On Nar Shaddaa
"It's worse every time we come here," the Captain noted dryly, casting about as if hoping beyond hope that his statement would be, even if only in some small measure, contradicted by something.
"Indeed." Her Lordship gestured to something, and I looked for what caught her attention.
Standing at a vendor obviously haggling was a Jedi, a slight Mirialan who looked so fragile a puff of wind might blow her away. Nevertheless, she made ripples in the Force, giving off a sort of easy calm like duracrete lets go of heat during the day. Unlike so many masters, the Force didn't feel flat. It kind of lapped around her like water around a stone. I remembered her: Lethe, the quieter and smarter of a pair of twins. A quick glance revealed that Rhiabe, loud and practical with a slight attitude problem Tython hadn't hammered out of her, was nowhere to be seen.
Standing on her right was a girl of similar slight build, so pale she seemed to glow. From the way she shivered and bounced on the spot, it was clear she'd never been to Nar Shaddaa either and was even more eager for the experience as I was.
The interesting feature was on Lethe's left, and prompted the Captain's pop of surprise and—dare I say it?—confusion.
A tall, lean Pureblood stood peering over Lethe's shoulder, hands folded behind his back, long brown robes hanging about him*.
"But… he's one of us, isn't he?" I asked, frowning. The idea of a Pureblood accompanying a Jedi—and it was obvious from the way the he and the girl stood near her that Lethe was in charge—offended my senses. As a Pureblood, the man was most likely even more privileged than Her Lordship. And he left the Sith order for the Jedi? What kind of sense is that?
"Not anymore he's not," Her Lordship answered dryly, but not without curiosity of her own. "You don't see many of his kind cross over. Why should they?"
The Force tugged about him, like wind tugging at a banner. Abruptly, and unseen by Lethe or the girl, his head cocked as if he heard something. He didn't turn around, merely moved to stand behind and between the two women, obviously in a guarding position but without alerting them to the fact. He wasn't nearly bulky enough to screen them both, but could respond quickly to any attack, should attack come.
That was a Sith trait and no mistake—being ready to respond to attack, not shielding someone else.
Only once he had them partially screened did he turn his head, just far enough to catch us in his peripheral vision. Discreetly he waved one hand as though to say 'move along' while the other inched towards his lightsaber. It was an unconscious gesture, that of someone who knew the value of rapid response, to whom such things were second nature.
I felt disgusted.
"Jaesa?"
I looked up to find Her Lordship and the Captain had already begun to move on, and that the Pureblood with the Jedi had gone back to paying attention to the haggling. "I knew her…" I answered with a shrug. "Her twin has a big mouth. They were… a little unorthodox."
And kind. We weren't friends, but they were nine or ten when they came to the Jedi, and knew what it was to 'come late to the training.' They were both good for a little sympathy, after their own fashions. It was weird to find myself on one side of the lines of opposition to them. I wasn't entirely sure how useful I'd be in a fight if Her Lordship and Lethe's objectives ended up at odds.
"I wonder that the Jedi let him off on his own to babysit," the Captain mused.
"Don't judge Lethe like that," I put in, still rolling around this conundrum of loyalties and… the amicability I entertained previously. "She's young and she doesn't look like much, but she's very strong. He's not babysitting her: she's escorting him." Because, of course, most people would judge by his kind rather than by his robes when assessing him.
"This is Nar Shaddaa," Her Lordship shrugged. "And we have an objective."
I still found a Pureblood in Jedi robes offensive. I mean, who'd want to go over to them? They're so boring, stymying. But if he's there, he's either been utterly brainwashed or left the Sith on purpose. I wanted to ask why, but that's not the sort of thing you walk up to someone out of the blue and ask: 'hey, you're top of the dog pile, why'd you go and leave it?'
Even more unpalatable, I'd have to get into my life decisions with Lethe and she's very diplomatic. You don't get into ideological discussions with her; she can argue with a brick wall and win.
I snorted, tried to clear my mind of the indignation.
I'd been to Nar Shaddaa before. It frightened me the last time I was here and I spent so much of the trip hunkered behind Nomen Karr's shoulder hoping not to be noticed. This time though, I felt a thrill of anticipation at experiencing the place now that I was more comfortable in my own skin. Not even Her Lordship's half-joking warning of 'don't start a war' before we disembarked dampened my spirits. It couldn't have been clearer that she didn't think she needed to tell me but she did it just in case provocation occurred.
Apparently Karr and Baras agreed on one thing: Nar Shaddaa is the armpit of the galaxy. The Captain apparently agreed with those two old goats.
The very nastiness of it is why it's interesting.
The place smelled rank—Hutt emanations, no doubt—which seemed to set the stage, a sharp contrast with the bright lights and the sounds of enthusiastic hawkers or sultry ads over the loudspeakers. Unlike the Vaiken Spacedock in the Imperial Fleet, Nar Shaddaa had no perceptible sense of orderliness: everything was everywhere. Lights in every eye-searing color blinked, flashed, and raced around frames, the motion drawing the eye—or would have, had there been fewer such distractions. Loud speakers in multiple languages never shut up, advertising everything from restaurants to red light district attractions.
With my increasing awareness of the unseen, I could feel the way the energy moved, the shuddering nature of it, like sand being jiggled in a sieve. I'd known Nar Shaddaa was a desperate place, but now I perceived it as a kind of metallic tang, a thing that hung barely within perception. It was too big a thing to bring into focus, but that seemed about right. It wouldn't make sense if I could just stand here and perceive little motes of dust in a cloud of falling dust. But I was aware of them, nonetheless.
The denizens of Nar Shaddaa gave Jedi a little space when a Jedi happened to pass by. They actually shrank away from Sith… or maybe just Her Lordship. She had her very best game face on today, the one that said 'I own this moon, I own you—interfere at your own peril.' I'd never met anyone who could pull that off without seeming like a child grabbing at toys, or coming off as an overblown cartoon figure.
Vette was excited as well. She liked Nar Shaddaa—possibly because she had the name of an up-and-coming Sith to drop if she got in over her head. Her Lordship had turned the Twi'lek loose with a list of purchases to make… and probably a few credits to play with.
Apparently, Sith apprentices are—unless they have or create resources of their own—dependent on their masters. Until her promotion, Baras had supplied the ship, paid for repairs or the like, kept it fueled. Now that Her Lordship had been promoted, he continued doing this but she was paid an actual stipend.
So for those of us who, unlike the Captain, didn't draw a paycheck, Her Lordship made generous arrangements: she ensured Vette had pocket money and I had a proper bi-monthly allowance which she cautioned me to use wisely.
I took this to mean upkeep or replacement of weapons and armor first. Fortunately, there was nothing wrong with my armor since it was new and she had checked my lightsaber's inner workings herself, and I'd been doing so once a week or before I went somewhere I might need it. By this point, I felt quite comfortable with the weapon, whether in my hand, or eviscerated on a workspace for maintenance.
I shook myself, then glanced at Her Lordship and the Captain up ahead. Despite having disappointed Her Lordship as I had, she'd kept to her promise and neither said nor hinted anything about my indiscretion. As far as I could tell, nothing had come of it and she had not refrained from taking me along everywhere with her.
…part of me wondered if it was so she could keep an eye on me herself, but most of me was sure it was just business as usual and anything I saw to the contrary was resultant of a guilty conscience.
The Captain marched along at Her Lordship's shoulder, every bit the good Imperial aide and she gave every appearance of ignoring his presence… yet I had the impression that it was a show, just like the one Vette puts on.
Vette is a slave on paper and to the galaxy at large. In reality however, Vette has very few limitations placed upon her. The point is that anyone is going to think twice about crossing a slave who says she serves a Sith whereas they might not if she doesn't. The social status quo can be a protection.
With the Captain, in public, what else could he be except the dutiful Imperial stooge—though I doubt anyone would actually use the word 'stooge' to describe him. Imperials exist—so the story goes—to serve the Sith and the Empire. But I've noticed that the Captain isn't quite as cowed and subservient as many Imperials; nor is he oily, unctuous and affectedly servile; it's more like he treats Her Lordship as a superior officer—in both contexts of the phrase.
I nodded to myself at this, admiring the gaping holes in perception these two cases afforded the casual observer.
No one would question Vette's business—personal or not.
No one would think the Captain was anything more than an aide—certainly not an advisor or companion.
So where does that leave me? I'm a Sith apprentice to a particularly formidable Lord of the Sith.
Many Sith wear masks or breathers to hide their faces, elaborate robes and armor to hide twisted, wasted and/or disfigured bodies. Her Lordship wears a mask, but a mask of nothing more or less than her own expression: she doesn't need metal or porcelain or whatever it is. She smiles, she leers, she steamrolls opponents with an emphasis on the physical aspect of battle.
In reality, she makes everything she does look easy for the benefit of anyone watching her, no matter how much work is involved, no matter how insignificant the individual who might see her. In reality, she's every bit as subtle as her master; she simply hides it behind the fiction that she's just an enforcer, a battering ram Baras employs when he needs to send a message. Perhaps this impression is heightened by the fact that Baras is cunning and subtle enough for two people anyway, why would he need a subtle agent as an enforcer?
I know her though, and know she transcends the fiction she maintains for onlookers. Anyone who works closely with her knows it.
I considered my own 'mask.' I won't wear one of those heavy things; I can comfortably say I'm pretty enough to not want to hide it. But a mask of flesh would work and I'm in a position to paint it how I like.
I had to stop there, because our guide fell back and indicated we were almost where we needed to be. He had to part ways with us, but even we couldn't get lost.
We were in a dingy segment of town, well away from the glamor of the Promenade, a discreet out-of-the-way place that was neither in a good part of town nor in a bad one. It was just absolutely average in every respect—the kind of place no one would expect an important meeting to happen. It lacked ambience, which was probably why no one (barring us) would think to look here.
Again, expectation afforded blind spots the one at whom expectation was directed could exploit.
So what can I exploit?
"Jaesa. If there's a back door, find it. Let me know when you do."
I inclined my head, then slipped away, making myself as unobtrusive and unnoticeable as possible, stealthy and silent, virtually invisible to normal eyes. There was a back door, and I took a moment to center myself, to push the impression of back door located across our bond.
True words are rare across such a bond, but what most people don't understand is that words aren't needed. A picture's worth a thousand words which is why images and impressions pass easily. They're less bulky, clunky, more expressive.
Go in quietly. Again, not words, but the distinct impression. Impressions of this nature had grown sharper, more concrete, since I'd begun practicing my mind to perceive beyond my five senses.
I steadied myself. This wasn't like Alderaan. This was an actual mission for her actual master and if she botched it he'd be angry. And if I botched it, she'd be blamed (and he'd still be angry). I took a deep breath and wrenched the lock open, slipping into the brightly lit… was it a house? Safehouse? Just some random location with the residents strategically drawn away?
The low sounds of conversation guided me through the small space until I stood behind a closed door, pressed close to it.
Listening.
"General Gonn, I'm happy to report that Jedi Knight Xerender has landed safely on Hoth. I saw to it personally."
"You're a valuable asset to the Republic, Fawste. Someday the rest of the Chiss will follow your lead."
A thrill of feeling in the loop wriggled up my spine. I actually knew what he meant when he said 'Chiss,' despite the fact that I'd never had dealings with one. With the Jedi, I knew who a species was based on how much contact I had with them. So if I'd never met a Rattataki I wouldn't have known what one looked like let alone anything about their society.
Her Lordship's training covers a lot of topics; who's who in the galaxy is one of them.
The fact that the Chiss are an Imperial ally rather than an actual part of the Empire makes them well worth noting. The Chiss are a race of… well, I'd say they were human, but in the way that Rattataki are: they look human in most respects, but with odd colorations and traits. In the case of the Chiss, they're blue with solid-red eyes—no whites at all, nor visible pupils either. They're known, among other things, for being comfortable in temperatures most would consider 'too low'—which made 'Chiss' and 'Hoth' in the same sentence hardly remarkable.
What was interesting was why anyone would want to go there. Hoth is the galaxy's icebox, after all.
Ideas without words floated from Her Lordship: Stay put. Watch the door. If they run… deal with them.
I nodded to myself, stepping as far back from the door as I could without losing too much of the conversation inside. If I was to make sure no one slipped out, then that was what I'd do.
A loud crunching sound indicated Her Lordship had slammed, booted, or blasted the door open. Across the commotion, her low, satisfied tones cut. "Good work leading me to the general, Fawste."
"Men, we've got trouble!" a female voice called. More scrambling, scrabbling, people coming to readiness. The auras in the room jittered and prickled.
Even as she spoke, the voice of General Gonn was audible, "What's this Fawste? Have you double crossed me?" He sounded so hurt I almost giggled.
"No! It's… it isn't… I'm not—"
"Give it up, Fawste. The General's no dope."
"I swear to you, General, it's a lie!" What a nasty, sniveling little creature. Pathetic.
"I believe you, Fawste. Sith are notorious liars. Don't worry—our bond is not broken."
Oooh, aren't we all noble-sounding? I'll bet that 'nobility' flakes right off when it gets in the way of something he wants or wants done.
"I think I can guess who you are, Sith," General Gonn sneered oh-so-serenely. "For all Baras' covert manipulations you've banged around the galaxy rather loudly. Well, Baras has finally found me. I shall have to be more careful in moving forward." The threat in his tone surprised me… but it shouldn't have. He didn't sound nearly so noble now; just like he was about to swat and crush a bothersome mosquito.
Good luck with that.
"Cease your operations and I'll let you continue breathing," Her Lordship said in that crushing tone, the one that squeezes at the bowels and plays havoc on the weak or less than fully committed. It's not a mind trick: she simply has a crushing personality and knows how to use it.
In this case, I suspected the statement wasn't meant for the General but for his little stooges. Or the traitors. She'd keep her word. They'd live. Whether they lived once her master gets through with them is another matter entirely. She loves playing technicalities.
"Keeping the Fringe Systems free of the Empire is more important than my life," General Gonn snapped at her.
I giggled silently to myself when the traitor, Fawste, spoke up. His voice trembled and shook, fear evident. He'd been caught red-handed by one of the last people in the galaxy he'd want to be caught by. "S-Sith… you are D-Darth Baras' apprentice?" She must have nodded, for when he continued his voice was even more agitated. "We-we know of you…"
"How flattering."
"This-this isn't want it looks like," Fawste insisted… like an animal preparing to chew off its own leg to escape a trap.
"Oh really?"
"Indeed," General Gonn growled. "What is it then, Fawste?"
"Uh… we-we… we cooperated with General Gonn in order to learn what, uh, what he was up to so that at the… the proper moment we could betray him." The pause suggested he looked to her, like a mutt wondering if he'd got something right.
I take it back. He's not a pathetic, nasty, sniveling little creature. He's a wretched sniveling little coward and utterly pathetic. I've scraped gunk off my boot of a higher quality than this man.
"Ah, I see." I could hear Her Lordship's smile—the one that says she's not amused or impressed.
A pat on the head for a cowed dog. I'll bet he even brightened a little.
"Nicely played, Fawste. You're a true lowlife. When this is over, so is our—" General Gonn growled.
The sounds of a fight broke out before the General finished speaking. I stepped back from the door, hand raised, the Force twisting and twining around my fingers, ready to be neatly tugged into expression to push back anyone who tried to get through.
The door abruptly hissed open. I had a split second to regard the room beyond, pick a target and…
The man trying to escape shrieked like a little girl when he suddenly flew back, knocking over the two people behind him and slamming bodily into a third soldier hunkered behind a table at whom no one seemed to have a clear line of attack.
The bodies collapsed in a heap, groaning and trying to disentangle themselves.
In addition to the man I'd thrown and the trooper he slammed into were two men, not Chiss but obviously lowlifes who smelled an easy way to… whatever, who were knocked over by the first; there was a fourth in a corner, looking horrified, whom I pegged as Fawste. Those downed scrambled to their feet backing away as I grinned, igniting my lightsaber. Their fear colored the air which made my grin widen into a true leer. They continued backing away as I advanced into the doorway… then twitched a hand and flung them into the pile of Chiss and Republic trooper who had finally disentangled themselves.
I giggled. I couldn't help it. They looked like some kind of many-limbed sea creature, the trooper on the bottom gasping painfully as if something had broken or ruptured. Adrenaline thrummed in my veins; I could actually feel the superiority I represented in this moment like a tingle in my skin.
The Captain stood near the other door, pistol raised, eyes scanning the room. Several Republic troopers lay dead, obviously his handiwork, with another few decapitated. Her Lordship had neatly severed General Gonn at the neck by the time I finished taking full stock of the room.
Jedi, as a rule, don't like decapitations.
Sith, as a rule, respect the practicality. Even a member of the Dark Council would have trouble dealing with something like that. Decapitating an enemy is like life insurance: they can't come after you all pissed off at a later date… unless they can scrape together enough will to become a Force apparition thing. I've heard that can happen.
Fawste in the corner looked like he was about to pass out. Or wet himself. Or both.
"I-I-I—" he stammered, shaking from head to toe. "I-we will rededicate ourselves to the Empire! Mercy, lord…" the little womp rat actually fell to his knees, hands raised as if to protect his face and offer supplication in one gesture. It… didn't really work. Nor would it have had it been an effective gesture.
"You smuggled something to Hoth for the General," Her Lordship cut across his whimpering stammers, pointing her lightsaber at him, the tip an inch from his chin. "What was it?"
Not for the first time I admired the gesture; it was theatrical, but somehow wholly appropriate, not at all amusing or overstated.
"I-I helped a Jedi land on Hoth, undetected," Fawste practically vomited up the answer, he was so quick to supply it. "I believe he's searching for… something in the starship graveyard. That's all I know!"
"You will be explaining this to my master," Her Lordship declared. "In fact, I shall see you are conveyed to my master myself. Captain, I believe there's a safe place on our ship to keep these… valuable assets?"
I grinned at the implication. She's going to stick them in a chipping container or something.
"There are several Imperial outposts on Nar Shaddaa, my lord. I believe any one of them would be more than delighted to render aid to you and to Darth Baras," the Captain answered smoothly.
Her Lordship debated, then nodded. "I leave it in your hands, Captain. Jaesa, I must compliment you: I'd have loved to stop and watch that pile grow."
I beamed at her. Then, testing the sound of the words, "I can pick them up and do it again, Master. If you'd like. It wouldn't be hard…" I flexed a hand, watched eyes follow the delicate motion.
Curiosity edged in the kind of interest one feels when a riddle is about to be answered rippled from Her Lordship.
The only idea in my head was an image of me with a mask caricaturing something crazy and evil… but cold and cunning beneath. Just like she was teaching me to be. But it was easier to believe a crazy apprentice finally off her Jedi leash than anything else. Expectation causes blind spots.
Her Lordship snickered softly, then shrugged as though to say 'whatever works.'
I'll find something, I'm sure.
Sith Apprentice
"Jaesa, I'm going to give you a task tonight. I'm afraid your post-victory celebrations must be set aside," Her Lordship announced as we sat in the mess hall of the Imperial Garrison. We weren't there to eat, just to speak quietly and out of the Captain's earshot.
"What would you have of me, Master?" I asked, most of my attention on her, but a sliver of it attended the little grey men moving in and out of the mess.
All of them, as they came in, betrayed a little surprise—a jerk, a twitch, a tensing of muscles—as they made note of the Sith sitting in the corner. The volume of conversations in the room had changed—half grew softer as if trying to avoid notice and half grew louder as if to say 'we couldn't possibly hear whatever you're discussing! And what's more, we don't want to!'
I couldn't decide if this was because they didn't see enough Sith or if they saw too many… or if they saw too many and previously felt the mess was a safely Sith-free zone.
"I need you to… check up on something for me and it's something I would rather Quinn not get wind of—for his own sake. Call it homework, if you like."
"Of course, my lord. You can count on my discretion."
"If I didn't believe that, Jaesa, I wouldn't be entrusting you with something so secret and so important. Now, here's what I have in mind for you—"
My eyes grew wide as she explained exactly what she wanted… which evidenced the degree to which she trusted me. If a little shopping out from under her watchful eye on Vaiken was 'responsibility' I didn't know what to call this!
On Secret Things
It was with no small amount of pride that I entered that dingy Nar Shaddaa cantina, eyes scanning the room in its entirety. Her Lordship and the Captain had gone out, having completed Baras' commission.
I also went out. Everyone knew I'd voiced an interest exploring new places and meeting new people (so to speak) so my absence was not surprising. Nor would it be surprising if I came back late or very early the next morning.
This time though, I was on Her Lordship's orders rather than seeking some form of gratification. Even if my habits weren't known, no one could hold the Captain's attention the way Her Lordship did. He was and would remain thoroughly and utterly distracted. As long as my activities weren't seen to deviate from 'normal' I didn't matter in the slightest.
No offense, as I'm sure he would hastily add.
I wasn't offended. He belonged—in so many senses of the word—to Her Lordship.
No, I was on a somewhat different business, and thoroughly excited about it—though I hid that. I knew Her Lordship was pleased at how quickly I absorbed her various influences, but to be trusted with carrying out services for her, to serve as her proxy, trusted with secret things…
Oh! It was the best feeling, surpassing even that of being in the loop when political matters came up, or understanding Her Lordship's motivations without having them explained to me and seeing her pleased expression when I presented her a correct answer when my understanding was questioned… or that feeling of superiority once my (which included Her Lordship's) enemies were on the ground and either dead or helpless.
Her Lordship described Lord Rathari in detail, his most notable features being his missing ear—which, apparently, she had carved off and sent to Baras as proof that the man was dead—and some cybernetics. The Captain also believed Rathari dead, which was why Baras believed it: when the Captain made his report about it Baras would have sensed no lie or concealment.
Her Lordship however, had fooled the good Captain and gained a valuable resource.
Well, it was up to me to determine whether he was valuable or not, whether it seemed as though he had been devoting himself to building up, in the shadows, support for Her Lordship. I also meant to screen his loyalties, to reach out with my gift to make sure he was not being… unwise. Her Lordship may not be so inundated by foes and fools that she can't do her own killing, but she has more than enough on her plate for me to want to ease her burden in any way I can.
I found him sitting unobtrusively at a table in the back corner of the cantina, looking as though he belonged there and not like someone waiting for someone else.
He was a big man, pale like most Sith, his hood drawn up to hide his missing ear and to mask the cybernetic implant that ran from cheekbone to jaw. By the time I took a really good look at him, he'd already taken notice of me. It was only when I started walking towards him that that interested notice diffused into wariness.
I settled across from Rathari, disliking having my back to the room. For a few moments, we regarded one another, sizing one another up each as he (or she) was best able. Which meant I bent my gift upon him without shame
He hated Baras. It was an absolute, all-consuming kind of hate, the sort of thing that springs from an old festering wound. I didn't look to see what Baras had done, all I knew was that whatever would end with Baras' head and shoulders parting company would have Rathari's unswerving devotion; his ambitions were no greater than the utter destruction of Darth Baras—rage and a deep-seated thirst for revenge left him remarkably short-sighted.
He was not fond of Her Lordship at all, but he respected her strength and did not mistake her leniency in leaving him his life for weakness. Rather, he thought her shrewd and capable, able to destroy his enemy. It wasn't as good as doing it himself, but his grudge was so deep that he didn't care who took the killing blow. He was no immediate threat and, most likely, was smart enough to remain not a threat to her at all once his revenge was achieved.
He was better off as her servant than a corpse, and she was more than capable of making a corpse of him with or without my help. Still, she has enough to manage.
"Welcome to Nar Shaddaa, young Sith," Rathari rasped. His voice had a rough, sandpapery quality to it, as if he'd been combining strong alcohol and heavy smoking for too many years. I imagine the feel of the calluses on a workman's hands would be that way if translated into a sound.
"Thank you," I answered simply.
"I believe our lord will be pleased with my progress."
It was an opening, an avenue into something else. But he called her 'our lord' which was good enough for me. Not 'your master' nothing to suggest she was an authority to me but not to him. The attention to such a small detail in wording surprised me; at one time I wouldn't have noticed. "I am eager to see what you have accomplished, and I shall report it accurately to her—good or bad—just as I observe it."
"This way, then." Rathari got up, then motioned me to walk a little ahead of him. He absolutely towered over me, would have made Her Lordship look smaller than average size. His muscular bulk suggested he was of Her Lordship's school of thought: prowess in physical combat trumped prowess in combat relying solely on the Force.
We didn't speak any further until we entered a transit vehicle. At that point, he began to report in briskly. It sounded as though he really was working hard, devoting himself to Her Lordship's interests, spreading out fingers beyond Nar Shaddaa as best he could. His network was sizable in itself, and apparently he was capable of managing his own resources without tipping his hand that he wasn't as dead as everyone believed.
Then again, Nar Shaddaa was so big and noisy and bustling… it must take real effort to find anyone or anything here, if that anyone or anything was hidden or wished to remain so.
Rathari took us to a dark, dank, dangerous sector of Nar Shaddaa's lower levels—the kind of place where a 'weak' Sith could carve out a small empire if he wanted to, as long as he maintained some discretion—which was the cover under which Rathari hid. "It's this way," he rasped as he led us into a particularly dilapidated building. The first room was dingy, the reek of the lower reaches thick and eye-watering.
However, the first room was simply somewhere for 'visitors' to get the wrong idea. Beyond it was the rest of the complex, which was of a higher standard—as one might expect from a Sith playing king.
"How are Her Lordship's efforts to destabilize Baras?" Rathari demanded, not curtly but in a way that suggested he would mulishly stick to the topic until I gave him a proper answer.
"That depends entirely on your efforts," I answered with a sweet smile.
Rathari's eyes flicked over me, as if he was trying to read the subtext in my words accurately. He snorted, his nostrils flaring. "At least tell me she hates the fat bastard."
"Say, rather, that she despises him," I allowed. In a way, he's not worth hating. Too much expenditure of energy.
"Close enough. May I offer you a drink?" he walked over to a cabinet near a large desk. The contents and disorder of the desk suggested it was his command center from which he managed his underground resources.
"Thank you."
I checked with my gift and found no suggestion of intent to poison me. He handed me a squat glass full of wine—I knew enough about etiquette to know it was too big a glass for what we were drinking. Still, I found I approved: Rathari came across as being frank in his speech and frank about what he liked and what he didn't like.
Once I had my glass, he pulled a datapad off the desk and handed it to me.
I activated it and began flicking through it one-handed, wetting my lips on the wine—a rich, full-bodied thing that would knock an inexperienced drinker on her backside with a third of the measure he'd poured me. It was an inventory, and quite comprehensive. I turned it off and slipped it into the pouch on my belt. "I shall see that she gets it."
With that, I turned to study the room at large, realizing as I did so that I felt… self-conscious.
"Is she here?" Rathari finally asked, as I poked about the desk.
"On business," I answered. "But I doubt she'll feel the need to manage your affairs for you." It was as close to 'don't worry' as I would give him.
Rathari was silent, apparently thinking deeply.
I continued to sip my wine, considering… except, maybe, I was considering something I probably shouldn't. Although quite pale and slightly discolored around the mouth, Rathari's eyes were still brown. It was hard to tell whether this was an effort on his part or not. Some Sith, apparently, put extra effort in concealing some of the worst ravages of the Dark Side—Her Lordship isn't one, but she's not 'ravaged' by it.
He did have lovely eyes though, and I'd never really entertained ideas about, shall we say, bigger men. Or fellow Force users. And he was Sith, harder to break than an Imperial. So… yes. He was interesting for several reasons.
I think what I really liked was the fact that he was dangerous. He could hurt me if he really wanted to—before I hurt him back or kill him, anyway. The idea was… intriguing.
But this is also a first meeting and picking up a Sith lord isn't like picking up an Imperial ground-pounder at a cantina. Also, he's Her Lordship's minion; I would hate to waste a resource because he was foolish enough to try to use me against her. I might not be able to restrain my rage and refrain from lopping his duplicitous head off.
"If you're finished with your inspection," Rathari announced, looking grim, "I would appreciate it if you took your report to our master. Some of us have work and a great deal of it."
I smirked at him. "Surely you wouldn't run me off before I've finished my wine? I'm sure you can eke out a few minutes to sit and chat with me while I do so. I promise—I'm much better company than whatever all that is," I indicated the contents of his desk as I levered myself to sit on the nearest surface.
Rathari considered me thoughtfully, then moved to lean against his desk, arms crossed. "And what would my lord care to discuss?" he asked innocently, but the sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"You can tell me how you came to be in Her Lordship's service."
"Surely you already know."
"She's not the type to elaborate on such matters. She merely told me how to identify you and that she traded your life for your service."
He looked truly surprised by this discretion, then thoughtful as he studied me, a spark of interest flickering in the air. As well it might; as far as he's concerned I just sort of popped out of the ground at Her Lordship's side. "I could very well tell you that, since our lord is so discreet, I have nothing to say. However—" He reached over and topped off his wine before pointedly looking at mine and setting the vessel down as though suggesting I was a lightweight. "—I'll share mine if you share yours. I wasn't aware she'd taken an apprentice."
I sniffed at this, but didn't conceal the smile that twisted my face. He was being awfully accommodating with regards to my curiosity. "The last time I heard an offer like that, I was eight years old."
"I promise, I'm better company than whoever that was," he returned, inflecting his statement to match the one I'd given him earlier.
"So I see."
-J-
Author's Note: Although the Empire's storylines supersede those of the Republic classes for the purposes of this story, the Republic class player-characters still exist and have some amounts of success. In this case, the Consular's story is mildly AU in that Praven joins the crew after being convinced to leave the Sith order by the Consular's Jedi Knight twin. Not that this matters much for story purposes, but just in case there were any questions. More than that, I wanted Jaesa to really consider a new aspect of her changed position.