s the new slogan.” And, look, there’s a statue of the swine himself in the courtyard.” From the outside the building looks run-down.
“It’s like back home, ain’t it?” I ask as Firith rings the doorbell. Crowded rooms, dirty water, dirty clothes, few beds.

“Sometimes a humie comes along makes a kid sign a ‘contract’ full with words it has no way of understanding. Then they’re told they’ve signed their life away to become an ‘indentured asset’,” Firith says grimly. “Then the humie makes a ‘donation’ and the whole orphanage has to praise them for their ‘kindness’.”
The usher opens up. She’s an overworked looking Neimoidian with deep bags under her eyes. “It’s curfew. No visitors,” she grunts, eyeing my collar warily. “Name’s Firith. Your boss knows me. I gotta speak with one of your kids.”
“You know the rules...”
“We have a mutual friend.” Surreptitiously, he passes along two cigarras.
The usher pockets them. She taps her chronometer. “One minute. You wait here. Who do you want to see?”
“Vexa.”
A short while later, a white skinned Rodian girl steps out. Her clothes have seen better days and she’s thin, though not emaciated. “Hey, Vexa, right? Sorry if we woke...,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“You got mail?” she asks Firith. There’s that thousand yard stare in her eyes I know all too well.
“The usual rate.” He passes the letter and a cigarra over. “That’s currency, remember.” I roll my eyes at that.
In any event, she’s not having it. She takes a look at envelope, then slips the letter away. “Will deliver tomorrow.” She turns around and goes back inside.
 
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Paula listens with rapt attention during my retelling. When I talk about how Despina and I took down the shield generator of the castle, allowing the brave soldiers of Eisen to storm in and put an end to the ‘usurper’s insurrection, she claps. “You’re so brave!” she says admiringly. “That Achilles was so mean. He got what he deserved, right?”

“Yes, sweet girl. The Leader slew him. You see, he was powerful when beating people who couldn’t fight back, but he was no match for a true Master. His head was put on a pike for all to see.” The second part is true, the part about Eisen facing him in single combat not so much. I believe it was an artillery strike. It’s no blemish on Eisen. He had better things to do.
“Did the Leader show you? What was he like?”
“Aye. He was...imposing. When I was brought before him, I was...unnerved. His aura glowed with power, and I’d been told all these horrible stories about him. And he had a big Akk Dog with him. But when he actually talked to me, I realised I’d been fed lies. He was kind and jovial. He invited me to dine with him. There I told him my story. He promised me that tomorrow he would judge all those who’d served the evil boy-king. And I’d stand at his side and pick out those who’d committed crimes against the people.”

“He’s nice. What about Despina? And did the Jedi attack now?” Paula has started bouncing in her seat from excitement.
“Well, Despina had served the wrong Leader, you see. But without her I wouldn’t have made it out alive. So she was allowed to join the true Leader’s army. I haven’t seen her in a while, but I hope I will soon.” I do miss her indeed. I wonder what she’d think of what’s become of her ‘little bird’.
“As for the Jedi, they struck during the banquet.”
“Shouldn’t the guards have stopped them?” Paula asks. “Or were they all drunk?” I wonder where she gets the idea from. Helena winces.
“Paula Bakios,” she says sharply.
I wave it off. “The guards were sober. But the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. The Jedi used it to turn invisible. So no one could hear or see them. Suddenly, they’d appeared in our midst and attacked. Their enchanted blades glowed with power. The leader of the pair went for the Leader, attacking him with his blade and blasts of searing Light.

But the Leader withstood the storm, unwavering and fearless. Again and again their blades clashed. Then with all his might, the Leader smote the evil Twi’lek Jedi with the Force, crushing her. Cesar – his big dog – charged in, sinking his teeth into the Jedi. Her Mon Calamari acolyte lunged at him, but then fire roared from my hands. He screamed as the flames roasted him.”
Paula actually cheers, earning her a disapproving look from her mother. “You’re so cool! That’s so wicked!”
“You’re too kind, dear. The Leader thanked the Jedi for revealing flaws in his security, then pulled out his foe’s soul and bound it.”
“Why’d he do that?”
“Well, sweetie, what did they teach you in school about where the xenos got their power from?”
Paula thinks for a moment. “From us. People like you. They bred with humans to get power that wasn’t theirs.”
“Yes. So he took her power back.”
“Can you do that, too?”

“No. Only a Master can do that safely. Maybe I’ll learn it one day. Anyway, he fed her corpse to Cesar. The Leader was happy about how I’d dispatched that evil Jedi, but a bit upset about what I’d done to his carpet.”
“His carpet?”
“Well, I was still very inexperienced then and I’d been so angry...so I’d accidentally roasted it, too.” Paula laughs. “Hey, it was a very nice carpet. Someone had worked real hard on it. But the Leader didn’t hold a grudge!”
“He sounds cool. I’d like to meet him one day. Would he let me fly?”
“Paula, don’t be silly. It’s late. And you have school tomorrow, don’t you?” Helena says sternly.
Her daughter grimaces. “Yes, mother.” She looks at me. “It was great meeting you, Kyri. Will I see you again?” she asks hopefully.

I actually feel...bad for her. Her father is a bad man, but she’s just a little girl who doesn’t know any better and is trapped in asinine world. And what fate do the Vaderites have in store for her? Being the broodmare of another Party thug. She’ll pop four to five children, receive a medal and be trapped in the house while her husband sleeps with his secretary.
“I’ll be around for a bit, so I’m sure you will.” While I speak, the Togruta slave refills our glasses. “And maybe one day you will fly,” I add before I can stop. “But you must do well in your studies and listen to your mother.”

“Yes, Kyri.” The child gets up. “Thanks for the story.” Then we suddenly hear a loud bang. Then another. And another. It’s gunfire. Paula almost jumps. “What’s happening?”
“Wait here, I’ll go outside. Don’t let anyone in.”
But before I can leave, Helena takes my arm. “It’s alright. Everything is under control. There’s nothing to worry about.” We lock eyes and I understand. She knows. More bangs.
“Mum, Alex and Roel are out there. And Daddy. Are they ok?”
“Everything is fine, sweetie. They’ll be back soon,” she insists. There’s another bang, but this one is different. “Look.” And we see fireworks explode in a shower of sparks. Said sparks paint the clouds overhead, in streaks of golden fire. Paula walks towards the window with her mother. Her eyes are glued to the display. Time is running short. I look at the slave, busy clearing the table.

Then Helena nudges her daughter. “You see, I told you your Dad would make some nice fireworks. And now it’s bedtime to for you.”
“Yes, Mum. Good night, Kyri.” She curtseys politely.
Helena glances at me. “Can I leave you alone for a moment while I put her to bed?”
“Of course.” I give her daughter a smile. “Good night, Paula.”
And then I am alone with the slave. She keeps her head down and averts her eyes while she clears the table. “He’s cruel to you, isn’t he?” I ask rhetorically.
She looks startled when I address her. “Master is good. He is very measured in disciplining this one,” she says mechanically.
“He really loves his master of the house act. He must seem all-powerful to you. He isn’t. He’s just a lowly camp manager.”
“This...this one is loyal to Master. This one shouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“He does more than just hit you, doesn’t he? He’s under investigation. It’s why he invited me here. It’s why he’s so eager to impress Lachesis.” I get up and slowly step towards her. “I can get you out.”
“I...this one...cannot go back. Not there...”

“Out of Hope Falls. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” I gently take ahold of her chin and raise it.
There is no stutter when she speaks. “Why should this one believe you?”
“Can you afford not to? If he keeps his job, he’ll continue hurting you. If he loses it and you don’t help me, it’s back to the slum...or worse. If you help me, I’ll reward you. No more pain. All I want is some information.”
She takes a deep breath. The clock is ticking. “This one was cleaning his study. This one found some papers under the bookcase. There was an, uh, gap there. This one looked at them...and then quickly slipped them back.”
“Where’s the study?”
“Ground floor, near the kitchen. Please don’t take them, he’ll know.”
“I don’t need to. You can contact me under this number.” The number I scribble down on some paper belongs to Shakka. “Now keep quiet, and keep your eyes open.” Quickly, I leave the living room while she cleans up.

Bakios’ study is dominated by a large desk and a red leather chair. I enter surreptitiously. A camera hovers above me. There is a burst of static between my fingers. I have a few seconds. I notice a wall safe, but there is no time to check it out.There is noise coming from outside. Quickly, I get on the floor and reach out beneath the bookcase. Tara spoke the truth. There is a gap down there. I can feel papers. Maybe the bookcase is just the front of a secret little space to hide things in?
The noise grows louder. Quickly, I get out my ‘pad and take pictures of the pages. There is no time to read. I push papers back into the hidey hole, and get out. Out in the corridor I bump into Helena. “Paula’s all tucked in?” I ask casually. “She’s really a sweet girl.”
“Yes, she is.” I can feel her scrutinising me. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, just looking for the restroom. Lady’s business,” I smile bashfully.

She points in the direction. “That way.” I can feel her eyes following me. I make sure to spend a few moments in the restroom and run the water for a bit before stepping out. Just in time to see Bakios and his two sons come in.
I smile at him. “I see you weren’t joking about fireworks. Quite the spectacle.”
“Yeah, the boys loved them, didn’t you, lads?”
“Yeah, they were...nice,” Alec replies quietly. His face is pale and he averts his eyes, staring at the carpet.
“Uh, Papa, Uncle Simon...” Roel begins.
Bakios puts a hand on his shoulder. “Son, I explained it to you. He’s not your uncle. He’s a bad man. Look, I’m shocked, too. We were like brothers. He pulled the wool over all our eyes.”
“But why did he have to die?” the boy asks uncertainly. “Why did those men have to die?”

“Because if they hadn’t died, they would’ve hurt people – like your mother and your sister. They’re Dominion spies. I know it was difficult for you – watching them die. But if you sentence a man to death, you owe it to him to look him in the eye. That’s the burden we carry. A strong man makes the hard choices others can’t. One day, you’ll have stare an enemy in the eye and put him down without hesitation. Today, we made our town just a little safer.”
“What about Daniel? And Auntie Sarah?”
“The Party will take care of them.”
“But...what do I tell them? I won’t see Daniel again, will I?”
“Nothing will happen to him, I promise you. The Party doesn’t hurt innocent people. Come here, boys.” He hugs both of them. Roel responds more slowly than Alec. “You were so brave today.”
“Your father and I are very proud of you two,” Helena speaks up, giving both of them a squeeze on their shoulders and a kiss on their cheeks. “Sarah and the kids will be fine. But you can’t see them until your father’s gotten to the bottom of this. It’s for their own safety.”

Roel looks to me nervously. “Kiria...,” he struggles for my before settling on, “Kyri...the Party won’t hurt Auntie Sarah and Dan and Steffon? They didn’t do anything bad.”
“The Party only punishes traitors, dear. It’ll all work out.
“Did you have to kill traitors, too?” Alec asks in a quiet voice.
“Yes, I did,” I confirm softly, patting his hand. I hate this. “It’s alright to feel shocked, to feel betrayed. Even to feel sad. But it’s for the greater good. If either of you want to talk...my door’s open. Now I hate to leave you like this, but it’s been a long day, and I believe you could use some time with your family.” I glance towards Helena. “Thank you again for the lovely evening, Helena.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Kyriaki. Say good night to our guests, boys.” Roel and Alec do so. Tara fetches my coat and shoes. I catch the tremble in her hands when she locks eyes with Bakios.
“I’ll show you out,” Bakios declares. “My driver will take you to the residence.” And I step through the door into the night. The air is cool on my skin. Fortunately, it has stopped pouring with rain.
“How many of your guests were killed?” I ask once the door has shut behind us.
“Half of them,” he answers while casually lighting a cigarra. “The other half pulled the trigger. Just as Her Lordship commanded. Suspicious xenos guards were already disarmed and dealt with. Tomorrow, we’ll teach the workers and pen-pushers a lesson.”

“I’ll be sure to mention your thoroughness to Darth Lachesis. Will you perchance be hanging the traitors’ bodies from trees? With a placard around their necks proclaiming them to be traitors and thieves?”
“Not the human ones, of course. And not here. This is a civilised neighbourhood.” I can detect no hint of irony in his words. He takes a deep drag from his cigarra. “By the way, you’re billeted at the Leader’s villa with Lachesis.”
Lovely. That’ll be awkward. “The Leader honours me. Good night, Major. Sleep well.” With that I stride towards the waiting groundcar. A minion opens the door and we are off.
“To the residence,” I order curtly. I’m beginning to feel sleepy.
We pass firecrackers on the street. Doubtless ‘indentured’ xenos will have to clean them up. They are already busy clearing away corpses near some trees and bushes, under the watchful eye of armed men wearing the uniform of Lachesis’ minions.

Soon the corpses will have been tossed into mass graves – or plain incinerated. But everyone who lives in this ‘model human settlement’ will have heard. Many will have lost someone. As I doze off, I imagine what Lachesis has been getting up to in the Leader’s mansion – one of many. Has she turned it into a torture centre? Is she outraged by the opulence, or jealous of it? It’s not the place to have conspiratorial meetings. Doubtless Eisen has bugged it. He started his rise as a Sith in the secret police, after all.

In my dreams, the shooting does not stop. We are back in the forest. There are bodies everywhere. So much blood. Men, women and children of various xenos species lay slumped against the trees or in the swamps. The air is clogged with the scent of death. Tara lies there with them, as does Shakka. I freeze when I see her body riddled with slugs. Her eyes look accusing. Her Trandoshan companion lies close to her, impaled on a sword whose blade is gushing red. Then I see the Rodian boy from the forest. There is a slug hole right where I shot him. Blood is seeping out.

My body is shaking. I hear noise coming from behind me and spin around. Nikolai stands before me. “We were just following orders, weren’t we?” he asks coldly. “I did what I had to do.” It sounds hollow to me. I see blood on my hands.

Then I hear Shakka’s voice. “You liked the power. You told yourself you’re better than the other Vaderites because you don’t beat your slave...just manipulate her and threaten to send her to hell if she doesn’t do as she says. I hate you. You killed my friend. I’ll never forgive you. You’re just like them...no, worse. You know it’s wrong and you do it anyway. You think you’re sister would be proud of you? You’re pathetic.”

My mouth feels like it is sealed shut. No sound escapes it. Then an icy, cold hand touches my shoulder. “The Disciples cannot have any inferiors among their ranks. You are a disgrace to what we truly stand for, and for that you must die.” My whole body feels like it is frozen. Then she thrusts the blade through my heart, and there is nothing but pain. Then everything turns black.


I awake with a start. I’m sweating and my heart is thunders inside my chest. I gasp for breath. “Everything alright, lord?” the driver asks. Did I talk in my sleep? Did I hear anything.
“Yes. I didn’t give you permission to address me,” I snap at him. “Have we reached the residence yet?”
“Momentarily, lord. My apologies.” Soon the gates of the mansion come into view. It is smaller than Sophiahall, but Eisen has not spared expenses. Armoured soldiers are on patrol. We are let through after a security check. But what strikes me as the groundcar enters the courtyard is the presence of several trucks and a few ambulances.

When I enter the building, I find an image of hectic activity. I see staff members and servants go about their business in the lobby, but also doctors. I spy what I’m certain is one of Lachesis’ men being led through a corridor. His arm is in a sling. A woman at the reception is talking into her comm, yammering something about needing supplies. I catch the tail-end of the conversation. “...you can always them from Rising Hope. Our boys first. No, no xenos doctors or nurses. Direct order from Lord Lachesis. Get them from the Kylo Vader Sky Base.”

I am about to make my presence felt, but then I notice a man in grey uniform and with the bearing of an officer approach me. His cybernetic eye glows with a blue light and his right arm is a skeletal prosthesis. His salute is crisp and precise. “Welcome lord. Captain Diamandis, of Lord Lachesis’ personal guard. My Lord is presently visiting the wounded. If you follow me, I can take you to her. Quarters have been prepared. Do you have any luggage with you?”
“No, just this case.” I frown slightly. “The wounded? From the convoy attack?”
He nods and gestures me to follow. “Hard cases will be sent to the Sky Base, but it’s a bit of a drive from here, and the mansion has a lot of space. Lord Lachesis takes care of her men.” I sense none of the sliminess of Bakios. He honestly believes.
“You sound like you know her well. How long have you served her?”

“Many years. I was down on my luck – debts, poor family, injured in battle. But she saw potential and gave me another chance. Fought in her vanguard at Chazowa.” We make way for some medics rushing a patient to treatment.
“I can’t say I’m familiar with that battle. Who was it against?”
“The Dominion. Took place a few years before that mess where people just...vanished. We took the city, but then they trapped us. We were being encircled.”
“Darth Lachesis was in command?”
“Aye, corps commander. But you see, she was with us in the trenches. Ate the same rations as we did. Actually, I'm quite certain she sometimes went without food entirely. I don't claim to understand the Force, lord, but I assume it can sustain you for a while. Darth Hyperion was Supreme Leader at the time. He gave the order to hold Chazowa at all costs.”
“And you held?” Surely they had to. No Disciple would want to disappoint the Supreme Leader. Surely she made them hold to the last to get a medal.

“We were promised air support, but it didn’t materialise. No airdrops. Relief attempts failed. Supplies were running low. With each day, the noose around our neck got tighter. Army group command insisted we hold because they were too cowardly to tell the Leader it was impossible.”
I am surprised by how...openly he criticises the Leader. Hyperion has been long dead, but criticising the Supreme Leader is anathema, especially if you’re a squib. “Harrowing conditions. You and your men deserve respect for enduring them. I understand Hyperion was,” I pause, “unforgiving of defiance.”
His response is the last thing I expected. “Aye, and you know who didn't care about that? Lachesis. She ignored command and ordered the breakout. There was a heavy fog, and the enemy was shelling the streets, but she used her sorcery to guide lost soldiers to safety. The enemy kept harassing us until we reached friendly lines. But she took charge of the rearguard. She didn't rest until we'd escaped the cauldron.”
“How did the Leader react?”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t at the meeting. I heard he was angry though. But she walked out with her head still attached. Auntie Lachesis isn’t browbeaten by anyone.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Auntie Lachesis? You call her that?”
He smiles wryly before the professional mask return. “The children do. Back home on Chios. You ever been there, lord?”
Gods, this mansion is big. “No. I understand it’s popular with tourists since Lachesis...comprehensively solved its xenos question.”
We Vaderites love our euphemisms. Everyone knows what happened, but if no one says it out aloud, they can all say they knew nothing. The mass graves are empty because the bodies were exhumed and burnt.

He smiles slightly. He truly believes in her. “She really cleaned up the place so decent humans could live there. It used to be a very different. Run-down estates, crime, terrorism. The corpos and junkers wouldn’t give a human prole the time of the day. Easier to grow fat off the backs of slaves. Slaves ran away to hide in the forests and murder innocent people. Your children weren’t safe with all those super predators. Then Lachesis came in. Today, you can travel from end of the island to the other all on your own, without fear of being killed by bandits. And every veteran gets a farm.”

He comes to a halt before a room. I sense her presence from afar and behold, Lachesis is standing at the bedside of a heavily bandaged soldier. I can imagine he’s suffered nasty burns, but he seems happy to see her. She touches the uninjured part of his face and says a few words to him and a nurse.
 
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Having bid the wounded soldier goodbye, Darth Lachesis steps out of the room. “Lord Commander,” Captain Diamandis says respectfully, and without fear. Lord Commander is a rank in the KEC, the praetorian guard of the Party. I’m no military expert, but I think it’s like being a general.
“My Lord,” I say, inclining my head slightly.
She looks at her Captain of the Guard first. “The men are settling in?”
“Yes, ma’am. We got some help from the Sky Base. The head doctor’s been processing patients who should be transferred for additional care....and those who might not make it through. Here’s the list.” He passes it over.
Lachesis takes her time reading it, then she applies her signature. “I will write letters for the bereaved. I want our boys to get the best of care possible. If some native doesn’t get treatment, that’s not our problem.”
“Just my thoughts, Lord Commander.”
“Has the Sky Base carried out the air patrols I ordered?”

He nods. “Affirmative. And backup has arrived to secure the silos, so we won’t suffer the loss of...some of the original personnel. I’d suggest some recon flights over the border, just in case the Windians get ideas. I don’t think they’ll hit us right after the missile strike, but it pays to be prepared. And we can gather intel.”
“Agreed. See to it.” Then she turns her gaze to me. “I understand the good Major Bakios entertained you at his home.” There is an edge to her voice.
I meet her gaze. “He seemed very eager to convince me of his enthusiasm for the cause.”
“Hoping for a promotion, no doubt,” Diamandis interjects. Few squibs would butt into a conversation between two Disciples without being asked first. “The action was carried out,” he continues. The action can only mean the massacre. “Troopers have been sent to the houses of the executed wreckers. The apartments are being sealed and the families being put into custody.”

“Put them in some quiet, orderly cells. Make sure the guards in humans. The People’s Court will review their cases. Kyriaki, once we have less pressing matters to attend to, I want a full inventory of their possession. They’ll be given to deserving citizens.”
“What will happen to the children?” I ask quietly.
Lachesis smiles slightly. “I’m not a barbarian, dear Kyriaki. They have been raised by traitors, but that doesn’t make them traitors themselves. They’re still innocent and of our blood. The state will take care of them, until suitable families can be found. Memory alterations may be necessary to smooth the process.”
“There are many good veteran families back on Chios who’ve been trying to have children,” Diamandis points out.
“Regardless, that’s a matter for the future. In case you were wondering, Kyriaki, your Dominion makers took some damage today. Not as much as I would like, but at least we’re not cowering.”

“What did we hit?”
“Some hangars and defences at a border base,” Diamandis elaborates. “The Vengeance isn’t a bad missile. Decent payload, cheap, fast, but not that precise. And open to interception unless it’s a barrage.”
“Soon we’ll strike harder. But to business now. Captain, I’ll discuss matters with you later. Kyriaki, a word. Report on your progress. I assume your evening was not just spent with partying with the condemned.”
I fall in line alongside her. “I’ve been examining the vouchers. There are many irregularities – indecipherable signatures, large quantities of grain being declared contaminated, missing data on the cogitator. I’ve impressed on the staff the importance of finding out where the grain went. I’ve dispatched my slave to collect information among the riff-raff.”
“You trust your slave not to turn on you?” she asks pointedly.
“I trust her self-preservation instincts, my Lord. She’s not foolish enough to bite the hand that feeds her. The Twi’lek has a certain animal intelligence.”

“And animal cunning. No matter how obedient it acts, that wormhead is not your friend. Given half a chance, all the xenos and savages would eat us down to the bone. For revenge, for their depraved sense of ‘justice’ or just because their bestial instincts demand it. Never forget this. You’re responsible for its behaviour.” I push myself not to waver when her eyes bore right into me. “Continue your investigation. You are authorised to make examples of low-ranking personnel.” I was expecting her to be mad about me not having immediate results.

“Yes, my Lord. I’ll keep you abreast of my findings.”
“Of course you will. Otherwise it would get unpleasant.” We walk down some stairs. The servants give us a wide berth and avert their gaze. “Where do see your future?” Lachesis asks abruptly.
“I beg your pardon?” Internally I cringe. I should not let her catch me off-guard.
“The Academy still has career fairs, doesn’t it? Where you get to pretty yourself up and say rehearse lines to Lords looking for minions and brides? And the KEC, the Party, the HPA and the Labour Front set up fancy booths. Where do you see your future?”

Is this a trick question? “I am frail of body – this I know. But I have talent in alchemy and I wish to develop it further, creating items for our Order’s benefit. I’ve given thought to starting a business. I believe I would do well in administration, and in managing work forces of xenos. But I would serve the fatherland in whatever capacity it needs.”
“In whatever capacity? Including being a meaningless broodmare?” She shakes her head. “Though you are very much a flawed and crippled Disciple, you still are a Sith, so allow me to give you some advice, for all the good it might do you. The Sith Lords push their ways onto us, acknowledge our power, but in the same breath seek to sideline us. As a girl and a weak specimen you will be encouraged to marry and be a trophy of good stock for a Lord. Doubtless you’ll just be one of his many wives. Each competing to pop out as many babies as they can to get whatever scraps of power he tosses their way. “

For just a moment, her tone softens. There is something like, dare I say, sympathy in her haughty gaze. “If you can do nothing better than your current state you might feel that is a good safety net for yourself. If you have any higher ambitions and greater strength however you should resist submission to them. The way of the Sith is power, and unless the man is strong enough to force that on you, it should be them bowing to you. Use what you have and do not allow yourself to become a pathetic homebody. Unless that's what you want. Either way, your conduct as a Sith reflects on all of us Ladies, so for that reason if no other try not to disgrace us...more than natural anyway. Understood?”

Leave her face. I like her pretty, Achilles snarls from the aether. I swallow. The idea of being chained and enslaved again sickens me. I am no one’s ornament. I feel bile rise up. A childish part of me wants to think Eisen would not force this on me. But I know better. He is not my protector. “Yes.” Then in a stronger voice, I add: “I’ve no intention of being someone’s toy, my Lord. I came from nothing. I was beaten and humiliated. Every bruise was a lesson. Where others relied on muscle alone, I used guile and my wits. I succeeded. And I shall continue to rise through my own efforts. My claws are no less sharp just because I do not show them for everyone to see.”

She looks just a bit amused. “Well at least you will not be trapped in the maternity ward, though I suspect not through lack of trying from whatever brute they attempt to mate you with. Probably a second son desperate to be master of something after having spent his whole life being the spare.”
“I can’t have children, my Lord. There was a medical test at the Academy. It was conclusive.” It would be on my record. I’m not revealing anything secret.
She scoffs. “And it would be a mistake to have you breed. We can’t pass on flawed genes. But if you marry, you’ll be expected to. Sith sorcery has ways to ‘correct’ infertility. For your sake, I hope you don’t experience them.”
“If I marry, I will not be the one who bends. There are many forms of control. The tightest leashes are invisible.” That is my resolution. To hear this from her is like the stab of a knife, and yet it is needed. As a Disciple, I have power over the vast majority of the Imperium’s people, and yet I’m still a pawn that can be used or discarded. But if I will not fight for myself, then my entire struggle was meaningless. Something overcomes me and I ask: “Were you ever married, my Lord?”

Something like distaste crosses her features. “No, I aspired to wield power in my own right.” She walks at a brisk pace. After a moment, she adds, “I have a son. Fools would call him a bastard, but my blood flows through his veins and he bears my name. That’s all that matters.”
“He must be a powerful Disciple.”
She laughs. It sounds mildly disconcerting. “He’s as Force-Sensitive as a plank. But he’s talented and brave. Serves Imperial Intelligence well.”
A voice echoes in my head - that of Headmaster Thalakes, the old tyrant. “Whenever a squib or a cripple is born in my family, we give them a painless death. Why an inferior specimen like you was allowed to walk these halls, I will never know.” Yet she speaks of her squib son with evident pride.

Reaching the basement, we enter a dimmer room as guards direct us to a figure with a bag over their head. It’s Aca Iloski. The quarter-Zeltron bookkeeper. His face is bruised and bloodied. “My lord, please help me! This is a mis...” he groans in pain when a guard punches him.
I ask as calmly as I can: “What’s he doing here? He was assisting my investigation just a few hours ago.”
“And he has been charged with corruption, theft and tampering with evidence. A worker reported him,” Lachesis retorts, looking at him with disdain. “You did say there were irregularities in the vouchers, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I admit, “but I’ve only just begun my investigation. Those truly responsible are still at large. A small-time bean-counter can only accomplish little. This xenos has been lacking in vigilance, but I’ve found no evidence of sabotage. Putting a Zeltron in this position was a mistake. He must be punished. But whoever reported him is likely just covering their tracks or working for whoever is pulling the strings behind the thefts. I request permission to question them both.”
Lachesis shakes her head. “Shake off this legalistic nonsense. Crimes have been committed, people must be punished.”

“It’s all too convenient that he is reported the moment I begin inspecting the vouchers. Crucial data vanished from the cogitator just when I was trying to access it.”
My words are waved aside like flying insects. “Perhaps yes, perhaps not. He is a parasite regardless. If you provide evidence judgement will be passed, but for now, the people demand justice.”
“It wasn’t me, I swear! Please...I have info...I can help you find the files. I know people...Lord, you promised to help me...”
Lachesis reaches into her holster and offers me a pistol. “I feel you should be the one to deliver justice."
The slugthrower feels heavy in my hand. I see forests, blood everywhere, dead children. “Special Storage Station 4!” he cries out, sweating with fear. Maybe if he’d said that sooner, I could’ve shielded him – or not. There must always be a sacrificial lamb. “You want answers, go there! The high-ups...they’re...”

“Do your duty, Disciple.”
I pull the trigger, and there is the flat crack of a pistol shot. He slumps, groaning, and I fire again. Blood seeps out of the wound in his chest. Then there is silence, before Lachesis breaks it. "Power is more theatre than reality. Crimes have been committed, people must be punished. We cannot reveal every abuse, uncover every corrupt leader because then where would that leave us? We would become no better than the anarchy of the Xenos Guard.”
“I do not need to justify myself to anyone except the Supreme Leader, but since you are learning still I will give you some insight. You may feel my methods are harsh, cruel even. I say to you that they are necessary. Why? Because everyone desires order. Those anarchist xenos living in the swamps won't admit it, but even they want it, but order is not some magical thing which comes from the Nether. It is a wall built with the strong foundations of law, the bricks of strength and just occasionally...the mortared blood of the enemies of progress. Remember this, Disciple, the xenos are not your friends, no matter how ‘human’ some may seem or how fond you may grow of a single ‘good’ xenos. There will never be peace between us and them. We don't want it, but more importantly, neither do they. If we falter even once they will destroy us. Now go.”

“Where to?” I ask. My tone is empty.
“To that station he prattled about with his last breath, of course. If you want an escort, talk to my Captain,” Lachesis declares. “This was the evidence.” And with that she hands me a folder. “Look into it, if you care to.” She knew the information was fake, and she did not care. Justice is a construct – a spectacle for the masses to make them think everything is fine and they should fall in line and not use their brain.
Resolution fills me. “Who submitted the report?”
She’s already reached the door, but turns. “The good Major Bakios. By all means, do continue investigating him. After all, no one is above suspicion.” Then she is out. I stare at the corpse. The truth does not matter here – only the spin. So I will spin it my way.

Lachesis has taught me an important lesson today. She is not the simple brute I imagined. I believe I understand a bit now what drives her. She is a monster, but a smart one who has the adoration of her people. I understand a bit of what forged into who she is. She holds me in disdain for what I am, and that shan’t change. But she may feel some grudging respect for a Sith woman who walks her own path. If I can pander to her biases without appearing like a sycophant, I may have more success. But the path there will be bloody. Through cunning I gain victory. So I take my leave of the cell.

Captain Diamandis is waiting not far away. He seems to be in conference with some subordinates, but breaks it off when I approach. “I’ve been briefed by the Lord Commander, lord. I got a squad ready if you’d like some backup.” I like that he does not waste time with chatter.
“I’ll take them. Chios men, I assume?”
He nods. “Born and raised. They don’t have your powers, but set them a target and they’ll get the job done without fuss.”
“Convenient. I have the Force, but I claim no great mastery over military tactics, so I won’t be micromanaging anyone. Just as long as they follow my directives.”
“They’ll do their job well. I guarantee that.” He nods to one of his men. “Banneret Hasapis, you and your squad are with the Sith.”
“Yes, sir,” the apparent Banneret grunts. That’s a KEC rank. I’m actually not sure where that rank lies in the hierarchy. He apparently leads a squad, so I assume he’s an NCO or low-ranking officer of some sort.
“I’ll keep a unit on stand bye if you need more support. For the Imperium.” We exchange comm numbers, the Captain excuses himself and leaves.

“Been waiting for a chance for some action. Beats smacking peasants around. Give me a few minutes, and my team’ll be ready to go.” The Sergeant has a coarse accent I cannot quite place. He’s already in armour, but without a helmet. His face has been darkened by the sun. He sports a goatee and his cornrows are just slightly over regulation length. It’s a contrast with the clean-shaven Diamandis with the short-cropped hair. He’s slouched against the wall. A brute and a squib. Beneath me, but useful.

“What do you specialise in, Banneret?”
He smirks. “Demolitions, lord. I’m the guy who makes a door, big or small, wherever you want it.”
“I hope you have the talent to back that up.”
“Just say the word, lord. Want me to assemble the team? And how do you want to play this op, lord?”
“Do it. If we find anyone at the warehouse they are to be considered traitors...but we need prisoners. I can’t get answers from dead men. Understood?”
“Got it.” And so we leave.
 
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And we're back to the story of the downtrodden. “Right. I’ll take it from here. See you tomorrow.”
It goes as well as expected. “Not a chance. We do this together – just like the old days,” Firith insists.
“It’s curfew. I’ve got my fancy badge. What excuse do you have if a patrol nabs us? You’re already on their shit list.”
“And you think your fancy badge will help you if you’re caught sneaking into a humie bigshot’s secret smuggling operation? The PF’s their personal goon squad. They’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”
Frustration washes over me. “You’re acting like I’ll get caught. I can handle myself.” But then I see how he looks – haunted.
“For frak’s sake, I know,” he growls. “And you shouldn’t have to handle it all on your own. We’re family. I’m not gonna sleep safe and sound while you’re walking into danger.”

“And if we’re both caught, it’s game over for all of us. What happens to your wife then? Your son? You already got banged up by the goons, and you’re the one who set up things with the rebellious rebels, so let me do this.”
He nods after what seems like an eternity. “Fine, but don’t do anything dumb, got it? No heroics, no last minute slicing when the goon squad is on your heels. If one of them sees you, get the hell out, got it?”
He knows me too well. “Yes, big brother.”

“So what’s your plan? Do some scouting, see if you can dig up any dirt, call your Master?”
“Somethin’ like that. I assume these guys aren’t morons, so if they’re not already getting rid of their crap, they’ll do it the moment a Sith’s knocking on their door.”
“I wouldn’t bet on finding a bunch of humies there,” he says thoughtfully. “Easier to pin it on us if there’s just ‘xenos’. Our word against theirs – you know how it goes. But if there’s a warehouse full of grain and the humies didn’t notice...”
“Exactly. Hmm, I may need some tools to make an entry.”
“Think I’ve got just what you need.”
A couple minutes later after a walk back to his tent, I have a lockpick and a wire cutter. “Been doing lots of breaking and entering in between picking crops?”
He forces a smile. It does not reach his eyes. “Gotta get Life Day presents somehow. Now best get moving. Good luck.” Then he pulls me into a bear hug.
I throw my arms around him, holding on tightly. “See you tomorrow, coz.”

Speaking of leaving, it’s easier said than done. The groundcar won’t start. Yay for Humanist engineering. No one can match the master race’s technical prowess. It takes some troubleshooting to get the engines running, then I’m off at last. It’s dark and the car lights aren’t great.
Hope Falls is quiet – like a graveyard. I see a fire in the distance. It must be coming from the ‘xenos accommodations sector’. Nothing to be done. PF thugs are on patrol. Some look drunk. But I see others as well. Lachesis’ KEC goons. Compared to the thugs, they might as well be trons. Every movement is so precise it’s creepy. But I make it out well enough. Thank my lucky stars that I don’t get pulled over.

Then there is a roadblock, I have to get out, show my papers and let them check the car boot. One goon frisks and gropes my lekku. Pig. Then I can finally go. I allow myself to dream about Kyriaki frying him for one hot second. Not worth it. The buildings of Hope Falls fade from sight.
It’s bloody dark and foggy. Then the road gets bumpy as hell. My car is vibrating and shaking. Feels like it’s leaning to one side. Maybe I’ve driven off the road? Better stop before I land in the river and get accused of trying to escape. The steering wheel when I apply the brakes. The groundcar comes to a screeching halt. I open the door and get out. I take my first step and before I see a thing, I’ve tripped and fallen.

And I see dead bodies. Beneath me and around me. Young and old. Twi’leks with mutilated lekku, Gungans and Mon Calamari with holes in their bodies. The slug holes are fresh. A young Rodian girl has her hands on her ears, like she was trying to blot out the horror when the shooting started. The blood on her face hasn’t dried yet. These people must’ve been killed after we arrived in town!
My whole body shakes. My breathing’s ragged. I abruptly recoil, and I feel more flesh behind me. I raise my hands and I see they’re coated in blood. Focus, Shakka, you have a mission. I move on impulse. Frantically, I start turning over bodies and looking. Is Lena there?! Did they kill her?!

More blood covers my fingers. Some of the bodies have stab wounds. They must’ve been bayoneted when the Vaderites made their rounds to kill anyone who was still breathing. So many dead. So many kids who lost their parents, so many parents who lost their kids. And the worst thing is: they probably have no idea what happened to their loved ones. They could be dead, in jail or in a camp. You won’t get a notice. The Vaderites make them disappear in night and fog, and you dare not ask about the fate of the disappeared because otherwise you might get killed.

Then I hear a groan. It comes from beneath the bodies. I push corpses aside, and I see a Houk boy. The one who guarded my bike. He’s in bad shape. “Miss,” he says weakly. “Sorry about your bike.” He’s bleeding. Probably delirious.
“Hey, it’s ok.” Instinct takes over and I press against his wound. “Everything’s gonna be ok.” I know it won’t.
“Vaderites gone?” he coughs blood.
“Can you walk? Just hold on. I’m gonna get you out.” Where to? I tear part of my sleeve off and try to bandage him. Blood soon coats the makeshift bandage.
Then suddenly I hear the roar of engines. Groundcars are approaching. “Frak, c’mon!” I’m not leaving him to die. Without thinking, I help him up. He’s leaning heavily on me as I get us into the car, almost stumbling over the bodies. Slug rounds shoot past us. Some hit the car as I start the engines. “Get down!” I yell. Then we take off.
Through the shattered rear window, I can see black-clad goons fanning out. Lachesis’ men. They have flamethrowers. “You know what happened to Zoler?” the boy asks weakly.

“Zoler? Your Duros friend?”
He nods. “He dead? He ran. Tried to cover. He make it out?”
“I...dunno. I didn’t see him.” I push the engines as hard as I can. “Just keep pressing on the wound, ok?”
“If you see him, tell him...”
“Tell him what?”
“Tell him...” I turn and I see he has slumped. There’s no pulse. He’s gone. I fight back tears. Looking back, I see fire and smoke rising from the mass grave. Frak the humies – all of them. Firith is right. We’re getting out of this hell. I don’t even know the kid’s name. No time for a burial. I hide the body behind some bushes and cover it with earth as best as I can. I take a breath. I didn’t see Lena’s body. She might still be alive. We can get out. But I gotta play my part.

Then I get back into the vehicle. His blood is on the passenger seat. With single-minded purpose, I drive towards on to the warehouse. No one interferes now. I hide the groundcar a good bit away from it and make my way onward by foot. Quickly, I seek cover when a truck and a groundcar pass by. It’s leaving Special Storage Station 4. From afar, I can make out the warehouse and a fence of barbed wire. Patrols of armed guards are walking up and down. Abandoned warehouse, my arse.

Hard to see in the dark without fancy-arse gear, but far as I can tell, the guards on patrol aren’t humans. I see Gamorreans and weird guys who look like chicken. Figures – if the Vaderites crash the party, whichever humie bigshot is running the op can blame it on ‘devious xenos’. I wait for the right moment as they make their rounds and searchlights illuminate the perimeter. Then I sneak towards the fence, crouching.

While my heart thumps inside my chest, I get out the wire cutter. I look for a low spot and then start snipping a bit. Master is the tall one. I’m small for a Twi’lek. Comes in handy right about now. I just need to widen things a little bit, and then I get on my belly and crawl under the bottom wire. Searchlights sweep the area.

I’m inside. Quickly, I dash for cover behind a container, keeping my head low. Once a burly Gamorrean has marched past me with a rifle and a flashlight, I go for the wall, pressing my body against it. I can hear voices coming. I risk a peek around the corner and see goons are loading containers into two trucks that look like army surplus.

A Gamorrean is passing out instructions to the truck drivers. Quickly, I get out my camera. “You, use the A-9,” he looks points at one of them, then another. “You, A-11.” Those are roads. The first seems to be getting packed less. “Boss man says check in at rally point.”
“This is rushed,” one driver says. He’s a Mirialan. “Word is there’s patrols everywhere. And I saw that damn mass grave.”
“You got papers.”
“And if we get held up?”
“Just follow my directions, xenos,” a human grunts. “And don’t you dare run off with the merchandise. You get the job done, and you and your family go free. You don’t...well, you know the drill.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll do my part. You better not leave me in a lurch.”
“Watch mouth, make sure boss gets grain.” The Gamorrean looks at the human. “You know part. Boss tell you about patrols.” While they talk, I’m back in motion, trying to stay out of the sight of the lights as I sneak around. This would be a great time for a stealth field generator, but beggars can’t be choosers. Luckily, everyone’s doing a great job distracting themselves.

“Cut it, pig-man, I know what I’m doing.” With that the human gets into his groundcar and the Mirialan in the truck. The groundcar drives behind the truck. Let me guess, if they run into a patrol, the human will drive away or claim he was following him, too. The second team of drivers is less argumentative. I manage to take pictures of the vehicles’ license plates. Almost certainly fake. In fact, if they’re smart they’ll switch them mid-way, but still something.

Anyway, I’ve reached the back. Time to put the toys to good use. The service door’s lock is old and rusty. I pick it and slip inside. The warehouse is abuzz with activity. Workers are going to and fro, loading up containers. Guards are busy barking out orders. None I see are humans. I keep my head down, and get into the air vent above my head.

Gee, I’m small and thin, and it’s a tight fit. Anyway, it gets me out me out of sight after I clip some barbed wire. Below there’s noise. I seem to be passing some goons shredding papers. One’s a Gamorrean, the other’s a Rodian.

“That too?”
“Yeah, all of it.”
“Boss man better know what he’s doin’. You hear the stories they tell about that hag?”
“No papers, no evidence.”
“Till he needs someone to hang.”
“They got the Gungan female. And the Twi’leks and the fish. Not us. You don’t want your firstborn picking crops till he falls over? Neither do I.”

“Stop dawdling and get a move on! We don’t have all frakking day,” another voice bellows. This one is a human. He’s dressed as a civilian. No emblem or anything. They double their efforts shredding and I keep crawling. Frak, it’s dark, and then something sharp cuts me. Frakking barbed wire. There’s a blunt, stabbing sensation, then I realise my clothes are entangled. As I try to get out, I feel all sorts of scrapes and pricks. It feels like I’ve run into a thorny bush, just colder. Sharp metal spikes are inside my right leg.

“You heard something?” one of the guards asks.
I dare not breathe out. My heart thumps. I bite down on my tongue.
“Rat maybe?”
“We should investigate.”
“Let maintenance deal with it. Just finish up.”

Finally, I’m free. The shredder is doing its work again, so I clip. The spikes aren’t painful at first, but as I go along they cut through flesh. The pain is horrible. I better not get Tetanus from this. The punctures are small, so I can gently remove spikes, tear part of my sleeve off to apply pressure and get a makeshift bandage. Finally I can get out of the duct. I watch the camera, waiting for the right moment, then I slip into the office.

There are a bunch of papers on a desk, but it looks they’ve been busy clearing the office out. There’s a half-eaten sandwich on the desk, too, along with coffee that’s gone cold. My stomach growls. What else is there? A copy of ‘The Stormer’. It’s a piece of trash that preaches hatred against Twi’leks. It says we eat human babies and that changes our skin colour. Predictably, it’s been left open on a page that shows a blue Twi’lek wearing next to nothing.

Quickly, I access the cogitator. It’s old, but it takes some slicing. Once I’m in I start shifting through files and hook up my datapad. It looks like a lot of the hard drive was cleared out, but there’s still stuff. Caches, orders..looks like we may be in business. Then I freeze when I footsteps coming from down the corridor. Frak. Quickly, I pull out the datapad and shut down the cogitator.

Come on, turn off! I just pull the damn plug and hasten to the next best place: the cupboard. Pain shoots through my leg and I wince. Quickly, I shut the door and make myself as small as I can. Luckily, it’s empty. Keep your breathing down, Shakka. Not a sound. I hear noise from outside. The cogitator hums as it is booted up again.
Then there’s a male voice. He’s standing right before the cupboard. “Does that one need clearing?” he asks. I can hear his hand on the knob.
I hold my breath. No weapons, just a lockpick and a ‘pad.
Then I hear another voice. “Nah, it’s been cleared. Just grab the files. I’ll wipe the data. The sooner we finish up, the sooner we can grab a smoke.”

I don’t dare let out the breath I’ve been holding till they’ve left. I get out. The documents have been taken. Then alarms ring. Fear grips me. It takes a moment for me to realise they don’t mean me. There’s no guard standing in the doorway with a gun aimed at me. Then who...I get my answer when I hear bursts of automatic gunfire.

When I slip out of the office, I see guards running down the corridor. A couple papers are lying on the table next to the shredder. No time to waste, so I snap some pictures and make my way into the shaft, even as my leg winces. Some projectiles even hit the shaft! Once I exit it, I see masked men in PF gear. They’re overrunning the warehouse. The guards are putting up a fight, but they’re outnumbered. Explosions roar, and slug rounds fly everywhere. People scream and bodies pile up. I dash for some cover as slugs ricochet off the walls.

Should’ve stayed in the cupboard. Then a grenade explosion makes my ears ring. I can’t hear anything. Smoke rises and I cough. The duct is so close, and yet so far. I manage to crawl under a container. The door is so close, yet so far. Workers running for safety are being mowed down. Shit. Ok, Shakka, steady. You can do this. I get out my little camera.

A Gamorrean guard charges the PF goons, shooting one of the humans and clubbing another with his shotgun. “Anders! Traitor!” he yells at a thug giving orders. I catch it on camera. He is riddled with slugs, and presses on, blasting away, before finally falling to the ground with a loud thud. “Kill the xenos! No prisoners!” I hear the human bark out to his men, amid all the gunfire, screams of pain and explosions.
 

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