Suburban Jedi

by suburbanjedi

This story is based upon an idea my co-author and I developed while choreographing fights with homemade lightsabers. The intent was to develop a tale involving the interaction and juxtaposition of the Star Wars universe with our own mundane existence. Expect chapters to arrive slowly but inevitably.

1. Chapter 1

Suburban Jedi

Galactic Calendar Year: 900 BBY

Destined to last a thousand years, the golden era of the Galactic Republic began with victory at the Seventh Battle of Ruusan and the end of the Dark Age of the Sith Wars. The benevolent Jedi Order, acting as guardians of justice and peace, guided the democratic union of sovereign star systems. Toiling tirelessly to maintain the peace that had been won at so great a cost, they focused inward, prizing stability and harmony above all else.

At the edge of the Republic's borders, restlessness propelled the disaffected, the oppressed, the destitute, and the adventurous to seek new horizons of opportunity in a vast gulf of unexplored space known as the Outer Rim. Unwelcomed by the native inhabitants of those mysterious regions and in violation of the Jedi influenced prohibitions on expansion, these renegades struggled to survive in a hostile and lawless frontier. Out of such circumstances are adventures and heroes born...

Chapter 1 - Darth Coir

To fail, say the wise, requires the cessation of striving, but is it fair to apply this harsh criticism to inanimate, natural entities? By definition, Omus was a failed star, though it possessed neither the ability to strive nor the faculty to set or understand goals. It simply was what the laws of physics demanded it be, a peculiar hybrid object too luminous from the heat of its formation to be a planet yet possessing insufficient mass to ignite thermonuclear fusion. Assigned the ignominious astronomical classification of brown dwarf, it languished in shadowy obscurity eclipsed by the harsh blue-white brilliance of its giant solar sibling, Risi.

Centuries earlier, Omus' discovery earned it an official record in the Galactic Encyclopedia wherein the unstable radiation field and mass-induced distortion of local space it generated were noted. Multiple probes were destroyed attempting to penetrate its capricious sphere of influence. Offering nothing of value to offset its smoldering malignancy, Omus was dubbed dangerous as well as useless and promptly forgotten. Recently rediscovered by a tenebrous man driven by a ruthless purpose, its potential significance to alter the vector of history grew many-fold, and a host of visitors came once again within its deadly embrace.

Engulfed and battered by Omus' fits of impotent rage, a fleet of warships hovered perilously close to the seething orb. Though crewed by Union sailors, the nine score vessels bore no trace of Union shipyard manufacturing. They were Taurill make; the unmistakable design of the Overmind.

Admiral Aluntri Slaboch, a gaunt, tense, narrow faced man with a beak-like nose was the fleet's commander. Typically at ease with the demands of his position, the staccato, nervous pounding of his forefinger on the armrest of his command chair and the deepening of the worry lines radiating from the corners of his eyes belied an uncharacteristic discontent. Taurill ships were unfamiliar to him and his crew, and he was attempting to operate them in the most hostile environment outside of battle he had ever encountered. Though it was true that a contingent of the furry, six-limbed, scurrying builders of these vessels were on board each ship to assist with maintenance and repair, Slaboch found them of lesser use than protocol droids. Being a hive mind species, the bug-like drones followed orders diligently and without question, but independent thought was as alien to them as their ships were to Slaboch.

Ordinarily, the Overmind's telepathic control of its drones was effective at distances less than a parsec, but the fleet's battle strategy dictated that the Overmind reside elsewhere in the Risi system. Omus' seething halo of harsh x-rays disrupted the link with its lesser parts as effectively as the Republic's most efficient communications jamming technology, leaving the Taurill under Slaboch's command to wander about aimlessly as if lobotomized. Union sailors were forced to improvise repairs for systems for which they had no training while interacting with a species they despised. The result was a fleet as near to mutiny as Slaboch had ever commanded.

Under optimum conditions, it was an extreme challenge controlling a navy composed of sailors from different planets, nationalities, beliefs, species, and cultures. Technical obstacles such as operating unfamiliar systems exacerbated the stress, but adding the burden of lingering within a magnetic maelstrom surpassed all forbearance. Wisdom and tradition grant every sailor the right to complain, but Slaboch had never heard this much open grumbling and questioning of orders within a fleet that normally ran on iron discipline.

Every captain under his command was reporting excessive numbers of incidents ranging from fights and dereliction of duty, to attempted desertion. Ordinarily, such infractions were rare and discipline swift and public, but the breadth of discontent was so wide that only major offenders staging open mutiny were penalized, and thus far, such actions had been private. Slaboch could ill afford creating martyrs that might goad others into rebellion.

"Let things simmer," he mused to himself, "and order is maintained. Let them boil, and chaos reigns."

His strategy was not without merit. Once propelled into combat, the malaise at the core of this discord would dissolve under the stress and discipline of battle. Slaboch eagerly anticipated the directive from his superior to enter hyperspace despite the certainty that the routine maneuver threatened to provoke the greatest risk. Space-time was dangerously warped by the brown dwarf's mass, and the frequent, unpredictable radiation bursts could scramble electronic components just when they were needed most, but his orders were clear, jump from his current location in defiance of the obvious danger that Omus' gravity created. Slaboch's engineers were uncertain how many ships they might lose. Estimates ranged from one to ten percent of the fleet, severely weakening them before they even engaged the enemy.

Rumors of vessels destined to be ripped asunder, lost in hyperspace, or crushed into ultra-dense matter raced through the fleet like neutrinos through a planet's core. The odds of surviving were undoubtedly better than during the coming attack, but combat was a known and well-understood hazard of military life. Being snuffed out of existence by invisible forces of physics engendered fear at a visceral level. Many within the fleet believed that the luckiest ships wouldn't be able to jump at all when the time came thus missing both the perilous journey and the battle.

Admiral Slaboch disliked his orders with fervor equal to that of his subordinates, but his objections failed to sway the true master of the fleet, a dark, brooding, and powerful tyrant. Only a few, like Slaboch, knew him by his true title, Darth Coir, a Sith immersed fully in the ways of the dark side of the Force. To the rest of the fleet and the systems over which he reigned, he was simply Lord Coir, the Uniter of the Outworlds.

Having arisen from humble origins, using means that were paradoxically both benign and malignant, Coir single-handedly forged the colonies of the Outer Rim into a new political construct. Dubbed "The Union," the new human-alien empire rapidly grew in power to challenge the dominion of the pirates and criminal gangs operating beyond the reach or care of the Republic.

Lost in his frustrated, private musings, Slaboch neglected the background hum of his bridge officers until the subtle shift from official naval chatter to mutinous grumbling caught his ear. Lieutenant Verrat's annoying voice rose above the others, grating on the Admiral's nerves with its paradoxical combination of haughty arrogance and whiny petulance. The weasel faced, spoiled son of a wealthy aristocrat was a consummate agitator who perceived his military service through the distorted lens of lust for power within the growing Union government.

"…and this folly is the brain child of that crazy Coir. He risks our lives for his insane schemes pursuing unnecessary risks. The pirates are afraid to attack our fleet anymore. We should stay in our own systems and keep the peace we won with valor and honor."

Several of Verrat's toadies, emboldened by Slaboch's distracted lack of response, murmured their assent. Even a few who normally disliked and spurned Verrat nodded at his assertions. The extent of the depth of disaffection was worse than the Admiral had feared requiring his immediate attention.

"Enough! This talk is treason..."

Slaboch was fully prepared to dress Verrat down and restore order. His tone threatened demotion and imprisonment for any that disobeyed, but the opportunity was denied him by a greater power.

"Well said, Admiral Slaboch," interrupted a chilling voice infused with lightly veiled sarcasm and surrounded by a thick halo of impending doom.

A collective shudder ran through the bridge's occupants. Detaching itself from a dark corner, a shadow walked among their company. Though initially veiled in an inky, obscuring fog, the enveloping black mist vanished like a dream and was as easily forgotten. Replaced by a deadly specter, the apparition was nevertheless a man. Dressed in black from the toes of his boots to the cowl of his cloak that concealed his face in greater shadow, he could be mistaken for a harmless monk if not for the aura of malevolence and fear that preceded him. Each terrified soul on the bridge knew with dread certainty that it was Lord Coir who strode purposely towards the Admiral.

Panic consumed Slaboch, imagining the approaching menace not as a man but as Death itself coming to claim his soul. Coir's terrible reputation for ruthlessness instilled fear throughout the Union. Rumors of officers eliminated for lesser crimes than failing to control subordinates were rampant. Slaboch had never personally witnessed any executions, but the sometimes subtle and other times overpowering sense of foreboding Coir emanated made the Admiral a believer. The fact that Coir was a Sith lord with dark and sinister powers made certitude of belief. By failing to suppress the insolent banter of his subordinates, Slaboch had brought ruin upon himself.

Jumping to his feet, the admiral hastily executed what he grimly anticipated to be his final salute.

"Lord Coir."

Immediately following his example, the remainder of the bridge crew stood ramrod straight while avoiding eye contact with their commander's frightening master.

"My apologies for this insolence, Lord Coir," Slaboch hastily added understanding the futility of anything he said in his own defense. "I…I will have this lieutenant punished. He will…"

Slaboch's voice failed him as the ghostly specter drifted slowly and deliberately by without glancing in his direction.

"Do not be hasty, Admiral," murmured the surprisingly innocuous darkness. "I will manage this situation for you."

Justifiably, Slaboch was not encouraged, contemplating instead how he was fated to die. "Will he strike out suddenly with his light saber," mused the Admiral, "or will he crush me slowly with his mind?"

Neither fell outcome transpired as Coir deliberately advanced toward the impertinent lieutenant. Though Slaboch felt psychic distress accompanying the Sith's passing, resurrection of hope dared take root in his fevered brain.

"I suspect we are hearing nothing more than the nervous thoughts that precede battle," said Coir. "Let me allay their…concerns."

Silently, Coir approached until he stood mere inches behind his victim. Sweat beading on the lieutenant's forehead dripped from beneath his cap. Swaying on his feet, Verrat nearly fainted from the Sith's personal attention. Having a powerful father could not save him from this demon. Coir's supremacy over the fleet was absolute. None dared question or test his authority and live.

Though Coir whispered, his voice magically manifested throughout the bridge as though his lips were adjacent to each sailor's ear.

"We will be walking with Death today," began the mesmerizing susurrus. "Death will have his ration of souls. Not the wisest can say in advance how many or who individually, but we are not entirely helpless against him. Avoiding Death's fatal affection is possible by remaining loyal and obedient, thus diverting his attention towards our enemies. We only draw him back when we bicker among ourselves. Death loves dissent. Death loves…" Coir paused briefly before finishing the thought, "…mutiny."

A death sentence if applied to an individual, that word nearly made Verrat faint. He struggled to stay standing.

"Is it wise to draw Death's attention unnecessarily?" probed the Sith. "Is it wise, Lieutenant Verrat, to invite Death into your company before the battle even begins?"

Too terrified to answer, the trembling lieutenant shook his head rapidly like a man caught in the initial onslaught of a seizure.

"No? Excellent answer. I am gratified to confirm that you have seen the error of your earlier assertions." Addressing the other trembling subordinates, he asked "Would anyone else delight in debating this issue with me?"

None possessed the courage to accept his invitation. No one moved. No one dared breathe. Verrat's pulse quickened. Coir could feel his fear, could sense the trepidation of each person on the bridge. Fear satisfied his desire, and he soaked himself in its heady embrace.

"So you all agree. It is well that you do. By focusing on our duties and obeying orders, we each may end the day parting amicably with Death knowing that he selected our foe as less worthy of life."

Coir paused again letting his audience suffer in uncertainty. Only the faint background hum of the ship's power systems disturbed the silence.

"I am certain that Lieutenant Verrat feels the same. Is that not so?"

"Yes, my Lord," he croaked barely able to speak, his mouth dry as if full of dust. A drop of sweat worked its way to the tip of his rat-like nose where it hung as if afraid to let go.

"Good. Very good. Such a wise and obedient crew. All mariners know that it is foolish to tempt Death, for he is ever present, always hiding in the shadows ready to strike the unwary and deliver his cruel justice."

For the eternity encapsulated in a few seconds, metaphorical and manifest death was present as one to the crew caught in his spell. The illusion faded. Only their supreme commander and a desire to remain faithful to his orders and to his will remained in its wake.

"The fleet needs to maintain discipline, Admiral," said Coir as his attention shifted away from the trembling underling. "I trust there will be no further insubordination."

"You assume correctly, my lord."

Without acknowledging his second in command, Coir walked towards the exit.

"Notify me when the enemy fleet arrives," he added before he disappeared from sight.

The sweat bead suspended from Verrat's nose released its tenuous bond and plummeted to the floor. Audible in the graveyard silence, the splash startled the quaking crew, but like terrified rabbits, they remained motionless, afraid to move.

Inured to some degree to his master's moods, Slaboch recovered first. Collapsing into his command chair, he ponder ed the miracle of his survival, for to have escaped the terrible red glow of the Sith's light saber was miraculous. Slaboch's fear soon dissipated, yielding to the natural and forgivable desire to command powers similar to that of his master.

Rarely was any man content with his station and limitations, but Slaboch reconsidered his hasty jealousy. Power beyond that of most individuals was already his. He commanded a vast fleet, and Lord Coir was known for not interfering with his subordinates once they were committed to battle. The supreme leader of the Outworlds preferred to plan, scheme, manipulate, and give orders, then savor the ripening of the fruit of his labors.

Perhaps it was enough for Slaboch to be on the winning side fighting for a cause in which he still believed. Perhaps it was enough just to be alive. Coir was a devil, but his effect on the Outworlds convinced many that he was a guardian angel, and they worshiped him as such. Slaboch couldn't dispute their belief. Coir had saved the Outworlds from the Jedi led Republic's policies that left them helpless against the depredations of aggressive and powerful criminals.

All Outworlders knew that it was more than apathy or disinterest of the Outer Rim that motivated the Republic. If neglect had been the Jedi's only sin, the Outworlds might have united long before Coir, but the monk-like leaders of the Republic saw the Union not as a collection of people fighting for freedom, but as a rival empire to be sabotaged and weakened. Until Lord Coir had joined, or rather taken command of their cause, the hated Jedi used their power to sow dissent among the Outworlds and actively prevented them from uniting. Slaboch's anger flared like a solar prominence as he stewed over the injustice of it all.

"Well," he thought to himself, "Now the Outworlds are united and we are strong. We even have a mystical guardian of our own."

With Coir's leadership, the Republic was kept at bay, as were the pirates the Jedi used to enforce their will. Today the Union was on the eve of victory. One last decisive battle would free them from the tyranny of the Republic forever. Slaboch's role in the historical contest was critical. Feelings of purpose suffused his being, and he rededicated himself to ensuring that the day's endeavor culminated in absolute victory. To achieve that, discipline and morale had to be maintained and operating at their highest levels.

Provided no other orders, the bridge crew remained at attention. Slaboch considered their fate. Lord Coir had delivered no punishment and recommended none. The Admiral wisely followed his lead.

"At ease."

The crew relaxed, slightly.

"No more idle talk. Mission essential speech only. Focus on your duties. We will win this battle by following orders. Mister Verrat, broadcast Lord Coir's speech to the entire fleet. I think it will have an inspirational effect. Everyone else, carry on."

Tension on the bridge gradually subsided under the press of duty. With little to occupy his attention ahead of the pending battle, Slaboch mused upon the historic moment that brought him to this critical place and in time. The admiral knew that it was not just the crew and junior officers harboring discontent for Coir's battle strategy. Even Slaboch's squadron commanders had fought against it during the command briefing where the plan was first divulged.

Ostensibly for a training exercise, the entire Union fleet had been gathered by Coir into a unified armada and launched via central control into hyperspace towards an undisclosed location. His key fleet officers objected to leaving so many systems undefended and for grouping all their ships into a tempting target for annihilation. By force of will and judicious use of intimidation, Coir coerced them to obey without revealing the true nature of his scheme. Only when they were isolated in hyperspace, invisible to spies and cutoff from regular communication, did Coir assemble his squadron commanders to reveal his true purpose.

Set on Coir's flagship, the command briefing was staged in a shadowy conference room where the aggrieved attendees surrounded an oblong table carved from a single crystal of sapphire. Only their faces and the table's deep blue surface were made visible by the overhead spotlights; the extent of the room remained invisible in the darkness. Seven humanoids sat in attendance. In addition to Slaboch, who occupied one end of the table, the six subordinate commanders were grouped in threes on each side. An empty chair for their absent leader sat opposite the admiral.

Three of Slaboch's officers were human: Commanders Titus Inniuil, Chas Mearganta, and Shaye Granna. The aliens included a Quarren named Forgach; Kant Jaxel, a Zabrak; and Gaylynn Shoto, a Togruta. Slaboch was displeased with the process that led to selection of these commanders. None had been vetted by him. Several retained their rank as a condition of committing their ships to the nascent alliance. The rest were selected by the Union's politically motivated parliament.

Of the former set, Mearganta was the worst and never could have passed Slaboch's rigid assessment criteria. An arrogant ass with an ego nearly as large as his outsized reputation, Mearganta was tall, dashing, handsome, and every inch the classic space opera hero. True to that model, he was reckless and unpredictable. As often as he achieved stunning victories with his rash bravado, he just as frequently suffered horrendous losses. Well known for daring tactics, Mearganta relied too much on luck for Slaboch's tastes. So many ships were routinely destroyed in the dramatic commander's ongoing misadventures; he would have exhausted their numbers long ago if it weren't for the prodigious output of his home system's shipyards, which by luck were the best in the Outer Rim at construction, repair, and refitting. So battered was Mearganta's navy by constant war that Slaboch doubted a single vessel in his fleet possessed an original component.

Despite being a careless and impatient officer, Mearganta had won great renown with his heroism. Nearly a quarter century of fighting the pirates had cloaked him in myth, inspiring awe and reverence from his subordinates. Though entering his elder years, he retained a shiny mantle of dash and bravado. It was insufficient glitter, however, to eclipse the indignity of being upstaged by Coir, who in less than five years had accomplished what the gallant patriarch could not in twenty-five. Mearganta's resentment over sharing his position as hero of the Outworlds was only surpassed by the humiliation he harbored over the necessity to join Coir's armada as anything other than its supreme leader. To assuage his bruised ego, he openly condemned the Union's dark leader as a ruthless dictator and similarly heaped contumely upon Slaboch, whom he dismissed as an unimaginative, by-the-book leader.

Forgach was another troublesome subordinate but for different reasons. The squid-faced alien was akin to Mearganta in that she also possessed a superiority complex, but rather than being impetuous like her egotistical peer, extreme caution ruled her every action. Obedient to the nature of her race, she was a better accountant than military leader. Obeying orders gave her great pleasure, but only after she had meticulously planned and organized every detail down to the quantum level. Always late to engage the enemy, her need for perfection was paralyzing. The rush to assemble and deploy on this exercise had put her in a state bordering on apoplexy, giving her ample reason to despise Slaboch with intensity equal to Mearganta's.

The remainder of the officers present, if not the optimum candidates for their posts, were more tractable and to Slaboch's liking. Competent and obedient, they retained the critical ability to think on their own when necessary. Such leaders were essential and of greater worth than a thousand heroes or bookkeepers. Slaboch swore to himself that if he survived the pending campaign, he would demand from his lord the right to reshape the officer corps as he saw fit. Mearganta and Forgach would be the first victims of his purge.

Aware of Slaboch's opinion and suspicious of his intent, the rancorous pair alternated glaring at the admiral with unconcealed loathing. During the tense, uncomfortable silence, Inniuil verified the room's security measures.

"Surveillance defense protocols are in place, Admiral. No signals may leave or enter this room. Our conversation will be secure as ordered."

"Thank you, Commander Inniuil. We now only need await Lord Coir."

Thin on patience, Mearganta pounded his fist dramatically on the table causing the plethora of medals on his jacket to jangle like wind chimes in a storm.

"Why has this fleet been ordered into hyperspace with no set destination? I'm not used to charging off blindly into the yonder. How can I maintain order within my own command if I can't be trusted with our battle plan?"

Slaboch pondered Mearganta's blatant hypocrisy. The blustering fool often entered battle with no coherent strategy other than to engage and destroy the enemy on whatever random terms fate provided. An arbitrary trip to an unknown destination would serve him in lieu of planning just as well.

"You must have patience, Commander Mearganta," urged Slaboch with a distinct lack of sympathy. "The Union is not a democracy, this fleet even less so. Lord Coir will explain everything in this briefing. If you cannot maintain discipline among your own, perhaps Lord Coir will provide you some advice on inspiring subordinates."

Mearganta's faced turned as red as a Zeltron's.

"Will he? How will he do that? My captains answer to me and no one else, and if I don't get some answers now, I'll return my fleet to Gattantche to protect the shipyards."

Slaboch's bony fingers began a slow drumming cadence upon the table's crystal surface. Pleasant musings of drawing his blaster and shooting Mearganta between his aquamarine eyes tempted him briefly, but impetuousness was incompatible with his nature. Discipline ruled his every action. Instead, he leaned forward and locked eyes with his foe.

"Do I have to remind you, Commander, of the pledge of obedience you made to Lord Coir and the Union? Do I need to remind you how Lord Coir saved your fleet from disaster when you recklessly tried to attack the pirate's heavily defended capital with no other Union support? If Lord Coir had not learned of your folly and rescued you by utilizing imaginative and dangerous micro hyperspace jumps to divert Cabellar's planetary defenses, the pitiful remnants of your fleet would never had made it home. You owe him your allegiance. More than that, you owe him your faith in his ability to lead us to victory."

Temporarily abashed, Mearganta sagged back against his seat, but immediately resumed seething impotently with his clenched fists resting uneasily on the table. Commander Forgach seized the awkward moment to press her own agenda. Her deep voice echoed in the austere room like whale song underwater, and her facial tentacles writhed subtly.

"I too must protest this venture, Sir. Being also new to this Union, I am concerned with this demand for blind obedience and lack of information. Does Lord Coir not trust his own senior fleet officers? Does he trust you Admiral? Do you know where we are going?"

Though Coir had imparted the intent and general outline of his plan to Slaboch, the destination had not been specified.

"I do not," Slaboch admitted.

"Ah, then the most senior commander does not know where his fleet is going?"

She raised her tentacles in the air in what amounted to a show of astonishment for her race.

"Does anyone in this room think this is acceptable?"

There were murmurs of discontent from everyone but Slaboch. Mearganta seized this opportunity to explode again.

"Exactly my point! We aren't junior lieutenants, Admiral, to be pushed around and kept in the dark. We are command veterans who deserve respect!"

Frustrated beyond endurance and emboldened by Mearganta's example, each commander began shouting his or her complaints at once. Mearganta ranted to assuage his abused ego, Inniuil complained about the excessive secrecy, Forgach fretted over the inability to plan and organize with so little information, while the remainder questioned the sanity of concentrating the entire fleet in one unknown place far from the systems they were supposed to protect. Slaboch did his best to deflect and mollify their concerns with no success. Once again, Mearganta's bluster dominated the rest, smothering their voices like a clap of thunder.

"The concern, Admiral, is that we are being kept in the dark! Where the Hell is Coir?"

"Right here, Commander Mearganta," murmured a calm and level voice mysteriously manifesting itself from the far end of the conference table that had been unoccupied mere moments earlier.

Astonished silence befell as the officers, including Slaboch, jumped to their feet and gaped open-mouthed at the sinister man in black, who sat in the high backed obsidian chair that none had heard or seen move to accommodate the arrival of its occupant. Expressing the most surprise was Inniuil, whose security sensors had given no hint of Coir's entry. Convinced that he had made some error, his normally pink, bald head turned grayish-white in alarm as beads of sweat trickled down from his smooth pate.

"My…my, Lord. How did you? The security scanners…"

"…Are adequate, Commander Inniuil. They will function to exclude their intended audience, which is everyone but me. Be seated." A sly smile graced his face. "There is no need to stand at attention."

Like the after effects of carbonite, their paralysis abated. Mearganta and Forgach sat first disgusted by their instinctive deferential reaction to Coir's authority. The remaining four commanders executed a hasty salute and awkwardly followed suit. Slaboch maintained his dignity by sitting last.

Having experienced many of these sudden, disconcerting appearances by his superior, Slaboch was developing what little immunity one not trained in the ways of the Force could develop against their effect. Observing the discomfiture of the others would have made the admiral laugh if it were not for his lack of a sense of humor and his acute awareness of the deadly menace behind Coir's softly spoken words.

"It is unusual," Coir continued "is it not, to move an armada without informing the senior fleet officers of the destination? Why would a supreme commander do such a thing?"

Silence answered his question.

"Anyone?" Coir prodded.

"To maintain the highest level of secrecy," postulated Inniuil.

"Excellent answer, but does this level of secrecy imply that the supreme commander does not trust his highest ranking fleet officers?"

Coir needed neither to observe Mearganta's and Forgach's expressions nor to query with the Force to divine their opinions. From the others, uncertainty radiated like phantasms of vaporous doubt. Only Slaboch betrayed no emotion. Wisdom earned by experience had taught him not to attract the attention of a creature so dangerous. Perhaps emboldened by his earlier success, Commander Inniuil tentatively provided his opinion.

"Not necessarily, Lord Coir."

"Explain."

"Denying front line officer's knowledge could be a deception to deliberately attract attention to this mission. Confusion and consternation among the senior officers spread quickly down the chain of command throughout every port in the Union prior to our departure. Spies trying to track this fleet no doubt found the information very tantalizing. Word has likely already reached the ears of their masters, and such tidings will dominate their attention. Security, you see, sir, if overdone, can backfire by drawing extra scrutiny."

"An astute analysis, but why then would I do this?"

"I am afraid, Lord Coir, without further intelligence, I could spin a thousand possible scenarios as to why you would want to attract attention to this mission."

"You have wisdom, Commander. The ability to see beyond your own ego and ambitions, by admitting your limitations, forebodes well for your prospect of advancement within the Union."

With the exception of the stone-faced Slaboch, Inniuil suffered glares from his peers seething with varying levels of jealousy and hatred. Slaboch had observed this method of pairing of the egos of his officers against each other by Coir before. The dark lord was delivering a blatant lesson aimed at Mearganta and Forgach. If they were shrewd, they would learn from it. If not, then they would eventually be dead.

"Commander Inniuil is correct in that this mission is a grand deception, but it is a deception with a grand purpose; a purpose in which, I am certain, each of you will be pleased and eager to participate."

A slight gesture of Coir's right hand summoned a holographic star chart of the Outer Rim.

"Our destination is the Risi system."

Puzzled expressions peered through the display past the flashing halo marking their destination. Even Slaboch involuntarily muttered "What?" Coir savored their puzzlement.

"Yes. I know. It is a worthless system with no habitable planets and a defunct mining industry. There is nothing to protect and nothing to attack. Why go there?"

Blank stares met his inquiry.

"Why indeed?"

Their rapt attention was his to exploit. He cryptically answered his own question.

"To set a trap."

Desperate to know his intent, they awaited its revelation, but Coir would not yield it so easily. They had to feel the plan for themselves. It had to arise from the depths of their subconscious as if it were an inevitable and fundamental truth. He would spoon feed them the components of his brilliance in small courses and test their skill.

"Has anyone noticed anything at all special about this pitiful star system that the Union has claimed, but no one disputes?"

Excelling in tactical thought, Slaboch anticipated his master's lead.

"It is less than a dozen hours via hyperspace to Cabellar."

"Correct."

A second star system within the hovering map grew brighter. Many hundreds of light years from Risi, its brilliance reflected upon the table's shiny surface.

"Though not close in absolute terms," Coir explained, "Admiral Slaboch has seen the truth. There are no major gravitation disturbances along the hyperspace path that joins Risi and Cabellar. We will be approximately ten hours distant from the pirate's heart of power, gentlemen."

"Do you intend to attack their capital, Lord Coir?" wondered Mearganta with obvious enthusiasm for such a daring gambit.

"Precisely."

"At last! We move boldly," shouted Mearganta while slapping the palm of his hand upon the table.

"Does everyone else agree that this plan as outlined thus far is a wise move?" asked Coir

"Our fleet is not large enough to contest theirs, especially backed up as they are by planetary defenses," observed Slaboch.

"What if there was no fleet at Cabellar?"

"The pirates always leave a portion of their fleet behind, Lord Coir. Combined with their in system stationary weaponry, it is easily enough to repel us. They know our numbers and they are not fools."

"All men are fools at times, Admiral. I intend to exploit their foolishness."

"How?"

"What if I told you that we had a second fleet in addition to this mighty armada? What then would you think of this plan?"

"It still would not work, Lord Coir" interjected Forgach. "Even a fleet of twice our size could not take Cabellar. In preparation for such an attack, I have run numerous simulations. No matter how many ships I postulate, we cannot defeat both a sizeable pirate fleet and the planetary defenses. One or the other has to be absent to gain victory."

Drawn into the open debate, Gaylynn Shoto, the reticent blue-skinned Togruta offered her thoughts for consideration.

"Where would we hide such a fleet? Even ours will be found eventually. If Inniuil's conjecture is correct, then hyperspace scouts and probes have already been dispatched to find us. The pirates certainly won't leave their capital unguarded until we are located."

"And when they find us?" asked Coir.

"They will send everything they have to destroy us once and for all," concluded Forgach pleased with her assessment.

Coir was also pleased, but for his own subtle reasons. Feigning despair, Coir asked, "Is there no hope for this plan then even if one fleet is unknown to the pirates?"

Mearganta snorted his derision.

"Fantasy! What is the point? No one will help us. What is gathered here today is all the Outworlds have to offer. The Republic wishes us to disappear. The Chiss Ascendancy desires the same. The only other warships belong to the pirates. Where is your illusory fleet, Lord Coir?"

"It is waiting for us near Risi."

"Who is providing this alleged flotilla?"

"The Taurill."

Chaos erupted once again with everyone, except Slaboch, shouting in consternation.

"Those filthy bugs?"

"A deal with the Overmind?"

"We can't trust them."

"He's sold us all to the worst kind of devil!"

Coir allowed Slaboch to restore order.

"Quiet, damn it! Remember where you are. This is a mission briefing, not a fool planetary congress! Now sit down and be quiet. That is an order!"

"But the Taurill are mindless bugs…" exclaimed Mearganta unable to quell his loathing for a species he considered a verminous cross between apes and lice.

"I said quiet, Commander! Lord Coir will explain."

"Thank you, Admiral. I will indeed explain. No doubt you fear and distrust the hive mind and not for unjust reasons. The Overmind does not understand races composed of individuals any more than we comprehend a race composed of only one intellect. It sees us as crawling ants with no central control; the concept of individuals working together to become a whole is too foreign for it to comprehend. When the Overmind looks at our society, it cannot locate a single controlling entity with which to collude as a peer. We in turn see its parts as mindless automatons and never treat with the true sentience behind their race. It is a vicious, self-defeating cycle that has left the Taurill isolated from, and despised by, the rest of the galaxy. No one makes alliance with the Taurill, and no one befriends them."

Each of Coir's assertions was met with nods of agreement.

"Until now. By attacking the Mavathyn system, abandoning it, and deliberately leaking that information to the Overmind, I left an attractive target ripe for conquest. It couldn't resist and took the bait. When the pirates returned, as I knew they would since I similarly divulged information to them that the Taurill were coming, they nearly caught the Overmind. I graciously interceded, deliberately waiting to rescue the besieged master of its race until all was nearly lost. It was a marvelous subterfuge disguised as a seemingly compassionate act that was widely denounced within the Union as a waste of resources, but the Overmind was grateful enough to deign to parlay with me and discover what I had to offer for its assistance."

"What did you offer?" asked Inniuil.

"What the Overmind so desperately wants in a Galaxy that reviles it; room to expand and the means to do it. Up until now, the Overmind has been limited in its ability to colonize beyond its home system for two reasons. Hate and mistrust by its neighbors denies it room to expand, and its inability to control its drones across interstellar distances prevents it from seeking opportunity farther afield. For the latter, I have taught the Overmind arcane techniques developed before the Sith-Jedi wars to project thought through hyperspace. For the former, I have offered the Overmind two pirate systems proximal to its home for its own use after we have won this war."

For the third and final time, the room erupted in distraught turmoil with Mearganta shouting the loudest and displaying the greatest dissent.

"You villain! This is outrageous! Outrageous I say! The Overmind will make slaves of them. I will have no part in this. I hereby withdraw from this venture. My fleet will return to…urggh..."

Coir stood abruptly. His left hand balled tightly into a shaking fist. The air turned opaque as if transformed into a viscous liquid suffused with soot. Mearganta choked. A series of grotesque gurgles and hisses expressing his desperate attempts to breathe were the only sounds the normally bombastic commander could utter. His entire body compressed uniformly as if rapidly descending deep under miles of water. Breath drawn could not be exhaled. Movement was impossible.

The onlookers were equally still but by choice instead of force. Paralyzed with fright, they stared, impotent to intervene and leery to try.

"Must I remind you, Mearganta, that when you joined this fleet, you swore an oath to obey my commands, all of my commands? Now you dare threaten me with desertion! There is only one way to depart my company and you are walking that short and terminal path right now. Swear that you will obey me, Mearganta, or I will kill you and replace you with someone who will! Swear it!"

There was no answer. The pompous fool could make none. Turning blue, his eyes rolled back into his head. Coir released him, and he collapsed on the table gasping and wheezing, his breath fogging the perfectly smooth surface. As the abused mutineer struggled to recover and compose himself, Coir's anger thickened and spread, sapping all warmth from the room replacing it with the cold of deep space.

"I am awaiting your answer, Mearganta. My patience has expired."

"I swear," he gasped. "I swear."

The obscuring veil of eldritch fog dissipated returning the room to its prior ambiance of harsh central illumination and pitch-black surroundings. Wiping cold sweat from his brow, Mearganta slumped against the back of his chair, his haughty arrogance banished for the moment.

All traces of menace, so palpable mere moments before, vanished from Coir's demeanor. Satisfied the incident was resolved, he reclaimed his seat with poise.

"There will be no more insubordination or debate today from anyone," he stated with the surety of an autocrat having crushed all opposition. "Listen carefully to your orders."

The galactic projection expanded until only the blue giant, Risi, and its eleven orbiting companions hovered before the cowed assemblage. A slight pulsing glow surrounded the fifth planet, a world of barren volcanic rock mantled with a leprous complexion of yellow sulfur, ochre pumice, and black obsidian.

"Blayne's End, an abandoned mining colony. We meet the Taurill there to exchange ships. Our allies will remain in our gunboats as a decoy fleet to draw in the pirates. Hungering for the opportunity to destroy in one decisive action what they believe is the entirety of the Union's navy; they will be deceived and unprepared for the surprise the Taurill have in waiting.

"Can we trust the bugs?" Inniuill's obsession with security compelled him to risk Coir's ire, but the Sith was not so volatile and reckless as to punish critical thought and respectful inquiries.

"The Overmind can only lose by betraying me," answered Coir with an approving nod. "Think of its mobile parts as ants if you must, but Taurill drones are absolutely loyal and selfless to their master. No traitors dwell in their midst, and their industriousness within this worthless ball of rock has resulted in the rapid completion of a series of very powerful particle cannons hidden beneath the planet's surface."

Further magnification revealed the abandoned mining planet in precise detail. Orbiting nearly a light minute away was a simulation of the Union's ships. An animation of a larger pirate armada exited hyperspace and moved instantly to attack.

"Mistaking the lurking Taurill for our fleet on battle maneuvers, the pirates will engage the decoys. The Overmind will conduct a fighting retreat towards the planet and scatter its ships, letting the hidden particle cannons decimate the pirates to even up the odds. Fighting in a manner designed to extend the battle by giving false hope of victory to the enemy, the Overmind will sacrifice its drones, and our ships as necessary, to purchase the time we need to conquer Cabellar."

"Why, that's brilliant!" exclaimed Kant Jaxel breaking his long silence.

Slaboch also approved and nodded his head in deference to the plan's genius, but nevertheless remained thoughtful. Examining his private display of the Risi system, the canny admiral guessed the remainder of Coir's strategy.

"Where will we be at the onset of this encounter?"

Coir sensed the mind of his second and silently praised his astuteness.

"Myself, the leaders at this table, your captains, and their crews will occupy the Taurill ships hidden within the magnetosphere of the system's seventh planet."

Moving outward from Blayne's End, the projection centered around Omus. Waxing and waning in spasms of florid hell-fire, it dared anyone to approach. Defying its animus, the simulation zoomed in until scores of ships were highlighted against the backdrop of the huge glowing orb. Of bizarre alien design, their streamlined hulls resembled predatory denizens of a primitive ocean swimming above a boiling crater of molten rock.

"This brown dwarf is currently twenty light minutes from Blayne's End. Its unstable pulsations will render us invisible to sensors, and we will emit no probing energy of our own to betray our presence. A series of mirrors disguised as debris and old communication satellites have been placed throughout the system to allow us to use optical methods to spy our foe's arrival. The enemy will be too eager to crush our decoy force to suspect, let alone investigate, the real purpose of these objects. Upon visual confirmation that our quarry has taken the proffered bait, we make the jump. Our space-time distortion signature will be obscured by the failed star's radio-magnetic pyrotechnics."

Despite their fear of Coir, angry murmuring ensued from all but Mearganta, who apparently able to learn, said nothing. Surprisingly, it was the cautious, but genuinely concerned Slaboch who dared voice his disquiet above the background hum of discontent.

"My Lord, launching into hyperspace near such a massive object is extremely dangerous. Many ships could be lost in the attempt. There are unpredictable effects that even the navicomps can't calculate."

"Every battle has risks and losses. Enough ships will succeed to do the job."

Obeying Coir's mental commands, the brown dwarf faded, and the Cabellar system materialized in its wake. Like a vast school of sharks, the substitute Union fleet appeared from the nether and swarmed towards the pirate capital planet in sync with his narrative. Non-Union ships, both military and civilian, vanished in bursts of fire and light until none remained.

"Speed and surprise will allow us to swiftly annihilate every enemy vessel in the system. Nothing must escape to warn the pirate forces at Blayne's End. Only the planetary defenses will remain."

"They cannot be silenced without rendering the planet uninhabitable," stated Slaboch with a trace of glee at the prospect of rendering the capital of his people's hated enemy into a sterile rock.

"As satisfying as that would be, it is contrary to my greater plan. Therefore, I will personally lead the surface assault and secure the planet for the Union."

"But the danger, Lord Coir," worried Slaboch.

Coir chuckled with the deep rumbling bass of a dragon.

"Is worth the risk, which is not as great as you think. I have methods to ensure that I will safely achieve planet-fall near the capital city of Shan-Ri-Mune. From there I intend to capture the pirate leaders alive and force them to accept my terms of surrender. As demonstrated here today, I have methods of persuasion to ensure their compliance."

The assemblage shuffled nervously remembering Mearganta's recent brush with death.

"Those pirates that survive the process of rehabilitation will be returned to their lairs to work as my agents. Thus will end forever the fledgling Pirate Confederation, and from behind its corrupt shadow will emerge the Union as a force to rival the Republic."

It was a sound plan with a victory prize to tempt even the most cautious and cynical among his commanders. Slaboch was the first to stand and salute, followed hastily by the six commanders. Coir remained seated accepting their accolades.

"Your devotion to this venture is duly noted, ladies and gentlemen. We arrive at Blayne's End in six hours. That gives you precious little time to review the extensive intelligence gathered on the Confederation's planetary defense systems. Once we are in position at Omus, we will be too preoccupied riding out the storm. Dismissed! Except you, Admiral."

Not until Coir was alone with Slaboch, did he speak his intent.

"I want Mearganta watched, Admiral. I sense treason remains in him. He may attempt to run with his fleet, or worse try some stupid gallant maneuver. Make sure that when he returns to his ship that enough of your most loyal men go with him to be able to depose him if necessary. Have a new leader selected in advance. One we can trust."

"Yes, Lord Coir."

Coir chuckled evilly making Slaboch's skin crawl.

"Better still, let Mearganta and 'his' fleet lead the diversionary attack on the planetary defenses. Perhaps he'll make a martyr of himself."

Favorably disposed to obey such orders, battle assignments gelled in Slaboch's mind. Being a chivalrous fool, Mearganta would gladly lead the assault, taking the brunt of the casualties. Failing to recognize the suicidal nature of the assignment, the dupe would assume that it was his due as the bravest and most capable commander in the fleet.

The remaining commanders would deal with whatever naval forces survived the initial onslaught, or any stray vessels arriving in system during the assault. Slaboch would lead the largest star destroyers as screening cover for the Marine landing ships. The admiral briefly considered attempting to dissuade Coir from participating in the dangerous ground assault, but knew that his cautionary advice would be ignored for the simple fact that it was unnecessary.

Departing Slaboch's bridge and leaving the chastened Lieutenant Verrat behind, Coir swept through the corridors of the fleet's flagship like a Force Wraith. Silent and nearly invisible, he was a flowing, dark, ethereal presence, whose otherwise undetectable approach betrayed itself with an eerie disquiet of growing menace. For those less sensitive to the influence of the Force, the stomping cadence of his honor guard's boots upon the metal floor was an additional clue. The battle-hardened veterans trailing in Coir's wake marched at a fast trot to match their master's pace. Wearing dark blue armor, the four marines shared a purely ceremonial post. Few had the power to harm a Sith lord, and no one with those credentials existed under Coir's command.

Sailors along Coir's path sprang to attention. Heels clicked together. With their left fists held against their hearts, they symbolically expressed every Union soldier's pledge to sacrifice his or her life while keeping their right hand free to fight for the Union's preservation.

A transport tube would have borne Coir to his quarters more efficiently and without disrupting the crew's routine, but a deeper purpose governed his actions. While mingling among his minions, Coir experienced their emotions, comprehended the state of their morale, and assessed their combat readiness. Earlier, he had sensed the growing, ubiquitous shift towards doubt and dissent. The broadcast of Lieutenant Verrat's reprimand was already sowing numerous, positive seeds. Rapidly germinating, they sprouted and spread their tendrils throughout the fleet.

Fear became valor. Doubt became resolve. Rebellion became respect. Emotions deliberately cultivated to unify his disparate minions enveloped Coir. From the largest battle ships to the most heavily armed cruisers, the fastest corvettes, and the less nimble but vitally important supply and repair ships, a few rebellious sentiments and hate filled urges lingered, but that was part of the natural balance. Crush all dissent and vital initiative and fighting spirit would be lost. Broken troops were useless to Coir. To be effective, he required that they think and die willingly even if they were ultimately being manipulated by powers they did not understand. Enveloping the Sith like a weather proof cloak in a violent storm, morale as sensed through the continuum of the Force was as close to optimum as he could desire. Satisfied, he made for his quarters, where he left his guard to stand outside.

His cabin was large as befitted one of his status, but it was as austere as a slave's quarters. No art adorned its walls. No personal effects littered any surfaces. Nothing indicated anything about the personality of the occupant. Reclining in a large, black, throne-like chair in the center of the room, Coir let it rotate in three dimensions in response to his thoughts. Monitors and holographic displays came to life when they entered his field of view, displaying whatever he wished to see, or lacking clear direction, provided what the ship's computer estimated had the highest probability of meeting his needs. Fleet status, problems in progress, and logistic metrics danced about vying for his attention, but he ignored them. Slaboch would attend to those nagging details. They were but a distraction from Coir's deeper musings.

He willed all projections to vanish except for one large, curved wall. Wider than his field of view, it provided the illusion of a transparent portal through the ship's massively armored hull. Risi's electric blue brilliance was eclipsed by the nearby dwarf. Coir's ships were visible as black silhouettes against Omus' hellish red glow and the polychromatic clouds in its upper atmosphere. Yellow and orange hued bands pocked with oval shaped storms of sickly green and blood red lent it the appearance of diseased skin covered in world-sized lesions. Huge bursts of lightning spanning thousands of miles arced across the surface of these violent cyclones or lit them from beneath as if the dwarf were some grotesque, pulsating amoebic life form.

If Omus was alive, it was dying; the heat and luminosity of its birth steadily escaping to space. Doomed to fade through the visible spectrum and infrared, only the light cast by the true ruler of this system would save it and the other children of Risi from invisibility against the blackness of the interstellar void. Coir pondered the relationship between this system's two light giving giants as a metaphor for the Union and the Republic. Refusing to mirror the dwarf's predestined fate, he was determined to serve as the missing mass required to ignite fusion in the Union's stunted core promoting it to the stellar stage.

"Certainly the galaxy is immense enough for one more bright light," thought Coir bitterly knowing the Jedi would fight to ensure that the Union never shine.

Claiming to be only shepherds of the Republic, the masters of the light side of the Force nevertheless guarded their hegemony with petty jealousy. The Union was inconvenient to their plans. By Coir's reckoning, the Jedi were the true masters of human dominated space who could not tolerate the existence of anyone who dared throw off their yoke of control. Neutralizing the Outworlds was their implicit goal, and they had been successful for nearly a century, but with Coir's ascension, the Jedi steadily lost dominion. Coir wallowed in the satisfaction of his grand deceit.

Assuming the formation of the Union was just another in a failed series of attempts by the Outworlds to unite against their pirate oppressors, the Jedi continued providing weapons, ships, and military advice to the pirates to counter any strength found in Outworld unity. Mearganta represented the most recent and most notable of those failed attempts to break the cycle of predation. For a quarter century, Mearganta had gathered fleets to fight the pirates, winning stunning victories and rallying many systems to his side, but each time he was on the verge of vanquishing his foe, the Republic reinforced the pirates until his fleet was subsequently destroyed and he was compelled to start over.

It amused Coir to think of that fool Mearganta as similar to Omus, a failed star. The Jedi were also fools, inept enough to believe that Coir was just another Mearganta, but the shadowy Sith had outmaneuvered his pious foes at nearly every turn. Unaware of his powers, they were ignorant of how and why the Union grew. Advantage lay with Coir in that the Jedi's goals were transparent while his were opaque. Persisting with methods rendered ineffective by his genius, they were unaware that they were about to fail spectacularly.

Coir scorned their ineptitude, but he saved his greatest antipathy for their methods and their cowardice that made them fear to fight their own war. His disgust persisted even though he was aware that malice was not their motive. Coir did not care. Justice was on his side, and all who defended the Jedi dogma were apologists for the Republic. He would silence anyone who dared to justify the policies that kept the Outworlds mere pirate fodder as a necessary means to maintain the peace that had so recently been achieved with the end of the Jedi-Sith Wars.

After a thousand years of open conflict, the Republic craved peace so desperately that when the Chiss Ascendancy and other alien races beyond the Outer Rim to Galactic West in the galaxy's Unknown Regions demanded that the Republic stay within its borders, the weary Republic complied. Laws were issued forbidding settlement by its members beyond known space. Many within the Republic defied this decree and began new settlements anyway. The desperate, the oppressed, the greedy, and the lawless were all represented among their numbers. To gain immunity from Republic laws, they forsook their citizenship by declaring independence wherever they settled.

Enraged by the breach of treaty, ambassadors of the Unknown Regions remonstrated against the Galactic Senate, whose rejoinders claiming no sovereignty over the rogue colonies were dismissed as irrelevant. The enigmatic races of the Unknown cared not who the Outworlds called their master. Human dominated colonies were by association of the Republic. The threat of galactic war loomed anew.

In response, the Jedi began their campaign to prevent the Outworlds from uniting. Manacled by timidity and by treaties that forbade Republic fleets from entering the Unknown Regions, the Republic could not directly interfere. Even the Jedi would not travel beyond the Outer Rim except in the direst of need for fear of provoking the Unknowns and another thousand years of conflict.

Craving neither peace nor war, Coir was unafraid to use whatever means necessary to pursue his relentless drive towards his most important, darkest, and secret desire. Ending organized piracy in the Outer Rim was but a stepping-stone on the unerring path he stalked. Complete unification of the Outer Rim was equally incidental to Coir no matter how providential it was towards those it benefited.

He needed the power that only military might could deliver for a singular purpose he shared with no living being. Soon, he would have that power. Waiting on the sides and gauging the winds of fortune, many straggler Rim worlds still refused to join his Union. After today's battle, he would have no organized opposition, and they would unite with him willingly or by force if necessary. Once all the Outer Rim was absorbed into his new empire, Coir would be too powerful for the Unknowns to challenge. Uninterested in outward expansion, Coir would give the aliens the promises they craved and let them skulk back into their hidden realms leaving Coir free to begin his inward campaign against the Republic.

Beginning with subversion and sabotage to weaken and discredit the Jedi, he would sow disunion. Aversion to war would leave them unprepared and easy prey. When the time was right, a massive surprise attack at their heart would propel him towards his ultimate objective, annihilation of the Jedi.

Focusing his thoughts on the Council was a perilous pastime that inflamed the fires of anger always smoldering at his core. Channeling strength from the dark side of the Force, he basked in the ensuing flow of power, savoring the certainty of purpose that it brought. As he swooned in its sweet, narcotic-like embrace, the Sith Code as taught to him by his dead master entered his consciousness:

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

Through passion, I gain strength.

Through strength, I gain power.

Through power, I gain victory.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

The Force shall set me free.

Nothing would stop him from achieving the vengeance...No... He corrected himself...the justice that he sought. If necessary, entire worlds would be burned to ash, entire civilizations snuffed out of existence to wipe away all traces of the Jedi. Perhaps, in the aftermath, he would build a new empire, but an abyss of uncertainty lay beyond that moment.

Collateral damage and accidental benefits that occurred prior to or in the aftermath of the fulfillment of his bloodlust were irrelevant. The known galaxy could lie in ruins when he was finished for all he cared. The Jedi were responsible for destroying his family and his home world, and he would see them pay for it.

Originating from a dark alcove, a mechanical voice interrupted his dark journey among past injuries.

"Is all in readiness, my Lord?" queried the droid emerging from its recharging station.

Designed and built by its master, the droid's purpose was as shrouded in enigmatic veils as its creator. To anyone but Coir, the innocuous servant behaved exactly as a typical TR-034 housekeeping droid and was as beneath notice as the rest of its kind. Troicaire, Coir had named it, in deference to a mythical and wise philosopher of his home planet's ancient past. Intended to act as a pseudo counselor and confidant, Troy-4, as Coir often called it, performed a role belied by its vaguely humanoid appearance with its interchangeable cleaning arms and sundry attachments.

Great power with little effort was available through the dark side, but the passionate emotions it tapped such as anger, hate, and envy often led to hasty and potentially regrettable decisions. To compensate, Coir engineered the droid to retrieve him from the enveloping abyss when his actions threatened to destroy his quest for justice. Deviations from guiding principles Coir established at the beginning of his crusade were the droid's duty to correct.

Though Troicaire lacked natural organic systems that produced feelings such as empathy and compassion, it possessed a quality vital to its relationship with Coir. It was controllable. It could be powered down. Without the ability to reprogram the droid and erase it memory, Coir never would have trusted it with its sensitive role. Such drastic action had not yet been necessary. Troicaire thus became increasingly autonomous and self-aware as it learned to understand sentients by interacting with the volatile Sith. Where most droids were memory wiped and rebooted from scratch when their personalities and behaviors became too sophisticated, Coir had found it essential that this droid be able to grow, even when its impudence was unbearable.

On several occasions, when its master was provoked into a rage by persistent questioning and perceived insolence, Troicaire's perilous mission had nearly brought it to complete destruction. Within the regret-filled aftermath, Coir carefully and perhaps even lovingly restored Troicaire so that their unusual relationship continued to benefit both parties. The droid, by refining its understanding of its master's moods and limits, progressed along its own path towards emotional development, and Coir profited from a benign foil compelling him to self-assess his actions and motives with honesty.

"Yes, Troy-4. All is ready," Coir answered hoping the droid would be content with this response and leave him to his deadly reverie.

Silent and immobile, the TR-034 unit monitored its master's heart rate, breathing, and subtle nuances of his body language. Years of patient observation trained Troicaire to sense Coir's hidden moods. The completed biometric scan and subsequent analysis predicted a high probability of irrational and violent behavior. Unfamiliar with fear in the sense that an organic being experienced that emotion, Troicaire nevertheless savored its own existence and wished to preserve itself, yet despite the evident danger, the dark side was upon his master. Whatever the cost to its personal safety, duty obliged the droid to probe and question Coir at greater length concerning an earlier, unfinished discussion that had raised ethical concerns.

"I would like to continue our dialogue regarding the concessions you have promised the Taurill for their assistance in the upcoming battles."

"Not now."

"I insist."

Tensing visibly, Coir's hands balled into tight fists. The faint squeak of his leather gloves stretching under the strain expressed itself audibly to the droid's sensors. Troicaire considered the possibility that he had misjudged his master's mood and responded by retracting his vulnerable appendages slightly. The involuntary, and vaguely organic, response was unnecessary. Coir relaxed again with a resigned sigh.

"Very well. Ask your irritating questions."

"You have explained to me the cruel deceit you used to dupe the Overmind into becoming your ally…"

"Cruel? Is that disapproval, Troicaire?"

"It is an observation. Do you doubt the veracity of my analysis?"

"No. Cruel is an accurate descriptor. The galaxy is a brutal place. I am only paying it back in kind."

"So you are, and within the rather loose parameters you established at the beginning of this campaign."

"I defined those ethical limits and still wish to honor them. It is your job to see that I do, so do it if you must. My patience with you is limited."

"As you command, Master. Why, at the end of our last conversation, did you leave without explaining to me all that you promised the Overmind for its assistance? What you revealed about thought projection through hyperspace does not seem adequate to convince the Taurill to sacrifice so much of itself in this battle. The Overmind is not sentimental and won't help you just because you helped it. It doesn't understand reciprocity. You must be promising it more."

"I made you too clever, Troicaire."

"You are reluctant to supply the answer, and I suspect the delay is suggestive."

"Suggestive of what?"

"Suggestive of negative emotions associated with these events."

"Nothing discolors my thoughts other than triumph and a sense of well-being driven by the successful culmination of many years of planning."

"What about guilt?"

Coir did not answer. Troicaire perceived the subtle changes in his vital signs that were quickly controlled and suppressed. So disciplined was Coir in manipulating states within himself, only the most perceptive of sentient beings could have detected the telltales. Programmed to advise, the droid continued its dangerous probing.

"What else did you offer it?"

No answer. Troicaire found it increasingly difficult to penetrate the veil of shadow its master was erecting to obscure his mental and physical state.

"I will continue to ask this same question as many times as necessary."

Coir knew that to be true.

"Two systems from the pirate confederation," he reluctantly revealed.

Analyzing this input challenged Troicaire. Mathematical computations and data retrieval were easy tasks, but evaluating complex moral considerations was far harder with a mechanical brain. A lengthy pause ensued as if the droid had powered itself down. Coir began to hope it was satisfied and would let the matter drop, but Troicaire eventually reached a conclusion.

"The Overmind will make slaves of the inhabitants of those systems. It may even exterminate them if that furthers its goals."

"This is war. There will be much death and suffering before it is over."

"True, but you have the power to minimize that suffering. You seek justice for yourself. To avoid corrupting that goal, you must provide justice to others rather than discarding it to suit your whims. Taking the easy path in an attempt to achieve quick victory is a violation of..."

Coir rose from his chair and shouted.

"Easy?! You think what I am doing is easy? Do you understand what I have sacrificed to come this far?"

A calm response belied Troicaire's acknowledgment that he was treading a perilous course.

"Your travails have been dutifully recorded in my memory banks."

"Then you cannot deny the benevolent results of my quest. Though I care not for their prosperity, can you deny that I have been a boon to the safety and happiness of the Outworlds?"

"I am well aware of the good and the bad consequences of your actions, and I never cease my attempts to find the balance and tip it as I may away from the villainous."

"I am not an evil person, Troicaire, but I will do what is necessary to extract justice for the evil that was done to me."

"The dark side seduces you into taking shortcuts to satisfy your passion for vengeance. You must resist the temptation and seek a higher road."

"A higher road? Ha! Did the Jedi seek the higher road when they doomed my planet to the depredations of the pirates?"

"The actions of the Jedi are not in question here. We have previously discussed the morally ambiguous choices they have made, the effects of those choices on you, and the justification for your quest to seek vengeance upon them. However, what you have given the Overmind is an evil of equal magnitude."

Anger flared within Coir at being compared to his most hated nemeses. Summoning the Force, he lashed out at the droid pushing it back into its cubbyhole.

"Be quiet, lackey."

Troicaire was pinned. Its only salvation lay in obedience, but it proceeded undaunted out of what amounted to the artificial intelligence equivalent of love for its master.

"On what basis can you sentence others to the same fate as your family and call it justice?"

"Leave my family out of this!"

As his rage expanded exponentially, Coir compressed the droid as he had Mearganta but with more power. Troy-4's composite fiber carapace began to buckle.

Immune to pain, Troicaire nevertheless possessed the capacity to detect with unerring precision the cascading failures of its mechanical systems. Less accuracy was inherent with its stochastic predictions regarding its fate if it persisted in this debate. Calculations indicated a high probability of its ruin but with an equally high margin of error. Devotion abrogated preservation.

"You can't bring them back by murdering others. Your parents and siblings will always be dead. The people on those worlds you promised to the Overmind are not the Jedi. They are as innocent as your family."

Pain and remorse over the loss of his kin propelled Coir into an all-consuming black fury where he was one with the dark side.

"Enough!"

Drenched in power, thought effortlessly became manifest. Flung like a child's toy in a temper tantrum, the droid accelerated across the room to impact the opposite bulkhead where it stuck several meters above the floor as if glued there. Warnings signaled to what remained of Troicaire's higher functions that numerous components were dead and more were dying under the unabating, crushing onslaught.

Shut down was imminent and irreversible. With nothing left to lose, Troicaire managed to voice one last question that became progressively slower as its central processor inexorably terminated.

"Is this…the manner…of…jus...tice…you…seek?"

Ashamed, Coir withdrew his Force assault, but he was too late. The droid fell to the floor unmoving and unresponsive. Inky tendrils of fury released their hold upon his consciousness and retreated to dark recesses to await their next summoning.

"What have I done?"

Rushing to the droid, he knelt at its side, hefted it, and cradled the remains in his arms. As it ever was between him and his ignoble compromise with the Force, the passion and anger of the dark side faded to regret, but no tears wet Coir's eyes. Burned away by the fires of hate, he believed himself immune to sentimentality, and yet a brief melancholy took root.

"I am sorry, fool droid. I should not have done this to you. You are wiser than I give you credit, and I promise to learn from your sacrifice. The Overmind will have to be content with the quantum mental tunneling technique. I shall issue orders to Slaboch that all captured systems are to be claimed for the Union. I will bear the brunt of the Taurill's disappointment. It has no power over me."

Peering within the robot's access ports, Coir assessed the extent of the damage.

"What a curse this dark side path is. It provides me with the means to attain my goals but constantly transforms the beauty of my designs into festering corruption. It is unfortunate, Troicaire, that you suffer for my sins, but someone must. I will rebuild and restore you. It is well that I hardened your central memory core to be impervious to even my force strength, or we would have to begin our journey together all over again. You will be your old, irritating self again in no time."

Honoring his promise, Coir levitated a fusion multi-tool from the droid's closet and began repairing its damaged servos and power core. A comm alert interrupted him. It was the highest-level, indicating an urgent communication from Admiral Slaboch.

"Open the comm, audio only," Coir said aloud.

Admiral Slaboch's image replaced Omus on the wall-sized monitor. Though Slaboch stared straight ahead, Coir knew the admiral's screen was blank revealing nothing of Coir or his quarters.

"Yes, Admiral?"

"The pirate fleet has arrived, my Lord. They have moved to engage the Taurill."

"Excellent. Prepare a shuttle to transfer me immediately to the command drop ship. When I am aboard, order the fleet to jump to Cabellar and begin the assault."

"Yes, my Lord."

Slaboch's visage vanished. Coir returned his attention briefly to the broken droid.

"It seems, my friend, that your repair will have to wait until I return triumphant."

Coir locked Troicaire into his closet, secured his quarters, and strode swiftly to the shuttle bay with his honor guard in tow.