Value Loyalty Above All Else [Star Wars]

Morgan walked into the hangar proper to find three distinct groups very pointedly not looking at each other. The first was Quinn and Kala, standing together with an ease there hadn't been before. He ignored how the Aurora's captain had been having less than subtle emotional issues, deciding to bring it up should it interfere with her work.

Considering he relied on Quinn to tell him when that happened, that might not be as easy as it used to be.

The second group contained Vette and someone he didn't know, although they also didn't really seem to know each other. The stranger was mostly holding still, not looking at anyone and generally trying not to draw any attention to herself.

The third group consisted of one irate looking man, two enforcers flanking him, all being blocked access to the hangar by soldiers.

'Don't suppose I could slip inside unnoticed, can I? Be nice to shower first.'

Quinn spotted him, alerting everyone else to his presence in the process, and he had his answer. "Sir. Do you have a moment?"

"No wait me first." Vette interrupted, ignoring the less than friendly look the captain sent her in return. "It's for once kind of important."

"I must insist on being seen at once." The last party insisted. "I bring the word of the great Wisi herself."

Vette turned to the man, clearly about to explain her opinion on his urgency, when Morgan pushed out his presence. Blessed silence fell, so he turned to the representative.

"Twenty words or less."

The man frowned. "Wisi the magnificent will speak with you. Now."

A handheld holoprojector was activated before he could respond, Morgan feeling his patience fray by the second. Wisi appeared, seeming less than pleased. "Ah, finally. You did not report on your task, sith. It cost me valuable time waiting for your reply, although I will admit the warehouse has been cleared to my satisfaction."

"Good." Morgan summoned the projector to his hand, the representative looking ready to protest. One of the soldiers made it clear that was a bad idea. "Then this dock is mine."

He crushed the device, turning to the representative. "Leave or be removed."

Quinn waved his hand, his escort stepping forward to assist in removing the three. Vette was about to speak, making him hold up his hand. "In a moment. Quinn, please keep it short."

"Right." The captain cleared his throat. "Here is the list of candidates I have been interviewing for reassignment. There has been no pushback from Lord Rathari, especially with his own officers dead or incapable of protesting. I will let captain Kala speak for herself."

Morgan signed the document without looking, handing it back as Kala stepped forward. "Sir. The Aurora's crew, as per training regulations, has been performing regular emergency and combat drills. Captain Quinn has requested him and his men to participate, and we have cross referenced schedules for when this can be done. Please mark your preference when you have a moment."

"That's an excellent idea." He praised absentmindedly, looking it over quickly. He selected one later today, handing it back. "I'd like to participate as well. There will be little I can do in naval combat, but boarding drills and defensive simulations will make sure I don't get in the way."

Kala smiled, relief clear on her face, and he caught her eyes dipping down. He was about to move on when he noticed no spike of lust or arousal, his brain only blatantly realising there was another object of some fascination down there.

'Look at me, assuming any girl that looks down past my torso wants to sleep with me. Lightsabers are cool a shit, I'll give her that.'

He unclipped it, handing it over to a frozen Kala. "Don't cut your arm off, but here's the on switch."

"Sorry about that." He turned to Vette, the stranger having joined her. "What can I do for you two?"

She smiled, leaning forward with a scandalous cast to her eye. "You can make it up to me later."

The togruta woman didn't react in the slightest. Morgan ignored what alarm bells that set off as Vette resumed talking. "Anyway, this is Amelia. I'd like you to give her some therapy, when you get a moment."

The woman curtsied when he looked at her, lowering her gaze when he caught her eye. "Later today?" He idly swept his perception through her, turning on a dime. "Right. Sure, let's go."

"Wait, now?"

"Yes. Anyone bother to ask her opinion about it?"

"Do as you please, my Lord."

Morgan raised an eyebrow at her, summoning his lightsaber. Kala jumped, seeming disappointed. "Close enough."

Vette excused herself when they came to one of the sparring rooms, not bothering with any excuses and shutting the door. Amelia had walked to the centre of the room, clothes dropping to the floor.

"Stop."

She froze, looking back at him. He trained his perception on her, finding little but confusion. Here she was, alone in a room with a sith she didn't know, and she felt so very little fear.

"Please, put your clothes back on and sit."

He led by example, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed as she dressed again. When she sat down it was some distance from him, not too far to be insulting but not close enough to crowd. He opened his mouth, closing it again and finally deciding words weren't going to do much of anything.

"Some people," he began regardless, "are afraid to put themselves out there. I was. I feared judgement, to be found lacking and small. That my friends would find out I'm a fake, a collection of lucky breaks with nothing holding it together."

He closed his eyes, establishing a connection between them. He'd only twice before gone this deep, to feel another as he was doing now. It was intimate, in a way, but more than that. It was showing someone who you really were, your closest emotions and pseudo memories.

Amelia's eyes snapped to him as he pushed his worst moment at her. His fear, the pain and hatred and hopelessness, before it all condensed into nothingness. Before he decided he was dead, and so what did any of it matter?

"I was where you are now. Came to the conclusion that feeling nothing was better than reality. That pain is a joke, and death is to be welcomed. That I was broken, but no longer able to be hurt because of it. I had someone to help me understand that wasn't true."

She was shaking her head, abandoning her position on the floor to back up against the wall. "That I changed. Was forced to change, but that I wasn't lesser for it. That I couldn't be lesser, because you cannot take from someone. Not the things that matter."

"Who are you?" She asked quietly, her composure broken and eyes darting as if looking for the answer. "What are you?"

He looked up at the ceiling, hearing more than seeing her approach. "I am sith. I am what happens when you connect someone to the fabric of the universe, when they scramble for a rope at their lowest and find something to tug at. And I can see you, Amelia. I can see everything you try so desperately to hide from."

A fist slammed into his shoulder, doing little more than tilt it back slightly. He looked down to see her stare at it, in disbelief at what she'd just done. "I can see what you want. I can see what you crave and fear. What you loath and embrace. I do not judge you for it, but you need to accept it."

He tapped his shoulder where she had struck him. "Just as I have come to accept that I am in command of a warship. A warship that will, should I order it, start a war with the hutts. With soldiers that will follow my orders, assassin's that will kill who I command to die. That those people can themselves die because of my orders, and that the responsibility lies with me."

"I can give you what you want. I will do so because I can. Because I think you deserve it. But you have to ask. You have to realise that no one, not me or anyone else, can take the first step for you."

Amelia had backed up again, a blankness falling over her features now that she had gotten used to feelings that were not her own. "What are you doing to me?"

"You feel what I do, I feel what you do. An empathy link, connecting two with the Force."

She was silent for a moment, collecting herself, and sat with smooth motions. He sighed internally, pushing the link open wide. "I'm sorry. I know hiding is more comfortable. Safer. But being in control of yourself is not what this is about."

Amelia had all but sprung to her feet again, her eyes darting around the room as he fed her own emotions back to her. "What do you want, Amelia?"

She jumped, fear and anger at war as her emotions went into overdrive.

"To kill." She decided, her mouth snarling and hands curling into fists. "To find them, to rip them apart for what they did to me. I want to be free."

Her anger drained, all but collapsing to the floor as he shut the link off. "But I'll never be free, will I? They won't let me."

He stood. "Freedom isn't granted, Amelia. It isn't bargained or pleaded for. Freedom is taken, with blood and death until all that keeps you in chains lies broken on the floor. That is my offer. Blood and death will be needed, yes, but I offer you the strength to take your own freedom."

Amelia looked lost, staring uncomprehendingly. Then something sparked, something small and old and so buried it surprised even herself.

Morgan held out his hand. "But it is an offer. A choice. Your choice."

For the longest moment she hesitated, finally reaching a tentative hand to his own. He could feel it, though. The smallest of sparks growing.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Vette stalked through Nar Shaddaa's underbelly, mentally scolding herself for hesitating to leave her Morgan with Amelia.

With a highly attractive, skilled seductress that would set off his 'broken need to fix' instincts like nothing else.

'If he even realises he has them.' She chuckled. 'Quinn the career-dead soldier. Kala the alienated prodigy. Me, if we're being honest.'

Even the soldiers counted, to some degree. Now she brought another one, and he wouldn't be able to resist trying to help her too.

She forcefully derailed that train of thought, not wishing to examine her own mental state all that closely. Arriving at the cantina, if it could be called that, served as the perfect distraction.

Dorka was already there, his helmet on the table and sipping some foaming drink. She slid into the booth, looking around to see no patrons or staff.

"Good place for an ambush." She approved. "Won't end well, of course, but it's a good place for it."

He ignored the opener, sliding over a second drink and raising his eyebrow. "What, exactly, did you do?"

"Well, she just reminded me too much of someone I used to know. I know he's just going to get another devotee out of this, but I just couldn't help myself, is all."

The mandalorian blinked, scowling. "I'm being serious. Wisi is bleeding left and right, merc's are breaking contract and her slicers are all but running for greener pastures. What did you do?"

Vette smiled grandly. "Not my fault in the slightest. If someone's operation can't withstand a little poking it shouldn't exist in the first place."

"You opened the floodgates." He accused, his scowl softening despite his tone. "And you know it. Everyone is taking a shot now that you've proven it can be done. It's sheer chaos out there, you utter lunatic, and the other cartels are going to step in sooner rather than later."

She leaned back, glee dancing in her eyes. "Am I being scolded? Because there's only one person alive that can scold me without losing an eye, and trust me, you're not it."

She was joking, mostly, but Dorka leaned out of reach anyway. "No. No, I'm not scolding you. I'm simply informing you my job has gotten significantly harder."

"Is that why I'm here? Venting to a friend over drinks, eh? Didn't know we'd gotten that close."

Dorka sighed deeply, a sound that was music to her ears, and tapped his helmet. "I've been clanless for almost a decade now, did you know? Ever since my old one disintegrated over a power struggle. I lost more friends that night than I care to remember. And I swore I wouldn't get involved with something like that again. The politics and backroom deals are poison that kill all who touch it, so for years now I've been a hunter. Just another merc looking for a paycheck, not getting involved."

She waited, something that would surprise many she was capable of doing. "But now here we are, another power struggle. Another night of blood and violence for the sake of blood and violence. So answer me this, stranger from the stars, why did you start this war?"

"Because I hate them." She answered after a moment, deciding to return his honesty. "Because I know what it's like to wear a collar around my neck, the spectre of death hanging over my every waking moment. Because she gave me an excuse when she insulted the person I care about, finding I no longer had any reasons to let that slide. Because I will end them, wanderer of mandalore. The cartels and syndicates and their slave empires. The corporations with their slave workforces. The mines, the brothels, the slave-armies. All of it. I will burn it all."

Dorka's face had gone blank, and what she wouldn't give to be able to peek into minds like Morgan could. "That would mean war. War with the hutts and the syndicate. War with half the galaxy."

She laughed, a laugh with a tint of insanity. A laugh more honest than she had intended. "You sound eager, mandalorian."

"I am under contract still." He pulled back, tapping his helmet twice. "Or I was, until five hours ago. A clerical mistake, I've been assured, and another generous contract has been proposed."

Vette wiggled her eyebrow, adopting a serious face. "Such good fortune. What will you do with your newfound freedom, I wonder?"

She grinned as he haggled, her bad mood melting as her plan came together.

Hours later found her standing in a condemned warehouse, Dorka a step behind and some two dozen bounty hunters and mercenaries idling around the space. "Well, well, well. If it isn't that twi'lek from the party. What's with the getup, don't you know dancers don't wear armour?"

A confident hunter stepped forwards, turning to address the group. "Well, now that we've seen she's just some little girl playing pretend, let's talk who should be leading this crew, and why that should be me."

The sound of his neck snapping echoed around the space, his body crumbling to the floor. It revealed Vette standing behind him, stepping over the body and clapping her hands together. "Right then. Anyone else with more weapons than brain cells?"

Shaking heads and amused chuckles spread through the group, so she inclined her head slightly to Dorka in thanks. Always good to secure dominance quickly, and inviting the ambitious and short-sighted was a sure way to achieve that.

"Arrange yourself in squads of four or five, then we move."

One of them, a duros with seemingly cobbled together armour, spoke up. "What about our pay? We're taking a not insignificant risk by turning on a hutt, her powerbase falling apart or not."

Dorka, after agreeing to a new contract, had confessed there were some others he might be able to sway. They'd be breaking their word to Wisi, so not the most reliable ever, but they'd do for now. With a right hand man secured she needed a show of force, one with people fighting in her name.

An army, even if she was more effective on her own, just sent the right kind of message.

She fished out her credit chits, throwing the bundle to Dorka with an uncaring toss. "Half now, half when the job's done. Anyone gets greedy you join our friend on the floor."

Half the eyes in the room followed the money, the mandalorian handing small handfuls to each group and throwing the rest back to her. Giving the appearance of wealth could be just as effective as being wealthy, although with the progress Miraka was reporting that would soon be a moot point.

After some grumbling they were off, Nar Shaddaa more than used to groups of armed strangers moving through its streets. Her slicer had found one of the warehouses Wisi housed second grade tech in, a good target for a dry run. Dorka joined her as they moved, their helmets syncing to a private channel.

"How much money you got, anyway? Might be good to know, seeing as you want me as your second and all."

Vette snorted. "Having a mandalorian, even a merc, as your right hand is good for one's image. Money's a tad tight for now, although there's some stretch room if needed. Got contacts on Balmorra for smuggling, and a few here too. Send him a list, Miraka?"

"I am not your secretary." The slicer hissed, sending the file anyway. "And I'm a tad busy making sure your little birthday gathering won't be tracked by every interested party this side of the moon."

Dorka stayed silent, hopefully reading, and spoke up when they were closing in on their target. "A decent start, I suppose. Not seeing anything about sith or Imperial soldiers in here, though, nor a warship."

"Not mine, and not a move I will make unless absolutely necessary." She knew Morgan would help her, if she asked. He had his own problems, though, and this was supposed to be her thing.

They came to the building, a normal enough looking warehouse with shitty locks. "Squad one to three, follow Dorka and hit them from the back. Four and five with me, kill anything that shoots at you."

Blasting the front door open was a bit more dramatic than her usual style, but with nine people flanking her she found it more effective than picking the lock. Her visor filtered out the smoke, her pistol taking care of three while the rest died in a haze of blaster fire. She looked around, idly killing one or two moaning on the ground, and blinked.

"This isn't second rate tech, boss." Dorka's voice came over the speaker, his group joining her own. "Why the hell were these idiots guarding stuff like this?"

Rows of crates and lockers filled the space, some opened with weapons clearly visible. One corner was filled with heavy ordnance, everything from grenades to anti-air missiles stacked on tables. "Now that is a good question. Miraka?"

"Looking." Her annoyed voice came. "There. Seems she reassigned most of the people stationed here about a day ago, though it doesn't say why. It's listed as 'site g6-2, non-military technology' in her logs."

Vette beamed. "About time luck was on my side. Alright boys, pack it up and let's get out of here."

The same duros as before spoke up, looking around. "Pack it up where? We walked here, remember?"

"Steal something." Dorka barked, slapping the duros over the head. "Something that can carry cargo!"

He joined her as she overlooked her temporary army loading the two cargo ships, though they looked more like larger taxi's to her. "Can't trust them to guard this stuff, even if you have somewhere to store it."

"We'll figure something out." Vette grinned, flicking on her speakers. "Night's young, my minions. Onward!"

Dorka sighed, a sound filled with regret. "It's eleven in the morning."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Morgan stepped into the gym, Quinn flanked by seven of his soldiers already waiting. He nodded to the man, sweeping his gaze over the rest.

Jillins was standing as ram-rod straight as ever, Horas flanking the man. The cyborg had taken the fast attachment of his limbs as a personal challenge, apparently, and in one of the reports Quinn sent him the captain admitted to running out of excuses to have the specialist rest more. He spent the rest of his time in the gym, regaining the coordination he'd enjoyed before.

The only other that stood out was Pete, a soldier that had apparently not spoken the language when signing up with the Imperial military. His recruiter had settled on the name, the man not caring one way or the other. He was also the one who, to his slight alarm, had the habit of swearing blood oaths when drunk.

Blood oaths to him, specifically, and he knew what he was about to do here wouldn't make the private less likely to do so.

"Sir. I've assembled the men from Balmorra as commanded."

The question was clear, and he smiled at the man. How far he'd come. "So I see. As you should all be aware we are currently at war with one sith Lord, possibly a hutt and the Republic soldiers stationed here are feeling twitchy. We have the same sith Lord to thank for that, of course, but they won't hesitate over such trivial details."

"In short, we are outnumbered, outgunned and out sith'ed." Horas snorted, the rest of the men not reacting much. "As such, after some debate, I'm here to make you stronger."

Quinn raised his hand, speaking before Morgan could admonish him for the gesture. "Like Vette had been made stronger, sir?"

That got a reaction. Jillins eyes widened, Pete muttered something he had no hope to understand and even Horas looked surprised. "In essence, yes. It will require an increase in daily calories, and will need to be refreshed once every twenty four hours, but it will make you as strong as Vette is."

Not as skilled, of course, but even then he could see how Quinn had to suppress a grin. No doubt imagining what he could do with seven super soldiers under his command, instead of an erratic twi'lek fluttering about as she pleases.

Pete stepped forward, earning him a glare from Quinn that was promptly ignored, and dropped to one knee. "I swear dominion over my soul to he who is the fleshchanger, he who can break the limit of the body and deliver me onto hunting eternal."

That seemed important, and a scan revealed little but absolute certainty in the man, but he still flinched internally. Morgan suppressed his hesitation, the thought that this was half a step away from starting a cult, and set his hand on the man's shoulders.

He didn't know what he was supposed to say for his half of the ritual, nor did he want to. Instead he twisted, infusing flesh with hair-thin needles of Force. The man stiffened, his muscles locking as they were infused with power.

It went quickly, more quickly than he anticipated, and after some thirty seconds of minor adaptation to account for species Pete collapsed to the floor. "Get him some food, he's going to be hungry."

Horas went to pick Pete up, but the man struggled to his feet. He took a shaky step, nodded deeply, and went to the small pile of food he'd requested Quinn to bring here. "Try not to break the table, but we're in the gym for a reason. Get used to your new strength."

'Jesus fuck this shouldn't be so easy.'

He beckoned the next one forwards, Jillins seeming to teleport across the room. The eager look, coupled with the awe he felt in the man, left little room for fear. He suppressed the need to ask if he was sure, setting a hand on the man's shoulder.

Morgan knew this was a calculated risk. That he needed force multipliers for when they finally met with Rathari. To make them less reliant on him to fight the monsters of this galaxy. That increasing his men's own strength would keep them alive, even if it risked Baras's attention.

He still couldn't shake the thought that this was all but starting a religion, parcelling out power to his most loyal.

When seven soldiers sat around a small table devouring the pile of food Quinn walked forwards, lowering his voice. "It's good you didn't ask if they were sure. It would have seemed insulting."

"I wanted to." He shook his head. "Changed my mind. This is insane to me, you understand? These people are being changed on a biological level, where I could do just about anything, and they lined up for it."

Quinn scoffed quietly. "They are soldiers. Soldiers that, serving here or elsewhere, risk death with every engagement. Men that you made stronger. More able to do their duty."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it, even if I think it's necessary." Morgan rebuffed.

The captain shook his head. "It's not just their ability to kick in doors. With increased strength their gear won't tire them, their weapons won't feel heavy in their hands. They can run longer, faster, to outmanoeuvre or retreat. What you gave them isn't just strength, sir. It's life."

"I'm not a soldier." Morgan sighed. "So I won't argue the point. Make sure they don't get cocky? They're still very mortal."

Quinn nodded, then stiffened as Morgan wrapped the Force around him. He left when his men pushed a ration bar in his hands, one saluting as another helped their captain to the table.

"Horas, let me know if something happens that isn't supposed to. Enhancing a cyborg isn't something I've done before, but it should make your body more able to keep up with your new limbs." He disappeared through the door, not waiting to see if the man replied.

'That might have been one of the most uncomfortable things I've done.' Morgan reflected, somewhat aimlessly walking through the ship. 'But it was necessary.'

He ignored doubt trying to creep in, his feet bringing him to the command deck of the ship.

He found Kala there, talking with her xo. The rest of the bridge was empty, and the two were engrossed in their talk, so he turned the idle time to training.

It was after a few minutes that Clara turned to grab something and saw him, managing to turn her surprise into a salute at the last second. Kala didn't, whirling around and pointing. "What the fuck."

She bleached white, but he cut off the apologies before they could begin. He smiled instead, one he hoped was reassuring. "I've become quieter without noticing, it seems. I don't truly have a purpose here, but there are some things we could talk about."

It was an awkward offer, although not one even remotely subtle. Clara cleared her throat softly. "I have some other things to see too."

A shot of panic went through the captain, although nothing was seen of her face. Morgan sighed. "Please, stay. Did either of you know I can feel emotions? I normally wouldn't confront people about theirs, but what I've been feeling has been rather extreme."

The captain seemed to deflate, dropping into her chair. Clara stood behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing. "It is a somewhat delicate matter."

"And I do not wish to intrude on personal issues." Morgan assured. "But you're under my command. I will help, if I can."

"The Imperial navy sabotaged my career from the moment I entered the academy." Kala blurted. "And all because I'm Rattataki. Not human enough."

Morgan hummed. "That will not happen while you serve under me, captain. I cannot change the past, but I sympathise."

A feeling much like a snort of disbelief when through Clara. He turned to her. "I understand your reluctance, but don't think sith are above the uncaring nature of the Empire."

He ignored the panic in her eyes, turning to the window. The blast shields were down, but he walked to them anyway. "Before I was sith I lived a normal life. Friends, family. A job I didn't much like but tolerated. Hobbies I enjoyed and a woman I fancied."

"Then they took me from my home." He turned, looking at both of them. "Sent me to Korriban. Make no mistake, so very few of us choose to go to that cursed planet. They put a slave collar around my neck. Told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would either become sith or die in the attempt."

He looked at Kala, finding her listening with rapt attention. "I have no trouble believing that they would meddle with someone's career, or kill them outright should that prove to not be enough. What I also believe, captain, is that you now fall under my aegis."

"And the people that threaten those under my protection will learn exactly what Korriban teaches her students."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Wisi the magnificent, leader of the third most prominent unaffiliated cartel on Nar Shaddaa and commander of over a thousand men looked on as her empire collapsed around her.

Her once endless legions betrayed her with reckless abandonment, her holdings were being stolen by what must be an entire team of slicers and the worst of it was she had no idea how to punish them.

Oh, she knew it was that twi'lek that started this. But when she was with the sith she was untouchable, and when she wasn't even her best couldn't find where she operated from. Now she was hitting her warehouses with her own traitorous men, the goods disappearing without a trace.

She growled, the room before her falling silent. This had to stop, and she had no other options left. "Everyone but my immortals out."

Her immortals. Those enforcers and disguised mercenaries most loyal to her. The room emptied, some three dozen remaining. It was infuriating how difficult it was to acquire loyal troops, before the others stole them.

Because she was young, because she was new. Because they didn't like how it had only taken her ten years to rise from no one to where she was now.

But her rapid ascent had required sacrifices. To rely on blackmail and extortion, money and fear. She'd known it was an unstable foundation. Another year, maybe two, and it would have solidified.

Her first classes of proper guards would have finished their training. Her wealth would have made anyone think twice about turning on her.

"The others are looking to see how I handle this sith before they will take action against the Empire. So we will handle him. Kill him. All that has been lost will be regained."

Even her immortals flinched at the notion of fighting sith, making her narrow her eyes but relent. No good would come from pushing them, not now. "Fear not. We will burn his stronghold, kill his tin soldiers and then, only when he is alone and weakened, will we kill him."

Her men found their spines, turning to gear up and prepare. Paying off a few dockworkers, she wasn't going to rely on slicers, not for this, would give her a window of opportunity and keep her people's presence there quiet.

It came some three hours later, the sith leaving with his two female guards into Nar Shaddaa proper. She tasked a few of her more discreet people to warn her should they return early, then ordered her assault to commence.

Attack from outside would be impossible with the hangar doors closed, so a frontal assault would have to do. She would bet on her immortals over Imperial recruits any day, even outnumbered two to one, and a dozen holo screens gave her an overview of the battle.

Any nerves she felt from moving against a sith vanished when it proved not to be a trick, and she grinned when the early stages of the assault sent the Imperials fleeing into their ship. It would give her men the opportunity to set up their heavy equipment, and there would be no fleeing as long as she controlled the operator with blackmail.

She would never manage to understand other species' fascination with mating their own young, but she was more than happy to coerce them for it.

Wisi watched as proper soldiers came running out of the ship, their assault stalling with returned fire.

'Cornering the sith had been greedy.' She admitted, if only to herself. Not a mistake she would make again, that was for sure. His death would still benefit her, prestige she desperately needed, but it had been done badly.

Her men didn't aim to kill. That would come later, but for now every wounded would take another to drag them away. To care for them, thin their numbers.

Then something happened that shouldn't have. Five men, looking like all the rest of their soldiers, started running. Running like only cyborgs could, with speed that made return fire inaccurate at best.

Her immortals had been hardened on the streets of Nar Shaddaa, however, so they knew how to deal with cyborgs. Shouts for EMP's went out, dozens of small devices thrown to the feet of the cyborgs. That many and even shielded enhancements would malfunction. She approved of their caution.

Only they appeared from the blasts without a scratch, wielding slugthrowers that sent her immortals flying. One of them, and she had difficulty telling them apart, started kicking her men into a wall so hard she flinched in sympathy.

With their attention diverted the other Imperials pushed, broke their formation entirely, and she watched with an infuriating helplessness as her men retreated. Another gamble failed, and now the sith would be coming for her head.

With half her immortals down fleeing would be dangerous, but she wasn't waiting here until lightsabers came cutting her front door down.

'Survival before pride.' She reminded herself, clapping her hands to summon slaves. "Pack up everything of value, quickly. Leave anything too big to be carried."

A glow grabbed her attention, her eyes widening when three red blurs tore into her retreating soldiers. One of them, the last wearing a camera, was pulled halfway across the room.

The sith's face filled the screen, cutting off abruptly. "Change of plans. We're leaving, now."

It pained her to leave everything behind, but it had to be done. She was about to leave her throne when a crash resounded, a twi'lek rolling to a standing position before her throne.

Glass rained around her, the invader acting like she hadn't just broken through reinforced glass. "Hello again."

Her few remaining guards opened fire, the twi'lek lazily leaning aside and killing them with a few shots. "Send your best to kill Morgan, then. Big mistake, that. But then you couldn't know we'd been informed by John you might try something like this. Didn't know I had my people keeping an eye out."

She went around the room, pressing a device against the neck of her slaves. Their collars popped free, three of them picking up the weapons of her fallen guards. "I wanted to draw this out some more, you know?"

The twi'lek spoke, grabbing her attention while she stayed still. She'd seen footage of the thing drawing her sniper faster than one could blink, and high powered slugthrowers wouldn't care about her armoured skin.

"Give me more time to take over piecemeal." The twi'lek sighed, and the sniper appeared in her hands. "Now it's going to be a mad scramble. Not, I will admit, your problem to deal with."

She felt the bullet enter her head before she heard it, separating layers of skin and bone with terrifying ease, and Wisi slumped against her throne as she lost control of her body.

But she was hutt, one of the toughest species to ever walk this galaxy, so her death was slow. Slow enough she heard the twi'lek talk to someone, heard her slaves laughing at her death.

"-care if you're not ready. Take what you can, now, before the others drain her accounts dr-"

She died after a few seconds of darkness, stubbornly clinging to life. Wisi wanted to laugh. She'd been so worried about the sith she hadn't even considered it would be the twi'lek that killed her.

'I'll do better, next time.' She promised. 'I'll be better.'

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Vette sighed, having to stop the gleeful servants from being attacked by the horrified ones. Slavery, she well knew, could be an insidious thing. Serve someone long enough and you learn to love your master, to mourn their death. Be angered by it.

And now she also had to work double time to get as much as she could before the other hutts seized Wisi's holdings. She already had some of her merc's, thanks to Dorka, but she'd need money to pay for them.

Not just sums of it either, but income streams and businesses. Contacts and weapons, housing and training.

Her people finally came, some nearly dropping from exhaustion. She frowned, looking over their disorganised state. 'Training indeed. Lots and lots of training.'

That would mean she'd be busy for a while, however, so she called Morgan. He picked up quickly, his miniature body hovering over her palm and not looking pleased in the slightest. "How did it go?"

She showed him the room, including the corpse. "Wisi's dead. I got work here, unfortunately, and I need to watch out for any retaliation. Thanks for letting me take the lead."

Morgan shrugged. "It helped you more than me, and killing her isn't nearly as important as her death. Halidrell contacted me about ten minutes before they hit the ship, said she has a lead on Rathari. He's not coming out of hiding, clearly, so we'll have to bring the fight to him."

"Be careful." She bit her lip, her expression safely hidden behind her helmet. Morgan smiled at her, making her wince. It would fool most, she admitted, but she knew a real smile from a fake.

He shook his head. "Sorry, not in a good mood right now. Be safe. Call captain Kala if you need anything, but I'll be taking Quinn and the two lovebirds with me."

He looked over his shoulder, waving and cutting the connection as he replied to someone. She put the holocommunicator away, turning her attention to her loitering merc's and resolving to talk to him when she got a chance. "Take everything that isn't nailed down, then we leave. Anyone want to join, feel free."

The three attendants that had grabbed weapons nodded almost as one, many of the other former slaves hesitating.

'Right, suddenly having to choose for yourself is going to be a no-go.'

"Dorka, take everyone here and see to it they're cared for. Anyone that wishes to leave after is free to do so." Her display pinged, account numbers flowing past. "Good timing. Here's some spending money."

She waved Dorka off, who directed several of the more easy-going merc's to gather everyone up. The rest gathered around her, but she put up a hand and switched her helmet to private. "More than I feared but less than I hoped for, and either way faster than expected. Good job."

"Just executed what I set up." Miraka answered, a bored tilt in her tone. "And it's only about one sixth of what she had in credits. Not even a hundredth of her liquid assets, and just so you know I already took my cut."

That last bit sounded forced, but then that fit with her mental picture of Miraka. The bored teenage prodigy, not looking for cash nearly as much as a challenge. "That's fine. She forced our hand. Get a list of businesses and such? I'm sure Wisi had plenty."

Another list was sent, this one with addresses and names. "She didn't force our hand. Could have told the sith to chill and we'd have a few more weeks."

She gathered everyone up, groans of boredom resounding when she explained all they were going to do was inform some people they were under new management. Then she walked over to Dorka, ignoring Miraka for now.

"When they're settled in go find the now unemployed hunters. Take the ones with good reputations first, if you can, but we need warm bodies sooner rather than later."

The mandalorian nodded, gazing at the hutt. She smirked. "What? Didn't think I'd do it?"

"I thought you believed you were serious." Dorka sighed. "Here's hoping the cartels won't crush us like bugs."

Vette snorted. "Don't be like that, you crave a good war like the poor crave clean water."

He turned, not answering, and she switched her helmet again. "First of all, she very much did force our hand. I have friends on that ship, not to mention that attacking Morgan makes me feel stabby. Secondly, you are very much mistaken if you think I can tell him what to do. He'll listen to my advice, but he will not chill and stand down when someone attacks his people. He'd have come, with war and blood, to tear this entire building to the ground. We wouldn't have gotten the credit for killing her, nor would you have gotten to play with her automated defences."

"So you stole his revenge. Seems unwise."

Vette tisked. "Stop digging. He'd be more than happy to meet you, answer your questions. You can satisfy your burning curiosity in person."

No answer came, not that she expected one, so she left the building. "Thought so. Give me the list of businesses again, closest first."

The closest building turned out to be a cantina, operated by one very nervous muun, who was more than amenable to her taking ownership. He even pushed a stack of credits in her hands, mumbling assurances.

She pushed it back. "Put it in the business. Unlike what you might be used to protection money will get you actual protection. Spread the word, any merc with a reputation of not breaking their contract can find well paid work with me."

The muun nodded, not seeming all that reassured, so she turned to leave and contacted her slicer again. "Start a list. When we get the people assign some here to guard the place. Those unlikely to rob and pillage, Dorka will know the type."

"Still not your damned secretary." Miraka complained, typing. "Use that woman the spooky fucker brought you, or, you know, literally anyone but me."

Vette hummed. "Not a bad idea. Call her?"

"If it'll get you off my back. Coming through now."

Amelia appeared on the bottom left of her screen, looking tired and sweaty. "My lady?"

"Am I interrupting something?" She teased. Amelia shook her head, her eyes lowering.

"No ma'am. Just working out in the gym, and private Blea offered to show me how to defend myself."

Her image shrunk, a soldier in off duty fatigues saluting as she came into view. A bandage covered half her shoulder, although it didn't seem to be slowing her down. "Ma'am."

Vette waved her off, not recognizing her face. One of Quinn's new recruits, probably. "Not here for you. Amelia, how'd you like a job?"

"I'm afraid I am not yet combat ready, my lady." She apologised smoothly, bowing her head as the soldier disappeared from view again. "But I will help if I can."

Vette smiled widely. "Awesome. I need a secretary. Someone to keep track of my growing criminal empire and all that. That something you'd be interested in?"

"I served as an aid to the matron when I was younger, my lady, and I do have training in that field." She hesitated, looking somewhere off screen. "Is the Lord aware of this?"

"No clue. You can call him to make sure, if you want."

Amelia looked back, her posture and manners impeccable. "No need, my lady. He did impress upon me to make my own choices, and I choose to assist you."

'Ordering someone to follow their own orders.' She snorted internally. 'Classic.'

"Cool. Miraka, send her what she needs. This job might have some odd working hours, but I pay well."

Miraka's scowling face appeared, settling just beside Amelia. "Done. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do."

Her face disappeared before she could dismiss her. Vette approved of the power move. "Talk to Clara, she'll get you a place to work. Buy what you need, I'll foot the bill."

Amelia nodded, bowing slightly before she disappeared. "This having money thing sure is handy."

No one replied, she realised she was still in privacy mode, and she waved at her people to get going before the embarrassment could set in.

The next four businesses, two brothels, an arms dealer and a private hospital in that order, all went smoothly. Amelia started taking notes after the second, and she was more than happy to have her deal with the paperwork.

Dorka called as she was about to walk into a corner shop, his helmeted face appearing. "The former slaves are set up, but most don't know what to do with themselves. I took the liberty to hire staff, figured you might be freeing more. Old friend of mine, reliable."

"I do like competent people." She agreed. "Also, meet Amelia. Amelia, my second in command to this mad scramble for power. Dorka, my new secretary. Morgan gave her therapy, so she's solid."

The mandalorian shrugged. "Don't know what that means. Welcome to the team, I guess. Going to see some captains, testing the waters."

"Please forward me any information on new hires." Amelia requested. "Getting a complete picture of all assets and personnel will greatly improve my ability to advise lady Vette."

Dorka shrugged again, disconnecting when Vette nodded. "Not to be crass, but you sound like you know what you're doing."

"I was a full service companion." She explained, a smooth smile on her lips. "That means that while I saw to the physical needs of my masters, I am also trained in a wide variety of skills. This includes but is not limited to first aid, keeping a house in order as well as hiring and managing any personnel needed for such a task, and training to maintain monetary assets."

She bowed her head. "Most of these skills are transferable."

"Sounds like you were worth a lot of money." Vette noted. "Want me to burn whatever place they trained you in to the ground?"

The smile slipped slightly, a more genuine one appearing in its place. "Perhaps later. A power vacuum is dangerous business, and should be managed with our full attention."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Morgan shut off the communicator, wincing, as his wrath cooled. 'Nice move, masking with the one person you don't need to.'

He turned to Alyssa as she walked up, her girlfriend close behind. For once, there was no trace of humour in either of them. "Is it dead?"

"She is. Gather Quinn and the men, we're leaving."

Alyssa bowed, but Inara stayed behind. "I wished to apologise."

Morgan turned to her, making her stiffen. He forced himself to relax, making sure his anger didn't cloud his mind. "About what?"

"We turned off our communicator to better focus on meditation, but you needed us for the attack against the general." Inara averted her eyes, looking over his shoulder. "It won't happen again."

He looked at her, briefly contemplated if punishment was what she needed, but decided against it. "See that it doesn't."

A surge of guilt swept over her, strong enough she had trouble shielding it, and she nodded.

It was no time at all when Quinn had assembled his men, four rows of ten lined up before him. He briefly swept his perception over them, finding them roughly separated in three groups.

The new recruits, those Quinn had poached from Rathari, felt nervous. He didn't blame them, he'd be nervous too. The second were the men recruited on Balmorra, steady calm only interrupted by slight nerves.

The third, standing in line as normal soldiers, were the men he'd enforced. Those felt eager, awe mixed with impatience steeled by discipline. He made brief eye contact with Pete, finding something far too close to fanaticism burning in them.

Morgan broke eye contact first. "The hutt is dead. Killed on her own throne, slaughtered like a cow. Her attack did not go unpunished, even if we did not do the punishment. I consider this matter settled. No one is to take unsanctioned revenge."

"Rathari's influence has been crippled," he continued, sweeping his gaze over them, "but he doesn't seem to care. Recent reports indicate he has gone deep underground, tearing through Nar Shaddaa's lowest levels in search of something. We're going to follow."

"I'm aware some here are new to my service. Follow your officers, do your best. Should any feel they are not up for this mission, for medical reasons or otherwise, this is your chance to return to the ship. No punishment will follow, no blame will be laid at your feet."

No one moved. "Very well. Captain?"

Lieutenant Helen stepped forwards, beginning to separate them into squads as Quinn walked over. "I didn't get a chance to look over the final report. How many men do we have, these days?"

"Fifty one." Quinn supplied, looking back to the ship. "Some were injured in the fighting, or still injured from their service to Rathari, but the men here will do their job."

Morgan nodded. "Good. Transport?"

"An Imperial assault shuttle was delivered yesterday morning. Captain Kala has reported it cleared by her technicians and fully operational. That, in combination with your personal ship, should serve to ferry the men. It will not be possible to descend too deeply, unfortunately."

Morgan shrugged. "Didn't think we'd be able to. Supplies?"

"Enough for a three week mission. Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why are we pursuing the Lord? Dismantling his operations further will force him out of hiding sooner or later, and would carry significantly less risk."

He waved a hand. "Baras won't be patient as Rathari blackmails him with Dellocon. Believe me, I'd much rather kill the spy without ever seeing the sith in person."

Quinn titled his head, confusion clear. Morgan stared. "Has. Has no one briefed you on what we're actually doing here?"

The captain shook his head, Morgan groaning. "Fucking hell. Ok, this is fine. Just my highest ranked military officer not knowing what the actual end goal is. No problem."

He gave the short version, lieutenant Helen directing the men into the two ships. "Ah. Yes, this would have been good to know before we started the mission."

It was by far the closest rebuke he'd heard from the captain. "Make a note to beat me over the head for the proper information next time."

Morgan realised he'd just more or less told the captain this thing was his fault, but the man was already nodding. He ignored the awkward trying to creep in, looking at Quinn directly. "I should have made sure you knew. This is on me, and I will do better."

He waved at Alyssa and Inara to join him, and the descent into Nar Shaddaa's lower levels went smoothly from there. Light became sparser the deeper they went, the pilots switching to their own sources of illumination when it cut off entirely.

Morgan looked out the window to see a sea of black, only clusters of light breaking the oppressive dark. This deep into the moon, deeper even than the so-called undercity filled with shipyards, light was more luxury than constant.

"I'm going to have to land here, sir." Their pilot spoke, some half hour later. "We won't be able to reliably descend any further, not without accurate maps or specialised scanners."

He nodded, disembarking when the door opened. He and his two pseudo-apprentices were the first out, looking around. Dark, deep tunnels greeted them, with little in the way of navigational landmarks.

Then the proper work started. They knew Rathari had descended here himself, and the man had left a noticeable trail to follow, but that was where their luck ended.

The trail was haphazard, often consisting of lightsaber marks and dead monsters, but also doubled back on itself. False leads, made by accident or otherwise, forced them to inspect and rule out every option.

It took hours, and by the time the men were tired they'd moved four clicks in the right direction.

'Hopefully, anyway.' He thought, looking over the rapidly assembling camp. Tents were set, watches organised and two privates where cooking god knows what in a large pot. Morgan resisted the urge to step away as Pete approached, no matter how uncomfortable the man's emotions were. "Private."

"My Lord." The man saluted, coming to stand next to him. He nodded to the pot, the two soldiers manning it devolving into argument. "We have dry rations, and they fill you up, but the captain will have us eat proper when we can. Helps with morale."

"I see. Do you think that will be a problem? Morale?"

Pete grinned, a half-smile full of teeth and malice. "No. No I do not."

He was rescued by Alyssa, the soldiers saluting again as he left them be. "Inara and I would like to request some sparring, my lord."

Four days later they were still no closer to their goal, even Rathari not knowing what he was looking for. It was also around that day Morgan felt a blip on his perception, gone before he could recognize it. It wasn't Rathari, it felt far too controlled to be of the Dark, and it was staying away for now.

He kept an eye out, informed Quinn of its presence, but decided not to do anything about it. As long as it didn't intervene he had more pressing business, like killing another nest of Vrblther. The monsters had been riled up when Rathari came through, leaving most for them to deal with.

At least the men were getting plenty of practice, and with one sith always at camp no casualties had fallen. Yet.

That changed on day seven, Morgan ripped from his sleep by the alarm going off. He'd slept in his armour, like everyone else, but even then by the time he'd come to the perimeter four of his men lay dead on the ground.

Killing the monsters, those that looked like dog sized cats but twice as strong, took time. Time enough for the rest of the camp to mobilise, but leaving them nothing to do as his knives butchered the last of them.

Quinn stepped up, looking over his four dead soldiers. "Record their names. Burn them after."

Morgan watched, some minutes later, with a detached hollow ache in his stomach as the flames took four of his people. "We're joining the watch roster. Always have one of us on duty."

The captain nodded, but time moved on. Another two days, another three of his men dead and burned, and they finally found a solid lead.

"Looks fresh." Inara noted, tracing the scorch marks on the steel. She pulled her hand away. "Still hot, too."

"We're close." Quinn agreed, looking at him. "But one lone sith can move more quickly than a group of soldiers."

'Why did you take us?' Morgan translated. He didn't have a good answer. Not one equal to seven corpses.

By day ten they finally found something noteworthy. Traces of a camp, evidence of blaster fire and monsters killed by grenades. A perimeter, Quinn proposed.

That theory was confirmed when they found broken turrets, dead soldiers in unmarked gear laying next to it. One was cut in half, another embedded deep into the wall.

"This one is still alive!" A private called, calling for a medic. Morgan moved over instead, wrapping his presence over the fallen soldier.

'Not for long.' He thought, helping the man sit. 'Not with that much internal bleeding.'

He shook the man awake, dulling the pain as best he could. "Why are you stationed here? What happened"

The soldier coughed, blood leaking from his chin as his lungs filled with liquid. "Sith. Didn't." Another cough, more blood on his lap. "Didn't care we were Imperial. Killed everyone."

"What were you doing here?" Morgan asked, gently separating the nerves flowing along the spine. The man relaxed, going comfortably numb.

"The droids will get him." He said instead, smiling. "Three years and we never even made a dent. Will kill the bastard. Avenge us."

His eyes closed, Morgan getting the horrid feeling he knew exactly what Rathari was looking for.

Quinn all but confirmed it when they arrived at their camp, a permanent looking installation carved into the tunnels. The door was lying on the floor with an unknown sith crumpled next to it, and when they reached inside a mound of corpses greeted them.

"Black ops think tank." Quinn mumbled, looking around. "Studying what?"

"Unending, self-repairing droids, an installation buried deep in Nar Shaddaa." Morgan read, dropping the journal. "The Star Forge. Or a fragment of it. Fuck. Fuck fuck double fuck."

Inara looked over, prodding one of the dead scientists. "The what?"

"Not important. Think of a machine that can make limitless, self-repairing droids and feeds on nothing but energy and life. That can create all matter without limit, as long as it can feed on the Force."

"Imagine what it could do under someone like Rathari, who values most life as lesser. How he could grow it."

Alyssa frowned. "That would be bad. Still, if it feeds on the Force we are not in that much danger. There are perhaps two dozen trained Force users on Nar Shaddaa? Perhaps half that in jedi and sith. He could not get far with just them alone."

"You forget what the Force is, Alyssa." Morgan shook his head. "We think of the Force as moving things, enhancing our bodies and power. But the Force is not war or fighting, it is life. In every sentient being, even droids should they get old enough, the Force gathers. Everyone has some."

Quinn stepped over a dead soldier, joining them as his men set out to secure the facility. "There are somewhere around eighty billion souls on Nar Shaddaa. You're saying he can, what? Feed on them, grow stronger?"

"I don't know." Morgan admitted. "Not for sure. Maybe it can only feed on Force users, and not everyone. Maybe Rathari wants to use it to build a paradise world, free of all hardship and strife. Or perhaps he heard something about a machine that can make an army from nothing, deciding he'd really like to have that. What I do know is that he cannot have it. Not him, and not anyone."

Inara looked up. "Why not? Sounds useful, being able to make anything from nothing."

Morgan pushed his presence out, the whole room stiffening as it filled every inch of the space. "Because we cannot keep hold of it ourselves, and I will not trust anyone else with its power. I will make myself very clear. We will stop Rathari from getting the fragment. We will destroy it if we can, and if we cannot we are going to sink this entire sector into the ground. Understood?"

Alyssa and Inara kneeled, their eyes lowered as they nodded. Quinn had snapped straight, straightening further when Morgan glanced at him. Most of the soldiers still in the room looked terrified, hurrying to get back to their assignments.

He pulled back, letting the Force settle as normal. 'That was stupid. Any half-blind Force user could have felt that, and Rathari is not blind.'

"You two, with me. Quinn, secure the facility while we scout. You might need to hold off or kill what guards Rathari's brought, but if not, fortify this position and secure a path of retreat."

The captain nodded, Morgan leaving the room with Alyssa and Inara trailing behind.

Following the path Rathari carved to the fragment was easy to follow, finding another dead sith on the way. 'Another apprentice? Intel suggested he had just the one.'

They came to the end of the tunnel, having to step past a small army of broken droids and turrets as they did, and before them spread a vast space.

Artificial, by the support beams and smooth walls, and stretching so far it disappeared into darkness. It made the room feel infinite, and far below them, on the ground floor, was Rathari. Morgan looked down, seeing a makeshift ladder carved into the wall to reach the tunnel. 'Slowed down enough to secure his retreat. Even with a lightsaber half a click is a lot of space to carve.'

Inara handed him a pair of binoculars, doing the same for Alyssa.

Morgan hadn't known what to expect from a sith Lord. Not really. Before one of the pillars, easily two hundred feet thick and stretching two clicks upwards at minimum, Rathari was fighting an army.

And winning, by the way more forces were streaming to his location. Droids of every shape and size, some humanoid assassin's or hulking brutes, others massive constructs reminiscing tanks, lay unmoving at his feet.

As they watched Rathari cut through a war machine ten feet tall, using it to push high and dent the ground where he landed. The droids there scattered like ants, flying back as he crushed and cut through the remainder with terrifying ease. The sith Lord screamed, loud enough they had to cover their ears six clicks away, and droids fled in terror.

'He.' Morgan thought, awed in all the worse ways. 'He just terrified droids.'

"We're leaving." He declared, turning. "We could throw the whole Enosis at him and get slaughtered for the effort. We'll find another way to kill Dellocon, if he's even here."

Just as he was about to step back into the tunnel, to reassess and get Quinn's opinion, everything quieted. His own breathing fell silent, something he had no trouble admitting freaked him out. He looked back, his perception picking up a miniature sun casting twisting shadows, and he had the horrid feeling it was waiting for them. He dropped his binoculars without noticing, hand going to his lightsaber.

He blinked and found himself standing right before it.

Rathari was to his left, not even ten feet away, and before them stood an ordinary man. Dressed in plain clothing, with short hair and soft features.

The sith Lord looked just as disoriented as Morgan felt, and it occurred to him he'd remembered nothing about the strangers features. He looked again, finding an old woman sculpted from crystal.

"Why." The entity spoke, burning eyes narrowing. "Are you two making all this ruckus?"