Chapter 2
Quinn sat now at a desk in the med bay, carefully cataloging the ship supply list. When that was done, he crossed it off his schedule and looked over the rest of his "to-do" list. He heard a rustle from the doorway and looked up to see Morda's bright, unnatural red eyes watching him. He got to his feet and gave her a respectful bow.
"Is there something I can assist you with, my lord?"
"How are you adjusting to your new post, Lieutenant?"
"I have acquainted myself with the ship and its controls, and the ship has responded extremely well to my optimizations. I am pleased to report that we are operating at peak efficiency, my lord."
"Good to hear. Are you settled now into your quarters?"
Was this a reference to the incident with the Twi'lek slave? Quinn was uncertain of how to respond. He decided to ignore any possible inferences and respond only to the question itself.
"Indeed, my lord. You will find them spotless and in order."
"I'm sure." Morda's lips curled into a smile and she leaned against the doorframe, saying nothing more. This perpetuated an awkward moment of silence that Quinn didn't know how to fill. Finally she spoke again. "Quinn, your demeanor makes me tense. Work on loosening up."
Quinn nodded. She was paying him entirely too much scrutiny for his liking. "I see," he said. "Actually my lord, I don't see. Is that an order or are you testing my professionalism?"
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I'm going to get a kick out you, I can tell."
Quinn waited for a more enlightening answer, but got none. Instead she changed the subject.
"Clear a space in your busy schedule for tomorrow night. I'm going to need you."
"Of course," Quinn said quickly. "I am at your disposal. May I ask what it is that you require me for?"
"You're escorting me to a party."
"A…a party, my lord?" He had heard that some Sith lords took their power over underlings to an extreme that was well out of professional bounds. He began to wonder at Morda's intentions. Exactly what skills of his was she hoping to utilize?
"Since my mother couldn't get me a slave for my birthday, she has decided to throw me a party instead. I can't show up alone, of course. Let me show you off in that shiny dress uniform of yours." She grinned.
Quinn feared the worst. "That is hardly the best use of me, my lord."
"I'll be the judge of that, Lieutenant."
00o00
They were greeted at the door to Morda's parent's estate by a Twi'lek slave, who announced their names in a booming baritone that echoed throughout the cavernous lobby. As they approached the ballroom, Quinn surveyed the attendees, noticing that there were very few non-force users and quite high number of Sith Purebloods. Even in this setting, with the guests performing at their most genial best, the Purebloods' severe faces looked hostile and cunning to Quinn's eyes. Many a hip carried a discretely worn lightsaber, casually hidden under a delicate sash or embroidered robe. The women wore their hair in elaborate, fanciful styles and the men sported sharply cut robes with dramatic shoulder guards. Their red faces turned to him curiously, glittered with piercings made of jewels and metals.
Quinn straightened his cuffs, wondering if he shouldn't have had this uniform custom tailored for a better fit. Morda tossed her overcoat to a servant and clasped Quinn's hand, adding an unexpected squeeze, and then led him through the archway into the ballroom. The row of tiny calluses pressed against his palm was the only reminder of the warrior she normally was. For her birthday celebration she had donned a short dress that shimmered with all the colors of a fall sunset. One moment it rippled around her like a breeze and the next it clung to her lithe curves in a most distracting way. Quinn adjusted his collar and let her lead him into the crowd.
Quinn had not known what to expect from this Sith party. Such gatherings were as varied and unpredictable as the Sith themselves, with some of the more notorious celebrations earning reputations for wonton vice or unprecedented cruelty. Morda's party cast a more elegant vibe, and Quinn hoped it would stay that way, even after the drinks had been flowing and the night reached its peak.
A group of live musicians played a stately tune in the far corner, and couples were slowly converging on the dance floor. Morda leaned against Quinn's shoulder. "Do you know how to dance, Lieutenant?"
"Of course. The academy offered classes in all the social dances and etiquette."
He felt Morda's breath against his ear, heralding her quiet laugh. "I'm sure you passed with stellar marks. Perhaps I'll take you to the cantinas sometime, to see what other kinds of dancing you can do. Did they offer a class in that?"
"I'm afraid not, my lord."
"I'll have to teach you in private then." Quinn felt his cheeks flame with heat. She tugged him out onto the ballroom floor and drew him close. He was certain that this dance called for at least two hand-spans of distance between partners, but she disregarded that rule, sidling up to him and winding an arm over his shoulder. He was keenly aware of every swell of her body against his through the thin material of her dress, and terribly self-conscious about the placement of his hands. He could feel the heat of her skin beneath his fingertips, a constant reminder of how that same skin was normally well hidden beneath her armor. She touched her cheek to his, her prominent alien brow ridges gently tickling his temple. Quinn felt flushed and vaguely disoriented. It had been too long since he had done this sort of thing. There was no other explanation for why she was affecting him in this way. When the dance ended, she held his gaze, her face entirely too close to his. Quinn cleared his throat and was the first to look away.
Next, they made the social rounds, greeting each guest and sharing random pleasantries. Oh, Quinn held no illusions that this was all innocent banter. Every word, every phrase, was a carefully crafted statement of power and a constant testing of boundaries. Quinn remained a quiet shadow as Morda was congratulated on her apprenticeship to Baras, and nodded politely when introduced. He watched and he took mental notes, committing each name to memory and making judgments of who was a likely friend or foe.
Servants brought around pastries and refilled glasses. Most of the desserts were too sweet for Quinn's tastes, but he tried the plainest one he could find out of courtesy. Finally, Morda led him over to a plush couch and pulled him down beside her. The couch swallowed him up and tilted their bodies together until Morda's bare shoulder was touching his. He discretely adjusted his seating so that there was more space between them.
"Are you enjoying your party, my lord?"
Morda made a huffing noise, her eyes surveying the room with apparent disinterest. "You mean my mother's party? My birthday was just an excuse for her to show off her connections."
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged. "It's the Sith way."
Quinn didn't have any response for that, so he quickly changed the subject. He certainly didn't expect to have anything in common with a Sith, but he did discover that both he and Morda were their parents' only children. She asked about his family and he gave her simple, straightforward answers, but she persisted until he was forced to open up some under her scrutiny. He told her about his father, who had died when he was a teen, and about how he had known that he wanted to be an officer since he was small. He kept waiting for the moment when Morda's gaze would wander off in disinterest, or when some joke would be made at his expense, but none came. To a Sith he would always be a subordinate. Morda's interest and seeming politeness unnerved him.
As it grew late, the music became louder and more boisterous, and the crowd followed suit. Couples sprawled in each other's arms across the couches and a woman laughed as she sashayed by him, a burst of expensive perfume following in her wake. Morda excused herself for a moment, leaving him alone. Quinn found a quiet corner to wait in, with a vantage point that allowed him to see most of the room. A servant came by and held out a tray with glasses of an unfamiliar blue drink. Quinn cautiously took one. After a short while of crowd-watching, Quinn spotted Morda quickly coming his way, her eyes intent and serious. She placed her back against the wall and turned him towards her. His drink sloshed in his glass but she didn't appear to notice. Her words tumbled out in a low rush.
"Kiss me Quinn."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My mother is heading this way. Do it now."
Her eyes flicked over his shoulder and back again. Quinn hesitated, but her obvious exasperation pushed him into action. What was he doing?
He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.
She was hot and sweet and unexpectedly soft. Quinn wasn't sure what he would have expected, but perhaps the strangeness of most Purebloods had left him thinking that the experience would be unpleasant somehow. It was far from it. Her fingers weaved under his collar and trailed along the back of his neck, and he felt a shiver building along the base of his spine. She held him locked in the kiss for far longer than he had ever intended, until he had to break away to suck in a breath of air. She smiled at him and he wondered if he looked as dazed as he felt.
He needed a drink. He tilted his glass for a sip but Morda's arm struck out and grabbed his wrist before he could touch the glass to his lips.
"I wouldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"One sip of that stuff and you'll be banging every woman here who so much as looks at you."
He stared at her.
"Not that I wouldn't find that amusing to watch, mind you, but not here. Not at one my mother's little sex romps."
Quinn almost choked. He quickly set the glass down on the nearest table.
"I see."
"It's time for us to go."
"A wise decision, my lord."
Morda clasped his hand and led him across the room. Quinn noticed that indeed the guests were getting bolder. From the corner of his vision he saw a human woman with the top of her dress gathered at her waist and a Pureblood man with his face buried against her breasts. Quinn looked away quickly.
Once outside, he could breathe again. He started to release his hand from Morda's grasp but she clutched him more tightly and kept walking.
"What was your mother intending?"
"She set her sights on you the moment she met you through the holo. If she thinks you're mine, she'll most likely leave you alone. You should thank me for rescuing you."
"I'll trust your judgment in that then, my lord."
"Of course, now everyone else knows you're mine as well." She shot him a sly smile.
Quinn tried to keep his voice steady and professional. "I am here to serve you, my lord."
"Indeed."
00o00
Quinn had been waiting his entire shift for a moment alone with Morda. There were things about his past that he needed her to know. If she had any doubts about his work ethic or abilities he wanted her to know now before he got his hopes up with this new assignment. He had spent the last eight hours on edge, trying to catch the right opportunity, but none had come. Quinn put the ship on autopilot for the night. It would have to wait until tomorrow.
He stepped off the bridge and almost knocked right into Morda outside the door.
"I apologize, my lord. I didn't expect anyone else to be up at this hour."
She waved him aside and kept walking. This was obviously a bad time, but the thought had been nagging him all day and Quinn couldn't give up this chance. "My lord?" He pitched his voice cautiously, prepared to be rebuffed. At least he had tried, or maybe could get her to agree to meet with him later.
She turned. "What is it Quinn?"
"May I…do you have a moment? I would like to speak with you if I may."
"Of course. You may always speak freely."
To Quinn's surprise she approached and gave him her complete attention, fixing him with the typical sharp-eyed stare that Quinn always found a bit too intense for comfort.
"It's…well. It may take more than a moment of your time, actually." Maybe he should have waited until tomorrow after all.
"Get on with it, Quinn."
"Yes. I wanted to tell you that there is a reason why I had been posted indefinitely to Balmorra for so long when you found me."
Morda raised a spiked eyebrow.
Quinn took that as encouragement to continue. "A decade ago I served under Moff Broysc at the Battle of Druckenwell." Quinn remembered well that day; it had changed the course of his life. "During the battle, the Moff made a critical oversight that brought the fleet to the brink of defeat. I ignored his order, and in doing so, I turned the tide to victory." He had acted then with little forethought of the repercussions for himself, thinking only of the urgency of the matter and his commitment to duty. He had never felt so high when the moment of victory came, and then short upon it, everything changed: his life, his career, his innocence.
"You showed remarkable initiative. You should be commended."
Quinn was relieved that Morda had not chosen to focus on how his actions had amounted to insubordination. "That's not how the Moff saw it," Quinn said. How naïve it all seemed now. Would he have done it differently in retrospect? He doubted it. But he would have stepped in with his eyes open.
"Broysc took credit for the reversal." Quinn paused and then added, "Which is fine." That was the way of superiors after all. He was coming now though to the meat of the matter. "But then he court-martialed me."
"Couldn't take someone showing him up now, could he?"
"That is not for me to say," Quinn said. "My career would have been over after that. Four generations of Generals and Admirals in my family, and I would have been the one to end it. And in disgrace no less. Darth Baras stepped in and had me pardoned and assigned to Balmorra, allowing me to at least save face and still serve in some capacity. However, Moff Broysc has blocked every transfer and promotion I've been up for since." He hoped his story would serve as a warning to Morda. He was no longer on Balmorra, true. Broysc was a thorough man however, obsessed even, and would not hesitate to track Quinn down to ruin this chance at a second start.
"He's got quite a vendetta against you, hasn't he? You deserve vengeance."
"That is not my goal, my lord. I serve you now and that is enough. I hope it will be a new beginning."
Morda studied him with the look of a scientist encountering a strange new species. "You are remarkable, Quinn," she said at last. "You can't tell me that you were not angry over this. You must have worked diligently to have buried it so deeply." She came closer and reached out to him, her fingertips trailing down the buttons of his coat. "So much untapped potential."
"I don't understand what you mean."
"Well, I have my work cut out for me then." She grinned at him. "See you tomorrow, Lieutenant."
00o00
It had been a long, tiring day and dusk was still hours away yet. Tatooine's twin suns lay down a visible band of heat that wavered above the sands like the waves of an invisible sea. It reminded Quinn of the ocular signatures that stealth generators sometimes left behind, which made him ever nervous, looking for hidden assailants where there were none. Quinn was reluctant to leave the relative shade and concealment offered by this hidden oasis in the dunes, but it was time.
Morda had fought a sand demon that day and had then smeared herself in its blood in an attempt to recreate some local superstitious ritual. Quinn had hoped he would be spared such an indignity, but she insisted that he do the same, just to be thorough. He'd been on battlefields before, but wallowing in gore on such a personal level ranked up there as one of the more distasteful things he had been forced to do in his career. He obeyed without complaint however. If his lord did not see herself above doing such things to reach her goal, then he certainly would not take issue with the matter either.
Something strange had come of the endeavor, oddly enough. Morda had waded into the waters of the pool here and had seen a vision. She had spoken to someone and had emerged satisfied with whatever she had learned. They were going to great lengths to capture a padawan that Baras wanted found. The padawan's ability to see into the hearts and minds of others was too valuable – and dangerous – to be left unchained.
Morda stripped off her blood-soaked clothes and returned to the pool to bathe. Quinn waited patiently, averting his eyes when she emerged from the water and signaled that it was his turn. He quickly pulled off his ruined uniform and waded into the pool. Clean water had never felt so good, Quinn decided, and he took his time washing, although he did suspect that Morda was not giving him the same consideration of privacy as he had her. He tried not to notice.
He got dressed and combed his hair, not bothering to wring out any of the water. It would evaporate soon enough and he relished the chance to feel cooler, even if just for a little while. He packed their meager supplies onto the speeders and looked to see if Morda was ready. She was gazing back out at the pool again, her gaze distant and lost. She shivered then and rubbed her arms briefly. Turning, she saw him watching.
"Just a chill. Let's go now."
She led the way on her speeder and Quinn followed behind. They were far out in the dune sea, well beyond the Forbidden Pass where locals feared to go. They rode for a long time without stopping, the rise and fall of the dunes all looking the same. If Quinn didn't know better, he would have wondered if they were driving in circles, for the landscape never changed. At least there were no womp rats here. They had ridden into a nest of them the day before, and while harmless alone, the group of them together had been enough to knock Morda clean off her speeder. She had dispatched them all quickly and they had been on their way again.
Some tall rock formations appeared over the crest of one of the dunes, not far away. They weren't far now from the entrance to the Pass. They hoped to make it to the nearest Imperial outpost to refresh themselves before venturing back out again tomorrow to find some Jedi hermit, a master who had once taught this elusive padawan that they sought. Hopefully he would know her whereabouts.
Speeders didn't last long here in the desert. Sand got in the engines and the gages, and even relatively new speeders looked well-worn and scratched after barely a few weeks. Quinn had been nervous about venturing into the dunes beyond the Forbidden Pass. If their speeders had died it would be a long and possibly fatal trek back to civilization. Morda had merely shrugged at the risk when their guide had tried to dissuade them. She would let nothing stand in the way of their goal. Quinn admired her dedication to executing Baras's orders at least.
He did not like the looks of her speeder now though. It meandered off course several times, wobbling strangely, and the engine sputtered more than once. Quinn watched it carefully as he rode behind Morda. He had been so preoccupied with assessing the state of her speeder, that he was completely shocked when she suddenly tumbled off of it.
Morda landed hard in the sand and Quinn brought his speeder to a quick halt behind her. Her speeder kept going a short ways before toppling over and burying itself deep in the sand. How had he missed this? It was not the speeder that was the problem, but Morda herself.
"My lord!" He flipped her over, shocked at the way her skin felt like it was on fire when he touched her. She blinked up at him, her eyes glassy and dazed.
"Blast," she said weakly. "Did I fall off? What happened?"
Quinn was fully trained and certified in field medicine, but that was not the same thing as being a doctor by far. His skills involved stabilizing patients so that they could be then brought to a med center for more detailed care. They were far from any med stations now. What was wrong with her? Heat stroke maybe? An illness?
"My lord," he urged, "did one of the womp rats bite you yesterday by chance?"
"They…a little…it was nothing though…I barely felt it." She held out her right arm. Quinn pulled back the sleeve and stifled a noise of dismay. There were four small puncture marks on her wrist and the flesh around the bite was swollen and purple.
"You've contracted womp rat fever. My lord, you must tell me when these things happen! Can you walk?"
He pulled her to her feet and she took a few wobbly steps by his side before sinking into the sand again. They were not far from the rock chasm now, and he could see that the face of it was riddled with shallow caves. Somewhere there was a passageway through this wall of rock, from an ancient waterway that had once wound through it, that they could follow out of the pass. Quinn did not see any entryway now.
He took a deep breath and brought her to her feet, then encouraged her to lean on him as he led her towards the rock wall. Thankfully they did not have to travel far. The first cave he came to was tall enough to stand in and curled like a sea shell, ending only a short ways around the corner. He deposited Morda here and did his best to make her comfortable. Womp rat fever was easily treated – if you had the right medicine. Without it, it was fatal. Quinn had to find the outpost that he hoped was nearby. It was almost dusk. He did not want to get caught out in the desert at night.
He pulled up a holomap and scanned for signs of nearby life forms. The pass was nearby, and with it, there was….something. Not an Imperial outpost. Maybe a Republic one. No matter. He would find it and take what he needed.
"My lord, I need to leave you. Stay here and wait for me. I will return shortly." He gave her some water and left her with the canteen propped against her shoulder. Please don't die. Not on my watch.
The suns were setting when he came upon the Republic outpost. Well, not an outpost exactly, it was barely a waystation, with a small tent erected as the only shelter, and some crates of supplies. Three Republic grunts manned it. They looked lazy and unaware. Luck was with him today.
Quinn killed them all, efficiently and cleanly, with only a few shots of his blaster. Only one tried to put up a fight, and it took two extra shots to down that one as he dived for cover.
"A Sith takes what she needs," he quoted to himself, as he had heard Morda say time and again. "And so do those that serve her." Woe to those who stood in his way.
They had the medicine he needed, plenty in fact. They also had some rations, water, and a few other medical supplies. He took all that he could reasonably carry and headed back out into the desert.
He found Morda unchanged from how he had left her. She was sleeping, or perhaps unconscious. Quinn filled a syringe, working quickly. When he injected it into her upper arm she didn't even stir. Her breathing was shallow and fast and her heart rate far elevated from where it should be. He hoped he had gotten her the cure in time.
It was growing dark. He pulled her cloak from her pack and arranged it under her head. There was nothing left to do now but wait. He lay down nearby, with his bulky pack as a pillow, and watched the walls of the cave slowly grow dark.
He didn't remember falling asleep, but he jolted awake in the deep blackness of night, certain that something had touched him in the dark. He felt it again and stiffened before quickly realizing that it was Morda reaching for him. Her arm slid around his waist and he felt her bury her head against his shoulder.
"Quinn," she murmured. Her voice sounded scratchy and weak. "It's so cold. I need your warmth."
It was cold, he noticed, surprisingly so, now that the suns were hidden beyond the horizon. Quinn rolled over and gingerly felt for her forehead. She was damp, but cool. He breathed a sigh of relief. The fever had broken. Morda was on the mend.
She shivered against him and he realized that the rest of her clothing was soaked from the heat of the fever. "My lord," he said, "you are going to be alright. You can't stay in this shirt though." What could he give her to wear in its place? "You…you can have mine." He quickly pulled off his uniform, and then worked his way out of the undershirt beneath it. He went to hand it to her but could tell that she was moving slowly and still wrestling with her own garments. He hesitated, not knowing how to handle this intimacy that the situation had thrown them in.
"Damn it Quinn. Help get this thing off me." It was a relief to hear the old fire in her voice again, and it was all the push he needed. He carefully helped her peel off the damp top, trying not to let his hands mistakenly stray to anywhere that they shouldn't. He placed his undershirt in her hands. She sighed. "Oh, this is so warm." He heard the rustle as she slipped it on, and he pulled his uniform top back on as well. It was scratchy and uncomfortable without the undershirt, but it was too cold to do otherwise.
He lay down again, but Morda slid closer, wrapping herself around him and pressing against his back once more. This was not proper for a lord and her subordinate. He could not bring himself to refuse her embrace though. It would feel like a rejection where none was intended. These were unusual circumstances, surely, and it was his duty to keep them both alive and comfortable. Yes, he decided, his job called for different rules in such situations.
He rolled over and gently nudged her to do the same. She made an agreeable noise and fitted herself against him, curling up in his arms. It felt good, he reluctantly admitted. She let out a contented sigh.
"Much better," she said into the darkness.
00o00
Morda was a fierce and decisive warrior. The first time Quinn saw her leap towards an enemy, her twin lightsabers poised for a strike, he had found himself unable to look away. On the battlefield she was grace in motion and death incarnate. He understood why Darth Baras had chosen her as his apprentice. She cut her enemies down with ruthless precision and none could stand against her.
Quinn found it equally interesting the number of adversaries that she left alive. Groveling Hutts, turncoat Sith, once even an entire squadron of Republic troopers – she found uses for them all as her minions. She took particular pleasure in coercing those from the Republic into doing tasks for her benefit. Still, there were times when Quinn questioned Morda's confidence in this tactic. Morda had accepted a surrender from one Lord Rathari, a Sith they had tracked across Nar Shaddaa for days, and allowed him to declare his loyalty to her. Sith changed their allegiances like a dancer changing outfits. How could any of them trust one another? Quinn feared that Morda's plans would backfire on her one day.
Now, Morda had deftly led them to this moment, where they finally hoped to catch the padawan that Baras wanted killed. Quinn was honored that he'd been asked to be at her side for this critical battle. Morda had eliminated the most important people Jaesa cared about, cutting down her former teacher and then her parents as well. Next she hoped to kill the Jedi Master who protected Jaesa.
She wasn't like some other Sith lords, who tortured their marks beforehand. She was all business and purpose, which was as it should be. She didn't shy away from using more the subtle tactics of psychological baiting and manipulation however, and she excelled at it. She was adept at seeking out the secrets that others tried to hide, and at exploiting the cracks in their resolve. Quinn admired her astuteness in these things. It was a sound and effective strategy.
Quinn expected Morda to win this upcoming fight. He had not expected just how successful she would be. She defeated the Jedi Master Noman Karr, an old arch enemy of Darth Baras's, which was impressive enough. However, she did not kill the man. Instead she left him broken and shamed; fallen from the Jedi virtues he had once clung to. Quinn was surprised. The man had shown such restraint and stubbornness all the while they had chased him, never allowing Morda to goad him into a harsh word or debate. Yet the Jedi had harbored pride in his heart, and Morda had drawn it out of him. By the end of the battle he was noticeably scarred by dark side rage, his overconfidence his own undoing.
Morda's actions had succeeded in luring out Jaesa. The girl showed up too late to warn her Master, and Quinn felt sure that Morda had left the Jedi alive just so he could witness the moment when Jaesa was struck down by Morda's blades. However, Morda had other plans, which even Quinn was not privy to.
Jaesa entered the building that day a pure-hearted padawan of the Jedi Order, and left it as Morda's new dark-side apprentice.
Jaesa threw herself into learning Sith teachings with all the fervor of a new convert, eager to shuck off the bonds of her austere and limiting previous life. Quinn believed her zeal was genuine, but found it a bit disconcerting even so.
Darth Baras was surprised by Morda's new choice of apprentice, but seemed pleased with the outcome. Quinn suspected that he was impressed and maybe even a bit wary as well with Morda's initiative. Ambition was a desired Sith trait, but it also signaled potential conflict among the Sith ranks. Quinn noted this development with interest.
He was impressed with Morda as well. She showed promise as a real catalyst for change within the Empire, and no one could doubt her ability or determination. Quinn found himself watching her a little more closely during battle. Of course he always paid careful attention to her medical needs during such times, but now he also noticed other things. The Force lent her gravity-defying grace and skill, and she was as light on her feet as any delicate dancer. Her lithe frame hid the true extent of her physical strength, but once one saw her in the midst of a rage-fueled attack, the real extent of her power was revealed. After a battle she nearly glowed with triumph, her red eyes bright and her skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. She was, Quinn realized with surprise, rather beautiful.
She began to occupy his thoughts in less appropriate ways. This was a source of consternation for him, and he tried to quell his distracted mind whenever it slipped into daydreams. His thoughts sometimes took on a rather alarming intensity, and Quinn was startled when he awoke one night from a vivid sexual dream, which left him aching and wanting. It didn't help that she continued to flirt shamelessly with him, and he worried where this all would lead if left unchecked. He could not get involved with one of his superiors, especially not a Sith. This assignment could end at any time, or the demands of the mission could call for dangerous sacrifices. He did not want to be biased when it came to making important decisions.
Since their strange night spent in the cave on Tatooine, Quinn had not seen that vulnerable side of Morda again. In spite of his better judgment, he rather liked the untamed, bold Morda, although maybe not so much when she worked her alluring powers on him. He wanted to turn the tables on her someday though, fantasized about it, in fact. In his most secret visions she was his alone to tempt and pleasure, and she was nearly helpless with need for him. He was always rather embarrassed whenever he snapped out of these daydreams. He could not give in to these desires. How could he have such feelings for a Sith?