Siltshift Cantina, the sign above the door read
Lord Plasma and Sergeant Vyrna walked in. Low ceiling, thick air, the stench of smoke and methane invaded their nostrils. They walked to the bar, where a Weequay woman – a humanoid lizard with tough, green scales and sharp teeth – loaded drinks onto a waiter droid. Before she could say anything, the sergeant raised a hand.
"Give me the card key to Pawa's room," she ordered with Imperial authority.
On the second floor, the Sergeant inserted the card key into the socket and the door slid open with a beep. A jittery, anxious male Human sprung up from the bed. He had a bony face with deep, black eyes. There were dozens of bottles scattered around the floor. Plasma and Vyrna walked in and Pawa smiled in anticipation.
"Has my application been processed…?" he asked eagerly.
Vyrna shook her head. "You have a very important visitor."
Pawa shrunk with fear when he saw the figure of an armored, hooded Sith Lord by the doorway. Plasma advanced towards him, the man's legs failed, and he sat down on the bed again. Vyrna ordered him to stand up, but he could not.
"My name is Lord Plasma, a Sith of the Empire," Plasma said calmly. "I am looking for one of your employees."
"Former employees," he chuckled nervously. Plasma stared at his face, and Pawa swallowed in dry.
"Loo Puhrr, a Cathar like me. It is imperative that I find him," Plasma continued. "Do you understand?"
Pawa nodded rapidly in agreement, forcing a yellow smile.
"We have thousands of employees in Tatooine," he said. "You can't expect me to know all of them… sir."
"A member of my Species would have captured your attention. Would it not?"
Sergeant Vyrna stood tall behind Plasma, blaster rifle in hand. It was hard to see where she looked at from behind the helmet's visor.
Plasma leaned forward. His voice sounded menacing as he spoke, towering over Pawa's recoiled figure. "His name is Loo Puhrr," he added.
"Ah! Mr. Puhrr, yes," Pawa stuttered. "Are you related? You look just like him."
"Don't say that!" Plasma bellowed in rage. An invisible force flung Pawa backwards, pressing him against the window. The bottles on the floor clattered softly. The man whimpered, the heavy pressure on his chest suffocating him. Ten seconds later, Plasma released him to the ground. Panting, the man apologized profusely.
"Where is he?" Plasmed added with another bellow, standing over the man.
Cowering, Pawa responded:
"I—I'm not sure. He was transferred last year. He was a good manager but had terrible anger issues."
"How can I find him?"
"Through an official Czerka terminal," Pawa said. "Only in Anchorage."
Plasma activated the personal communicator on his bracelet and called the ship. C9-N2 answered.
"Prepare my speeder and have it sent to me," Plasma commanded. Then he turned to the sergeant and asked: "Would you accompany us, Sergeant?"
"My apologies, my Lord," Vyrna said. "The Imperial Military has strict orders not to leave Mos Ila. But I will assist you from here in any way I can."
Pawa's eyes widened in horror. Us? He repeated, then shook his read frantically.
"I can't go back there. They'll shoot me on sight!"
The rest of Pawa Lyr's file, which Plasma had failed to read entirely, stated that the reason the former vice-president of operations had requested asylum was for stealing Czerka's industrial secrets, an information that Pawa himself reinforced over, and over, from the backseat of the speeder bike until he and Plasma had reached Anchorhead, one hundred and sixty kilometers to the north.
The speeder darted across the ocean of sand. Sunset approached when they arrived. Curious heads appeared on windows and from behind boxes and carts. Plasma parked his speeder near eight other hoverbikes in front of a cantina across the street from Czerka's Headquarters, a six-story edifice decorated with faded lettering and a malfunctioning neon sign.
Two private security guards watched with curiosity when the Cathar walked by them. They approached the Sith Lord. Plasma noticed they did not wear armor and carried only a small blaster pistol and a stun baton.
"Excuse me, sir," one of them said. "Only employees and approved personnel are permitted entry."
Plasma pulled down the hood. One of the guards seemed to react with surprise at his face. Pawa wore a head scarf and attempted to conceal his; however, his anxious behavior betrayed him. The security guard who had approached the man suddenly drew his pistol and pointed at Pawa.
Lord Plasma reacted quickly. He drew his lightsaber and, with a quick strike, cut the blaster in half. The second guard reached for his pistol but hesitated upon seeing the red, humming lightsaber blade.
"You do not need to die here," Plasma said calmly
Following the commotion, three other guards rushed outside, carrying long blaster rifles. They stood in front of the sliding door, kneeling down, behind ferrocrete barricades mounted near the entrance.
"Stand down!" the commander yelled.
"Tell them to lower their weapons," Plasma muttered.
Lord Plasma could smell their fear. There were five armed guards, and all of them – even the commander – reeked of panic. Plasma could hear their bones shaking. There was a moment of hesitation before the commander, a male Human with brown skin and thick white beard, spoke loudly.
"This building is off-limits to non-Czerka personnel!"
The guard before Plasma closed his eyes with regret, his last thought before a powerful Force Push sent him flying six meters backwards. Plasma roared in anger and charged forward. The commander opened fire – and Plasma deflected the shots with ease, twirling the lightsaber in front of his body. He knew he would not have to worry about the other two guards; shaky hands already ruined their aim. They squeezed the triggers and their shots hit the ground and walls.
Plasma climbed the stairway with astounding speed and now stood before the commander. With another strike, the lightsaber sectioned the rifle in two. The two guards dropped their weapons. The commander feigned courage as he stared Plasma in the eyes, with a red lightsaber pointed at his face.
"When a Sith Lord demands entrance, you oblige." Plasma growled. "I did not come here to kill, but I will gladly do so if you don't do as I command. Understood?"
"… yes, sir." The commander lowered his half-rifle and stood up.
The entire town of Anchorage had gathered around the central plaza. People watched with morbid curiosity. The town's local militia did not dare intervene, hoping they would not have to.
"I am looking for a Cathar like me," Plasma explained.
"It's Loo, right? You look like him!" The guard on the left – a green-skinned Rodian – said. Plasma raised a hand at him. The man gasped and choked, rising into the air. Plasma did not break eye contact from the commander. Sweating nervously, the commander pleaded with a breaking voice.
"Sir, I beg you to spare his life."
Suddenly, the Rodian fell to the ground, hacking and coughing. The commander thanked the Sith.
"Loo is the only Cathar that came through here," he continued. "He used to speak with me but was arrogant towards my men. He called them lesser servants."
"You are a brave soldier," Plasma told the commander. "But your men need better training."
"Sir, fighting a Sith Lord is way, way above our pay grade," the commander shrugged. "I do not blame them."
Plasma nodded and put the lightsaber away. The commander gestured for Plasma to follow him and headed into the building. Pawa scurried quickly to follow them.
Eight years ago, Czerka reestablished a massive enterprise on Tatooine, the commander explained as they walked across the lobby. That was when Loo Puhrr had arrived there to take over the management of one of the mining operations.
"Speak with the HR Director," the commander said, handing Plasma a visitor identification. "Miss Mabat Akaje. I will inform her of your visit. She will help you."
The commander finished typing into a computer terminal. He eyed Pawa behind Plasma, then said:
"That man, my Lord," he pointed at the former vice-president of operations. "Has a hefty bounty on his head. Czerka will pay one hundred thousand credits for him. A money I will share with my men."
Plasma looked at Pawa's pleading eyes and terrified face, then turned to the commander and asked:
"Can you guarantee that Miss Mabat will assist me?"
"One hundred percent, sir," the commander said quickly.
Plasma nodded subtly at him, grabbing Pawa by the jacket, and tossing the man towards the commander.
"Make sure to share the bounty with your men," Plasma said sternly, walking away towards the lift at the north end of the lobby without looking back. Pawa's terrified screams were quickly silenced under a powerful rifle whip to the jaw.
The elevator delivered Plasma to the fourth floor. He walked down a brightly lit hall and noticed that the building was almost entirely empty. Out of dozens of offices and maybe hundreds of desks, there were only five people working, including the director. Through a window, he saw the brown-skinned Human woman at her desk.
The plastic doors to Mabat's office slid open as Plasma approached them. The office was expensively decorated. It was spacious, with long sofas and lounge chairs, a center table equipped with a holographic projector, and a waiter droid carrying glasses of wine around. It beeped at Plasma, lifting a glass with green wine to him. He denied it.
"How can I help a Sith Lord of the Empire?" Mabat asked, gesturing at one of the chairs before her desk. Plasma chose to stand.
"Loo Puhrr. I need his location."
"Yes, the Cathar," she sounded disappointed. She typed into her computer – a bulky machine built directly into her desk. "Nasty person, wonderful worker."
Plasma took a deep breath, trying to control the growing anger inside his heart. He grew impatient, but also grew hopeful. His heart accelerated, pounding against his chest. The prospect of finding his father felt overwhelming. The computer beeped.
"Says here that he worked for a while in one of the Rubat Crystal Operations," she read from the screen. "His contract expired, and we hired him as a consultant. We can't be picky about our workers in a place like Tatooine."
Plasma took another deep breath and folded his arms. Mabat looked at him over her glasses and grimaced.
"According to his file, he is still overseeing operations at Mine X-Zero-Four," Mabat said. "Fifth Level. I'll upload the coordinates to your map."
Plasma smiled sincerely at Mabat, thanked her, and turned to go. The woman, however, reached for his wrist and held his hand. She opened her mouth to speak, but Plasma interrupted her with a coarse growl.
"If you want to keep that hand you won't touch me again."
###
Plasma darted across Anchorhead's main street and left through the town's northeastern gate. He drove for half an hour until he reached the foot of a nearby mountain. Approaching a gaping cavern entrance, he saw Czerka's industrial assemblage outside, with a dozen of insulated tents, magnetic rails, huge tractors and docking bays. A tall but thin duraluminium fence surrounded the perimeter. There was only one entrance, the gates protected by a platoon of corporate security guards.
Workers clamored on one side; others rested under warm shadows underneath a cargo wagon. There was a constant flow of hovering wheelbarrows, of freighter trucks and forklifts, carrying crates and containers. Nearly a dozen of cranes armed with magnetic claws protruded in the distance, hauling massive plasteel containers onto high stacks.
Plasma approached the gate. The guards gave him a quick scan and raised the barrier. He parked his speeder bike and continued on foot, pacing through and around the worker's patio, following dusty paths and illuminated signs. He stopped before the overseer's office door – with a sign that read Loo Puhrr, Director of Operations – and, to his own surprise, decided to knock. There was no answer.
"The boss is underground!" a man yelled in the distance.
A large Gamorrean sentinel guarded the cavern's entrance, blocking Plasma's path. The pig-like humanoid grunted something intelligible. The Sith frowned in confusion, but another worker approached quickly.
"He said authorized personnel only," then chuckled. "It's everything he knows how to say, I believe."
Plasma turned at the worker and saw a green-skinned Twi'lek wearing a protective hazmat suit. He said something to the Gamorrean, and the huge guard gave way. The Twi'lek stretched an open hand to Plasma and smiled.
"I'm Wy'tuur. Are you here to see Big Loo?"
Plasma shook his hand. His friendliness seemed genuine and was a refresher from the exaggerated flattery of the Imperials. The Cathar nodded in agreement. They walked along a rocky and dusty pathway, illuminated by tripod-mounted floodlights. The air inside the cavern was humid and cool, perhaps twenty degrees cooler than outside.
After four hundred meters, they reached a turbo-elevator, where a four-armed operator droid greeted them.
"Hey, Zee-Zee," the Twi'lek said. "Fifth level, please. Big Loo's kid is here!"
Plasma closed his eyes and meditated for a while, the Twi'lek's voice muffled in the back of his mind. The way down was long, and he focused on the Force around him to control his rage. Three minutes, and eight kilometers later, the lift stopped. Plasma's conscience returned to him in time to hear the Twi'lek's parting words.
"Say hi to your dad for me!"
The Twi'lek grabbed a probe lantern from a desh box by the elevator and walked away into a tight corridor.
Plasma did the same. The probe fluttered above his head, casting a long, white light a few meters in front of him. He followed the path for ten minutes, balancing over steep terrain and slippery stones. Upon exiting the corridor into a wide, open chamber, his boot heels met a metallic catwalk. Echoing in the distance, he heard thudding stomps and whirring machinery. The beats of his heart matched the rhythm of the machines, growing louder by the step.
The catwalk described a spiral pathway down into the darkness, two hundred meters below. The noises emerged rhythmically, like a heavy, bestial respiration. As he descended, muffled screams became clearer. His heart pounded against his chest; when he saw a person walking down below, he suddenly halted.
It was him.
For the first time since leaving the planetoid, Lord Plasma felt fear. His mouth dried, his respiration became more frantic, and his hands shook subtly.
In that man, he saw a version of himself. He saw his gut-wrenching past. Up until that moment, he had not truly minded his mission. It felt distant, unreachable, almost impossible. Did you truly expect to find his father? Plasma had asked himself. Now that he saw Loo Puhrr, his father, twenty meters below, his purpose reignited with the bursting flame of revenge.
From the platform, Plasma overlooked a hall of stone; a labyrinth of power cables powered industrial-sized spotlights, which bathed with white light an immense panel of crystals on the northern wall, millions of dots sparkling. Loo said something then laughed, and another man approached him; he pointed at the wall and at a datapad.
The Sith Lord stood there, alone, studying what he had found, like a predator. Twenty meters below a vertical wall, excavated into the earth, was the man who left him to die, alone and dreamless. Loo Puhrr looked diminutive, from that distance. But it was Plasma who felt small. He was a child once again. The memories of his infancy, burned onto his brain, resurfaced. The pain fed into his anger, and he growled.
Through repressed memories, he relived every abuse, the pain of hunger, the fear for his sisters; he felt the cold of the sewers, where he used to take his baby sisters into adventures; the sleepless nights, the humiliation of being a beggar, imploring for water on the streets. The screams, the punishments, the loud bangs against the bathroom door where he locked himself, night after night, to protect his sisters from their father's drunken wrath.
This time, though, he was not a helpless child. He would save himself. Tears of rage rolled down his face; uncontrollably, he let out a mighty Cathar roar that shook the very grounds.
"LOO PUHRR, I HAVE FOUND YOU!"
Plasma leaped off the platform. Assisted by the Force, he landed softly on the ground. He stood up and strode towards Loo Puhrr, who remained petrified at the center of the cave. Four other workers scampered away, their screams echoing. The man froze, staring at the ghost of his past.
"Hello, father…" Plasma muttered menacingly.
Loo's heart stopped; his muscles shivered.
"Look at me, father," Plasma continued. "And see what I have become."
Shaking his head, Loo paced backwards, his knees faltering. Plasma followed him, step after step. Plasma flicked his wrist and the spotlights slowly turned towards them, illuminating both Cathars with bright lights against a stage of darkness.
"H-hey, my son," Loo stammered. "I'm glad you're here; I've looked everywhere for you, you know."
Without saying a word, the cavern shook once more; Plasma stared down at his father, breathing heavily, and a minor quake dropped Loo on the ground. Plasma stood above him.
"Don't you dare." Plasma's face twisted into a mixture of extreme agony and uncontrollable rage. "Don't you dare lie to me again…"
"L-look," Loo pleaded, dragging himself backwards. "You must have lots of questions, but how about—"
"One!" Plasma bellowed. "I only have one question: why did you abandon me?"
"I-it's not that simple, son," Loo whimpered. He reached out a hand to his son, but it was repelled with a fierce slap. "How about we have lunch tomorrow? I'll tell you everything you want to know!"
Plasma snarled. With the Force, he put Loo on his feet like a marionette doll. Holding him in the air, Plasma landed a mighty punch on his father's stomach; then another, and another. Memories rushed through Plasma's mind.
Won't you hit me again, daddy? It is different when the little boy can fight back, daddy? Won't you drag me across the floor, slam me against the wall, and force me to sleep in the bathroom, without dinner? Won't you lock the door and leave me there until you get home from the cantina? Memories became thoughts, which became words; as Plasma brutalized his father mercilessly, his mouth opened and be bellowed with each loud strike, pushing Loo back onto the cavern wall.
"Won't you hit me back, daddy? You're only brave to beat little children? That's why you abused my sisters? Do you have any idea how it feels to be consumed by panic when you hear the door opening? When you have to hug your sisters to sleep under the bed, while your father beats your mother in the other room? Because the man who was supposed to CARE FOR YOU, TO PROTECT YOU, TO LOVE YOU IS THE ONE THAT IS KILLING YOU?! DO YOU? DO YOU?!"
A chaotic entropy of passion swirled inside his mind. His veins pumped up with boiling blood, his muscles trembled in anticipation and pleasure of each blow. He roared, growled, and cried, screaming, and shouting into his father's bloody face. Every wound that his father had inflicted upon him was now inflicted back upon his abuser.
The man's face, covered in blood and bruises, swollen beyond recognition, carried the twisted visage of a terrified, cowardly man.
"Answer me now," Plasma whispered with a shaky voice, pulling Loo's head back with violence. "Why did you leave me?"
Released, Loo fell on his knees and raised his pleading hands. "I swear, I wanted to look for you, but I couldn't!"
The blood-red lightsaber bathed them in a flickering light. Upon seeing the weapon, Loo's eyes widened, and he stuttered, his breath failing.
"No, no, they got you!" Loo clamored. "Please, son, calm down, and we can talk about this, okay?"
"I just want the truth, father." Plasma raised his lightsaber and approached the glimmering blade to the man's neck. "This is your last chance."
"Okay! Okay!" Loo whined. "The truth, you deserve the truth." He swallowed in dry. "I—I hated you. You were born out of the perfect love your mother and I had, and you were supposed to be our new life together. You were our new hope, our new chance far away from everything. Life was good, you surely remember, don't you? You were just a baby, but you remember. But… but then your mom got pregnant again, and things got tough. It happened during an especially difficult time for me at work… double shifts, battling for a promotion, so I could give you all a better life.
The baby was born, and your mom had to quit her job… and as money got tighter, debts got bigger… I was under a lot of stress, so I started drinking a little… you know, just to keep my mind off things, ease my nerves. I started betting on pazaak a while later and made pretty good money at it… until I started losing, and those Hutts really know how to hook you on things, you know?" he chuckled nervously, rubbing the sweat off his fur. He now sat against the wall, exhausted.
"When I got home, alone with my thoughts," he continued. "I realized the real state of my life, the state of your mother. And you, and you, weak, sick, and filthy… it made me so mad! So mad that she wasn't taking care of my house, of my noble children, you know? It's her fault, really!
"I would have had a perfect life if it wasn't for her… I wouldn't have failed the tests… So, I punished her for it, and she knew she was guilty, so she accepted it! I wanted to go back to the Academy, but I couldn't, because of her!
"I still loved her, thought, and she gave me another beautiful baby! We were happy again, but your mother wasn't taking care of herself, she did not quit the nasty spice! One day, she left me – she left us! She betrayed us just like that…
"And every time I looked at you, you reminded me of her, of her cowardice, of her mistakes, and I couldn't control myself again… I was so weak… Forgive me, son."
Plasma witnessed as his father's spirit shattered. Loo broke into tears and wailed. He slid down the wall and lay on the dirt, sobbing and shivering. The young Sith Lord stared down at him. He heard his father's entire guilty, and twisted, confession. He saw the heart of a weak man who after so many years had condemned his wife.
Plasma had thought that confronting his father would bring him peace and closure, but it only brought him more pain and more hatred. He shook his head incredulously as his father spoke. Plasma lowered the lightsaber, still ignited, to his side. Loo smiled with false hope.
"She is ungrateful," Loo babbled. "I gave her freedom and she still abandoned us. She stole my daughters…"
Lord Plasma saw what had become of Loo Puhrr; it was precisely how he remembered him. A sorry, pitiful creature. A coward who, even when faced with the retribution of his past, dared to cower and to lie. Plasma felt the rage returning and, this time, he embraced it, savored it, and let it empower his very being.
"You beat her—you beat us—everyday," Plasma said in a quiet rage. "How did drawing blood from the face of a two-year-old girl make you feel? To hear her crying beyond the might of her tiny lungs. Did it feel good? Seeing our fear made you feel like a Sith again?"
Plasma leaned in, draped over his father, like an enveloping predator who corners its prey. His eyes glowed in crimson, staring down at the terrified face of his abuser.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore!" he roared, pulling Loo towards him with the Force wrapping around his throat. "I survived without you; I learned how to fight without you; I learned how to work without you; I endured it all without you. I never needed you, I never remembered you.
"You will die now, and no one will mourn you; you will be forgotten. My children won't learn your name. I will be a better father than you ever were. And there is nothing
you could ever teach me about how to love my cubs!"
Plasma tossed his father on the ground and mounted over him. With his bare fists, he slammed the man's face with tremendous, unnatural strength, his muscles propelled by the Force. The Sith Lord panted, grunted, and growled, breathing heavily and rapidly. He roared and slobbered, like an enraged rancor in the wilds. Finally, he screamed gutturally at the disfigured corpse below him, blood and bones dripping from his fingers and knuckles, rising triumphantly like a conquering monster.
The Sith Lord stood over the carcass of his father. Seeing that deformed corpse, who had fallen under the justice of his seething rage, filled his heart with joy and determination. His eyes burning, watering and warm, and their once sapphiric hue had now twisted into a pair of blood-red rubies.
Now, he would find his mother.
###
One week later, Darth Komm'ett received a priority HoloCall from her hovering mansion in Kaas City. Lost in thoughts, she scanned the capital of the Imperial capital city, holding a glass of Alderaniaan mint liquor.
"My Lord," said the voice of Major Bradin Zhatt from the communicator. "I received confirmation from Sergeant Vyrna, stationed in Mos Ila, that the traitor Loo Puhrr has been killed."
"Oh, my prized apprentice," Komm'ett whispered to herself. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."
"Lord Plasma has already left Tatooine and will commence the search for his mother."
"Excellent. I will prepare the paperwork to submit to the Dark Council," Komm'ett said, then paused. "Meanwhile, contact my informant on Nar Shaddaa. See to it that Ma'va Puhrr do not leave the moon. Plasma shall find her soon."
"As you command, my Lord."