The Sanctuary of Regret
Chapter Six
Few secrets endured on a starship, only the most tenaciously guarded remained intact.
For all their strength, the timeworn durasteel walls could've been made of paper. Any sound dampening material between them had disintegrated ages ago allowing every squeak, knock, and voice to travel unimpeded through most sections of the Gravestone.
The ship drifted through the darkness. Only a scant few stars marked the gateway to the quadrant. Liatrix was beginning to understand why the wanted and unwanted alike sought refuge on Asylum. It may as well have been the end of the known galaxy.
The chronometer in the medbay indicated the pirate port was still several hours away. She stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the final course of treatment to finish cycling through her system.
The bridge was silent except for the HK and Koth, who had volunteered for the watch. An occasional growl or snort hinted that Koth dozed, leaving the droid to make up for the slack.
In another part of the ship, a pair of voices began as whispers and steadily grew louder. Liatrix caught herself dozing and forced herself to focus on the voices hissing through the vents.
"You wanted to talk, so talk," Jonas grunted. His tone held the same impatience as a pot ready to boil over.
"I think we both know things between us haven't been going well for some time."
"That's an understatement."
"I have a solution in mind if you'll hear me out."
"Where am I gonna go? And don't say the airlock like last time."
"I wasn't—not yet at any rate. Do you want to hear my suggestion or not?"
"Fine."
"When we reach Asylum, I want you to go to Nar Shaddaa. I have a contact there for you to meet."
"That's no suggestion, that's an order. So—you're sending me away. Why now? Jonas protested.
"I never thought I'd see the day you'd balk at going there of all places—knowing your fondness for it."
"Whatever it is, can't it wait?"
"No time like the present, I always say. Think of it as an extended vacation. Do as you like. Your objectives might take some time to complete."
"And what would those be?"
"My contact operates as an information broker. He may have information on the whereabouts of Master Kira Carsen and Dr. Archiban Kimble."
"What? No! Absolutely not. If I never saw that guy again it'd be too soon. What the hell do you want him for? The last thing we need is one of Liatrix's exes hanging around. Is this why you're sending me away? Because of her?"
Liatrix sat up and winced as she accidentally tugged on the IV feeding her liquids and synth-blood. She cocked her head and strained to eavesdrop.
"If we're going to defeat Arcann, we'll need more help. Major Quinn is of more value as a strategist than a physician and we need both. Not to mention, we could use some time apart—to think, regroup—and yes, if I'm being honest, she is part of the reason," Lana said.
"Right. I know you. You've got something up your sleeve and your lackeys are always the last to know. What's your motive?"
"You're not my lackey. As for my motive, did it ever occur to you, that I want what's best for us? You're exhausted. You've been under tremendous strain, that isn't lost on me."
"It was until now—"
"I won't lie. I heard you and Liatrix in the corridor. I heard all of it and while you may be willing to throw our marriage away, I'm not."
"If anyone threw anything away, it's you. I tried to tell you, but you never listen. I can't believe you spied on me."
"Not on purpose—look, I know I've made mistakes, but all I've done is for the galaxy and for us."
"That's it right there…The galaxy is always first with you. Millions of strangers you'll never meet have always meant more to you than I do."
"Damn your selfishness. That's not true. If the galaxy is destroyed, would we not be destroyed with it? Think, Jonas."
"I have been. A lot."
"Will you do this? It would be of benefit—to both of us. Whatever you may be thinking, I want you to know that I want to salvage our marriage."
"Hmph. Who's the contact?"
"He was at one time, one of Imperial Intelligence's finest until he ran afoul with a member of the Dark Council. I don't know all the details. He was reassigned as a deep cover operative many years ago—his name is Darmas Pollaran."
"Pollaran! Oh, this just gets better and better."
"So you know him." Lana's tone carried a note of surprise.
"I want to stick a blaster barrel between that bastard's eyes. Yeah. I know him."
"I thought you might enjoy his company—if nothing else enjoy a few hands of Sabacc together. I understand he's quite good at it—whether he's as good at it as you are, remains to be seen."
"Cut the crap, Lana."
"Will you do it? Will you meet with him?"
"Doesn't look like I have much choice, do I?"
"I would appreciate it. And Jonas? I love you—think kindly of me while you're away…"
His reply was spoken by the apathetic hiss of the door as it shut behind him. After his footfalls faded to nothing, Lana gasped and broke down sobbing—audibly and steadily until fatigue muted her sorrow into silence.
Liatrix dabbed at the corners of her eyes and eased back into her pillows. Chances were good that Doc and Kira were still alive, but that didn't buoy her spirits for long. With thoughts of the living, came the inevitable thoughts of the dead. She wept, continuing the mournful elegy Lana had started.
She tugged the thermal coverlet over her head and buried her face in the pillow to smother the sound and wept until her cheeks were flame and her throat raw.
Sleep threatened, but she resisted. Even as her legs twitched involuntarily and her eyes grew heavy and grainy, she fought. She fell back on her childhood game and imagined herself on a lush green world, dappled with shimmering lakes. There was a small but elegant home overlooking an emerald lake skirted by evergreens and wildflowers. Her children skipped along the beach, feet splashing in the foamy surf. A door clattered shut behind her and strong arms enveloped her, but when she turned her head to smile back at him, there was only darkness and cold. Shivers stole over her body and she lost the battle to stay awake.
A voice called from the darkness, "Why do you resist so?"
The voice was followed by a figure in tattered black robes that offered hints of the gleaming black armor underneath—deception made manifest.
"You…" Liatrix hissed. "I thought I was rid of you."
"Such hostility," the wraith chided. "Perhaps a more familiar setting might make our reunion more—pleasant." With a flourish of fingers, the darkness shifted into a temple and the rough-hewn altar of Tulak Hord rose between them.
Liatrix glared at the wraith and folded her arms defiantly.
"No? Perhaps if you were more comfortable." The clothes she wore melted away, leaving only milky flesh covered by strands of translucent shadow.
"I am not your plaything."
The wraith placed his hand over his heart as if swearing an oath. "But you invited me…"
"I did no such thing."
"You hosted such a grand feast! I must express my appreciation to the chef—dread, fear, and pain—so artfully entwined. You've made a young man of me. Will you not call me Master as you once did?"
"I have no master. I already have one ghost in my head, I don't need two."
The Wraith passed through the altar and loomed over her. "If not Master, then slave. Submit and I will tell you of the things you hold most dear."
"I'll never submit to you."
"Perhaps a more familiar presence…" The wraith shifted into the muscle girded likeness of the former Emperor's Wrath. Scarlet eyes blazed smugly and the corner of his lip twitched up almost imperceptibly. "Will you submit to me now?"
The wraith's gruff baritone gave way to Scourge's sly and sensuous tenor—a voice she'd always had difficulty resisting.
"Let us speak of Quesh and the darkness and my desire for you. I want you. I have always wanted you. I could take you on this altar and you would forget…everything. Do you wish to forget, my Lord Emperor?" Scourge's eyes smoldered as he twisted his tendril ring and Liatrix recoiled at how convincing Hord could be. And how tempting.
"Stop it." Liatrix squeezed her eyes shut and turned away.
"Perhaps your childhood friend—the one you never wanted to lose…"
"I had no friends."
"You had one. Look on me and remember—"
Liatrix couldn't resist. She opened her eyes and a boy in Jedi robes stood before her, a blue Peko Pekos chick sitting on his hand.
"Trixie…W-would you like to hold him?" The boy tried for calm, but his voice wavered like a shutter in the wind.
"He left me…" Liatrix frowned, her tone unimpressed.
"Yes, but he returned—watch." The boy became the man and stood before her—his thumb hooked into his belt as he assumed the self-assured pose he'd practiced for so long. Warm golden eyes peered out from under the messy womp rat hair and when he spoke, his voice warmed her inside like a campfire.
"Theron?" She gasped. "That was you?"
"I should never have let you go that day on Coruscant. That was the day I lost you, I'd give anything if I could take it back."
"That's not him—it's you. Stop trying to trick me. He'd never say that."
"Oh, wouldn't he? Are you so sure? Perhaps a happier time—a certain dock on Rishi…or perhaps you have a taste for the bittersweet—your goodbye on Yavin's moon? Or when Ziost withered?"
"Stop it! Damn you, I said stop it!"
"If not the spy, perhaps this..."
Darkness fell across Yavin's fourth moon and against a backdrop of stars and sparkling nighttime waters, a tall spike-shouldered silhouette stood, with his back to her.
She fought tears but lost the battle. To all others, he was Darth Marr, but to her, he was, Father and when he spoke, joy and longing and adoration filled her heart until she thought it might burst.
"You shouldn't have come," his likeness began, "and yet I hoped you would—but I am not the man you remember."
The words were her father's, but they were spoken out of order—chosen for maximum effect, not sincerity. Still, she craved to hear his voice again and she caught herself relenting. Then, as if slapped she returned the hardness of her reality. 'He's manipulating you,' she reminded herself.
She straightened and narrowed her eyes, refusing to give the wraith any ground. "You're not him. You'll never be him. He's dead!"
The ghost of Tulak Hord reclaimed his own form and bent to look directly into her face.
"I know you as surely as you know yourself. I've known your father and mother, your lovers and your children. I could give you all you desire and that longing you've felt since your first awareness of it would be fulfilled. I ask so little of you, submit to me. Do as I will…"
'Even the gentlest threat, is still a threat,' Liatrix thought. "No! Never! You were my father's equal and mine. I will not submit to you. Not now, not ever."
"If only you believed those words. I know you don't. You fear me—as well you should. In knowing you as I do, I also know how to hurt you."
"You can't hurt me, I've lost everything."
"No? Then ask yourself, why your father will not appear to you—but you already have. It's a question that haunts you. Do you wish to know the answer?"
Liatrix glared at him but said nothing.
"You need not speak it, child, I can see it in your eyes, so I will tell you. He won't show himself to you because he has betrayed you—he is far too busy trading in dogma with your most hated enemy. He has forgotten you."
"Liar!" Liatrix snarled, fists bunched at her sides.
"Of course you won't believe me, but the truth has a way of making itself known. Time is an ally as much as an adversary. Submit to me. You said you have nothing left to lose."
"Only my dignity and you won't be getting the better of that."
"Submit…at least consider what I offer and never forget I know your strengths and weaknesses. I know how to hurt you and I will."
"I'll never give in to you," she wailed.
"We shall see." The wraith growled his frustration and receded into the darkness. The growl grew higher in pitch until it became a klaxon, persistent and annoying. Something slithered up her arm as she whirled around to find the source. Light took over the darkness and someone gently took her wrists to restrain her as she woke.
"My lord…wake up. You'll do yourself a harm—for your own good, wake up, my lord."
Liatrix blinked away the lingering sleep and sat up. "Major? What are you doing here?"
"It would appear you were having a nightmare—and you've disengaged your IV and set off the system alert because of it."
"It hurts."
"I would imagine it would. It seems you've completed your treatment and your recovery is assured. How do you feel, my lord?"
"Better…better now." Without thinking, she threw her arms around him and hugged him hard.
His body tensed. "My lord—I don't think it's appropriate for you and I to embrace. You are my superior and I am—m-marr…ied." His arms behaved like they were separate mindless entities, reaching for her one moment and resisting her the next.
"I'm sorry, but please…just for a moment, would you indulge me?"
"Of-of course, my lord. I suppose comfort is a basic human requirement during times of illness and uncertainty, and as your physician, I suppose I must act to ensure your betterment." He drew her close and she buried herself into his shoulder. He held her gingerly as though she were a stick figure made of glass.
He allowed himself to close his eyes and breathe her in—her scent reminding him of crisply starched and pressed uniforms and the cold deep lakes of Balmorra. What surprised him most was the sudden and inexplicable nostalgia for a world he'd hated. Instead of mountains of paperwork, he thought on the jagged peaks standing guard over the lonely lakes and the handful of rare days off that he'd spent in solitude to clear his mind.
"Are you all right now—my lord?" He whispered against her hair.
"I think so, yes. That was kind of you, thank you."
He held her a moment longer—a moment too long, as a presence appeared in the doorway of the medbay.
They parted as if shocked apart and whirled on whoever darkened the entrance.
Jonas scowled and stormed down the passageway without saying a word. HK rounded the next corner and prattled after him, but he paid the droid no mind.
"Observation: Meatbags can be unnecessarily rude!"
Liatrix winced and looked up at Quinn. "I should talk to him."
"Why?" The question was brusk and held a note of annoyance and left Quinn before he could stop himself. He cleared his throat and straightened. "Forgive me, my lord…that's not my concern. I've overstepped."
"It's all right. I think he just wanted to say goodbye."
Quinn nodded and stood aside to let her go. His brows pinched as he tried to piece together what had just happened and how to relieve his mortification. He snatched up his mediscanner and took solace in running a diagnostic on it.
Liatrix chased Jonas down the corridor and caught his elbow. "Wait…did you need something?"
He shook his head and hefted a duffel over his shoulder. "Nah. Just came to say you won't be seeing me for a while. As soon as we dock, I'm catching a shuttle to Nar Shaddaa."
"So, this is goodbye—for now. Take care of yourself, okay?"
She reached up to touch his cheek, but he caught her wrist. Her birdlike bones twitched against his palm. He recognized the reflex—she was worried or agitated or both. He dropped her arm and shot a look back at the medbay. "What the hell was that back there?"
"Nothing."
"Didn't look like nothing to me."
"Goodbye, Jonas. Stay safe." She started for the bridge, and he didn't follow.
Koth's voice crackled over the intercom. "Hold on tight folks. Asylum, here we come. Docking clamps, engaged. It's gonna be a bit bumpy!"
The Gravestone lurched and the grinding bite of metal against metal boomed through the ship along with a chorus of friction sparks.
Senya jogged to catch up to Liatrix. "Do you have a moment?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"I have some contacts here—I'd like to introduce you to them later."
"What sort of contacts?"
"Friends of mine—from Zakuul—they're highly regarded and would make fine allies. Arcann has made enemies of them."
"Fine. Tell Lana, she'll likely want to tag along."
"No—I think this time, it's best if it's just you and I."
"You do realize how that sounds," Liatrix said, narrowing her eyes.
"I know you've no reason to trust me, not fully, not yet…but I want to stop Arcann and Vaylin as much as you do. In that, you can trust."
Lana slid in behind them. "I need time with my own network—alone. Take HK with you, as an added precaution."
"Sounds like a plan," Liatrix mumbled. "I'll meet you on the surface in twenty minutes. I need to change. Hopefully, no one threw my clothes in the incinerator."
"HK had them cleaned and pressed during the night. You'll likely find them in the medbay locker," Lana said.
"Thanks," Liatrix smiled slightly and started back toward the medbay.
The boarding ramp lowered and light seeped into the belly of the Gravestone. The stale smell of long-haul spacers whooshed into the ship and the rumble of the gathered onlookers followed. They laughed and spoke as if bickering, but they were in agreement about one thing: the Gravestone was a damn ugly ship—the ugliest they'd ever seen.
((to be continued…))