Seven

The Citadel, Dromund Kaas

13 ATC

It hadn't worked.

A'tro didn't understand. It had seemed like such a good plan. Sleep with Savadar, possibly pursue some sort of continued relationship with him after that, and forget all about Quinn. But it hadn't worked. In fact, intimacy with another man had only made her think about Quinn more.

She paced up and down her office, frustration boiling away in her chest like a pocket of magma ready to break through to the surface. Quinn was far, far away—she didn't even know where he was. But she still wanted him. It was maddening.

And also, buried somewhere under the anger, more than a little frightening. No one should have this kind of hold over her.

At least no one knew. She had kept it a secret from her own crew, and by the time she had become a public figure it didn't matter anymore. Such a crack in her armor would have been easily exploited.

Of course, it didn't matter how well she hid the crack if she just ended up putting a blade through it herself.

A'tro continued to pace. Vette, had she been there, would probably have made a joke about her wearing a hole in the floor, but Vette wasn't there. She had sent Vette away, told her she was free to go, and she had taken the offer and left. A'tro didn't particularly care one way or the other; they had never exactly been friends. Vette had been helpful, and allowing her to leave the Empire seemed a fitting reward.

Vette was gone, and Pierce and Broonmark were off doing her bidding elsewhere—Pierce with the military, Broonmark on his own, where he seemed to do best. Jaesa had been, as far as A'tro could tell, making a valiant effort to learn what a proper Sith apprentice was supposed to do. This effort had amounted to a great deal of skulking about Kaas City and very little actually being done, but at least she was trying.

She was also the only one of A'tro's original crew to remain in proximity to her. A'tro thought that perhaps the dispersal of her followers should bother her, as she had worked so closely with them for so long, but the only one whose absence troubled her was Quinn.

A'tro paused in midstep as her personal holocom chimed. With a small sigh, she ceased her pacing and activated the device, audio only. "Yes?"

Zariel's voice crackled over the speaker. "I apologize for disturbing you, my lord, but there is a military officer here requesting to speak with you."

The bottom dropped out of A'tro's stomach.

"Shall we send her away?" Zariel asked.

Hearing the pronoun restored some semblance of sense to A'tro's mind, and she took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "Has she said what she wants?"

"I believe she's seeking your assistance for her commander's campaign against the Republic."

A'tro raised a brow-ridge; she received numerous messages in that vein every day, but few were bold enough to approach her in person. "I will grant this officer an audience. Send her in."

"Yes, my lord." There was a click as Zariel ended the transmission.

A'tro retrieved a tie from a small compartment on her belt and secured her hair in its usual tail. She adjusted her gloves, took several more deep breaths, and remembered what it was to be a Sith, not some flustered pile of uselessness. Whoever this officer was, she wasn't Quinn. A'tro could handle anything and anyone that fell into that particular category.

She strode out into her antechamber with confidence, deliberately drawing upon the Force to grant herself a subtle aura of intimidation that would be perceived by even a Force-blind's limited senses.

Her visitor was a tall human woman dressed in a well-fitted Imperial military uniform with a major's insignia of rank. She had fair skin and short cropped black hair with longer bangs angled across her forehead. Her dark green eyes were accented by the subtle, elegant makeup. She carried no visible weapons other than a blaster holstered at her side, which apparently Janeth and Zariel had seen fit to allow her to keep. Then again, a blaster would do little good against a Sith.

"Lord Wrath," she said as soon as A'tro entered the room. She bowed deeply. "You are most gracious to grant me this audience. I'm Major Sharinet Merrik, here on—"

A'tro folded her arms across her chest. "You're looking to get my support for a campaign," she said, cutting her off. "You came to me directly, so you're either lacking in sense or overly ambitious."

Merrik looked startled by her frankness for a brief instant. Then her face composed itself into the attentive blank expression that all Imperial officers seemed to be trained in. "I admit, I was not instructed to seek you out in particular, my lord. However, I was ordered to obtain Sith support, and it seemed more efficient to approach the most powerful of Sith rather than attempt to entice a multitude of the mediocre."

"How glib," A'tro said dryly. "I suppose you were given this assignment on account of your way with words."

"I'm often told I have a clever tongue, my lord," Merrik murmured, her blank expression cracking under the weight of a subtle smirk.

"That will get you into trouble someday, I suspect."

"Oh, it already has, my lord. More than once. But I've survived."

A'tro shook her head. "Make your case, then. I'm sure you have a fancy speech prepared."

Merrik stood slightly straighter. "Perhaps my lord Wrath would prefer to hear the abridged version."

A'tro sighed. "Just get on with it. I'm in no mood for games."

"I thought not," Merrik muttered. She stood at attention and clasped her hands together in front of her. "Are you familiar with the planet Telos, my lord?"

A'tro thought for a moment. "It's a Republic world. The site of a major Sith victory during the Jedi Civil War, if I recall the history correctly."

"Precisely, my lord. Telos, like Taris, was laid waste by the Sith. Unlike Taris, however, reconstruction efforts were able to restore the planet to its former glory. It now stands as a powerful symbol of Republic strength and resolve."

"And we want to crush all that, I take it?"

Merrik smiled. "Telos survived the wrath of the Sith three hundred years ago, but it will not be given that chance again. The commander of this campaign, Moff Aurelius Drayle—"

A'tro stopped hearing her.

Drayle was a fairly competent but largely unremarkable Moff who seemed unlikely to cause trouble. Born to a lower-class family, he had enlisted and ascended through the ranks in a textbook example of Imperial perseverance. He had performed well as a commander both before and after the Treaty of Coruscant, but not so well that he had garnered significant notice in the game of Sith political-military machinations.

She knew his background because she had looked into it. Because she'd had Malavai Quinn assigned to his command.

Merrik was clearly highly placed among Drayle's command staff. She probably knew Quinn. Had she approached her because of the connection between them?

No, no, she had Merrik figured out. The woman was clearly looking to climb up the chain of command, and recruiting a powerful Sith to win the war for them was an easy path to promotion. This was likely all a coincidence.

Coincidence…or the Force. Could it be that she was meant to end up where Quinn was? Could it be that the conflict within her would only be resolved by confronting him directly?

"—going smoothly, but the Republic has sent reinforcements that have greatly obstructed our progress," Merrik was saying, oblivious to A'tro's sudden turmoil. "With strong Sith support, however, it will be simplicity itself to annihilate Telos' defenses and plant the Imperial banner amidst the ashes."

A'tro thought about it for one long, hard moment that seemed to stretch on into eternity. Then she made up her mind. "Very well, Major," she said coolly. "I will lend my power to your endeavors. Inform Moff Drayle that I will be arriving on Telos soon."

Surprise, then smugness radiated from Merrik in the Force. "We are most grateful for your support, my lord." She bowed low. "I will convey the news to Moff Drayle at once."

A'tro nodded. "Dismissed." She turned and walked out of the room without waiting for Merrik to leave.

It was done. She was a warrior by nature. Involving herself in Dark Council politics was clearly not enough to drive Quinn from her thoughts. She had to fight, had to face him directly, before she could have any resolution. She would end both a Republic war effort and her personal problems in one stroke.

Through victory, she thought, my chains are broken.