When authorities on Kuat questioned Duke Uvanar about the events of his crash, he told them in exacting detail. A flash of radiation from a nearby star's coronal mass ejection had overloaded the transport's hyperdrive, causing a catastrophic power surge. He and his companion, Lersia Narth, a celebrated KDY starship designer, had exited hyperspace and tried to affect a safe landing. The overload, however, shorted out the flight controls, and they had no choice but to head for the escape pods.

Lersia had elected to stay behind and activate the emergency beacon. It was all the Duke could do to reach an escape pod and jump ship before his companion and their transport slammed into Manaan's atmosphere. Working with Republic judicials and search and rescue, KDY authorities could find no trace of the ship. It had likely disintegrated in re-entry or sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

Out of respect for his long-time colleague, Duke Uvanar declared a period of mourning and did not return to his office for a period of one standard month. During that time, he met with a representative of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. The lanky Muun, Nax Hamall, was the chosen executor of Lersia Narth's will. Unbeknownst to the rest of the galaxy, Hamall was Perdition's chief contact in the Banking Clan, handling many of the Sith's public and secretive dealings. Not that he was aware of the Duke's true nature; the Muun merely viewed him as another businessman.

In accordance with the Givin's last wishes, he passed the inheritance onto a family member, a nephew back on Yag'Dhul. Only, there was no nephew. It was a front, a way for Perdition to redistribute his late apprentice's assets into his network.

"A shame, really," Hamall commented as he and Uvanar shared a bottle of Sullustan wine. They sat in high-backed chairs on the estate's veranda, which overlooked an artificial lake constructed over seventy years ago by Perdition's great-grandfather. "I shall miss young Master Narth. He had such a gift for statistical probability and exacting detail in his work. If only you hadn't snatched him up for KDY; he could've been a great employee of the Banking Clan."

"Hm," Uvanar said, sipping from his glass. "Such is the way of business, I suppose. Prospective employees are hunted with the same degree of ferocity as a Nexu stalking its prey."

Hamall gave a nasal chuckle. "It certainly is. I trust the reallocation was to your satisfaction?"

"Quite so. When do you return to Muunilinst?"

"Tomorrow. My work for the IBC never grants me any respite from my travels."

"Do pass on my well-wishes to your wife. And your son. I hear he is shaping up to be a formidable financier in his own way."

The Muun smiled. "Indeed he is. Reminds me of my grandfather. That old Exogorth could purchase the hover-throne of a Hutt and resell it back to him for twice the value. I'll be sure to pass on your kind words. Farewell, Duke. May the continuum of material wealth carry you gently along its waters." Hamall departed the next day, and Perdition finalized closing the last traces of his late apprentice.

Once the self-appointed mourning period ended, he returned to his duties. As one of KDY's top executives, he could afford to delegate many of the day-to-day tasks to subordinates. That gave him latitude to carry out Sith directives and machinations. There was one duty, however, that he could not avoid: a meeting of the company's board of directors. Twice a year, he and his fellow board members would meet on a random world in the Core or Mid Rim. They would discuss quarterly earnings, deals in the works, and other items that would further the company agenda.

This time, the board met on a space station orbiting the virgin jungle world of Encido. Teeming with exotic creatures of every type and new discoveries of bio-particles, the planet attracted big-game hunters as well as Xenobiologists and explorers. The station served as a waypoint for these people, with extensive crew quarters and numerous merchants offering weapons and supplies.

Uvanar, accompanied by a pair of heavily armoured Nikto bodyguards, entered the meeting room. An ovular table rested in the centre of the room, with three chairs on either of the wider lengths. Some of the board were already present, along with their own security. The Nikto serving Uvanar were of the red-skinned Kajain'sa'Nikto subspecies, as well as being members of the secretive Morgukai cult. Elite and deadly warriors, the Morgukai trained their entire lives to be the match of any Force-user. Their long cortosis-staffs could also block lightsaber blades. In short, they were the perfect bodyguards, capable of defeating any Jedi or other threat.

But not enough to defeat him. As in all things, Perdition never made a move before considering all eventualities. The Morgukai warriors in service to him were formidable, but he'd studied their methods at great length. If ever they betrayed him –and such a thing was a near-impossibility— they would be no match for him.

Walking over to the table, he sat down at the far end of the right hand side, near the window. The wall-spanning transparisteel offered a breathtaking view of the world below. Sunlight seemed to gleam on the surface of Encido's oceans, highlighting its green and red forested continents. While the planet held no special meaning for the Sith, its untapped resources were a ripe target for business. The others sat down as well, eying each other. Five out of the seven board seats were occupied by Kuati nobles, like Uvanar, while the other two were occupied by foreigners.

One of them was Astola Rozim, a Serennian Countess and former representative of her world in the Galactic Senate. Still attractive, though severe, in her mid-sixties, the countess kept her silver hair in a single braid with jewels woven into it. Her plucked eyebrows were always arched in haughty derision, and her perfectly manicured fingers were decorated with gleaming rings. A rich green cloak was draped over her shoulders, indicative of her native house. Despite being an outsider, she fit in quite well with Uvanar's people. While not holding an executive position, she was one of the principal shareholders.

"Should we just get on with it?" Janess Kuhlvult, heir to his family's fortune and Director of Finance for KDY, said. He only occupied the position, and seat on the board, as a proxy for his aging mother. "We all know she's going to be late, and I have to be on Corellia in two days."

"What's the matter?" Countess Rozim asked, thin lips curled in a mocking smirk. "In a rush to visit your mistress?"

"Of course not," Kuhlvult retorted. "She isn't nearly as warm and tender as you are."

"Enough," Meetra Kuat, Chairman of the Board and Director of KDY, admonished. She cut a fine, matronly figure in her grey uniform which clung to her body like a second skin. Running one of the galaxy's largest corporations for nearly twenty years had done little to diminish her looks. Uvanar recalled many times her competitors had underestimated her pretty face. Beneath those dazzling green eyes hid ambition and ruthlessness that could rival any Sith. "We begin only when all the board members are present, not before. If you have a problem with that, Janess, then you are welcome to surrender your seat to another house. Perhaps a Depon, or a Purkis?"

Janess pointedly stared down at the table, his mouth shut for once. It wasn't a stretch to compare him to a temperamental child.

Twenty five millennia prior, at the dawn of the Republic, ten merchant houses colonized the planet Kuat. They paid the finest xenoformers of the day to transform it into a paradise. Having laid the foundations for what would eventually become KDY, the houses formed the planet's nobility. The Ten, as they came to be known, ruled over Kuat ever since. From their number came the majority of the company leadership. Scheming and internecine conflict were common, though not enough to jeopardize the stability of Kuat and KDY. Unlike many other worlds, in which ruling nobles were patriarchal in nature, The Ten were matriarchal.

House Uvanar had never been among the most powerful of The Ten. Neither had they been the weakest. Its members prided themselves on their ability to never overextend themselves. Plots were carried out, as was the norm, while ambitions were kept from running rampant. The house motto read: Through the Storm, We Persevere.

Some forty years ago, Uvanar's grandmother, matriarch of the family and head of the house, had become a devotee of his Sith master. She had long possessed a fascination with the taboo and arcane. Her conscription had been effortless. When her son, Uvanar's father, had resisted those same overtures, the matriarch had given her assent to his death. Afterwards, once Uvanar had begun his Sith apprenticeship, she manoeuvred him into a position of power unheard of for one of their family. By the time he overthrew his master and became the ruling Dark Lord of the Sith, he'd attained his present seat on the board of directors. Not long after, his grandmother named him head of House Uvanar shortly before her timely death.

After an awkward silence, the doors finally opened, and the final board member arrived. Nujji the Hutt, like all members of her disgusting species, was a gargantuan slug with small, beady eyes, short, stumpy arms, and a wriggling tail. A hover-throne supported her ponderous weight, and she was escorted by a pair of green-scaled, four-horned Makurth with wicked vibro-axes strapped to their backs.

The hover-throne came to a stop at the open end of the table. Nujji, resting her short arms on the folds of her flesh, said, "Apologies for my late arrival, fellows. Urgent business on Malastare demanded my attention."

"Don't worry, we all know how much you like to make an entrance," Uvanar quipped, eliciting a few chuckles. Kuat gave him a warning glance, but said nothing in response.

"Now that we are all present," Kuat said, gesturing to serving droids who stood nearby, "we can begin. I now call this meeting to order." As the droids served drinks and assorted hors d'oeuvres, the minutes from last meeting were read. After the initial round of false pleasantries and meaningless talk finished, they got down to real business.

"Rendili StarDrive is aggressively ramping up their starship production," Janess reported. "They're attempting to expand into more Mid and Outer Rim sectors to increase their profit margins."

Rendili StarDrive had dominated the field of starship development for millennia, since the formation of the Galactic Republic. Their speciality was efficient, reliable products that recycled ideas from dozens of cultures. In contrast, KDY prided itself on being on the cutting edge of innovation. Updates were constant, ideas always improving. The two design philosophies had been at war for centuries.

"Let them," Uvanar said, waving dismissively. "The Outer Rim doesn't have the resources to remain profitable for long. We don't have to expand to new sectors to compete with them. All we need is to capitalize on the right sectors. The Core Worlds have always been our most important customers. That is where the wealth is concentrated. Besides, Rendili will flood the market with smaller, inferior craft. Meanwhile, we can still provide larger, more effective warships that planetary governments and mercantile interests will pay through the ear for."

"Unfortunately, our 'larger, more effective warships' are still limited by the Ruusan Reformations," Countess Rozim countered. "With military power now the responsibility of planetary and sector defense forces, Rendili starships will always be in demand."

Nujji rumbled from deep in her belly. "I find myself agreeing with Duke Uvanar. After the extensive damages and horrors of the New Sith Wars, most star systems simply do not have the stomach for war. Large fleets are a thing of the past. A few select vessels for defense is the new norm, and KDY has consistently provided superior quality on a ship-by-ship basis."

Uvanar saw Kuat nodding, though she looked somewhat troubled. "My contacts in the senate inform me that the Sullustan Senator is pushing for addendums to the Reformation Act."

A wave of scoffs and snorts of derision passed over the table.

"Of course he is," Janess said, his voice dripping with scorn. "It's a perfectly open secret that he has business ties with Corellian Engineering Corporation through his family which go back centuries. All he hopes to accomplish is to cut military spending in favour of the civilian markets. It all comes down to lining his own pockets by taking away our revenue streams."

"We must focus on the private sectors," Nujji cut in. "They will offer the greatest profits."

"Agreed," Kuat said. Turning to Uvanar, she said, "Zephryk, how is work proceeding on your latest project?"

Uvanar swallowed a grape, then replied, "Well enough. My engineers tell me everything is in place to begin construction. Working with that Verpine nest provided the breakthroughs we needed to finalize the design. However, there is a problem with acquiring the raw materials. I've been facing opposition from members of the Mining Guild. They keep raising the prices on the ore they sell, and it's become too expensive to maintain our supply."

Little did the board know that Perdition had secretly manipulated the Mining Guild for years. Through shadowy underworld contacts, he'd convinced the guild's leadership to raise prices, feeding their selfish greed. This had the intended side effect of putting smuggling and piracy on the rise, which disrupted the galactic economy just enough to cause the Republic trouble. As had begun with Darth Bane, Perdition sought to bleed the Republic with a thousand cuts. An economic disruption here, a planetary rebellion there, and the silent support of pirate gangs and fringe groups.

Unfortunately, Perdition's manipulations had borne rotten fruit. A few of the Mining Guild leaders, spurred on by the rise in their business, had raised prices far in excess of what the Dark Lord had intended. They were fully possessed by their greed, and presented an obstacle that could not be ignored. Now, the ore markets were in danger of collapsing if something wasn't done. He needed the galactic economy off-set, not overturned completely. Chaos, left unfettered, could split the Republic apart. It was far easier to manipulate a single enemy rather than 100.

"Can you complete the vessel with what you have?" Countess Rozim asked.

Uvanar thought it over, remembering the latest estimates his staff had provided before the meeting. "No. As it stands, we have enough durasteel to construct the ship's hull, but it will be diluted. Structural integrity would be no more than 40 percent our usual amount. The vessel requires a specific formula that can only be supplied by Cinnagar. I intend for the vessel to be the showpiece of the investor's conference on Entralla in five years. If that is to take place, we need more ore."

Kuat sighed. "Very well. I'll open back channels with the Guildmaster. We've known each other for most of our adult lives, so he should be receptive. Negotiations may take time, but I will convince him to keep his people in line. If there is any resistance, I can always persuade him with a few…select pressures." In their line of work, 'select pressures' often referred to kidnapping, surveillance, or any number of illegal activities. Simply the price of business.

Uvanar inclined his head. "Thank you, my lady. As always, I am grateful for your efforts."

The meeting went on for the better part of Encido's twenty hour day, with breaks called after certain intervals. Eventually, once all the business at hand was concluded, Kuat called a close. The seven board members stood –or in Nujji's case, moved her hover-throne— and meandered through the station's corridors. Countess Rozim appeared to be deep in conversation with Kuat, while the other three Kuati nobles spoke with each other. Janess brushed past them all, in a hurry to leave for Corellia.

Uvanar strolled alongside Nujji's throne. Their respective bodyguards remained close, but with a few feet between them as they eyed each other in distrust. "Back-channel negotiation," the Hutt said, shaking her bloated head. "Business in your part of the galaxy always seems so slow, so…inefficient. Not like in Hutt Space. My people understand the need for decisive action and, shall we say, direct and forceful measures against competitors."

Glancing at Kuat, Uvanar replied, "I'm inclined to agree with you. Meetra is a talented negotiator, and ruthless when she wants to be. But this situation calls for immediate action." They turned a corner and entered an empty corridor where they would not be overheard. One of the Morgukai warriors activated an aural damper on his vambrace so their words would not carry beyond a two metre area.

Nujji turned her head to look down at him. "So then will you be requiring the services of one of my clan's client groups? Perhaps the Eclipse Cyborgs?"

He thought about it, then shook his head. "Not for this. They performed adequately for the cargo raid last month, but this will be a higher profile operation. Choose a group that has absolutely no ties to you, or especially to me. Our relationship remains beneficial only so long as it does not become public."

The Hutt rumbled. "Very well. I may have just the sort of group in mind. Do you wish for targeted assassination, or will greater collateral damage be acceptable?"

"It is preferred, actually. We must make this look like anything but a targeted strike. I will provide you with a list of names of guild executives that must be eliminated. Also, I'll see to it that a few of Black Sun's Vigos are implicated in the attacks. Consider it proper payment for services rendered, along with a generous contribution to your clan's shipping business."

Nujji licked her lips with an enormous tongue. "The prospect of that upstart gang being the target of any investigation is appealing. Alright, Duke. You have yourself a deal."

"A pleasure, as always," Uvanar said sardonically. He nodded to the Morgukai, who deactivated the aural damper and escorted him as he strode towards the hangar. Nujji had proven herself a valuable ally, providing him access to many criminal resources otherwise out of his reach. She only knew him as an ambitious noble and corporate executive seeking to enhance his business, not as the Dark Lord of the Sith. None of Perdition's network of associates and agents knew of his true identity. To them, he was nothing more than an employer or financial ally.

It was this machination of public and criminal enterprises that would one day lead to the Republic's downfall. There still remained a pressing issue, one that Perdition would have to address: where to find a new apprentice who would carry on the Sith lineage.


Vrehk's dreams were plagued by images of death and destruction.

He'd been accompanying his grandfather, Chocoth Chund, on the old man's new star yacht. They'd departed Cato Neimoidia three days ago on their way back to Cinnagar after a lengthy business trip. Vrehk, almost ten years old, was left with very little to do. He had to make his own fun, since his grandfather barely paid any attention to him. When Chocoth did, it was often after long, drawn-out days during which he'd gotten drunk on Corellian ale.

Vrehk didn't like it when his grandfather came back to their room at night. He was mean, and yelled for no reason. Whenever he did something bad, his grandfather would hit him as punishment. The nine year-old, still nursing a torn lip and a black eye the first night after leaving Cato Neimoidia, cried himself to sleep. Like every night for the past year, he wished he could go back to live with his parents.

But that was impossible. His father died in a collapsing hyperlane while exploring new star systems over a year ago. Barely a month later, his mother died when a ground quake caused their house to collapse on top of her. Vrehk had been sent to live with his grandfather, the only family he had left.

Then, on the third day of their return trip, everything went wrong.

Vrehk tossed and turned in bed. The sheets clung to his sweat-covered body, and he shivered in fright. Tonight, his dreams were full of monsters and nightmares. Nameless horrors from the depths of his mind rose from the ethereal sludge, braying their ear-splitting cries. It all became too much, and Vrehk bolted upright as he tore free from sleep. He panted, his heart thudding in his chest like a war drum.

Something bad was going to happen. He knew it. Something in his gut told him danger was on its way. Throwing his sheets aside, he leapt out of bed, only to trip and fall flat on his face. He grunted, his still-healing black eye throbbing from the impact. Vrehk rubbed the two nubs on his forehead; they wouldn't grow to be full horns until he turned seventeen. His grandfather stirred in his bed in the next room. The old man groaned, turning onto his left side as an empty bottle of ale slipped from his hand. It fell to the floor, clattering against the other two bottles. "Grandfather!" Vrehk said, hurrying over to him.

The old man didn't budge, deep asleep from too much drinking in the day.

"Grandfather!" Vrehk repeated, this time shaking his arm. Nothing. He shook again, harder. Chocoth mumbled something, slowly waking. His rancid breath made Vrehk cringe, smelling like rotten fruit and too much ale. "Grandfather, you need to get up!"

"Hm?" The old man blinked as sleep wore off. He looked around the room, then focused on the boy. "What…" he said, slurring his words. "What time is it?"

Vrehk glanced at the chrono on the wall. "It's late. Please, you have to get up! Something bad's going to happen!"

"You woke me up because of a stupid dream?!" Chocoth growled. His words were still slurred, but growing clearer. Before Vrehk could say anything else, his grandfather sat up and slapped him. Hard. He whimpered, clutching his cheek as tears welled up in his eyes. "I told you never to bother me with your idiotic, childish nonsense!" Chocoth bellowed. He got out of bed, standing to his full, terrifying height. "A curse. That's what you are, a curse! Ever since you were dumped into my lap, I've never known a moment's peace. If only you could've joined your mother when your house collapsed, then maybe I could get some peace and quiet!"

As his grandfather boomed like a starving Gundark, Vrehk recoiled more and more. He crouched, holding both hands over his ears as he tried to become smaller. Small enough to avoid the old man's wrath. But then, through the veil of terror, he felt something. Light, but definitely there. A spark that seemed to grow like the embers of a growing flame. He forced himself to stare up at his grandfather, breathing heavily. At the same time, the walls and floor of their cabin groaned. The individual durasteel plates started to peel at the corners, bending like flimsiplast. His grandfather didn't seem to notice, too drunk and too angry.

The door leading into the corridor opened, and one of the ship's security stepped through. "What is it?" Chocoth demanded, his cowering grandson forgotten.

"Trouble," the human replied ominously. "Scanners picked up another ship, bearing down fast."

"Have we tried to make contact?"

"We have. They're not responding."

"Sithspit," Chocoth hissed. "Then contact the bridge and—"

Something outside their cabin exploded. Vrehk cried out as the floor lurched, throwing him into the ceiling as everything twisted and turned like a child's toy. He only saw black, until he could open his eyes. When he did, Vrehk saw the security man laying on the floor, facing him. Half the human's body had melted from the explosion, flesh gone from most of his face. The charred skull seemed to leer at him with the eyeball still in its socket, and one hand twitched as if he were still alive.

Vrehk screamed, scrambling to get away from the grisly sight.

Acting on pure instinct, he ran from the cabin into the corridor. A wall of thick, oily smoke greeted him, and he coughed as the wailing alarm bashed against his eardrums. Vrehk, not knowing where to go, chose a direction and started running. "This is the captain!" a voice said through the intercom. "All hands to the escape pods. We are being boarded by pirates. I say again, we are being boarded by—" his last words devolved into an agonized scream as blasters sounded.

'Pirates', Vrehk thought with a fresh wave of dread. He'd heard stories of pirates all his life, stories of men who killed for money and stole what wasn't theirs. Ships would be left adrift in space or taken to some Outer Rim world to be stripped for parts. The crews would be slaughtered or taken and sold as slaves.

Ahead, at the far end of the corridor, five security personnel hastily armed blaster rifles and started shooting at something. Blaster bolts were fired back, killing two of them instantly. The rest tried to dive for cover, but they were either wounded or struck by so many bolts their uniforms melted. Vrehk turned and ran down an adjacent corridor. All around him, he could hear the chaos of battle and men's screams. The pirates were killing everyone.

"Help!" he cried. The smoke made him cough, and his chest burned. "Help!" he repeated, voice cracking as he screamed. Wasn't there someone nearby?

Vrehk stopped dead in his tracks as he came to an intersection. Two security men and three of the crew were dead, strewn across the floor. A female Balosar flight attendant pulled herself along the floor with one hand, the other mangled and useless. Her back was covered in blood, and she grunted with every movement. She was nice, Vrehk remembered; she'd given him sweets when he wandered the ship after his grandfather passed out each night.

Two men stood over her, blasters in hand. Vrehk couldn't see what they were, because they wore steel-grey armour. All the pieces looked different, as if they'd been scavenged from different places. Scarlet claw marks covered their helmets' faceplates, and long scarlet streaks marked their chest plates. Vrehk tried to force himself to move, but his legs were stuck in place. Pure terror froze him like carbonite.

"Why do they never offer any sport?" the first man, tall and broad-shouldered, asked. His voice was gravelly, like he'd just swallowed the remains of a demolished building.

"Don't know," the second man, short and squat, replied. "At least we can get good credits by slagging this yacht."

The first man walked up to the bloodied Balosar woman. He pointed his blaster at the back of her head, then fired. Vrehk made a whimpering noise, and the two pirates turned to look at him. The second man, holstering his blaster, chuckled. "Well, well, what've we got here? Are you lost, Devaronian?"

The first man nudged his shoulder. "I wonder if he's related to the one we're looking for."

"Y'know, I think you're right," the second man said, stepping towards Vrehk. "C'mere, boy. You'll help us find who we're lookin for."

Fighting through the haze of terror, Vrehk finally managed to move. He turned around and, before the two men could grab him, ran back the way he'd come. Turning this way and that through the ship, he didn't stop. The escape pods had to be close. They had to be. He couldn't be trapped on this ship, trapped with these killers. 'I can't die here,' he thought to himself. 'I won't die here.'

He stopped at a sealed door marked ESCAPE PODS. Jumping to reach the control console, he frantically smashed the open button. The doors cracked open, sliding to reveal the room just beyond. But when Vrehk charged in, he ran into another pirate, whose grey armour was covered in bits of jewelry with a gold-threaded sash around her chest. She looked down at him, drawing a disruptor pistol. Several others were present, and Vrehk gasped when he saw his grandfather restrained by two of the pirates.

Closing his eyes, he started crying. He wished with every fibre of his being that he could go home, back to his parents. But he couldn't. They were dead. Gone. More than anything, he wished someone would take him away from here. He'd been wishing it ever since he started living with his grandfather. 'Please, someone, just take me away from here!'

The woman paused, shaking her head as if to get rid of distracting thoughts, then looked down at him. "Hello, little one," she purred, holstering her disruptor and crouching to meet his gaze. "What's your name?"

Vrehk gulped, opening his eyes. His first instinct was to tell her nothing, but then he felt dizzy and unsure. The stench of smoke forgotten, he smelled something sweet and intoxicating in the air. Was she doing this to him? He had no idea. Without meaning to, he said, "V-Vrehk."

"Vrehk," she repeated. "A lovely name for a lovely boy."

One of the pirates charged a blaster rifle. "You want us to kill 'em now, captain?" he asked, aiming his weapon at Chocoth's head.

The captain held up a hand. "I think not."

"But captain," another said, "we were paid to—"

"Yes, we were paid to kill them all, but I think we'll spare these two," she said, her voice gaining a steely edge to it. "Who knows? We might be able to ransom them for a considerable price. If not…then I suppose we can revisit our options."


Quick note: for this story, I'm going to refer to both my protagonists by their 'public' and 'Sith' names in their sections. I'm taking a cue from Darth Plagueis, in which the title character will be called Plagueis and Damask in the same scene. The characters' public names will be used for their day-jobs and mundane stuff as part of their cover identities, while their Sith names will be used for anything relating to Sith business (targeted assassinations, Force talk, etc.)

If it becomes too confusing, don't hesitate to let me know. James Luceno got away with it, so I'm hoping I can too.

Please leave a review and favourite!