Chapter Twenty-One
Kaas City Citadel. Executor Headquarters. Early morning.
The cramped chambers were bustling as the normal staff carried out their tasks with the expected efficiency of Imperials under direct Sith oversight. All evidence of the morning shift-change had vanished, and the nondescript Humans that worked for Production and Logistics did so without missing a beat. The various gray terminals and databanks that lined the walls flashed their information through a series of lights and chirps, each one recorded and filtered by the ever-proficient Imperials.
Contrasting the continuous flow and motion were the Sith standing near the headquarters' entrance, patiently waiting for the day's assignment in their battle-ready attire. Asher, Fay, and Graves; respectively robed, gloved, and armored. The trio leaned against the wall, side by side, none uttering a word as they looked to their superior. However, Syrosk acted much the same as them. The horned alien stood as a statue in the middle of the chamber, eyeing the main communications array. Watching. Waiting.
Carefully, Asher leaned closer to the scarred man at his side, whispering in Graves' ear, "Isn't this usually the part where he gives us our task for the day?"
Graves opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off before the first syllable left his mouth.
"Indeed it is," Syrosk declared from afar, not tearing his gaze away from the central terminal. "But there's been a change in plans."
Asher straightened out his stance, before slumping against the wall with a low sigh. "Should have known better."
"Even if he couldn't hear you, the man's a telepath," Fay stated, shooting the burned Sith a quick glance out of the corner of her eye.
"I thought the point of the other day was so that he couldn't read our minds," Asher whispered.
"One wall does not a fortress make," Syrosk rasped. The elder Sith finally turned away from the center of the chamber to face his subordinates. "More sessions are required before I'll be satisfied with your abilities."
"Then why aren't we in a session right now?" Asher bluntly asked.
Syrosk turned back toward the comm terminal. "Why, indeed."
A sharp ping rang throughout the entire chamber, and the previous bustle came to an immediate and sudden halt. The Imperials froze mid-step, slowly craning their necks until their wide-eyed stares fell upon the central terminal. The three Sith by the entrance puzzled at the seemingly innocuous sound, which obviously carried a significant meaning.
The holographic maps and data streams immediately washed away, and were soon replaced by the flickering figure of one Darth Vowrawn. Appearing above a much more reliable projector, the Pureblood was fully rendered in all his magnificence.
Thick robes of numerous layers and designs wrapped the elder Sith, their colors lost amidst the blue electronic image. The Dark Councilor's face possessed the traits typical of his species, stubby, fleshy tendrils hanging from his chin and cheeks like a Human would wear a goatee. His skin was aged, but lacked any of the corruption or decay expected of a Sith of his age or position. Rather than a powerful conqueror, Vowrawn appeared as a noble politician. A gentleman. And at the sight of the amiable figure, the Imperial workers lowered their heads, offering the Dark Councilor the most respectful of bows.
A cordial chuckle emanated from the terminal as the holographic Pureblood offered a soft wave of his hand. "I appreciate the warm welcome, but time spent bowing would be better spent working, yes?"
Even if the electronic image weren't of an enlarged scale, the elder Sith would have still been larger than life. To his people, Vowrawn's every word was equal parts powerful and sweet. To his fellow Sith, a moderately pleasant voice, hiding countless unknowns beneath a regal facade.
The Imperials quickly turned away from the Dark Councilor, resuming their work without a moment of hesitation. Syrosk, however, merely cemented his gaze on the man only a few years his junior, yet vastly superior in rank and station.
"Lord Vowrawn," the horned Sith rasped. Syrosk maintained his gruff stoicism, offering no excess pleasantries nor derisions. "I received your message this morning. You'll understand my desire for an explanation."
"But of course!" the Councilor warmly replied, followed by a pause. The hologram's eyes seemed to sway from side to side, as if searching for something. "Where might our three newest Executors be?"
The trio of Sith leaning against the wall shared a brief round of looks before stepping forward. Soon, they were standing shoulder to disparate shoulder alongside their immediate boss, prompting a smile to appear on the grander boss floating atop the central terminal.
"They're here," Syrosk plainly stated. "I intended to continue their training today, until I got your notice. Why are you putting my work on hold? What do you want with them?"
A quaint chuckle from the Dark Councilor. "Syrosk, it's not them I desire. It is you."
"Pardon?" Syrosk rasped, arching his brow.
"I require your assistance," said Vowrawn. "More accurately, I desire your company. There's a banquet being held later today, and I'd like to take you as my guest."
Syrosk's brow remained raised. "A banquet."
The Pureblood nodded. "Correct."
"And you want me as your guest?" Syrosk muttered as his head dipped, shaking from side to side.
Another nod from the Councilor. "Indeed."
The horned alien rubbed his leathery brow. "Why me? Aren't there plenty of Sith better suited for this? One of your serving Lords? An apprentice, perhaps?"
"No action is taken without purpose, Syrosk," Vowrawn declared, smile widening. "Come. You deserve this."
"Somehow I doubt anyone else at the banquet will think so," Syrosk rasped. After a pause, the alien jutted a thumb toward his subordinates. "And what of these three? Shall they have the day off?" His disgust at the notion was almost tangible as the words left Syrosk's mouth.
A trademark chortle from the ever-pleasant Darth. "Of course not. I have a task for them as well."
"Which would be?" Syrosk asked.
"How familiar are you with Balmorra?" Vowrawn asked back.
"Factory world," Fay spoke up, crossing her arms. "Primarily armstech and droid production. Highly contested. At least, until the Treaty of Coruscant forced the Republic to completely pull out."
Vowrawn offered a contented nod. "Yes, I assumed your background would leave you somewhat familiar. Indeed, the Republic no longer has a presence on the world. And as the Sphere of Production and Logistics, it is our duty to ensure stability as the world and its various manufactories make the transition."
"And where do the Executors come in?" Syrosk asked.
"Officially? They are to watch over the local factory owners, make them feel safe through the transition," Vowrawn explained. "The Republic may have left, but there remains a rebel element that does not take kindly to Imperial rule. The Executors are to act as security."
"And unofficially?"
"Balmorra still possesses a heavy military presence," Vowrawn stated. "I fear some of the Sith assigned to the world may attempt to use the situation there for their own personal gain."
"And what sort of gain might that be?" Asher spoke up.
"War…" Fay muttered.
"Exactly," said Vowrawn. "Ever since the Treaty of Coruscant, widespread and open conflict has been in short supply. A sad loss in the minds of many a Sith, young or old. Many see Balmorra as a chance to reignite that lost passion. Push the rebels until they push back, and then push even harder."
"Turning Balmorra into a battleground, with or without the Republic's help," Fay declared.
"It would be in our best interest to keep such conflict quelled," Vowrawn stated. "And if you succeed in keeping the peace, we'd earn the favor of Diplomacy as well."
Asher smirked. "Inhibit their gains for the sake of our own."
"Quite," Vowrawn warmly replied. "The Ministry of War has no interest in wasting resources on petty squabbles to sate the desires of petty Sith. We lose nothing if we can dissuade these miscreants and keep the peace."
"And how exactly are we expected to 'keep the peace'?" Fay asked.
"By any means necessary," Vowrawn plainly said. The smile remained upon the hologram, but with each passing second its meaning changed. The pleasantness in the elder Pureblood's face remained in form, but there was an underlying intrigue befitting the Dark Councilor. "You three are to make for Balmorra as soon as possible. With your ship, you should be capable of an extended stay." A pause. "Meanwhile, Syrosk and I have a banquet to attend."
The alien released a low sigh. "When and where do we meet?"
"Outside my office. As soon as you can."
With that, the image flickered before fading completely. The room went quiet, the pattering of feet dulling as the workers momentarily ceased their operations. More and more eyes fell upon the horned Sith.
"Everyone, continue your duties," Syrosk called out, before turning to the trio of Sith at his side. "You three, follow me."
The insistence in the alien's words were soon matched by his steps. Uneven as his trudge was, the elderly Sith was still capable of moving with haste. The younger trio offered only the briefest of glances to one another before quickly moving after their boss.
Putting the meager headquarters behind them, the four Sith moved in tandem through the halls of the Kaas City Citadel. As always, Syrosk set the pace.
"Banquet, huh?" Asher spoke up, breaking the silence. "Sounds fun."
"Sith throw the best banquets..." said Fay. "And the worst ones."
"Because of the food, or the potential bloodshed?" asked Graves.
"The bloodshed mostly," Fay plainly answered. "The food is typically rather good."
"Wouldn't know," Graves admitted.
"Don't get invited to many banquets, do you?" Asher teased.
"Actually, I can't taste-"
"Enough," Syrosk interrupted as he continued his march through the Citadel halls. "I've no doubt I've just become a pawn in one of Vowrawn's games, and I've no interest in idle natter. You three are to report to your ship. Hopefully someone from headquarters will have the details of your assignment sent by the time you board. Check the stocks. Make sure none of your renovations displaced anything of import, as you'll likely be on Balmorra for days, if not weeks."
The alien words practically had to fight to slip through his gritted teeth. Syrosk's seething continued unabated, even as his subordinates retained their casual demeanors. The quartet moved in silence until they passed the threshold of the next chamber. A hub, home to many more paths and divergent hallways.
The chamber was grand in all aspects. The ceiling stretched higher than it had any right or reason to, purposeless except to instill a feeling of grandeur. Gray statues of a robed Sith flanked each path out from the hub, casting their stony gaze upon all who would pass. Monuments to the Emperor, featureless as the individual depicted might have been.
All manners of Imperials and Sith traversed the nexus, intent fueling their every step. Guardsmen, in their red armor and robes, scanned the chamber, ready to strike down any miscreant, be they Force-sensitive or not. Lords and their various entourages of apprentices and officers appeared and disappeared without a second thought.
After only a single step into the chamber, Syrosk came to a pause before turning to face his subordinates. "You have your mission… and I apparently have mine. The banquet shall only last the day, so I'll be back in command before you've even arrived on Balmorra. I trust you three can handle yourselves until then, yes? Good. Then this is where we part ways."
With that, the alien Lord stepped away, setting his sights on the path that would eventually place him at the doorstep of Darth Vowrawn. The stilled trio of Sith could only watch as their boss all but stomped toward his destination.
"Methinks our boss isn't a fan of someone taking control away from him," Asher bluntly offered.
"Is anyone?" asked Fay.
"Fair point," replied Asher. "So, thoughts on this Balmorra assignment?"
"Well," Graves began. "When we signed up, Syrosk did mention we might be tasked with striking down unruly Sith. Guess it was only a matter of time."
"You never know," said Fay, folding her arms in front of her chest. "Our mere presence might be enough to dissuade anyone from stirring up trouble."
Asher offered both a chuckle and a shrug. "I'd consider the idea absurd, were it coming from anyone other than the giantess who could crush a man's skull-"
"Yes, yes, between my thighs, you've said it before," Fay muttered.
"I was going to say 'with her bare hands', but whatever works for you," Asher offered with a flippant wave of his hand.
A sigh from the tall woman. "Can we just head for the ship?"
The trio began to move, if only to keep from attracting attention by standing still in the center of the Citadel for an extended period of time. Together, the three Sith headed toward the path that would spill them into the streets of Kaas City.
"You know," Graves spoke up, continuing alongside his fellows. "Depending on how long we spend on Balmorra, Nami might be out of the Academy by the time we return."
"Assuming she makes it out in the first place," Asher muttered. Hardly a moment after the last word left his lips, the burned Sith was almost knocked off balance by a forceful blow to his side. Righting his gait after a momentary stumble, Asher looked toward the source of the jab just in time to see Fay's powerful arms return to their crossed position.
"She'll make it," she said, utterly confident. There was a pause. "Though I wonder how she's doing with her preparations."
Ziost. The Frozen Wastes. Early morning.
Familiar were the chilled winds that battered Nami's face. As were the clumps of ice and snow clenched between her fists as she struggled to pick herself off the ground. New was the stain of red beneath her as she spat onto the ground. Wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her new robes, each breath Nami took brought with it a sharp pain in her chest. She tried to stand, leaning against the same rod she had used in the previous day's training. But as her legs threatened to give out beneath her, her teacher stood across from her, unarmed, and unharmed.
The Nikto offered nothing but his cold stare. Hands folded neatly behind his back, only after the former Padawan was fully upright did the weaponless Sith extend his left hand. In one single, fleeting motion, he beckoned his opponent, urging her to continue.
Tightening her grip around the metallic rod that was her weapon, Nami flung herself forward. She released a wide swing, one that Vurt effortlessly ducked beneath. Her attack not even finished, the girl could do nothing as the Nikto drove his fist into her ribs. A sharp wail slipped passed Nami's lips, just the rod slipped from her hands. In a matter of moments, both the student and her weapon had fallen meters apart, half-buried in the snow.
The Nikto continued to offer nothing but his silent stare as the girl writhed on the cold ground, clutching as her side. The process had repeated. Nami, on the ground. Vurt, standing over her. One, battered and beaten. The other, perfectly fine.
"S...s..." Nami muttered through gritted teeth. The girl struggled to push herself off the ground, instead managing only to lift her gaze high enough to meet her foe's gaze. "Say something! Anything! How am I supposed to learn... if you won't even talk?"
Nothing but silence from the Nikto, followed by the familiar beckoning motion of his fingers. Only this time, Nami refused to comply. Instead, she simply remained on the ground, propped up only by the last vestige of strength left in her arms.
"No..." she whispered. "I'm not continuing… until you speak to me. At least Nesk had the decency to-"
The girl was interrupted by Vurt driving his boot into her side, sending her rolling to the flat of the back. Every part of her body ached. She had no idea which wound warranted the most attention, but it mattered not. Soon, Nami found her teacher lightly stepping on her neck, permitting only the faintest gasps to slip into her lungs.
Clutching at the Nikto's ankle, the girl was powerless to alter her condition as Vurt continued to stare with his beady eyes. But finally, his lips began to part.
"I speak... only to those who have proven themselves worthy," he stated. The Nikto's voice remained deep and smooth, and barely rose above a whisper. "And thus far, you've offered little to impress me."
Nami could do nothing but wildly swing at the Sith's leg, beating against it with her numb fists. But the Sith's limb refused to budge. Only after a few long moments did he withdraw his foot, and the girl took in a heavy wheeze.
"Discipline or fury. Choose one," said Vurt. "If you seek the comfort of one as soon as the other fails you, you'll never survive."
The girl released a few haggard coughs as she rubbed her neck, still laying upon the flat of her back.
"Discipline?" Nami managed to speak, her voice rough and sore. "That doesn't… sound like Sith teaching…"
The Nikto squatted beside the fallen Padawan, bringing his unblinking gaze ever closer to Nami's. "That is because I do not teach Sith. I teach survivors. I care not for matters of light and dark. Strength is strength. You have already spent years under the Jedi. That has afforded you some measure of talent. But it lacks refinement. And abandoning what you possess in favor of wild passions will do you no good. Not now, at least. I am to prepare you for the Academy. I am to prepare you for survival. Survival cares not for codes, for nations, for identities. It cares only for capability. There are many paths open, many sources of power... but first you must unlock the basest of such that already exists inside you. A Sith persists. A Sith survives. So must you."
Vurt straightened his posture before turning away from the girl.
"Now get up. Unlike Nesk, I will leave you behind if you pass out."