Chapter Text
The before time...
Makas Goroc was practicing the lightsaber.
The time when someone else could instruct him on lightsaber combat had ended decades ago. Now, occasionally, masters of the lightsaber came to him for lessons. Including, notably, a few dark side Jedi. Master Tam had been one of them. He had been the fourth person Makas killed at the Deathbed.
The Deathbed. What the kids and the media were calling it. The romantic notion of a light side Jedi coming back to defend his dark side lover as a mountain of dark side Jedi came to murder her, only to find she’d died of natural causes when he got back. In the process, crippling the hold the dark side had on the republic. Nothing would be the same.
The kids and the media were profoundly wrong about several parts: Mikkel and Makas had been siblings, not lovers, and she hadn’t died until several days later. But they were right about nothing being the same, particularly for one Makas Goroc, who had stood on the front porch of Mikkel Ansa’s mansion and surveyed the piles of bodies he had just made and decided…he’d had enough. There shouldn’t be a need for this much death and suffering. He’d started with his lesser opponents before Mikkel’s death: gangsters, corrupt cops and bounty hunters would square off against the lone Jedi and, when it was all over, find themselves unconscious, or on hooks, or laying at their sergeant’s feet with explaining to do. But now, Makas thought he should be able to do that with anyone.
Makas described a graceful arc through the air as the automated machine-gun turrets spat bullets while trying to track him, then died one by one as his lightsaber came through the air and cut their power sources. Then he charged into the hologram room: the computer controlled holograms pulled out various weapons and came after him in a disciplined, coordinated mob. The computer was cranked up to full speed, Makas sped up to meet it.
Here was the challenge: the computer was programmed to simulate wounds to the hologram people. Could he, Makas, cut gently enough to disable, even against a horde of opponents and even going this fast?
He whirled, ducked an electro-flail, parried a lightspear, dashed in and made his first cut.
Grandmaster Anda Siv looked at the 14 year old trainee as he walked into her meditation room. He was small, compactly built with a shock of russet hair that refused to be tamed and an expression of confidence mixed with humility: He knew who he was and what he could do, but he didn’t try to impose that knowledge on the rest of the universe.
“You asked to see me, Grand Master?” he said, bowing slightly.
“I did. I’ve been looking over your scores in the last tests.” Anda said. “You had some…interesting results.”
“They are what they are, Grandmaster.” The trainee said. “If they are too low to advance, I accept that. I stand by what I did.”
“That is the interesting part.” Anda replied. “You left the training field, violated a score of safety regulations, and completely forfeited your place in the tournament so you could rescue a jillop?”
“It was in pain.” The trainee said.
“It was being slaughtered for dinner.” Anda pointed out. “Which is where the safety regulations come in.”
“The slaughter had been botched. It was in pain.” The trainee said.
“So, you broke into the jillop stable, fought off two of our lay people – which incidentally is something we’re definitely going to talk about – and dragged the jillop to the vetcomp. Do you not know where food comes from?”
“I know.”
“Then, when the veterinary computer couldn’t save it, you killed the jillop yourself and delivered it to the kitchens.” Anda said. The trainee stood in silence, waiting for her to say the next thing. Anda waited a beat and said, “Don’t you find that inconsistent?”
“If I could have saved the jillop I would have. Since I couldn’t, I did what was needed to be done to end its suffering.” The trainee said. “I tried to do something, then when that didn’t work out, I switched and did what I could. My masters taught me to seek the best outcome, but to stay within the practical.”
“There are fully adult Jedi who can’t make an emotional switch that big that fast.” Anda said. “It’s extraordinary. So now I’m offering you a choice: Do you want to be my padawan, Barsen Thor?”
Mikkel Ansa assembled herself.
Something they don’t teach you in Jedi school is how to be a force ghost. Bits of you are continually trying to drift away but usually they only get a certain distance and then kind of orbit the center of your being. All of this happens in an abstract kind of concept space that both is and isn’t touching the real world. If you want to interact with the real world you have to gather all those bits together into one place and push through what both is and isn’t a barrier separating you from grounded reality.
Mikkel assembled herself into a glowing force being and manifested in the office in the back room of the sandwich shop. The being sitting behind the desk doing calculations on the desk computer looked up, grunted, and went back to what he was doing.
“What have you got, Slan?” Mikkel asked.
“Problems with the revenue.” Slan replied, squinting at the figures on the computer. “I used to be immune to taxes, and then somebody had to die.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Slan sighed and turned to face the force ghost of his former mistress. “Okay, you were right. Tip Jal did not think to move into that adjoining territory by herself. Evidently, she’d been visiting a fortune teller.”
Mikkel looked disbelieving and Slan continued, “This fortune teller suggested she move on the territory and when Tip said the lightsider in residence there was too powerful, the fortune teller told her to go to a restaurant at the airport on a certain day and time. Tip did and she saw that same lightsider and his entire family walking through on the way to a vacation on Jewell Island for an entire month. By the time he got back Tip had already moved in and he was reassigned.”
“We need to look in on this fortune teller.” Mikkel said.
“We can’t. She’s disappeared into the wind.” Slan said. “On a hunch, I went through some mutual friends and asked that lightsider why he went on vacation just then. Evidently his daughter had won tickets to Jewell Island in a raffle at her school. He hadn’t planned on going on vacation for another six months.”
Mikkel frowned. “Could just be coincidence.” She said.
Now it was Slan’s turn to look like he didn’t believe. “It isn’t. Tip Jal was maneuvered to take over that territory.”
“By who?” Said Mikkel. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” Slan said, “And more importantly, I don’t know. Whoever it is, it’s someone who managed to slip through my nets and do all this in our backyard. It’s making me paranoid.”
Much, much later...
Mikkel Ansa was sitting in Darth Vowron’s office on Korriban, her feet propped up on his desk and sipping an umbrellatini. “You know, I’ve grown to like these things. We didn’t have them in the before time.” she said. “I started drinking them when Baras would call me whenever I got anywhere or left anywhere.”
“To irritate him?” asked Vowron.
“Yes. He irritated me.” Mikkel replied. “Also, if I didn’t rebel in some small way it would look suspicious.”
Vowron laughed. “I think he always preferred his apprentices perfectly obedient. Speaking of which, how is your apprentice coming along?”
“Jaesa?” said Mikkel, “She’s perfectly fine. A little too into the experience of the dark side, and I wish she was a little smarter, but for someone at her stage that’s acceptable. To be honest, it’s probably time I gave her more autonomy, that should broaden her horizons.”
“Do you plan to betray her like your master did you?” Vowron asked. Mikkel didn’t answer immediately, frowning and studying her umbrellatini. Vowron sensed Mikkel’s emotions turn introspective, sad and angry and he reached out to place a hand on Mikkel’s. “Baras’s betrayal really hurt you, didn’t it? I’m sorry.”
“What?” Said Mikkel, coming back to herself. “No. Baras was never my master. He was just cover until I could stand on my own. Certainly, he had nothing to teach me. No, my master was Kunal Lin.”
“I don’t believe I know him.” Vowron said.
“You wouldn’t. He lived…long ago.” Mikkel said, draining the last of her umbrellatini.
Vowron had heard the rumors that the Emperor’s new Wrath was insane and thought she was thousands of years old and had lived a life before now. Considering the Emperor’s other direct servants, the delusion that one was thousands of years older than the Sith Empire itself was pretty tame, and Mikkel was otherwise rational and competent. If her exploits on Corellia had been anything to go by, very competent.
Vowron’s musings were interrupted by a holocall. He pressed the accept button and an image of his secretary appeared on his desk. “My lord, Darth Thanaton has called an emergency meeting of the dark council.” he said.
Vowron looked a question at Mikkel, who shrugged with her eyebrows. “Did he say what the meeting was about?” Vowron asked.
“No, my lord.” the secretary replied.
“Very well.” Vowron said, tiredly. “When is this meeting for?”
“Upon the half-hour, my lord.”
“I’ll go find my robe.” Vowron said, “Inform the council that the Emperor’s Wrath will be attending as well.”
“Yes, my lord.” the secretary said and cut the call.
Half an hour later Mikkel found herself in the council meeting room, leaning on the side of an unoccupied throne-dias and listening to a Sith she had never met before lay out his case for having the greatest power currently active in the Empire turn its weight against a newly minted dark lord who had passed his trials at roughly the same time Mikkel herself had. Thanaton was painting him as an irredeemable cancer on Sith society, but the specifics of his charges didn’t seem so bad: being the apprentice of a darksider who had taken things into her own hands and gone outside the rules was neither criminal nor particularly unusual.
Mikkel’s attention was pulled aside by a battle that flared up just outside the council chamber while Thanaton was speaking. Someone was fighting Darth Enraj, some friend of Thanaton’s who he had dramatically posted outside the doorway at the beginning of the meeting to prevent intruders from coming in. It didn’t seem to be going well for Enraj. Thanaton didn’t seem to notice and he was just saying, “My lords, his master was corrupt. He is corrupt. Without Sith tradition, we are nothing!” as the door opened and a new Sith Mikkel didn’t recognize, the victor of the fight outside, strode in. He was a short blue Twi’lek with profoundly complicated tattoos around his face and down his Lekku, wearing creditable if not particularly flashy Sith robes and flanked by what Mikkel thought she remembered was a Dashale.
“And what are you suggesting we do about it?” asked Darth Marr, who Mikkel was pretty sure was trying to subtly hint to Thanaton that this was petty and ridiculous.
“You know what the situation requires.” said Thanaton, calmly. “Order must be preserved. Punishment meted out.” Then Thanaton finally said out loud what he’d been hinting at through the whole meeting. “If we are to conquer our enemies, Zash’s former apprentice must die.”
The new Sith had a sense of humor. “I’m flattered you talk about me to all your friends, Darth Thanaton.” he said, striding into the middle of the council chamber, stopping a little to the right and forward of where Mikkel herself had stopped the day before when confronting Baras.
Thanaton turned and strode up to the newcomer. “Our talk concerns the future of the Sith Order. A future without you.” His inflection suggested a playground taunt rather than the serious lecture on the importance of tradition he had just been giving.
Darth Ravage, who had already made it abundantly clear that he was no fan of Thanaton’s, said, “Then why haven’t you killed him yet?”
“You know as well as I do, these things require the proper rites.” Thanaton said.
A wave of palpable disbelief washed across the witnesses to the drama in the middle of the room. Ravage gave it a voice and said, “Kaggath is a playground game. Murder has no rules.”
Thanaton said, “The Kaggath is an honored Tradition of the Sith. Tulak Hord competed. Marka Ragnos! Ludo Kressh!” Mikkel recognized the first two names but didn’t think she’d been in the tomb of Ludo Kressh.
“A much older tradition is just killing the people who oppose you.” Mikkel said.
“The question stands, why has this apprentice, this child, proved impossible for you to kill?” asked Darth Marr.
“It’s simple. I beat him at his own game.” the new Sith said.
“Don’t mock me.” said Thanaton.
Ravage turned to Darth Mortis, sitting in the chair next to him. “I swear, if you don’t silence Thanaton, I will.”
“Let this play out.” said Vowron. “I think we’re about to see something that hasn’t been seen in centuries.”
“Or since yesterday.” said Mikkel.
Thanaton glared around the room. “I will not be betrayed. I will not die. And when I’ve killed this slave, you will all answer for it.” He pulled out his lightsaber. The newcomer Sith did too.
From Mikkel’s perspective, the ensuing battle left a lot to be desired. Thanaton’s lightsaber technique was competently standard but uninspired and the newcomer’s technique was this odd mix of the occasional genius move and barely educated flailing. Both were obviously more comfortable using direct force techniques and the fight soon turned into flashes of lightning that arced across the room but didn’t seem to be defended against in any meaningful way, as each combatant shocked their opponent and was shocked in turn. Eventually, Thanaton lifted himself from his knees where he’d fallen after his last impact and said “No, I won’t be defeated. I can’t be!” He stood, stared at the newcomer, held his hand out and a ball of lightning arced across the room.
The newcomer batted it out of the way with his bare hands, it flew directly above Mikkel’s head and impacted some of the stonework where the ceiling met the wall.
Thanaton tried again. The newcomer batted it the other direction this time, flying right over Vowron’s head, to his evident delight. Thanaton gathered himself together and a bolt of lightning arced down from the ceiling to hit the newcomer. Then another. Thanaton seemed to hit his stride and a continuous stream of lightning crackled from his hands and slammed into the newcomer, who flinched and twitched as the force energy piled into him. The energy continued to pile up, turning into a small whirlwind around him and a pillar of light that arced and crackled small lightnings that struck bits of debris in the wind around the victim. Thanaton stopped the lightning, lowered his hands, and watched as his victim died.
Only Thanaton had stopped too soon. Mikkel watched the newcomer call on his reserves of energy and the pillar of force energy dissipated. He was surrounded by that wispy aura of dark force energy people seemed to get in this time if they were really trying, and his eyes glowed bright purple. Also, and to Mikkel’s complete surprise, a quartet of force ghosts arrayed themselves behind him, their energy clearly linked to his.
The force ghosts dissipated into a pile of energy that slammed into Thanaton, then the newcomer picked him up with the force and rammed him into the wall. Thanaton picked himself up more mundanely, lit his lightsaber again and ran towards the newcomer only to be seized in the force. Mikkel heard things snap as the new Sith crushed the older Darth and eventually Thanaton collapsed in a heap. He started to drag himself to the side of the room.
Mikkel and the dark council left where they had been watching and gathered around the broken Thanaton. Darth Mortis reached out, sadly said, “I’m sorry, Thanaton,” and snapped the crippled Sith’s neck. The Sith stood around and felt Thanaton die.
“Good riddance to him.” said Ravage.
“He was a better Sith than you give him credit for, Ravage.” said Marr.
“Let us hope his successor is as worthy.” Darth Mortis said, taking his eyes off of Thanaton and walking over to the newcomer. He gestured to the empty chair Mikkel had been leaning against. “My lord, your seat.”
“I look forward to working with each and every one of you.” the newcomer said.
“He’s only a lord! You can’t put a lord on the dark council!” said Ravage.
“I seem to remember a lord who was judged equal to the council in this very room.” Mikkel said.
“He’s earned his place.” said Marr.
“Agreed.” said Vowron. “Although we shouldn’t leave him a lord. He should have a Darth title…Nox. I think.”
Mortis and Marr nodded. Ravage, who didn’t seem to notice what was going on, stared blankly. Marr walked up to the newcomer. “By order of this council and in light of your reputation as a master of the dark side, you are now Darth Nox.” He said. “You will have Thanaton’s seat, you are now head of the pyramid of ancient knowledge. You are charged with keeping the mystical knowledge of the Sith and guarding the secrets of our order. With us you are ruler of all the Sith, answerable only to the Emperor himself.”
Darth Nox turned and walked to his new chair, then sat down. “Will I get to meet the Emperor? Why isn’t he here?” He said.
Mikkel slammed down her emotional controls and suppressed a giggle. Darth Mortis said “The Emperor will summon you, if and when he wishes it. Our business here is complete. You would do well to meet with your followers on Dromund Kaas and ensure their loyalty. Madam wrath, I respectfully suggest that you do as well. We are in for much change ahead, and it will behoove both of you to ensure your bases of power are stable. We will summon you both the next time the dark council congregates.”
Ranna Tao’ven stretched and yawned as she walked out of her hut, also known as the town hall of the Tython Twi’lek Village. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened her mouth as wide as she could, and flung her arms apart as her skin drank in the cool, slightly damp air of the new day. She spent a few seconds marveling in the sensation, then dropped her arms, closed her mouth, and opened her eyes.
Makas Goroc was standing there. Ranna let out a little “eep!” of surprise and Makas grinned and apologized. “May I come in? I’m hoping…actually, I’m hoping to bend your ear a little.”
“Sure.” Ranna said, a little unsteadily. “Come in. Would you like tea?”
“Traditionally with these talks I have hot pleasant drink, but tea sounds good.” Makas said.
The kitchen at the Twi’lek village government house was surprisingly cozy and bright. Floral patterns on the otherwise white walls and large windows facing the morning sun highlighted the pristine metal countertops and manual food heaters, preparation areas, and stored bowls, mixers, knives and other paraphernalia of the culinary art. It looked like a place where generations of Twi’leks would mix and meet and learn the arts of family and feeding and being good people. Makas hitched up onto a tall stool near the island while Ranna busied herself with tea-making.
“I ran into Bengel Morr.” Makas said.
“Yes, he’s a full Jedi now, he comes to the village quite often.” Ranna said. At Makas’s look of surprise, she said, “Grandmaster Satele came one day and explained it to us: Bengel needed to make amends for what he did and the best way to do that was to help protect our village.”
Makas put his head in his hands and groaned. “So, she made you take him?” he said.
“No.” said Ranna. “Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t like the idea at first. There was yelling. A lot. But she stayed calm and talked to us and didn’t talk down to us either. She took our concerns seriously and talked about what she had done with him to fix the problems and teach him to be a proper Jedi. Finally in the end…she asked us.”
“She did?” Makas said, surprised again.
“Yes. She asked us for our help. Told us we could teach Bengel the most valuable lessons he would ever learn, and that our lives being important was precisely the lesson she wanted to teach. She said we could help the galaxy and the Jedi. It still took some talking and there are still people who don’t like it, but eventually we took him in. He’s been working with Nallen to keep the flesh raiders at bay.”
“Wow. Thank you for doing that for him.” Makas said. “The Jedi order owes you a tremendous favor for that.”
“So they send their newest master to come tell us?” Ranna said, handing Makas his tea.
“You heard about that?” Makas said.
“It’s a tremendous honor. Congratulations.” said Ranna.
“Yes, I just…You have to realize, in the before time, I never made it to master.” Makas said.
“You know, that whole story that you’re twenty thousand years old sounds completely contrived.” Ranna said.
Makas shrugged. “Contrived or not, all of my memories are of twenty thousand years ago. In a sense, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. Anyway, after a while the darksiders started to taunt me with it, and they almost got me a couple of times too. So, I excised it.”
Ranna looked confused, “You did what?”
“I went deep within myself and found all my ambition for masterhood and my resentment that other people were getting promoted and I…dissolved it. Some I converted into passion for being a better Jedi, other parts I just let go. It didn’t bother me anymore.” Makas said. “The problem is, now that I am promoted, I don’t know how to handle it. Maybe I’ll just give the mastership back.”
Ranna put her teacup down, reached out and put a hand atop Makas’s. “You know when my mother died, I didn’t want to become matriarch of the village.”
“I remember.” Makas said.
“I hated it. I thought I had years before the mantle would come to me, then mother got sick and…well you know the rest. But when she died…I didn’t want it and I couldn’t stop, because the village was under attack and if I left people would die.” Ranna laughed to herself and said, “One night I became irate, I spent the whole evening stomping around yelling at mom for having the temerity to die on me. Honestly, to this day I’m not comfortable being the matriarch. I think the same thing is going to happen to you.”
“I’m going to become the matriarch of a Twi’lek village?” Makas asked.
Ranna laughed. “No. You’re going to be uncomfortable. I think it’s never going to sit right with you. But you know what, that’s okay. You are who you are and a title doesn’t make any difference to that. I think you should just accept this new circumstance you find yourself in until it’s not uncomfortable anymore.”
“She’s right, you know.” said a voice. Makas and Ranna turned to see the form of Kira Carsen standing in the kitchen doorway. “I eavesdropped for a little while. You know, you could have told me anytime.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Makas said. “I was going to, I just wanted to sort through some things with someone who wasn’t a Jedi.”
Kira gave Makas a considering look, then said, “I get that. And I also get that you changed your mind when you felt me coming up the hill.” Makas chuckled. “Anyway, that’s not the reason why I’m here. I got a call from Suri, one of my old classmates from Korriban. She’s…it sounds bad. I don’t need a master Jedi, but I do want my friend Makas to come. Are you in?”
“I’m in.” Makas said, smiling. “Let’s go.” He turned back to Ranna, “Thank you for your wisdom. And the tea.”
Grandmaster of the Jedi Order Satele Shan picked her way carefully through the rock chamber in ancient Kaleth, the city next to the Jedi temple on Tython, ruined thousands of years ago. She came to a small flat area cleared out of the rubble where some work lights and a picnic basket had been laid out.
“Master Anda?” Satele said, stepping onto the cleared-out space. She looked down at the floor and saw a hole in an adjacent wall out of which projected a pair of feet and also a soft string of swear words. Satele knelt down and called into the hole, “Master Anda?”
“Yes! Thank you for coming.” said Anda Siv. “I’m not quite ready, I’m sorry this is taking longer than I expected.”
“What are you doing?” Satele asked.
“I’m fixing this computer.” Anda replied, “It was about a minute and a half from total shutdown last time I talked to it.” There were some more bangs from inside the hole and a muffled oath. Eventually Anda Siv scooted out from the hole, dusted herself off, and stood up. “Now,” she said brightly, “let’s see if this works. Computer?”
A hologram appeared in the cleared area, fuzzed out, fuzzed back in again, and finally steadied into the image of a man wearing what looked like Jedi robes but of a pattern Satele was not familiar with. “Online.” the hologram said.
“Login Anda Siv, password Baralavon28.” Anda said.
“Biomarkers identified. Password accepted. Greetings Grand Master Anda Siv.” the computer said, bowing slightly towards Anda. “What are your commands?”
“Status report.”
“Additional capacity installed in all systems. Data backup in progress. Processor redundancy coming online. Power bus upgrade installed.”
Anda looked at Satele Shan. “You fixed the computer in Kaleth.” Satele said, stating the obvious in order to open the door for Anda to explain what the point was.
“I’m providing evidence that what I said is true.” Anda said. “This computer has logins from me from twenty thousand years ago. Nineteen thousand seven hundred. Give or take.”
Satele had been hoping to not have to talk about this. “Master Anda, I know what you claim about your…history, and yes, the Jedi council did discuss it before you joined us and yes, it is a serious problem. I am not enthusiastic about a master on the Jedi council with this kind of delusion.”
“Which is why I fixed the system.” said Anda.
“Computers can be reprogrammed.” Satele pointed out, “It doesn’t prove anything.”
“I’m asking you to have the historians examine it.” Anda said. “I didn’t expect you to just take the computer’s word for it. But I did want you to see that it worked.”
“You also wanted to discuss your history with me.” Satele said. “In private.” Satele looked around the isolated chamber significantly.
“I did.” Anda replied. “You’ve been very forbearing with Makas and I, and this is the chance for you to ask questions.”
“We needed you both.” Satele said. “But since we have time to talk now, why don’t you talk about it. Convince me you’re from the depths of prehistory.”
Anda held up a hand. “Okay, first of all I can’t. Not really. It’s something you’re either going to believe or you’re not. But you knew that. So here’s my evidence: First, my memories and his. Second, what we don’t know, third, this computer, fourth, the document on Corellia, fifth, Thermodraft, Sixth, Hallow voice and seventh, the force.”
Satele looked politely interested.
“So, Makas and I both have memories, and those memories corroborate with each other and with all those other bits of evidence. They’re not perfect but memories never are, but they are sufficiently consistent that if we are making this up we have to be beyond good. That being said, maybe we’re some super trained set of spies using a cover story, and also steeped in the finest points of Jedi philosophy.”
“Those memories could have been manufactured and implanted.” Satele pointed out.
“Yes. And from an outside perspective that’s probably the most likely option. All I can tell you is I remember an entire life. I was a Jedi, I fell in love, got married, had children and great-great grandchildren, rose to become grandmaster of the order, retired, and finally died in my love’s arms at a respectably advanced age. If someone went to the trouble to implant all that they must have used either an incredible amount of computing power or a very long time or both, and there would be more safeguards to protect his investment we could find.”
Satele continued to look politely interested.
“Second, what Makas and I don’t know. For example, technology. When we come from space technology in particular but several other fields like artificial intelligence and personal weapons were profoundly different from how they are now. You know, they used pellet guns back then.”
“You’ve adapted remarkably well to blasters.” Satele said.
“It’s another combat technique, watch the future and be precise. Blocking pellets was something we did quite a bit of. The new part is being able to send them back somewhere. But the important part is the star travel. In the before time hyperdrives were the size of a city block and travelling between stars was done in gigantic arcships and took weeks or months. Interplanetary travel was quite a bit slower than it is now and even crossing the atmosphere into orbit wasn’t done nearly as casually as it is now. Which is why neither Makas nor I can fly a starship or use any of the modern forms of transportation very well. Frankly, piloting was not part of the Jedi curriculum then.”
“I may test that by putting you in a simulator.” Satele said. “But I also know that faking lack of knowledge is always easier than faking knowledge.”
Anda said, “True. Third, the computer, you’re going to have your historians look it over?”
“Yes.” said Satele.
“Then we can leave that for the analysts.” Anda said. “Fourth, there is a document in the Corellian history museum, written in a language probably only intelligible to half a dozen people in the present time. It is a bill of sale, or a treaty. Mikkel Ansa agreed to withdraw her dark side forces from the planet in exchange for…quite a lot, really. Anyway, my point is that Makas, Mikkel and I can all read it fluently, and with no education from any of the schools that might teach that language in the present day. Similarly, in the depths of Coruscant there is the power reactor called Thermodraft, which has memories of us from the before time, especially Makas. It can be communicated with.”
“I will send someone to try.” Satele said, thinking that that might be a good job for a rehabilitating Leeha Narezz.
“Sixth, Hallow Voice of the Esh-Kha remembers me visiting him in the before time. He can be interviewed. Finally, there is the force. When I first got to Tython and discovered how long it’s been I needed some time to come to terms with it.” Anda said. “I found a meditation chamber and looked at the threads of fate. Mine, Makas’s and who they interacted with. I found our threads and saw that we coalesced out of the vastness of the force and took up a supporting position that had been abandoned by a big thread, and cut off another large thread that had grown malignant. If you want, I can lead you through the meditation. Makas looked through it himself.”
“You don’t have to.” said Satele. “I’ve looked through the threads of fate at the two of you already. Master Makas collides with the emperor several times.”
“I wondered why you said he had a destiny.” said Anda. “You knew ahead of time.”
“Then I realized something. Makas can’t defeat the emperor by himself. Master Makas is incredibly skilled with a lightsaber, but the emperor reincarnates. He can’t be killed by a lightsaber alone. And Makas has neither the power nor skills to deal with him. Nobody from this time does. But you might.”
“I don’t, actually.” Anda said. “I’m very powerful and I can do things about force ghosts, but the Emperor is practically a vergence when he’s at full power. We have no chance against him in a straight up confrontation. But, those aren’t our only tools. And if I have enough time, I can find a vulnerability in him. And I have killed a vergence before.”
“I think that’s why you’re here. I actually only have one mystery.” Satele said. “The third one of you, the Sith.”
“Mikkel Ansa.” Anda said. “I suppose technically she’s a dark jedi. If you’re asking what her role is in this, I don’t know either. Her thread comes with us in the force, but whether to help or to hinder I don’t know.”
“What is she to you?” Satele asked.
“She is my sister in every important respect.” Anda said. “We grew up together, we were closest friends for a long time. Then she betrayed me and fell to the dark side. The pain of that is still with me. I love her with all my heart.”
“You know about attachments. She could use that attachment you have for her to turn you to the dark side.” Satele pointed out.
Anda Siv was small, and thin, and delicate looking. Her features were small and precise, and her skin was a shade of pale that gave off the impression that it could tear like paper. When people looked at Anda Siv, they subconsciously started moving more slowly and deliberately, as if they might damage her.
She turned a look on Satele Shan that was pure iron. “If I have to choose between saving the galaxy or saving Mikkel Ansa, I’m going to sacrifice my sister.” she said.
Satele had known Anda was powerful in the force, and very smart, and well versed in Jedi arts and philosophies, but she saw a side of the other master she hadn’t seen before. Being grandmaster of the Jedi is more than just knowledge and force powers. You have to be willing to look at the Jedi themselves with a critical eye. To change this and to reinforce that and, if necessary, to prune. Prune out concepts, or Jedi, or whole star systems. It demanded a kind of ruthless practicality that other masters, even great ones like Syo Bakarn or Orgus Din would never have. Satele had that practicality; it was why she was grandmaster now. She recognized it in Anda Siv.
Mikkel finished composing the notice that some workmen were going to be making changes to her office and sent it off to the Sith tower security detail, then leaned back in the chair behind what she was increasingly detesting as Darth Baras’s desk. Vette walked in. “It’s still weird seeing you there.” she said.
“You won’t for long.” replied Mikkel. “I’m having it replaced. Baras’s taste was crap. How about you, what do you think of that new council member? Do you think he’s cute?”
“Darth Nox?” Vette said, “Not especially. Besides, I was hanging out with that pirate friend of his and evidently he’s sweet on that Jedi lady who follows him around.”
“I thought he was cute. Anyway, did you find Jaesa’s parents?” Mikkel asked.
“I did. They’re in the next room. Want me to show them in?”
“Yes, I’d like to talk to them.” Mikkel said. A few minutes later Gregor and Parvin Wilsaam were standing in the office, looking nervous. Mikkel force-floated a couple of chairs over for them and bade them sit. “Now, as you can see, I’ve gone up in the world.” she said.
They started to speak then stopped themselves several times. Finally, Gregor said “Congratulations, my lady.”
“Thank you.” said Mikkel. “As the successor of Darth Baras, I’ve inherited all of his…stuff and it’s about some of that that I wanted to talk to you, and I wanted to do it in person because I want to be very clear that you can say no, okay?”
“What are you demanding of us?” asked Parvin.
Mikkel sighed. “I’m not demanding anything. I remember that you were once servants of the Organa estate and, as it happens, I find myself in need of people with those skills now. I have a new villa outside of Kaas city and I want to make you both the head caretakers of it.” She held up a finger before either of them could say anything. “Let me stress that this is a salaried position, and you are both free to leave at any time, and also that you can say no and go right back to where you live with your comfortable stipend intact. What do you say?”
The two Wilsaams looked at each other. “Will we get to see our Jaesa?” Parvin asked.
“If you and she both want to, whenever we’re on Dromund Kaas.” Mikkel said.
“We’ll take it.” said Gregor.
In a remote stretch of wilderness on the world of Tython there was a cabin. In that cabin lived two people who, in many ways, were exact opposites. Parkannas Tark had been a Jedi padawan until a disastrous mission to Malachor Three had seen him fall to the dark side and become possessed by the force ghost of the ancient Sith Terrak Morrage. Recently he had been rescued by the Jedi and, though he could never use the force without embracing the dark side again, had chosen to retire in seclusion here. In contrast, Syo Bakarn had been raised by the greatest incarnation of the dark side to become one of the emperor’s greatest champions, then he was given to the light where his cover personality had defeated the original Syo Bakarn and he, too, had chosen seclusion in this stretch of Tython. Originally light, given to the dark, and redeemed by the light met originally dark, given to the light and redeemed by the light, and the two saw enough kindred in each other they decided to take their seclusion together.
Syo Bakarn had finished taking in the Muckroot harvest and was leading the draft animal pulling the cart up to the storage silo when Parkannas came out of the cabin and walked over. “Just got a call.” Parkannas said. “Flitter coming.”
“Who?” said Syo. Then, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” As he said those words a flitter descended out of the sky, circled the homestead, and set down in a field nearby. Parkannas, Syo and the draft animal walked up to it and got there in time to see the hatch open and two figures come out: one was an old established friend to both of them, Master Darius Fain, and the other was a new established friend, Master Anda Siv.
“Well, my old student! This is a pleasant surprise.” Syo Bakarn said, letting the beast’s reins go and walking over to the newcomers, holding his arms out for a hug. Darius Fain and Anda Siv came over and embraced him.
“I was never your student.” said Darius, “In fact, I’m the one who taught you that trick with the bottle opener and the lock.”
“I was never your student either.” Anda said, “I was a fully trained Jedi when I met you.”
Syo looked somberly down at Anda, then chuckled and grinned ruefully. “Maybe I wanted some of the credit for when you saved me.” he said.
“I didn’t save you, you saved you.” Anda replied. “I just held his attention.”
“You set it up.” said Syo.
“Good god don’t either of you know how to brag?” asked Darius Fain. He hoisted a picnic basket into view. “Come on. I have wine. Let’s get boozed up and tell lies about the old days.”
“I have to put the muckroots away.” Syo Bakarn said.
“I’ll help you.” Said Anda.
“You two stick-in-the-muds go be responsible. Parkannas and I will get started on the wine.” Darius said.
Several hours later the four of them were sitting around the hearth in the main room of the cabin. It was set in the middle of the room like a stylized campfire and the four of them were arrayed around it in comfortable lounge chairs, pleasantly tipsy. Parkannas Tark was roasting puffsugar balls on a stick. He plucked one off, emitted a small sound of pain as it burned him, and hot-potatoed it over to Darius Fain, who caught it in the force and let it float there until it cooled off.
“So why are you really here.” Syo Bakarn said, sipping his wine and gesturing at Anda and Darius.
“I told you.” said Darius. “Master Anda here doesn’t believe that you and I cleaned all the scum and villainy off of Tatooine and I came here for you to verify the story.”
“We came to check on you.” Anda said. “See how you are doing.”
“Poorly.” said Parkannas, gingerly pulling another puffsugar ball off the stick and flipping it towards Anda. “Turns out a Jedi education doesn’t prepare you for farming.”
“Hers did.” said Syo. “What was it you called it, Berry Picking Day?”
“It didn’t have to be berry picking.” Anda said. “The compound on Ossus where we grew up was in the middle of some farmland, so itinerant agricultural labor was easy to get to.”
“What are you talking about?” said Parkannas.
“Master Anda here claims to have grown up in a different Jedi tradition long ago.” Darius Fain said. “Speaking of lies about our pasts.” He held his wine glass in salute to Anda, drained it, and poured himself another.
Anda looked across the fire at Parkannas and said, “When I was a student, my master used to take us once a year out to some poor, downtrodden people and we helped them. No force powers, no fighting, just…work. Usually, it was working with the migrant agricultural workers at harvest time. We’d pick berries for a whole day, then give our pay to the poorest people we could find. Usually whoever had an injury that day and couldn’t make quota.”
“Why?” asked Parkannas.
“That’s what I want to know.” said Darius. “There were profoundly more effective ways to help those people and you know it.”
“It was to teach us what Jedi are for.” Anda said. “It was to remind us that the point is to make the galaxy a better place, and everything else is secondary.”
“In which case you could have...goodness. Done a hundred other things.” said Master Darius. “Worked with an equipment manufacturer to get them better equipment. Not bumped some deserving soul out of the queue when the foreman said they had enough. Used the force to pick the damn berries and saved everyone a day of backbreaking labor. Instead of this performative virtue you could have done some actual good.”
Anda gave Darius Fain a considering look. “We did that the rest of the time.” Anda said. “This was to teach us. Remind us what our goals are. It was remarkably effective. A lot of lightsiders got back on the path after a Berry Picking Day.”
“That’s right, you were a member of the council in the before time, weren’t you?” said Syo Bakarn.
“I was Grandmaster of the light side.” Anda said. “For fifty-two years.”
Parkannas leaned forward, “Are you going to depose Satele?” he asked.
“No.” said Anda.
“Why not?” asked Syo. “Not that I disapprove. Satele Shan has done an excellent job as Grandmaster.”
“Because I had my chance.” Anda said. “Because fate isn’t done with Satele Shan yet, and I think she needs to be grandmaster of the Jedi order and we need her to be. Because this is her time, and my time was long ago.”
It was Darius’s turn to give Anda Siv a considering look. “Well, I hope you believe that. For all our sakes.”
“What do you mean?” asked Syo.
“Only that if the Jedi order falls prey to a power-hungry madwoman it will be bad for everyone.”
At the beginning of the pathway from the speeder parking lot to the villa that had once belonged to Darth Vengean, then Darth Baras and now to the wrath of the emperor there was a sign:
WARNING:
Be warned that all the goods, chattels and people on this estate are the property of and/or under the protection of the Wrath of the Emperor. Any damage or abuse will be considered an act of war upon the Wrath and, by extension, upon the Emperor himself.
Just to be sure everyone got the message, an imperial army captain with a clipboard was stationed right next to the sign, checking guests off as they came in. Darth Nox and Ashara Zavros duly listened to the speech reiterating the message on the sign, pressed their thumbprints on the clipboard, and walked up the gravel path to the main building. A liveried servant opened the door and they walked into a strange mix of Sith austerity and tasteful opulence. A wall of partygoers turned to look at them, stared briefly, and went back to what they were doing.
“You made it!” a tall, muscular red-headed human woman in a sleek, sheer red dress, off one shoulder and with a lightsaber hanging off a loop on the other side came striding confidently up to the two of them. She air-kissed them next to each cheek and then held them both at arm’s length. “I see Mistress Avall got a hold of you.” she said, referring to the popular high-fashion designer in Kaas city. “Doesn’t she do the most exquisite work?” There was a pause while Nox and Ashara tried to figure out what to say. “I’m Mikkel Ansa.” finished Mikkel.
“A pleasure to meet you, wrath.” Darth Nox said.
“Call me Mikkel.” Mikkel said. “You might not remember, but I was standing in the council chamber when you killed Darth Thanaton. Most commendable.”
“I remember.” said Darth Nox, to whom that entire encounter was indelibly seared in memory.
“My lady.” Ashara Zavros dipped a small curtsey, “I’m Ashara Zavros, Jedi padawan.”
“I know who you are.” Mikkel said, smiling.
“I was wondering if I – we could talk to you about ending the conflict between Jedi and Sith. You’re very important and you said you were a Jedi once and-”
“And that’s a very important conversation to have.” said Mikkel. “But not right now. Right now it is your chance to get to know Dark Side society. See and be seen.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “This is important for you, Darth Nox. You have impressive force powers, but there are many kinds of power you will need to master. I want to help you do that.”
“Thank you, Wrath.” Darth Nox said.
Several hours later Celivanta Gratham finished drying herself off and came out of the bathroom, strode across the carpeting, and slid into bed. She lay back and sighed, then turned to her bedmate. “Okay, why?” she said.
Mikkel laughed. “Maybe I wanted to get in your pants.”
“I’m serious.” said Celivanta. “Why did you have the Gratham family relegitimized and the charges dropped? Why did you end our exile?”
Mikkel turned to Celivanta. “You know already. I owed you a favor, and the dark council was right there. You would have more power if you were back in society again, even if you did have to split rulership with Beezlit. Also, and you probably didn’t know this part, but I ran into a Republic intelligence agent on Corellia who knew about Beezlit, and if it had made it to the Republic it was going to get out among the Sith sooner or later. This way it’s out officially and nobody can blackmail you. And I wanted to get in your pants.”
Celivanta hit Mikkel with her pillow.
Kira and Makas found themselves in a cave on Voss, looking across the cavern at a small, dark-haired woman who was pacing around and occasionally curling up into an uncomfortable body position as she walked.
“That’s Suri.” Kira said. “It looks bad.” Makas nodded, and the two of the walked up to the young woman openly and slowly, trying not to spook her.
“Stay back!” Suri said, reacting suddenly to their presence. “Stop talking! You’re not real, none of you!” She looked at places where several other people might have been but weren’t.
“Calm down.” said Kira, “we’re plenty real.”
“You!” Suri said, looking at another person who wasn’t there. “No, there’s no hope. He won’t be silenced; he puts words in me.”
“Come with us. We can teach you how to defy his will.” Kira said.
“The Emperor is gone, Suri. He can’t control you.” Said Makas.
Suri continued talking to everyone who wasn’t there. “He wants me to flee? No, attack. Set fire to Ord Mantell. Wait, that’s wrong. Freeze the oceans of Manaan. Changing commands. Which are lies? What is truth. Can’t live like this! Help me! Kill me!”
“Hey.” said Makas. “Listen to me. Tune out the voices in your head and just listen to mine. It will be okay. Let me lead you.”
“Your voice, only your voice. Yes, master.” Suri said. Makas suppressed a flinch. “Take my weapon. Strike me down.”
“Enough.” said a strange Sith, coming up behind Makas and Kira. He had a companion, both dressed in combat armor that looked well used and looked after. “Leave us, Jedi. She is our sister. We will make her whole again.”
Makas and Kira thought quickly. On the one hand, Suri was dark side and probably wasn’t going to come over the light side voluntarily. On the other, to the Sith ‘make whole again’ sometimes meant ‘torture and kill.’ “Who are you?” Makas asked.
“I remember Tannak.” Kira said. “He’s vermin.”
“We are children of the emperor, like her.” Tannak said. “We understand what it means to be severed from him.” At this, Tannak gave Makas a deep, accusing look. “With our assistance, she will regain control. Without it she’ll die.”
“Nice story.” said Kira. “Got a better one. We take her to Tython and she gets real help.”
“We can free Suri from the emperor’s will.” Makas pointed out.
Tannak didn’t agree. “Loyalty to the emperor is forever, and she does not want to be free.” Tannak turned to Suri. “Tell the Jedi how you summoned me. You begged for my help.”
“I…” Suri said. “Yes. He’ll rearrange the words; they won’t hurt anymore. They’ll be silent.”
Makas turned to Kira. “What do you want to do?”
Kira stared at Suri for a long time, then finally said, “I hate this, but my gut says let her go.”
“A wise choice.” said Tannak. “Come along, Suri.” He turned and left, followed by his companion and Suri, who was twitching less.
Kira said, halfway to herself, “This was the right call. If we’d pressed, it would have gone bad. This way we get another chance to bring Suri around.”
“You come to the light side voluntarily or not at all.” Makas agreed.
Kira stared at nothing for a long time, then shook herself and said, “Voss gives me the creeps. Let’s get off this rock.” The two of them turned and left.
Felix Iresso turned the corner of the Jedi temple and walked to Anda Siv’s office. Evidently as a master on the Jedi council Anda rated one and she had retired there to do whatever it was that counted as paperwork among the Jedi. He knocked softly and stepped in.
Every other time Felix Iresso could remember that he had stepped into someone else’s office they had spent at least seven seconds reading their piece of paperwork before looking up. The higher rank, the longer it took. General Garza had spent five minutes.
Anda Siv was looking him in the eyes as he walked in. He must have looked startled, because she smiled and said, “I sensed you coming down the hallway. What’s up, Lieutenant?”
“There’s something I need to tell you, it’s important.” Iresso said. “A few years ago I was captured by the Empire. I was scouting on Althir with my friend Milo and we ran into an imperial strike team. I woke up in an imperial cell with a headache.”
Anda said, “I wondered about that. There are sections of your file that are surprisingly open, and other sections that are classified.”
“When I managed to escape and reach a republic ship, I realized I’d lost time. Seven days. Whatever happened to me is still a blank.”
Anda said, “I could help you if you wanted.”
“They tried, all I got was stuff I’ve tried to forget.” Iresso said, “Medically I’m fine, but my commanders don’t like it. So, I get shuffled around. Wherever they need an extra blaster. That’s why I keep being reassigned. I just thought you should know.”
“I wondered about that too.” said Anda. “The open parts of your file are full of reports of a solid, capable, competent officer who keeps getting transferred and passed over for promotions and awards.” Anda paused briefly and looked Iresso in the eye. “Felix, there’s something I want you to understand. So long as you want it, you have a place on the Wisdom and with my team. I need someone with your skills and abilities and, more importantly, you are a good man and a good friend.”
Felix Iresso found himself surprisingly moved by that. “I…Thank you, Jedi. I just wish Milo had made it out too.”
“Getting a prisoner list out of the Empire is difficult right now.” Anda said, “Still, there are ways. I’ll drop a few notes and make some calls. You should too.”
“I will. Thank you, Master Anda.”
Breakfast time on the Defender. Makas, Doc, and Rusk were sitting around the dining table eating energy pudding. Makas was finding a partiality for the butterscotch flavor, while Doc would lecture anyone who would listen on the virtues of pistachio.
“Master Jedi.” Rusk said, suddenly. “The defeat of the Sith empire is easily the most ambitious mission I’ve ever been on. If I may say so, the Jedi order’s discipline, self-sacrifice and devotion to duty are a model for all citizens.”
“Those are means to an end.” Makas said. “And please don’t call me ‘Master Jedi.’”
“I’m aware that my recent military record might have raised some concerns.” Rusk continued.
“I’ll say.” said Doc, to a disapproving look from Makas.
“I want to assure you that my squad fatality rates weren’t consistently that high as what you saw on Hoth. The first squad I commanded after making Sergeant was sent to free POWs being held at an imperial outpost. Intel said the place would be lightly manned. Most of the imperials wouldn’t arrive for another twenty-four hours.”
“Intel was wrong?” said Doc.
Rusk nodded. “The imperials sent their reinforcements a day early. When my squad broke into the outpost, we were outnumbered ten to one. We were outnumbered and outgunned, but we achieved our objective. Freed all the POWs and came out alive. My squad’s casualty rate was ninety-seven point four percent,” Doc spit up his energy pudding while Rusk continued, “but we had no fatalities.”
Makas grabbed a napkin and wiped down his arm and spoon. “I’m impressed you made it out at all.” He said to Sergeant Rusk.
“They were good soldiers.” Said Rusk. “Far better than any of the others I’ve had under my command. Our objective was accomplished without permanent loss of republic resources. That squad was effectively trained, and as a result we achieved victory much more efficiently.”
“I’ll bet your medic didn’t think so.” said Doc.
“When I was at that stage in my career, I got my eye sliced by a darksider because I couldn’t figure out how to win without losing something.” Makas said. He drew his finger down a scar that went across half his face. “I got sliced by a lot of darksiders. And lost a lot of people.”
“Wait.” Said Doc, turning to Rusk. “How can you accept casualties at all?”
“Good soldiers are a resource.” Rusk said. “Yes, their loss damages the war effort, but they are meant to be used. Victory for the Republic is worth any cost.”
“How can you sit there and talk about them like they’re…boxes of ammunition or something.” Doc said. “They’re people. Living, breathing people. With mothers and fathers and cute little sisters and favorite dogs. You can’t just spend them like credits.”
“I’m surprised you never learned about this, Doctor.” Rusk said, “Considering how much time you’ve spent in war zones. That’s exactly what war is. Each side spends people like credits and permanently loses irreplaceable soldiers for temporary gains. People die for a stretch of hallway, or to cross a field. Because the alternative is to fail at the mission, and that is much worse.”
“What, dishonor?” Doc said. “Pfui on honor. Save the people.”
Rusk was always tightly disciplined, but he seemed to cool several degrees. “Yes, dishonor. But also something else. Maybe the Imperials overrun the town. Maybe the ship you’re assaulting gets away and goes on to blast an innocent passenger liner. Once a war starts, people are going to die, Doctor Kimble. Soldiers have volunteered to be the ones to do it.”
The two men glared at each other and Makas decided to change the subject. “What happened to your old squad?” he said.
“I don’t know.” Rusk replied. “I can’t find them in the records. They seem to be on active duty, but I can’t find any mention of commendations or recognition. They should be decorated soldiers. The whole squad has simply vanished.”
That set off alarm bells to Makas. “Give me their names and identity codes.” he said, “I’ll call Var Suthra.”
Dilinga the Hutt was holding court in her luxurious apartment-cum-palace on Nar Shadda. Holding court was an important activity: it gave the client merchants and servants a chance to see her and to discuss their business and make requests, and it gave Dilinga the chance to demonstrate her power to the people she most needed to keep in their place.
It was, actually, a slow business day. A low-level businessman had begged for a favor in vengeance for his violated son and been granted. Another low-level businessman had begged for extra time to pay off his loan and been dropped through the trap door. Unlike other Hutt trap doors, this one didn’t lead anywhere, the businessman had fallen into the sky traffic of Nar Shadda, possibly to make it to the surface. Sometimes the courtiers made bets.
The band had just finished a rollicking neuvo-jazz number when the majordomo ushered in three visitors. One was Lord Rathari, the Sith representative on the moon, and the other two were human women, a tall redhead human and a shorter brunette.
“Lord Rathari.” Dilinga said, “I haven’t seen you in a long time. How fares the Empire?”
The taller woman stepped forward. “My name is Mikkel Ansa.” she said, “I am the Emperor’s Wrath.”
Dillinga laughed. “Well, you did come.” she said. “And what does the wrath of the emperor want of me?”
“What we discussed over the holocomm.” Mikkel said. “Freeing Whuddle the Hutt’s slaves.”
“Ah yes.” Dilinga said. “You said you would come. Well, let’s negotiate. What will you pay me for them?”
Mikkel raised a datapad and pressed a button. Text and numbers appeared in the holodisply in front of Dilinga. She read it carefully, then looked back at her supplicants. “Very generous. Very generous.” she said, “But not enough. I have gone over my cousin’s accounts and found some ways he wasn’t using his resources effectively. These slaves are worth much more than you are offering.”
Mikkel shrugged, raised her datapad and pressed a button. Words and numbers disappeared from the holodisplay.
“Is this some sort of joke?” Dilinga said. “You offer less?”
Mikkel pressed another button. More words and numbers disappeared. “I think you can see where this is going.” Mikkel said.
“Sith arrogance. You think you can come in here and negotiate with me this way?” Dilinga said. In answer, Mikkel pressed the button again and more words and numbers disappeared. Dilinga reached for her lever that controlled the trap door pushed it.
Mikkel snapped her fingers.
Nothing happened. Mikkel pressed the button again. The last of the words and numbers disappeared from the holodisplay. “Now it gets interesting. If you don’t give the slaves away of your own generosity, for nothing, you start paying for the privilege of freeing them.”
“You are endangering Hutt neutrality in your war with the Republic.” Dilinga said. “You can’t fight the Republic and the Hutts.”
“Hardly.” Said Mikkel. “Whuddle was a jumped-up slum lord and you aren’t better, you just live in a place with moisture. I am the emperor’s personal representative. Specifically, the embodiment of his anger and rage. If we fight and you manage to kill me the Empire will be offended. Maybe they can’t devote much military might to the Hutt cartels while fighting the Republic, but the Hutt economy is quite tightly tied with the Empire’s. Just the assets in easy imperial reach are enough to severely damage the cartel, leaving alone what a punitive expedition might do. To prevent that, the leaders of the Cartel would absolutely extend reparations in the form of the estate and person of one Nar Shadda Hutt of no particular account and no truly important friends. She would be delivered to Dromund Kaas, to be tortured and executed by some of the best pain experts in the galaxy. That’s if you win. If I win, I have this same conversation with whoever inherits your estate.”
Dilinga stared at Mikkel. Mikkel stared back. The audience hall gradually quieted, then turned silent.
“Take them.” Dilinga said. “Get out. Never darken my door again.”
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Mikkel said, then she and the other two Sith turned and left.
Makas and Rusk were standing in front of the holocomm when the call to General Var Suthra went through. “What can I do for you, Master Jedi?” he said.
“Call me Makas.” Makas said, “Actually, I’m asking for a personal favor. Can you look up these ident codes and tell me where they are?”
Makas pressed the send button and Var Suthra looked at his datapad. He frowned, pressed another couple of buttons, and then the datapad beeped. Var Suthra frowned thunderously.
“What happened, Sir?” Said Sergeant Rusk.
“They’ve been assigned to General Garza’s special forces. They’re…in a detention facility on Behroun, convicted of war crimes.”
Now it was Rusk’s turn to frown thunderously, Makas pulled out his own datapad and typed something in it. They heard an answering beep from T7 on the bridge.
“They called the squad ‘the surgeons’.” Var Suthra continued. “They were tasked with destabilizing the Empire’s command structure by removing its best leaders. They didn’t just target the imperial commanders; they went after the officers’ families. They wanted to send the enemy a message.”
“Sounds like a setup.” said Makas, “Is there proof of this?”
“I’ll send you the file.” said Var Suthra.
A few hours later Rusk walked into the crew cabin, where Makas was reading the ship’s library information on Behroun. “Master Jedi.” he said.
“Seriously, call me Makas.” Makas said, sitting up and looking at Rusk.
“We need to stop the mission.” Rusk said. “Don’t save the squad.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Good soldiers know the difference between acceptable and unacceptable targets. I read the file, they really killed those civilians. They should stay.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” Makas said, “They’re pretty young, that’s a long time to spend in a cage.”
“I am sure.” Rusk said. “They need to be an example.”
“An example to who?” Makas asked. “The Republic is just going to think it’s imperial propaganda. The Empire will wonder why they didn’t just shoot them. If we bring them back to the Republic they could face a new trial, or a quiet dismissal.”
“To themselves.” Sergeant Rusk said. “To the rest of the special forces. To the ones who would entertain notions like that. They need to stay to prove that honor has meaning.”
Makas blanked out his datapad and got off his bunk. “This is your concern; we’ll do whatever you say.” he said, “I’ll go tell T7 to bring us back to our old course.”
On the planet of Sarkhai, Tobas Grell was granted a state funeral. This was to be expected. He was the first representative of Sarkhai to the Galactic Senate and had died helping Sarkhai and the rest of the Rift Alliance make a heroic contribution to the war between the Republic and the Empire. It was unusual in that it was delayed until a break in the fighting allowed Tobas Grell’s daughter, Nadia, to come home.
As state funerals go, it was pretty ordinary. The body was on display in a prominent place and important people filed in and looked solemn while more important people got up in front of them and made speeches about the deceased and extolling whatever civic virtue they had decided to saddle him with. At the end a small, thin woman stepped up to the podium and talked about her father, telling stories of this and that and reminding not so much the people in the room as the people watching across the planet by telepresence, that here was a person. A real, living, complicated person who had lived and laughed and made mistakes and had been loved and, really, who still was. Nadia had hoped to remind the important people who had been her father’s friends, but they were too busy being important. Instead, Nadia settled for reaching at least one person: Nadia Grell.
Afterwards, there had been the traditional gathering at the deceased’s estate, and after a while, when Nadia had grown tired of being talked at by important people, she slipped out then up several flights of stairs and into one of the long office rooms used by the estate managers to handle the accounts. The room had a balcony that looked out over part of the city and then to the force dome and beyond that, the jungle that threatened to engulf the entire planet.
“Your father used to look at that view,” said Kamma Gim, chief steward to House Grell, “he said it helped him think.”
Nadia almost let out a small “eep!” of surprise and whirled around. “Kamma! You startled me.”
“I thought Jedi were impossible to sneak up on.” Kamma said.
“I’m still a padawan.” Nadia said. “Master Anda taught me the techniques but…they take effort. I thought now was a good time to relax.”
“Where is Master Anda now?” Kamma asked.
“Back on Tython.” Nadia replied, “She sent me here alone. She said it was time to take a break from the discipline of the Jedi order and to remember how to be Nadia Grell, person.”
“I thought the whole point to being a Jedi was to deny your feelings.” Kamma said.
“Oh no.” said Nadia, “It’s to not let them rule you. In order to do that you have to know what your feelings are and give them space to be. It’s quite cleansing, really. I can teach you some things.”
“No, thank you.” Said Kamma, holding up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “I need my toxic coping mechanisms. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I need the token.”
“The what?” Nadia said.
“The token. The thing you took from Senator Grell’s killer. You did kill him, didn’t you?”
“Oh.” Said Nadia, suddenly looking down. “I…didn’t.”
Kamma was aghast. “He got away? Does anyone know? We need to let the Republic know and have them look for him, discreetly. I think I can stall for a little while.”
“He didn’t get away, he’s a prisoner on Belsavis. I didn’t kill him, is all.”
This time Kamma was scandalized. “How could you do that!” she whispered, as if afraid of someone sneaking into the open room or hearing from two floors below. “You know what that means! It means the family will look weak, like we can’t protect ourselves!”
“I know!” Nadia moaned, leaning back against the wall and pressing her face in her hands.
“House Grell has enemies!” Kamma continued, “Some of them are downstairs in the ballroom at this very moment! If word of this got out to the Tooleys, or the Nitos…” Kamma raised a hand to her mouth and gnawed on a finger in a nervous gesture. She started pacing quickly back and forth in front of Nadia. “Okay, you’re just going to have to go to Belsavis and kill him. You’re a Grell. We’ll have to figure out an escape plan. What kind of planet is Belsavis anyway?”
Nadia took her hands away from her face and looked up. “No.” she said.
Kamma stopped pacing. “What?”
Nadia stood up from the wall. “I am not going to kill that man. I had a reason for not killing him before and I’m not going to do it now. If all of Sarkhai doesn’t agree, then all of Sarkhai is wrong. If that makes us look weak then it makes us look weak and if people try to attack house Grell because of it then they will find out how well we can defend ourselves.”
“Nadia…” Kama started.
“No.” Nadia said. “Tell the staff, nobody takes vengeance for daddy – for Tobas Grell. I’ll meet with the security staff before I leave, and we’ll tighten things up for a while. If Tooley or Nito wants to start something they can do that today.” Nadia pulled her lightsaber off her belt and waggled it. “I know some tricks now. Things they don’t think are possible.”
Kamma stood stock still as if stunned with a mallet. Her face started to move, then twisted up in an expression of anguish. Burying her face in her hands, she fled through the doorway off the patio and dashed through the office room and into the hallway. Nadia watched her go as her own mind filled with sadness at causing such anguish. Then she was surprised when Queen Nyscha stepped through the doors onto the patio.
“You heard that.” Said Nadia.
“I did.” Said the Queen.
“I’m not cruel.” Nadia said, defensively. “Kamma is just very devoted to the house and she deeply believes that our strength comes from tradition.”
“It does.” Said Nyscha.
“Strength comes from a lot of places. Tradition is just one of them.” Nadia said. “Another place is being right. It was right not to kill Stark. He’s not a person anymore, he’s just a…thing. Killing him for vengeance is just becoming the sort of person who thinks death is more important than life, and I am not that person. I never will be.” Nadia said.
“These are things you learned from Master Anda, aren’t they?” Nyscha said.
“They are.”
Nyscha shook her head. “I do not understand. But Master Anda saved both my husband and I and we owe you both our lives. I’ll talk to Sethun. Nobody will threaten house Grell. Not while we are watching.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”