Darth Maul was not simply blustering when he told Gorgosa the Hutt that he would burn a path from Hutt Space to the Separatist capital of Raxus. He meant it: Bimmisaari was only the beginning. One by one, raid by raid. Even if his successive attacks lack the sheer bravado and carnage of the nuclear bombardment that began his campaign, Maul's focus is clear: Leave no doubt in Dooku's mind that the future of the Sith is not his to shape. He shall not go unchallenged. And the one true Dark Lord of the Sith will not tolerate that usurper for much longer.
He has felt the pressure intensifying from roving Separatist patrol fleets. Bimmisaari's devastation drew the Confederacy's ire. They are looking for him. Good. Then look now to Saleucami, Tyranus and all of your lesser creatures, as I take from you what I please.
For a Techno Union holding, Saleucami's defense is far lighter than Maul anticipates. He and his insertion team—Savage included—ride sensor-masked shuttles right past the orbital defense grid of the hot, dry planet and reach the ground without so much as a single shot fired their way. Across the cracked, parched, dark ground, bulbous passatta trees rise as high as ten-story buildings and half as wide. Bat-like reptilian flyers skate through the bubble-cloud skies. A rare sight: Fauna is scarce here around the equator, which houses most of the Techno Union's corporate and industrial holdings on a planet whose people wanted nothing else than to stay out of this war. Few civilian settlements around these parts. Not as if Maul would care if there were.
He has his eyes set on bigger prey today, far bigger than the simple wanton destruction he unleashed upon Bimmisaari. At a nearby logistics waystation for the Techno Union's ground-orbital transportation network wait six Hardcell-class heavy transports, each equipped with the latest Separatist signal codes and transponder frequencies. Both the codes and the ships themselves will come in quite handy, and Maul has no intention of leaving the planet without them. Victory or death—and he has no intention of dying. Not today. Not until he plunges his lightsaber through the so-called Darth Tyranus and ends his absurd delusions of Sith rulership.
Dooku may have the fleets, the armies, and the sheer manpower to overwhelm Maul's motley collection of pirates, brigands, and degenerates, but Maul has no need for numbers. He has always known his role, ever since his training as a young man under Sidious's tutelage. He is a phantom menace. The Dark Side belongs in the shadow, in the penumbral dusk where the light fades and the cosmic night seizes the horizon. Tyranus clearly never learned that lesson—but he will learn the power that lurks in the sightless paths of the galaxy. Maul is all too happy to show him.
He surveys his crew as they depart their shuttles after landing. Fifty Falleen saboteurs from Black Sun's elite ranks, along with two dozen of the Anjiliac Hutts' most feared infiltrators and marksmen. Then him and Savage. Seventy-six men and the element of surprise against all the might the Separatists can throw at them. It's almost unfair to the battle droids. "We leave Saleucami with those ships or not at all," he says to the gathering. No need for speeches. Inspiring words and rallying cries are the tools of the Jedi. These are professionals, and this is a job. They know their duties. If they don't, he will happily let the Separatists have their way with them. A Sith Lord is only as good as the respect he commands and the dread he instills. "You know your objectives. Disperse into your teams. Once you are free from the docks, make for the rendezvous point. Now—go."
Six groups of eleven, one for each Hardcell, along with Maul, Savage, and eight Black Sun enforcers to attack the transport hub's central control node. Ten minutes once they hit the station, less—if all goes right. The Hardcells are big transports, but like all Separatist ships, they have powerful droid brains that require only a few personnel—and in some cases, none at all—to control them. A fortunate thing for Maul and his ragtag band.
He mounts a speeder bike, then takes off down an arid canyon with Savage and the Falleen at his back. Hot, sand-crusted air. Infernal wind billowing off of the yellow-rock canyon walls, the breeze whistling through the crevices. Stay low, stay off the sensor grid. Hold tight to stealth for as long as they can.
As they weave through the canyon, Savage accelerates alongside him. He points to his wrist scanner. "There's an armored droid column not five klicks out from the station," he shouts over the rushing wind. "Hundreds of battle droids. Tanks."
"They are of no concern," Maul says, peeling around an enormous granite column and rocketing down a long straightaway. "They will be too late to intervene in our affairs, and their weaponry will be unable to penetrate the armor on the transports. All proceeds as planned."
"As you say," Savage growls, hunching over his bike's controls.
Yes. As I say, and as the Dark Side tells me. You will wield it as I do, brother. In time.
The canyon rises and levels out; the waystation looms large ahead on a desert flat just past a huddled oasis. The six Hardcells tower over the deadlands like ruins from some forgotten age, standing stones of fire and metal and will above these plains of dry earth and meager life. A quartet of laser turrets watch over the local skies like hunters, but they will be nothing to the speeder bikes. Too slow, too high. Too weak. Maul plunges down on the foot pedals and the bike accelerates, Savage and the Black Sun troopers falling in behind him. Closer. Closer.
He sees it now. A small sentry position on the sensor perimeter; three guards and a credentials-checking hub that's little more than a shack. Maul straightens up and raises his right hand. He snaps his fingers, motions in a circle. Savage and the Falleen fan out; Maul heads straight in.
Not battle droids, these, but living guards. The first sees Maul as he is almost on top of the unlucky man. The sentry cries out in a mix of confusion and fear and raises his blaster. Maul rises. He jumps into a standing position atop the bike, then leaps clear as the vehicle smashes through the guard. Bloody mist and a horrible crunching noise. The two other guards peel out of the shed, shouting, guns ready. But they will never truly be ready for him.
Tumbling into a landing, Maul leaps forward as he ignites his lightsaber. He's had time since Mandalore to craft a new one. Just like the old from his days as a mere apprentice to Sidious: Double blades, red, menacing. He jerks and the left blade saws through the first guard with ease. The second trooper fires; Maul is faster. He knocks the shot away, lightsaber flashing, then reaches out and grabs the man in a chokehold with the Force. He could interrogate him. Spare him. But that is not the way of the Sith.
Maul clenches his fist. The man dies.
Savage hails him on the wrist link as Maul enters the shed. "Battle droids."
"Destroy them."
"I already have. Proceeding on course."
Maul scowls as he considers the shed's security console. Either this place isn't important or the Separatists don't think the Republic will attack Saleucami any time soon; from here he can shut off a whole quarter of the perimeter sensor grid. And so he does—with one stroke of his finger his entire insertion team should get through undetected. Maul, Savage, and the Falleen will suck up the attention of anyone who does take notice.
As he moves to head towards the facility proper, however, Maul pauses. He feels a tremor in the Force. A wavering, a quaking. Then a descent. He and Savage are not alone. There is something here, a shiver in the Dark Side that stirs his anger. Tyranus? No, not on a world like Saleucami—even if Dooku knew Maul was here, it's doubtful he'd come to deal with him in person. Something else. Someone else.
No time to think about it now. Besides, Maul does not fear who might come. He will destroy them like the rest.
It is a short run up exposed causeways to the squat waystation situated beside the six launching pads. The Hardcells dwarf the humble building, but it is in here that the most important work will be done. Get to the control nodes. Wipe out any resistance along the way. Clear any security hurdles for the transports to launch, then escape. Simple. Obvious.
Maul meets his first battle droid seconds after he's entered the station's murky halls. "Ah! A—a Jedi!" shouts the battle droid as it spots his lightsaber.
"No," Maul seethes. He pushes the droid with the Force, blasting the automaton into a wall. The impact snaps servos and ruptures power lines; in one brutal move the droid is nothing more than a heap of useless metal. Maul moves on.
Industrial tubing lines the walls. Sickly yellow lights illuminating the halls. Body after body falling the floor as Maul slices through droid and organic alike, wasting no time in sprinting through the facility. Up, up, and ahead. He has no time to waste. He rounds a rising corner only to find a battle droid in the process of being cut in two by Savage. The burly Zabrak turns to his brother, grunts, and kicks the bisected droid's remains away. "One more hallway," he says.
"Let us make their acquaintance, then," says Maul.
The control center's staff has sealed the operations nexus closed with a pair of blast doors; Savage makes his annoyance known by plunging his lightsaber into the thick metal and twisting. Maul touches his hand to the door and concentrates. "I sense quite a few," he murmurs. "Where are the Falleen?"
"Right behind me. They'll be here as soon as we're done with whoever's inside," Savage groans as he burns through the door.
In no time at all he's made an entrance. Savage draws his lightsaber back and blasts a burning hole in the door before diving through. Maul is right on his heels.
Blaster bolts fly. A feeble exercise. Maul casually cuts down a battle droid, shoves aside another. Savage sinks into his anger and lets loose his fury, rushing through a whole squad of droids before turning his lightsaber on the cowering operations staff. Flashing red hatred. Cries of despair. Screams of agony. Muscle and sinew and training and the Dark Side tearing apart all who would defy them.
Maul told him in hyperspace to leave not a soul alive. Savage kills them all. So quick. So lethal. A fine apprentice he is becoming. A fine Sith. Far better than anything Tyranus could craft.
"See to those consoles," Maul orders the Black Sun troopers as they shuffle inside in the wake of Savage's massacre. "Ensure our teams are to their ships and that no security lockdown will stop them from launching."
"What next? Find anyone else who needs killing?" Savage growls.
Maul turns and frowns. There it is again. A turning in the Dark Side. A quiver. A wave. So much closer, so much stronger, as if it is right on top of him. He cannot let this go unattended. "Ensure no one comes to disturb them," he murmurs to Savage, indicating the Black Sun soldiers now punching away at the operations control consoles to give the Hardcells a clear path for launch. By now his individual squads should have cleared out any resistance at each transport. If not, it's far, far too late to change course. "I will see to another matter."
Leaving Savage in the operations room, Maul heads back out into the consoles, pushing deeper into the facility, down into its industrial heart. Closer, closer. The Dark Side twists and churns like a nightmare in his head. Such power. He grits his teeth as he descends into the installation's power core, a great hall of eight cylindrical fusion reactors steaming and chugging as pipes and wiring criss-cross the vault-like room. A trio of catwalks rise above the pipe-lined floor. As Maul heads down the highest of them, he presses a palm to his forehead. It is right here. So close. What? Who?
He throws open the sliding door at the end of the catwalk. Broken pipes and coolant valves hiss beyond, casting thick, billowing fog. Darkness beyond. But the darkness does not remain for long.
A red glow. A familiar hum. A scarlet lightsaber ignites in the fog, and a shadowed, hooded figure advances.
Maul snarls and ignites his own blade. Dooku. But he knows: No. It is not Tyranus.
The first he sees of his adversary is the arm. Corrupted, demonic. Crystal-like projections poking out from devastated skin. It isn't even human any more, but a limb twisted and wrenched from the Dark Side itself. Yet it moves, its fingers twitch, and its wielder seems no less concerned for its state. That face, that devilish grin, that ragged, gray-brown chin stubble. Maul's intelligence contacts in Separatist networks have told him that Dooku has claimed a new apprentice. A fallen Jedi—a Master, even.
And he knows the name. Taron Malicos.
The fallen Jedi snickers as he steps out of the fog, lightsaber arm relaxed. "Well," he leers. "This is not exactly where I thought we'd make our acquaintance. Dooku's told me quite a bit about you."
"Another pretender," Maul growls.
"Oh, is that what I am?" Malicos says, raising his chin, staring down at Maul with beady eyes. "What's that make you, then?"
Maul paces before him, anger raging. "You follow Tyranus. He broke you to his will. You are nothing. Nothing but a tamed animal. Another Jedi with ambitions beyond your station," he spits. "Know this before I kill you and send Tyranus your head: You are no Sith. You will never truly know the Dark Side as I have."
Malicos nods and licks his lips. "Noted," he says.
Then, in a flash, he reaches out, grabs a coolant control tube on the wall with the Force, rips it free, and hurls it at Maul.
So quick. Maul dances away, launching himself airborne and flipping over the tube as it careens past him. He lands on one of the lower catwalks as the now-broken coolant tube spews fog. In the next moment a lightsaber slices through the mist. Maul blocks, backpedals. Malicos slices. Block, parry, dodge the counter. Malicos laughs as he attacks over and over, not a mote of hesitation in all that aggression. He is not just angry, not just hateful: The fallen Jedi is having fun. "Your time's passed, you tattooed freak," he chortles as he jabs at Maul, parries, ripostes, slashes. He backsteps away from Maul's slices, reaches up to the ceiling towards a coolant pipeline, and crushes it with the Force. Hundreds of gallons of liquid coolant waterfall down. Maul leaps away to the only unaffected catwalk as Malicos pursues. Maul, slashes at his legs as he lands; Malicos flips, cuts downward. Maul only just stays ahead of his swings. "You think you can stand up to Dooku? You can't even stop me! You're a relic; washed-up. Pathetic!"
Maul bellows in anger. He reaches back and throws a blast of the Force that hits Malicos in mid-attack; the fallen Jedi flies back, just managing to catch the catwalk and pull himself over its lip. With a moment free, Maul snatches up a power cell from the nearest fusion reactor and hurls it like a javelin.
Malicos blows through it with his lightsaber. Flame belches across the man; the stubble-hairs of his chin light up like matches. Still he attacks. His eyes are wild, barbaric, his laughter feral. But he is not the only one here who attacks with such untamed might.
As he drives Maul back, the door behind them flies off its hinges and Savage joins the fight. He roars as he surges past Maul, driving his lightsaber at Malicos. The fallen Jedi knocks the blade away and jabs, only to be swept aside by Maul's blade. Savage reaches out with the Force in the moment and grabs Malicos by the throat—and for a moment Maul thinks that will be it for Dooku's newest apprentice.
But Malicos is not so weak as to die this soon. He reaches out with that monstrous, inhuman arm, and launches a power so strong Maul himself has never mastered it.
He blasts Savage aside with a burst of Force Lightning. The force is so strong that it launches Savage like a gale, the burly Zabrak tumbling to the ground, his vest smoking. He growls and rises as Malicos howls, unleashing a storm of lightning with which he rakes the reactors. Coolant pipes burst; wiring sparks and fries. Fires flare up. Maul grits his teeth at the sight of the destruction. He needs to act: Malicos is far stronger than he imagined. He reaches out with the Force, focuses on the metal struts that keep the catwalks level, and wrenches them free.
The walkway collapses. Malicos slips and falls as coolant bursts into fog and the fires bloom into infernos. Maul scrambles up the falling catwalk as Savage clambers ahead of him, climbing up into and through the doorway. Maul is just through behind him as one of the reactors flares.
Maul looks back to see a shadowed figure on the ground, black against burning red and yellow. "Run, run, you coward!" Malicos thunders. "I will hunt you down! I will find you again!"
But not today. Maul urges Savage ahead as the reactors melt down. "It is time we leave this place," he pants.
"The transports are away. All six," Savage heaves. "I lost sight of the Falleen."
"They are no longer our concern. Away, brother," says Maul as they run. "Our battle here is finished. And a victory it was."
A spark of rage followed by a loud crash. Sae hurls a datapad at a wall and screams, "It's not my fault! Get out! Leave me alone!"
The sparking, twisted mess of the shattered datapad answers her with silence. Silence—all her ears pick up here in the loneliness of the Ziost base, here where she is stuck while Malicos is off to hunt down bandits or whatever he is doing. Here where her thoughts can torment her as long as they want. And they have; oh have they preyed upon her. Mostly it is Master Gallia haunting her, foremost among the ghosts that remind her of her failures, point out her weaknesses, pick on her vulnerabilities. Sometimes it is Tamri. Sometimes a hybridization of the two that now is beginning to take on characteristics and features from the Jedi she knew who fell at Geonosis, one amalgam of all her losses and all her pain reminding her from beyond the grave that she has no business surviving.
Yet she has survived. Even if it is only her anger at this sad, pathetic situation that keeps her moving forward.
She is not so alone, however. Sae feels the eyes on her back before she sees them. She turns, spies Pella looking at her from cover behind a wall. Just eyes and hair peeking out. The mix of sympathy and rage that fills Sae nauseates her: This idiot of a girl, Pella. Trying to look after her only brings up more memories of Tamri, more ghosts fueled by the Celestial's influence to taunt her and provoke her. Oh, what is the point? She has let herself fear, let herself hate. She can't even hide it anymore: She has embraced the Dark Side. No point lying about it when it constantly laughs at her self-hatred. But if she's willing to tread the dark path, shouldn't she simply kill this girl who reminds her of her lost apprentice? Pella is nothing to her, only the imprisoned Padawan Dooku decided to burden her with. She's hers to do with as she sees fit, and that includes disposing of her.
Maybe if she kills her, Tamri's ghost will leave her alone. She's willing to try anything at this point.
Sae ignites her lightsaber, stares at the thrumming red blade. Pella looks on. Then Sae deactivates it and tosses the hilt to the girl. "Pick it up," she grumbles. When Pella only gazes at the lightsaber, Sae lets her irritation get the better of her. She doesn't even try to control her emotions anymore. After all, what's the point? Where has that gotten her? She grabs the fragments of the shattered datapad with the Force and hurls the shotgun-like volley at Pella as the girl ducks. "Pick it up!"
Pella grabs the hilt, but she does not turn the saber on, only eying Sae warily. Sae spits. "I'm going to hit you if you don't attack me first," she says. "Just take the lightsaber and stab me with it. Easy as that. You can do that, can't you? I'm keeping you prisoner. Me and Dooku and wherever Malicos ran off to, but I'm the only one here right now. Without me you can go run off to wherever you want. So do it. Get on with it. Get on with it or I'll hit you."
When Pella does not react, Sae's frustration boils over. She can't take her life. Dooku can't take her life. Even this idiot girl can't do it. The whole galaxy is one vast disappointment. Irritation so quickly burns red and fuels a burn of anger, and Sae grabs a drinking glass and telekinetically launches it at Pella's face. The girl shrieks and ignites the blade. The lightsaber slices the glass in two, the red light glowing off of Pella's platinum hair. She stares at it open-mouthed, as if it is an alien, a curse, in her hands. Unnatural. Abominable.
"There, see? Easy. Now just lower it and run forward. You can even close your eyes," Sae says, spreading her arms. "Do it or another one's coming your way."
Again Pella hesitates. Sae scowls. She marches up and wrenches the lightsaber from the girl's hands. "You piss me off," she snaps. "Blazes, if only I had Tamri back."
"Who's Tamri?" Pella asks meekly, her voice so much softer than Sae expected it to be.
But she doesn't care for the girl's voice, and she especially doesn't care for her question. She levels the lightsaber at her so that the tip is mere inches from Pella's face. "Not another word about her," she snaps. "Not one more."
Pella quiets and holds up her hands. Sae draws the saber away, frowns, and slumps down onto a free chair. She looks back at Pella, frowns, looks away. Looks back again. The girl has not moved. "Who was your master?" she murmurs. Anything to keep the thoughts away from her memories. "Whoever he was, he obviously didn't do a good job."
As if stung by the barb, Pella takes a step forward and her face darkens. "Danba Nago. And he was a good man," she says.
Sae laughs. "No idea who that is. And good man? So when's he coming to pick you up? I'll say hello," she says. When Pella doesn't respond, Sae shakes her head. "A good mentor comes for her apprentice. Or his, in your case. She—he—doesn't let them down. It's only the shitty ones who leave their pupils to die."
"Is that what you did to that Tamri?"
Sae slaps her away with a blast of the Force. As Pella cries in a heap on the ground, Sae looms over her, grabs her wrist, and pulls her up. "I've left a whole list of people to die. I let down everyone who gave a damn. So think long and hard about what I'll leave you to if you keep asking that kind of question," she says. "One more body isn't going to bother me. I'm way past that point, girl."
She lets Pella go. "You're mad. Good," she says, feeling the girl's rising anger. "It's the only way to feel about any of this."
Two days later Count Dooku returns. When Sae kneels before him, she does so indifferently. The action has no meaning. Loyalty: A joke. She is only moving forward, in whatever way that requires. She doesn't even know why. "I can feel a change in you," Dooku says as he beckons her to rise. "Like Taron Malicos, you have embraced your anger. A powerful Sith you will become, Sae Tristess. But unlike him, you channel your hatred differently. You are not so untamed, so brash."
"No," Sae says, "My Lord."
"In truth, I respect that. Admire it," Dooku says as he motions for her to follow him. "Battle is a place for the fires of savagery, but war is much more than a battle, and the Dark Side is so much more than combat. We must cultivate that insidious hatred of yours. That rage you turn against yourself will be so much stronger when you wield it against others. But all things in time. Come. Look."
He draws her into a small communications chamber centered around a floor-mounted holoprojector. When he lights the hologram, it projects a blue-electric visage of the galaxy that strikes Sae with the mental image of the Celestial's projections. A spike of pain spears her chest. If Dooku senses it, however, he ignores it. "I received word from Malicos yesterday. He has made contact with the former Sith apprentice, Darth Maul, on Saleucami," Dooku murmurs as red pinpricks of light blossom on the galaxy map. "We know now the bombing of Bimmisaari was no isolated act. We are now facing a two-front war: One front against the Republic and the Jedi, another against this shadow force Darth Maul has conjured. I have ordered Malicos to command a search-and-destroy action against Maul, but it will take him time to corner the enemy. That brings us, then, to you."
Sae feels no fear when she looks the Dark Lord of the Sith in the face. "I'm ready to fight if you need me."
"Yes, I can sense your restlessness," says Dooku. "Soon I will call you into action against the Republic. A Republic officer, Wilhuff Tarkin, is in the middle of a series of attacks up the Rimma Trade Route from Yag'Dhul. While our forces have mostly vacated the area, we cannot allow such a campaign to go unopposed. When the time comes, you will move to oppose him," he says. "And you will do so at my side. I have foreseen a great battle to come on the volcanic surface of Sullust. You, and I—and the Jedi. A shadow among them."
Sae says nothing. She can fill in the obvious: It wasn't the Force that gave him that sight. He spoke to the Celestial again. Dooku is coming to rely on that ancient prisoner. Too much, in her mind—she knows by now just how much its visions have hurt her. But she will not intervene; better to let things fall as they may. If the Celestial really turns out to be nothing more than a harmless prediction engine, than so be it. Advantage to Dooku. But Sae doubts that is all that raging old monster is.
"One more thing," Dooku murmurs, still eying the galaxy map. "The girl. Pella Starseer. I have sensed a change in her."
"She is nothing to me," Sae murmurs.
Dooku grins knowingly. "I doubt that," he says. "She is as untamed as Malicos, but she has potential. She is gifted in the ways of the Force, even if she is a mere child still. The Sith Order we are building is yet in its infancy, and we cannot afford to ignore those who would wield the Dark Side with power and intent. I can feel that Pella is afraid of her circumstances. She is awash in that fear. But I also can feel that that fear is turning to anger. Even a kindling of hate." Dooku looks to her. "You will take her as your apprentice. Train her. Make her a warrior of the Dark Side. Feed her anger and teach her to use it."
Sae swallows. In the back of her mind she knew it would come to this. There was a reason he left her alone with Pella. There was a reason he left her alone in the base all this time. She wanted nothing more than to abandon all attachments, all connections, all that writhing morass of humanity. Let it go with the past. But she just can't get away.
Well, so be it. She cannot countermand Count Dooku of all people. All she can do is keep going—with or without someone else by her side.
That tickling anxiety in her chest again. That feeling that started it all. The first hint of fear. Fear of losing another.
For a meeting by hologram, this is a grand gathering.
Anakin leans back in the hypercomms suite inside of Padme's Naboo courier as the float between hyperspace jumps, Dantooine now just a distant memory light years behind them. Governor Matele was happy to spill plenty of details once Anakin had him at his mercy (and used a few Force tricks to keep him talking), and now he passes the rewards of the Dantooine job off to the listening Jedi Council. Obi-Wan, Master Yoda, Mace Windu—all the holographic Masters in their seats projected before him. And he is not the only one connected to this meeting from far away. In her own holographic form stands Ahsoka, her arms folded over her chest as she listens to his testimony. There's something different about her, he thinks. Confidence? Self-assurance? Something.
Maybe it was a good idea sending her off to Ilum after all. At the very least, he wants to see her new lightsaber.
"Let me get this straight, Skywalker," Mace Windu says as Anakin finishes his preliminary report. "Matele and Dantooine were able to request an entire star destroyer squadron from Orson Krennic just by asking politely?"
"Based on the transmissions we found, it seems that the planet's defense was part of their deal, Master Windu," says Anakin. "Because Krennic was having Matele and Dantooine send kyber crystals to Coruscant, Krennic had the military on standby to assist Dantooine in the event of a Separatist attack—which we saw firsthand."
"It sounds as if quite a few credits were changing hands, as well," says Obi-Wan. His holographic form turns to Master Yoda. "This matches up with what Senator Organa and I heard from Galen Erso. Although he was kept in the dark about the operation, thinking he was simply part of a civil engineering project."
"It lines up with the equipment I found on Ilum, too," Ahsoka chimes in. "Someone wants kyber crystals in a big way."
Master Yoda shakes his head. "Mentioned their power before, have we. Used to power superweapons, kyber crystals once were. Long ago, by Sith and Dark Side practitioners."
Master Windu lowers his head. "I don't like this," he says. "Whether or not kyber crystals are the real focus of this investigation or not—and whether or not there is a superweapon in Sith hands beyond our intelligence regarding Ziost—"
"What are we doing about that, by the way, Master?" Anakin cuts in.
"Patience, Anakin. The losses we took at Ziost mean we can't simply charge at that world again, even with the danger it poses. For now, we're weighing our options," says Obi-Wan.
Windu nods. "The real threat—the present threat—is that there is a Dark Side presence right in the heart of the Republic. A presence strong enough, and connected enough, that it clearly has its hands in divisions such as the Special Weapons Group and, possibly, the Corps of Engineers. Maybe even the Senate. The Dark Side may even be able to influence our own fleet movements. If that is the case, this war could take an even worse turn."
"We still have yet to identify the Sith Lord behind Dooku's rise to power," Ki-Adi-Mundi says.
"If what Dooku told me on Mandalore was in any way true, that may be a rather convoluted end to tie off," says Obi-Wan. "The whole situation is muddy, Dooku and the Sith's involvement included."
"Pull the Republic apart, it will, if we let it," murmurs Yoda. "An opportunity for the Sith, the instability in the Senate provides. Grave, the danger is, if unite, we cannot."
Windu looks to Anakin. "Bring the senator home, Anakin," he says. "Activity's picked up the Senate with Chancellor Palpatine's absence dragging on. Multiple political factions are grouping together, and if the Senate can't agree on a solution to this leadership crisis soon, we fear one faction may simply take a chance and seize power."
"Allow such a drastic action, we cannot," Yoda agrees.
"Senator Amidala's long been an ally to the Jedi. We can't afford to have an advocate for peace and democracy away," says Windu. "Good work out there at Dantooine. That will be all."
Ahsoka glances at Anakin as the hologram shimmers. Then it is gone, and Anakin is alone. He closes his eyes, shakes his head. What a mess.
Padme is there to meet him as he emerges from the comms room. "Just in time. About to jump back into hyperspace," she says. Her smile fades. "What's wrong? Meeting with the Jedi not go well?"
"Ah, it's just…things aren't looking too great on the home front," Anakin says. "Nothing to worry about."
"You can spill your thoughts here, you know. It's just us and deep space. And Threepio and R2, but they're pretty good at keeping their secrets."
Anakin sighs. "The Council thinks the Sith is behind all these strange affairs. The kyber crystals, Dantooine, the Taths, Orson Krennic…who knows who far it goes. And for all I know, they're right. No one has any idea. I feel lost."
Padme touches his arm. "It's tough, isn't it?"
"I don't know if that's the word I'd use. Aggravating, maybe. I hate not knowing what's really going on."
"This is how things fall apart, Anakin. Aggravating, yeah. Frustrating. Chaotic," says Padme. She looks down. "Really, I knew this was a possibility once we were all aware of Chancellor Palpatine's disappearance."
"What do you mean?"
"It's a power vacuum. Vice Chair Amedda's no leader; he's just in it for himself. So now with no one really in charge, everyone's trying to get as much as they can. Power, resources—what happened on Dantooine is just a symptom. Krennic might be the same way—just a man trying to get all he can while covering his back. Who knows where else this sort of behavior's happening that we haven't looked into." She closes her eyes. "Even someone like Tarkin. He's in command of the military now alongside the Jedi, and he's certainly making good use of that power."
"What? Tarkin's just a commander, Padme. He's not a politician."
She looks at him coolly. "I reviewed Holonet feeds when you were in there talking to the Council. Tarkin might just be a commander, but he's also appearing in front of the public an awful lot, and he's quick to give his opinion, and not just on the military affairs of the war. Worse, he's gaining a popular following. Do you know what the Commission for the Preservation of the Republic is?"
Anakin shrugs. "Sort of. Some loyalty program that popped up around the war's start, right?"
"Kinda. They're…well, ultra-patriots. A socio-political, non-governmental—officially—group that holds rallies and has been in support of the Senate giving more and more power to Chancellor Palpatine as the war went on," says Padme. "They have their own lobbyists, their own media backers—and now they're saying that Tarkin is the only person in the Republic who has things right. They think the military should have more authority, even in civilian matters."
"Maybe they're right."
Padme scowls at him. "How can you say that?"
"Look, we're all a mess right now. Chancellor Palpatine's missing and no one in the Senate can get their head around this crisis. Maybe the military does need to step in."
"We're trying."
"From the outside looking in…"
"Anakin—" Padme starts, her face bursting with frustration. She takes a breath before continuing. "It's not that simple. We can't just snap our fingers and fix everything. We're trying. Me and plenty of other senators. But this is still a democracy. We have to work without the boundaries of the law. Otherwise we're just like Count Dooku. We're not tyrants. We can't become tyrants."
Anakin heaves out a breath. "Yeah, I get it. It's just…"
"Aggravating?"
"Yeah."
Anakin's heart thrums, both from the frustration of the Council meeting and this argument. Obi-Wan would tell him to tamp down on that anger, but it's that same hot-bloodedness that keeps him going in battle. In all of this war. He wouldn't have made it this far without that feeling. And when it's rushing, and he looks at Padme, it…well…
She looks at him as if sensing it. "We still have a long set of hyperspace jumps in front of us before we get back home," she says. "Why don't we put all that away?"
"I think I'd like that," he says, wrapping an arm around her. Her cheeks are flushed, blood running hot from the argument as well. "You know what else I'd like?"
She puts her finger over his lips. "Why don't you show me?"
That he can do. In the middle of deep space, there's no one to stop them.
This, Tamri thinks, is quite a ship.
Once the War Maiden is free into hyperspace and Telos and Hosha Tath's battlecruiser aren't even blips on the radar, Tamri spends the next hour exploring the half-yacht, half-corvette. For only seventy-eight meters, per Dominion's measurement, it's quite roomy. Off of the left wing extend seven crew quarters, each with their own small berth. Spacious, clean, silver-walled engineering bay to the rear, just behind the recessed ammunition feed and maintenance depot that services the torpedo tubes and the railgun. A small, well-lit central commons leading off to a two-bed medical station to the right and a secure communications room—complete with a cybersecurity suite, Dominion notes, that can be converted into a cyberwarfare package in a pinch—just up a ladder. A small cargo bay below beside the docking ramp, complete with a pair of swoop bikes tucked into a power recharging station. All of it designed to house someone as tall as an Arkanian, with high, sloping ceilings. Not the slightest chance of feeling claustrophobic in here.
Best of all is just aft of the cockpit, up a ladder and ahead of the comms room.
"This is mine, right?" Avea says as she, Tamri, and Kesh check out the captain's quarters. Or how it would've been used, Tamri thinks—as Yurica Tath's personal bedchamber.
"Hell no, I'm sleeping here. You can have one of the bunks below," Kesh says as they check the place out.
"How about I fight you for it?"
Tamri runs her hand along the wall. A bed at the middle large enough to take the towering Arkanian woman—a veritable sea of a mattress for a human. Furnished dresser of polished wroshyr wood from Kashyyyk. A personal computer terminal connecting with every system in the ship to provide real-time access anywhere and everywhere. Even holographic panels positioned around the room that act as windows to the outside, showing the blue storm of hyperspace rushing past the vessel. Opulent, sure. Over-the-top, absolutely. Nice? Yes.
Tamri flops down on Yurica's bed. Soft. Warm. Relaxing. Blazes, when was the last time she really relaxed? Now she's safe, going home, and she's doing so on perhaps the nicest ship she's ever set foot on. What a welcome change from the mess she's been in ever since Mirial. Not as if Ziost and Korriban were much better, really. "Maybe I'll just sleep here while you two argue," she mumbles into the bedding.
"Really? Come on, don't the Jedi sleep outdoors and stuff like that?" says Kesh.
"Sucks. Better fight me for it now while I still don't have a lightsaber. Once we get back to Coruscant, it's over."
Kesh pauses and looks to Avea. "What does happen when we get there?"
Tamri looks up. "Hm?"
"First, who gets the ship?" says Kesh. "I imagine we're all going our separate ways. Tamri, you'll be back with your Jedi. You got what you wanted, Avea—"
"No I did not, thank you. I wanted my nephew's location, not the hint of places he may or may not be. Where is that droid, anyway?" growls Avea.
Tamri looks to the Selkath. "What're you gonna do, Kesh?"
"I dunno. I always just wanted to escape my stupid situation. I didn't think about what I'd do after that."
"How about we think about who gets the ship once we're safely on Coruscant?" says Avea. "Right now, I'm getting some questions out of the droid."
As much as Tamri wants to rest, she forces herself up and joins Avea in the commons as the Echani woman confronts Dominion. "You," Avea says. "It's question-and-answer time."
"I anticipated this," Dominion says with a smile. He needs to work on that, Tamri thinks. Too plastic-looking, that grin. "Please, go ahead, Miss Vigaro. I will be of as much assistance as I can."
Tamri takes a seat and watches as Avea questions the human replica droid. "First," says Avea, "you know about my husband. You don't know where my nephew is. Do you know anything at all about him?"
"I am aware that Semwes Tallanis Vigaro remains an employee within the Tath network, and was mentioned on a transmission to the Telos facility," says Dominion matter-of-factly. "That being said, I do not know where he may be stationed. I only know that he holds secure access to their network."
"You talked about other Tath installations. Where?"
"I know several research stations, although only one of considerable size and impact as to have frequent communications with Yurica Tath, outside of Arkania and Taris," says Dominion. "It is located on the Mandalorian moon of Concordia. Given the neutrality of the Mandalorians, it is located in a secret and secure area away from scanner or visual detection. Moreover, Mandalorian neutrality has been used as cover for the Concordia facility's operations."
"What sort of operations?"
"Specifically, the installation did not receive its operating instructions from the Taths directly. Not entirely, at least. It was instead a joint facility operating between their shell holdings and the Republic Special Weapons Group."
Tamri coughs. "What?"
"Wait a minute," says Kesh. "Telos is a Separatist planet. How are the Taths having a base that's also in neutral space…but also liaises with the Republic? How do they just cross lines? The galaxy's in the middle of a war."
Dominion smiles at her. Borderline creepy, that smile, Tamri thinks. "I suppose you were not aware, Miss Shurroth. Researchers had only limited data access."
"Aware of what?"
Dominion holds out his hands as if piecing together a puzzle. "Yurica Tath frequently confided in me. Despite her nature, I assure you that she was in fact a conflicted young woman."
Avea snorts. "Crap."
"You wished for answers, Miss Vigaro. These are them. Yurica often felt alone and isolated because of the knowledge she was burdened with, even in her own research facility. I do not make excuses for her actions—particularly not those inflicted upon you, Padawan Dallin. But Yurica was not a simple woman. She wished for an outlet, and she found one she trusted in me. And in the course of sharing her burdens, she revealed a significant amount of detail concerning her mother."
"Hosha?" says Tamri.
"Indeed. Yurica felt as if she was a great disappointment to her mother. She both feared Hosha and wanted to be closer to her."
Tamri swallows. She knows too much about disappointments. "Just as a side thing…who was her father?"
"Ah," says Dominion, "records are unclear. However, it is overwhelmingly likely that Yurica's father is Hosha's cousin, the scientist and popular advocate Solan Tath."
"Cousin? Augh, disgusting," Avea says. "So now we have murderous Arkanians who are incestuous on top of everything."
"If, despite your disgust into their private lives, I may continue," says Dominion. "Yurica herself is a creation of Arkanian genetic engineering. Hosha wished for a perfect child. She was unhappy with the result, and did not hesitate to show Yurica that disappointment. Specifically, she wished to bring Yurica into the fold of a certain secret organization, but found her daughter incapable of living up to its demands."
Tamri leans forward. "What organization?"
"The GenoHaradan. Hosha Tath is a member."
"I have no idea what that is."
"Me neither," says Avea. Kesh shrugs.
Dominion smiles patronizingly, as if educating children. "The GenoHaradan originated as a union of bodyguards and secret police from before the founding of the Republic, as part of the various empires that ruled the Tion Cluster in the wake of the collapse of the Rakatan Infinite Empire. Over time, it morphed into a guild of bounty hunters and assassins dedicated to selective killing in order to promote and preserve galactic stability; it was known primarily for its close work with high-ranking politicians and leaders in the Republic over the thousands of years of the Republic's existence. From what Yurica—and I—know, today it is a secretive cabal of ranking members from various fields, still dedicated to that same goal of galactic stability at all costs. Yurica believed, in a sense, that the cabal was pivotal to keeping the Republic intact over all this time."
"That sounds absolutely ridiculous," blabs Avea. "A secret society keeping the Republic itself afloat over millennia? Come on."
"Yurica believed it was that exact sentiment, Miss Vigaro, that helped ensure the GenoHaradan's secrecy. Its influence was so significant and its mission so vast that word of its existence would produce incredulity in the listener. Hence how it has remained secret over all this time," says Dominion. "After all, there is so little proof."
"Which you have none of, outside of Yurica Tath's words."
"Correct. And yet if she herself is the daughter of a member of the GenoHaradan, what closer proof is there, outside of cornering Hosha herself?" says Dominion. "At any rate, I am included to believe it. Yurica was always deeply afraid of her mother's power. That fear stemmed from far beyond Hosha's influence as a scientist and socialite. In fact, she believed securing Padawan Dallin—a Jedi who might produce all manner of research insights—might be the first step towards rectifying her relationship with her mother."
"Great. Sounds terrible," says Avea. "How does this help me?"
"It helps you, Miss Vigaro, because you now know what you are up against. The Tath organization is not an isolated entity. I know for a fact that It has connections with both the Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems, along with networks within Hutt Space and the Hapes Consortium, among other entities."
Avea leans back in her seat and sighs. "Shit. And this Mandalorian moon, Concordia…what were they doing there?"
"It was a research facility, but not purely so as the Telos base was. Concordia Station was concerned with industrial-scale breeding of killiks as genetically-engineered elite shock troopers. Their insectoid, hive mind nature would ensure perfect loyalty and no sense of self-preservation while instilling relentless killer instinct; killiks are also anatomically larger, hardier, and stronger than most sapient races in the galaxy today. To put it bluntly, the Taths aimed to put Kamino out of business."
Kesh motions to Tamri. "That's sort of what I was talking about. We were doing killik research back on Telos. I didn't know about Concordia, though."
"So…who exactly are they making these shock troopers for?" says Tamri.
Dominion shrugs. "That, Padawan, is a good question."
He rises, bows his head, and tromps off to the cockpit. Avea leans back in her seat and exhales loudly. "Damn," she mutters. "I'm gonna go lay down in my bunk for a while."
She too departs, headed off for the crew berths. "Huh. Guess she won't be fighting for the captain's quarters after all," says Tamri.
Kesh fiddles with the hem of her coat. "So…that was a lot," she says. "I guess it doesn't affect us too much, though, right? We're all going our separate ways after all."
Maybe, thinks Tamri, but maybe not. Dominion said something that she recalls—the Infinite Empire of the Rakata. The galaxy-spanning civilization that supposedly predated the Republic—the same empire that the Sith chronicle on Korriban mentioned when it told her of the Celestial on Ziost. That cannot be a coincidence. Pieces of ancient history long buried are now creeping into the light little by little, paths that have been laid out for millennia finally coming into view.
Perhaps she's overthinking it. Perhaps it's nothing more than minutia of history; perhaps Dominion doesn't even know half of what he says, and Tamri shouldn't bother listening to the human replica droid. Or, she thinks, perhaps they—the four here, the Jedi, the Republic, everyone—are in a far graver danger than she wants to imagine.