Author's Notes: Whoopdeedo, here's the next one. You know the drill. Thanks for the feedback, guys. Oh, and for anyone interested, I published a silly/stupid short parody just last week called "The Sub Nazi". Because this story was getting somewhat depressing, I wanted something to lighten the mood. If you so desire, you could find it through my profile. Be warned, it's pretty idiotic, but it was fun. There, that ends the shameless plug. :P

Chapter Twelve

The rest of the crew was overjoyed and relieved when Caius returned to the Hawk. Bastila, Dustil, and Elliott were equally glad for his safety as they were for the possibility of leaving the planet. The heat had driven them to near insanity.

Before they could even determine the next course of action, Bastila demanded that Elliott lift off. They would go into orbit around the planet and power down to avoid using fuel. She made it clear that she intended to leave the place behind as soon as possible. While she, Dustil, and Elliott were excited to leave, Caius, Xristos, and Allie demonstrated a considerable amount of hesitation. They had seen a lot, and they felt like this planet was a part of them. At least, they were dramatically affected by it. It seemed like it could've once been a paradisiacal abode, but that it had been corrupted and enslaved by malicious outside forces. The planet was a living tragedy—if only it could've been prevented. Caius realized that he did not even know the name of the planet, so when they activated the navicomputer he translated the Sith language (which he could now read) name for the planet. It was Scythia.

"So," Bastila began as they activated the massive, three dimensional map in the central briefing room, "where do we go now?"

All eight members of the crew had assembled around the projected image.

Caius spoke, "The Sith said that their homeworld was called Malacandra. I'd say we go there. Call it a hunch, but I'd bet this ship that Revan is there."

The atmosphere was pleasantly cool. Though Caius was sad to leave the planet behind, he could not help but appreciate the more agreeable climate.

"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" Dustil asked, "I mean, go straight to the Sith homeworld? How do we even know we could hide there?"

"We don't," Caius said, "but we don't know what to do in the meantime either. I'd rather ponder our options closer to our objective."

The discussion then devolved into a myriad of different debates. Bastila and Dustil argued about what to do, Xristos and Allie watched. Elliott moved to go sit down in one of the available seats.

"I don't think we should go straight into the heart of the Sith Empire!" Bastila said dubiously.

"Is there really much of an option?" Dustil asked. "We've come all this way, looking for Revan, it seems obvious to me that this is where he'd be."

Bastila shook her head, "I know that he'd probably be there, but shouldn't we try to do this…realistically? We can't just go charging into the Sith homeworld, we'll trigger interstellar war."

"Do you have an alternative?" Xristos asked.

"Well…no," she admitted, "but I'm simply concerned that this is a bad idea. Just because I can't think of an alternative does not mean there isn't one."

"That's true," Xristos said, "but if none of us can come up with an alternative, then our decision is pretty much set."

"We could always go back if we had to…" Allie said cautiously.

Everyone seemed to wince somewhat at the statement—sure, it was correct, and reasonable, but no one wanted to have to turn around mid-mission after already going through everything that they had.

"We've come too far to go back," Dustil said, shrugging.

"I agree," said Caius. "We can't just stop now."

"I don't mean that," said Allie, "I mean…can't we survey the Sith world from the sky? If it's a city place like Coruscant than we wouldn't be able to land, then maybe we should go back. If it's more like the last planet…then we could sneak in."

"I agree," Xristos said approvingly, "that sounds like a reasonable idea. I doubt that a little ship like this one would raise any alarms…even if someone saw us."

"If it's the capital world," Bastila began, "is it not reasonable to believe that it will be well defended? What if there's a blockade or something? Even if it was hospitable to land…we'd have to get through without being spotted."

Caius turned to the sitting pilot, asked, "Hey Elliott…what if there's a blockade?"

The mercenary smirked amusedly, said, "I can run any blockade. Besides, the Jedi outfitted this ship with a top-of-the-line cloaking device. We're practically invisible. Hell, there are so many gadgets on this ship that I can't keep them all straight."

"I think that's the plan, then," Caius said. "We are rather limited on options."

"I don't like it," Bastila said bluntly, "but I can see you're right, we don't have much choice."

Once the situation had finally been resolved the ship launched into the familiar nether-realm of hyperspace. The crew dispersed once again, each to their own devices as they awaited the oncoming discovery. This was the pinnacle of their endeavor—they had found the Sith homeworld, and now they were going straight for it. The notion had everyone a bit on edge. The Jedi meditated in silence. Elliott focused on piloting. Allie was left with no one to talk to, so she resigned to tinkering with all the machinery—droid or otherwise—on the ship.

As the time passed, Caius decided that he needed to speak to Elliott. He had waited until everyone else had gone so that there would be no eavesdropping during the conversation.

He strode casually into the cockpit, fully cloaked in his gray robes. Elliott, facing out the viewport, said simply, "Hey boss."

Caius muttered an inconsequential greeting and sat down at the co-pilot's seat.

Elliott spoke again shortly, said, "You sure took long enough on that planet. The heat there was absurd, I just about thought I'd died and went to hell."

"Yeah, it took longer than expected," Caius answered, "we saw a lot of unusual things."

"Weird aliens?" he asked.

"Yes, and other things," Caius answered ambiguously. "You know," he continued, "I had a strange dream too."

"How interesting," Elliott muttered sarcastically.

Caius turned to face him, but the pilot was still looking out the viewport into the blue kaleidoscope. He asked, "So, what was it you were doing before you became a mercenary?"

Elliott's face betrayed mild surprise and he turned to meet Caius's gaze, said, "What does that have to do with your dream?"

"Just curious is all," he answered innocently.

"It doesn't matter. I've always been a pilot, and it's all I'll ever be. Smuggler, blockade runner, hired gun—it's all the same. I'm a pilot through and through. That answer your question?"

Caius weighed his options, said, "Yes and no. Did you ever fly for any banner?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I mean militarily—for the Republic. Or maybe the Sith."

"I never fought for the Sith," Elliott said defensively, somewhat offended.

Caius thought for a second and then said, "What about the Republic?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Did you? Because I served in the Mandalorian Wars, and I think I remember—"

Elliott interrupted, "I don't want to talk about the war."

"You served then?"

Elliott seethed and gave Caius a very long and spiteful look. He said at length, elongating all his words, "I don't want to talk about it."

Caius went on, undeterred, said, "Because I remember about a year into it…"

"You still talking about that damn war?"

He tilted his head, "Maybe. I was just curious about your past is all. I don't really know that much about you or any of the other crew members for that matter."

"Yeah, well, don't ask about the war," Elliott said flatly, his voice raising.

"So you did serve," Caius said as more of a statement than anything. Elliott, however, was not pleased.

"You're damn right I did!" he exploded.

Caius was taken aback by the ferocity of his response, he nervously looked out the hall to see if anyone was nearby to hear it.

"That's what you wanted to hear, huh, Jedi-man? That I fought in that damn stupid war? That I lost everything? Well, there you go. I did."

Caius swallowed and then said, "I remember, you know. I saw you crash on Dxun."

Elliott blew up again, said, "What the hell are you trying to do? Huh? You going to try to soothe my wounds with some sort of half-assed Jedi witchcraft? You want to heal my soul or something? I don't need your damn help! You want to do something? Why not use your magical powers to grow my fucking leg back!"

The Exile instinctively looked down at Elliott's leg. It was there all right, concealed underneath his clothes.

As if to answer his question, Elliott forcefully tapped the side of his calf, causing a metallic thud to resound through the fabric. "Prosthetic," he said bluntly, but with force behind the middle of the word.

The small diversion did not, however, stop his tirade. He continued onwards, his eyes wild and nostrils flared, "Why the hell did you keep asking about the damn war? I said I don't want to talk about it."

Caius knew he could not get into a lengthy argument with the man, especially when he was in a frazzled state like this. He said in a submissive fashion, "Because I was there too."

"If you were there, then you'd know why I don't want to talk about it."

"All too well."

"Then why ask me?"

Caius sighed, said, "Ignoring it got me nowhere."

The words were said somewhat rhetorically, and they quieted the atmosphere, throwing a blanket of silence on the two men. Elliott seemed to be in deep thought, then said distantly, "I lost everything."

He looked back at Caius, but the Exile said nothing. He merely stared into the pilot's dark brown, nearly black eyes. Elliott elaborated, "It wasn't just my leg. It was my whole life." He blew out his nose and continued, "I lost my leg in the war. I lost my job due to disability when I got back. I could only get work as a merc pilot and the income wasn't stable. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder threw me into panic fits constantly. My fiancé left me. I told you, everything."

Caius wanted to ask about the fiancé—that sounded so very…unlike Elliott.

The pilot seemed to read his mind again, said, "Yes, I once had a woman. Just one. We were going to marry before the war. I came back half of a person and she couldn't handle it. She wanted nothing to do with medical bills due to mental and physical injury. She just up and left, never told me why, even though I knew. What am I supposed to do then, huh, Jedi-man? There's only one thing you can do: drink."

Now it all made sense. Caius felt such a fool for stigmatizing his pilot as a superficial idiot all this time. The man's life was a charade. All of it seemed an elaborate diversion.

"Women don't want anything to do with mental wrecks, damn it. No one would want anything to do with a legless, neurotic war veteran. There only women in my life are those two-credit whores you can find in cantinas. My money from these damn inconsistent paychecks goes to alcohol and cigarettes—and medication." He let out a deep breath as if he had finished a long speech. He said, "Happy now, Jedi-man?"

"You're awfully…aware…of your situation," Caius said pitifully.

"Only a moron can't admit addiction. I know why I am this way, and it's because of bloody damn war. So when I ask you not to talk about it, you damn well better listen, because no one wants to remember what ruined their life."

Caius thought about this; Elliott was right. He rued the day he lost his connection to the Force. He hated remembering that day. He felt nauseated just thinking about it. Though the pain had largely subsided, the memory of the agony he had gone through was enough of a searing reminder of how much he hated it. His loss that day had been tremendous. He had lost his connection to the Force and he had to answer for all the Jedi that perished. One in particular wounded him—his best friend from the academy, Marcus Celer, had died at Malachor as well, the ship he was on having gone down during the activation of the Mass Shadow Generator.

As if on cue, Elliott began grilling him. He said, "You want to ask me all those personal questions, huh? What about you? You always say you're not a Jedi, but you never say why. And you said you fought in the way, but I never asked you any damn stupid questions about it. Isn't that unfair? How about it? What's your story, Exile?"

Caius breathed out very slowly. He had forgotten that no one knew of his past in this crew. He was used to everyone being familiar with his situation. He said, "I already told you…I was exiled from the Order."

"For what?" Elliott asked.

"For insubordination. I violated the decisions made by the High Council and willingly defied them. In short—it was because of the war."

"They exiled you for defending the Republic?" asked Elliott doubtfully.

"Yes," Caius answered, "and I thought it was just as idiotic as you do. I was the only Jedi that came back—the only one that did not 'fall to the Dark Side'. I came back because I did not know any other way of life, you cannot easily stop being a Jedi. You can stop being one in name, but not in deed. So I returned. And then…they banished me."

Elliott said, "That's unfortunate. Why are you working with them, then?"

"Because I need their help—and the Jedi are still a necessary thing. They're an ideal. The High Council failed, but they still have important things to do. I need their help to find Revan and save the Republic. And I need them to help heal me."

"Heal you?" Elliott asked, confused.

"Damn," Caius said, "I forgot you didn't know." He took a deep breath, said, "All right. You talked about losing everything—well, so did I. Are you familiar with Malachor V?"

"That was the last battle of the war," Elliott answered.

"Right—I was there. Though I was only a Major General at the time, I had the final decision on that battle because that's what Revan wanted. It was up to me to use the Mass Shadow Generator…"

"What was that, anyway?"

"A super-weapon. Something that I hope is never used ever again in the field of battle. I don't pretend to know how it worked, but it screwed with physics. It affected the gravitational force of the planet and destroyed everything within its event horizon. It was a monumental global crush—thousands upon thousands of our enemies and allies were killed instantly…because I ordered it…"

Elliott had not apparently expected this, merely nodded.

"I didn't even realize what I had done at the time, but it was an awful thing," said Caius. "My best friend, a Jedi named Marcus, was killed then." He started drifting into his thoughts, said, "I remember the last time I spoke to him…it was right before he disembarked from my ship—he said the war was ending, soon all the Mandalorians would be dead…and soon we could all go home…but he never came back." He sighed, "So many didn't come back."

"But you were just following orders," Elliott offered.

"Does that excuse it? The most heinous deeds in history have been committed by normal people who were 'following orders'. That is the banality of evil. I wish I had not ordered it."

"If you hadn't, someone else probably would have," said Elliott.

"Maybe…" Caius said. "I had another friend who was there, too. He was an engineer named Bao-Dur. He made the device. He was the only one who really understood what I meant by this. And the anguish that comes with it. But he was killed just a little while ago." Caius stopped for a moment, realizing how much he really did miss Bao-Dur's company. He continued, "That's why I brought it up. I was wondering if you knew too."

"Well…I'm sorry, but I don't. I don't understand. And what did you mean by getting 'healed'?"

Caius hesitated before answering, said, "A Jedi can feel life through the Force—through bonds. I was always good at forming bonds with people, they'd spring up everywhere. But when Malachor was crushed, there was so much loss of life that it filled me. I was dying through the Force. Without even realizing it, I had to cut myself off from it."

"How is that possible?" Elliott asked. "What would that be like?"

"It's like losing a sense—but more. Imagine losing your senses of sight, sound, and touch all at once. That's how it was."

"That is…how do you live with this?"

"You get used to it—just like blind men can adapt to being blind."

"Well," Elliott said, "now we both know about each other. We're not so different, are we?"

Caius looked at him stoically. The pilot was right—they were not as different as he had thought they were. But the talk of the war was depressing him, too. He regretted bringing it up, though he knew he had to at least try and see if Elliott could understand like Bao-Dur had. His thoughts were interrupted by the pilot, who said, "Talk about something else. I want to forget the war."

Caius stuttered, said, "Uh, all right." He thought for a moment, "like what?"

"I don't know," Elliott said impatiently. "Just distract me."

"With what?" Caius then thought about who he was talking to. What would really distract Elliott? Women. He then said with an almost miraculous stupidity a one-word sentence: "Bastila."

Elliott looked at him oddly. He then said, "Yes?"

"She's a woman," Caius said.

"And you're a genius," Elliott responded. "How'd you know?"

"I figured this would be distracting enough. You manage to woo her into leaving the Jedi Order yet?"

Elliott seemed to have his pride hurt by this and said flatly, "No."

"Well, then I guess there won't be any romantic tension on this trip," Caius said rather thankfully.

"Except you and Allie," Elliott said, oblivious.

"What?" Caius asked loudly.

"What do you mean 'what'? You playing dumb?"

Caius felt his eye twitch, he said, "What the hell is this? First those aliens and now you too? Who else thinks this?"

"I don't know," Elliott shrugged. "All I know is that Allie seems to have a thing for you. I overheard her mention it to Bastila." He put his hand on his chin, said, "Funny that she'd ask Bastila for advice. That girl couldn't romance her way out of a paper bag."

Caius was stunned. How is this possible? He thought to himself. Why would Allie be attracted to him? He didn't want anything to do with any woman. He was too long ingrained by the Jedi into permanent bachelorhood. There was no way he could suddenly change all that. And besides…Allie?

He noticed that Elliott was merely staring at him, waiting for a response. The conversation about the war had faded from his mind. Allie? he thought to himself again. He, at length, said to Elliott, "There's nothing…"

"Sure, you can say that." He smirked somewhat, said, "It's too bad you couldn't get Bastila. She's much more attractive."

Caius said without thinking, "You didn't see Allie in that dress."

Elliott titled his head and said, "Wow, you can't say something like that and expect me to believe that there's 'nothing'."

"That's not what I mean," Caius said, flustered, "the aliens we saw gave her a dress and Xristos and I saw how attractive she really is. That's it. There's nothing."

"Well, whatever," Elliott said. "If she's really that good looking you should go for her."

"I don't want to," he said indignantly, almost like a child who insists that he doesn't like that girl in class.

"Why not? You said yourself that you're not a Jedi. There's no reason."

"Aside from the fact that I don't want to tie myself down to anyone, then I guess there's no reason."

"Sounds like you have relationship issues. The government should investigate the Jedi for what they do to you all when you're kids. I mean, you and Bastila are hilarious."

"I resent that."

"Then stop being so hilarious. I wouldn't laugh if you two acted less…stupid."

Caius wanted to insult the man. All the barbed words he mustered sounded good in his head, but he could not commit them to verbal language. He merely stumbled and said lamely, "Whatever."

The whole conversation was souring him. Yes, he thought that Allie was very pretty, but that was it. The fact that the alien family had insisted otherwise was bad enough, but now that Elliott agreed with them it was even more annoying. He did not go on this excursion to have this happen. Getting involved with any woman was not something high on his list of priorities. Especially after his tour looking for the Jedi Masters. The two women that seemingly fell all over themselves whenever he was around had grated on his nerves more than anything. Sure, the Echani girl had been nice, but she was aloof and had a very bland personality. Visas was even weirder—she was disturbingly possessive of him for reasons that he never actually could understand. Why they had followed him he could never figure out.

This was only a little different. He admitted that Allie was very beautiful, but that was it. It's only a superficial attraction, he thought. Then caught himself.

Damn it, he thought.

He was attracted to Allie. So what? He thought. He reasoned that it would be rather unmanly of him not to be physically attracted to her. But of course he would just ignore it and go on as if nothing were the matter.

He resumed speaking when Elliott said, "I guess you have nothing to defend yourself with."

"I'll admit that she's good looking," Caius said. "But that's it. I want nothing to do with any woman."

"All right," Elliott said, shrugging, "forget I mentioned it. But still, that's a weird outlook. I'm betting the feds could find all sorts of inhumane treatment in that Jedi temple. What did they do to make you all so un-desiring towards other people?"

"They don't teach anything else. Lifelong chastity is to be strived for—they say that emotions, especially love, clog the mind and 'lead to the dark side'."

Elliott raised his eyebrow as though he found the revelation rather absurd, "So forget love then. Why not just have a woman the old fashioned, physical way? No strings attached!"

"That is lust—still an emotion," Caius said. "Remember the quote: 'enjoyed no sooner but despised straight; past reason hunted, no sooner had…past reason hated'."

"What the hell?" Elliott asked, "they teach you that? I don't even know what that means."

Caius sighed, "It means that anything pursued out of lust is hated immediately after because it does not give the satisfaction it was sought for."

Elliott shook his head, said, "If they taught me that I'd violate it as much as possible."

Caius then said off-handedly, "It's not as if they teach us how."

Elliott's eyes widened, then he said, "That's horrible!" He mused for a moment, said, "Now it all makes sense! No wonder Bastila has been resisting my undeniable charms, she doesn't know what to do! I'll have to go have a talk with her."

Caius then was suddenly terrified that he had unleashed a monster, said, "You even try to talk to her about something like that and if she doesn't break your neck I probably will."

"Ouch, violent today, aren't you?"

Caius just muttered and slumped into his chair. His mind was being assaulted from all different directions at this point. Elliott stood up and began making his way out of the cockpit. Caius opened his mouth to tell him not to talk to Bastila, but found that he said something completely different. He heard the words go out into the air as though they were not his. They sounded like, "Hey Elliott…sorry about how this conversation started."

Elliott paused, but didn't look backwards, said, "Don't mention it." There was a hesitation. "I mean it."

Elliott left, and Caius found himself staring off into the blue kaleidoscope. He was very irritated at the way this whole excursion was playing out. He certainly didn't come to be entangled within this ridiculous intrigue that seemed to plague the Ebon Hawk. He swore that the ship was somehow sentient and trying to play matchmaker, that's the only explanation for what kept happening to him when he was around it.

He stood up and briskly walked out of the cockpit, leaving the instruments unmanned. Hyperspace was autopilot anyway, so no one needed observe it. Elliott didn't need to be close, for if there were a problem they'd all be dead before he could respond.

Caius strode through the halls aimlessly, nearing the cargo hold when he heard Xristos's voice. Determining that he had nothing better to do, he followed it into the dormitories to find him and Dustil debating each other again. The old man sure liked an intellectual discussion, and he was so spiritual all the time—he seemed like a philosopher or something.

"Hey Caius," said Dustil as the Exile ventured into the room. The young Jedi was sitting on the ground—his usual spot—as Xristos sat on one of the beds. It looked like a traditional Jedi image, a young student literally studying at the foot of an older master. Except Xristos wasn't a master.

Come to think of it, Caius thought, why isn't he a master? He's old enough, and it's not as if there are any others at this point. He decided to ask when there was a lull in their conversation. A moment of silence, and Caius said, "Hey Xristos, given all this philosophical talk—why aren't you a Jedi Master?"

Xristos—for once—did not seem to really appreciate the question. He said at length, "There are a lot of reasons. Most of them have to do with me being 'unorthodox'."

"'Unorthodox'? How?" Caius asked. Dustil seemed to be interested as well.

Xristos said, "I came into the order under very unusual circumstances. But most of the friction comes from my stance on love—namely, that I think the Order is gloriously and utterly wrong."

"That's enough of a reason?" Dustil asked.

"Yes, it is. The Order doesn't like to promote people it deems 'difficult'—I am one of those."

"And what is your stance on love, anyway?" Caius asked, somewhat interested.

Xristos dodged the question superbly, said, "Why? Those aliens getting to you now?"

One of Dustil's eyes got unusually large, as he seemed to be uncomprehending. Xristos, seeing the young man's confusion, elaborated. He said candidly, "The alien family we met thought that Caius and Allie were married."

Dustil snickered loudly, said, "No way!" he laughed, "that is hilarious!" He looked at Caius, who regarded him stoically, then his laugh faded and his face fell almost instantly. "You're serious?" he asked.

"They did," Xristos responded, "but that means nothing."

"Right," Caius answered. "It means nothing. I would've been fine to leave it that way, except now Elliott seems to think otherwise."

Dustil made sure he did not chuckle this time, though his face betrayed a substantial amount of amusement. Xristos asked, "What do you mean?"

Caius answered honestly, "Elliott said that apparently Allie…" he wasn't sure how to phrase it…said, "quote: 'has a thing' for me."

Dustil looked disgusted, said, "What is this, gossip? I thought only angsty kids do that."

"You're right," Xristos said, "but this is civilized discourse. If only because anything that happens between individuals on this trip is going to affect the mission a lot—regardless of what it is. Now," he turned to Caius, said, "What do you have to say about it?"

"What are you?" Caius asked, "a counselor?"

"If it makes you feel better—yes, I am a counselor."

Caius shrugged, said honestly, "I think she's attractive. That's it. I want nothing to do with her more than that. If I had known this would happen, I would've advised to drop her off on Coruscant after Korriban."

"Ouch," said Dustil, "that's cold."

Caius shrugged, said, "Whatever it is, it's the truth. I would prefer it not to have happened."

"Well, it seems to be affecting you, otherwise you wouldn't be talking about it like this," said Xristos, playing devil's advocate. "You can't just go on and pretend that it's not happening."

"Okay, then what do you propose I do?" Caius asked.

"Considering you said you want nothing to do with her…you're simply going to have to nip it in the bud so as to avoid any issues," answered the old man, "whether you want to or not, you're going to have to talk to her about it."

"Great," Caius said sarcastically, "more relationship counseling. I've done so much of that the past several months I thought my head was going to explode."

"Well, have fun," Dustil said.

"Thanks kid," Caius responded.

Dustil then turned to Xristos and said, "What do you mean you came into the Order in a strange way? It couldn't have been weirder than mine?"

"Perhaps I'll tell you, but not now," Xristos said cryptically.

"Well," Dustil said, "what about your views on love?"

Xristos smiled, said, "It's the same story, Dustil. But it's not one that's easily told, and I don't feel like explaining right now."

"Fair enough," said the younger Jedi.

Caius stood in silence, running through his mind what he would say to Allie. He regretted that he would have to do this, as he actually liked Allie as a person, and he hoped it wouldn't complicate matters on board the Hawk. After weighing his options, he turned and left Xristos and Dustil alone.

The room was cold and dark. Buried deep underground, the shelter was a cavernous fortress to his scandalous movement. There he stood in the control room, a dark, shadowing figure staring blankly at the dozen security screens in front of him. Wires fell from the backs of the projectors and sprawled out across the stone floor, twisting out of control in every direction. The man was behind a large table, papers and documents strewn about it wildly, not in any particular order. His aides had long since departed, as it was absurdly early in the morning. But he remained.

The times were trying. Unsubstantiated rumors ran amok through the ranks of his underlings. And there were not many of them to begin with. Disloyalty was a tremendous problem. Spies were rampant. It was not easy being one of the Sith Lords, a difficulty that he was all too familiar with.

He had established a front of resistance in exactly the manner that he had wanted, but there were still a lot of variables. He had learned a lot about his adversaries. He was one of several Sith Lords. Cyaxares was the brute, a sword-wielding maniac. Ardashir was the religious prophet, the face of a holy crusade. Inamurah was the strategist, the devious, backstabbing weasel who thought too much. And then there was himself. Severus. He was the newer one. He had many followers, but was not trusted by the others. Why should he be? He was a Sith, and Sith had never a reason to trust another Sith. But they had an alliance forged in hate. They had a common enemy—the Galactic Republic.

Very clearly, they had their goals in mind. It seemed that their entire existence was focused around the destruction of the Republic. It was as if the Hyperspace War was still going on in their minds. What was disturbing was that the Republic was so unaware and unsuspecting. Their lack of knowledge concerning this massive, violent empire was something that he found utterly pathetic. Perhaps they deserved to be destroyed. A visitor interrupted his thoughts.

The darkness was violated as a dim light bled through an open door from an outer corridor. The Sith Lord's wandering eyes squinted as he tried to adjust to the change in brightness. One of his associates entered the room and deftly closed the door. He was a Hasan named Hsintah, whom he had taken with him when he was on their planet. He had captured and trained the alien to be his servant. Hsintah was, in effect, his right hand man. The Hasan was tall for his species and seemingly more muscular. He strode up and regarded his leader with a salute.

There was a very rigid form of military-style hierarchy within this movement. Few saw the face of the man in charge—always his fask was covered by a dark mask, black but with red streaks. Only few knew his identity, but Hsintah was one of them—the alien who had helped him since the beginning, before he had anyone. The alien was unique. Members of his race were normally docile, but this one was not. He was consumed in his hatred, and it made him a perfect lackey. He would do anything for vengeance against those he hated, even ally with someone he hated almost as much.

A Sith Lord had killed his family once, so Hsintah had allowed himself to be controlled by another Sith Lord—if only to have a chance at bloody revenge. The Sith Lords had many apprentices and servants. Although it was not standard practice to have an alien as one, it was nevertheless precedented. The adversary Sith did not think much of it.

The dark figure returned the salute and then said in the Sith language, "What is it Hsintah?"

The alien also spoke in the Sith tongue, as he had it forced into his head when his language was likewise ripped from him. He said, "We have captured one of the other Sith, Lord Severus."

"Just now?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Two of the Sith Troopers brought him in. He was drunk in the streets, lying middle of the road. They found him and dragged him here in secret."

"What possessed their minds to break protocol in such a fashion?" the Sith Lord said angrily, "we cannot jeopardize our goals with frivolous kidnapping—surely this can do us no good."

"On the contrary, my lord," answered the Hasan, "this one is of some repute. He is one of Ardashir's fanatic cronies."

"Ah," he said delightedly, "one of the infamous propagandists. The two soldiers did right to apprehend him, no one will be looking for him—it costs too much."

"Indeed, my lord," he said, "The Sith is returning to consciousness—do you want to interrogate him?"

"Take the lead, Hsintah," he replied. It was very late, to be sure, but all the better to interrogate the hostage.

Although the Sith were technically allied with each other, each Lord ruled over his own faction. Their alliance was tenuous at best. Frequently there were kidnappings and executions, but never outright defiance. None of the Sith were strong enough to take on the others; if one advanced then the other three would counter. It was gridlock. But now there was no reason to fight directly—they were working together for the destruction of their hated enemy. Once the Republic was out of the way, then their power struggle would ensue. Or so that was the plan. Severus had an idea for a grand military coup—one that he could undertake now, just before the war would be fought. But he needed more time.

He followed the Hasan through the dimly lit corridors into the prisoner's wing of the complex. There were three floors of his enclave, and the crudely designed prison and interrogation chambers were on the bottom floor, farthest away from the comm room as possible. There were no elevators in the building, so they used the stairs. Several minutes later, they arrived in the dark dungeon. Primitive electric lights hung loosely from the ceiling of the stone cavern and provided the light for the area. Severus saw that the Sith was chained to the wall in one of the unused cells. The door was open and one of the soldiers was standing guard.

He dismissed the soldier and entered the cell.

The Sith barked something unholy at Hsintah, no doubt because of his race.

Hsintah was silent, so Severus said in the gurgling Sith language, "You are offended by this Hasan's presence?"

"He is an inferior race," bellowed the Sith. Hsintah maintained grim disinterest. The Sith continued, "His kind are fit only for slaves and toils."

Severus backhanded the Sith across the face, causing spit to fly from his mouth. He then said slyly, "He is a slave."

"Heathen," the Sith said.

The insult meant nothing, Severus said, "Are you aware to whom you are speaking?"

The Sith spat at him, meaning he that he did.

"Getting intoxicated in the streets, how despicable. Tell me, you work for Ardashir, correct? Do you have any information of which I should be made aware?"

The Sith just looked at him stoically. He smacked the creature again and then said to Hsintah, "Administer the truth serum."

The truth serum was more of a psychotropic drug than anything else. It was not guaranteed to pull the truth out of the Sith, but it was guaranteed to give him hallucinations. Hsintah ripped off the sleeve of the Sith and forcefully injected the needle into his arm. The Sith Lord watched as the Hasan seemed to relish to action. He was a brute as far as Hasan went. The alien hated the Sith. Generally the Hasan were rather timid, but this one was not. He was bigger and stronger than most of his kin, and he had been hardened by the deaths of his loved ones. Taking vengeance on the Sith was what led him to align with the Severus. The Lord was going up the Sith ladder, and the Hasan wanted to kill as many Sith as he could—helping Severus was just a necessary evil. They both knew it, but they used each other nonetheless. Hsintah was useful, that was the only reason Severus kept him alive.

The Sith winced and gagged, and his head began nodding as it seemed that the serum was beginning to work. He laughed nervously.

Severus asked again, "What sort of valuable information can you tell me?"

The Sith chuckled, "I don't recall."

Severus slapped the Sith again, said, "We know you do. What is Ardashir planning?"

The Sith shook his head, his eyes now seemed to be closed permanently. He made a woeful bellow and said, "No, no, no—they knew!"

"You work for the Sith government, correct?"

"Not any more…heheh…not after this.."

Severus thought to himself—he was getting nowhere like this. He changed the route of the conversation and asked, "Ardashir has been more secretive as of late. What is he planning? What does he know? Has the Republic done anything?"

The Sith squinted hard and shook his head, he hissed, "No…no…I won't say."

"Administer another dose," he told Hsintah.

The Sith was even more woozy at this point. He seemed to think that Hsintah was a tree who was trying to eavesdrop, so he leaned in close to Lord Severus as if he were whispering a secret. He said slyly with a lot of slurs, "I knowed…rumorsh."

"About?"

The Sith giggled, "Well, I can't shay. Then it wouldn't be a shecret."

Lord Severus nodded to Hstinah. The Hasan then removed a Sith pistol from his belt and cocked it, the familiar grinding noise emanating from it. He lowered it and pressed the barrel against the Sith's temple.

"Tell me," Severus demanded, "or these walls will be decorated with your brain."

The Sith whined and said, "No—I knowed the shecret. It's big." He looked nervously at Hsintah, his sullen yellow eyes regarding the Hasan with malice. "There's foreigners in Shith shpace."

"This is your secret?" he asked.

"Ardashir knowsh," the Sith continued, "he thinksh it is part of a Republic conshpiracy."

Lord Severus cursed aloud

"Yesh," continued the Sith, "there are humans in Sith shpace. Ardashir will deal with them, but he will wait…"

The Sith then started babbling, his mental state getting increasingly less stable. Severus did not speak again; he merely nodded to Hsintah and turned around. He put his hand on his mask as he was pondering what he had learned. There were Republic fugitives of some kind Sith space. This could quite possibly tigger war. Just as he lowered his arm he heard a loud explosive blast of gunpowder from behind him, and then another. There was a disconcerting splat as Severus's dungeon was given a new painting.

Hsintah holstered his weapon and strode up next to Severus, said, "Shall I have one of the soldiers clean it up, my lord?"

"Yes—good work, Hsintah."

The Hasan nodded and moved to leave. Severus followed him. Eventually Hsintah took an alternate turn and the man was left to himself in the halls. He was buried in his thoughts, surrounded by only his mind as deep thought consumed him. He was not at all pleased about this information. A Republic ship? He thought, in Sith space? It was surely a bad sign. The Great Hyperspace War had began because one Republic ship had stupidly floundered into Sith space, and this had all the makings of a repeat of history. He needed more time to complete his coup. The entire Sith Empire was there for the taking, he just needed time. An even worse possibility danced through his already taxed mind. What if the ship's presence was not an accident? What if it was here on purpose?

The problem was that if he knew about it, as the Sith had said before expiring, then Ardashir definitely knew about it.

His thoughts returned to the Republic ship. Who was it? Who would be in Sith Space? A lost freighter? Hopefully. But if it was an armed ship his coup would be over before it started.

He instantly turned around to go back to Hsintah. He would need a detailed report on this Republic ship immediately.