Clambering to his feet, Atton peeled off his stabilizer mask and tossed it aside. Korlen Olligard's desperate claw-strike had cracked its thin outer plasteel shell nearly in half, and Atton's face felt like it hadn't fared much better.
Sith though he was, Olligard was apparently smart enough not to waste time on any grandstanding speeches or threats; he simply drew his lightsaber and stalked Atton's way around the conference table.
Recognizing that he had to put on a show, Atton decided to play Jedi and met him halfway, saber to saber. He went in aggressive with heavy, two-handed blows—not going berserk like he had on Malachor, but testing Olligard's defenses. After two or three exchanges it was clear that while the squid-head might have been a little out of practice, he was no pushover. Repeatedly he battered the incoming blade aside and answered with slashes of his own, showing a balance of strength, agility, and skill that dashed Atton's hopes of gaining the upper hand early on.
The two circled one another as they fought, the office ringing with the clamor of their blades. Wild arcs of electric-blue and bloodshine plasma sliced through the conference table and decapitated chairs; steaming pieces of debris went flying.
No way that secretary isn't hearing all this skrag, thought Atton in the back of his head. So much for If nobody knows you're there, you win. Guess that means we lose.
Rather than tire himself out with the going-nowhere offensive, Atton pulled in his guard and started to fall back, but Olligard kept on him, jabbing the point of the red blade at his face. Atton parried, but it came so close that the flash of contact left a smear of light across half his vision.
Abruptly, Olligard broke off right then, allowing Atton to run backward several paces while willing his eyes to clear. As he came to a stop, he had an extremely bad feeling, simultaneous with Atris hoarsely calling his name from across the room. From her tone, however, he gathered that what she'd meant to say was, Behind you!
So he obligingly turned his back on the furious, saber-toting Lord of the Sith to find himself confronted with the protocol droid which had been standing inactive along the wall like another piece of furniture. At that particular moment, however, the machine was lumbering toward him, brandishing a sparking forearm-length rod that he recognized as a Greff-Timms Industrial Mark I energy baton—affectionately termed the Negotiator by Exchange enforcers who favored it.
Atton loathed droids at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. He'd even inspected this one when he had the room to himself and found nothing to suggest it was upgraded for combat. As for the baton, he had no idea where it had come from.
Not even the Force this time. I'm getting sloppy.
Still, that was easy enough to fix; before the droid could get close enough to attack, Atton's lightsaber halved it right down the middle, releasing a gout of sparks and black smoke.
Wheeling back around, he was puzzled to discover Olligard down on one knee, his tendrils squirming in pain as he favored one of the triangular protrusions on the side of his head that served for ears. On the floor close by was one of the smaller chunks of debris that his exchange with Atton had hacked off of the table.
A disgusting, warbling growl left Olligard's mouth as he glared over at Atris, who leaned on her cane over by the exit, looking almost embarrassed—as if the Quarren wasn't supposed to know who had hit him in the head.
Violent energy coiled as Olligard raised a clawed hand Atris's way. Whether it would be lightning, telekinesis, or something else, Atton wasn't sure, but he also wasn't keen on finding out whether the hag was just as good at defending herself with the Force as attacking with it. With a shout of exertion he Force-pushed as hard as he could, sending the Quarren pinwheeling across the room to slam into one of his fish tanks. The critters inside scattered in alarm.
Atton and Atris locked gazes; "Do something about that door," he told her, pointing. He had no idea what he expected the old woman to do—but then, he figured that was something he had in common with Admiral Opelle.
Then he saw Olligard picking himself off the floor, his rage haloing him like the outer glow of an inferno. He looked only a little unsteady for having just taken what should have been a crippling impact.
Atton stifled his disappointment and moved in, giving his lightsaber a few nonchalant twirls. The squid-head was almost exactly where he wanted him.