Lord Plasma emerged from his chambers, walking triumphantly, grinning from ear to ear. As a Sith Lord, he replaced acolyte regalia for an outfit more suitable to his rank. Darth Komm'ett gifted him with a brand-new suit of Sith Battle Armor, metallic black and dark red. It was composed of padded, cortosis-weave trousers and jacket; the main plating on the knee-high combat boots, breastplate, pauldrons, and vambraces were made of a cortosis-durasteel alloy, all equipped with high level, military-grade cybertech.
State-of-the-art life support, health sensors, temperature control, pressure adjustment, pre-loaded kolto injections, biometrics monitors, built-in controls, and personal communicators. Major Bradin Zhatt explained the functionality of the components, and the particularities of the materials as he helped Plasma get dressed, showing which button to press to access specific subsystems of the armor.
Cortosis, Bradin explained, was a rare metal with an unusually high energy absorption coefficient, making it resistant to energy weapons.
"Your uniform, Lord Plasma," he said. "Is as important as your lightsaber. It is not only a symbol of your status, but it also represents the Sith Empire. You must be diligent in its maintenance."
The Major always wore an impeccable uniform, polished boots, gloves, and cap. The medals across his chest glistened just as much as his blaster pistol. Plasma noticed the creases on his already aged face, and the grey hairs on his head; even his respiration sounded rhythmic. The Sith realized he knew very little about that man. Komm'ett said they were life-long friends, but never once she talked about the Major.
Major Zhatt accompanied Plasma to the landing pads, at the starport eight hundred meters south of the fortress. Plasma kept staring at the forest, at the blue sky, at the mountain ranges by the horizon. The sinuous river, running in the distance, produced a soothing lullaby he would miss.
His eyes met Komm'ett in the distance. She stood underneath the Fury-class Interceptor. Thick, curvy cables attached to its under hull like feeding babies. Droids hurried along back and forth.
"Master," Plasma said and gently bowed his head.
"Lord Plasma," she responded proudly. "You were never given anything. You fought through tears, blood and sweat to conquer what is yours, to earn your place as a Sith Lord of the Empire."
"You were a great Master, Darth Komm'ett." Plasma puffed his chest. "I'll be forever grateful to what you've done for me. As I promised you, I will never disappoint you."
She shook her head and said:
"Do not to disappoint yourself, Plasma. The galaxy is a dangerous place. Other Sith may challenge you for your title, and the Jedi will hunt you. To a Sith, failure means death."
"Never stop training." She pointed at the lightsaber attached to his belt. "Do not let arrogance be your downfall."
"Understood, Master." He smiled.
"Speaking of promises!" Komm'ett snapped her fingers. "Do you remember my first promise to you?"
"How could I forget it?" He sounded offended. "To find my sisters and punish my parents. It is what drove my spirit up until this moment."
"Indeed, Lord Plasma." She produced a small electronic card from her pocket. "These unlock the ship's navicomputer and astrogation charts. You will also have full access to my Imperial Bank personal account."
His eyes widened in astonishment. He looked at the card, then looked at the ship, and finally at Komm'ett. "I cannot accept this, Master. It is too much."
"You can and you will. These tools will be crucial for your mission. Remember this: return here with Myat and Puath, so I can meet them, or do not return at all."
"Understood, Master." Breaking every possible protocol in the Imperial Rulebooks, Plasma lurched forward and hugged his master with all his might, burrowing his head on her chest. For a moment, the Zabrak stood still, paralyzed, then let herself be carried away in the moment. "Thank you."
"I am so proud of you...," she looked deep into his blue eyes, smiling. "Will you join me in meditation one last time?"
They held hands and closed their eyes, lowering their heads. For the last time, they journeyed together through the Force, venturing into the maddening yet liberating silence of perpetual peace, swirling into chaos, and savoring their unending passions. It felt as though a tropical cyclone ravaged through their minds, leaving them untouched as their spirits danced.
Opening their eyes, they hugged again, for the last time. Plasma was about to leave his new mother behind. As difficult as it was, he knew it had to be done. Without looking back, he climbed the ramp and boarded the ship.
The engines roared, the turbines erupted, and the Fury-class Imperial Interceptor NF-800 Custom disappeared among the stars.
###
Komm'ett knelt by the HoloNet terminal in her chambers. The hooded hologram of her master appeared before her.
"It is done, my Master," she said grimly. "Lord Plasma has just set out on his mission."
"You have done well," the man said with savored cruelty. "His powers will grow immensely. Have your spies give him the intel on Loo and Ma'va Puhrr, slowly."
"I have already sent word to my contacts across the galaxy, Master," Komm'ett said. "His parents have been labeled as traitors of the Empire, and Plasma will be hailed as a hero."
"He will be well rewarded when he's done," the man said. "I will arrange the ceremony with the Dark Council. Do not disappoint me."
###
Plasma flew around Neferas-V, dancing through the clouds and spiraling across the blue sky. He glided over the planet's winding rivers and colossal waterfalls, contoured its gigantic mountains and snowy peaks, visited the scorching deserts scattered along its tropics, and the snowy wastelands of the poles.
Komm'ett Fortress was like a blossom that had sprouted in the valley, a huge castle constructed deep inside the jungle, nested amongst nature.
Plasma tilted the ship's control column against himself, lifting its nose to the sky. Major Bradin Zhatt sat beside him; Komm'ett had instructed him to serve Lord Plasma during his mission, warning him that he should keep a watchful eye on her apprentice.
"The hyperdrive is charging, my Lord," Bradin announced. "It will take a few minutes to collect the necessary energy."
"Thanks, Major." Into the communicator, he said: "R9, plot a course to—, to…"
He scratched his head. He had no idea where to start, where to go. The Major looked at him:
"What is wrong, my Lord?" he asked.
"I just realized I don't know where the planetoid is… I don't even know its name."
"Worry not, my Lord," he said. "We shall research the Imperial Database; what do you remember of it?"
Plasma looked beyond the stars and pondered for a while. He had not thought about that place in over nine years. Naively, perhaps, he believed he would never have to return there; however, something in his mind told him his new life should begin where his old life had ended.
"The factories," he finally answered. "The refineries. I remember the smell. My… father worked at the tibanna gas mines, and his clothes reeked every night. The smell of acid, of rancid bantha meat."
"Tibanna gas mines…" Bradin whispered to himself, rapidly typing into a minor computer terminal in the cockpit.
"The nearby planet, too. A huge, huge orange planet. When I was little, I thought it was the sun…"
The computer beeped. Bradin nodded and pointed at the screen.
"It appears the planet you describe is Bespin, a gas giant in the Distant Outer Rim territories," he said. "However, the database aboard the Condor is quite limited and seems to be outdated."
"Outdated?" Plasma repeated. "What do you suggest, Major?"
"We are somewhat close to one major Imperial Outpost in the Sullust System," Braid explained. "We can obtain more information there through an Imperial datacenter, and perhaps make use of Imperial slicers."
"We can do that sort of thing?" Plasma asked.
"Naturally, my Lord," Bradin responded. "I still am a Major in the Imperial Military, and you are an ordained Sith Lord. You are entitled to the entire infrastructure of the Empire, as well as its servants."
Beep, beep, wooo.
"Thanks, R9. We are ready to jump, Major."
"Jumping to lightspeed in three, two, one…"
###
The Sullust System was in the Distant Outer Rim, somewhere between Neferas-V and the Bespin System. Less than forty hours later, their uneventful voyage came to a halt as they jumped off hyperspace three hundred kilometers from the Sullustan surface, the Grey Condor a minuscule speck against the vastness of the obsidian world of lava streams and turquoise lakes.
Major Bradin Zhatt interrupted Plasma's meditation through the comm systems.
"My Lord, we shall land on Sullust shortly."
That was the very first planet Plasma visited after Neferas-V. It was a beautiful sight from space; the incandescent red of the magma produced a gorgeous contrast with its jet-black, rocky landscape.
"Identify yourself," hailed a robotic voice.
"This is the Grey Condor," the Major responded. "Imperial Interceptor of Darth Komm'ett; transmitting the ID signature now."
"My Lord Komm'ett," an organic voice responded quickly. "We were not notified of your arrival!"
"Who flies the vessel is Darth Komm'ett's apprentice, Lord Plasma," Bradin quickly added.
"Lord Plasma!" the voice said excitedly. "It is an honor to finally meet the apprentice of the Conqueror of Coruscant."
Plasma glanced curiously at Bradin, then spoke into the microphone:
"Thank you, officer."
"You are cleared for landing," the officer said. "Docking bay ninety-seven, hangar twenty-one."
The vessel penetrated the planet's type-1 atmosphere and the apocalyptic landscape opened before his eyes like a menacing panorama, Plasma managed to glimpse at the first display of the galaxy's beauty. A gigantic imperial military facility had been constructed on the mountain side, four hundred meters above a hypnotizing river of magma, with sets of huge communication towers on the plateau above it; there were several perforation drills cooling down, dripping magma, and an endless traffic of ships and soldiers below.
Nature, however, was what truly captured the Sith Lord's curiosity. Ominous, sharp mountains of obsidian over oceans of incandescent magma, endless deserts of blackness, as if mirrors under the constant darkened sky, illuminated by the fiery, liquid light of the planet's core. It felt as if the entire planet rumbled as it breathed, the molten rock running along the stream, almost like a military march, rhythmic and constant.
The ship creaked and hissed as it landed on a wide outdoors platform. Imperial droids connected refueling tubes to the vessel and performed routine inspections. As they crossed the pathway into the base, Plasma noticed that, unlike Neferas-V, green was scarce in Sullust; the facility had been decorated with holographic projections of trees all along its long corridors.
The Sith Lord carried an air of nobility about him, holding an upright position, nose in the air, puffed chest, marching like a warrior under the weight of his armor. As they crossed the base, soldiers, officers, technicians, pilots, drivers, marines, and even droids bowed at him, often with exaggerated reverence. He must have heard two hundred 'my lords' on his way to the commander's office.
There they met Captain Yan Ko, a blue-skinned Chagrian in black uniform. His overenthusiasm was uncomfortable, edging towards an awkward submissiveness. He saluted the Major only dismissively.
"What brings you to Sullust, my Lord?" The captain asked, gesturing at the sofa in his spacious office.
"Stopped to resupply." Plasma sat down and denied a glass of blue wine offered by a droid. "However, I require access to the Imperial Database."
"Certainly, certainly! I will do everything in my power to assist you, my Lord." The captain accepted the wine, to Bradin's disapproving frown. "If you could share more details about your mission, perhaps—"
"It is not polite nor proper to query into the business of a Sith Lord, Captain," Bradin interrupted him dryly. "You need only to comply."
Yan Ko apologized, quickly continuing:
"How can the servants of the Empire be of assistance, Lord Plasma?"
"I am looking for information about certain mining operations near Bespin," Plasma said. "Might have been done by Czerka Corporation."
Silent, the captain nodded in agreement, turning to the built-in screen of his personal computer, attached to his plastoid desk. Plasma gave him more details, as to the companies involved, the products extracted, stressing it had begun on a planetoid about thirty years earlier.
The computer beeped after a few minutes, and the captain sighed in relief.
"I will also need a list of Czerka employees," Plasma added.
"Sir, if I may?" the captain asked.
"You may not, captain," Plasma growled. "You need only to comply; then, we will be on our way."
"Of course, my Lord," Yan Ko swallowed in dry, forcing a smile. "Forgive me."
Bradin glanced at Plasma, his face smiling in satisfaction. Seven minutes, and many refused drinks later, the captain tapped on his desk.
"I have the list, my Lord. Transferring to your datapad."
Without looking at the captain, Plasma stood up, turned around and left.
Plasma ran a finger across the screen. There were over two-thousand names on that list of employees, including the names of all family and relatives transported by Czerka Corporation. Perhaps a decade ago, there used to be a small gang of abandoned children running about on Section-99. Oftentimes they journeyed to Sector-97, until the Children of Acid murdered them all. Ten kids, forgotten in shallow graves; he wondered what they names were, and if they were on that list.
Turning his attention to the portable pad's screen, with an endless stream of green lettering crawling upwards. The results of his surname search appeared. He selected it, and an information window popped-up, with the name Loo Puhrr on the header and a digital photograph.
His heart skipped a beat, unsure whether or not he was ready for what he hoped to find there. Reading through the profiles, he learned where he and his family had gone to Bespin from: Nal Hutta, the capital of Hutt Space.
And another unbelievable piece of intelligence.
"My father was born on Dromund Kaas!?" Plasma gasped loudly, staring at Bradin incredulously. "How is this possible?"
"It means he was an Imperial citizen," the major said dryly. Plasma shook his head, tapping furiously on the screen.
"Then what were we doing on that shithole of a planetoid?" His muscles shook subtly. "I could have gone to the Sith Academy!"
"It is hard to tell, Lord Plasma," Bradin shrugged. "If he was truly an imperial citizen, we should have no problem locating his official identification file."
That idea lit up his blue eyes. He continued studying the file, and learned that, before Czerka, his father had worked for Corellian Arms. On his work history, Loo Puhrr had been promoted to harvester, overseer and, ultimately, manager. There was a separate link that caught his attention. Salary and Bonuses, it read.
Plasma's heart raced with fury as he read four hundred thousand credits per standard year. With that kind of money, he should have been able to take proper care of his family. The Sith then shook his head in frantic denial. He frowned at the screen.
"My Lord," Bradin called. "Are you alright?"
"He earned a fortune!" Plasma screamed loudly. "And me and my sisters starved!"
Rage rippled through the Force, drawing the attention of curious servicemen outside their office, who scurried along rapidly upon realizing there was a Sith Lord inside. Bradin seemed unfazed, as he looked at Plasma's reaction. The Sith continued ranting.
"He could have looked after us! Mother would not have left me. We could have had a landspeeder, good clothes, gone to a good school… Why—?!"
The entire military complex around them rumbled and trembled softly. The people were used to minor quakes in volcanic Sullust; that time, though, Plasma's unadulterated rage shook the foundations of the facility. Bradin Zhatt remained calm as he sipped his blue Hothian wine.
"He was really, really worthless! I did not want to remember his name!" Plasma roared loudly, sprung his arms forward then pulled them back. A huge chunk of the wall cracked and fell to the ground. Working for Sith Lords all his life, the Major had grown accustomed to rants and tantrums; he knew better than to interfere.
Plasma tightened his eyes and threw his head back, attempting to reassert the rhythm of his uncontrolled respiration. His senses eventually returned. He glanced about him and left the office, striding away along the hall. The Major grabbed the bottle and followed him.
Plasma continued tapping the screen until he found his mother's file. His heart skipped another beat; however, this time, he effortfully controlled his temper. Underneath his mother's profile picture, there was a small picture of himself, as a baby. The only photo of himself he had ever seen. His family's photo album was a corporate file of some squandered mining operation.
What really hurt him, though, was the photograph of his mother, holding the infant Plaz-myu wrapped in a blue blanket, like his eyes. Plasma's mind drifted away, into a vortex of forgetfulness and rage; he looked at himself – small, fragile, and peaceful, comfortably asleep, bundled in the arms of a mother he used to love deeply.
"Ma'va Puhrr," he whispered to himself. His mother looked kind and gentle. For a long time, that was how he had remembered her, as if ashamed to hate her, like an obedient child who wanted to be loved by his mother. Plasma had forgotten she used to smile. He had forgotten all the good memories he had about her; of how truly gentle she used to be.
There were no files about his sisters. However, Plasma's eyes widened as he read the name of her planet of birth.
"She was born on planet Cathar!" he gasped with genuine surprise. "What in the galaxy happened to her?"
"My Lord," Bradin called. "Might I suggest an approach?"
"I already told you that you don't need to ask for permission."
The major nodded in agreement, adding: "Outside the Condor, appearances and protocols must be maintained."
Plasma gestured for the major to continue.
"In your father's work history, search for the name of his former supervisors. They might know his whereabouts. Perhaps even your mother's."
"That is a great idea, Major," he said honestly. "Thank you."
"I live to serve, my Lord." He bowed, satisfied. "If I may, might I be excused for one hour? There are a few issues regarding my military identification that I need to resolve."
"Of course, Major," Plasma said without looking up. "Meet me in the cafeteria for lunch?"
###
Major Bradin Zhatt entered an empty office and closed the door behind him. In the dark, he activated his portable holocommunicator, projecting a blue miniature of Darth Komm'ett in the air.
"Did Yan Ko deliver?" Komm'ett asked.
"Yes, my Lord," Bradin responded. "We shall proceed to planetoid CZ-146."
"Excellent." Komm'ett smiled. "Be careful not to give him too much information at once; Plasma has to believe he is doing all the work."
###
Plasma and Bradin met fifty-three minutes later in the base's dining hall, a huge twenty-by-twenty meters room, dotted with dozens of long tables and benches, where an immense, curved window displayed the rocky landscape of Sullust outside. Army men and women, of many different species, lined up orderly to receive their nourishment for the afternoon. The Sith and the Major sat together at an isolated table, reserved for officers.
The young Sith chewed on a succulent ten-ounce steak, medium-rare, spiced with Alderaanian sauce and Balmorran herbs. He did not even know the names of the things he had eaten. With each bite there came a wave of flavors he had not dreamed of before. The thing that struck him the most, though, was that the food had been free.
The Major saluted him and sat down.
"I was wondering," Plasma said casually between bites. "Do you have a family, Major?"
Out of all the questions he was prepared to answer, that was not one of them. Surprised, he broke protocol and stuttered in response. Despite calling themselves friends, Komm'ett had never asked him about anything similar.
"I do, my Lord," he answered. "A wife and one daughter."
"And how long have you been away from them?" Plasma sipped a long gulp of blue bantha milk, looking at Bradin with skewed eyes.
"Five years, I reckon. Why are you asking, sir?"
"Tell you what." Plasma licked a piece of meat off his teeth and tapped the cloth napkin against his lips. "I will let you visit your family. Look at it as paid vacation, leave—whatever it's called. Could I do that?" He added with a whisper.
"Certainly. A commanding Sith Lord does not require permission to dismiss their servants or crew."
"Awesome!" Plasma smiled. "Now, to answer your question. I have two reasons: one, I feel I should complete my mission by myself; two, it'd be hypocritical of me to hold you in my service, keeping you away from your family, while I search for mine. Does that make sense?"
"My Lord, I must protest!" Bradin said exasperatedly, instinctively touching the holocommunicators at his belt. "My duty to the Empire is my highest priority!"
"I know, I know." He waved at the Major dismissively. "But how long have you been working with Komm'ett?"
"Fifteen years. However—"
"That is my point," Plasma interrupted him. "I've been with her for seven years and I saw you leave the fortress, what, two times?"
"Lady Komm'ett had granted me leave to attend my mother's funeral. It was thoughtful of her, as protocol does not—"
Plasma rubbed his eyes at the word thoughtful. Impatiently, he said: "It is an order. Is that better? Kiss your wife, be with your daughter. Be to them what I never had."
Plasma disguised a pair of tears with a mouthful of food. The Major felt sorry for a Sith Lord for the first time. For fifteen years, he watched Darth Komm'ett produce machines of war from the bodies of young Acolytes, with none of them surviving. However, it was the first time he had met a Sith Lord who, despite the nightmarish training and traumatic life, showed empathy towards him.
The Major then smiled, defeated, speaking happily, his voice sounding more high-pitched than usual. "I shall accept then. It is kind of you."
"Great! I'll just need one thing: a guide," Plasma said and quickly explained. "A guide on etiquette, rules, duties, and rights in the Empire; things I can do, organs I can contact… that sort of thing."
The Major promptly agreed, and they finished their lunch in good spirits.
Back at the Grey Condor, Bradin Zhatt finished packing his belongings in his quarters. He mentally accounted for everything, pointing at each object as if having a checklist, and nodded with satisfaction. Outside he saw Plasma poring over a computer terminal in the main deck. He tapped away on the computer, seemingly content.
"I found the names," Plasma announced. "The supervisors. One of them is a Talz from Hoth named… I can't pronounce this." He squinted his eyes, tilting his head. "Three consonants, then an apostrophe, two vowels, and another consonant… Mnb'yyt. It says he's incarcerated in a planet called Belsavis."
The Major nodded. He explained that Belsavis was a prison planet, where the most dangerous criminals of the galaxy were held. People who could not – or would not, he added – be executed. That man could be ruled out, he assessed.
"It's a woman, actually… Moving on: a male Togruta; he was my father's overseer in the mines and—" Plasma sighed loudly, knocking his fingers on the machine. "Great. He's dead." Plasma shrugged and continued. "My last hope is a human male called Kev Yu. It says here his current position CZ-146, still overseeing the mining operations for Czerka…?"
"It is a rather common practice, my Lord," the major explained. "Companies find legal loopholes to avoid certain obligations. If they can legally maintain the operation active, they are not required to transport the workers back home."
Plasma grimaced with disgust. "Is everyone in the galaxy a slimy scumbag?"
"Not everyone, I would say," Bradin raised his eyes to Plasma.
"That settles it, then; I shall return to that planetoid, while you—" he tapped the Major on the shoulder. "—are now on vacation. You can send me the guide later. Just promise me you'll enjoy your time off."
"I promise, my Lord," the aged human soldier said sincerely. He sounded tired, albeit glad. "I shall bring you a delightful souvenir from Kaas City, perhaps one of those popular Star Destroyer collectible models."
That would be nice, Lord Plasma thought. He never had a toy. Plasma advanced and hugged him, breaking protocol, and catching the man off-guard.