Chapter Twenty Two: Homes
Dromund Kaas orbital station. Parked in one of the smaller hangars was the Imperial shuttle belonging to Arlia and Isorr. Standing outside the vessel was the violet Twi'lek, watching the small service droids buzz around the shuttle, inspecting every facet of its chassis. An attendant approached the inquisitor, eyes affixed to the datapad he carried.
"I need your credentials before I can clear you for surface travel," the attendant declared, not removing his eyes from the datapad.
"Like I told you last time, I'm not heading planetside," Arlia bluntly stated. "Here for fuel and to stretch my legs."
The Human attendant raised his gaze up toward the Twi'lek, casting a befuddled look. "You know, this station isn't where Logistics ships usually make rest stops."
The Twi'lek continued to stare solely at her ship, her back to the attendant, offering not a single word. With a roll of his eyes, the attendant petulantly tapped his datapad a few more times before turning and heading toward the hangar exit. In time, the Twi'lek was left alone with the automated machines that serviced the shuttle, and soon that number dwindled until there was little motion in the hangar.
Things were stilled and silent, and Arlia was alone. But not for long. Passing her gaze around the hangar, the Twi'lek eventually settled her sights on a large pile of stacked crates near one of the chamber's walls.
"You done skulking around?" Arlia teasingly whispered. Emerging from behind the crates, a dark figure made his presence known. The hood of his cloak was raised and a black cloth was wrapped around his lower face, but the inquisitor immediately recognized her partner. Much of the warrior's black garb had been turned brown by the dirt and mud clinging to his extremities. "Take care of everything you wanted to?"
"Yes," Isorr bluntly declared before silently entering the shuttle.
"Alright," Arlia offered with a roll of her eyes, following her partner onto the vessel. The Twi'lek moved to the cockpit to see her companion and pilot droid already prepping the starship for takeoff. There was a haste in the Zabrak's movements, one atypical of the warrior outside of battle. Something about him was heightened, every piece of him moving in sync like an organic machine. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"
"Yes," Isorr plainly declared, the shuttle's instruments and displays firing to life, chirping and flashing as the vessel readied itself to undock. Arlia waited patiently for a follow up, but none came. There was only silence as the ship lifted from the hangar floor and righted itself toward the vacuum of space.
"Well?" Arlia asked, increasingly annoyed.
"Contact the others, they're going to want to hear this."
Earlier…
"Are you sure you can handle this alone?" Arlia asked.
"Yes," Isorr declared, raising his hood and pulling a cloth mask over his lower face.
"Alright," Arlia offered with a roll of her eyes. The Twi'lek stepped out of the shuttle and onto the hangar floor. An attendant approached the inquisitor, eyes affixed to the datapad he carried.
"I need your credentials before I can clear you for surface travel," the attendant called out, not removing his eyes from the datapad.
While Arlia distracted the Human, Isorr slinked from the shuttle into the shadows of the hangar, stealthily making his way deeper into the station. The warrior's cloak was fastened tightly around his body, rather than allowed to flow freely as it usually had. Isorr had succeeded in masking his form. Whether he could successfully mask his presence was another matter.
The Zabrak moved forward, through the station, through the hangar doors and passageways, keeping to the shadows and out of sight. The entire ordeal was counter to everything the warrior stood for. He did not sneak. He did not hide. He did not conceal. He fought. Out in the open, for all to see, for all to witness his might and grandeur. But much of that was precipitated upon the lie that he was a true Sith. Knowing that such a designation was beyond the reach of his alien hands, he would not allow himself to be grounded by such restrictions. Why conform to the ideals of others, when those ideals would see him dead?
Isorr moved through the orbital station with little interference, the automated custodial and worker droids paying him little attention. As he entered the hub, there was little opportunity to sneak. Lights lined the ceiling, illuminating the entirety of the open, sparsely filled chambers that stood before him. Large screens hung from the dark metallic walls, detailing information for travelers. Schedules. Restrictions. Warnings.
In the chamber beyond rest a docking hangar, occupied by a single passenger shuttle to ferry individuals between Dromund Kaas and its orbital station. Armed guards stood watch at the hangar entrance, eyeing the area from beneath their black helmets. That shuttle was Isorr's only way planetside, and no amount of stealth would secure him a spot on it. The only way he could get by, was if he were a Sith. Luckily, all the years he was tricked into believing he was one left a lasting impression.
Stepping into the chamber beyond the passageways in which he crept, the warrior straightened his stance, basking in the open light from under his black wrappings. He began to walk, with utter purpose in each step, toward the shuttle that would take him planetside. His hardened boots clattered against the metallic flooring with each step, echoing throughout the chamber. The fists within his armored gauntlets clenched. His eyes sharpened, casting their harsh glare forward. He walked as if he belonged, as if stopping him would prove most unwise.
The cloaked warrior passed the armed sentinels without an errant glance, stepping into the station's primary hangar. At the opposite end of the chamber stood only a magnetic barrier, granting the Zabrak sight to the world beyond. Dromund Kaas floated amongst the starry void, its chaotic atmosphere distinguishable at this distance. But Isorr had no time to admire the view. He had business on that dark world.
He continued to walk toward the shuttle, as service droids completed their final checks and its pilot climbed aboard. A station worker standing next to the shuttle's hatch noticed the warrior's approach, bouncing his gaze between the dark figure and the datapad within his hands.
"Excuse me, my lord," the Human softly called out to the approaching warrior. "I need your name and purpose for the logbooks."
Isorr ignored the attendant, continuing his slow, determined walk. He stopped just short of the vessel's entrance ramp, to cast a brutal, enduring stare to the Imperial. The two's gazes met, and the Human immediate grew cold and uncomfortable. The warrior stood a head taller than he, but the difference between them felt astronomical. The stare continued, the Sith offering no words, only the burdening aura of a powerful figure with little patience. The Human's limbs trembled as his heart raced.
"I seem… to have been mistaken," the attendant struggled to articulate. "Apologies, my lord. You're cleared to travel."
The warrior broke his gaze and silently entered the shuttle. The passenger bay was not without occupants, various low-level workers and officers destined for planetside sitting in the tight quarters. Without a word, the warrior took his seat, the other passengers using their peripherals to examine the dark figure. As the shuttle's engine hummed and the vessel prepared for takeoff, those nearest Isorr stealthily inched away, putting an empty seat between themselves and the Sith. The warrior leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, head kept low. With a deep breath, he prepared himself for what was to come.
The shuttle passed through the heavy and crackling atmosphere, on course for the starport outside Kaas City. Without error or delay, it touched down in an empty hangar and opened its hatch. Isorr raised himself from his seat and exited the vessel with a quickened haste. Each step the warrior took was with purpose and without hesitation. He moved and moved, through the hangar, through the starport, eyes affixed to the exit, paying no mind to the nearby denizens.
The Zabrak was forced to hide in plain sight. Moving forward, he slipped past any approaching attendants without contact, altering his course only to sidestep the occasional surveillance or scanner droid. A few minutes of travel, navigating the corridors and open areas, and Isorr found himself standing at the exit. The eternally dark skies of Dromund Kaas stretched above him in all directions. Dense forestry encroached upon the path ahead, only the high ridges and skyscrapers of Kaas City poking above the dark canopy.
The road ahead connected the starport to the planet's capital, and cut through the planet's ever dangerous flora and fauna. Imperial soldiers patrolled the way, and speeders stood by, ready to ferry citizens across the less than secure path. But Isorr had need of none of that.
Stepping away from the starport, Isorr removed himself from the established pathway, ducking onto the grass and dirt, away from the prying eyes of Imperials and Sith. The small vestige of civilization put behind him, the warrior shed any vestige of blending in amongst its peoples. His concern now rest with the planet's more natural populations. Isorr ran through the jungle terrain, gliding toward the destination firmly secured in his mind.
Despite the heft of his body and armor, he was light on his feet, sounding as a passing breeze rather than a tromping warrior. His youth had been spent locked away in an urban dwelling, but this planet was the Zabrak's home. He possessed a series of coordinates, and he knew exactly where they lead. And the multiple ways to get there.
And so he ran, and ran, for hours, and hours. Whilst his companion currently covered a distance measured in stars, he traveled through the muddy jungles of his homeworld, hiking across hills and ravines, traversing rivers and ridges with an indomitable gait. He persisted, as the world spun beneath his feet, without food or water or pause. The warrior had come a long way since his journey amongst the wastes of Korriban. He could go longer without rest, without sustenance. The Force was his sustenance.
Remaining off the beaten path, Isorr climbed trees and mountains, gauntlets digging and clawing as he raised himself higher and higher by any means necessary. An almost sheer cliff face resting between himself and his destination, the warrior did climb. He climb and climbed, ascending the moist, crumbling wall of dirt and stone. He'd burrow his digits into the cliff-face through raw strength alone, forcing himself higher toward the ridge's peak. His hold would prove more reliable than stone, as bits and pieces of the ridge would fall out from under him, destroying his progress as he slid back toward the mountain's base. But he would not be deterred, resuming his climb without an errant thought.
Finally, his gauntlets clenched around something soft, something green. The grass and roots that signaled the top of the cliff. The Zabrak hoisted himself up, slowly but surely, until he stood once more upon flattened terrain. Righting himself, the warrior stood atop a peak similar to the one he had stood atop countless times before. And like the Korriban peak, it offered Isorr an overlooking glimpse of a compound beset by high ridges and defensive emplacements.
An estate. Formerly belonging to one Lord Norrok. Now under the possession of one Darth Tash. A small assortment of buildings sat nestled amongst the grassy ridges, low stout structures sparsely guarded by Humans and droids. The compound possessed all the necessary amenities. Barracks. Communications tower. Lightning Spires to divert the ever present storms above. But the warrior was interested in the main house.
Moving forward, Isorr navigated a sloping path down the ridge, avoiding the majority of the security that guarded the open road on the opposite side of the compound. Under the shadow of Dromund Kaas' eternal dusk, the warrior slinked down toward the Imperial manor. Only now did Isorr halt his unending march. Carefully, he maneuvered amongst the various buildings that rest between himself and his target. Keeping to the shadows, the warrior peeked around corners, making sure the coast was clear, before proceeding through each procedural advancement.
Circling around the central manor, Isorr found an unguarded back entrance and slipped inside. Out of the dark, churning mess that was the Dromund Kaas exterior, the warrior stood amongst standardized Imperial architecture. Cold, rigid designs forged from dark metal, sparsely decorated aside from the occasional cloth banner hanging from the wall. The Zabrak paused, closing his eyes as he stood alone within the manor house. Opening his eyes, Isorr took the first in a series of cautious steps, guiding himself toward his destination. He knew nothing of the structure's floor plan or layout, but he knew exactly where he was going. The coordinates had served their purpose, but Isorr was not without further guidance. It was simply internal, rather than external.
The warrior proceeded deeper into the building, wet footsteps echoing throughout the vacant corridors, leaving muddy footprints in their wake. He paid no attention to such details, mind locked on the target, once more enrapt with the unwavering pursuit. He traversed winding hallways and empty corridors, no one interrupting his trek. As he slowly walked down one of the available pathways, he came to a stop halfway, an inkling in his mind telling him he had arrived. A single door stood on the wall beside him.
Passing his hand over the controls, the door quickly rescinding into its recess, granting Isorr access. Passing through the boundary, the warrior found himself in a meagerly sized room, a tiny foyer, featuring the greatest bit of decoration he had seen thus far. The walls left and right of the intruding warrior were lined with hanging trophies and items mounted on shelves. Various items of genuine and sentimental worth, but the central piece seemed to be a mannequin donning a suit of Sith armor. Black armorweave accentuated by protective plates, and a helmet featuring various slits through which a crown of small horns could protrude.
"I do not know how you got in here, but I know exactly how you're leaving," a low, coarse voice sounded off behind the intruding warrior. Isorr turned to see an elder Zabrak garbed in simple robes standing in the open doorway, pointing the crimson blade of a lightsaber his way. The intruder carefully lowered his hood and mask, and watched as the defender's stern, tattoo-laden face slowly turn to one of bewilderment. "Isorr?"
"Dad," the younger Zabrak bluntly replied. The room fell silent, only the soft hum of the still ignited, still raised, lightsaber permeating the chamber. Isorr and Ikton Odrek locked eyes with one another, each frozen in place.
"What are you doing here?" Ikton asked, almost unable to process the presence of his son.
"I came to see you," Isorr calmly stated, no apparent emotion in his words. The two continued to share an uneasy look, until finally the elder Zabrak slowly lowered his weapon. Disengaging the lightsaber, Ikton returned it to his hip and stepped fully inside the chamber, shutting the door behind him.
"Shouldn't you be at the Academy?" Ikton asked, a sliver of concern in his voice.
"I don't know. Should I?" Isorr replied, maintaining his stoicism.
"What do you mean? Did you become an apprentice? Is that why you're not there anymore?" Ikton attempted to piece together an explanation.
There was a beat as the younger Zabrak momentarily lowered his gaze. "I suppose you could say that," Isorr admitted.
"That's… that's wonderful news!" Ikton exclaimed, a genuine delight shining through his otherwise coarse voice. "Come. Come. I want to hear all about it!"
Ikton rushed passed his son, opening the door opposite the entrance, beyond which rest the elder Zabrak's home within the compound. Isorr watched with a dulled expression as his father moved about the dwelling, almost floating. The son exited the foyer into a quaint Imperial living room, his father bustling about the adjacent kitchenette.
"Please, have a seat." Ikton called out. Isorr passed his gaze around the sparsely filled living quarters, only a small table with two chairs standing near him. Hesitantly, the son took a seat at the small breakfast table as he continued to cast a sharpened gaze toward his father. Silence between the two Sith persisted amidst the occasional clattering sounding out from the kitchenette. When the father finally emerged, he came holding two cups of coffee.
"Tell me, what's the name of your new master?" Ikton asked as he handed his son one of the cups and sat in the chair opposite him. The son stared into the dark liquid, seeing a shimmering reflection of himself.
"Lord Syrosk," Isorr said, not looking up from his drink.
Ikton took a long sip of his drink. "Hmm. Haven't heard of him myself, but I'm sure he's a fine Sith." Isorr looked up from his drink with an arch of his brow, watching his father continue to sip from his cup. "This is such exciting news. My son, finally a Sith Apprentice. I'm only astounded I didn't hear about it sooner."
"What makes you say that?" Isorr softly asked.
"Well, my master keeps tabs on the Academy and has been giving me progress of your training," Ikton explained.
"Is that so?" Isorr muttered, taking his first sip of his coffee. "When was the last report you received?"
"Oh, only a few weeks ago," Ikton stated.
"And what did Tash have to say then?" Isorr bluntly asked.
"So you know of him?" Ikton replied with an amused candor.
"You could say that," Isorr softly answered.
"Well, he said your training was going smoothly, and that you showed immense promise," Ikton explained. "He said that the instructors sang your praises, that you were one of the finest warriors at the Academy."
"And you believed him?"
"Well, of course I did! After all, your my…" Ikton looked up from his coffee to see his son looking upon his with a stern gaze, a coldness unfazed by his projected warmth. Only now did the father notice the mud on his son's armored fingers. He fell silent, as all he could do what look across the table with a creeping bewilderment.
"What would you say, if I were to tell you that I haven't been a student of the Academy for almost two years now?" Isorr bluntly asked. "Better yet, what would you say if I was never actually enrolled in the Korriban Academy in the first place?"
"Why… why would you say something like that?" Ikton muttered.
"Have you spoken with Vai recently?" Isorr asked. "Because I have."
The father could only offer stunned silence. Slowly, the younger Zabrak raised the cup to his lips, taking a long, drawn-out sip.
"I daresay I know more about your master than you do, father."