Portia Metellus never responds to his text requesting to see her when he next comes home. She also never responds to his message describing the perfunctory ship tour he receives from her brother. Gaius is disappointed by her distance, but not surprised. Did he scare Portia away? Or is she playing hard to get? He's not sure. But when he's on the transport heading down to the surface of Barab, he impulsively types her a message.

I'm leading a raid today on my own. If I don't make it back, I want you to know how much I admire you, my Lady. MTFBWY

The sentiment is sappy, but true. Hopefully, it will earn a response. And since he's going this far, he might as well go all the way. So as the enemy cityscape looms ever larger in the window, he types another sentence and presses send on the comlink before he can overthink it.

I regret that I didn't kiss you before I left for war.

There. That's done. He pockets the comlink and turns his mental focus to the battle to come.

The texts to Portia reveal the nagging truth: he's scared this time in a way he wasn't scared on Korriban. Maybe it was because before he had the best swordsman in the Empire by his side. Or maybe it was because the duel with the Jedi was the sort of contest that he felt prepared for. But either way, he had true anticipation for Korriban. He couldn't wait to light his sword to engage the enemy.

This mission feels entirely different. He feels a bit of dread, to be honest. He's woefully unprepared for the leadership role he has been assigned even if conquest of this world is, in his opinion, a complete waste of time. But he's a good soldier and he's ready to do his duty nonetheless. If nothing else, this will be a learning experience. Provided he lives, that is.

The battle plan is sound. Darth Angral provided some refinements, but the basic approach Gaius drafted remains intact. He has decided to take far less than the full legion with him. He worries that too many troopers will slow him down. Time is of the essence, he argued to Angral. If they tarry too long, the advantage of surprise will be lost and reinforcements will appear. That's why you need the full legion, Angral had pointed out. But Gaius disagreed. He doesn't plan on fighting a full-scale battle in Barab's capitol building. Certainly not without air support and artillery. His vision of the engagement is a surgical strike that achieves its goals and pulls back. The Sith will be in and out before the Barabel can react, he plots.

Fortunately, his team is good. The troopers all know their specific roles by heart. Gaius has been impressed by the non-commissioned officers. The men are experienced and professional. If they are dismayed by the obvious youth of their leader, it doesn't show. His reputation from Korriban probably helps. Plus, Darth Angral has gone out of his way to show confidence in him.

After much deliberation, Gaius decides to stoke his power just like he did before Korriban. Will Darkness run away with him again? Will he lose control? That's a risk. But Gaius judges the greater risk is him not being up to the task of the slaughter that is needed. And so, he spends many hours in meditation as preparation. By the time he boards the transport to leave, his eyes are positively gleaming feral yellow. Angral noticed, but said nothing.

"Shields up. We're passing through their magnetic field. Hold on for turbulence."

It's the pilot and co-pilot narrating the approach to Barab. From the upper atmosphere to touchdown should be no more than two minutes, assuming they don't encounter significant enemy resistance. The Interrogator has sent fighter escorts alongside each troop dropship. The fighters' job is to clear the path to the landing site and to provide a diversion, if necessary.

The landing occurs without incident. Four local police crafts attempt to intercept them, but that's it. The Sith fighters use the police ships for target practice. It's unclear whether the local ships were destroyed before they succeeded in raising a general alert. But it's of no consequence, really. If the Barabel don't already know the Sith are coming, they will soon.

Brash brutality is the underlying message of this mission. The specific goal of killing local leaders to disrupt the chain of authority has merit. But it's equally important to show the Barabel and the Republic who they are dealing with. The Sith are bold and ruthless. They set deadlines they do not honor. They will appear in broad daylight to assassinate. They deceive when it suits them. Just how fierce are the Sith? It takes just one inexperienced, barely trained young Sith Lord with some troops to bring your government to its knees. Think you're a match for an Empire full of Sith Lords? Think again. Because unless you have a Jedi Temple on your world and a lot of Republic ships to supplement your meager local defense, it's best to capitulate. Because if you resist, the consequences will be devastating.

According to Darth Angral, this is the Dark Council's rationale for conquering inconsequential Rim worlds like Barab. Marching systematically through these poorly defended outlying systems is supposedly an opportunity to demonstrate the might and determination of the Empire. The strategy is to scare the Republic and to lure them into battles here on the edge of the border to the Empire. Will it work? Gaius thinks not. And he worries that too much easy success will lull the Sith into a false sense of complacency.

But, swallowing his misgivings, Gaius leaps to his feet as he feels his ship touchdown. He lights his sword and is the first man down the ramp. And thus begins his first solo mission.

As his team storms the capital complex from all entrances, sealing off the escape routes for its occupants, Gaius heads inside to start raging. There are guards returning fire, but they are woefully outgunned and outnumbered. Gaius freezes their shots and starts cutting down everyone in his path, giving vent to his pent-up bloodlust. Thankfully, it's easy to see who is friend and who is foe. The alien Barabel cannot be confused with the armored Sith troopers. The problem is that all the Barabel look the same to his eye. He can't even tell which of these reptilian beasts is male or female. But whatever. The job is to kill, and he kills.

This is war. It's not personal. But each lethal swing and every mortal blaster bolt he deflects back at someone sends a ripple through the Force. Death has a special mental feel. For when the intrinsic essence of a being dissolves into the universal energy field, there is a bittersweet sensation. It feels like a deep sigh exhaled, like the cosmos groans a bit reluctantly and gives in. Life is the purpose of the Force, and it resists death reflexively. But there's no time to reflect on the meaning of that wisdom. For never before has Gaius caused so much death in rapid succession.

He's killing and maiming efficiently as planned, but the troopers who surround him are not. The conventional Sith forces quickly discover that blasters don't have the same devastating effect on the Barabel species' thick reptilian hides that they do on humanoid bodies. Plasma bolts wound the Barabel, to be sure, but not with the incapacitating flashburns everyone expects. It takes multiple shots at close range to kill a Barabel. That slows the battle progress considerably.

Moreover, while the Barabel are clearly surprised by the raid, the armed guards onsite fight back with persistence. Even the unarmed civilian lawmakers and staff the Sith have been sent to kill begin to resist. The battle becomes something out of a horror movie, with the enemy natives sinking their needle-sharp teeth into their Sith attackers' exposed necks. The Barabel bite off hands and snap at all exposed fleshy bits that are unprotected by the troopers' armor. It becomes a gory, grisly business.

No one is prepared for it.

The Barabel swarm his troopers, leaping and swatting them down with their muscular tails. Once a trooper hits the ground, the aliens lunge and bite. The troopers blast away as best they can, but it makes for a random melee with blaster bolts ricocheting wildly and many troopers felled by friendly fire as a result. Gaius gulps. He didn't bring enough troopers to withstand heavy casualties. Looking around, he decides this is a disaster in the making. Someone needs to do something. That someone is him by default.

"Get behind me! Get behind me!" he orders as he spits a charging enemy with his sword.

He gets his remaining troopers reorganized and now personally takes the lead in the effort. Gaius paralyzes aliens with the Force so his troopers can gun them down more effectively. Some he Force chokes. Others he Force-pushes hard into walls to incapacitate. But even with the assistance of his troopers, Gaius inevitably ends up doing a lot of the killing himself. His lightsaber cuts through the vicious reptiles just as effortlessly as it cuts through everything else. As a result, Gaius becomes the center of the wildly improvised battle, which is not what he intended.

He's supposed to break off immediately from the main group to raid the Prime Minister's office. Darth Angral really wants the Barab leader dead with convincing proof to display on the holonet. But at this rate, the Prime Minister will be long gone-no doubt shepherded away to safety by his security while Gaius gets delayed slicing and dicing these less important lizard people. But he's reluctant to leave his troopers behind to fend for themselves when the battle plan he wrote went so terribly awry and when he's the only one wielding a weapon that is effective against the enemy for a one-hit-kill.

Shit! If he bungles this mission, there will be no one to blame but himself. And it might just be the crash-and-burn flameout finish to his already sinking career. No pressure, Gaius thinks grimly as he keeps swinging, no pressure at all . . .

This isn't the textbook warfare he studied at the Naval Academy, with its intellectual abstraction and emphasis on careful consideration. Actual military combat is a visceral experience, with blood, guts, pain, and death happening all around him in real-time. He must make decisions without complete information. He must attempt to direct the chaos, panic, and fear that surrounds him. His adrenaline is pumping on overdrive, so he channels it deep. Gaius decides that he will feast off the collective Darkness of this moment.

Truthfully, it feels good.

The battle rages on, and he's in the thick of it. Gaius sinks his mind deeper and deeper into the Force, letting it control his actions even as it obeys his commands. The Force is his tool and he is the tool of the Force. This is the sweet spot of concentration where the invisible hand of fate blends with your own free will. That's when a Force user maximizes his effectiveness and becomes near unstoppable. It's what it truly means for the Force to be with you. And today, the Force is with him.

Finally, when things are more under control, he heads for the Prime Minister's office. His target is not there, of course. But someone else is. Waiting for him calmly with a lit-and-humming blue lightsaber is a human Jedi.

Well, fuck. This complication wasn't in the battle plan either.

Gaius instantly recognizes the ploy. "You're here to die so their leader can slip away." It's a variation of the strategy employed by the Jedi Master for his girl Padawan on Korriban. Sacrifice, Gaius is fast learning, is some kind of Jedi fetish.

The Jedi replies in weirdly accented Basic. His words are spoken with utter certainty and complete dispassion. "You're the one who is going to die, Darksider." Then, the Jedi shrugs out of his voluminous brown cloak, raises his sword, and announces, "Prepare to meet the Force as justice for your crimes against these innocent people."

Huh? That statement makes no sense to Gaius' ears. He's not a criminal, he's a warrior. And what makes this Jedi some kind of judge anyway?

"This is conquest, not a crime," Gaius retorts. He lifts his chin and hotly asserts, "I claim this world for the Empire in the name of Dark Lord Vitiate himself."

The Jedi answers back: "The people are sovereign here. The Barabel own Barab. All who claim to the contrary are in violation of the Constitution of the Galactic Republic and are guilty of the war crime of aggression."

Er . . . what? Since when is war a crime? Again, Gaius is confused. The Republic sure loves its legalisms, he surmises as he squints at his opponent. Truthfully, he finds the Jedi's demeanor to be the most befuddling part of this conversation. It's downright underwhelming to hear trash talk stated like a lawyer's brief and declared with such utter detachment.

It prompts him to snarl back with vehemence befitting a passionate Dark Sith, "I killed your kind on Korriban. Now, I'm going to kill you!"

The Jedi answers by swinging, which is fine except Gaius doesn't have time for a proper duel. If they fight, the Jedi wins even if he ultimately loses his head. Because delay is his real goal, not victory. It will be Korriban all over again, Gaius fears. And meanwhile, the Barabel Prime Minister will slip away.

Gaius easily parries the attack and plants a boot squarely in the Jedi's chest. The kick sends the man staggering back and buys Gaius some time. As his foe regroups from the blow, Gaius summons his full power. Time to unload all that Darkness he stoked so zealously as preparation. Now is the opportunity to vent his frustration with blood. He concentrates all his focus on immobilizing the Jedi.

Immediately, the fight becomes a battle of Force, not a battle of swords. Gaius grits his teeth and bares down, freezing his opponent in place for the precious seconds it takes to throw his saber and cleave the man in two. Got him! Glancing at the smoking bisected corpse, he calls the fallen Jedi's saber to his grip. Gaius lights the ugly blue sword and stalks off back to rejoin the main battle. He's swinging two blades now for twice the carnage.

Has he already lost the Prime Minister? Maybe so. But he's not giving up yet. Beckoning to a few troopers, Gaius runs in the direction of the landing platform. It's the obvious escape route for fleeing dignitaries. That's why his battle plan stationed troopers there armed with shoulder launching, self-guided missiles. 'If anyone makes it out alive to board a ship, shoot it down,' were his orders. But given how well the rest of his battle plan has worked out, he's not optimistic they were followed.

He reaches the exit to the giant landing platform. Looking around, panting Gaius sees the smoking wrecks of several downed transports. "Anyone get off?" he demands of the nearest Sith trooper.

"No, my Lord," he is assured.

"Good. The prime target got away."

"No, he didn't. The lizard in the big purple hat was on that one." The trooper points at the nearest wreck.

Could this be the good news that has eluded him so far on this mission? His suspicious, skeptical mind is alert to deception. "Think it was a decoy?"

"Not judging by the number of guards who were surrounding him as they hustled him onboard. He looked like the real deal."

Gaius beckons to the trooper to approach with him to inspect the grisly wreckage. One dead burnt lizard looks like another dead burnt lizard as far as he's concerned. He can't tell whether any of the partially melted corpses is the Prime Minister.

He orders, "Be sure to document this before we leave. Get yourself on camera testifying to what you saw and what you did. Let's hope it was him." Gaius is far from certain it is, but he's going with the trooper's version of events. There's no better alternative.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Things are winding down inside but stay alert."

"Yes, my Lord. What's with the blue blade, my Lord? Never seen one of those."

He smirks and twirls the stolen lightsaber. "I got it off a dead Jedi."

Gaius heads back inside intending to assist with finishing the slaughter. But the local first responding paramedics and cops have arrived by now, so he busies himself killing the newcomers. More and better reinforcements will no doubt come soon, but he allows his team five more minutes for the droids they brought with them to photograph and scan the premises. Gaius personally makes certain that a droid collects plenty of grim evidence of the lone Jedi's demise. Darth Angral wants a formal record of the Sith's handiwork to make public, and Gaius plans to provide it. Plus, he's no fool. He knows that this information is what he needs to defend the success of his mission. His plan is to declare it an unqualified success—they killed the Prime Minister and murdered well over a hundred others, including a surprise Jedi. The goal of a mass casualty event has been achieved. Yes, there were complications, but that makes his team's accomplishment all the more impressive. That's his story, and he's sticking to it.

Gaius was the first man off the transport upon arrival. Upon departure, he's the last man to leave. As the dropships launch, a second wave of Sith fighters intercept them to fly escort back to the Interrogator. Getting off-world is predictably more difficult than the landing was. Their enemy is alerted to their presence, fully aware now that the Sith deadline for surrender was a deception. But the Sith military ships far outpace the local civilian crafts. They are quickly out of range. All ten trooper dropships slip away unmolested. Still, it's only when they begin the rendezvous with the Interrogator that Gaius feels he can exhale a sigh of relief. He sends a two sentence summary to Darth Angral waiting on the bridge: 'total victory.'

The droids have been transmitting the data they collected since liftoff from Barab. The graphic imagery of the battle aftermath speaks for itself, and has preceded his return. Gaius knows that Angral has likely been standing directly behind the communications desk on the bridge watching as the real-time transmissions are de-crypted and displayed. Hopefully, his boss is pleased. For himself, Gaius is enormously relieved.

Still, his return to the Interrogator is less than triumphant. All the young Lords onboard are assembled to watch him disembark, but it's not to congratulate him. It's to heckle. They start calling comments before he's even finished walking down the transport ramp.

"Well, damn. The random lived."

"That sucks."

"Agreed."

Cato Metellus gleefully crows, "Lucius, this means you owe me one hundred credits. Pay up."

The reception is cold even by Sith standards. His is a culture that promotes bullying and hazing as rites of passage. But the competitive nastiness inevitably gets taken to a new level where he is concerned. And nothing annoys his haters more, Gaius has learned, than his success.

He does what he always does when confronted by this attitude: he pushes back. The only way to handle these guys is to set limits. The strong only respect strength, and aggression only bows to resistance. There's no such thing as turning the other cheek to a Sith Lord.

So, Gaius slowly walks up to the group and eyes Portia's obnoxious brother. He's never going to warm to the guy. And he's pretty certain the feeling is mutual. "You bet on me to survive?" he sneers. "Good call. Keep making that bet and you'll be rich, Adraas."

"He's already rich," someone grumbles. "Cato's a Metellus. If this war doesn't work out, Cato can go buy the Republic for Vitiate."

"Is there at least a scratch on you somewhere, Malgus?"

He smirks. "Sorry to disappoint."

"What's all that green stuff?" his roommate Lord Fidel asks.

Gaius looks down at his messy armor that's covered in gooey green splotches. He shrugs. "Alien blood."

"Ewww . . . Gross." Fidel is suddenly squeamish and clearly sorry he asked.

Lord Adraas' reaction is perplexed. "Wait—Barab is home to aliens? Was I supposed to know that?" He looks around to the others in confusion.

"Do you ever do your homework, Cato?" It's Darth Angral walking up in time to overhear.

"My Lord!" The small crowd reacts in unison to an appearance by the boss.

Gaius brightens at Angral's approach. His C.O. is the adult supervision that lazy, arrogant guys like Adraas need to keep them in line. Many of the Lords onboard seem to be playing at war. They're treating it like some kind of lark. Like this is the adventure of a lifetime and not serious business.

Gaius stands tall as Angral looks him over with approval. "Malgus, I see you have covered yourself in glory again."

"That's not glory. That's green alien blood," Adraas snorts.

Portia's brother or not, the guy gets under his skin. Gaius sneers back, "I'm blood-soaked fresh from battle whereas you look fresh from lunch."

"The only one here who looks like he spends a lot of time at lunch is you," Portia's brother retorts. The rest laugh.

Angral ignores the exchange. "Well done, Malgus. If we get them to surrender in five days or less and we write the report to the Dark Council the correct way, today will get you another war prize."

That comment doesn't sit well with the others, especially Adraas. "Why just him? We should all get a war prize."

"What did you do exactly?" Gaius growls.

"I'm going to negotiate the terms of surrender."

"Do you even know what this world is called?"

"Does it matter? It will be called the Empire in five days or less. Seriously," Adraas appeals to the others, "we should all get a war prize. I'm a Metellus, he's a Valerian, you're a Scipio, and then there's the random included for some feel-good egalitarianism. I mean, if we aren't meritorious, who in the Navy is?"

Gaius hisses back, "I'm not splitting the money with you."

Darth Angral says nothing. He just looks on in silence.

Adraas' betting partner—the Lord who wanted to fight him in the lounge the first day he arrived—backs down with face saving snark. "Cato, let the peasant keep his credits. He needs them. Badly, apparently."

Everyone laughs again.

Stung, Gaius produces the dead Jedi's lightsaber now, hands it to Angral, and loudly declares, "I'm not sharing the bounty for this either."

"Wait—there was a Jedi?" His roommate Fidel is excited. "Guys, there was a Jedi!"

"But there's no Temple on that world!"

"There was a Jedi sent to guard their Prime Minister," Gaius explains.

Angral looks over the strange saber hilt, turning it in his hands. "This is very useful intelligence. The Republic might not defend these worlds, but it will send them a Jedi to protect their leadership."

The others are not interested in the role of the Jedi in the Republic's Rim defense. They're only interested in keeping score for the kills. One Lord complains, "No fair—you got another Jedi . . . Malgus, give someone else a chance."

Angral hands back the enemy weapon. "Not just well done. Exceedingly well done, Malgus. I am most impressed. Now, come," he beckons, "I want a full report."

Gaius falls into step beside his boss and together they walk away from the muttering group.

"You're welcome for rescuing you from that crowd," Angral tells him offhand when they're out of earshot.

Gaius bristles at the suggestion that he needed help. "I can handle myself."

"We're here to make war on the Barabel, not on each other."

"They started it."

"I'm sure they did. But I will court martial you before the Dark Council you if you kill any of them, so choose your battles wisely."

"Noted," scowling Gaius grumbles. "But I am not sharing the credit for the fall of Barab with any of them."

Angral ignores the heat behind his words and muses, "It might help to put a lot of names on the submission. I have the impression that the Council is looking to spread the wealth and glory around."

"Adraas is all pedigree and prestige, no substance. Someone had better review his communiqués to the enemy lest we end up surrendering to them by accident."

Angral chuckles, but pushes back. "Adraas is who he is. And for that, he will coast through a middling career. But I know his limitations and so will those above me."

"Fine. Go ahead. Include their names in the war prize submission," Gaius relents. He's not happy about it, but he'll give in. Actually winning at war is only half the battle, he learning. Getting credit for the win might be equally as hard.

Angral glances sideways at him. His expression is coy. "I can make sure that the relative contributions are accurately described."

That's something, at least. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Now then, tell me about the battle," Angral invites. He's deftly casual, Gaius has noticed, and rather lowkey for a man in his position. But, mindful of Angral's report to Darth Azamin that he was hiding something about Korriban, Gaius endeavors to be completely truthful this time. He admits to the erroneous assumption that surprise, superior numbers, and firepower would immediately overwhelm the enemy. He explains how tenacious the Barabel turned out to be. He worries aloud how that fighting spirit might complicate a Sith occupation long-term. He also admits to some uncertainty about whether the Prime Minister died. An eyewitness trooper believes he was killed, Gaius reports, but he could be unwittingly wrong about the matter.

Darth Angral listens, asking few questions. In the end, that debriefing style succeeds in getting Gaius to babble out most everything he recalls in an effort to appear entirely transparent this time.

"If their Prime Minister lived, we will know soon enough," Angral judges. "It is only a matter of time before he surfaces. He will want to show his face to tweak us if he survived."

That is sound reasoning which Gaius agrees with.

"We will park a few cruisers in their outer orbit levels later today and start flying patrols through their skies. Malgus, Adraas will take it from here. Let's see if he can scare them into submission."

"And if not?"

Angral's answering chuckle is sly. "Then you'll be killing more lizards soon."

"If someone did this to Dromund Kaas, we wouldn't give in," Gaius points out. "If anything, we'd be encouraged to resist."

"That is the difference between us and the Republic," Angral replies. "We are valiant by our nature, primed for the fight by Darkness. These Republic worlds worship peace and harmony. They broker deals mostly. Plus, their constitution forbids their systems to have any meaningful defense. I'm told it supposedly started as a means to lower the risk of inter-system warfare, but it weakens the Republic as a whole. They lack the military might to defend even half of their worlds. And that's historically been fine by them. They disdain violence as a general rule. They even deny their citizens the right to keep and bear arms personally."

"Are you serious?" Gaius is scandalized by the very notion. For the Sith of all classes love their weaponry. It's a cultural holdover from the last war with the Republic when every surviving citizen was forced to fight for their lives. A thousand years later in the Empire, it's still open carry for whatever deadly force you prefer. The ever-present threat of violence is a way of life on the Dark Side.

"It true," Angral assures him. "The Republic outsources most meaningful conflict resolution to the Jedi. That's why Vitiate is paying bounties. Kill all the Jedi and you weaken the Republic immeasurably."

"I've killed two," Gaius reminds him.

"Yes, yes, we all know that you're just getting started," Darth Angral all but rolls his eyes.

"Damn right," Gaius affirms, unrepentant as always about his bravado.

They're almost to the bridge now when his boss halts and faces him head on. "I predict Barab will fall quickly, we will hand it over to the Army to occupy, and then it's on to the next world to conquer."

That strategy is a sore point for Gaius. "We're wasting our time getting bogged down on these peripheral worlds."

"So you have said. You, Malgus, are a young man in a hurry. Relish this experience, rack up some glory and credits, find your niche in the Navy."

"By playing Army General on the frontlines?" he grouses.

Angral shrugs. "Raids like this are a good way to distinguish yourself. You'll get another chance very soon. I'm going to ask you to repeat today's heroics on the next world."

"Will I be solo again?"

Angral raises an eyebrow. "Still worried about sharing the glory?"

No, that's not it. "I need someone to focus on killing their leader while I engage the Jedi protector."

Angral sees his point. "Take Fidel with you next time," he suggests. "I would advise against any of the rest. You're too apt to end up with the Jedi negotiating peace between you and your fellow Lord," his boss smirks, "while the local boss slinks away. Now, go clean up and do a formal debriefing. Adraas and I will take it from here."

"Yes, my Lord." Gaius takes the dismissal.

He heads back to his quarters and immediately checks his comlink. He checks his comlink a lot these days. Did Portia respond?

She did.

'So . . . are you alive?' she wonders. And not just once, but twice.

He loves that she was so worried for him. He immediately types back 'Current score: Malgus 2, Jedi 0' and sends her a picture of the Lightside lightsaber he kept as a trophy. Then he divests his armor, cleans up, and heads to his official debriefing. By the time he's done telling his version of the battle and giving context to the data the droids have collected, Portia has replied.

Light it up. Show me.

Flush with success, he's feeling good. Confident and a little frisky, too. So, he sends Portia a pic of the blue Jedi blade with the suggestive caption, 'My sword is lit for you, my Lady' and the winking face emoji.

He gets back the hiding monkey face and the reply 'Can you hear me groaning from lightyears away?'

Their back and forth continues. I guess I should saber this moment.

Seriously, you're killing me.

No, you slay me. You know that right? I am smitten, my Lady. This girl is aspirational, a little pouty, and yet slightly tragic. She's not relatable and yet he's hooked. Beautiful, powerful, influential Portia Metellus will be the ultimate trophy wife, and he's going to find a way to win her even though it will mean putting up with the obnoxious Darth Adraas as his brother-in-law.

Gaius is grinning stupidly down at his comlink when his roommate, the generally respectful and affable Lord Fidel, walks in to catch him. "Who do you text?"

"What?" Gaius immediately pockets his comlink.

"I see you checking your comlink a lot. Who are you talking to?"

He lies. "It's work."

Force-users are excellent judges of truthfulness. Fidel is unconvinced. "I get most of the same communications you do and they don't make me smile," he points out.

Embarrassed, Gaius bristles. "I don't smile."

"I know. You're a fucking grump, Malgus. But you sure smile at your comlink a lot. So . . . who are you texting?"

"Just someone back home."

"You got family? Yeah, I guess even a random has family. You miss them?"

"Yeah, I miss her . . . "

The pronoun slip gets Fidel's attention. "You got a sister?"

Ugh. "No, not really," he admits, trying to avoid another lie.

"A mom?"

Gaius looks away. "I never knew my mother." Even his adoptive father knew nothing about his birth parents. Gaius long ago accepted that his origins are a mystery that will never be solved. And he's fine with that. The truth of his past is probably shameful, and he'd honestly rather not know.

Fidel thinks a moment and deduces, "You've got a girl!"

Fuck, he's busted. How did he get himself in this situation?

"You've got a girl, don't you?"

With his face flaming, Gaius squirms. "No, not yet. But I'm working on it." Then, he shoots Fidel a death glare. Will he take the hint to shut up?

He does. Darth Fidel changes the topic. His roommate grabs a bottle of water for himself and tosses one to Gaius as he invites, "Tell me about this latest Jedi. I want all the details of the duel."

"Yeah . . . yeah, okay," Gaius readily agrees. "You need to know this because you're coming with me next time."

"I am?" Fidel's eyes light up.

"Yes."