Chapter 9

While Morda was engaged in a conversation with a rather gregarious Voss, Quinn decided that this was a good time to slip away. He walked around the corner and into a pretty courtyard, where benches had been set in a semi-circle surrounded by carefully tended flowers. A recently added public holoterminal was wedged against a stone wall, looking out of place. Someone had moved an urn to accommodate for its bulk, making the courtyard's decorative landscaping no longer symmetrical. A Voss sat on a bench in front of an easel, painting a portrait of one of the sculpted trees. Quinn wandered over to the holoterminal and punched in the frequency.

The image of Darth Baras wavered in the air.

"Quinn," Baras said. "It's about time you saw fit to call me."

"My lord," Quinn said, bending ever so slightly at the waist, "I had to find an opportune time to return your call."

"Why is my apprentice still breathing?"

Quinn stilled his features to passivity. "Following your command has proven more challenging than I anticipated."

Baras's voice took on an edge that made Quinn's hackles rise. "My master tactician can't come up with a way to eliminate a target right under his nose? You disappoint me, Quinn."

"It…It will be done, my lord."

"Perhaps you need some incentive. How is your mother? Still living on the outskirts of Kaas City? I could pay her a visit."

"My lord, I assure you-" Quinn's next words were cut off as his throat closed up tight and he struggled to breathe. He had seen Darth Baras kill a man by Force choking him from half a galaxy away through holocall, so he was under no illusions that he was protected here on Voss. He tugged at his collar and took short gasps for air. The Voss who was painting nearby looked up and stared at him curiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two chatting Imperials start into the courtyard, but they turned away abruptly, casting their eyes discretely in another direction when they spotted him in front of the terminal.

"I grow impatient," Baras said. "There is an abandoned starship in orbit over Corellia. Use that as a staging ground if you need one, and you won't even have to worry about disposing of the body. I can't make this any easier for you Quinn. Do not fail me."

The squeezing around his throat eased and Quinn heaved a welcome breath of air. "Of course, my lord, but-"

The holocall ended and Darth Baras's likeness disappeared. Quinn stared at the empty space for a moment, then sunk down onto a bench. He waited for his heart to slow and his breathing to return to normal. There was no escaping this. He had to think of his career, and of his commitment to seeing through Baras's orders. It was not his place to get in between the machinations of Sith infighting. He had a job to do. He repeated these words to himself as he left the courtyard.

00o00

The lights on the abandoned starship flickered fitfully, creating annoying shadows across the data terminal, and Quinn sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. He had had to do a bit of verbal gymnastics in order to get on this starship alone without incurring Morda's suspicion. He was equally proud as well as disturbed by how easy it had been to pull off the deception. He was good at this, he realized. A lifetime spent burying his true feelings from Sith had made him rather adept at lying. What an accomplishment, he thought sourly.

Beside him, two large war droids pointed their empty blaster barrels into the air. They were three models behind the current versions, and when Quinn had found them some of the parts had been missing. He had recharged their assault batteries, but every time he ran tests to measure their fire power, the results came out well below their maximum range. He could order new parts - this terminal still worked and could send and receive messages - but he couldn't do it without giving an authorization code and an account number. Getting these things would take time, required planning, and would increase his risk of getting caught.

He knew Morda's prowess in battle and had spent hours running probabilities matching her skills against the droids'. At maximum power, the droids would easily break through even a Sith's enhanced defenses. But at the power they were operating under now… Baras has pushed me onto a time frame, he thought. He told me to use what was here on this ship. I'm following instructions. And if the droids were underpowered and Morda by chance lived through their attack? It would be a completely understandable mistake.

Would Baras buy it?

Quinn threw his head into his hands. No, Baras would see right through his deception. He was too perfect, too responsible to make such a mistake and Baras would know it.

I can't live like this.

Quinn thought of his mother, who had been so proud when she heard that he had been assigned off Balmorra and to a well thought of Sith Lord. He pictured Imperial troops bursting into his childhood home and dragging her out into the street, while she insisted that there must be some mistake. He saw her convulsing under Darth Baras's Sith lightning.

He slammed his fists down onto the console and jumped up from his chair. He began to pace the dark, flickering hallway, feeling that familiar crushing in his chest like a giant fist squeezing his insides until they threatened to pop. He stopped and began to breathe slowly, but soon his hands were curling into fists again, and he whirled around and pounded them against the nearby wall.

He saw Lord Morda in his mind and for a moment he could feel her wrapped around him again, like she had been in the cavern, so soft and alive, and pressed so close against him that he could feel the tremble in her arms as she gripped him tight. He thought of the way she sought him more and more often, asking his opinion on matters and choosing him over any other crew member when it came to going planet-side. He remembered the feel of her breath tickling his ear, the way her hand had trailed down the front of his uniform, the way she had pressed herself against him, promising more. If only he had accepted. He had gone to such heroic lengths to keep himself from getting involved, and yet…it had all been for nothing hadn't it? He had fallen anyway.

He was in love with her, desperately, hopelessly so.

My life is a wreck and there's no salvaging it, he thought. He went back to the terminal and inserted a microchip into one of the slots in the wall unit. His hands flew across the keyboard as he implanted the new code, and as he watched the words pass by on the screen, a strange, hollow peace came over him. He made two copies, and inserted one into each droid, overriding their current command sequence and initiating a new one. The droids would kill indiscriminately now, destroying everything within their sight range. Morda had a good chance against them, but if he were lucky, his end would be fast and certain.

He walked away, his pain eased at last. He felt wonderfully, gloriously numb. It would all be over soon.

00o00

As soon as they stepped aboard, Morda knew that their information on this ship was seriously out of date. Quinn had told them the ship was an occupied vessel, but it was obviously abandoned. Morda thought this a fine turn of their luck. They could walk right in, take the emitter, and leave with little fuss. Her optimism quickly turned to apprehension however the further into the ship she and Pierce moved.

Pierce had approached her the night before, expressing apprehension over the need to steal a signal emitter from a fellow Imperial ship. Quinn had suggested this course of action, and so Morda had initially thought that Pierce's misgivings were biased, given the obvious dislike the two men shared for each other. The sincerity of Pierce's concern had won her over though, and she had agreed to let him come with her on the mission.

At first, the ship appeared to be little else than an empty husk filled with dust and derelict droids. This was odd, but hardly bothersome. They'd been on board for only a few minutes however, when Morda found her thoughts plagued with a creeping feeling of foreboding which she could not shake. A strange, heavy pall infested the ship's tunnel-like corridors, and the ventilation system was on the verge of heaving its last breath. This was not a ship that had been recently abandoned.

"M'lord," Pierce grumbled at her side, "thought Quinn said that this blockade was newly implemented. This ship doesn't look like it's going anywhere. Why would it need an emitter to get past the blockade?"

Morda was grateful for Pierce's comforting bulk beside her, but it bothered her that even he too, was on edge. "I agree," she said. "Something's wrong Pierce. Stay on your guard."

They encountered a few droids who had not been fully powered down. The droids watched them with red eyes that flickered dimly in their sockets, and a few jerked hesitantly when they passed as if trying to obey the commands of circuitry long since dead. They reached an elevator and were met with the first real resistance they had yet encountered. The air flickered and two droids appeared from behind stealth generators, armed and activated for battle.

"M'lord, two of them!" Pierce called out. His voice was nearly drowned out in the hail of blaster fire that followed.

Morda slashed the droids into scrap heaps, stepped over their smoking wires and set the button on the elevator. She glanced at Pierce, whose stance was alert and ready beside her. "Be prepared for more resistance further in."

A few more droids attacked them as they passed through the ship's second level, but like the others, they were slow and clumsy, their joints clunky from disuse. At last they stopped in front of a wide door that led to the transponder station. Morda hit the entry switch, prepared for it to be locked, but it opened smoothly. There was, she realized with surprise, someone already inside.

Captain Quinn stood in the middle of the room at parade rest, watching them as they entered. His face was expressionless and empty.

"Quinn," Morda said. "What are you doing here? How did you get here before us?"

"I took the service corridor, my lord. As I said, I know the schematics of this starship by heart. As to what I'm doing here…" He began to pace restlessly. "It pains me, but this entire scenario is a ruse. There's no martial law and no special signal emitter."

"What are you talking about?" Morda searched his eyes, his demeanor, and saw nothing but calculation and indifference there. He could have been any of the faceless droids they had seen throughout the ship and just as mindlessly determined. She reached out a tendril of Force power and touched his mind, where she was met with a barrier as hard as it was cold. With a spike of Force power, she pushed harder, and for a moment a crack opened up before her. A roiling turmoil so bitter and dark lashed out at her in barely controlled chaos, and Morda pulled back quickly before it could suck her in.

"Darth Baras had me lure you here to have you killed," Quinn said. His voice betrayed none of the agitation that he hid so adeptly. An itch tickled Morda's palms, where they longed to feel the humming power of her lightsabers, but she resisted. Quinn met her gaze with eyes of ice. "Baras is my true master," he said, and his words fell from the air like stones, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.

"Knew there was a reason I wanted to put a gun to his head the minute I met him," Pierce growled. He hefted his rifle for a shot. Morda held him back with a subtle flick of her wrist.

"Steady, Lieutenant. Not yet." He frowned, but lowered the weapon.

Quinn smirked and gave Pierce a look dripping with such malice that Morda felt her breath catch and her heart pick up speed. Had she ever seen such rawness, such vehemence, in him?

"Pierce," Quinn said, and his voice was low with smug satisfaction, "Baras asked me if you'd be a valuable asset. I told him you were physically capable, but not worth the trouble."

Pierce laughed, but there was nervousness there as well as contempt. "Like I would ever join you!"

"Quinn," Morda said. "If you stand with Baras, you stand against the Emperor himself. You know this. Think about what you are doing."

He turned his gaze back on her and his look, for a fleeting moment, was sad. "The Emperor is an absentee landlord. Baras is doing what any real patriot would do." Morda sensed a lack of conviction in his tone. Did he believe what he was saying?

"I'm sorry it's come to this my lord." For the first time she saw a hint of empathy in his eyes. "I didn't want to choose between the two of you. But Baras has forced my hand, and I must side with him."

He turned and gestured at a door behind him. It slid open and two large war droids moved in on spidery legs, their oversized blasters trained on her.

"After all this time observing you in battle," Quinn said, "I have exhaustively noted your strengths and weaknesses. I have painstakingly programmed these droids specifically to combat you. I calculate a near zero percent chance of their failure."

"You are overconfident," Morda said. "You should know by now that I can't be defeated."

"I'm sorry it's come to this, my lord. You must face this fight alone." He pulled out a neural inhibitor gun and pointed it at Pierce. Pierce's hands flew to his head, and before Morda had a chance to act, he collapsed on the floor at her side.

Morda drew her lightsabers just at the droids fired their first volley, and managed to block the incoming bolts in a spray of sparks. She leapt forward, her mind clearing, her focus and rage building, and time seemed to slow. She saw Quinn beside her, and spun to stare down the barrel of his blaster. The vivid image of his face, determined, startled and fierce, filled her vision, and for a moment his eyes, wide and so very blue, met hers. In that fleeting moment, she noticed the faintest tremble of his hand. It was all the sign she needed.

She threw out a jolt of Force power, knocking the blaster from his grip and sending him sailing backwards across the floor. The droids engaged her again, doling out electric stun shocks as well as laser fire. She was a fighter, a dancer, a whirling burst of blades and Force power and might. The droids, she realized, were weakened by age and perhaps even faulty. Their blasts were dim and ragged, and she was a hair faster, cleaner in her blows, more precise in her movements. She dismantled the first until it lay in embattled pierces on the floor, and focused her energy on the second. It too, began to fall apart as she pressed it hard, eventually driving it into defensive mode. With a final cut of her glowing blades, accompanied by a triumphant yell, she sent its head sailing across the room. The droids sparked fitfully as she stood panting, the sweat cooling over her skin.

Quinn was kneeling on the floor nearby. His face was calm, serene even, waiting for his inevitable death. Still jacked up by her rage, Force power buzzing inside her and eager for an outlet, Morda swung out her hand, lifting Quinn into the air. She threw him against the wall, where he smacked hard into the unyielding metal, his limbs falling out around him. He dropped onto the floor and she picked him up again. Her vision was awash with red. She began to squeeze the life out of him, watching as he dangled helplessly, managing a barely strangled gasp. He face turned pale, and then faded to blue, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

I'm killing him, Morda realized. With a jerk of her hand, she dropped him, and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

She sat down, crossing her legs, and felt her power and rage slowly dissipate. Beside her, Pierce stirred and moaned. He sat up, rubbing his head and squinting.

"Is he dead?"

"No," Morda said. "Go back to the ship."

"M'Lord, are you sure?"

"Don't question me, Lieutenant." He waited a moment, as if hoping she'd change her mind, and then she heard the thudding of his boots as he left the room.

Quinn lay crumpled on the floor, his chest faintly rising and falling. His uniform was torn at the neckline from where he had uselessly tried to pry away the invisible hands of her Force choke, and his pressed trousers were smudged with dust. His fingers twitched involuntarily a few times and then stilled. How long had Baras had a hold on him? She had sorely underestimated Quinn, in so many ways.

At last, he stirred. He blinked lazily at the ceiling, not moving, but his breathing was uneven and he took repeated gasps for air, as if only remembering now how to breathe. It was a long time before he even realized she was there.

"My lord!" His voice was a croak. He struggled to sit up, looking baffled and disoriented.

"That was a brilliant plan, Quinn," Morda said. "I suspected nothing. Your execution however, was dismal."

He stared at her, nervously passing his tongue across his lips, saying nothing.

She shot out a blast of Force energy, striking deep into his mind while he lay weak and unprepared before her, and like she suspected, she was able to burrow through easily. She was assaulted once again by the storm of dissonance inside him, and she rifled curiously through all the emotions he had long sought to hide. Self-hatred was there, so intense and black that it had almost snuffed out everything else, and cocooned further in was a tightly bound coil of fury and resentment. Buried also she felt the presence of pride, of courage, and a stubborn dignity. She pushed deeper, and Quinn's fingers curled into the metal grooves of the floor, his knuckles turning white. She had made no effort to disguise her presence in his mind, and no doubt he felt the effects of her rummaging around. Within the farthest recesses of his psyche she saw an ember that burned and ate away at him. She touched it and found the core of him revealed.

She withdrew, ripping a gasp from Quinn's throat, and he dropped his forehead against the floor, his eyes closed tight.

"You wallow in pain," Morda said. "That pain is a feast that you could have devoured long ago, but instead you let it devour you."

She stood and walked over to him, bending to grab him roughly by the front of his uniform. She used Force power to hoist him to his feet. She brought his face close to hers. "Why did you do it?"

His eyes flitted back and forth and he sucked in an unsteady breath. "I acted today with a heavy heart," he said. "But I owe Baras everything. I had to follow as duty bade me. I…I had to."

"You say Baras is your master, but it is not to him that you are bound. You live in a cage of your own making, Quinn, and it is fear…yes, fear… I can feel it…that is your jailer."

He stared into her eyes, and she saw openness there, and surrender, offered willingly. He was still waiting for death, she realized, still expecting the final blow.

"I'm not going to kill you." She let him go and stepped back.

"My lord." He released a breath and blinked at her. "Baras would never forgive such a failure. I have betrayed you…Conspired with your most hated enemy." He dropped roughly to his knees. "I know it is meaningless to express my deep regret. I never expected your mercy."

"I don't need your groveling," Morda said. "Get up."

He got unsteadily to his feet and bowed his head.

"Druckenwell broke something inside you, didn't it?" At the mention of that name his head snapped up again and his face shuttered closed. There was nothing left for him to hide from her now. Morda had seen it for herself. "You are ruled by fear," she said. "Fear of disobeying, fear of failure, fear of losing those dreams you had once again, maybe this time forever." She took a step closer, breathing in that fear along with his guilt, his shame, and interestingly, underneath it all, his hidden desire. The terrifying coldness she had seen in him earlier still sent a shiver down her spine. He had channeled his anger then, not in the hot, burning way of a Sith, but with a controlled, directed ferocity. She caught his head roughly in her hands.

"You were never so beautiful as you were when you tried to defy me," she whispered. She pulled him towards her and kissed him.

He was pliant and warm, and he yielded to her kiss. She pulled back and touched a hand to his cheek, caressing it slowly, and with surprising gentleness. His eyes flickered across her face and his breathing turned ragged.

"You have turned all your anger and defiance towards the wrong Sith," she said. "You must cut that fear out of your heart, and turn your anger towards Baras instead. He has wronged you. He has wronged both of us. We could have accomplished so much together…" She closed her eyes and sighed. Could this be a turning point? She opened her eyes again and looked at him, her voice a mere breath of air. "…We still can."

"My lord," Quinn said. He sounded hoarse and his words caught in his throat. He swallowed. "My loyalty and dedication are yours." The barrier around him fell, and Morda felt a surety radiate outward from him, an openness that came from the soul. "I am yours," he whispered.

Morda felt a smile forming on her lips. "Yes," she said. "Now you are well and truly mine." At long last. "Come back to the ship. We will say nothing of this to anyone else."

She turned and walked away, hearing his footfalls move into place behind her.

00o00

Quinn floated like a ghost across the ship's main room and into the medbay. Everything was just as he had left it: his medbag tucked neatly on a shelf, his holopad sitting on the desk in front of his chair, aligned neatly with the edge of the table, and a comb next to it, the last thing he had used before stepping out of this room for what he had thought would be the last time. It was barely an hour ago, yet it seemed a lifetime. He looked around the room. It was stark and no one could call it homey, but its familiarity felt both comforting and strange to him now. He had left this room a condemned man. Now he stood here again, but he was not the same. He sat on the edge of his cot and stared at his hands.

He replayed the scene at the transponder station over and over again in his head. His throat still ached from where Morda had choked him, but he remembered little of that. He recalled instead the cold, hard floor against his cheek and that moment when he had realized that he was not alone. He had expected anger and condemnation. He had never expected her forgiveness, and least of all, her offer to make him an ally. He recalled the way she had kissed him, hopeful and slow.

We could have accomplished so much together…we still can. Her words resounded in his ears.

He stood up and paced the room, feeling confused and lost. Why have I been granted this gift? What will happen now?

He pulled off his clothes and tossed them to the floor, watching as his starched and ironed uniform fell into a messy heap. His chains to Baras had been broken. He would never again question where his duty lay. Things were going to be different from now on. He climbed into the cot and fell immediately into an exhausted and dreamless slumber.