"Aaaand, finish with the stabbing lunge," Portia instructs as she demonstrates the move. She thrusts her sword viciously and twists to the left as she pulls back, making sure to leave maximum bodily damage just like she was taught.

"Die Jedi! Light Side scum!" Lady Vindican trills at her side as she too delivers the coup de gras to her imaginary opponent.

It causes Julia to succumb to a fit of giggles. She never actually completes the last move of the training sequence. Instead, she looks over at her triumphant mother and cheekily asks, "Can we swear? I feel like I should curse when I kill someone."

Lady Vindican shakes her head no and delivers a quelling look. "Cursing isn't ladylike."

"Neither is a sword," Portia points out.

"Good point," Lady Vindican concedes. "But do you really want your last words heard by the enemy to be shameful?"

"How about 'for the Empire!' or 'for Darkness!'?" Julia suggests as she executes her own stabbing lunge.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures and desperate language," Portia decides. "Let's go with 'Fuck you and die, Jedi!"

"Portia Metellus!" Scandalized Lady Vindican raises a dismayed hand to her mouth. "Whatever are you thinking? Your mother would be horrified!"

"She's right, Mom," Julia levels with her mother. "We're only doing this if things are truly desperate. If we three are fighting Jedi, things are baaaaaad."

"I suppose . . . "

"Oh, come on, my Lady. Just once," Portia pleads. "No one will hear us," she wheedles.

Julia piles on. "Please, Mom, please!" knowing full well that she always gets what she wants, whether its colorful language or a stray dog as a pet.

The ploy works, as usual. With a furtive glance around her husband's empty training room to make sure no lurking servants can overhear, sweet natured Lady Vindican concedes. "Just this once . . ."

Julia leaps and shrieks a moment with excitement. Then all three of them assume the classic ready position with their borrowed training weapons. Again, they rehearse the series of five simple moves Portia has learned in her secret saber practice. The three women slowly chant the positions in unison like they are rehearsing dance steps. "Ready . . . attack, fall back, slash, swipe up, stab lunge."

"Fuck you and die, Jedi!" she and Julia snarl as one as they finish.

Lady Vindican remains silent.

Julia steps out of her lunge to complain. "Mom, you didn't say it."

"Sorry, girls. But I just can't speak like that."

"Sure, you can. The glory of the Empire may depend on it!" her daughter presses.

Snorting Portia finds that assertion to be a bit grandiose. But there is an undeniable thrill to the small rebellion of this transgression. Being a Lady has lots of rules. Every now and then, Portia likes to push back. Not too far, and not too much, of course. But a little private cursing seems harmless enough. She takes up Julia's cause and soon prompts them all to try again.

Mother, daughter, and bestie begin anew. "Ready . . . attack, fall back, slash, swipe up, and stab lunge." Then, beside her with a look of determination on her face, sweet Lady Vindican hollers, "Fuck you and die, Jedi!" with gusto to match her and Julia.

"Force, what has become of my household?"

It's Lord Vindican's low, cultured tones coming from the doorway where he stands incredulous. His Apprentice looms over his shoulder looking like he might burst out laughing at them at any moment.

"Horatio!" Lady Vindican shrieks and promptly drops her weapon. Red faced, she cringes and stammers from embarrassment. "We . . . uh . . . we are practicing. You know, for an invasion."

"Are we conscripting Ladies now?"

"N-No. But Adraas thinks Portia needs to learn in case the Republic comes here. He's secretly hired her a swordmaster. And she has taught us what she has learned."

"A lunge and some trash talk?" the Apprentice snorts. He exchanges looks of male condescension with his Master and his pouty lip curls. "How bizarre."

Portia steps forward, irritated as usual by Gaius Veradun. Somehow, he always manages to get under her skin. But today, she ignores him and addresses Darth Vindican. She feels the need to explain her unorthodox behavior. With composure and gravity Portia hopes is worthy of a Mettelus, she addresses the Sith Master. "My Lord, my brother wants me to be able to defend myself in case we need to flee. He's concerned that he won't be here to protect us if Dromund Kaas is invaded."

The Apprentice huffs, "So you're saying Adraas thinks we're going to lose?"

"No!" she yelps, worried that leading questions like that are how a career damaging rumor might get started. "Don't be silly! He's merely concerned that taking the capital world of the Empire may be the aim of our enemy. And after what happened last time . . ." Portia lets her voice trail off. There's no need to remind everyone of the specifics of what happened after the Republic Supreme Chancellor Pultimo long ago ordered the Sith Empire destroyed and its institutions razed. The tragic slaughter that followed is well known by all citizens.

"I see the wisdom of Adraas' idea," Darth Vindican nods slowly. "I'm simply surprised by the—" he pauses to search for the right word, settling on, "-enthusiasm."

Beside him, Veradun smirks harder now.

"Hey," Portia objects, "It's harmless fun!" If she can't curse at an enemy Jedi, who can she curse at?

"Come, girls," red faced Lady Vindican proposes a strategic retreat. "We will leave these Lords to their practice."

But Portia, annoyed by the sniggering Apprentice, stoops to take up the sword hilt that Lady Vindican has dropped. She lobs it right at Veradun's chest and issues a low-key challenge. "Spar with me a bit?" She has an idea. Time to teach the smug random a lesson.

"Portia!" Lady Vindican reacts.

"Portia!" Julia gasps.

The Apprentice merely drawls, "Are you going to swear at me and call me a Jedi? Because that's not a fight I care to pursue."

"Yes, decline," his Master counsels evenly, even as a smile tugs at his lips. "You can't win. Either you beat her and look bad, or you let her win and lose to a girl."

His student nods. "There is nothing to be gained by the contest."

"Exactly," his Master agrees. He's making this a teachable moment, sagely urging to his Apprentice, "Choose your battles in this and every circumstance."

Portia doesn't back down. She pops out her hip and taunts, "Scared to lose?"

"Scared to hurt you," Veradun responds.

"This is a training sword. At most, it will bruise."

"I swing hard. You'll get a bruise for sure."

Darth Vindican chuckles at this banter. He observes offhand man-to-man, "It might teach her a lesson."

"Good point. And I think I want revenge for that rosebush." So, Veradun stalks forward now and lights the training sword. "Okay. Your move, Lady Portia."

Lady Vindican turns to her husband with alarm. "Horatio, you can't let him fight her—"

"He won't hurt her. And she's insisting."

"But—"

"Let's see what she has learned. Maybe it will help her to have an actual opponent. If a Jedi ever gets to her, they won't be swinging basic drills."

"You'll find I'm full of surprises," Portia brags as she tosses her head.

"Like that rosebush?" Julia giggles.

Darth Vindican sets some ground rules. "Swords only, kids. Don't bring the Force into this. No frying each other with lightning, no choking, no pushing, none of that sort of thing."

"No rosebushes?" Julia teases again.

"Am I understood, Apprentice?" Darth Vindican shoots his pupil a stern look.

"Understood, Master," Veradun grumbles. "I can teach her a lesson but I don't get to hurt her."

"Precisely."

That seems to mollify Lady Vindican somewhat. But she stands to the side, lips in a straight line as she wrings her hands. "Julia, don't get any ideas that's you're next," she calls to her daughter in a voice that means business.

Veradun looks impatient to get started. "Your move, my Lady. You're the challenger."

"Oh. Right." Some of Portia's enthusiasm evaporates as she stares down giant Gaius Veradun wielding a sword. Seldom do young men—or any men, for that matter—make her feel small and feminine. It's kind of nice, actually. Except right now, the Apprentice's bulk is menacing. And, well, she's holding a sword so she's not exactly at her most demure.

As she stalls, he prompts her. "What was that sequence again? Attack, fall back—"

"—slash, swipe up, stab lunge."

"Let's see it."

"Alright." She swings and their impromptu duel begins. He lets her swing through her five basic moves without defense. Then, he starts driving her back fast with brutal slashing swings that come at her in a blur of red.

Portia yields ground steadily. It takes all her concentration to block his onslaught and all of her grace not to trip over her feet and her skirt. Suddenly, she's backed almost up to the far wall of the training room. He's cornering her, she realizes.

Veradun pauses to let her step out and regroup. The gallantry allows her to evade his tactic, but the point is made. He can easily dominate her. "Had your fun yet?"

"Not yet." She's not yet begun to troll this guy. But for her plan to work, she needs the right opening. So again, Portia engages on the offensive. But the Apprentice swipes hard at her blade again and again. She's panting now. This is hard work that requires deep concentration. Her chest is heaving and her arm is beginning to ache. The Apprentice, she notes, shows no signs of any exertion. He looks like he could do this all day.

"You're f-fast," she breathes out.

"I'm not a layman swordmaster for a ten-year-old. I'm the real deal," her opponent snorts.

"No, I mean you're faster than my brother."

Veradun looks pleased at that remark. "Is this fast enough for you?" the Apprentice goads as he executes a sharp riposte after parrying her lunge. And there! That's the angle she needs. It's just what Cato taught her to wait for.

"Do that again," she tells the Apprentice.

He drawls, "As you wish," as he complies.

And that's when she executes Cato's new disarming pass. She begged and begged her brother to teach her and he finally agreed. It's a very good trick. Clearly, the Apprentice doesn't know it.

The twirling technique neatly rips the saber hilt from his hand and sends it spinning hard into the wall.

"W-Whaaat?" Gaius Veradun stands jaw dropped, his left hand empty and eyes wide.

Portia thoroughly enjoys his stunned reaction. Maybe this defeat will quell that giant ego of his some. Gaius Veradun, the overpowered, over proud prodigy random, bested by a girl who's barely held a lightsaber—imagine that!

"Whoa! Portia for the win!" Julia whoops as even Lady Vindican cheers.

"Impressive. Most impressive," straight faced Darth Vindican commends.

For her part, Portia regards the Apprentice in silence, but her eyes are as devilishly gleeful as her smile.

"Wow . . . " the Apprentice repeats. He exchanges incredulous looks with his Master. "Who taught you that?"

"Cato did."

Lord Vindican again turns her and Veradun's interaction into a teachable moment. "That's a variation on an old move that I haven't seen before. Usually, the flick is from the left, not the right. Portia, slow that down and show it to me. Today," he grins good naturedly, "it seems that you are teaching us."

Pleased beyond measure to have won the fight and won Darth Vindican's respect, Portia is very happy to oblige him. As they stand side by side replicating the move together, grouchy Veradun collects his training sword and inspects it for damage.

"Gaius, come learn this," Lord Vindican calls. "It may save your life or mine."

"Yes, Master," the vanquished pupil begrudgingly sighs.

"Me too!" Julia announces as she runs to take up position next to the Apprentice. All four of them stand in a line with lit sabers extended for practice on Cato's new trick.

Into this scene now runs Milady, who has full run of the house. The little mutt is unrecognizable after a few weeks at the Vindican household. Her matted fur is clipped short and squeaky clean. Her coat now shines to rival the pink crystal collar Julia bought her. The transformation from stray to pampered pet is complete. And no one seems more pleased by the new addition to the family than Lady Vindican herself.

The mistress smiles indulgently at the puppy who arrives to bark twice and sit down. It's the signal the Apprentice taught her to announce that she needs to be taken out. Housebreaking Milady has been a team effort. Recognizing the pet's request, Lady Vindican scoops her up and happily announces, "I'll take her," before she departs.

That leaves Portia teaching Darth Vindican, his Apprentice, and now Julia too the disarming technique.

As they swing their training swords in unison and then in pairs against one another, Lord Vindican teaches his Apprentice. "Humans of the Republic are generally not left hand dominant. Remember that because their moves will come from the opposite direction, just like Portia's disarming pass."

"The Jedi are righthanded?" listening Portia pipes up in surprise.

Her friend's father nods. "Freakish, I know. But that novelty can make even easy moves appear unexpected. The Jedi also reportedly fight very differently than we do. That too will make them more challenging."

"We're as new for them as they are for us," Veradun points out.

"True," his Master agrees.

"Righthanded or lefthanded, bring it on," his Apprentice growls. "I will kill them from any direction."

Vindican chuckles at this bravado but reverts to seriousness. "Do not underestimate the power of the Jedi, or you will face the fate of our forebears. Gaius, I want you fighting at my side for years to come. We make a good team."

"I'm not planning on dying."

"No one ever does," his Master observes pointedly. "My boy, you have a warrior's fighting spirit, but duels are won with the head, not with the heart. No amount of Force and skill can compensate for a bad strategy. Passion might be our power, but the mind must prevail."

"Yes, Master."

"I was not my generation's undisputed champion because I was the fastest or the strongest or even the most agile in the arena. You know that I have no extraordinary Force ability. I won because I was the smartest tactician and I kept my focus."

"Yes, Master." That time, Portia notes, the affirmation sounds begrudging. Apparently, the Apprentice does not appreciate the lecture.

But Darth Vindican ignores the tone as he continues his wisdom. "Gaius, you have enormous abilities. When you fully mature into your power, you will be a legendary Sith. But you must take care that your power and your emotions do not overwhelm you. You must control the Force. Do not let it control you. That leads to unnecessary bloodlust. And ultimately, to self-destructive behavior."

"Yes, Master." And that time, his response definitely sounds placating. Verging on sarcasm even.

"Are you listening?" Lord Vindican's words are sharp, but his tone is as measured as always. Her friend's father clearly has more patience with the Apprentice than she does. "You have a history of surrendering to your temper. My boy, you must resist taking the bait. Learn to walk away from a fight, whether it's with Portia here or with a Lord who lights his sword against you."

"I'm not walking away from that," Veradun growls back.

"Sometimes, walking away gains you more in the long run," his Master counters. He explains his reasoning as the two men continue to take turns practicing the disarming technique on one another. One man's saber is dislodged, then retrieved with the Force, and now it's the other's turn. They repeat this lesson over and over again.

She and Julia are still in attendance across the room, goofing around with swords and feeling slightly subversive for it. If the men object to their continued presence, they don't say so. It gives Portia a chance to eavesdrop some more on Master and Apprentice at their training.

"Yes, good. Commit the move to muscle memory," Lord Vindican approves as Veradun again wrenches the saber from his grip. But soon, he is back to teaching more than swords. Darth Vindican seems determined to impart a few life lessons to his Apprentice. "Fighting creates enemies and you need allies. Gaius, the farther and faster you rise, the more pushback you will get. You threaten others with your success. And your background makes it worse. So, stop fighting everyone and adding to the list of young Lords who dislike you."

"What do I care if they hate me?" his Apprentice scoffs.

"It will hinder you," Lord Vindican answers simply.

The haughty peasant Apprentice lifts his chin to sniff, "No one will hold me back."

"You place too much faith in merit," his Master chides. "Our system is not as merit based as we like to pretend. Seniority and influence matter. And for those who wish to lead, respect and admiration help."

"Things will change when war comes."

"Perhaps. But change is slow in a society like ours. And Vitiate likes to control the change personally, I'm told."

The Apprentice lowers his sword to disengage from the fight. He glares as he complains, "No one is ever going to accept me. What's the point in trying?"

"With the right commissions and a strategic marriage, in time you might find your place."

"And where is that?" the prickly Apprentice jeers. "How far can a colonial go?"

"Only time will tell. But as your Master, I will do all I can to help you advance," Darth Vindican promises. It's nice to see how vested he is in his Apprentice. Julia's father might not have chosen Veradun, but he's making the best of the assignment. The rapport of the older man for his young charge is sincere. But it doesn't seem to be requited. Arrogant Gaius Veradun appears to treat his Master's support as his due, rather than something to be grateful for.

Still, watching this exchange is oddly nostalgic for Portia. It reminds her of the long ago days when her father was alive and his Apprentice lived with them. She was a little girl back then, cocooned in her life of safety and luxury. It kept her oblivious to life's problems. But troubles come for everyone, even a Metellus. And there are some things—like her father's death and her mother's depression—that neither money nor influence nor Force can fix. No one lives a charmed and perfect life, no matter how privileged they are born. Does bitter Gaius Veradun understand that? She wonders.

"Enough of this repetition. Let's see you find an opening for Portia's move in a fight." Master Vindican begins sparring in earnest with his pupil.

As the sabers clash and buzz, Master Vindican keeps giving counsel. "That contrarian streak in you that others disdain—it is an asset. You see things as they are, Gaius, without sentiment or bias. Objectivity will be critical as this war progresses. Do not be afraid to say what others will not. Do not fear to question the conventional wisdom. Just be mindful of when and how you raise your ideas, and to whom." The Sith Master sums up his meaning in three words: "Learn some tact."

It's excellent advice, listening Portia decides. But perhaps predictably, the Apprentice shrugs it off. "I don't sugarcoat things."

"Bluntness is fine," Vindican allows. "Rudeness is not." Darth Vindican looks over to catch her eye as he says this. She must prompt him to add, "Rudeness gets you tossed into rosebushes. Ah! You almost got me there. You're getting faster from the right. And I'm clumsy with a single sword. I much prefer my double hilt. Gaius, you really should try mine again- "

"I'm never fighting with a twin blade."

"It's excellent for multiple opponents."

"So are two single blades."

"Horatio!"

All heads turn and sabers lower as Julia's mother interrupts. She stands in the doorway of the training room with a datapad in her hands instead of the dog. Her expression betrays that she has news.

"Yes, my Lady?"

"There is an announcement from the Palace."

"And?" her husband prompts, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Dearest," Lady Vindican breathes out, clutching the datapad as her dark eyes sparkle. "Vitiate just declared war."

"Let me see." Gaius Veradun stalks over to snatch the datapad. He skims it, nods, and hands it off to Julia. She does the same and hands it to her. Then, Portia too reads the breaking news story.

"And so, it begins . . ." Portia shouldn't be surprised, but she is. She is also struck by a strong feeling of foreboding. Do the others sense it? No. Looking around at her friend's family, everyone appears more excited than alarmed by the prospect of war.

The revenge of the Sith might be the organizing principle of the Empire, but for citizens alive now war has always been a 'someday . . . maybe one day. . .' sort of proposition. But today, the long-deferred declaration has finally come. It is a momentous, much anticipated decision, more than a thousand years in the making, with preparations underway in earnest for the past three centuries. Somewhat atypical for the pageantry-loving Sith, the big news is delivered with little fanfare.

The statement from the Palace is succinct. It reads: After much careful deliberation, counsel from the Empire's wisest Lords, and reflection in the Force, Dark Lord Vitiate has decided to pursue war directly against the Galactic Republic and the extremist zealot Jedi Knights who protect it. This course of action will require sacrifice from all, including the ultimate sacrifice from some. War is necessary to ensure a safe and secure society and to maintain order in the galaxy. May the Force be with us and may Darkness prevail.

"It's happening . . . It's finally happening . . ." Portia doesn't know how to feel about this news. Except she knows nothing will ever be the same after today. This changes everything. It is deeply unsettling.

Julia takes back the datapad to re-read the news report. "Does it say anything about timing?"

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Darth Vindican's comlink chime goes off. He checks the device and turns to his Apprentice. "That's Angral. Full scale naval mobilization in five days' time. Orders will be forthcoming."

"Five days?" Julia echoes.

Alarmed Portia exclaims, "Five days!" That's not much time.

"Horatio," Lady Vindican is looking at her husband very closely, "you don't seem surprised by any of this."

"I'm not," he confirms. "I knew this was coming. I just didn't know when."

"Master," his Apprentice reproves, clearly irked to be kept in the dark.

But Vindican ignores him. "Our invasion will be led by the fleet at Tingal Arm. There we will begin our strategic push into the Republic's Outer Rim territories. We will simultaneously retake Korriban from the infidel Jedi. That will be our assignment, Gaius. I'm leading the small strike force for our homeworld."

"Korriban?" Veradun's sour face registers his reaction. "Korriban has no strategic value. There's just an outpost there." The Apprentice pouts, "Taking it back will be a diversion at best, but more likely a symbolic gesture that gains us nothing in return."

"Do not dismiss its importance," his Master responds. Darth Vindican is far more patient and permissive about back talk than most Sith Masters, Portia observes. But maybe that's why he's a fit for the mouthy hothead mentee he was assigned.

Lord Vindican reminds everyone that, "Korriban is our ancestral home, the desolate spot where our forefathers were marooned and left to die. Little did the Republic know that lurking in Korriban's cliffs were kindred spirits in the Force. In time, our united heritage of excommunicated former Jedi and Dark ethnic Sith would rise to become the original Empire—"

"And then spectacularly fail to achieve the goal of revenge," Gaius Veradun finishes for him. The Apprentice is unmoved by his Master's fine rhetoric. He is cynical and dismissive of their people's traditional jingoist narrative. "Even in Marka Ragnos' day, Korriban was only tombs and temples. It was a graveyard world even before it came to symbolize our defeat. Who cares if the Republic keeps it? They can have it."

"No! We will snatch it back as the first blow of our revenge!" Darth Azamin vows softly with an intensity Portia has never before witnessed in all the many times she has interacted with her friend's easygoing father. "Azamin himself requested that I accept this command. This is the matter I met with him about."

But still, ambitious Veradun scorns the assignment. "So while others do the real work of conquest, you and I will be off on some irredentist foolishness? It's meaningless vainglory!" he sneers, clearly frustrated to be relegated to the secondary battlefield.

Master Vindican grunts but yet again lets his Apprentice's disrespect slide. "There are Jedi there."

That news shuts the whiny Apprentice up.

"The Jedi keep vigil at Korriban," Lord Vindican reveals. "They rightly understand its importance to us. For over a thousand years, a rotating pair of Jedi have kept watch for our return to our homeworld. The Light Side has long suspected that some of us survived to hide in the shadows."

"You're the best, most seasoned swordsman in the Empire . . ." Veradun realizes aloud as he begins to understand. "That's why it's your task . . . because Korriban isn't a battle . . . it's a duel."

"Correct." Darth Vindican nods to his brilliant, if petulant pupil. "One Master and his Apprentice versus one Jedi and his Padawan. Gaius, the fleet may be the larger fight, but our victory will be no less important. Nothing less than the primacy of Darkness is at stake."

"You're saying that you and I will get to slay the first Jedi?" Veradun brightens at the prospect. "Master, I spoke in haste," he backtracks on his earlier brusqueness, musing, "No one will remember the Lords' names at Tingal Arm, but they will know who killed the first Jedi."

"Absolutely," his Master affirms. Darth Vindican claps his Apprentice on the back and declares, "We will be the war's first heroes."

"Then, you must get to practicing," Lady Vindican decrees. "Girls, come," she beckons from the doorway. "No more distracting our heroes."

Portia dutifully relinquishes her practice saber and quits the room with the other two Ladies. On her way out the door, she casts a last glance over her shoulder. She spies Gaius Veradun staring after her. He doesn't seem angry exactly. She's not sure how to read his expression. No other young man has ever regarded her quite so intently.

Portia follows Julia and her mother to the kitchen. There the servants have gathered to talk about the big news, and what it means for themselves and for the household. The valet talks about retrieving the Master's armor chest and footlocker from the attic. The cook declares that she will bake a cake to mark today's occasion. Lady Vindican's maid worries aloud if there will be wartime shortages that will crimp the family's lifestyle. Should they start hoarding a few necessities in anticipation?

"I think maybe I should go home . . ." Portia mutters beneath the hubbub, thinking of all that will need to be accomplished back home before Cato deploys for good.

"Yes, of course." Lady Vindican impulsively envelopes her in a bear hug. She's motherly like that. As she pulls back and strokes at a lock of hair that has fallen loose from Portia's ponytail, Lady Vindican beams. "This will be a day long remembered. Someday, you'll tell your grandchildren about this."

At her mother's side, Julia giggles nervously. She gushes, "Isn't it exciting?!"

Swallowing her misgivings, Portia nods like she's supposed to.