Chapter 8

Morda no longer laughed. She was quick-tempered, sometimes even hostile, and rarely engaged the crew in conversation outside of what was necessary for their missions. She no longer took Pierce to her bed either, Quinn noticed, and as far as he could tell, there appeared to be nothing between them any longer. She often retired early, but she wasn't sleeping. Quinn could sometimes see a light on under her door when he passed by, and once he thought he heard faint sobbing, but as soon as he got close it stopped and he doubted whether he had heard it after all.

Morda was working now for the Emperor's Hand, an enigmatic group of Sith Purebloods, and had been given the new title of the Emperor's Wrath. As far as Quinn knew, no one had spoken directly to the Emperor in years. The few who had claimed to were the subject of skeptical rumor, rarely corroborated by anyone. Quinn did not question or delve too deeply into Sith matters, but this new development set him on edge. Darth Baras, he knew, believed the Emperor to be in some kind of exile, so deeply involved in his own personal quest for power that he was uninterested in the daily affairs of those beneath him. The Emperor's Voice was merely a figurehead, and had been missing for years. Some said he didn't exist at all. How then could these servants of the Hand claim to know the Emperor's will?

Everyone who was allied with Baras was now their enemy. Covert operations forces revealed that many heroes of the Empire that had long been thought dead - soldiers, spies, Sith – were in fact being held on the Republic prison planet of Belsavis. Morda and her crew were here now to locate the prison cell of one Darth Ekkage, Baras's sister, before Baras's rescue corps could free her.

Morda moved through Belsavis like a scourge, striking down those in her path with indifference. When one of the officers at the main base refused to help her track down the whereabouts Darth Ekkage's secret location, she snapped his neck using Force power, her eyes ablaze. She spoke to Quinn only when it was required, and grew impatient if he could not enact her orders within her preferred timeline. He quickly learned to anticipate her needs and have whatever she required ready to avoid her curt tongue and the ever present threat of violence which hung around her.

Quinn first noticed a change in Morda when they encountered a Jedi Master who was also seeking Darth Ekkage. Morda encouraged a strange and unlikely partnership with Master Timmns. Quinn suspected that Morda saw in the Jedi a new chance for conquest and corruption. They worked with the Jedi for several weeks. Timmns was a former padawan of Nomen Karr, the fallen Jedi that Morda had disgraced a year ago, and as such he was obviously wary. He had the usual self-righteous attitude of most Jedi, and thought that his command of the light side would protect him. Quinn saw the truth, however. He watched as Morda slowly crept past the Jedi's defenses, earning the man's begrudging trust.

The spark of passion that Quinn had first noticed in Morda began to return. With every step closer to Timmns, she brightened and flowered anew, as if the dark seeds she planted in him only fueled the swell of her own power. Timmns was a blind, bumbling insect, flying ever closer to her web, and she was the patient predator, draining his will all while timing his eventual capture. Quinn watched the interplay between them in fascination.

They found Darth Ekkage, and together, with Morda's blazing red lightsabers and the Jedi's blue one matched side by side, they brought her to the moment of surrender. Timmns stopped before the killing blow and prepared to reinstate Ekkage to her stasis prison.

"No, Ekkage must die," Morda said. Even defeated, Quinn knew that Ekkage was too powerful to be allowed to live. As usual, all Jedi were weak-minded and couldn't do what must be done.

"I will not let you kill her," Timmns said. Quinn cautiously drew his hand towards his blaster, for a fight was surely imminent.

"No, I won't be the one to kill her," Morda said, and the smile that touched her lips was syrupy sweet. "You will."

"Are you mad, Sith?"

Quinn found the Jedi's shock and disgust rather amusing. Were all Jedi really that naïve?

"Kill her, right now with your blade as she kneels before you, or I will free her."

Timmns took an actual step backward, clear alarm washing over his face. "You must be joking. Freeing her would give Baras exactly what he wanted! You wouldn't."

"You think I'm bluffing? Darth Ekkage is weakened and in disgrace. Baras will be humiliated and his power-base undermined. Test me, I dare you."

Timmns stared at her, visibly warring between horror and duty. "Setting her free could damn thousands to death…I…I can't let that happen."

He drew his lightsaber and the blade hummed to life. "This…this pains me," Timmns said. He closed his eyes and his face contorted like he had swallowed a bitter fruit. "But I must do it." He swung the blade and Darth Ekkage fell at his feet.

Timmns stepped back and bent his head. "I feel less than I was," he said quietly. Quinn spotted the sure, telling smile on Morda's face before she concealed it. Timmns raised his head to face her again. "You have had your way, Sith. Do we part now as friends or as enemies?"

Quinn felt the grip of his blaster warm and ready in his hand. Morda had had her fun with Timmns, and with time, perhaps he could have been turned. But they were out of time now and Timmns would not fall to the dark side so easily as that. Quinn looked to Morda, waiting for her signal, but she held out her hands instead, smiling at Master Timmns.

"We part as friends," she said. Her voice was smooth and flowed through the air like water. "Perhaps we will meet again someday."

"Perhaps," Timmns said. He moved away jerkily, appearing confused, already thinking himself a lesser man. Quinn stood, astonished, as Morda let him walk away.

"My lord." They were alone, and he could not hold himself back any longer. "Was it wise to let the Jedi live?"

"Did I ask for your opinion, Quinn?" Her voice was icy cold, the brightness she had shown Timmns only moments before extinguished. She turned her back on him. "Go back to the ship. I need to be alone for a moment."

He turned and went slowly up the steps. His thoughts travelled back to that day on Quesh, when he had pulled Morda from the rubble in the cave. He recounted, like he had a dozen times since, the soaring emotion he had felt when Morda had clung to him so tightly, like her life depended on him, like she would never let go. That memory seemed very long ago.

"Quinn."

He turned at the top of the steps. Her face had softened, and the look in her eyes was almost apologetic.

"Master Timmns carries the root of the dark side within him now. Cultivating these things can take time, but I am patient. He will fall, like the others I have turned before him. I know it."

Quinn nodded. He wasn't sure he shared her confidence, but he was warmed to see it in her just the same. "As you say, my lord."

"Wait for me if you want. I will join you shortly."

"I will, my lord."

00o00

The guard at the door touched his earpiece and then nodded to Quinn. "Darth Baras will see you now."

Quinn's insides felt like a weight was crushing them. He didn't know what Baras wanted from him, but he'd not been contacted since leaving Balmorra a year ago, and so he'd started to believe that he was free to pursue his own goals. He feared it was no coincidence that Baras had summoned him a week after Morda had shaken the Sith world by taking out Darth Ekkage. Baras had already sent his other apprentice, Lord Draahg, back once more to try and assassinate Morda only days ago. Draagh had attacked the ship while it was in port from a brief stop on Hoth, and would have likely decimated what crew had been on board if Morda and hadn't arrived just in time. Draagh had given Morda a difficult fight, but in the end Morda had thrown him from a ledge and he had surely burned in an explosion that had followed soon after.

Baras would likely be furious. He wondered if he would come out of this day alive.

He walked down the hallway and through a door flanked by towering Imperial banners. Baras waited in front of his desk, his cold, faceless mask revealing nothing.

The door slid shut, and Quinn was lifted off his feet with no chance to take a last breath. Baras stood still and calm, his arm outstretched, appearing spotty and indistinct through Quinn's quickly blurring vision. Quinn always prided himself on the fact that he had only been Force choked once ever in his career, and that was fifteen years ago. He had forgotten just how agonizing the feeling of suffocation was. A pressure built in his chest and then radiated outward through his limbs, filling them with something akin to liquid fire. His muscles spasmed and his ears roared. The room began to go dark. I'm going to die here, he thought.

Baras released him and he fell to the floor. He sucked in repeated lungfuls of air, his chest heaving with the effort, while his eyes swam with spots. He was vaguely aware that his croaks sounded like those of a dying man. It was a long time before he finally lifted his head and dared to look around.

Baras's voice was like slime oozing into his ears. "You failed me, Quinn. My wayward apprentice still lived, yet you knew. Now she has killed my sister, striking yet another blow against me. It's almost enough to make me think that you have forgotten who is your master."

Quinn struggled to stand on his shaky legs. "My lord…" At first nothing came out but a hoarse whisper, and he had to try several times to get the words to form. "I did not know what you wanted of me."

"I want my apprentice dead."

Panic gripped Quinn's heart. "You want me to kill Lord Morda?"

"You are my instrument, Quinn. Plan a death for her that will not fail. Take care of it and do it soon."

"My lord…how?" Baras was asking the impossible.

Baras took one menacing step forward. "I don't care how you do it. Just find a way!"

"Yes," Quinn answered, his voice shaking, "…my lord." He bowed low, barely able to keep his balance.

He left the room in a daze. He didn't remember hailing a taxi, or even how long he'd been standing outside in the rain in front of the Kaas City spaceport entrance once he arrived. He was tethered now, pulling a monstrous weight behind him. He would never be free of it, he realized. Darth Baras owned him. Once one owed a debt to a Sith, was it ever truly paid and forgotten? His life, his career – everything he was – was subject to Baras's authority. Baras had pulled him out of a well of shame and given him a future. Without Baras he would be nowhere now and no one. Lord Morda, he thought bitterly, was just a stepping stone. Baras was the future of the Empire.

Morda had escaped one assassination attempt already. Quinn was close to her, in proximity and in trust, making him a likely candidate to orchestrate another. Baras knew the kind of man Quinn was: dedicated to his work, unplagued by the vices that weakened other men, and unswayed by sentiment. The mask that hid Quinn's emotions had served him well, saved his life even, when it came to dealing with unpredictable Sith tempers. He would be an ideal choice, and a clever one. Morda expected opposition from other Sith, and expected to be attacked or thrown into battle. But the quiet knife in the dark? The undetectable poison in a cup? The cleverly disguised accident? That, she would not expect, and least of all from one of her own. Quinn had been groomed for this, he realized now, his part had been already written. Now Baras was going to set him on the stage.

00o00

Quinn's holocommunicator beeped. He turned his back on the busy pedestrian thoroughfare around him and answered it. It was Watcher Three from Imperial Intelligence, returning his call.

"Captain Quinn," Watcher Three said. He looked like he was a fresh out of the academy. Had they always started them that young? "The Cipher agent I told you about is ready to meet you now. She has something that may fulfill your needs. She's close by. Meet her at these coordinates."

"I appreciate your discretion in this," Quinn said.

"That goes without saying, Captain. We are happy to help." The call fuzzed out.

Quinn scanned the crowd, taking a slow deliberate breath to calm his nerves. This is the right thing to do, he reminded himself. Watcher Three had told him he was meeting a female Zabrak. A twinge from Quinn's memory gave him an unpleasant jolt. There were not very many aliens in Intelligence, particularly Zabrak. He'd met a young Zabrak once, seven years ago now, who had been in training at the academy. It was an awkward and uncomfortable memory and he feared that the young student he remembered and this Cipher agent could be one and the same. Couldn't any part of this be easy?

Seven years ago, she had caught him at a vulnerable moment, a time when he was still stinging from the reprimand at Druckenwell. Baras had given him leave to take a brief, post-graduate class at the academy, so that he could earn his certificate in field medicine. His career may have been permanently halted, but he had at least hoped to better himself in other ways. His old instructors remembered him, he had graduated with high distinction after all, but everyone danced around his shame with awkward silences, and all talk was strained. Quinn had been…dare he admit it? Lonely. It was late, he was tired, and he'd been studying for that last exam in the library for hours. How he had allowed himself to be seduced by this agent-in-training he could never guess, but it had happened, and later he had suffered shame for it. Had she done it for a dare? To test out her new skills on him? He would never know. He was not looking forward to facing her and reliving his embarrassment all over again.

He moved to the designated meeting spot. There was a bench here, but he preferred to stand. There, she was coming through the crowd now, and she was not alone. Quinn was not happy that there would be an extra witness to his humiliation. As she got closer, he could make out her coppery-red skin and dark geometric tattoos. She'd filled out a bit since he had last seen her, was more curvaceous and confident, but it was definitely her. With her was a tall man with dark hair who carried himself with the casual air of someone who was used to hobnobbing among the elite and powerful.

The Cipher agent smiled at him as she approached. Was there a sparkle in her eye? "Captain Malavai Quinn," she said slowly, drawing out his name like she savored every syllable. "You may call me Cipher Nine, or just Cipher, if you prefer."

Quinn gave her a curt nod. She turned and gestured to her companion. "This is Agent Vector, who has procured something that may be of interest to you." Quinn nodded next to the man with her, and was startled to see that his eyes were entirely black. A Joiner?

"I understand you had some specific requirements," Cipher said. "They weren't easy to match. Most poisons are carefully regulated and cataloged, and some of them are very expensive. We did find something that was off the record."

The man called Vector reached into a pocket on his cloak and pulled out a small vial. "This is Killik poison," he said and held it out to Quinn. "We believe it will suit your needs. There are three doses."

Cipher watched his face as he took the poison. "The Empire has had very few official dealings with the Killiks, so they have not sequenced the chemical composition of this poison. I can't guarantee that long term though. It could be traceable if someone decided to store a sample and test for a match again at a later date."

"It will be adequate," Quinn said. "It is painless?"

"No poisons are completely painless, Captain Quinn." Cipher gave him a curious look. "It acts quietly though, if that's what you are worried about. Vector would know more."

Vector nodded solemnly. "It works quickest when injected directly into the bloodstream," he said. "The Killiks apply it to their blades and use it in battle. If that is not feasible, then it can be ingested instead. It has a sweet taste that you would have to compensate for, and it will take longer to work that way."

"How long exactly?" Quinn asked.

"We would estimate a few hours rather than the usual few minutes."

Quinn nodded. An injection seemed like the most practical method. He held the vial up and peered at it in the light. It was in a metal casing with a small window on the side. Through the clear glass the liquid swirled with a green luminescence that reminded him of the carapace of an insect. He tucked it away, trying not to shudder.

"What does it…" Did he really want to know this? He cleared his throat and started again. "How does it act in the body?"

"We have a scientific colleague," Vector answered, "and he has explained to us that it is primarily a neurotoxic venom which attacks the nervous system, causing muscle paralysis. Subjects usually die of asphyxiation when the lungs give out, if they are not eaten first."

Quinn quickly trained the disgust from his features at the thought of being eaten by a swarm of Killiks. How could this man stand to be around them? In his next thought, he was taken back to Baras's office, where he had experienced strangulation himself. "I see." Perhaps victims were not able to act like they were in pain under the effects of this venom, he thought, but he was sure that they were feeling it, or at least the terror and urgency of the lack of oxygen itself. He shook the image from his mind. "Thank you for your help, agents."

"Certainly," Cipher said. Her smile reached into him and tugged at the memory there. He nodded to her and looked away quickly.

Vector gave him a diplomatic bow, his black eyes empty and dark. "We are always pleased to help in the Empire's cause."

00o00

Once again, they were back looking for assistance from some mystic hermit, this time on Voss. The Voice of the Emperor, who had been missing for years, was here on Voss. Baras had designs on declaring himself the Voice, Quinn knew. If he and Morda succeeded in finding the true Voice, did Baras expect Quinn to report in? Someone had told him once that he would have made a good Watcher. I didn't want to be a spy, but now here I am, a spy just the same.

The creatures on Voss were vicious and foreign, and some of the more terrifying ones had been cybernetically modified by the local inhabitants. They were set upon unexpectedly one afternoon by two of such creatures, tall monstrous things with clawed hands and spiked backs. They made a strange buzzing noise that reminded Quinn of holocomm static, which he quickly realized came from the implants buried deep into their backs. With uncommon strength, they lurched forward and charged at both Quinn and Morda. In moments, Morda's twin sabers were burning bright in her hands, and she readied her stance for battle. She threw Quinn an urgent look, and her red irises were glowing embers among the whites of her eyes.

"Take cover, Quinn!"

He dived for a nearby boulder and readied his blaster. One of these creatures would have been a challenge for any Sith, but two were trouble. Quinn shot sprays of kolto in Morda's direction, trying to help her keep up her strength, and took shots at the beasts whenever he could get a clean line of sight. The first creature died impaled through the throat on one of Morda's lightsabers, but by then she was tiring and already weakened by an open wound along her thigh. She jumped for a high strike at the second animal's head and came down hard, the impact jarring her injured leg and causing her to stumble. A giant gnarled hand swiped at her, tossing her into the air. She twisted in mid-air, trying to right herself using her acrobatic training, but her footing was not assured on landing and she bounced backwards and fell.

Quinn spun the darts on his wristband, frantically searching for a carbonite dart. He found it and shot a stream out at the creature just as it had leaned in for a snap of its powerful jaws. The carbonite was not strong enough to capture the entire creature's form, but it did slow it down. Quinn leapt up from behind the rock and readied a shot at one of the creature's eyes. He was a good marksman, but the animal had a huge bowed head and the eyes were hard to target. He lined up a shot and fired. The spray of blood and the creature's uncanny roar told him he had hit his mark. It began swinging wildly, stumbling and keening in a higher pitched wail. Quinn shot a second time, but the blast hit the creature's jaw and barely left a singe mark. Quinn tried again. This time he succeeded in taking out the other eye.

With the beast blinded, Morda was able to dance around it, easily dodging its clumsy attacks. Quinn started to breathe a little easier, but then Morda fell, gripping her leg and letting out a strangled cry. As she hit the ground, she flung out one of her lightsabers and it spun through the air in a whirling arc, slicing into the creature's neck. The beast gurgled and slumped to the ground.

Morda slid back onto the grass, breathing hard. Quinn grabbed his bag and flipped open the top. Inside, his medpacks were neatly packed in rows, along with a few readied syringes. His fingers grazed over the adrenals and kolto shots and found one other syringe that had only recently been added. He pulled it from the bag. The filthy green liquid inside swirled in agitation, catching the light with its iridescent sheen. This would be the perfect opportunity, with him and Morda being on this strange planet, fighting unfamiliar creatures with abilities few researchers had yet studied. Who would know or be able to explain the odd effects of being injured by such monstrous beasts? He pulled the cap off the syringe and the needle glinted in the sunlight.

"Quinn…"

Through the tall grasses, he could just see Morda's prone body. She was struggling to sit up, her voice strained from obvious pain. Quinn sprinted to her side. Her chest was heaving and her face was contorted into a grimace. She lifted her head and her eyelids slid open, her red eyes meeting his, stark and trusting.

"Gimme that stuff, whatever it is." She tried to manage a smile, but her eyes were pleading.

I can't do this, Quinn thought. He thrust the poison into the bag like it burned him and pulled out a medical probe. He fell to his knees at her side.

"I am here my lord. This will only take a moment." He gave her a shot of painkiller and set the probe to knitting up the slash in her leg. She had lost some blood and would be weak for a time. He watched the tightness in her features ease as the painkiller kicked in, the wrinkles across her forehead smoothing away and the creases along her eyes fading. She reached out and touched his leg, patting him clumsily on the knee.

"Yes, that's much better…" She smiled and this time it reached her eyes. "Thank you."

"Of course my lord," Quinn said quietly.

After a moment, her eyes opened once more and she peered up at him. "Have you ever seen things like that? They must have enhanced hearing to have known we were in the area and gotten to us so quickly. I wonder if the Empire could use some-"

"Be still, my lord, please," Quinn said. She had squirmed on the ground to better see him, jerking her leg while the probe was trying to do its work. Quinn watched her bio scan output as the numbers ran in a stream across the screen. He touched her distractedly on the shoulder to still her.

She threaded her fingers through his and pulled his arm closer, closing her eyes and sighing. His hand was lying across the top of her chest now, and Quinn was very aware of the gentle waves of her breathing beneath his palm. He tried to control the sudden increase in his own breathing rate. When her fingers loosened, he gently but reluctantly withdrew his hand.

"I'll call a transport. You shouldn't walk on that leg for a while yet."

On the ride back to the Imperial base, Quinn found himself casting furtive glances in Morda's direction as she sat next to him. She was watching the passing landscape curiously, while the wind feathered through her maroon colored hair. Like many Purebloods, she wore filigreed jewelry across her forehead and attached to the bridge of her nose, and had recently added a small pierced ring to her lower lip. Today, the sun glinted from her bright gold circlet, contrasting with the smooth, deep red of her skin. She was a Sith and so far above his station that he had rarely allowed himself to think of her as anything but a distant superior. He glanced at his hands, his nails stained with the faintest traces of her blood from the wound he had tended. She was real and warm and alive next to him. He recalled how he had sat in the grass at her head, with his hand entwined with hers and pressed against her collarbone. He had watched the swell of her breasts rising and falling, and had felt that familiar stir of longing inside him once again.

It is my job to protect her, he thought, and my job to kill her. The paradox tore at him, leaving behind an ache in the center of his chest. How could he be the one to snuff that vibrant fire out?

00o00

Quinn sat in the common area of the ship, pouring over some oversized maps that he had spread out across a table. Voss was mostly uncharted, but he had managed to acquire some survey records, as well as the crude drawings left behind by some previous researchers. The scientists had gone into an area called the Nightmare Lands, and had never returned.

On the other side of the room, Lieutenant Pierce and Lord Morda were conversing. Pierce sat in a chair, dwarfing it, with a gas grenade in his hand. Springs and bolts and bits of metal littered the table next to him. He fiddled with the canister, muttering, "ah" when it snapped audibly into place. He was in the midst of explaining to Morda what this new grenade did, and she was leaning over, watching and listening.

Quinn did not care to know, and was not really listening, but bits of conversation reached him anyway, even through his attempts to concentrate.

"Melts the lungs, they say, and they start coughing up gobs of blood…a real mess for those Pubs to clean up, ha!...the suffocation is what kills 'em though…"

Quinn sat back in his chair, suddenly unable to not hear every gory detail of how the grenade tormented and killed its victims. What did he care how a bunch of Republic riff-raff died? He didn't, but his thoughts began to stray to the vial of poison concealed in his medbag. He heard again Agent Vector's words echoing loudly in his head: …causing muscle paralysis…Subjects usually die of asphyxiation when the lungs give out… He peeled his damp hands from the map and rubbed them on his trousers. He took a deep breath to calm himself. I'm over thinking this, he told himself. It's just a job. He found himself sucking in yet another deep breath, but it wasn't enough. The lights in the room glared off the paper and were noticeably too bright. Pierce's voice sounded like a gong, ringing in his ears, no matter how he tried to tune it out. The room felt like it was getting hotter.

Pathetic, he thought. How many others have died at my hand? Why should this be any different? I'm losing focus…I can't…I can't lose focus…I can't do it…I can't do this…

He lurched up from the table, accidentally banging his knee hard on one of the legs. Morda glanced up, but then her eyes strayed back to Pierce, who was laughing loudly. His voice ripped through Quinn's head. Quinn stumbled into the refresher, locking the door behind him, and turned the water in the sink on full blast. He leaned over the sink, breathing hard, but his lungs still burned as if he were the one actually suffocating. His hands started to tingle and feel numb.

I'm hyperventilating, that's all. I'm not dying. He dunked his whole head into the freezing water. The shock cleared his head a bit and when he looked up into the mirror, his cheeks were red, but the rest of his face was deathly pale. He dunked his head again, but came up sputtering and gasping for air. The room was too small, the walls too tight. He wanted air, tons of it, a storm of it, damn it a whole hurricane, that's what he needed. Open sky, clouds or stars, just, anywhere other than on this ship. A feeling of terror crept over him. He couldn't just leave, especially not at night. The Voss had confined all "aliens" to their own sector and it had a curfew. Leaving would cause far more notice that he needed right now.

Trapped, a voice said. You can't leave, you can't stop this, you can't back out. He sunk to the floor and held his head in his hands. I'm going to go mad, he thought. That will be it for me. Captain Quinn, who ruined his career at Druckenwell, he lost it, did you hear? Medical hospital has him now…

He let out a strangled laugh. Breathe, he reminded himself. He began to count, focusing on emptying his lungs completely before taking another breath. Slowly, the ringing in his ears began to fade and his gasps for air became less desperate. He pressed his forehead against the cool floor. If only they could see me now, they'd know what a mess I really am…

He opened his eyes. Dust and dirt specks blurred in his vision, and he was suddenly aware of how unsanitary it was to be against the refresher floor. He sat up. His head swam, but the world eventually righted itself again. His limbs were shaky and he was soaked with sweat. He looked in the mirror and tried to smooth his hair and straighten his shirt, but it was hopeless. He sighed and unlocked the door.

He slipped out and headed for the medbay. It was the longest walk across the ship he had ever taken. When he got inside, he shut the door and let out another sigh. If anyone had seen him, they had not said anything. He stripped off his shirt and climbed into the med cot he'd taken for his bed, barely taking the time to kick off his shoes. He closed his eyes.

He awoke sometime later. The lights were still on, and he was still wearing his uniform pants. He was hot, too hot, and was covered with sweat. He was vaguely aware that he'd been having some kind of disturbing dream, but the details were already gone. He sat up, throwing off the blankets and letting the air cool his skin. He stared at the med bag sitting neatly in its spot on the shelf nearby. The silence rang heavy in the room.

He slid off the cot and went to the bag. In a moment, the poison syringe was in his hand. He stood up and slapped the door panel, and was met with darkness from the common room. Everyone was asleep and it was very late. His feet carried him out of the med bay and across the ship. He found himself standing in front of the garbage chute.

He opened his hand and stared at the syringe. The vile liquid even now caught what scant light emitted from one of the dim overheads and reflected it back like the blink of an eye. He threw open the chute door and tossed the syringe in, then did not hesitate as he flicked the nearby wall switch and heard the soft woosh as the garbage was vented into space.

He went to a nearby window and looked out. The syringe was too small to see, but he imagined it floating away into the void of infinite space, where it would likely languish forever. He breathed a deep sigh.

He turned and headed back to his room.

"What are you doing up, Captain Quinn?" A shadow in the hallway took a step forward, and Jaesa appeared. Her voice was laced with barely disguised mirth, and she leaned against a wall, cocking her hip as her eyes roved boldly down his body.

Quinn was suddenly very conscious that he was naked from the torso up. Jaesa was frequently away on missions, but he'd taken care to avoid her, not only because something about her made him decidedly uncomfortable, but also because he needed to be wary of her unusual Force power. If she chose to work her special sight on him, she would surely see the designs he had on Morda and then it would be all over.

"I'm returning to bed," he said. "I was just a bit overheated."

"Yes," she said, and her voice was like the slow drip of honey. "You were too hot. Do you have that problem often?"

"Goodnight Jaesa." Quinn stepped quickly past her and made for the medbay.

"I wish Morda would let me play with you sometime," she said in a frustrated whine. "We could have so much fun."

Quinn locked the door quickly behind him.