Forty-One
Emperor's Space Station, Imperial Space
17 ATC
The air in the station was cold. It was so cold that A'tro, whose Pureblood physiology was adapted to Korriban's harsh climate, found herself starting to shiver as she walked. In her five years of service as the Wrath, this was her first visit to the Emperor's secret sanctum.
Two masked Sith led her through the corridors without speaking. From the outside, it looked like a standard Imperial space station, albeit an old one, and she should have been able to make sense of the route, but the map in her head kept falling apart. The halls seemed to bend at odd angles. Even the lights looked strange, shining at full power but somehow unable to keep shadows from pooling in the corners and climbing up the walls, wrapping themselves around the lights and strangling.
A'tro's head started to hurt.
Several minutes passed. Forever passed. And at last, her silent escorts stopped before a set of closed doors. One made a gesture, and the doors slid open, revealing a large circular chamber. Everything was shrouded in gloom, but A'tro could make out a single object situated in the exact center of the space. It looked a great deal like a throne.
Her shivering intensified, not from cold, but from fear. There was a presence in the chamber, a singularity that held eternity in a finite space. An overwhelming sense of wrongness seized her, and in that moment she would have given anything to keep from having to walk forward towards the presence.
Only pride kept her from turning and running. Only duty moved her forward, one step at a time, until she had passed beyond the event horizon and stood before the abyss personified.
The Sith Emperor was a humanoid figure swathed in black robes. The shadow of his hood completely concealed his face. His hands, resting on the arms of his seat, were gloved. For a moment, A'tro wondered whether there was even a man behind the hood, or merely a shadow wrapped in cloth to give it form.
"My Wrath," the Emperor said. His voice was deep and resonant, echoing in her mind as well as her ears. There was a trace of amusement in his tone as he spoke her title. "You've come to me at last."
A'tro knelt, both out of respect and to escape the crushing weight of his being. "I am yours to command, my master."
"You have served me very well, these past years. I was right to choose you for this honor."
"I live only to serve the Empire," A'tro whispered, her mouth suddenly gone dry. Her headache was intensifying by the second; she fought to keep the pain from clouding her awareness.
"Indeed." The Emperor leaned forward. "I have watched you very closely, my Wrath. I see all that you do."
The strength of his full attention sent an icy lance through A'tro's brain. "My lord?" she asked faintly.
"You are mine, Wrath," the Emperor remarked with the casual assurance that one might use to note that stars emitted light and gravity pulled things in. "Mind, body and soul, you are entirely my creature. Did you really imagine that I would not know?"
His presence compressed around A'tro's mind. "You plot against me. You would betray me, as your predecessor did—and you will fail."
A'tro's vision tunneled, then went dark. She fell into the void.
And then she was in Kaas City, standing at the edge of the Spires of Victory plaza. The sculpture had tumbled to the ground, the antigravity fields holding it in place offline. The city's great skyscrapers were on fire. Some had collapsed, choking the street with rubble. She would have expected to hear screams, shouts, the crackling of the flames, the sirens of emergency vehicles, but there was nothing. Kaas City burned in silence.
The scene shifted, dreamlike, and she stood in a city she'd never seen, though she recognized it from holos. Coruscant, shining capital of the Republic. It too was engulfed in silent fire. Another shift, and she was on Nar Shaddaa. Then Corellia. Then Alderaan. The scenes shifted faster and faster, showing her worlds she didn't even recognize, all in ruins. On every planet, the sky was dark and devoid of stars.
She was back in Kaas City, but the scene had changed. The plaza was full of bodies, lying still amidst the burning city, and A'tro recognized every last one of them.
Pierce still held his gun, as if he'd died fighting, though there was not a mark on him. Jaesa was crumpled near him, one hand half-obscuring her face. Darth Marr had half-fallen against a pile of rubble that kept him on his feet, defiant even in death. Darth Nox was close by, her face frozen in an expression of surprise.
Quinn and Saryn lay at A'tro's feet. Her shuddering, horrified gasp broke the eerie silence.
The Emperor's voice spoke in her mind. This is your future.
"No," A'tro choked, trying to tear her eyes away from the motionless forms of her husband and daughter. It's a lie—they're not dead—they can't be—
This is your future, the Emperor repeated. And you, my Wrath, will help me make it happen.
"No!" A'tro screamed.
The illusion shattered, and once again she was kneeling before the Emperor.
"I defy you," A'tro said recklessly. Her heart hammered in her ears, all but drowning out her voice. She rose to her feet with legs that shook. She would not kneel to death; she would not cower before the dark and beg it not to take her.
She would be Sith, as she had always been.
"I will not serve you, Vitiate," A'tro said, staring boldly into the shrouded face before her. To speak the Emperor's name was heresy, but she was past caring. "I know what you are. I will not help you bring about the end of everything. You'll have to kill me."
The Emperor said nothing.
Adrenaline seared along A'tro's nerves, buzzed inside her brain, made her intimately aware of every heartbeat, every breath. She had suspected from the moment she had received the summons that she was going to her execution. She tried to keep calm, but she couldn't slow her breathing down.
"Turn around," the Emperor said.
What? A'tro was reluctant to comply, suspecting that she was being toyed with, but in the end what else could she do?
She slowly turned. Two Imperial Guards stood behind her.
"Look upon these men," the Emperor said. "Newly sworn to my service, they have passed every trial laid before them. They have the potential to become great exemplars for future generations of their order. They have committed no crimes, no wrongdoing. All they have done is serve their Empire. And now, you will kill them."
"No," A'tro said, gritting her teeth. "I will not."
"I did not ask," the Emperor murmured, and then the darkness was inside her head.
She became utterly numb.
She couldn't breathe, but she could still feel her breath cycling in and out. She couldn't move, but her hands still went to her lightsabers, unhooked them from her belt, and activated the blades. Her eyes burned, and she wished she could go blind so she didn't have to see. So she didn't have to watch.
The back of her mind echoed with the Emperor's laughter.
She could feel the guardsmen's fear in the Force. Run, she thought desperately. Run away. Fight back.
They did neither. They simply stood there while she cut them down.
As their life-lights faded from the Force, A'tro abruptly regained control of her body. She stumbled forward, nearly falling, revulsion choking her as she looked at the red-armored bodies on the floor. In her thirty-four years of life, she had killed a great many people, but not like this. This was wrong.
"Why?" she demanded, turning to face the Emperor. "Why would you make me kill them? What was the point?"
"Because I could," the Emperor replied evenly. "Because you needed to understand."
"Just kill me, damn you!"
"Kill you? My Wrath, you are far too useful for that. No, you will continue to serve me as you always have. And if you refuse…there is nowhere in the galaxy where I cannot reach you."
He could do this anywhere? Seize control of her body, make her a puppet… She fought back a surge of nausea.
The Emperor waved a hand. "You may go, now. Continue your little rebellion if you like. It has been amusing to watch you struggle against the inevitable. My servants will call when I have need of you again."
A'tro's pride wavered, then cracked, and she ran. She didn't stop running until she had reached her ship and started it up with shaking hands. As the stars gave way to hyperspace, taking her back to Dromund Kaas, she collapsed to the floor in front of the navicomputer and curled up into a fetal ball, trembling from head to toe.
Such power. Such terrible, unfathomable power.
She did not know how long she lay on the floor like a dead thing, staring blindly into the distance. But slowly, very slowly, feeling returned to her quivering body. She pulled herself up off the floor and into the pilot's chair. It was Quinn's chair; echoes of his presence were strong within it, etched deeply after years of use. A'tro closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, letting the echoes wrap around her. The last traces of the Emperor's presence receded from her mind, and she could think again.
Maybe the Emperor was right. Maybe his annihilation of all life in the galaxy was inevitable, and any attempt to stop him would prove futile. But she had stood before him with her head held high, prepared to die with honor. Even knowing that he could force her to obey whether she wanted to or not, what kind of Sith would she be if she did not stand and fight until the bitter end?
A'tro seized that thought and held onto it. A tiny flame of resolve came to life within her. It was her duty to fight for the future of the Empire, even if it was a losing battle, no matter what sacrifices she would have to make.
It was just before dawn in Kaas City when she arrived. The streets were deserted save for a few security personnel who recognized her as a Sith and left her alone. When she reached the Citadel, she was startled to encounter Darth Ravage of all people entering the building. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him; they exchanged polite nods and went their separate ways.
A turbolift ride and more walking later, and A'tro finally reached her apartment. As she approached, she noticed that the two Imperial Guards who normally flanked her door were gone. Nervousness formed a spiky ball in her stomach. Was this her punishment for her defiance? The removal of a very public sign of the Emperor's favor would do immense damage to her reputation.
Or what if they hadn't been reassigned? What if they'd been killed, the bodies hidden somewhere? What if her family was—
A'tro fought back panic and reached out with the Force. There were two beings inside her apartment. Quinn's presence was intimately familiar to her, and Saryn's glimmered bright with the seeds of what would one day mature into great power. A'tro took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. They were fine. Everything was fine.
She entered the access code and let herself in, walking quickly through the antechamber and into the main living area. Despite the earliness of the hour, Quinn was awake and in uniform, sitting on the sofa with a cup of caf in one hand and a datapad in the other.
A'tro had never, in the entirety of the seven years they'd known each other, been more relieved to see him.
He looked up as she entered the room, setting caf and datapad down on the arm of the sofa. "You're back."
A'tro tried to speak, but the memory of her vision of him lying dead in the burning city welled up and formed a lump in her throat that blocked the words.
Quinn stood, his movements stiff—he had yet to fully recover from his injuries on Alderaan—and crossed the short distance between them. "Are you all right?" he asked, his brows knitting in obvious concern.
"Not really," she said quietly, tilting her head back to look him in the eyes.
"You didn't tell me where you were going. Has something happened?"
"Yes. And no. And—" A'tro shook her head. She stepped forward and put her arms around him, careful not to squeeze too tightly where he'd been shot, and rested her head against his chest. "Everything has changed," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "It's all become so uncertain and I—I don't know what to do."
Quinn reciprocated her embrace. "You know I'm here to help however I can."
"Is Saryn sleeping?" she asked. A clumsy avoidance, and one she knew he'd see through, but she couldn't bring herself to describe what she'd experienced. Not yet.
"Yes, though I suspect she'll sense your arrival soon enough. She missed you."
"And I missed her." A'tro sighed. "I'll have to call Nox later, learn what transpired at the Council meeting. Once the ceasefire is in effect, I can spend more time here with her."
"That will be good for her, I think. She needs your influence."
And I will be a better mother to her than mine was to me, A'tro vowed silently. Safiel Dhakar had been a cruel, selfish woman, and both her daughters had suffered for it. From the moment Saryn had been born, A'tro had resolved to do better.
"Now," Quinn said, interrupting her reverie, "will you tell me what's wrong? If it's not classified, of course."
A'tro opened her eyes and looked up at him. "I met the Emperor."
Quinn's hold on her tightened.
"He's…" She bit her lip. "Malavai, he's so powerful. I was nothing next to him. Less than nothing. An insect. A pawn for him to move as he pleases—literally. He could control my very actions with nothing but a thought." Her face burned at the admission.
"Dearest," Quinn said. His face was grim, but his voice was gentle. "You should not feel ashamed."
He knew her too well.
"Yes, I should," A'tro snapped. "I was weak. I should have fought harder. I doubt his sorcery would have worked on Nox, or Marr, or—or—I don't know, anyone with true strength. I should have made him kill me."
"I, for one, am glad that you did not," Quinn said quietly. "As is our daughter, I suspect."
"Of course," A'tro muttered, even more shame flooding her. "Of course, I didn't really mean—"
"I know."
"I should have been better prepared. I'd heard the rumors, I'd seen the Voice, I knew what he was capable of. But I wasn't." A'tro shook her head. "I thought I was special. Even knowing what he was, what he planned to do, I thought I was important to him. His blade. His Wrath. But I'm not. I'm just another minion. Not even important enough to kill." She choked on a laugh. "Look at me. I met a being who wants to consume the entire galaxy, and I'm upset because he hurt my pride. Pathetic."
"I don't mean to contradict you," Quinn said, concerned husband giving way to clinical analyst. "But it seems to me that the Emperor is in fact fully aware of just how important you are. He wants you to respond this way, to feel shame and despair, because he knows how much of a threat you pose to his power, and he surely wants that threat eliminated."
"He said I was useful," A'tro said bitterly. "But, Malavai, he—the Emperor made me kill. Two Imperial Guards, young men, probably just finished their training. Wholly undeserving of death. But he made me kill them. He could make me kill anyone."
He could make me kill you, she tried to say, but the words stuck in her throat.
"I understand," Quinn said gravely.
"I probably shouldn't even be here. I'm not safe."
"I don't care." He squeezed her gently. "I will endure any danger to stand at your side, my love. We will face this darkness together."
"When I hear you say that," A'tro said wistfully, "I almost believe that we can win."
"It pains me to see you so devoid of hope."
A'tro looked into his eyes and saw herself reflected there. Small. Grim. Unyielding.
"I don't need hope to be able to fight," she said. "If I did, I would never have made it this far."
Quinn moved his hands to rest on either side of her face, one thumb tracing the old lightsaber scar on her right cheek. "You know that I will do anything you ask. Anything you need."
The cynical part of her briefly wondered if he was so supportive because he loved her, or because it was his duty as an officer.
Stop it, she told herself. This is how Vitiate wants you to feel: paranoid and alone.
"Right now," she said, "I think that all any of us can do is wait." She took a deep breath, doing her best to steady her nerves. "The enemy is complacent, in no hurry to act. We can use that to our advantage."
Quinn smiled. "That sounds more like you."
"Your support gives me strength. I will do my best to carry on." A'tro smiled back at him. "I don't suppose you have more caf somewhere? I'm exhausted."
Outside, the sky grew brighter.
Although her conversation with Quinn had rejuvenated A'tro's determination, she had not forgotten the question of where her Imperial Guards had gone. The issue lingered in the back of her mind, gnawing at her with tiny, worried teeth, until later that same day there was a ping from the security system of someone requesting admittance to the apartment.
Leaving Quinn and Saryn safely in one of the rooms farthest from the entrance, A'tro went to the door and opened it. Two Imperial Guards stood there, one slightly taller than the other.
A sense of déjà vu washed over her.
"I do believe," A'tro said slowly, assessing their Force signatures, "that we've met before."
"We are honored that you remember us, my lord Wrath," Arden Zariel said. She bowed elegantly. Her partner, who could only be Vorin Janeth, echoed the motion.
"The Emperor has seen fit to assign us to your service once more," Janeth explained.
A'tro raised a brow-ridge. "Zariel, you requested to leave my service before due to a conflict of interest stemming from your relationship to my officer, Malavai Quinn. Have you changed your mind?"
"Our commander made it clear that our orders come directly from the supreme master himself," Janeth said delicately. "We would never object."
"Of course not," A'tro muttered darkly. "Very well. Welcome back, both of you."
"It is our honor to serve you again," Janeth said. "We'll begin our duties immediately."
"Before you do so, you should be aware that my circumstances have changed." A'tro folded her arms across her chest. There was no point in keeping secrets from them; the Emperor surely knew everything about her. "I have a daughter, Saryn. You will protect her with your lives."
Zariel stiffened noticeably. "Yes, my lord."
A'tro watched her carefully. "Is something wrong?"
"No, my lord," Zariel said. "I was only startled. Your daughter shares a name with my great-grandmother, the last Sith of my line."
"Yes, Malavai told me as much." A'tro had difficulty imagining the cold and reserved guardswoman as anyone's mother, but Quinn certainly looked like her.
"He did?" Zariel said faintly.
"He also told me," A'tro continued, ignoring her, "that the only reason you ever had a child was in an attempt to continue your family's Sith legacy. Now, your son is not Sith, but his daughter—our daughter—is. You haven't failed. The Zariel line continues."
Zariel stood as still and silent as a statue. A'tro peered at her blank helmet, trying to imagine the expression of the woman within.
"Forgive her, my lord," Janeth murmured. "You've just turned her entire universe on its head."
A'tro frowned. "I thought this might motivate her."
"I am beyond motivated, my lord," Zariel said thickly. "This…this is a great honor you have done my ancestors. My life is yours."
"I hope it won't come to that," A'tro said. "Would you like to meet your granddaughter?"
"I…" Zariel hesitated, then shook her head. "No, my lord. It is enough for me to know that she exists. Better that I remain anonymous. But I thank you."
"If that is what you wish, I won't force the issue." A'tro nodded to both of them. "I'll leave you to your duties."
Even though they were servants of the Emperor, A'tro felt better knowing that she could leave Saryn under Janeth and Zariel's protection. The two veterans were far from young, but they clearly had some fighting spirit left in them. She would use that while she could. Anything to keep her daughter safe.
She would start teaching Saryn to fight, A'tro decided. Her own father had put a training saber in her hands as soon as she could walk. It was time Saryn learned to defend herself. The Empire was soon to be at peace, but the galaxy seemed more dangerous than it had ever been.
