The Sanctuary of Regret
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Scourge stood in the creased shadows at the back of the war room. Dark, lonely and silent, the chamber appeared deserted, but he knew better. The crimson glow from the monitors painted her skin almost the same shade as his own. She'd retreated into the high-back chair at the spy's station as far as it would allow, her boot propped against the desk. Her left hand curved over her eyes like a bandit's mask.
Liatrix didn't move, but her voice cut across the war room like a dagger. "If you have something to say—say it."
He stepped into the light. "I saw what you did."
"If you're here to lecture me—don't bother. We don't have resources to waste on traitors. I really don't feel like explaining myself again."
The slight quaver in her tone belied the mettle she projected. She had learned to disguise her anguish well, but not from him.
"That's not why I'm here," he said, ambling closer. "A Sith requires no such explanations. I take it the spy didn't approve of the executions—or the magnitude of the bombing," he accused. Perhaps he didn't hide his feelings well either.
"He didn't say it—but I felt it."
"What he thinks—matters to you?"
"You don't really want the answer to that, do you?"
"Don't be such a slave to expectations." Scourge snorted and propped his hands on his hips. How easily she tested his patience. Her words were knives thrown, designed to provoke his anger and jealousy—tools she could use to push him away. "What will you do next?"
"I don't know, but this doesn't feel over—not by a longshot."
"Clearly, you expected Zakuul's destruction would spell the end of the war."
"Without their interference, the galaxy would be free—from oppression, from financially draining tributes, from star fortresses spying on them, all of it. I ended the war—I gave them their freedom. All I wanted was to go home but that seems impossible now."
"Not if you want it badly enough."
"I'm tired. Taking the Empire back could take years and a civil war would make it even more vulnerable. That's the last thing my father would've wanted."
"You need to stop living for him. His memory is your prison."
She swiped the swell of her cheek on the sly and when she dropped her hand, their eyes met.
His gaze tarried longer than he intended and he marveled at how the real eclipsed the ideal of his memories. Tonight, the oceans were dark as if mirroring a night sky filled with crimson stars. Her eyes were always the last thing he'd see before sleep took him and the last thing before he'd wake. If the grave could reach him, he suspected he'd see them there too.
He'd won her full attention and decided to use it. "Your grief—it festers. You cling to it, relive it, so much so it's etched into your marrow. You could slaughter entire galaxies and never appease it. It won't bring them back."
"I had to avenge them."
"And you've done that in abundance. Use your anger to feed your goals, not your anguish."
"I miss them—so much I can't stand it. At least pissing off Valkorion kept me distracted."
"He's no longer with you."
"Probably realized he wasn't going to get anywhere."
"Perhaps. Though in knowing him as I do, I suspect we haven't seen the last of him. No doubt he lies in wait—making his preparations. If a tool won't serve its purpose, he will forge another."
Her eyes narrowed. "Did you just call me a useless tool?"
"If the boot fits," he teased. "In that brief moment—you sounded almost like yourself again."
"She gets out on occasion."
"You don't have to go through this alone."
"It's better this way."
"I refuse to accept that," he murmured.
"You have to. Don't you see you'd be better off?"
"Hmph. You sound as I once did—trying to justify the absence of emotion. It took me centuries, but I learned I would rather mourn than feel nothing at all. Without emotion our lives are meaningless—we would be Sith no longer."
"Maybe the Jedi had it right all along. Attachments bring nothing but pain."
"You've suffered so long you can no longer find your way out of it. I would guide you—free you—all you need do, is allow it."
Her expression hardened. "Is that why you replaced us? Is that how you coped?"
Scourge frowned. "What? No—that was never my intention where Toska was concerned."
"Toska? Who the hell is Toska? I meant the colony you led on Dromund Fels."
"Very simply, she was you."
"The clone Creant had kept…you found it. Jonas warned me once—that you wouldn't be able to let it go."
"I raised her as a daughter—I spoke of you as her mother. She wanted to be like you, but she lacked your strength. She needed medicine. When I left to seek a remedy, Arcann murdered her, the colony—all I'd built."
"And that was what kept you away."
"I searched the Force for any sign of you—for years, but there was none. Our children dead…I was suddenly responsible for hundreds of lives—I couldn't simply abandon them in favour of a fruitless search."
"But you found time to search for the clone."
"I won't apologize for it. I grieved as you do. The idea I could still possess a part of you haunted me. It became an obsession—just as Zakuul's destruction became yours."
"The man who ordered my children's deaths—I saw his face finally—a shame he was already dead."
"They were as much mine as yours."
"Then why didn't you protect them?"
"You know why."
"Only what Quinn and Lana told me."
"Little remains to be said. My memories are few and clouded. I have no answers." He stared into the darkness as if doing so would help him gather the fragmented memories. "My fighter was destroyed after the Erinyes rammed the capital ship. I woke six months later. But none of this matters. I know what you're doing."
"What am I supposedly doing?"
"Damn you, Liatrix! You will not lay their deaths at my feet. You chose to stay with him. You knew how it would end and yet you stayed."
"I couldn't let my father die alone."
"Like our children did?"
"You were supposed to protect them. You promised. They're dead and I hate you for it. I'll always hate you for it."
Before he could stop himself he wrenched her out of the chair by her wrists. "No," he began, fighting to keep his voice even, fighting the urge to shake her. "Stop pushing me away. It's not me you hate. You made the choice. You left them. Your regret, your self-loathing—it's a stench that clings to you. No matter what you do—one thing will never change: it was your choice and you despise yourselffor it."
"Let me go," she warned.
"I'm not finished, My Lord Emperor—you've isolated yourself—thoroughly. Your allies fear you. Your enemies condemn you. How long before they unite against you?"
"Let them," she snapped.
"You are on the brink of losing everything."
"Not if I have nothing. I'll tell you the same thing I told Theron. Don't anchor your life to mine. I've seen how this ends."
"I will say it once more. Unchecked grief—will not bring them back."
"Don't you think I know that? Why did you come here? What do you want? Really?"
"What I've always wanted. What I still want." He kissed her hard and without mercy. His mouth was a weapon, his lips savaging hers until he tasted the truth of them—hot, moist, salt, and the mellow bitterness of strong tea and sleepless nights. He tasted guilt and regret and blood and when he thought he might lose himself to it, he threw her back into the chair hard enough that it rolled and crashed into the console behind it.
"As if you could push me away so easily," he snarled and stormed out.
Theron pored over the map of reconstructed data he'd pulled from Scorpio's damaged databanks and slid the next piece into place. The panel buzzed its objection like a morning alarm that came too soon.
"Dammit," he growled under his breath.
The agonizingly painstaking process reminded him of the raw-edged, identically-shaped, monochrome puzzles Master Zho liked to inflict on him for fun. 'They're a challenge,' he'd say. 'They build patience—something all Jedi must strive for.'
"And boredom," Theron grumbled now as he had then. He wasn't certain how much patience he'd learned from Zho's sadistic puzzles, but he had developed a certain compulsiveness that fuelled his need for completion enough to quell his more adventurous impulses for a time. Or to keep him from confronting what truly bothered him.
He dragged another virtual piece along the monitor's slick surface and waited to see if the data would sync. The panel buzzed its objection again.
After a string of High Gamorrean profanity, he slumped over the table. "I need a damn drink."
"So do I," came a response from the doorway.
"Are you armed?"
"Armed and dangerous," Jonas said, holding up a bottle of good Kri'gee in one hand and a pair of tumblers pinched between the fingers of the other. He dropped the glasses between them on the table, bit out the cork and poured. "What's all this?"
"Scorpio's databanks—been trying to piece them together."
"And that's going so well, isn't it?"
"Just like everything else around here," he raised his glass in a sarcastic toast. "Scorpio was no factotum droid. There's a lot here and I haven't had time to work on it much, but tonight, I was hoping for the distraction."
"Three guesses from whom, first two don't count."
"You got that right." Theron threw back his drink and blotted his lips together.
"What'd she say?"
"Not much. How can you talk to someone who won't talk? She's drowning and I can't reach her anymore—if I ever could."
Jonas hunched over his glass. "You can't be a hero to someone who doesn't want to be saved. The ship's sinking, my friend."
"Well, this is one ship that isn't going to take its captain with it." Theron's brows puckered miserably and Jonas refilled their tumblers.
"You still believe in her. Even after everything."
"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't getting harder."
Jonas twisted his glass against the surface of the table. "Pretty sure Koth and his crew might have something to say about that."
"What the hell did he think would happen when he got caught? Sith aren't exactly known to be forgiving."
"Knowing Koth, he probably figured he wouldn't get caught."
"S'pose not. Still, I didn't think she'd do…that."
"It's not lookin' so good. More and more holocasters have taken to calling her a war criminal. Ina Zadliz from CorusNet even suggested the Alliance turn her over to the Supreme Chancellor for a bounty. You know the Empire and the Republic are gonna come callin' cause we're circling the drain."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I was hoping I could pull something useful from this mess before it's too late."
"Like what? Zakuul's finished. Arcann and Vaylin dead."
"I don't know exactly. It's just a gut feeling I can't ignore. Valkorion's still out there, somewhere—and my money says Lia's the only one who can stop him. She's done it before."
"Let's hope she can make it stick this time." Jonas eyed the random snippets of jumbled data. "Memory degrades with time—have you tried running a silicon-dating scan?"
"Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but, I need to be alone. Gotta try and do something productive or I'll lose my mind."
"A'right," Jonas pushed back from the table and stood. "Don't gotta ask me twice." He shoved the bottle toward Theron. "Never say I don't do anything for ya."
Theron's lip edged up, but the grudging smile faded as soon as Jonas was out the door.
He circled the table and ran his hand over his jaw. "Memory degradation—might not be such a bad idea after all," he mumbled.
A plan formed and the Kri'gee dulled his mind just enough to keep him from dismissing what seemed too simple of a solution. "If I run a scan—I could date the streams by degradation—group them...then put them through a sorting algorithm. Why the hell not? Got nothin' to lose."
((to be continued…))