Nar Shaddaa was an infamous place. The biggest moon orbiting its mother-planet of Nal Hutta, Nar Shaddaa was an ecumenopolis; its surface was completely overgrown with a sprawling metropolis, a gargantuan and unnatural conurbation complex that enveloped the entirety of its surface with countless kilometer-tall buildings, and a deep, underground world with a cosmopolitan amalgamation of every known species in the Galaxy.
Plasma's Fury-class interceptor orbited around the moon, slowly drifting away in its gravity. The young Sith read the moon's entry in the Imperial encyclopedic database, sipping a bottle of Alderaanian mint liqueur. C9-N2 swept and vacuumed the floor around him.
Each consecutive line made Plasma more disgusted with Nar Shaddaa, as well as increasingly more confident that his mother definitely was there. Perhaps she went there by her own will, or the Hutt had sold her, or that is where Myat had gone to, and she went after her. Plasma hated her for leaving him, but he understood why she had done it. At least she had kept her sisters safe and, truly, that was all that mattered.
Like Nal Hutta, the moon was controlled by the Hutt Cartel, although it did not possess a central government. Each district had a ruling class, more often than not comprised of ruthless and powerful gangs. Gleaming skyscrapers blended legitimate business and criminal activities with naturality. Nar Shaddaa was extremely dangerous, holding the galaxy's highest rates of murder and disappearances. Powerful slaver syndicates inhabited the moon, which was a lucrative farm of potential slaves.
From space, Plasma saw the geometric, fractal patterns of the moon's surface, permanently illuminated with pulsating artificial lights. The moon's original surface had been lost many millennia ago. The city had grown into the planet's every crevice, like a creeping tumor.
Tilting the controls forward, Plasma descended onto the surface, engines blasting. He knew his mother's last known location, and flew over to the Promenades, following the ship's navicomputer, looking for a spaceport he could land.
There were many; and they all hailed the Grey Condor, pitching their low prices and the quality of their establishments. Plasma ignored them all and flew for twenty minutes, until he found a sizeable facility, with wide landing pads and convertible ceilings. The Condor descended vertically and landed softly. The ceiling above her closed with a loud whir.
Plasma left the ship on his speeder bike into the city.
The tempest of sound, smell and light was overwhelming; Plasma's brain swirled in his skull, his senses clouded and nauseous. He stopped the bike to the side of a traffic lane, breathing fast. He looked up but saw there was no sky. The buildings and constructions extended and overlapped over each other, confining the population into an endless metal box. He could not feel the pulsation of nature as well; there were no plants nor animals on Nar Shaddaa. And the Force rippled non-stop with uncontrollable chaos.
Infinite skyscrapers smudged the skyline, their façades covered with huge, colorful neon signs, holographic billboards, and all sorts of advertisement. Now crossing a long bridge, Plasma could glimpse the city below, a gaping abyss of even more buildings that penetrated deeply into the moon, the rainbow lights dissipating in a permanent fog cloud.
Plasma followed a holographic map projected from the bike's control panel. If not for his Force-heightened senses, he would not have been able to drive in that traffic. Speeder lanes were spacious, but furious. Vehicles zoomed past one another in super high speeds, honking and screaming at the slightly slower driver.
The Sith followed the hyperspeed lane in a straight line for thirty minutes. Then, he took a right turn into a local street, following a holographic traffic signal indicating The Promenade. There, he crossed it for five kilometers, then took a hard left into a narrow road, following his own map. He had to dodge all sorts of obstacles, from abandoned landspeeders, to rusty containers, old boxes, and piles of rubbish. At the end of that road a barricade made with a metallic fence mounted into concrete blocks obstructed the way.
Approaching it, six individuals came out of the shadows, wearing bright, colorful clothes and low-quality cybertech implants. They seemed more machine than people. With rifles and pistols in hand, they surrounded the young Sith, smiling devilishly. They were either brave or foolish, either ignoring the appearance of a Sith armor, or believing they had the upper hand in numbers.
"Pay the toll, kid, and all will be fine" a raspy voice said. A tall and broad cyborg approached. His cybernetic eyes twirled and whirred, focusing on Plasma. The man took a thick cigar to his lips.
Plasma scratched his furry head. His impatience had waned, at least momentarily; he was now in a good mood and decided to entertain then. The bike hovered beneath him as he adjusted the feet on the pedals.
"Good evening," he said, sitting up straight. "I am looking for someone."
Laughter erupted. As they moved around, Plasma could sense the electricity inside their mechanical limbs, sizzling and faltering. Their guns were loaded; by the smell of rancid gas, though, their ammo cells were outdated. The big cyborg stepped over the steering vanes and leaned over the bike.
"Pay the toll, then we can talk."
The man breathed out a thick smoke cloud. Plasma ran a full simulation in his head in that instant. The smoke obstructed the man's face, and Plasma could decapitate him before he even saw the blade. At least two more could be cut down quickly, and the remainder could be Force pushed away. From the smell of their fear, half of them would run away, while the other two would die trying to prove their bravery.
Instead, Plasma simply smiled and said:
"And how much is the toll?"
"For you, one grand. Just hand over the money and the gate will open."
"Just like that?" Plasma smiled. "No funny business?"
"No funny business at all," the cyborg blew another puff of smoke, this time over Plasma's face. This time, the simulation became real.
Darkness glowed with blood-red light from the lightsaber blade. A quick hum, and the man dropped down, headless. Screams of fear and shouts of anger filled the air. Plasma jumped out of the bike, turning mid-air. He dodged a couple of blaster shots and flicked his wrist, hewing off the right hand of a female cyborg, who dropped on her knees.
The simulation had failed; the four remaining cyborgs scampered away instantly. Plasma illuminated the anguished face of the cyborg on the ground and spoke calmly.
"Your friends are cowards."
The woman shook her head. She had a bald, tattooed had and two cybernetic eyes; her teeth had been painted in bright, metallic green and purple paint. Holding a handless arm, she simply nodded in agreement.
"As I said, I am looking for someone," Plasma continued. The blade cackled in front of the woman's face. "You may have seen her: a Cathar like me."
She shuddered, unable to speak. She only shook her head, starring lifelessly at Plasma. The Sith took a deep breath and deactivated the lightsaber. He climbed onto his bike again and drove away, dispersing the barricade with a strong Force push.
Exiting the alley, Plasma merged onto an avenue near the edge of the district. He saw a large building across the chasm, with its own landing platform and dedicated traffic line. A gigantic neon sign, with pulsating and blinking letters, read Slippery Slope Cantina.
Charging the repulsor, Plasma maneuvered the bike into the air, flying across the abyss. He landed his bike on the parking platform, where a valet droid took his bike away.
In front of the cantina, which seemed more like a high-class restaurant, there was an open plaza covered with well-dressed people, majorly Human. A long line formed by the door, guarded by a pair of heavily armed security guards. A Rattataki hostess, wearing gleaming sets of jewelry and a skin-tight green dress welcomed the patrons with a big, fake smile.
Plasma marched directly over to the entrance and was let in immediately. People outside did not protest.
The Slippery Slope Cantina was a mix of casino, restaurant, hotel, and spice shop. The environment was incredibly huge, spacious, and open. The front gate gave onto an overlooking mezzanine, a flight of stairs leading to the casino one level below.
There were tens of thousands of people in there. The music was so loud Plasma could barely hear his own thoughts, and the dazzling lights from posters, signs, screens, and holograms were disorienting. That was intentional; as soon as he set foot in the casino, a Human waitress approached him, bombarding him with friendly remarks and questions.
"Be quiet!" Plasma commanded her, and she froze. "I am looking for a waitress."
"Oh, my Lord is already a regular! Apologies, I am new here. My name is Qhye; what is yours?"
"My name doesn't matter," he responded harshly. "Do you know someone named Ma'va? A Cathar, like me."
"Sorry." Qhye shook her head. "There's nobody like you in this department."
"Let me speak with the manager," he said. Qhye gave him a fake smile and giggled.
"Absolutely, my Lord! While I fetch him for you, would you be interested in a hearty meal, or perhaps a fun night in the casino? We have the most exciting pazaak tables on Nar Shadda!"
Plasma shook his head. He retrieved his respirator mask, attached to his belt behind his back, and put it on, breathing in a big gulp of air.
"This place is disgusting," he growled. "Just get me your manager. Now!"
"M—My apologies, my Lord, but only paying customers can—"
"My patience is wearing thin, Qhye…" he leaned over her, their faces approaching. "This place is driving me crazy; I am just looking for a Cathar woman named Ma'va Puhrr. She either works, or has worked, here."
"I already told you, sir," she giggled nervously. "I do not know this—"
"Then find me someone who does!" he bellowed with a mighty Cathar roar. The waitress faltered before his red eyes, swallowing in dry, then spoke with a breaking voice.
"R-right away, my Lord."
Plasma waited by the bar for fifteen minutes; it felt like fifteen hours. The thumping noise of the music was endless, and the air was tempered with loud chatter and constant screaming. Clusters of loud machinery worked non-stop, whirring and droning, and the bright, flashing lights danced around, cast from powerful spotlights.
He tried to meditate, but it was impossible to concentrate in that place. During that time, thirty people approached him to offer something. Often company, but most commonly spice. The way those people spoke about spice would make one believe they spoke of fine cuisine; they had poetic names, like Glimmering Whisper, Divine Dust, Crimson Smile, Glitterstim, Giggledust, and people around Plasma discussed their tastes and their effect like vintners.
Qhye finally returned, accompanied by a beige-skinned Iridonian wearing a fine suit, and an armed guard. The man approached wearing a fake smile.
"Good evening, my Lord," he said. "I am Be'et, chief maître of the Slippery Slope Cantina. Dear Qhye here says you are looking for one of our employees."
Plasma nodded.
"A Cathar woman named Ma'va Puhrr," he added. "She may have changed her name."
"And what would be your business with her?" Be'et asked. "It is company policy to safeguard the security of our collaborators; I'm sure you understand."
"Sith Empire business," Plasma said bluntly. "Where can I find her?"
Feeling cold sweat dripping underneath his tuxedo, Be'et attempted to maintain his composure. The annoyed guard reached his hand at Plasma, but the Iridonian promptly stopped him, smiling nervously.
"We are happy to assist the Sith Empire," Be'et muttered. "She is on the fifth level, attending the south VIP Room. This way, sir."
Plasma thanked Qhye and followed Be'et. They crossed the vast casino floor to the elevators. Be'et touched his identification badge on the panel and the door slid open, revealing a panoramic lift.
The environment on the fifth floor was much quieter. Muffled music escaped from the many VIP rooms along the corridor, their sound booming whenever the doors opened. Be'et conducted plasma to a nearby door, on the left side of the corridor, named Hothian Gardens. He spoke into the intercom, and a woman responded.
Plasma froze for one second. It was his mother's voice. She sounded worried; the maître vehemently insisted she came out to meet him. One minute later, the door opened, and Ma'va Puhrr walked out into the hall. She wore a fancier version of the waitress uniform; she also wore a ridiculous blonde wig. She spoke impatiently with her boss, gesturing widely; the Iridonian smile awkwardly, until he gestured towards Plasma.
Upon seeing her son, Ma'va collapsed.
Ma'va Puhrr woke up, disoriented. She lay uncomfortably on an infirmary bed. Monitors beeped and machines buzzed softly. When she opened her eyes, she saw Lord Plasma standing in front of her, arms crossed, unmasked.
"Hello, mom," he muttered.
Ma'va pulled her arms closer, shuddering; Plasma had already seen the bald patches and syringe marks on her forearms. She was as beautiful as he remembered her, but her figure was much scrawnier and frailer. It broke his heart to see a person he had once loved sincerely in that situation. She was a Cathar at the height of her age who appeared to be a moribund elder. The layers of makeup could not hide her weathered semblant.
His vengeful rage prevented him from feeling real compassion.
Ma'va looked around nervously; she reached for her purse, probing inside it with a growing desperation. Plasma unfolded his arms, holding a thin syringe between his fingers. The spice in it was a thick, somewhat dense liquid, preheated and compressed; a common hallucinogenic drug produced from reduced industrial compounds mixed from morphine. Terribly powerful and numbing. Ma'va smiled nervously at her son, scratching her own shoulders repeatedly.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Plasma asked, with a crushed voice. The most hurtful part of all of it was that she barely looked at him, constantly avoiding his gaze and looking away. Plasma retrieved one energy bar from one of the compartments in his belt and offered her. "Hungry?"
She reached out a trembling hand; chewing slowly, she looked up at her son. She observed his armor, the cape, until her eyes contemplated the lightsaber hilt for a moment.
"I dreamt with this moment all my life," Plasma sighed. "And I can't ever hear the sound of my mother's voice…"
"You… You…" she chuckled nervously, breathing fast; the machines beeped louder. "You're supposed to be dead... It can't be, it can't be, it can't be…"
Plasma's ruby eyes glistened with anger; he bared his teeth at her and roared furiously. The woman cowered and whimpered.
"You left me there on purpose to die!" he shouted.
"No, no, no…" She cowered, pleading. "The hunter… he said you were dead! He showed me pictures! I buried a photograph of you!"
Demolished, her spirit fell into a wailing, screeching lament. Ma'va sit up on the bed and moved in for a hug. Plasma pushed her away violently.
"LIAR!" he bellowed. "I have crossed the Galaxy to find you and you dare lie to my face?!"
"It's the truth!" she shouted back with a force she did not know she had. "All I did for years was trying to find you. I couldn't live with the guilt, it was eating me away, but… after the hunter told me you were dead… I just gave up… if I knew you were still alive, I would've—"
"Shut your mouth, shut your mouth, shut up with your lies! I am Lord Plasma now, a Sith of the Empire, not that scared little cub anymore." He panted, his chest swelling and contracting from heavy respiration. "I just came here to see you and ask you the same thing I asked dad: why did you abandon me?"
"You… you saw your father…?" Ma'va's face went white, and her voice broke with uncontrollable panic.
"ANSWER THE QUESTION!" His bellow shook the room around them; equipment beeped louder, bottles and instruments clattered inside the cupboards. Outside, a nurse banged on the window, screaming inaudibly. Plasma had already locked the door from inside.
Ma'va sunk deeper into the synthetic mattress. She, too, breathed rapidly, but weakly. Instinctively, she reached for her purse again and remembered it was empty. Her eyes widened vitreously; sweat soaked her fur and the bed sheets. Seeing Plasma standing there, in armor, lightsaber on the side, his hateful eyes shining red…
"I never wanted to leave you," she confessed with sincerity. "But—but…"
"Say it!" Plasma barked. "Dare to say the truth, at least now!"
"I hated you!"she screamed loudly. "You look so much like him. Even now I can't bear to look at you! The night I left, I grabbed your sisters, and I looked at you, asleep, and I just couldn't wake you!"
The mighty Sith Lord's soul broke before his mother. The emotions he had bottled up for so long began to boil and seethe inside him. He felt as if his mother was a sort of mirror of himself; she felt so much anger he could taste it. Her hatred was pure, and her honesty was murderous. He felt all the disgust his mother had for him all at once. His body shivered, and Plasma broke down into Plaz-myu once more.
"Because you reminded me of him!" she continued. "Even now, seeing what you've become, all I see is the face of someone I abhor with every fiber of my being. Your father, that monster owned me for so long, and I finally broke free!"
"… and you chose to leave me alone with him?" Plaz-myu was truly wounded, defeated; incredulous. "You have no idea what he became after you left; how much worse his abuse got. His fists made me believe that your leaving was my fault!"
"Oh, my baby boy…" she whimpered. "It wasn't your fault…"
"I KNOW IT WASN'T MY FAULT; I WAS ONLY A CHILD!"
Plaz-myu raised his hand and Ma'va recoiled even further. It was at that moment that he realized that, despite all his hatred, he had not gone there to kill his mother. He still loved her; deep down, he believed he would find her and her sisters, and they would be a family again. This time, in a beautiful condo in Dromund Kaas, or perhaps on Dantooine, in a nice, peaceful farm near the hills.
He would teach his sisters how to swim, how to build a fire; they would cook together and laugh together by the table.
Two more nurses gathered outside, swiping their key cards into the lock, to no avail. The commotion behind the plexiglass increased.
Devoured by conflict, Plaz-myu shuddered; he closed his eyes and lowered his head. Ma'va broke the silence with a soft murmur.
"Did you kill him? Is Loo dead…?"
Plasma nodded. His mother smiled with ineffable relief.
"I can't blame you for leaving dad," he muttered slowly, breathing rhythmically. "But I am your firstborn… I was so scared and alone… How could you leave me like that? I waited every day, dreaming you would swoop in on a spaceship and carry me away into the stars…"
Unable to hold in anymore, his passion exploded. He fell on his knees, crying like the child Ma'va remembered him as. She climbed down the bead and crouched beside her son and hugged him. There was nothing more she could say. The quietude was only broken by Plaz-myu repeating childishly, over, and over. Why did you leave me? I needed you.
She caressed him lovingly, chanting a lullaby he had long forgotten. The feeling of his mother's warm embrace was what he missed the most. He wished it could never end, but his mission was not over.
"Where are my sisters, mother….?"
Ma'va kissed his head; stroking his fur, she took a deep breath.
"Puath has a better life now," she said grievously yet happily. "A very rich family adopted her, and—"
With a roar, Plaz-myu shoved her away, turning his eyes at her. She stumbled and fell down, back against the wall underneath the window. His blood boiled again, and it became increasingly difficult to control his rage.
"ADOPTED?! YOU SOLD HER TO A HUTT FOR TEN THOUSAND CREDITS!"
"It was the only way! There were no adoption laws there. I couldn't just hand her to the man! I needed a document, and he said money was not a problem!
Puath needed a proof of ownership and a registration as slave of war. Only then the gentle Mister Kjuty Khal could legally adopt her."
"… you sold her for ten thousand credits—"
"The money did not matter!" she interrupted him with a shout. "I only wanted her to have a better life!"
"This gentle Kjuty Kal bought her for thirty million credits. I have the receipt right here!" He tossed the datapad on the bed. "Nobody pays that amount of money just to adopt someone. How could you be so stupid?!"
"H-he said his wife could not conceive, that they were touched by my story…" she raised her eyes, realizing what she had done. "That a child like her did not deserve to suffer."
In a fit of rage, Plaz-myu flung the bed over, tossing it against the back wall; medical equipped tumbled over, clattering and clanking.
"He only wanted a fancy pet slave!"
Plaz-myu shook his head and drew his lightsaber. Ma'va stared at the blade, enthralled, smiling calmly. Her mind drifted away for a moment.
"A lightsaber," she said nostalgically. "She'll have one too."
"What are you talking about?"
"Myat," her face beamed. "The man said she would have a lightsaber too."
"—what did you say?" He gasped; dropping the lightsaber, he stumbled forward, keeling before his mother. He held her by the shoulders. "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? WHERE'S MYAT?"
"Myat will become a Jedi," she said firmly, staring at her son's blood-red eyes. "A wonderful Jedi Master took her two years ago."
That was his event horizon. His mind spiraled around his head like a cyclone, attempting wrap itself around what the woman had just said. He breathed heavily; his lips moved, but no words came out. Escaping the trance, he stammered.
"Myat is strong in the Force!"
"Yes, my son," she responded in a disappointed tone. "The Force is strong with this family. Your sister has it; you have it; … and your father had it."
Plaz-myu chuckled incredulously. His father had been born on Dromund Kaas, after all. It was unbelievable. Unbelievable. He too sat on the ground, throwing his head back, recollecting his thoughts.
"Have I ever told you how I met Loo?"
Plaz-myu said nothing, so she continued.
"We met on Korriban. Your father was a proud student in the Sith Academy, and I," she paused. "Was his slave. I first belonged to his master, but this man found it amusing to lend me to his Cathar acolye to parade me around. Joke's on him: because we fell in love."
Ma'va relaxed; she looked up, starry-eyed, as if staring into space, her mind travelling back in time. Her eyes glistened with nostalgia.
"The big day came; Loo was supposed to face the last trial. He would graduate from Acolyte to Apprentice, serving under one of those Darths… But your father failed. Twelve years in the Academy; he dedicated his whole life to becoming Sith and failed.
He knew he should have died there to keep his honor. Instead, he chose to escape. With me. We fled Korriban. The Outer Rim was the only place we could go. I told him that we should've filed for political asylum with the Republic, be he just wouldn't listen; he said he was still Sith and would never betray the Empire."
She shook her head, laughing.
"Everything changed when I found out I was expecting you... He became gentle, loving, and dedicated. He found work and worked hard to provide for us. He was so proud that his firstborn would be a boy. He kept going on, and on how he wanted to send you to Korriban, how the Puhrr name would regain its honor."
Plaz-myu laughed, too, in extraordinary disbelief. Every word his mother had said unbelievable, yet she spoke with such a sincerity that was almost calming. Plaz-myu felt through the Force that the love she had had for her husband and son used to be real.
That story affected Plaz-myu in ways he could not understand. After all that, he still could not blame his mother for what she had done. Loo Puhrr had broken her spirit and her life, and he had paid for his crimes; Plasma had brought him to justice.
A loud clang on the door snapped him back to his senses. There were three security guards outside, banging an electronic ram against the lock. Their voices slowly became audible, but their shouting was intelligible. The metallic door cracked, and the men pushed it open. Three blaster pistols pointed at Plasma.
Plaz-myu said nothing. He frowned, staring at them. They wanted to shoot – their fingers were right over the triggers – but they could not control their bodies anymore. Choking, they slowly fluttered upwards; their faces swelled, tears squeezed out of their eyes. The nurses screeched in terror and begged Plasma to stop; Ma'va begged her son to stop.
She dragged herself across the floor, throwing herself at her son's feet, and begged him to release the guards. And he obeyed; the guards fell on the ground, hacking and coughing. The nurses ran away.
"Would you have killed these innocent men?!" she roared at him, shocked and disgusted.
"I am Sith, mother!" Plaz-myu howled. "They point blasters and me, their lives mean nothing!"
Ma'va was horrified. Her jaws dropped as she stood up, pacing backwards, staring at the face of her son. She shook her head, flabbergasted and speechless.
"You are just like your father…" she muttered.
Plaz-myu's face contorted into a scowl of furious anger. He marched forward and grabbed his mother by the throat, lifting her weightless body up. He spoke with such maliciousness that Ma'va felt his passion. She clawed at his hand, whimpering and sobbing.
"I. Am. Nothing. Like. My. Father."
He let her go. On the ground, she wheezed, struggling for breath. She looked at her son but saw only her husband, Loo Puhrr looming over her like he did their entire lives. She covered her mouth, fighting back tears.
"Yes, you are…" she said with a breaking voice. "He was Sith, and he reminded me of that every day. He treated me like the slave I used to be. Like his property. I needed to get away from him."
"And how about me?" Plasma yelled. "I gave everything I had to protect my sisters; but who was there to protect me? Do you know how it is to be a child, to drag two small cubs under the bed, and hug them to sleep, and lie to them, saying we would all be alright, that we would be safe, that mommyand daddyloved us?
"I had to raise them! I was so tired; so scared, every single day, that I thought of running away from you and dad. But I just could not leave my sisters alone with you! I stayed because of them; I gave them the love you did not give us. I did everything you two were too scared to do!"
His whole body trembled with unstable fury. Shuddering and slobbering with rage, he paced back and forth trying to control his temper. His mother stood up, glaring at him.
"You are exactly what he would've become had he graduated the Academy! Just another Sith lap dog, an abuser, a self-pitying tyrant… Congratulations, my Lord."
The lightsaber fluttered over to his hand, its red blade igniting. He turned and walked towards her, speaking with repressed anger.
"The Sith saved me. Where you left me to die, the Sith swooped in in a starship and took me into the stars. She raised me like her son and treated me with love and respect. She gave me everything I never got from you. She gave me the power to cross the galaxy and save my sisters."
"Your sisters don't need saving! Myat and Puath are in better places now! Puath's being raised as a princess, and Myat will grow to be a talented Jedi! There's nothing you can do now, and I hope to all the heavens and all the deities and all of my ancestors that you NEVER find them!"
The lightsaber pierced Ma'va's heart.
Lord Plasma moved in closer, holding his dying mother in a tight hug, regret building in his chest. He nuzzled Ma'va's face, fighting back tears; tears that drowned him, a helpless child castaway in the oceans of the galaxy. His hands trembled and he shuddered. He caressed her head, feeling her body spasming, shuddering. He whispered.
"Forgive me, mommy."
###
Neferas-V, Fortress of Darth Komm'ett.
"My Lady Komm'et," a distorted voice spoke through the communicator. "The woman is dead."
"Wonderful news, Be'et!" Komm'et exclaimed with a high-pitched giggle. "Your compensation will be transferred in the morning."