MEMORIES VI

Vigan'ara

I killed my father.

Were these her hands? They didn't feel like her hands, not the same ones that had cared for her twin sister for nearly a decade and a half. They had certainly fired blasters, they had certainly drawn blood, and they had certainly killed other beings…but…family? A kinslayer?

I killed my father.

The word was taboo. Kinslayer. The Ascendancy rarely ever bestowed such a title, and it was hardly an honor. It was a death mark. It was shame. It was destitution.

Vigan'ara'hro…the Kinslayer. All those men and women she killed just to sit in that room…just to look that man in the eye as she pulled that trigger, and ended his life. She'd ran after that, about as best as her glass-tattered legs would carry her, ran to her speeder, and dusted off without a second look…without even a thought about her doomed twin sister.

Twin sister of a kinslayer.

I killed my father.

She had nowhere to go, and the only person she could turn to was gone…so she did what she did best. She lied. She stole. She hurt. The amps had helped ease the pain a little, not just the thought replaying in her head, but also the sick, twisted feeling of something missing in her gut; her muscles crying out of enhancement…for the only supplement that had kept them going.

She ran out three days ago.

Her teeth had chattered for a long time in that speeder, as well as the cargo deck of a freighter bound for Csilla. A day's travel…a day of nightmares keeping her eyes fixed open, nightmares of a red-optic woman crushing her throat. She knew what they were, but never bothered to admit it. Kept the pain at bay, which was already mounting.

She spent her last credit paying for a tour, and the last hours lying in an office.

By the time Ar'alani walked through that door, Narah was pretty sure she was already dead. It took hours of intensive care just to let her see straight again…and to pick the shards of glass out of her leg that had been stuck under her skin. Multiple infections. Permanent scarring. Vomit. Lots of vomit.

No damn amps. She couldn't think without those amps.

I killed my father.

"I fucking killed my father," the words finally came out, tears long dry, Ar'alani long aware. "I can't stay here."

"No…you can't," the Admiral replied, echoing her thoughts in a manner that had already maddened her long enough. "The Syndicure will not miss Aristocra Nator, but murder is murder, no matter how just the motive."

"You should've seen her…Nerah," Narah trembled, her head held up by her palms plastered against her tattooed temples. "She was a completely different person…scarred…cut. I could see her…but she wasn't her…she wasn't Nerah. She entered a room, and they took me away. I just…wanted to talk, but he was dead before I even knew it. Maybe I wanted to kill him. I don't know. I can't tell."

Ar'alani was silent, standing on the other side of her desk with her arms crossed, her red eyes fixed downwards on Narah's downcast form.

"Just turn me in. I want the damn screaming to stop," Narah almost plead, dropping her arms and looking up to her. An untrained eye would see nothing in the stern woman's expression, but Narah kept looking. There was pity, more frustration…but also…pride?

"You have more options than you think," Ar'alani reasoned. "But it all depends on your commitment to the Ascendancy. You may have killed your father, but have you betrayed our people?"

Narah shook her head. "Never. I did this for our people…for my sister," she replied with a fervor. "My father was a blight on our people and I just—"

I killed my father.

She trembled. "Oh my…I killed my fucking father."

"Listen to me!" Ar'alani implored, not an ounce of jest in her tone, body language or expression. "What you have done has been done. The sooner you accept that, the clearer your mind will be. Continue to question your reality, and your reality will remain in question, and you will perpetuate a state of inaction."

Same damn speech…and it worked every time, now being no different.

Deep breaths…deep breaths.

I killed my father.

Narah calmed herself, and closed her eyes.

I killed my father.

She killed her father. Her father is dead.

"I killed my father," she said. "He's dead."

Ar'alani inclined her head, and withdrew herself. "Yes. He's dead. You killed him. As I stated before, the Syndicure may turn a blind eye, but your House certainly will not…so I am giving you a choice."

Narah swallowed, then nodded. "Let's hear it."

"Your first option is to remain here, continue serving as my Commander, and hope House Vigan does not charge you for serial murder, a punishment that will leave you marked as a kinslayer and further unable to ever serve in the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet. House Vigan will likely gain grounds to execute you in time, either that or exile from the Ascendancy with the threat of retribution," Ar'alani listed.

Narah bowed her head, letting out a deep sigh with the destitute option. Ar'alani was also leaving out the part where her sister would likely be the one hunting her down, but she imagined that was on purpose.

"And…my second option?"

Ar'alani pulled out her questis, and keyed the small holoprojector to display an image of an oddly shaped helmet. "You exile yourself now, leaving the Chaos and the Ascendancy behind, but with a mandate assigned by myself. There are tales of warriors who experience no fear, back down to no enemy…ones who call themselves Mandalorians. Your martial skills could prove useful to them, and with your demeanor, I imagine you would fit in fine."

Narah furrowed her brow. Mandalorians? Yes, she'd heard of them, but only in ancient tales and stories. No one in the Ascendancy actually thought they were real…same thing with the supposed Jedi Order her father had raved like a madman about.

"You want me to leave the only home I have ever known to chase after some magical cult of warriors who probably don't exist? Why?" Narah asked. "What could we possibly gain from such a quest?"

"Probably nothing," Ar'alani shrugged. "If not, you can survive for perhaps a decade and try to return…and most likely face the same results. You are one of the only people in the Ascendancy that understands the threats we face, and according to Mitth'raw'nuruodo, these tales are more than just fantastical fiction."

Narah growled. Thrawn. Ar'alani always bringing up that damn art-stuffed bastard who only worsened Nerah's situation. He'd completely corrupted her…and as far as Narah was concerned, was completely complicit in her current state.

But this…Narah had no one to blame but herself.

"We need allies, Vigan'ara," she said, and Narah didn't miss the fact that she'd left out her final syllable. "You can help us find them."

"I don't really have much choice, do I?" she pondered, feeling entrapped. She'd tried to smooth it all over in her mind, but there was no way to shine the turd she had unveiled. Exile without death was probably the best she could hope for…but that would mean leaving everything behind…her post, her dress reds, her future…her sister, her Admiral.

All to find some…myth.

It was all she had, and once she opened her mouth to accept it, she felt Narah die within her…

Nara would not abandon her family, however…ever.

"I'm sorry, Admiral," she said, bowing her head. "I couldn't control myself…I tried, but…he said something to me…and something inside just…snapped."

Ar'alani regarded her for a moment, and Nara heard her walk around her desk to take the seat next to her, leaning back with a relaxing huff. "You don't have to tell me. I…understand, especially at your age, it can be hard to deal with impulses, and I cannot imagine that supplemented with all the enhancements he had been giving you."

The amps…the damn amps. Oh how badly she wanted one right now.

"The doctors told me you are suffering from withdrawals as well," Ar'alani noted. "They gave me medication for you to take…if you want it."

Pills? At her age?

Nara shook her head. "I-I don't think I want…I want—"

"Hey, hey," Ar'alani caught her arm, just before she felt her eyes leak teardrops onto her pants, followed by a harsh snivel to fight them away. "Don't cry, you're going to be alright."

"Look at me…" Nara sniffed. "I'm a murderer, kinslayer, stim addict, all in my teenaged years. Why do you keep me around anyway? I've failed you in every possible way. There are others like me…other young cadets—"

"There are no others like you, Vigan'ara," Ar'alani implored. "You've faced more adversity in just over a decade than most face in their entire lives, and yet you always stood up for those around you. You protected your sister, taking the fall for her wherever you could. You defied your father to help serve a higher purpose, and your martial prowess…it's more natural than you may think."

Nara wiped her eyes, still looking towards the desk.

"You have more courage and conviction than I have ever seen in anyone so young, and that is what we desperately need more than ever. You made a mistake, so be it…but I will not let your efforts be wasted, or your talents, especially if that mistake was for the greater good."

Greater good.

Ar'alani had done all this for her, and she'd be a fool not to take this chance. She owed her everything after all, and if this mission could help save the Ascendancy, then she would take it.

Wiping her eyes one last time, she met those stern, determined eyes.

"Where should I start?"