Jhresh tapped his fingers against the line of silver studs that ran down his jaw, the few pieces of Rattataki honourmarks he had earned before being taken by the imperial slavers. It was a habit of his when nervous or thoughtful. And he was both now.

At his feet, neatly lying next to each other, their arms crossed serenely over their chests like ancient lords, were the two bodies of his old masters. Selak Tung, an influential and wealthy Kaas City aristocrat and his wife, Lui, had taken him away from the construction crews and trained him into a manservant, imparting to him good graces and a servile attitude. He had been something of a luxury to them, a chance to show off their 'barbarian alien' slave to their equally wealthy and bored friends. They had delighted in having him serve their drinks and demonstrating his courteous manners. But for all that, and despite the occasional use of the shock collar, they had been good masters, uncaring but not unkind, and the work had been tedious but easy. It was a far cry from hauling and cutting massive stone blocks for twelve hours of every day. And it had brought him to the attention of the Sith, which had ended his days of slavery forever. So it looked like he owed the Tungs some kind of debt. He frowned under his hood, his chalk white skin looking even paler against the black of his robes.

He stepped away from the bodies, his robes whispering around his legs. The house looked just the same as when he had been working here, a few new pieces of art in the hall the only changes he could spot. Before entering, he had been harbouring the hope that the changes within him would be reflected by a change of his perspective on the mansion - that it would appear cramped, that he would suddenly be aware of its flaws. But it was no use, the building still humbled him, every corner and doorway seeming to scream: You do not belong here alien! His frown deepened and he tugged on the edges of his hood, as if trying to hide within its depths.

He could sense nothing in the Force. This in itself was unusual - his reading suggested that acts like murder left strong emotional eddies in the Force, hatred and anger and fear billowing invisible clouds that lingered like the stench of blood at the scene of such a crime. But here there was nothing, not the bitter tang of fear nor the hot touch of anger. It was baffling. His tutors had always praised his powerful sensitivity to the undercurrents of the Force - a source of constant shame to his Rattataki warrior spirit - and emotions were usually like bright beacons to him. Either this had been a singularly robotic assassination, or the murderer was a masterful wielder of the Force, able to cover their tracks flawlessly.

A door slide open behind him and the cyborg agent, Alnilam, walked in, nodding with a finger pressed to her ear. His agent? His bodyguard? His... chaperone? It had not been made entirely clear to him what purpose she served and he suspected that Imperial Intelligence had a hand in her assignment. They played a dangerous game, trying to tame the Sith to their own purposes.

'My lord?' The agent asked, always hesitant with him. He supposed that was good and proper, that she fear the Sith, but he did not sense that she feared him - there was something in her past, some experience. There was a Sith she feared. Him, he suspected, she merely tolerated. He waved his hand, gesturing that she should continue. He may have been trained in the ways of the Force, but no one had taught him how to be a proper lord - he had been conditioned to serve for the greater part of his life for goodness sake!

'It was as I suspected my lord. The Tungs were murdered with some kind of vibro-blade - probably a knife given the shape of the wounds. Selak, one stroke across the throat, and Lui, a killing blow under the ribs to the heart and another through the lungs. Given the lack of signs struggle and blood here, I posit that the bodies were arranged like this after the attacks - which most likely happened in the solar and the foyer.'

Jhresh nodded vaguely. Why was he being told all these things. He was Sith, not a officer of the law. Yes, he supposed that he knew the Tungs, but he certainly wished them no ill will, nor gave much thought to their well-being. There were others much more deserving of his ire, those he had sworn to reward for their actions. The jagged scar in his cheeks pulled as he frowned.

Alnilam was a bloom of nervousness and he turned to her. 'What is it agent? I have told you before that I value your expertise. Do not dither in sharing it.' Was that the right thing to say? Did he give her too much freedom or too little? The truth was that he did value her experience and knowledge. Should they come across an ancient Sith tomb, or a holocron or a alchemical monster he would happily take the lead - to his embarrassment he had adored being let loose in the temple archives, but here he was without the tools to make useful commentary.

Still, the cyborg looked apprehensive, but she straightened. 'Can you think of any enemies you have my lord?'

Jhresh was taken aback. 'My enemies agent? I do not know much of the practices of law enforcement, but surely you should be investigating the enemies of the Tungs?' He gestured toward the bodies, the argument clear.

The agent shook her head, 'Intelligence keeps detailed files on valuable people my lord, and I've been having them cross-reference the circumstances here. Does the name Kalo mean anything to you my lord?'

A friendly smile. Warm eyes despite their lack of colour. Rough hands, so big compared to my own. I remember them clasping my wrist or patting my back. He had a laugh like a soto monkey, caused more outbreaks of amusement than any of the awful jokes he used to tell. Strong as a rancor, and proud. Proud despite everything

'Kalo was a fellow slave when I was with the construction crews. He looked... we looked out for each other. How does he relate to any of this agent?' Jhresh asked. He did not like that Alnilam had access to this information about his past. She knew far more about him than he knew about her, could see through any act he might thus put up.

'I regret to tell you that the slave Kalo was found murdered in his bunkhouse two weeks ago.'

Jhresh froze. Kalo, dead. The man was a colossus. Jhresh could hardly imagine someone so full of vitality and raw strength as a corpse. He had planned one day, when his duties gave him the time, to free Kalo, to thank him for his friendship and for saving a young Rattataki's life more than once, when it would have been easier to let him die. Who had done this? Who had taken that debt?

The Tungs had been nothing to Jhresh - distant employers. Kalo had been a friend.

'That was not an easy connection to make my lord, but there is more. The slave overseer, Kesser Fek was murdered last month. Again, a vibroblade weapon . And more recently, the acolyte Hanta Ly'sinmur, the murder being committed on Korriban itself. It is Intelligence's belief that someone is striking at you my lord.'

A litany of death. Kesser Fek had been a Trandoshan slaver. He had once refused to sell Jhresh to the bloodsport pits of Nar Shaddaa - the usual destination for Rattataki slaves, and place where Jhresh might have found honour, but most likely, a quick death. It was a small act of kindness. Hanta had been one of Jhresh's fellow students, also an alien. She was twi'lek and clever with a quick, sharp wit that had stung Jhresh more than once, but always in a way that left him smiling. They had been as friendly with each other as competing acolytes could be and shared hushed, giggling fumbles when the lights had been turned off in the evenings.

It was a distraction. Someone was sending him a message. Striking invisibly at those whom he had been close to. But why? And who? The servants of Darth Skotia? Trying to take a kind of revenge on him? But that was unthinkable - their target would surely be Zash, the mastermind of Skotia's death. No, it was someone who knew him. Someone who knew him better than almost anyone in the galaxy.

'Can you think of anyone who would do this to you my lord?' asked Alnilam, professional and courteous as ever.

Jhresh shook his head, mind reeling, a cold bead of sweat running down his neck.

'I can think of no one.'