The agent did not keep her waiting. In fact, it seemed to her he'd come running, metaphorically, so as not to keep her waiting longer than was absolutely necessary. He didn't literally run, though, when his ship set down on the landing pad. According to her spies, he strode from the landing pad to the Academy, unperturbed by the masses of Sith, and made a beeline for her chambers at the shoulder of the agent sent to collect him.
She looked at her assembled bodyguards, black crows, all of them. Carrion eaters. "You. You may stand by my desk." She pointed to one of them. They were Jadus' goons, almost more machine then man and, therefore, of no use to her except to take damage. To be thrown at something until they broke, circuits fizzling and popping.
Then she'd replace them. Everyone—excepting herself—was replaceable. Even Jadus. Wasn't she here when he wasn't? Replaceable. Expendable. Every one of them.
She frowned at her bodyguards again. Jadus had taught her how to gauge people, a skill she'd honed outside his supervision. It was why she'd lived so long. She suspected several dangers she'd narrowly avoided as a younger woman—why should she feel so old?—had been orchestrated by Jadus himself. But she'd bested him then and she'd bested him now.
And now, she was going to see whether his little favorite could best her test. And if he couldn't, Keeper would just have to find someone better. Someone smarter. For a moment, she toyed with doing the job herself…but that was a job for minions, not lords on the Dark Council.
And, if she was completely honest with herself, she had no idea how to go about doing it. Maybe if she lived on the ship and oversaw without being on the front lines? But no, then she wouldn't be here, would have to join Council meetings via holo. No, that wouldn't do at all. This was lackeys' work, not something for her to do.
The door guard opened the double doors that led into the chambers, blocking them for a moment. "Cipher Nine, my lord," the door guard announced, then stepped aside, allowing the agent to step in.
Cipher Nine. Not very imaginative, but Imperial Intelligence's imagination was always saved for their work, not their naming conventions. Keeper. Cipher Nine. She was fairly sure they had half a dozen Watchers. A dozen or more Fixers. Even more Minders.
Unimaginative.
The agent was an alien, which surprised her. Aliens generally did not get far in life. That made him interesting. Unique. Maybe that was why he was a Cipher: no one ever suspected the alien of being important.
The Zabrak was tall, muscular even for his species, without hair and with a crown of stubby horns encircling his head. His dusky caramel skin was marked with dark tattoos, thin, elegant lines that subtly accented his bone structure. She wondered if they came off. Tattoos didn't change, were recognizable. Wasn't that bad for an Intelligence operative?
They probably came off. She had a momentary mental image of this agent standing in front of a mirror with some kind of dye in the form of an eye pencil, carefully applying the narrow lines, mouth agape, eyes squinting.
She stifled her amusement. This was not the time or the place.
His features were broad, defined without being sharp, the structure smooth, without pronounced angles but without being 'soft.' And he was studying her, too, through big, brown eyes that slanted up at the outer corners. He took in her dark hair, her pale skin, the scars—oh so many scars—all in silence and attentive alertness after having given her an immediate and perfectly correct bow.
He carried a rifle on one shoulder and a medical scanner clipped to his belt. A versatile creature, then. She reached out through Force, felt his nervousness, the discipline holding it in check, the impatience to get on with the mission. He wasn't happy about seeing her, but he wasn't stupid enough to show it. He was not as adept at hiding his emotions as that idiot Keeper.
But he wasn't a little grey mouse, either. A big brown…something.
Yes, he needed to be put to the testing. She wanted to watch, to feel how he reacted, to see into his core in the unguarded moments surprise attack always brought. She thought she might even be favorably impressed. Well, she was having a good day.
She rose to her feet, aware that the top of her upswept hair barely reached his hidden collarbones. This was unsurprising: she was not a tall woman. But she had the Force, which meant she could break him if she wanted to. She'd find out shortly whether she wanted to or not. And so would he. "Well. Look who made it to Korriban."
He dropped his gaze to her throat rather than risk looking her in the eye, but he kept his head up. His emotions suddenly contracted in a concerted effort not to give her a reason to be irritated with him. She suspected this was simply so he could get out of her office and back to his job more than out of fear. There was fear, she'd caught a glimpse of it, but everyone with an ounce of sense feared a Sith. Especially a Sith in her own office on Korriban.
Her word was law. No one would question it. No one would ask why he hadn't come back from Korriban.
If Imperial Intelligence could make someone disappear so completely that their own mother would deny having birthed them, what could a Sith do? Maybe she should find out one of these days, she thought sourly, glancing at the nearest bodyguard.
"I think we have a visitor," she addressed the bodyguard she'd called to stand by her desk. He turned so she could see his profile rather than his back, so she could address at least part of his face. He didn't want to be here, either. He didn't like his job.
Anger shot sharply through her. Why shouldn't he like it? She was prettier than Jadus. Wasn't that an improvement? It was the least of all the reasons he should be happy to have her and not Jadus holding his leash! And she didn't smell like rust and burnt plastic. Certainly an improvement—a massive improvement! What right did this stupid bodyguard have to be so unhappy with his lot in life?
Fine. If he didn't want to be with her, then she hoped this Zabrak tore him to pieces. Literally. She should ask if he could. If he could, she might just demand it of him.
"Yes, my lord," the bodyguard answered simply.
'Yes, my lord.' Tolerance, and resignation—tolerance, resignation, when he should be honored to serve!—to being the servant of a lesser Darth than the one who came before. Intolerable! Rage flickered as she fought not to scowl or pinch her lips together. Maybe she should destroy this impudent bodyguard herself. She certainly wouldn't trust her safety to his care. What good was a bodyguard who didn't care for the task of guarding your body?
Unless it be your dead body. Then he might be a bit happier. Well, he wouldn't be feeling much for very long, one way or another. A big black k'lor'slug, that was what he was! She'd be happy to stomp on him until his green stuffings oozed out…
"Commander," she purred, hiding her rising disdain, "I want to be informal with my bodyguards."
He scented the danger. "Ah…y-yes, Lady Zhorrid."
The other one shifted quietly, his discontent at the idea of 'informality' rippling in the air.
The ungrateful rat! K'lor'slug! No, something truly repulsive! Fine! If they didn't want her, she'd throw them both at this Zabrak and if he didn't kill them she would. For killing her favorite. Surely it was obvious she wanted this Zabrak alive, no matter what she said about it. Even these k'lor'slugs had to have some limited amount of perception!
"Delightful." The prospect of seeing these two fools torn apart by this Force-deaf Zabrak was delightful. She hoped he wouldn't disappoint her. She wasn't sure how much more disappointment she could stand in one day. And to think it had started out being a good day.
Damn Jadus. This was all his fault. Everything was his fault. The essence of all fault lay with him.
She settled behind her desk, running her hands over the surface.
"You, my pretty alien," the Zabrak's aura tightened, constricting with nervousness. He wasn't afraid of her, just leery of an unknown power. She could make his life miserable and he knew it. She wondered if, because she was Jadus' daughter—some people couldn't keep a secret to save their lives!—he counted on Jadus' favor to keep her from tearing him apart.
No. No, that didn't seem right, somehow. She needed the testing. The discipline drilled into this agent was too strong, too confusing to her perceptions.
Wouldn't it be fun to unravel him like a ball of twine? Find out what worked and what didn't? If he failed her, it would be a pleasant diversion. It would take time. She could make it a project: instead of shepherding mice, she'd unwind and assess every inch of blood, bone, and sinew. Then, when she understood and could predict every twitch, every flinch, she'd move on to his mind. He wouldn't like that. Not at all.
"Don't you find my bodyguards delightful?" she asked sweetly, smiling until she felt the scars at her mouth crinkle and pull.
The Zabrak looked at the two men, gave each a single up-and-down sweep of his brown eyes before returning his attention to her throat. She wished he wouldn't stare like that: she didn't like someone eyeing that weak point so studiously. She wanted to reach up and cover her throat with her hand…but she didn't. That would show weakness, and that couldn't be allowed.
"They're not my type, Lord Zhorrid," the Zabrak answered, his tone comfortable even is his aura still buzzed, "but I'm sure they do their jobs."
He didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth quirked.
Joke. He'd joked in front of her. Joked to her.
Her bodyguards both resonated with dislike. He was an alien. He'd also just cracked a joke at their expense in front of their much unloved lord.
But he'd joked. He'd joked in front of her. For her, even. Not at her. Not at her expense.
She bit the inside of her lip, felt her eyebrows try to lower in a scowl, the one that made her look sulky and petulant. She wasn't sure who she hated more at that moment: the Zabrak—Cipher Nine—or the two ungrateful, wretched bodyguards whose names she didn't even know.
She decided that, at the moment, she hated Jadus most. This was his fault. The old monster.
"They do. Delightful bodyguard?" she turned to the one by her desk, felt the Zabrak tense, as though he knew what was coming. "I have a request." Her smile was fixed, but her attention remained on the Zabrak, poking and prodding at his mind, sensing the coil of muscle, the preparation to spring, the way his thoughts darted like little tiny birds as he assessed threat, surroundings, self, in that order.
"Yes, my lady?" the horribly un-delightful bodyguard asked. She hoped the Zabrak ripped his guts out with his bare hands. Or maybe she should…so the Zabrak would understand that she was not just a pretty face and a sunny disposition. Because, of course, he would survive this little test. She'd be angry if he didn't, and no one wanted that.
"Kill our visitor, please," she beamed, smoothing her dark robes.
The bodyguard radiated pleasure as he responded, "As you wish."
Hmph. The only time he was happy was when he could kill someone? She would bet credits he would imagine he was killing her! Because that was what he had to be thinking. Even though this Zabrak looked nothing like her. Disgraceful! How could Jadus tolerate such fools?
It wasn't right that Jadus should surround himself with such garbage and then get himself killed, leaving her to change it out. Wasn't it just like him? Leaving a mess for someone else to clean up, his own plans more important than hers. Than her. And people wondered why she didn't like to think of Jadus as her father. The fools.
She was alive, though, and he wasn't. It was the last time she'd have to handle his garbage. And the Zabrak was truly delightful after the mice and k'lor'slugs she'd been enduring the last few days.
The Zabrak did not wait for the bodyguard to finish speaking to her. By the time the bodyguard's hand touched his weapon, the agent already had his rifle off his shoulder and aimed. The bodyguard's head snapped back, disappearing in a cloud of coppery blood and something far less pleasant. His life snuffed out beside her, leaving a faint rapidly-filling echo were the man had once been.
The odor of blood and the ripples of death filled the room, washing over her, dancing across her perceptions. The shot had been precise, preemptive, no hesitating. The fight was going to happen, and he wasn't going to allow himself to be killed by this Sith's lackeys. Action spoke before anything else she chose to examine.
And rightly so, Zhorrid thought.
She reached out through the Force, felt the Zabrak's aura drumming. There was fear, the will to survive, the urgent necessity of action, the discipline that let him act freely without having to fight tumbled emotions every step of the way. There was a deeply rooted strength that seemed to resist her probing—that was a good sign, though it meant mind manipulations were unlikely to work. His movements were sure and competent as he blocked a blow from the other guard's vibrosword with his rifle before smacking the man in the face with the butt end.
She liked the calm steadiness, but felt nettled. There was nothing in her direction. It was if she was a non-entity in the room. A hologram. Didn't he know she could ruin him? Damage him beyond repair?
The other bodyguard's chest exploded outward, result of almost point-blank range, to slosh soggily against the floor. This time, she caught some of the spatter, endured it, the smell, the sense of it sliding slickly down her skin like a slimy caress.
Nasty little k'lor'slugs, with their stuffings oozing out. Just like in the tombs outside. The smell of blood and death filled the room like ghastly perfume. Ah, the memories it brought back.
The agent turned sharply, saw that she hadn't moved, did something to his rifle, then swung it back on this shoulder, returning to a stance of alert attention, his breathing elevated, heartbeat fluttering. But it was all controlled. He waited in tense readiness, seeming to vibrate with it.
This time, though, he didn't focus on her throat: he watched her the way he might watch any predator, waiting for some sign that she intended to act, to move against him.
Now there was an interesting thought…but hardly appropriate, hardly seemly. Perhaps if he performed well in his other capacities she might consider it…she liked his brawny build.
But, no, he was Jadus' pick, first and foremost. She didn't want anything Jadus touched touching her.
Another reason to hate the man's memory: he'd just robbed her of a potential pretty plaything.
But he would do for this mission, if for nothing else. Yes, this Zabrak would do nicely. He was certainly worth the two nameless bodyguards.
She rose from her chair, felt the agent stiffen, but he didn't go for his weapon just yet—though from the way he stood, she suspected he had a pistol concealed somewhere, easier to get to than his rifle. Had he showed off for her, then? With the blood spatter and the grappling? Maybe, maybe not. It didn't matter: he would do for this mission. He would do, and do it very nicely, she was sure.
"Oh, dear. My poor bodyguards." She giggled at this. Poor bodyguards? No. Not at all. They hadn't wanted to be with her, so they could be in the ground somewhere or chewed on by the beasts of Korriban. She hadn't decided how to dispose of the bodies, but no one could complain. They were hers. She could do what she liked with them. And she had. "We haven't been introduced." She forced some of the amusement out of her voice, continued to study the Zabrak, the way the Force played around him, took on his shadings. "I am Darth Zhorrid, Lord of the Dark Council, and successor to Darth Jadus."
The Zabrak said nothing, merely inclined his head in respect. She wished he'd speak up. What was the matter? One joke and now the vine cat had his tongue. She'd have his tongue, literally, if he kept playing these stupid games. He surely didn't need it, did he? Then he'd have an excuse for this 'aliens should be seen and not heard' routine he'd suddenly slipped into.
The insufferable man. No wonder Jadus chose him: they were both insufferable. Birds of a feather!
"So, you're the one tasked with investigating Darth Jadus' assassination. I'm glad to see you're worthy. You will," she added in a harder tone, "look at me when I speak to you. Do it. Now."
The Zabrak obediently looked up. Not just looked up, looked her in the eye and held her gaze. She wished she hadn't given in to petulance. She could see his eyes just fine when they were at her throat, or gauging her movements. This was uncomfortable. And it was clear he would continue to stare, blinking only occasionally, until dismissed or instructed otherwise. He didn't have the same obliging aura as that idiot Keeper. And she knew he wasn't obeying her out of a sense of being cowed; he obeyed her, this time, because she had just granted him his preference.
The sneaky little…thing. Had he just…played her? Or was he simply making her paranoid? Damn him!
"Was that a test, then?" The Zabrak's aura fluttered with distaste, his tone just as controlled.
"Of course. I observed you during the encounter," she responded, wondering how he would take the news that he'd been observed by a Sith on a level beyond his capacity to emulate or understand.
He didn't seem to care. Maybe he thought that Jadus was the worst of Sith and anyone else was, by comparison, sane and nice. Or maybe he could see that she didn't want him kowtowing to her at the moment. Or maybe he took the practical approach that it should be accepted since it could not be stopped.
"Thought so," he answered simply. There was no sympathy for the dead men, but she thought she perceived something…about garbage men? What did garbage men have to do with anything?
She frowned, unwilling to drop her gaze and be seen as being weak. Instead, she reached out a hand, found a datapad and picked it up, letting it be her excuse to look away. "Yes, I think you shall do nicely in tracking these terrorists."
"That's the plan, my lord," he answered when it became obvious he was expected to answer.
And he was eager to get on with it, to get back to his job. She frowned at the dead bodyguards. Yes, this was different than their not wanting to be around her: they hadn't liked her, hadn't liked their job. As far as this Zabrak was concerned, she was just the new boss and this meeting was one of those gum-up-the-works necessities. So he'd bear it and be glad when he could get back to his real job.
A patriot, then. She'd never met one before, and the thought of unraveling him over a period of weeks came back, more appealing than ever. Of course, she could only do it once: he wouldn't be fit for anything once she finished. That would be a bit of a shame, really.
"You're sure it was this Eagle that killed the mighty Darth Jadus?" she asked.
"…why do you ask?" the agent asked. His aura was cautious, his tone was flat, neutral.
"Because I thought you might know more than your superiors." He didn't like this. It made him nervous. He didn't seem to have anything in his aura to suggest that he did. But he would. Surely he would. He had better, since he would be on the front line of this investigation, piecing the puzzle together, picking up clues, examining them with funny lenses. That was what people in his job did, wasn't it?
"Darth Jadus." She wanted to snarl the word, but did not. It was imperative that this Zabrak, so he could do his job, understand the true immensity of what had been done. So he could serve her to the utmost perfection. "Jadus believed in spreading fear and anger to every planet and species in the Empire. Even to creatures like you."
The Zabrak did not like this at all…well, he didn't like the part about Jadus and his plans; he ignored the remark about 'creatures like you' entirely. In doing so, he revealed conclusively, in that instant, that he had not liked Jadus at all. He'd bowed to the Sith because it was necessary, but he hadn't approved of the man, his plans, or his methods. The only reason he was investigating this 'Eagle' was because the Eagle represented a threat to the Empire as a whole.
He didn't give a damn about Jadus being the first casualty. One less monster. One less source of trouble for troubled Empire. And there was curiosity in him, curiosity she decided revolved around whether she was another monster, whether she was another source of trouble for a troubled Empire.
He was not anti-Sith. He was philosophically opposed to any Sith whose games weakened the Empire, chipped away at it needlessly. A true patriot. He recognized those in power, and recognized some of them were detrimental while others were comparatively not.
Well, at least they could not give a damn about Jadus together. The intricacies faced by those in power, those that kept his precious Empire together, were none of his affair. More people in the galaxy shouldn't give a damn about Jadus. Let him be forgotten. He'd hate that. But he couldn't do anything about it, and that would vex him all the more.
She had the power, now. Not Jadus. He was dead. And she wasn't.
"Perhaps his ambitions drew too much attention. Any one of his rivals on the Dark Council might have killed him." It was possible, of course, and that meant she, too, was in danger. Until she established herself, she wouldn't be remotely safe—not that Sith were ever truly safe. She had to make sure they understood: she was strong. She was powerful. She was here because she deserved to be. She was not weak. She was not going to be replaced by some ambitious underling Darth.
She was not going to share Jadus' fate.
"You think a Sith was behind the attack?" He hid it well, but he still did not seem convinced.
What would he know about the machinations of the Sith? Sith interests were complex at best. And what was he? A muscle-bound Force-deaf Zabrak. A peon that needed physical eyes to see anything and even then missed most of what was in front of him! He wasn't worth unraveling after all and he should be grateful!
"Perhaps," she answered, repressing the desire to frown at this Zabrak who kept forcing her to change her opinions of him. He was giving her a headache and, if he was wise, he would cease doing so. "Perhaps not. Chase after your terrorists. Save the lives of your Imperial friends."
There, relief that she was going to let him get on with his job. That she was not going to make things so difficult that the Eagle was allowed to continue his plans with minimal resistance.
Did he think her stupid? Let the man who killed Jadus run around the galaxy unchecked? Preposterous.
"But if you learn who's really responsible, come to me."
The Zabrak's aura sighed wearily, but gave a general sort of approval. At least—and this was her thought, though she suspected it was somewhere in his mind—the one responsible wouldn't be able to get away, would not be allowed to slither through some loophole or unpredicted dramatic rescue before arriving at Dromund Kaas. Sith could make things stick when, with any other entity, a person could weasel or buy his way out of trouble.
She appreciated the vote of confidence; it told her than in his mind everything in the Empire had a place, even the Sith—those not causing the foundations of said Empire to erode, at least. "I have earned my place on the Dark Council," she declared darkly. "And I will not share Darth Jadus' fate."
Silence.
Blast him, didn't he recognize when he'd been dismissed? She looked him in the eye again then smiled, if only to hide her disgust. It should have been obvious that she wanted him to leave. "Dismissed." The sweet-toned dismissal startled him, but he hid it well.
He bowed, gave her a perfunctory, "Lord Zhorrid," and left, closing the doors behind him, leaving her alone in her office with her corpses.
Zhorrid threw the datapad as soon as she was sure no one would hear the sound it made. Stupid Zabrak. All that time observing him and the only thing that really remained fixed and certain was that he was a patriot. He'd done it on purpose; he had to have!
She'd have his guts out of his belly the next time she saw him. They said it was possible to read the future in entrails. She would have to test the theory.