Gaius doesn't have time for his sorrows, he only has time for war. And, all in all, that might be a good thing. He rigorously pushes aside thoughts of Portia Metellus and focuses on destroying the Republic shipyards at Sluis Van. He will do his duty and vent his burgeoning Darkness on the enemy.
This is a battle Gaius has planned with meticulous care and much input, modeling the various scenarios again and again to get it right. So when the time comes for the actual mission, he has never felt more prepared. There are a few hiccups during the actual attack, but by and large the original plan holds up even with the random occurrences that inevitably pop up in combat. The Sith ground troops under his command perform admirably, as do their officers. Better still, they secure the target with only moderate damage to the shipyards. That means the infrastructure can be salvaged and utilized for the Empire, as hoped. The Sith troops take fewer casualties for the effort than anyone estimated. Gaius takes personal pride in that particular accomplishment.
His mission down on the surface was supposed to be the hard part, but the accompanying naval battle fast becomes the more treacherous job. For in the upper atmosphere far above the target, Darth Angral narrowly manages to extricate the invading Sith fleet from an improvised Republic trap. It turns out that there are far more enemy capital ships in the near vicinity to Sluis Van than there should be, and they provide quick reinforcements once the battle begins. Those extra ships in close proximity are clear evidence of just how near the Republic came to launching a full-scale invasion of the Empire. The enemy was clearly amassing its forces. But rather than fight the Republic in the skies above Dromund Kaas, the Sith attack on Sluis Van allows the Empire to fight them in their own Outer Rim.
That means Darth Angral's fleet—streamlined to the bare minimum to keep ships available to defend the homeland-is woefully outgunned and outnumbered. Still, the cool-headed aristocrat pulls it off. Thanks to two tricky but well-timed flanking maneuvers, the terrible accuracy of the enemy's light fighters, and a few fortuitous errors by the Republic, Angral manages to even the odds. Then, it's a long slog of carnage in space as the equally matched opponents fight it out. The naval battle ends up lasting many hours longer than the surface shipyard attack.
The Force is with the Sith. Eventually the battle becomes a victorious rout. Darth Angral pretty much destroys an entire Republic armada, preserving the victory at the shipyards and preempting the invasion into the homeland. That last part is less the result of the implicit Sith threat to the Republic Mid Rim and more the consequence of Angral's shockingly big win. Because in the aftermath of Sluis Van, the Republic doesn't have enough ships left to strike at the Empire. And thanks to Gaius' success in seizing the shipyards, there is no place close to repair, refuel, and re-arm the surviving Republic stragglers. They are forced to fall back into the Mid Rim.
With that hasty retreat, the Sith now rule the Republic Outer Rim unopposed.
This end result is everything he and Angral could ever hope for. It is a decisive victory that accomplishes all they had promised the Dark Council . . . and more. The target shipyards are captured. The threat of invasion is averted. The enemy's fleet is decimated. The fear of another genocide can recede for now. All in the Empire can exhale for a moment with the breathing room the Battle of Sluis Van has bought them. For once again, the daring, underdog Sith have acted boldly and they will live to fight another day.
There's something there, Gaius thinks to himself. Perhaps the meaning of his people—the cause of the Sith—should be understood less as revenge and more as survival. Darkness endures. That ought to be the message to the Republic: we are here, we have always been here, we will always be here. Deal with it. You cannot defeat the Dark Side forever. Exile our people, destroy our armies, raze our cities, execute our women and children, and still . . . we will endure. And when we regroup and reestablish ourselves, we will be coming for you. Watch out.
In the aftermath of the day long battle, Gaius hops on a shuttle and heads to the Interrogator to report to Darth Angral. Slowly, Gaius drags his weary self to the bridge. The adrenaline of combat has receded and he's exhausted. He's been awake for almost forty-eight hours now. He's still clad in his battle armor that reeks of sweat and blood and shows scorch marks from explosions and blaster bolts. Part of his cape is torn off. Truly, he looks more the vanquished loser than he does the strutting victor. But the moment Gaius appears on the bridge, the command crew leap to their feet. They clap, cheer, and whistle. It's a moment of recognition from those who understand the meaning and the risk of his mission. It's also a rare atta-boy for a job well done. His boss, immaculate as ever in his eye-popping red armor, comes over to vigorously shake his hand and clap his back. Both he and Angral grin as they exchange mutual congratulations and savor their victory. This will be a day long remembered, Darth Angral predicts, and Gaius hopes he is right.
Only later, after the hubbub dies down and they are in private does his boss deliver the news that he's being posted to a new ship.
"This is because of Adraas, right?"
"Partly," Angral concedes. "Cato Metellus will be rejoining the ship soon to complete his recovery on active duty. I'm sorry, Malgus," his commanding officer tells him, "but Adraas outranks you. So since I will not have the two of you feuding on my ship, you must be the one to go."
Gaius shrugs and pretends he's not hurt. He's worked hard to gain Angral's respect and trust. They make a good team and everyone knows it. And Adraas? Well, he's lazy and mediocre. But still, given the choice between Adraas and himself, Darth Angral choose Adraas. And that feels pretty typical. Sith aristocrats have a longstanding tendency to close ranks amongst themselves.
"Who's my new C.O.?" Gaius asks, hoping it's someone decent. "What ship am I being transferred to?"
"The cruiser, the Naga Sadow."
Gaius makes a face of distaste. "The Naga Sadow? Never heard of it. Tell me it's not some supply frigate." Only the older, peacetime defensive capital ships are named for actual people. In this case, a long dead Dark Lord from ancient times who, ironically enough, was a half breed Sith himself. Not that it mattered back then. In the early days of his people, most everyone with the Force was a genetic mix of Dark Jedi fully human ancestry and pureblood humanoid Sith, and that was fine. Not so now when fully human almost always connotes colonial layman status.
"It's an older cruiser, and a smaller one," his boss answers. "It's been on assignment for homeland defense escorting convoys—"
"Oh, come on!" Gaius reacts. He wins big and this is how he gets rewarded? He fucking hates the Dark Council.
"Easy, Malgus. It's being transferred from defense to offense as part of a new permanent fleet we're organizing to patrol the Rim."
"Okay." It sounds like his new ship is an obsolete bucket of bolts best harvested for scrap. It will be a big step down from the Interrogator, for sure. But at least he'll still be stationed where the action is.
"Who's commanding the new fleet?"
"I am."
"You are?"
"Yes. It's not public yet, but I'm getting that admiral appointment."
Gaius' eyes widen. "So soon?"
"Yes. You're looking at a soon-to-be Rear Admiral. I will get command of the new Rim fleet, with the Interrogator as my flagship."
Gaius slowly nods. "Congratulations, my Lord. That promotion is well deserved." Together, they saved the Empire from invasion, but apparently Darth Angral is getting all the credit. Gaius isn't surprised and he shouldn't be disappointed, but he is. He was the brains of today's operation and everyone knows it, even if Angral showed impressive skills in the implementation. "I'm happy for you, my Lord," he adds glumly.
"Thank you."
"Does this mean my new commanding officer reports to you?" Gaius asks hopefully.
"I will remain your C.O. for now. Malgus, the Naga Sadow is yours to command."
"Mine to command . . . " Gaius meets his boss' eyes and his jaw drops in surprise.
"That's right." Angral's red face now splits in a wide grin. "You're getting your own ship. One year—one damn year—in the Navy and you're commanding your own capital ship! That's unheard of. You just broke my record, Malgus, and by a lightyear! You're the youngest Naval commander ever."
"Wow." This is huge. Just huge. Perhaps the Dark Council doesn't hate him as much as he thought.
"So does that mean I'm getting fast tracked?" Does this mean he will skip the lieutenant ranks altogether? Because Commander Lord Malgus sounds good to his ears. And he will definitely appreciate the pay raise.
"About that . . . Look, the Joint Chiefs are still pretty upset. You're getting your own ship but you're not being promoted. In fact, Azamin told me that there are no plans to promote you in the future."
What? "I don't understand."
"I'm sorry, Malgus, but you're staying an Ensign. Probably permanently."
What the Hell? Ensign is the lowest officer rank for Lords in the Navy. It's the bottommost rung of a very detailed hierarchy, the spot where new Academy graduates begin their careers. "How can you command a ship and not have the rank to do it?"
Angral shrugs and sighs. "It's petty and stupid, but that's how it is. Lord Azamin was emphatic."
Yes, Gaius can easily imagine that. He demands, "What kind of nonsense is this? You're saying that every single Lord on my own ship will outrank me!"
"It doesn't make sense, I know. But you have the commission. It gives you complete control no matter what your rank is."
This news cools Gaius' excitement for his ship considerably. He eyes Angral and doesn't hold back his frustration. "How can I command my own ship and not be at least a Commander? That's never been done in the history of the Navy. It's insulting!"
"Oh, calm down, Malgus. You have been given a great honor—"
"This is fucked up! This is fucked up and you know it!"
"I am making you one of my direct reports."
"Since when does an Ensign report to a Rear Admiral?" There are at least a dozen rank designations between those two classes of officers.
"Since you," Angral replies. "Malgus, I insisted. I told the Joint Chiefs it was so I can keep an eye on you. But really, it's because we work well together, I value your talent, and I want to be able to continue to give you opportunities."
Well, that's something, at least. Fuming Gaius snarls, "Where is the Naga Sadow now?"
"She'll be arriving at the orbital station above Dromund Kaas for refueling and reprovisioning in about a week. Go home and wait for her there. When she's ready, report back to the Rim to join my fleet."
That's a disguised dismissal to his ears. He eyes Angral suspiciously. "You really want me off your ship, don't you?"
His boss doesn't deny it. "I want as little talk about your drama with Adraas as possible. Neither of you benefit from that sort of gossip. Look, forget the rank business. Your abilities are being recognized. I hope you see that."
Yes, but he also sees that he is being held back at the same time in ways that matter. The Council wants to encourage his talents even as they seem determined to humiliate him.
Angral can see how displeased he is. He counsels, "Once you think it over, I think you'll see that this is an unprecedented promotion in every way that matters. Don't screw this up. If you play your cards right, in the long run you could be legendary."
Gaius shakes his head and looks away, so Angral repeats his last word slowly to emphasize his point. "Legendary. I mean it. But you must work within the system. Play by the rules. Show the proper deference."
Whatever. Gaius twists his jaw and says nothing to this lecture.
His boss shoots him an exasperated look. "Go get on a transport and take some time away from war. It will do you good. A lot has happened recently," Angral makes a vague allusion to his tempestuous personal life.
With a sigh, Gaius acquiesces. "Yes, my Lord."
Going home actually has some appeal. Now that Sluis Van is done, Gaius can't stop thinking about the story of his unknown birth parents. He's heard what little Tenebrae and Azamin will tell him. Gaius figures there is one more source of information left to question: his adoptive father. It's a sensitive conversation that he doesn't want to have over a transmission. And besides, he is overdue for a trip home to see Dad. So instead of heading directly to Dromund Kaas, he makes a quick detour to the colonial world where his father runs a private zoo.
Gaius wants his visit to be a surprise, so he doesn't send a message in advance. He'll just show up, like usual. Dad won't mind. He never does. But as Gaius pulls up to the small home on the zoo grounds where he grew up, he worries he should have checked in before his trip. It seems that he has missed Dad. Gaius can't sense him in the Force. He can't sense anyone other than the animals, but that's not a surprise since it's the weekend and the zoo is closed.
Still, it's the first clue that something is wrong.
The back door is wide open. Could it have blown open? That's a possibility. Dad never locks his doors. No one does this far out in the countryside. But no, the door did not blow open. Because when Gaius enters calling hello, no one answers. He soon determines why. Dad is in the kitchen seated at the table. What's left of his head is face down in the plate that must have been his lunch. There's a small pistol still gripped in his hand. He's dead from an apparent self-inflicted blaster shot. A suicide.
Speechless Gaius stands there a long moment, frozen in horror.
When the police arrive, it's clear that they're a little starstruck to find Darth Malgus. And that makes the awful situation even worse. Gaius is slowly growing used to his celebrity status among the lower classes. But he's really not in the mood for it right now. Especially when the cops seem determined to treat him with a fawning respect that verges on annoying.
Someone suggests, "You might feel better if you stepped outside, my Lord."
They're trying to be conscientious, but he declines. "I'm not squeamish." It's not the gore that's upsetting him. It's the loss. As Gaius watches the cops taking photographs and making notes, he declares aloud firmly, "This was murder."
"Murder?" The investigator looks up from his camera. "How do you know, my Lord?"
"I've seen a lot of blaster wounds. This wasn't point blank range. It was fired from a distance. Maybe a meter or two," he judges sadly with an expert's eye.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. They also put the gun in his right hand. Dad is—was—left-handed. If he were a suicide, he would have shot his left temple using his left hand."
"I see."
Gaius clearly has everyone's attention now. Another cop asks, "What would the motive be? We don't see signs of robbery. Did he have enemies?"
Gaius doesn't answer. He simply stares bleakly at the gruesome scene. He's less upset by the gore than he is grateful that Dad died instantly without pain. There's that consolation, at least.
"My Lord?"
Gaius isn't attending. He's thinking now of the explanation Dad gave him for his adoption. As a child, Gaius never thought to wonder why a divorced guy already in his late forties who was mostly married to his job took in an unwanted child. Gaius had simply accepted Dad's reasoning. 'You needed a home,' he remembers being told, 'and so I gave you a home.'
That simple reasoning rang true then, and it does now. For Dad was a man who accepted any number of random critters into his zoo. Over the years, it became something of a wildlife sanctuary. The place was, at times, nearly overrun with rescue animals—mostly dogs—that Dad accepted so they could avoid euthanasia. 'What's one more?' Dad would say, and young Gaius didn't argue with him. Looking back now, he sees how much Dad valued life, even wretched, ugly, unwanted life. What did Dad truly think of his grown soldier son who kills for a living, even if it's for a purpose? Dad always said how proud he was, but now Gaius isn't sure . . .
"My Lord? Did your father have enemies?"
The question jolts Gaius from his melancholy reverie. He finally replies with the inescapable truth: "Dad didn't have enemies. I have enemies."
The lead cop who has watched this exchange looks thoughtful for a moment before he promises, "We'll find the culprit and bring him to justice, my Lord."
Gaius nods, but he is not reassured. No one will ever be charged with this crime, he suspects. Whoever killed Casper Sulla, a mild-mannered, soft-spoken zoologist and animal behaviorist, will never answer for the deed.
Is this the work of Adraas? No, he doesn't think so. Revenge is overt—your enemy wants you to know he did it. Revenge doesn't bother to mask murder as suicide. Besides, Adraas would never answer for this crime even if he himself put the blaster to Dad's head before witnesses. The Lords of the Sith are given wide latitude for violence, particularly where the lower classes are concerned. At most, Adraas might pay a token fine for this murder, if at all. The rules are different for elites.
But if it's not Adraas' handiwork, could this be Tenebrae flexing his muscle? Maybe even Azamin? Or perhaps his biological mother's family? Gaius worries that Dad died for the same reason he himself came for a visit—that Dad knew something about his secret past and he was killed to keep it quiet.
The ruthless act causes Gaius to rethink his curiosity about the truth. How long is the reach of his enemies that they can order a hit on a zookeeper worlds away? What conspiracy were they protecting? Is this how desperate his birth family is to avoid identification? If so, then Azamin is right that he should not seek to approach them. Because the family that murdered Dad would assuredly seek to ally with the Metellus family against him.
Gaius decides that he has enough problems right now. After's Dad's murder, he puts aside his fanciful daydreams of being welcomed home a prodigal son to some unknown great Sith clan, flush with power and influence that they will assert on his behalf. There will be no tearful reunion with long-lost aunts and a grandmother grateful to see her dead daughter's grown child, even if he is a half-colonial bastard. And there will not be any uncles, brothers, or grandfather who will take him aside and divulge the details of who his birth father was. Whoever his real father is, the man must be someone of standing, Gaius is convinced, for Lord Azamin to have known the guy well enough to comment on how alike Gaius and his secret father are. His real father might not have been a Lord, but perhaps he was an aide to a Lord? Some military analyst, perhaps? Oh well, it doesn't matter. Because Gaius now appreciates the wisdom of Azamin's advice to let sleeping dogs lie. His true father, he decides, will remain safely anonymous.
Gaius lingers at home a few days to bury Dad. There isn't much of an estate to settle. Dad lived onsite at the zoo and he was never much for possessions. There is an old speeder which he sells, some personal belongings he donates to the local Temple, and a surprising amount of retirement savings in the bank. And that's it. Dad was an only child and his own parents passed on into the Force in their late eighties about five years ago in rapid succession. His whole family—at least his known family—is gone now, Gaius realizes.
That makes him feel very alone. And so, he finds himself looking forward to returning to Dromund Kaas to the widow and daughter he inherited from his late Master. Lady Vindican and Portia will be happy to see him, he hopes, and their household servants adore him. Suddenly, Gaius feels the need to be somewhere where people genuinely like him.
But the arrival back home at his dead Master's villa quickly becomes yet another nightmare. Lady Vindican is out, he is told as the maid welcomes him home. Lady Julia is in her bedroom doing homework. Lady Portia isn't here, the maid volunteers, completely oblivious to the awkwardness of the comment. It's strange, the clueless woman remarks with a frown. Lady Portia hasn't been here for over two weeks.
Gaius nods and declines to explain the reason why Lady Portia Metellus will never set foot in his house again. Julia has likely figured out what happened, if she doesn't have actual knowledge of the events. Does Lady Vindican know? Gaius wonders if the gossip has made the rounds yet. He can't imagine that scene at the Palace hasn't been talked about. He had better come clean, Gaius decides. So, he heads to Julia's bedroom to ask to speak privately with her before her mother arrives home.
And that's where he finds his late Master's daughter, the sweet and petite little teenager who he affectionately sometimes called his little sister. She lies slain on the floor in her school uniform, her head separated from her body with a lightsaber.
Trembling Gaius gulps at the instant realization: Darth Adraas has taken his revenge.
Gaius' ruthlessly strategic mind races to analyze what happened and why. Lazy Cato Metellus evidently took the coward's way out. Darth Adraas knew he couldn't kill him, so he killed someone close to him instead. Maybe he should have seen this coming, but stunned Gaius did not. This is what Darth Azamin warned him about, he realizes to his great regret.
He compromised the daughter of the House of Metellus, so a Metellus Lord killed the daughter of his house in reprisal. Honor is satisfied. Payback has been achieved. It's ingenious, really. For if Adraas saw Portia's comlink, her family surely discovered that her bestie Lady Julia aided and abetted their daughter's fall from grace. And so today, with a swing of a sword, they forever removed the bad influence that had helped to lead her astray.
Julia had been an easy target, and a safe one. Had her expert swordsman father Darth Vindican been alive, there would be grave risk to this act. But Julia has no father, no brother, and no uncles living to avenge her. There's just him and Vindican's other former Apprentices, and those Lords are unlikely to take on the Metellus clan. So, in essence, this act relates solely to the enemy they already had—himself—and does not enlarge the conflict or deepen the risk.
Killing Julia neatly punishes Portia as well. Cato Metellus couldn't bring himself to inflict an honor killing on his little sister, but her best friend does not garner the same sympathies. And so, here is a very stern warning delivered to Portia about the social controls of the Sith patriarchy. Darth Adraas just wounded his little sister in a deep and lasting way that will leave no visible scar. Portia loses something very precious in the death of her longtime best friend. After this, never again will Portia's inclinations to rebellion get the better of her, Gaius predicts.
Yes, it's all very logical. Masterful in its cunning, really. But while Gaius can appreciate the strategy, he mostly appreciates the loss. For this is the second member of his family in ten days who has died violently for their proximity to him.
He blames himself. Guilt overwhelms him. Buried emotions from Dad's death and from Portia's loss combine with the cruel slaying of Julia, and Gaius is undone. He is every Dark emotion as he strides from the room with a tear-soaked face to summon a servant to find Lady Vindican.
It's as awful as he fears when in a choked and cracking voice, he has to inform his Master's widow that her only child is dead. Gaius has killed her husband and now he is the cause of her daughter's death. It's too much to bear for any woman, and that means things get very, very ugly when he confesses his role in bringing about this latest murder.
When it's all over, there's nothing Gaius wants to do more than to hop in a speeder to head for the Palatine Hill to kill Cato Metellus. But he knows his enemy will be expecting that move and will be prepared for him. So, Gaius stands down . . . for now. Instead, he buries young Julia. The funeral is a heart wrenching scene of hysterical teenaged girls overcome with grief with their stone-faced mothers by their sides. Portia is absent, like he knew she would be. But everyone present knows how Lady Julia died and why, even if no one admits it out loud. The Malgus-Adraas feud is an open secret among the Sith elite.
Afterwards, Gaius visits a lawyer and his accountant. He signs over the entire estate he inherited from Darth Vindican to his widow. Given all that has happened, he thinks it best if he exits Lady Vindican's life. The past two weeks have taught him that he is a danger to anyone close to him, and he wants no more innocent lives charged to his conscience.
When his grim personal business is concluded, the Naga Sadow still isn't ready. Her old design hyperdrive is being serviced and that means his ship will be docked for another three to four weeks. Gaius suddenly has time to kill. So, feeling desperate to exit Dromund Kaas where he must constantly look over his shoulder and where his ears burn from the muttered censure of his peers, Gaius retreats to his colonial homeworld.
He's a full-fledged celebrity there. A boldface name. A bona fide hero not only for what he does, but for who he is. All the acceptance feels good. And that makes it the perfect location for his short-lived downward spiral into self-indulgent self-destruction. It's a descent into despair fueled by booze, drugs, aimlessness, grief, regret, and fear. By day, he sleeps off last night's excess in a trashed hotel room. By night, he prowls the city spending Dad's retirement money looking for escapist thrills.
It's totally unlike anything he's ever done before. But his ravaged heart needs to act out to express its dismay and hurt.
Here on a peripheral colonial world, he has his pick of gorgeous women. Now that he is outside of the rigid social confines of the Sith elite, there are plenty of unmarried, unattached, and willing women who will share his bed. But rarely is a bed involved. From that first night when he loses his virginity to a girl he fucks in the back of a speeder, the encounters are ad hoc affairs. On couches and against walls in private rooms of nightclubs. In speeders and in public in back alleyways. They are fleeting passions driven by loneliness and hormones, never approaching the tenderness and meaning he thought he would have with Portia Metellus.
Despite all attempts to the contrary, Gaius discovers that his heart does not easily let go. Thoughts of Portia intrude at entirely random, and often inappropriate, moments. He just can't get her out of his system. No amount of other women can distract him from her. And maybe that's the meaning of first love. It sets a standard for all others to be measured against, for better and for worse, and that means the relationship lives forever in your soul as a sort of paradigm imprint that never fades. But unfortunately for him, the memory of Portia Metellus will always be intertwined with bitter loss. He feels terrible guilt over Julia that will haunt him for years to come.
He's well into week two of sowing his wild oats when during one anonymous encounter his girl for the evening whispers 'I want to have your baby.' It's a sobering moment that cuts through his booze and drug influenced state to resonate deeply. Gaius realizes that he's recklessly going to create another version of himself—some abandoned bastard child who inherits his Force but not his name, who will think themselves to be a random until one day when someone informs them otherwise. And that unhappy thought forever kills his desire for opportunistic sex.
By the time that a week later the Naga Sadow is out of repair dock and ready to go, Gaius has sworn off his foray into hedonism. But still being a bit impulsive, he uses Dad's savings to make an offer sight unseen on a rundown private space station facility that a prominent Sith family has been trying to unload for years. He deems it unsafe to live on Dromund Kaas at this point, so his own personal secluded man cave in space sounds good. And why not? It's not like he's ever going to have a peer wife and kids to raise back on the Empire's capital world. He is persona non grata for every elite family now. None of them is going to entrust their daughter to him and risk alienating the powerful Metellus family as a result.
If he wasn't an outcast before the scandal, Gaius knows he is now.
But whatever. He will devote his energies to his career. There is a war to be won and Gaius plans to be integral in it. Finally, he takes command of his new ship. He sets course for the Outer Rim to join Angral's fleet. But it's a long, boring ride in hyperspace. Troubled Gaius gets antsy loitering on the bridge. So with a curiosity born of misery and inactivity, he wanders over to the navigation terminal to instruct the officer on duty, "Show me Medriaas or Medrios or some world named like that."
"Never heard of it, my Lord. What sector is it in? Republic or Empire?"
"Empire. It's a colony world." It's the homeworld of that creepy Palace gardener who was so proud of his bleeding tree, Gaius remembers. The guy with the same surname as him. Force, Gaius thinks with sudden mental recoil, that kid had better not be his half-brother or something weird like that. Could that even be possible? He certainly hopes not. But who knows?
The navigator is taking his time. What's taking so long?
"Can't find it, my Lord. Can you spell it?"
Guessing it's a Kittat derived name with the irregular double long 'A' like Dromund Kaas, Gaius posits, "Med-ri-aas."
The navigator keeps typing at the terminal until he finds something. "Here we go. It's not much." The officer brings up a schematic of a planet with sparse accompanying text.
"Well? What's there?"
"Nothing, my Lord. At least, not in over a thousand years. It's completely inert. It's classified as uninhabitable by all species. Says here something destroyed all life on Medriaas about the time the last war ended. It's a wasteland now."
Gaius digests this perplexing information.
"It was a minor agricultural world of the original Empire. Farming and mining back in the heyday of Dark Lord Marka Ragnos."
"It's still inert? You're sure?"
"Guess so, my Lord. It must have been those fucking Jedi. They killed trillions back then. You know the Republic loves their superweapons . . ."
"Yes," Gaius nods, "They do." As ridiculous as it sounds, he feels compelled to confirm, "So according to what you have here, there's no way anyone alive today could be from Medriaas?"
"No, my Lord."
"Is that all we know about it? That it is uninhabitable?"
"Pretty much. Sorry, my Lord. Much of the data from that far back is incomplete. Medriaas was pretty inconsequential from the looks of it. It didn't even have a full-fledged viceroy, just a local Lord. Someone named Ten-e-"
"Tenebrae," Gaius immediately guesses the name.
"Yes, that's it. It was last ruled by Darth Tenebrae according to these records. But they are of dubious validity. I mean, that was fourteen hundred years ago . . . "
"No, that part's right. Darth Tenebrae ruled Medriaas." Gaius is certain of that fact. The Chief Priest had crowed more than once about being born in the time of Marka Ragnos, he recalls. Though what that has to do with a young gardener at the Palace is a mystery to Gaius. "Very good. Carry on," he ends the conversation with the navigator. Then, he promptly moves on. There will be no researchable answers to questions about Darth Tenebrae, Gaius suspects. And like questions about his own secret past, searching for those answers might be dangerous. So, Gaius chalks the gardener who claims to be from a dead world up to an oddity he doesn't care to pursue.
In fact, he does his best to put the whole experience of Portia Metellus, Darth Tenebrae, and Darth Azamin behind him. Resolutely Gaius decides not to waste his mental energy on regrets he cannot change and decisions he cannot un-make. There's no point in obsessing about what might have been because that's an alternative reality that will never occur. There's a strong streak of romanticism in Sith culture to hold fast to the longshot lost cause. But Gaius rejects that irrationality. He knows now that to aim too high, too soon will bring a hard and deep fall.
After much consideration, Gaius decides not to strike back at Darth Adraas. Prolonging the feud will not benefit him. But more importantly, it will not satisfy him. Because nothing he does to Cato Metellus will win him Portia or bring back Julia. The path of vengeance will thus always be futile, he reasons, and that makes it a stupid choice. He consoles himself with the knowledge that Darth Adraas lives expecting treachery, just like he does now. Does Adraas look over his shoulder? Gaius certainly hopes so.
The consequences of the feud with Adraas are lasting. Gaius will always carry multiple weapons. He will always keep his senses on alert. His eyes constantly look for spies and sabotage. But most of all, he will be extraordinarily wary of letting anyone get too close to him lest they too become a target. Never again, Gaius vows, will he create another Lady Julia who will be the sacrificial victim for his enemies.
That mindset combined with his command of his own ship—on which he forbids most other Lords—leads him to intense solitude. Self-inflicted social isolation has long been a go-to coping mechanism against his insecurities. But now it is a prudent strategy to hide from his enemies. Gaius employs it in earnest. As he stews in his frustration and hate, Gaius tells himself that he's channeling his energies and increasing his power . . . that in the long run it will enable his triumph. For the Dark Side teaches that every slight, every hurt, every pain makes you Darker and more powerful. Sith Lords do not allow themselves to break. They are refashioned and made anew in a Darker, harder, more bitter version. Because for a disciple of Darkness, that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
And so, his solution to his inner turmoil is to shut down his emotions. To bury them deep and channel his rage into power. It's an age-old technique of the Sith, but for Gaius it is a true necessity. He can't allow himself to have too much of an inner life. Those thoughts, ricocheting around the echo chamber of his own head, will lead him into despair and then into self-destruction again. And while another man might be fine to spiral downward now and then, Gaius is too damned proud—and too fucking determined to prove everyone wrong—to succumb to nihilism. He's a man who was born with a fire in his belly. He wants his life to mean something. He needs to be something. Maybe now more than ever. And so, it's him against the universe. That's how it will always be. And he's fine with it. Really, he's fine with it.
But the fortitude he gains along the way comes at a cost. Loss, disappointment, failure, frustration . . . maybe some would say that his recent experiences are maturing. But it's probably more accurate to say that they are formative, and not exclusively in good ways. Gaius successfully resists the pull to nihilism, but he succumbs to the creep of cynicism. He develops the sardonic, laconic, and stoic demeanor of a gruff and grumpy Lord many decades his senior. He's still a very young man but he is old before his time, and that is diminishing. He's miserable and he knows it. But he persists . . . what else can he do? He is a man hiding from his potential who sinks into a deep rut of work sporadically interrupted by downtime stints spent on his private space station.
All that alone time with his many regrets . . . all that grief for Dad and Julia that feeds his guilt and paranoia . . . all those aimless nights spent in meditation . . . all those worries that no matter what he accomplishes, it will never be enough . . . they make him very much like another Lord who he considers to be his enemy. Gaius doesn't know it, but on the day that Julia dies, a meeting takes place across town in a gilded room nestled deep inside a Palace that is more cage than castle.
The meeting is about him.
Under cover of night, two heavyweights of the Shadow Force meet to consider his fate. One Lord—the elder of the pair— has all the answers about the past that Gaius wants. This Lord can convey all the accolades he seeks. He can divulge the secrets to the immense power he craves. And he holds all the leverage, like always. For this Lord is a master puppeteer and an accomplished liar so smooth and so practiced that only a select few can recognize it. He is slyness personified.
The other Lord is his longtime henchman and sometime foil. He's widely believed to be principled, but in truth he is habitually pragmatic. It's a very effective combination. As Sith Lords go, he's not a bad guy. But his allegiance is firm: he loves power and he loves like a brother the powerful Dark Lord he serves as consigliere to. He's no fool. He will do anything to safeguard the status quo where he sits one spot removed from the apex of an enormous pyramid of hierarchy. For this Lord knows that he alone in the Empire can speak truth to power and be heard. Still, rarely does he pick a fight and take a stand. But this night, wise, age-stooped Darth Azamin makes an exception and takes a chance . . .