It was almost unfair how much faster they covered ground with a vehicle. Azix found himself checking the nav screen and marveling at the way the speeder ate up the miles in a few moments. A full day's walk passed beneath him in under an hour. In another hour, he could see the spires of New Adasta rising out of the canyon into which the city had been built. Not long after, he encountered the problem he'd feared from the moment he saw that convoy's dust cloud on the horizon – the landing zone outside the city was buzzing with activity. The Empire had clearly wasted no time initiating salvage operations. For Azix, this meant two things: first, that any available shuttles were unlikely to be abandoned, and second, that he would have to dodge Imperial attention both entering the city and moving within it. Still, New Adasta was a metropolis. That would give him a lot of room to move around under the radar, if he could just get past the Imperials on the plains.

There was no shortage of high ground. He parked the speeder and cart and took Rye's probe droid with him for its sensors, lying on his belly and peering down at the city and landing zone.

"There's some activity around the perimeter of the city, but much less than in the military installment," Rye told him, his droid bobbing softly in the air. "I've got a lot of chatter, but nothing that particularly worries me about our chances. We should be able to slip in between the salvage teams. If we go around to the northeast side of the city, those apartment buildings are accessible from the plains and go down into the canyon. The Imperials will all be using the speeder pads."

Azix nodded. "Anything about other Jedi? Or the Republic being in orbit?"

"I'm sorry, love; nothing. They probably left weeks ago. I doubt the Empire would have tolerated their presence after the cataclysm."

Azix swallowed, but he shook it off. "Then we'll need a longer-range ship. An orbital shuttle won't get us back to Republic space."

"That's going to require a more detailed plan," Rye said, keeping his opinions on Republic Space to himself. "And you should heal before you attempt to steal anything with a hyperdrive."

"So we're holing up here for awhile." There was such defeat in his tone that Rye hurried to add positives.

"Yes, but not as long as you're afraid of," he said. "There will be medical supplies, which means we can speed your healing a great deal. The city is powered on geothermal energy, so if the water is still turned on, you can have long, hot soaks and ice packs. You need some rest, Azix. It'll go by fast."

He sighed. "Honestly, at this point, I doubt it matters. Time… it's all the same if I have to make a run to the border."

"Don't focus on that," Rye cajoled. "Focus on how good it's going to feel to be clean and wear clean clothes, and sleep in a real bed."

Az's response was to reach over and pat his droid. Then he began to make his way back down off the plateau.

Circling the city took a lot more time. They had to move slowly to spot and avoid patrols. At least the activity ensured that Azix's presence wouldn't stand out to other Force Users – there were enough of them zooming around that they weren't paying much attention to each other, each occupied with their own concerns. They did stumble over a team of suited Imperials who were setting up some kind of antennae, but Rye told Az to ignore them and go right past. He did, and the team, which wore the uniforms of the Reclamation Service, merely turned and saluted him as he passed.

So Azix could pass for a Sith after all, as long as he didn't open his mouth.

They circled carefully until the high-rise Rye had indicated came into view. It had statuary perched on the eaves of the roof, some kind of armored figures holding spears. The whole city was built in a blockier version of the angular style the Sith Empire favored, with buildings shaped like clusters of obelisks thrusting up into the darkened sky, but it showed its age in the embellishments that had been added to the exterior – urn-shaped fixtures, statuary that resembled Korriban but with more triumphant themes, and minarets capped in geometric spires. Buildings of volcanic stone were mixed with buildings of gleaming durasteel and plastiglass, lit by sullen red exterior lights. The nearest high rise was of the latter type, its windows dulled by a coating of ash dust. If they could reach one, Azix could easily cut them an entrance.

The problem was that there was a good 25 meter gap between the closest lip of the canyon and the wall of the building. Since there were no patrols in the area, Azix got off his speeder to investigate the gap. He peered over the edge and into a vast darkness, broken by a scattering of lights so far away they looked more like stars than like windows.

"We'd have to sacrifice the speeder, which means we couldn't take the supplies," he said after a long moment of thought. "We might be able to hide them here, but with all the activity, I don't like the chances they'd be found."

"Sacrifice the speeder? What exactly are you planning?" Rye demanded, staying much farther back from the edge with both his droids.

"Well, if I strap your chassis on my back, I could surf the speeder off the edge, hit the boosters on take-off," Azix began to explain, before Rye cut him off.

"You want to do WHAT?"

Az looked up from the darkness of the canyon and blinked at him. "It should work," he said a little defensively. "I'll jump at the apex of the arch, and land in the recess of the window. It looks like it's a good couple of hands wide, plenty of space."

"… You consider THAT plenty of space?" From where Rye was standing, it looked like an extremely small target. "Are all Force Users born with a death wish, or is that a bit of training the Jedi and the Sith just happen to have in common?"

As if he truly didn't understand Rye's concern, Azix looked at the length of the gap again, then turned back to him with an innocent shrug. "I don't see any reason I wouldn't be able to do it. I've made harder jumps. As long as you hold on tight and don't flail around and shift your weight."

Rye's probe droid projected him standing with his hands on his hips at the edge of the gap. "And what would you say are the changes of failure?" he demanded.

"… Maybe twenty percent? As long as you don't mess me up, we should be fine."

"SHOULD is not much of a reassurance, Jedi," Az said through his metaphorical teeth. "That is a long way down."

"Well, yeah, but I can catch myself with The Force too," Azix said matter-of-factly. "I practiced a little at the temple. That's one thing all this is good for – telekinesis is WAY easier with the Dark Side. There really is nothing to worry about."

"By the Emperor," Rye muttered. "Did you just look me right in the eye and tell me there's nothing to worry about?"

Azix flopped his hands. "Ry, I don't know what to tell you except that Jedi do this stuff all the time. I couldn't make that jump from, like, a standstill, but surfing the speeder off the edge to get a little distance should definitely work."

"And there it is," Rye retorted acidly. "The Jedi do this stuff all the time. So do Sith, from what I hear, but at least they don't claim to have any regard for the lives or safety of anyone around them. Just out of curiosity, since Jedi are actually accountable to the Republic, do your citizens ever call you to account for your crazy stunts?"

Azix hesitated a moment, then smiled tiredly. "Actually," he said, "I think Republic citizens are used to it. If I said I could make that jump, they'd probably just assume it was true. Fact is," he added with some affection, "you trust me less than just about anyone I've ever met."

That took some of the wind out of Rye's sails. "I… oh. Do I?"

"It's okay. You're Imperial," Az shrugged. "You guys don't trust anybody, especially each other. But I'm telling you: I can make this jump, and I can get you into New Adasta safely. I just need you to do what I ask."

Rye looked out over the jump again, his probe droid spinning as its sensor bar flashed. "…. I think you're right," he said finally, "I don't trust you. Not for any adverse reason, it's just that the risk is so high. I'm not sure I'd let Darth Marr himself carry me over that jump. Can we think of a different plan?"

Az considered that for a moment. "I can make the jump on my own," he said, "With a rope tied to your chassis. Then, once I make it, I can anchor the rope to the building on the other side and you could swing across. That way if I fall, you can pull me up, and if you fall, you're tied off to something."

Rye gave him a helpless look. "Azix. Is it too much to ask to come up with a plan that doesn't involve jumping a speeder off a cliff and then hurtling into an eighty-story drop in freefall? For EITHER of us?"

"Well, beautiful, it might be," Az replied, jaw clenched. "This is the closest jump-off point that's reasonably clear of Imperial activity. We can try to find another one, but the risk of getting caught goes up the more we circle around. I'd suggest stealing a speeder with better repulsors if I'd seen anybody riding one around, but all I've seen with the patrols we've scoped are land-speeders." He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the gap once more, pacing a slow arc. "Are you SURE you can't trust me, even if I go across first and make sure everything's tied off? I wouldn't let you fall," he added, softer.

Rye's projection came to stand beside him. "I'm also worried about you falling," he said. "I know you're not afraid of doing crazy shite like this, but I am afraid of losing you to some bloody-minded accident that could have been easily avoided."

"I'd be tied off anyway." Azix brushed his knuckles through Rye's cheek. "Come on. I know you don't like it, but this is a time you should take my lead."

Rye's projection seemed to inhale, then exhale in a quick, anxious burst. "... I can't," he murmured, turning his face into Az's fingers. "I CAN'T, I just… I can't do this. It's too much risk, every single projection I run. We need to find another way."

Az's shoulders dropped but then, to Rye's surprise, he nodded. "Okay. If you can't, then you can't. This would be so much easier than fighting through a bunch of Imperials, though."

"I wholly believe that you would rather jump of a cliff than bat a few Force-Blind organics out of your way," Rye replied with a brittle laugh, "but I have a much more favorable survival projection for you versus blaster-fire."

"Maybe you're not calculating my real abilities," Azix said, but he didn't argue further. Instead, he got back on the speeder and put it in gear, waiting for Azix's droid to return to the cart before resuming their circumnavigation of the city.

New Adasta was a metropolis. Had it grown outward instead of upward, it might have taken them more time than they had to circle it. As it was, the canyon into which it had been built enclosed it, with just a little bit of urban sprawl reaching out. Those areas were choked with Imperials though - far too many for Azix to take on. And, passing one of the shuttle pads which was swarming with activity, Rye discovered they had another problem.

"They're talking about you," he told Azix when a uniformed technician watched the pass, one finger on his earpiece. "That Sith we met in the wastes… he called in to say you'd be coming. I've got a description on the comm waves. You, the speeder, the cart, my droids…."

"Kriff," Az muttered, and kicked the speeder into a higher gear. "We need to get lost NOW. As soon as we're past, they'll have patrols out after us. We should have gone down the building, Rye!"

Rye couldn't physically flinch at his tone, but he felt the impulse.

The loss of leisure time seemed to prove Azix right. Now, rather than choosing their own point of ingress, Az was swooping between glassy upthrusts of black rock, hugging the cliff's edge as close as he could. In another couple of miles, there would be another speeder pad, and the Imperials there would be waiting for them with blockades in place. He'd have to swing wide around them and hope they didn't have time to put speeder patrols out. Rye scanned the comm frequencies for anything at all that could help, but it only fed his growing horror as he and Azix became the subject of every conversation. He listened to the Imperials mobilize, listened to them order artillery into place, listened to them coordinate mounted troops to go and meet them in the wastes.

Yet, for some reason, running his predictive algorithms again and again, he couldn't get them to admit that Azix had been right. Of course, they could both have been wrong - it was an unjust universe. But Azix had seemed so confident, and part of Rye had wanted to believe him. But the NUMBERS. He just couldn't square the numbers, not then and not now, as Azix growled a warning and the first wave swooped down to meet them.

Rye was still running projections as they closed on each other. Only when Azix put the speeder on auto-navigation and stood up on its seat, lightsaber blazing, did Rye really understand: he'd lost all control over this situation. He had no choice but to leave his droids helpless and immobile in the cart while his lover leaped off the speeder he'd been riding and sent it careening, with Rye a helpless passenger, into the convoy of Imperials. Through his sensors, Rye watched Azix land hard on the front fins of one speeder, then twist away from it as it speared into the ground and exploded. He somersaulted off his free hand and rolled under a speeder that pulled up to avoid crashing into him - his lightsaber cut through the speeder diagonally, and took the rider across the hip. The Imperial landed separately from his legs. Dark Side power pushed Azix up into a mighty leap as the Imperials came about and tried to track him. But he was moving too fast, too randomly, trusting in The Force to know where his enemies were and how to maneuver his body between circling speeders.

Azix charged a speeder and leaped, body twisting heels over head as he passed over it. He reached out, snagged the rider's jumpsuit, and dragged her off the speeder so hard it turned sideways, still caught between her legs. Blasterfire pounded the underside of it and the fuel burst into a soft whoosh of flame with barely any explosive force. Azix used the burning vehicle as a shield, running alongside it for a moment before digging in his heels and swinging the speeder around his body like a shot-put. When he released it, its still-burning engines sent it spiraling straight into one of the still-mounted Imperials. They crashed together and the rider went down under the tangle of metal.

There were three Imperials left, and they all wisely got some distance, coming about to train their mounted artillery on Azix as he emerged from behind the wreckage. Azix switched to the Shien grip and flung his lightsaber like a boomerang. The Imperials started firing, but had to scatter for cover as the spinning saber whipped around in a wide circle, cutting straight over their heads before returning to Azix's hand. No sooner had the hilt slapped into his palm than he sent two of the heavy guns' bolts straight back at them. One shattered a windshield and burnt through the body behind it. The other slagged the front end of a speeder and it crashed to the ground on its belly, spitting sparks. Its rider yelped and dove for cover behind it.

The last Imperial turned and fled. Azix let them go. All this, the whole battle, happened before their speeder and cart managed to coast to a stop, and Az caught up with them, flinging himself astride and gunning the accelerator even before his weight could settle.

Rye scanned him for injuries and found no new ones, but tears were carving tracks in the dust that covered his face. He radiated pain, gasping for breath - The Force was carrying him, but to keep fighting was too much to ask.

"Azix," he coaxed struggling with an extremely unpleasant feeling that could only be guilt, "Let's go back. Maybe they won't expect you to turn around when you trounced them so thoroughly. Let's go back to the building and go down that way. If we're quick, maybe we can do it before they catch up."

"You asked me to find another way," Az ground through his teeth. "Now we're committed. Can you please just… shut up, and let me handle this?"

/But the numbers./ Rye didn't let that thought escape his vocoder. He shut up.

On the Imperial Military band, the soldier who'd escaped Azix was yelling at his superiors about bad intel.

[THAT'S NO JEDI,] he spat, signal crackling violently. [THAT'S A BLOODY SITH.]

[COPY MOBILE FOUR, OUR REPORT SAYS JEDI,] a much calmer voice replied. [REPORT CONFLICTS WITH INTEL, PLEASE CONFIRM AND OBSERVE RADIO PROCEDURE FOR CLARITY, OVER.]

[I KNOW A SITH WHEN I SEE ONE, LIFT COMMAND] the fleeing Imperial retorted, his words now higher-pitched and better-measured. [POWER BLAZING RED ALL ABOUT HIM, LIKE HE WAS BLOODY WELL ON FIRE. THAT'S A SITH OR I'M A DISPEPTIC GIZKA, OVER.]

Rye hunted through his vocoder files for a young-sounding Imperial voice and spliced into the signal. [DORN COMMAND ONE, THE SITH COULD BE USING IMPERIAL FORCES TO STRIKE AT EACH OTHER,] he suggested. [NO DISRESPECT MEANT, BUT IT WOULDN'T BE THE FIRST TIME. WE COULD BE IN THE MIDDLE OF SOME INTERNAL SITH CONFLICT, OVER.]

[BLAST,] the calm voice muttered. [HAVE THEY NO SHAME? THIS IS A MERCY MISSION. YOU'D THINK THEY COULD TAKE ONE KRIFFING DAY OFF. ALL UNITS: HOLD FIRE AND CANCEL MOBILE UNITS UNTIL WE CLEAR THIS UP, OVER.]

[SAME SHITE, DIFFERENT DAY,] Another voice offered.

[CARRICK, YOU'VE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO SAVE THE COMEDY ROUTINE FOR THE MESS,] the calm voice said. [RADIO DISCIPLINE, LADS. STAND BY FOR NEW ORDERS.]

[COMMAND ONE, I HAVE THE SITH ON SENSORS,] a technician cut in. [INCOMING AT THREE SEVEN MARK ZERO, SPEED SIX FIVER. ETA SEVENTY SECONDS, MARK.]

[GOT YOUR GROVELING BOOTS ON, COMMAND ONE?] By the voice and the tone, Rye identified the speaker as Carrick again.

[SHUT IT OR YOU'LL BE SCRUBBING LATRINES AGAIN,] Command One replied. [WE JUST LOST FIVE MOBILES, IT'S NOT A KRIFFING JOKE.]

"Azix?"

"Hush," Az muttered.

"No, you need to hear this. You might not have to fight through," he insisted. "I'm listening in on the military band. If you can pull off the Sith act just for a couple minutes without letting the accent slip…."

"WE TRIED THAT, DAMMIT, AND IT DIDN'T WORK," Az snarled, voice hitching. The speeder's engine rumbled louder as his grip tightened. "Rye… please just let me handle this. We don't have time to debate it." The encampment around the lift was now visible.

Rye thought a moment. "This is because I didn't trust you, isn't it? Now you're being petulant and refusing to trust me."

Azix gave a brittle laugh. "Petulant… I am tired," he bit out. "I am in pain. There's a whole camp full of Imperials with heavy weaponry between me and any hope of rest. You wouldn't let me take the easy way down."

"They might," Rye insisted. "Listen – Sith backstab each other all the time, and Imperials are conditioned to fear and obey Sith. Just tell them you'll forgive them for trying to kill you if they let you down into the city. Say you have salvage work for Darth Scion that's more important than some petty grudge."

"And if there's another Sith there who can tell the difference?"

"Then you're prepared for a fight anyway. Azix, please, it will work this time. Just… don't forget the accent, and keep it short and brusque."

The camp grew closer and closer. Heavy artillery was visible beyond the durasteel barricades. Azix ground his teeth together. "THESE are the odds you like," he muttered at last, despair thick in his voice. "Not the quiet way, the easy way. This."

"A sentient being can be reasoned with," was all Rye could offer. "An eighty-story drop can't."

Az chose not to respond to that.

The turrets were unmanned, and the sentry posts quiet as they approached the command center. Azix slowed down, bristling in The Force. Within the outer ring of defense, another set of barricades blocked off teams of Imperial Commandos. Standing between the barricades, unprotected and in full view, was a woman in a neatly tailored Imperial uniform, her hair twisted up under the smart gray cap, boots as shiny as Ziost obsidian. She stood at parade rest, with her chin high and her hands behind her. She looked calm, but the whites of her eyes stood out just a bit too much against her rich, dark skin.

Azix came to a stop and put one foot down, leaning the speeder slightly.

The tension between them was palpable. At least Azix had enough sense not to talk first.

"Sith," the Imperial said finally, "I am Major Drake. I'm in command here. On behalf of my company, I apologize for bringing arms against you. It appears we were given false intelligence. I take full responsibility; please, allow me to bear your wrath so that these soldiers can continue search operations. The work is important to the Empire."

"That would normally be an execution," Rye informed him sotto voce.

He felt Azix's… shock wasn't quite the right word. Discomfort, maybe, or unease. Apparently, he found Imperial protocol an unpleasant surprise. He shifted his weight a little against the speeder.

"How should I address her?" he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

Amusement rippled along Rye's code. "Well, 'Listen, Imperial' is usually a good start."

Azix made a disgusted sound, but he obeyed. "Listen, Imperial," he called, and his accent was at least passable, if muddled. "I've been sent by Darth Scion to recover intelligence of critical importance to The Dark Council." In any other situation, the dire way he lowered his voice to pronounce 'Dark Council' would have been comical. "I will kill anyone who stands in the way of my mission."

"Our intention was not to interfere with the activities of the Sith," Major Drake replied levelly. "You have my deepest apologies. If we can offer any assistance to assure you of our sincerity, and our respect for your Dark Master, please name it."

"This is it," Rye whispered. "This is what you want."

"Shush," Az hissed. He straightened a little. "I know my master's enemies have sent others to try to seize this critical intelligence for themselves. They attempt to curry favor with The Dark Council…." again, Rye felt the oddly spontaneous urge to laugh, "...or horde knowledge for themselves, for personal power. They have made you their pawns."

Major Drake stiffened a little. "A most regrettable error, my lord."

"I respect the work you're doing," Azix declared. "We need as many able bodies as we can get in the face of this catastrophe." His accent was slipping into a pompous, almost bombastic upper-class Kaasi, and Rye quietly muttered at him to dial it back a little; he didn't have the mutton chops to pull it off. "So, you will shuttle me into the depths of the city so I can begin my operation immediately. In exchange, you and I will agree to let this error slide."

The tension broke as not only Drake, but her entire company collectively sagged in relief. "Of course, my lord," she said. "It is our pleasure to serve." She turned. "Prepare a speeder for the sith straightaway. My lord, may I offer some of my men to assist with your equipment?"

"Some of it is salvage," Azix said. "Some is survey equipment specially designed for this mission. If you can handle it carefully, you can assist."

"Of course. I can promise nothing less than consummate professionalism," she declared. Her tone and posture were still self-contained, but even Rye could sense the edge of desperation in her attempts to please them. "You look weary from traveling the wastes. Can I offer you the use of my personal tent to refresh yourself?"

"... I wish I had time," Azix said, and for once he was telling the truth. "But my personal comfort is of no importance. I need to get to the… the archives… as soon as possible."

She clicked her heels together and stood at attention. "Understood, my lord. It will be done." She turned and began to delegate tasks - four Imperials to come and take Azix's speeder and the anti-grav cart, two others to prep and operate the lift, and one to run to the nearest tent and get Azix a hot towel to rub the dirt off his skin. He accepted this with barely-concealed gratitude, his weariness showing through despite his dogged attempts to maintain a facsimile of Imperial aloofness.

Major Drake's dark eyes flicked over him in a way that made Azix a little nervous, especially since Rye's chassis were being carted away where he could no longer whisper advice.

"If you will excuse me for saying, my lord, you look worn to the bone. You're certain you can't spare a moment for a fortifying cup of tea? Not that powdered swill - I brought my favorite pepperflower blend from Dromund Kaas. It's quite restorative."

Azix took a deep breath. She was Imperial. If he showed too much softness, that would damn him as surely as making a linguistic gaffe. "Major," he exhaled. "We already agreed to put this inconvenience behind us. Now you're just sucking up."

Her eyes widened marginally, and her spine stiffened. "Yes, my lord," she said, and turned to stride away from him. But she seemed chastened, not suspicious, so Azix hoped that had been the right call.

He had to admit, though, the Imperials deferred to him with a reverence he'd seldom experienced as a Jedi. When he finished with the towel, a set of hands was waiting to take it. A technician fell into step beside him and, without preamble, began to inform him of various hazards waiting below. And it was fortunate he did - Azix had not anticipated the monoliths would be inside the city too, but apparently they were not only stalking the avenues, but burrowing through the caves and structures and making the architecture unstable. In addition, much of the city had been damaged in the prelude to the cataclysm, though Azix remembered this well enough - he had been puppeted down the streets of New Adasta under the Emperor's influence, and he knew how badly the city had been rocked by violence. The Imperials made quick work of loading both his stolen speeder and the anti-grav cart onto the lift. They simultaneously fawned on him and scurried out of his way like Zeltros jellyfish. Everything was so efficient, done with a minimum of fuss or talk, if he hadn't been just as eager to leave he might have been miffed they were obviously trying to get rid of him. Then, so much quicker and easier than he'd ever hoped, he was standing on a descending lift and watching the lip of the platform rise between himself and the Imperials.

Once the lift began to move, all those helpful hands disappeared, leaving only the technicians concealed behind their reflective goggles. They didn't speak, or even look at him. Major Drake, perhaps deciding not to look a gifted dewback in the mouth, was nowhere to be seen. Azix had the distinct impression he'd been shuttled to his destination and then forgotten.

Imperials.

They hadn't harmed or even jostled Rye's chassis. Azix laid a hand on the bulky chest of the droid as they descended into the thick, almost weighty darkness of New Adasta.

"I know you're really not in the mood," Rye said as the skyscrapers stretched higher and higher above them, "but I told you that would work."

X-x-x

Sith Acolyte Quinn McLoughlin hit the ground before his speeder came to a full stop, slinging the haft of his lightsaber pike across his back as he went to meet the two other acolytes waiting for him at Lift Aurek. They'd parked just inside the barricades, speeders idling as they waited for him to thread his Roche between them. Jakken Unglut was Vultan, olive-skinned, with pure black eyes and cranial ridges that wrapped around his head like a bony crown. He towered over Edain Windborn, an Umbaran mutt whose charcoal skin and pointed ears made him look like some kind of mythical shadow sprite. Despite the heavy clouds, Edain wore his light-filtering goggles, more accustomed to the deep shadows of his homeworld. He grinned when he saw Quinn. Jakken, sweeping his dark gaze across the wasted landscape, merely looked grave.

"Dorn Command had a run-in with your fugitive," Edain announced. "Chatter before things went quiet was that the Rattataki IS a Sith."

"He's not," Quinn said quietly, tilting his head back so he could better make his appeal to Jakken's hulking form. Edain, he knew, would go along on any adventure just for the fun of it. "He's either some kind of interloper, or he's a Jedi who's already gone corrupt. Either way, he's nae one of us, and he doesn't belong here. And that droid he had with him…."

"You said it had a Force presence," Jakken murmured. "What does he want with New Adasta?"

"I don't know," he admitted, "but the droid emphasized survival. If he's nae a native, then he'll be wanting to get off this planet quick as he can, and make for friendly space."

"You said he had a Republic accent?" Edain wondered. "There were reports of Jedi on Ziost leading up to the cataclysm. Some kind of elite strike force. The Emperor took the lot for puppets, maybe one survived."

"That still leaves the original problem," Quinn pointed out, solemn green eyes shifting between his companions. "NOTHING survived the cataclysm. He cannae have been planetside when it happened." His conviction was quiet steel. Edain and Jakken exchanged knowing looks and decided not to argue. When it came to Ziost's dead, Quinn had honor to defend.

"So, it's a mystery," Jakken said. "We can probably ask all these questions when we catch him." The furs stitched under his armor, liberally coated in ash dust, shed gray grit as he slid onto his muscular, rust-colored Vectron. It bobbed under his weight, repulsors whining momentarily before settling into a purring rumble. "Lift Dorn, then."

"Aye." Quinn hopped onto his speeder, and Edain let them lead since his bulky, wide-model Dasta was more difficult to maneuver between the barricades. Its size was less than ideal for navigating rubble-strewn streets, but they might have occasion to be grateful for its heavy guns. Neither Quinn's nor Jakken's speeders had mounted artillery – a Sith was usually dangerous enough on their own. Edain had grown up suicide-running the hostile Umbaran wilderness; if he had to blast something out of his path, he didn't care to slow down. Once they were underway, the Dasta's engine growled thunderously and Edain quickly pulled in front of both of them, scattering ash clouds in his wake.

The Imperials at Lift Dorn spotted them well in advance. Quinn was the one to answer their hail, but Edain pulled up first, sliding his bulky speeder to a stop inches from their outer barricade and leaping down to wait with smug, feigned impatience while his compatriots caught up. When Jakken and Quinn dismounted, the ground commander was already coming out to meet them.

"My lords," she said, sketching a bow that was just short of curtness. "Major Drake. I assume you are here about the Rattataki? We will serve in any way we can." Despite her words, Quinn could feel hostility prickling her aura in The Force.

"The interloper came through here?" Jakken inquired, ambling through the camp to get a closer look at the industrial lift that jutted out over the edge of the canyon.

"My lords, forgive me. You use the term 'interloper', and the intelligence I assume you sent indicated the individual was not Sith. Yet, he displayed a number of Sith qualities when he destroyed four of my mounted troops." There was clear accusation in her tone, and Quinn's mouth twisted, but he answered her levelly.

"We are sorry for your loss, Major. But my intelligence was correct. That individual is NOT Sith. He may wield the Dark Side, but there's a bit more to being Sith than just The Force." His mouth thinned as he watched Jakken stop and interrogate a helmeted lift technician. "It's possible he's one of the Jedi who infiltrated Ziost during the catastrophe."

That startled some of the anger out of her, and she straightened. "Jedi? My Lord, surely that's highly unlikely. My own men witnessed him shrouded in a Dark Side corona and wielding a Sith lightsaber. And granted, the soot would blacken anyone's clothing beyond recognition, but he didn't appear to be wearing Jedi armor. Come to think of it, I noticed he was wearing a sweater advertising one of the local historical sites."

Quinn startled and snapped his fingers. "THAT'S what it was!"

"Hm?" Edain's long, pointed ears, relic of a Sephi ancestor, twitched.

"I noticed something familiar on his shirt when we dueled, but it was bare stained and a proper mess – couldnae get a good look. I thought maybe it was a huttball team, but I think Major Drake's correct. It was a souvenir shirt, and it was for the Brushstroke Canyon Temple and Pilgrimage Site. I knew I recognized that silhouette, I must have gone with my class every year I was in school."

"Lucky," Edain said with a smile. "We didn't take field trips."

Quinn shrugged. "It's nice enough I suppose. A bit dull the second, third, and fourth time around. It's not far from here." He turned to survey the clouded horizon, contemplating his bearings before pointing. "That way. Fits with where I met him, if he came more or less as the shyrack flies, allowing for the terrain..."

"What would an outsider be doing in a museum?"

Quinn considered that question for a moment, then turned furious green eyes on Edain. "Well," he said quietly. "For one thing, he could have gotten a Sith Lightsaber. The museum had a whole exhibit on the history of lightsaber combat. There were dozens of lightsabers, I remember. Could be one or two of them still work."

Edain's eyes, a flagrantly offensive pink-purple that gleamed with the suggestion of infra-red vision, widened. "Clever bastard," he remarked.

"He stated he was here at the behest of Darth Scion," Major Drake interjected. "And that he was retrieving Intelligence for the Council."

Understanding rippled between Edain and Quinn, and Edain turned to fetch their speeder's, putting them in neutral so they could be walked to the lift. Quinn turned to Major Drake.

"What we have is an imposter, Major. An individual posing as Sith to gain access to the city. We don't yet know why, but whatever he's after, he must not have it. I trust you'll make the report and put the search teams on alert. We will continue to track the interloper. In addition, please contact Darth Scion's office and see if he's ever heard of someone matching this Rattataki's description. You've obviously got a keen eye for detail," he allowed. "Don't disappoint me."

She showed her frustration only in a purse of her lips. "Of course, my lord. Right away."

"Let me give you my comm code. I expect to hear from you promptly when you have any information of use." He held out his hand, and she did not hesitate to dig out her comm unit and pass it to him so he could send himself a brief, text-only message and log the data. He ignored her sour expression when he returned the comm unit. "Ready the lift."

"My lord." She moved away, and Quinn went to join Edain and Jakken at the loading platform. The technician Jakken had been speaking to was in the control booth, bringing the lift up. The lift was large enough for all three speeders, and Quinn swung a leg over the Roche, making sure it was in park for the trip down.

"Should we investigate the museum?" Edain wondered aloud, but Jakken shook his head.

"Whatever this Rattataki wants, it's not there. He came here for a reason." Jakken tilted his regally misshapen head to look down into the utter darkness that had swallowed New Adasta. "And if he is after Imperial secrets, we'll stop him hard."

"Frankly, I couldn't give a guff what he's after," Quinn said coldly. "This world is a grave, and the dead are restless. If he's not one of us, he's got no business trespassing. Someone needs to teach him a bit of respect."

Edain and Jakken exchanged a look. "Right," Edain said, shifting in his seat and caressing the steering rods. "Respect."

Quinn glanced at him sidelong. "Don't whinge," he suggested as the darkness rose up and swallowed all light except their speeders' headlamps. "You'll get a turn." He turned back, rage prickling cold in his aura, rippling in The Force. "It'll be a long, hard lesson."

Notes:

(( Quinn's phrasing is... questionable. Let me assure you, he's referring to garden-variety torture.))