Angral's prediction comes true. Barab surrenders in short order. The Imperial Army moves in to set up the Sith occupation and the Interrogator proceeds on to conquer the next world.

Again, Gaius is tasked with planning the initial raid. This strategy won't keep working, he grumbles. After we do this on a few worlds, the enemy is going to anticipate that we're coming. Angral's response is to take the full legion this time. And since Darth Fidel is along for this mission, Gaius agrees.

His roommate is delighted to be included. It turns out that Gaius is not the only one with something to prove. Fidel confides that he relishes this opportunity to redeem his family's honor. I want to do something noteworthy in support of Vitiate, Darth Fidel tells him, so people will forget my uncle's treason. You're turning out to be an Army Lord after all, Gaius responds dryly. For this mission isn't the traditional Naval command and they both know it.

Thankfully, Darth Fidel—Hector—is easy to work with. He doesn't challenge Gaius' position as the lead commander and he has useful observations on the battle plan. Darth Angral, who clearly knows his former Apprentice well, made an astute pairing when he put them together. Fidel is the only other Lord on the ship who Gaius feels he can work with.

He and Hector spend time in the training room with battle droids getting used to fighting back-to-back. Gaius spent many hours with Vindican doing this before Korriban so that they would fight as a team, not as two individuals. That sort of intense and dangerous coordination—when a guy's swinging a saber over your head again and again—requires a certain level of trust. Gaius can get there with Hector, who is fundamentally a very decent fellow and almost deceptively good with a saber.

The second raid turns out to be an unqualified success. Hector gets a clear kill on the local leader, he himself earns another trophy lightsaber for killing the leader's Jedi protector, and the troopers leave a bloody massacre in their wake. It helps that this second world—some random place called Mariupol-is inhabited by humanoids who die far more easily than the reptilian Barabel.

From there, things aboard the Interrogator quickly settle into a pattern. It's another week, another Rim world to conquer. Kharkiv, Aleppo, Odessa . . . he quickly forgets the names like he forgets the faces of the dead people he leaves behind. He and Hector develop a few variations on their battle plan. Sometimes they raid the enemy's military headquarters instead of the civil seat of authority. Sometimes the raid precedes the official Sith ultimatum and deadline, and they appear completely unannounced. And sometimes, the mission launches days after the deadline has passed. Gaius likes to mix it up to maintain at least some small element of surprise.

The grind of planning a raid, executing a raid, and then moving on to the next raid is actually a great learning experience. Hyper analytical as always, Gaius gains a lot of knowledge about combat tactics. He discovers what works best in different settings and why. He learns which officers he can trust to get the job done. But most importantly, he gains confidence. Oddly enough, that confidence comes mostly from overcoming mistakes. Even with the best planning and most accurate information, things can and will go wrong in war. Gaius learns to accept that fact, to move on from panic, and to resist the instinct to blame. Because whether the issue is an erroneous assumption in the battle plan, a poorly executed maneuver on the ground, or an equipment malfunction, it's a problem that requires immediate solving. And that's when creativity, improvisation, strategic thinking, and leadership matter most.

In the background on his comlink stashed in his pocket, Gaius keeps up a running text conversation with Portia Metellus. He tells her when he's going into battle, always lamenting that he left for war without a goodbye kiss. She never comments on that, but she does worry for him and complains if his safe return message doesn't come quickly enough. It emboldens him to keep pushing for an in-person meeting.

I want to see you when I come home for my investiture.

Too late. You missed your chance. We summer at our colonial estate.

Oh. Summer is a noun where he comes from, not a verb.

Her message includes a picture of his mutt Milady lounging poolside chewing on someone's flipflop. And that prompts him to ask, Did Julia come with you?

She's here for the weekend. And she brought his dog apparently.

He thinks a moment before he angles, Can I at least get a bikini pic?

Mother says two-piece suits are vulgar and common. Definitely not for Ladies.

He replies with the sad face emoji.

Two hours later, he gets back this: But Julia bribed a housemaid to buy us each one. And when Mother stays in her room, she can't see what happens out by the pool. Accompanying this admission are a series of shots of Portia and Julia in truly trashy string bikinis. Julia still looks like a little girl in hers, like she's playing dress up. But Portia fills hers out. His eyes stare longingly at the flare of her hips and the inviting sag of her surprisingly full bosom. Wow, that's hot. Look at all that smooth, red, youthful skin. Portia might be underage, but she sure doesn't look it. That body is ripe for a man's attention.

There are so many ways he wants to respond, but Gaius settles on the heart eyes emoji. It seems the safest way to get his point across without offending her. But it takes all of his discretion to keep from sending her six lewd eggplants followed by the champagne bottle emoji with a popping cork. Portia Metellus has the sexy, sassy schoolgirl thing down. Gaius strongly suspects that she knows it, too.

The flirty texts are the lighthearted escapism he needs. The war has entered a strange, almost frantic paced phase. The Council wants to establish a large-scale territorial incursion into the Republic using the approach the Empire used for decades to conquer colonial worlds. It's a tried-and-true formula but it's being done so fast and on so many systems that Gaius worries the Imperial forces are being spread too thinly. For while he and Hector toil away week after week, other Lords on other ships lead similar raids simultaneously on other worlds. As a result, before long the entire Republic Outer Rim waits in dread of the killer Sith.

That's the Dark Council's goal—to create an atmosphere of fear and to provoke surrender negotiations in advance of actual bloodshed. It's working fine. Some worlds preemptively surrender, some worlds surrender quickly after the first raid, and some worlds require extensive aerial bombardment before they give up. But one by one, the Republic Rim systems roll over. The press heralds it as success, but Gaius remains dubious of the long-term results. He worries that the Empire will never hold all of these far-flung worlds if they are challenged. Moreover, most are sparsely populated outposts with little strategic value beyond the raw materials that can be mined or harvested from them.

All in all, the war is off to a perplexing start. The Republic Rim fleet was caught unaware at Tindal Arm and largely destroyed. The enemy hasn't attempted to engage the Sith ever since. What are they doing? Are they hunkering down to focus on protecting their Core worlds? Will they concede the Outer Rim? Or are they biding their time to strike? Far too many Lords are already concluding that the Empire overestimated the Republic. But Gaius is not so sure. Like Angral, he fears that they are in for a long war.

Moreover, to his mind, it looks like the Sith are seeking to annex the neighboring Republic Rim, rather than to conquer the Republic outright. It's almost like they are setting up a fallback plan to claim partial victory by expanding the Empire incrementally. And that strikes him as unnecessarily cautious.

Gaius keeps saying so to Darth Angral who listens but doesn't want to hear it. Finally, his somewhat exasperated boss levels with him. "Malgus, you're right. Is that what you want to hear? You're right. Your instincts are always right. You are a natural at war, like I knew you would be. But you and I don't get to make the big decisions yet. We follow orders."

"You should be making the decisions," Gaius informs his boss. He's not sucking up. It's the truth. "You belong on the Council. Someone needs to tell those old Lords to think bigger and stop being so conservative." It strikes him that the ancient Council Lords—whose average age hovers around two hundred years-seem to be re-fighting the colonial expansion campaigns of their youth. And that's far too tepid a strategy for seizing one half of the galaxy. The whole war effort needs a paradigm shift.

Angral doesn't bother with false modesty. He replies, "I have to wait my turn. No one wants to hear what I have to say yet."

"Why not?" Gaius presses. "You haven't waited your turn for anything else." If there is a career path Gaius would like to emulate, it's Darth Angral's. The man has rocketed up through the ranks.

"Seniority matters as much as merit for seats on the Council," his boss informs him. "I have to wait my turn and so will you. You especially will need to prove yourself, Malgus. Council seats are as much about politics as they are results."

Yes, he knows. The Empire is far from a meritocracy.

Angral continues his lecture. "Just do your duty and try to make a few less enemies while you're at it. You are excellent at leading the troops. The whole ship reveres you. But you won't get on the Dark Council because the commonfolk admire you. You'll have to lead the Lords to get there." Angral frowns at him. "All your success is making you even more unpopular. How many Jedi kills are you up to now?"

"Twelve. There were two on this latest world."

"Does that put you in the lead?"

"No," he grumbles. "There's a guy on the Punisher who has fifteen."

"Darth Rend?"

"Yes. He killed a room full of youngling Padawans on a world with a Jedi Temple and the Council let him count those dead kids as full-fledged kills." It's a sore point for Gaius, who suspects that decision was motivated by the usual anti-random bias. But it's hard to argue against the idea that a dead Jedi—of any age—is a worthwhile feat to be rewarded.

"Whatever," Angral waves away the point. "Malgus, your record speaks for itself. And you're still leading in war prizes, I saw. Give it time. Use these opportunities to build goodwill and to make alliances." Angral gives him a pointed look. "I'm giving you a lot of autonomy that you're not using. Maybe try giving someone else a chance on this next raid other than Hector?"

On this point, Gaius refuses to budge. He and Darth Fidel are a good team. The other Lords onboard either have lousy skills or surly attitudes, and he refuses to work with them. And since Angral isn't insisting he do so, Gaius continues to exclude them. It's a bit of tit-for-tat. Darth Adraas and the others ostracize him socially, so he ignores them professionally. What comes around, goes around, he figures. Gaius considers it to be a fitting consequence for their persistent ridicule.

Hector turns out to be the person who succeeds in pressing him to include the other Lords on missions. Gaius is certain that Angral has put him up to it. He relents on the condition that he and Hector continue to be the exclusive tag team for the apex leader and Jedi kills. He will permit other Lords to lead the troopers for the less important slaughter. This change of heart earns him some brownie points with his boss and, perhaps more importantly, gratitude from the lovely Portia Metellus. He wakes one day to find her message.

Cato says you saved his life yesterday on a raid.

That's true. I'm surprised he told you. He didn't bother to acknowledge it to me. Adraas had been a complete ass about it. It was clear that Adraas felt annoyed and embarrassed to be indebted to him.

Then, I'm saying it: thank you for saving my brother.

I did it for you, not for him.

He means everything to me.

I don't want you to have to endure more sadness.

Thank you for saving him.

Ever the strategist, Gaius angles, Tell me that in person when I come home?

She shoots him down. We're still off-world for the summer.

The text chain ebbs and flows, but as the weeks pass into months, Gaius no longer has to work at keeping the conversation going. Portia starts to send him things of her own volition. Often, it's links to newsfeed reports on the war effort that include his name. Sometimes it's pictures of pretty things that catch her eye on the picturesque colonial estate she's living at. It's mostly flowers and birds and the occasional sunset snap. Mixed in among these innocuous photos are evidence of Portia's rebellious streak. She must be largely unsupervised by her reclusive mother because once or twice a week Portia goes off on a little adventure accompanied by a housemaid or Julia as her sidekick. It's harmless stuff, really. Portia mind tricks her way into a dance club or a bar. Or she goes joyriding in the family speeder. She's clearly yearning for the sort of freedoms that would be permitted to a lower-class girl. She's happy to mix with the colonials for a thrill even if it's clear from every incriminating picture that she's the only red skinned pureblood Sith in the room. I could never get away with this sort of thing on Dromund Kaas, Portia types. But things are looser and more casual here.

Gaius is tickled to be in on the secret. Smug Adraas probably thinks his little sister is safely tucked away at home painting her nails. He has no idea that she was at the local cantina last night buying rounds of drinks for everyone in attendance. Maybe that sort of behavior ought to concern Gaius, but it doesn't. He's seen firsthand that Portia can handle herself. Plus, he finds the rigid gender roles of the upper-class to be unduly restrictive. His formative years were spent around everyday people, and he routinely saw women in positions of responsibility and accomplishment. Those women lacked the power, prestige, and wealth of their elite sisters, but in some ways, they had the better deal.

Coming as he does from an outsider's perspective, it's very noteworthy to Gaius how tightly controlled the Lords and Ladies of the Empire are. Whether they are hamstrung by tradition, by family expectations, or by the requirements the regime imposes, Sith aristocrats lead remarkably rigid lives. And maybe that's necessary because there are midichlorians involved. What the elites do matters, and thus it must be supervised. But given that context, Gaius is not surprised that a bright and lively young woman like Portia Metellus feels a bit bored with what life has to offer her. And besides, who doesn't feel restless and angsty at age seventeen?

Still, after Portia sends him a triumphant video of her shoplifting lip gloss from a local convenience store, he feels compelled to preach caution. Don't get caught.

She responds with a selfie sticking out her tongue at him. Maybe I want to get caught, she pouts. But either way, IDGAF. The Republic could invade tomorrow and we'll all be dead.

He understands that fatalism during wartime. But he promises, I won't let that happen. I will save you, my Lady. He'll steal a ship, go AWOL, and rescue his girl using all the skills he has honed on his raids. And then her brother will have to let her marry him.

I might not need saving, she boasts in reply. I'm still practicing my sword moves. This text is accompanied by a pic of Portia in workout clothes with a lit saber held in classic ready position. It's captioned #fierceandpretty and #darkgirlpowaaaah.

He chuckles when he reads it. How about we fight side by side? You can save yourself while I save you. Force help any Jedi who dares oppose us. He sends back his own selfie with a sword captioned #Jedikiller and #glory2vitiate.

Okay, but I call dibs on the blue sword. Cato says you already have too many trophies.

They're not all blue. Some are green. A few are even yellow.

Whatever. If it's not red, it's mine, Lord Malgus.

Deal. But seriously . . . on the lip gloss etc., don't get caught, he urges.

Is she looking to get caught? Could she be angling for negative attention just so she can get some attention? Portia strikes him as a girl who's positively begging for someone to set limits for her—for someone to punish her and tell her no-maybe because on some basic level it will reaffirm that they care. But with her father dead and her brother off to war, there's only her depressed mother and self-absorbed sister around. And neither of them seems to be very present in Portia's life. She's surrounded by luxury and servants, but she is clearly quite lonely when Julia's not around. How else can he explain why she is turning to him more and more?

Well, he won't be the one to squash her independence. He likes her contrarian streak. She'll need it if she ever becomes his lady.

Got another raid later today, he types. Your brother's coming.

Look after Cato for me. MTFBWY

He signs off the way he always does before a mission: I regret that I didn't kiss you before I left for war.

The next time he checks his comlink on the way back from the raid, he finds that Portia has sent him the blowing kiss emoji. That's progress, he decides. Gaius responds with a picture of his newest Jedi lightsaber trophy with the caption fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to victory. He also includes a 'proof of life' group shot of the mission participants post-raid. It clearly shows Darth Adraas alive and well.

My heroes, Portia replies with a couple of red hearts for good measure.

Including the other Lords on raids buys him some begrudging acceptance. No one likes him, but they have to put up with him. It also means they end up training some with him. And that means he and Darth Adraas eventually cross swords in practice. It's a vicious faux fight, with plenty of subtext of resentment from both sides.

"Shit!" Portia's brother swears as his latest move fails. "That disarming pass works on everyone but you."

Gaius smirks. "I've seen it before." From Portia, to be exact.

But none of the other Lords know that. "He was Vindican's Apprentice," someone speaks up, reminding the group that his Master was the premiere swordsman of the Empire.

"Right," Adraas scowls as he goes in for another try.

Gaius bats away the double riposte with ease. "That all you got?" he jeers and sneers. "I've seen it too."

Adraas is getting frustrated. "I'm going to wipe that smile off your face, Malgus."

"You can try," he taunts back.

"That smile creeps me out," Adraas complains. "Like it's all wrong to see your long, bald face smile."

Hector is watching along with all the rest. He laughs and volunteers, "Never seen Malgus smile when he wasn't texting home."

"Sending notes to Mommy?" someone laughs.

"Nah, he's got a girl," Hector blabs.

Gaius shoots him a yellow eyed glare. But too late. The topic has captured the attention of the others.

"A girl? No shit?" Suddenly, everyone is looking at him and it's not for his saber prowess.

Someone laughs. "Darth Drama just got a lot more interesting, guys."

"Er . . . sorry, Malgus," Hector reddens. "Guess I let that slip."

He is seriously angered by his roommate's unfortunate reveal. His disengages with Adraas and advances on Hector with his saber raised. "Fuck you, Fidel! I'm going to let this sword slip and take your fucking head!" Gaius threatens. He's half serious.

And that's the inopportune moment when his boss saunters into the training room. "No, you won't." Angral gives him a pointed look. "I see those yellow eyes. Stand down, Lord Malgus."

"You're supposed to be fighting me," Adraas complains as he starts swinging at him.

The others are enjoying the scene immensely. "Easy now, random. He didn't tell us anything."

"Not yet, you mean. Spill it, Malgus. Let's hear about this girl of yours. Is she hot?"

Hector looks horrified and very guilty by the situation he has caused. "I didn't tell them anything . . . "

"That's because you don't know anything," Gaius hisses back.

The rest of the group seems fascinated by the topic. "My father says colonial girls are easy. Is that true?"

"I hope it's true."

"Tell us!" he gets commanded.

But Gaius stubbornly keeps his silence as he and Adraas continue the practice duel.

"What makes you think his girl is a colonial?" listening Angral wonders aloud.

"No self-respecting Lady would have him," someone answers.

"I wouldn't let him near either of my sisters," oblivious Adraas announces with unwitting irony.

Darth Angral starts playing devil's advocate now. "I don't know . . . He's clearly a hero. Malgus leads the Empire in war prizes currently."

Adraas huffs, "It's early days still."

"He's in the top five for Jedi kills," Angral answers.

That prompts someone else to observe, "He's a random. He'll never achieve far beyond his birth."

"Why do you think that?" Angral poses quietly. It's a serious question to the assembled group. And it's the best evidence yet for Gaius that his boss is quietly on his side even if he pretends not to play favorites. It has occurred to him lately that Darth Angral is something of an unofficial substitute for Master Vindican. Gaius wonders if whoever assigned him to Angral in the first place either knew Angral would be impressed by merit or perhaps even ordered it.

Either way, helping his career is a good personal strategy for Angral. Gaius makes his boss look good, and they both know it. It's a win-win for Angral to assign him so many combat mission commands. But on the same hand, Angral's giving him dangerous raids that are traditionally Army work. So if anyone objects that Gaius is getting favoritism, Angral has an easy rebuttal: he's giving the random the dangerous dregs. Except, in this case, the dregs come with Jedi kills and invaluable combat experience. Add into the mix the fact that Angral keeps promptly filing war prize submissions prominently featuring his accomplishments and it's not hard to conclude that Darth Angral is a covert ally. Sure, everyone else's names are on the submissions—whether they've earned recognition or not. But that's how Angral keeps getting the prizes awarded. The Dark Council isn't honoring him individually. They're honoring the up-and-coming Naval star Darth Angral's team, which Gaius undeniably leads.

But the others are not so progressive in their thinking. "Boss, he's a random. Sure, he's good, but come on . . . Long term, we all know how things work."

Angral disagrees. "All that matters is that his veins are full of midichlorians. My Lords, if the rest of the Republic rolls over as fast as the Outer Rim, there will be a big galaxy to govern. And Malgus here looks a lot more like them than he does like us. There could definitely be a role for him."

Adraas snorts as he slashes away unsuccessfully with his sword. "Is Vitiate suddenly going to make Malgus king of Coruscant so our new subjects can see a familiar face in their local Sith overlord?"

"If that happens, you should let all that blonde hair grow out. Go the full Jedi route, Malgus," someone jokes.

"My yellow hair matches my yellow eyes," Gaius hisses, reminding everyone of his power. Random or not, his power far outpaces all of his patrician peers except for his boss.

"That's my point," Angral reasons. "Many of the Republic worlds look like our colonial worlds whose people look like Malgus."

"Yeah, yeah, my Lord. But what I really want to hear about is this girl," a voice from behind Gaius interrupts. "Tell us about the girl. Is she pretty?"

Everyone is looking at him expectantly again. Including Angral.

Gaius declines to comment. "I don't kiss and tell."

Unfortunately, the answer does nothing to squash the group's curiosity.

"Oh, yeah, he's definitely fucking her."

"I wish I got to fuck girls as a single guy . . ."

"Just get married already."

"So how does this work with the lower classes? Do you have to lie and promise to marry her? Or wait—did you marry her?"

"Would the Palace even allow that? He's technically a Lord and all. He needs permission. I don't think a Lord can marry a colonial. Well, maybe they can if they're a random . . . "

Everyone is looking at him. Gaius can feel his face flame. But he keeps his stubborn silence and swings harder at Adraas, backing him toward the wall yet again.

He's doing some good moves, but no one's watching the duel. The comments keep coming and the whole conversation quickly goes downhill.

"So . . . is she hot or not?"

"Colonial girls aren't hot."

"Some are."

"No, they're not. They look like servants."

"Some Republic girls are hot."

"If you're into lizards and alien women with tails coming out of their heads . . ."

"No, I'm talking about the humanoids."

"Yeah? How do you know?"

"Lucius figured out that here in the Rim, we get the Republic holonet. And get this—it's full of porn!"

"Legit?"

"Yep. Hard core, explicit, totally-legal-in-the-Republic porn. It's good stuff. You'll never see anything like it back home."

This news is apparently a revelation for Darth Fidel. Hector pouts and frowns in consternation. "Am I the last one here to learn this?"

"No," Gaius and Angral answer in emphatic unison. And that's the moment when Gaius succeeds in dislodging the saber hilt from Adraas' grip. He wins the practice duel . . . again. No one except Angral and Adraas notice, however. The rest are too titillated.

"Seriously, you should see what's on their holonet. It's an education, for sure."

"Tell me more."

"It's crazy. Like really wild stuff and all."

"Like how wild?"

"Like tentacles and shit."

"Oh."

"I don't want to hear any more," Gaius grouses. He deactivates his sword. "I think I'm done here." Time to retreat before anyone remembers they wanted to pry into his personal life before they got sidetracked discussing naked enemy women. He heads fast out the door.

Darth Angral follows him.

As the door slides shut behind his boss, curiosity gets the better of Gaius. He whirls. "Did you mean what you said in there?"

"About what?"

"About there being a role for me once we rule the Republic."

Angral nods. "I'm told the Republic is largely a meritocracy. They have a striving ethos that matches your own. There could be more respect for someone like you there as a leader. Malgus, you look like some of them, you think like some of them, but you're a Sith to the core. That could be a valuable combination once we win." His commanding officer looks thoughtful as he observes, "Perhaps the time is right for someone like you to come along. The Force makes no mistakes. It must have sent the Empire a powerful random for a reason." Angral shrugs and posits, "Who knows? Maybe you could be just the type of man we need right now."

Is that more patrician disdain he's hearing? Gaius isn't certain. But he damned well doesn't want to be told that he has to go to his enemy in order to succeed.

He vents and pouts, "I don't want to lead the Republic. I want to lead here in the Empire!" He sighs and looks away as he grumbles, "But that will be difficult for all the reasons you just heard in there . . ."

Angral pushes back. "You threaten them. You know that, right? Your success makes them look bad. Your ambition reveals how complacent they are. Your talent is random and not the result of centuries of strategic marriages and Apprenticeships. You don't even have proper training, Malgus, and yet you still show them up."

"None of that matters if it gets me nowhere," he gripes.

"Does it look like you're going nowhere?" Darth Angral demands. "Your name is everywhere these days even in the public press."

"But does it even help?" Gaius snaps back bitterly. He used to think that the war would be his big opportunity, but now he's not so sure. He's a few months in to his Naval career and he worries he's not changing anyone's mind about him. Sure, there are some Lords like Angral and Fidel who are open to his success. But they are few and far between. He has far more haters than proponents. It's hard to see where he will fit in long-term. "Even with success, I don't have a path forward. Too many things are closed to me . . . because of who I was born . . ."

"I don't like you whiney, Malgus. I think I like you better cocky. Look, I'm not your Master, but if I were, I would tell you to slow down. Be patient. We're only getting started. You need to pace yourself. Have you looked in the mirror lately? Your eyes are starting to look red." Blood-streaked yellow eyes are a telltale sign of Dark power outpacing a Force user's capacity. Too much power too fast takes its toll.

"My power is growing," Gaius shrugs off the concern. All his killing on raids and his meditation preparation beforehand have his Darkness surging. And that's a good thing overall. But it's making him antsy and resentful. Tired looking, too.

Angral, sounding very much like Darth Azamin, warns, "You need to be careful. Never forget that Darkness is dangerous. Too much, too fast can be hard to handle."

"I know that." Oh, how he knows that.

"Control. You must learn control. I know that's difficult when your power is growing rapidly. But if you don't control it, it will control you."

"Yes, my Lord," Gaius dutifully acknowledges the lecture.

Angral can clearly see that he's being placated. The unflappable aristocrat allows himself a rare flash of temper. "Malgus, you will be one of this generation's strongest Lords provided you don't self-destruct or get yourself killed." His boss looks him over with clear frustration before he confides, "You and I are very different, but in this respect we are alike. I know what it means to manage great power. It can be a burden as much as a gift. You," he accuses, "more than any Lord on this ship needs a Master and good training. Watching you wing it is making me very nervous."

Yeah, him too. Gaius impulsively blurts out, "I killed Vindican."

"What?" His commanding officer blinks and rears back.

"I killed Vindican on Korriban. The Jedi got him, but I finished him off. I was the one to take his head. I killed my own Master."

The abrupt confession provokes a long moment of uncomfortable silence. Angral is absolutely appalled.

"Why?"

Miserable Gaius cringes as he attempts to explain his actions. "Because he failed . . . because the Padawan got away . . . and because . . . because I lost control . . . Darkness got the best of me that day." He looks away in shame.

Darth Angral is straight up horrified. He looks disapproving, sympathetic, and vaguely impressed all at once. He stares and sputters, "Force, Malgus, that's . . . that's . . ."

"Azamin knows," Gaius admits as the story keeps tumbling out. "Now, you do too. It's why I don't get another Master. Everyone else thinks that's because I'm so advanced . . . because I killed a

Jedi Master after three months of training. But it's not a reward, it's punishment. I don't get any more training because I killed the man assigned to train me."

"I see."

"So, yes, I'm winging it. Maybe it's more like flailing around. But I don't have any better option. No one's going to help me, so I need to help myself." His resentment gives a very bitter edge to these words.

Angral seems to be at a loss for how to respond. It prompts miserable Gaius to keep volunteering information.

"I don't know what my long-term path will be . . . I wish I did . . . Jedi bounties and war prizes may help, but I worry they won't be enough. At least, I fear they won't . . ."

Angral looks increasingly alarmed. "Don't you spiral downward on me, Malgus—"

"I appreciate the opportunities, really I do. I kind of need to kill right now, my Lord. I need the outlet—"

"I can see that."

"—and I also need the money," Gaius reveals. He's sharing so much now that he goes there. It's embarrassing himself and Darth Angral, he knows. But that doesn't stop him.

"I do have a girl back home. She's waiting for me . . . at least, I think she is. My Lord, she's a Lady. I can't afford to support her yet. As it is, it will be hard to convince her family to accept me. So, you see, I've got to do something big and impressive or I'll never win her."

"You're saying that your ambition is about a girl?"

Feeling sheepish, he admits, "In part." He's long been obsessed with success but Portia Metellus has become a new inducement. He wants the girl and the glory now.

Troubled Angral frowns and sighs. "Well, you're getting noticed. I got a message today ordering you back to Dromund Kaas for your investiture. I came down to the training room to tell you so the other guys would hear."

Gaius looks up. This is news. He's finally getting his investiture. He had begun to think that his trip to the Palace wouldn't happen. But evidently Darth Azamin came through. And maybe this delayed timing is for the best since he has more than Korriban on his record now.

"When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow after the raid."

"Tomorrow," he repeats softly as he feels an involuntary smile creep across his face. "Tomorrow, I'm going home . . . " A trip home means Portia. The new school year began earlier this month. His girl is back in residence at Dromund Kaas. And that's means she'll be with Julia at the home he inherited from his late Master.

"You'll be getting a message directly from the Palace with all the details. Only a select few get to appear for their investiture these days. It has to be a mark of distinction. You'll be kneeling before the Dark Lord with an impressive war record for a kid so young."

"Master Vindican would have loved it," Gaius thinks aloud glumly. It's the wrong thing to say. Angral's responding glare is pure censure. He's equally, if not more, disapproving than old Darth Azamin had been about his murder of Vindican.

Guilty Gaius feels his face burn and hastens to change the topic. "What's it like? You've been there to be presented and to present your Apprentice."

"It's quick. The Emperor gives a speech, you kneel, he says your Darth name, and it's over. It will be the easiest thing you've ever done. An adrenaline junky like you will be bored before it's over. There won't be any Jedi to cross swords with and no one will be shooting at you."

"Okay," he nods as he gulps.

"Look at you—nervous!" Angral accuses, clearly confused. "Malgus, you don't bat an eye heading into battle but you quake at the thought of a trivial ceremony in the throne room? I would never have guessed that."

Gaius flushes as he admits, "I've never been to the Palace. Normally, I'm not allowed in."

"Why not? You're a Lord."

"I'm a random Lord."

"Who made that rule?"

"I don't know."

Master Vindican had made him stay home whenever he went to the Palace for meetings. That's mostly why Gaius has been so determined to get an official investiture. He wants entry to the seat of power that until now has been denied to him. Because there's no way he can rise to the heights he aspires to achieve without access to the Palace. It's where everything that matters happens.

"Whatever." Angral shrugs. "Just put on your fancy armor and show up. You do have ceremonial armor, right?"

"No." He's got two sets of armor and they are both the utilitarian day to day type that have been well used from all the raids

"Can you borrow some?" Angral looks him over, silently noting his unusual size. "No, I guess not. Look, just clean up what you've got and put on a cape. Own who you are. No one will be fooled otherwise by shiny armor."

Yeah, he knows. He'll never really fit in. He's known that for a long time, but he can't stop trying anyway. "Okay . . . "

"And Malgus?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

His commanding officer's brow lowers and Angral's tone is cold and firm. "If you ever lose control while under my command . . . if you ever even think to pull a stunt like what you did to Vindican—even if it's on enlisted personnel—you will be dismissed from this ship. If it's another Lord involved, I will court martial you to the Dark Council if I don't blast you out the airlock first. Do you understand?"

Gaius meets his boss' steely glare and nods. "Yes, my Lord."

"I mean it. Keep your impulses in check."

"Yes, my Lord."

"When you were assigned to me, I was warned that you're a loose cannon who would be a challenge to command. But if you're truly dangerous, then that will be a problem. Watch yourself, or your career might end here, Malgus." Angral shakes his head at him and walks away.