CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

KORRIBAN

Darth Marr ended the incoming holocall and turned to pace back and forth across the thick plush carpet in his chambers. His eyes glanced to the holoterminal every so often as if to see the image of the previous caller and relive the call itself. He chewed over every bit of the conversation, studied every word spoken carefully, weighing them for their importance. He knew much hung in the balance from that call. Stopping in mid step he forced himself to move and sit in the chair behind his desk, fingers drumming a slow steady rhythm on the smooth surface.

Marr knew he had spent a lifetime in service to the Empire. He had fought and bled for it. Over all that time he had witnessed the plays for power, the betrayals and the schemes of mad men as they had played themselves out and people positioned themselves in the hierarchy that existed. At times they had been nothing more than a minor annoyance, but other times they worked to undermine all that he had fought and bled so vehemently for. It was then he felt the most anger and hatred at those individuals. It had become all too rare as of late anyone had grasped his attention and shown themselves capable of putting the Empire first.

The list of those who had made grabs for power was rather impressive; Vowrawn, Baras, Malgus and even Mekhis just to name a few. All of this happening with the Emperor withdrawn and silent from the affairs of the Empire, Marr knew. His hands were busy of course, as was his wrath, all in his name, but in the end it was not the same. It did not have the same weight as his presence would. The rumours of the jedi attack on him, the persistent and nagging whispers that the Emperor was actually dead did little to dissuade the dissidents from making their grab for the throne.

Thinking on all of that, weighing it with the information he had and the conversation he had just concluded, Marr was left with one nagging question. Was the Empire worth the life of one loyal and good sith?

Marr's brooding was interrupted by the bleep of the control for his chamber door. Pressing the control panel on the left side of his desk, Marr allowed entry, masked face looking towards the person. They had best have good reason for disturbing me, he thought.

Commander Ordin Pasz walked into the room, a royal guardsman flanking him on either side. The man's uniform was crisp and far too new for Marr's liking. He carried himself with pride, an admirable trait save for it appeared he was new to the position and thinking far too highly of himself for gaining his new station. Marr doubted the man would likely live long enough to enjoy the spoils.

"Speak, Commander. This had better be good."

"My Lord." Pasz stammered out before bowing deeply to him. It was clear all his posturing as a commander left the man in a hurry when faced with one who held real power.

"Spit it out, Commander." Marr snapped impatiently.

"The slavers are here for the prisoner, my lord." Pasz remarked. "You requested to be updated."

Marr nodded at the man's words and waved a hand dismissively at him. The fool thought to ingratiate himself clearly by walking into his chamber to update him when a simple call would have sufficed. A pitiful ploy by a grasping fool, Marr thought as he looked the man up and down slowly in assessment. The man at least showed Marr he was quick enough to know when to shut up and leave bowing and then hurrying out of the Dark Lord's sight. What has the Empire become, Marr thought as the man left?

Once again alone, Marr reached up and removed the cowl and then the helmet that hid his visage from everyone. The anonymity of such had served him quite well over the years. He had learned quickly the value of leaving people in the dark as to who he truly was. On more than one occasion he had been able to garb himself in Imperial uniforms and walk unnoticed amongst the rank and file. It was often the best way to gauge the temperament of the Imperial forces at any given time.

The news the man had brought was not unexpected at all. It was the end of a sorry mess. It was the end of an Overseer's fall from grace and station. Loun may have been a pure blooded sith, a talented force user once feared for her prowess and cunning. Those days however, were well in the past and gone. Branded a traitor, Loun had been stripped of her station and power, cast down to the level of a lowly slave, and now sold off to simply be rid of her. Blackheart had bargained her life, but it was a far crueller punishment the woman faced now than death would have been.

Thinking of the Overseer, Marr could not help but ponder what he had learned in their final moments. Their talk had confirmed suspicions he had, which changed how he would handle things. Another piece on the board and in the game for him to use when needed, as it were. Secrets were dangerous things, Marr knew. They were all well and good when not known, but the moment they were discovered they became a weakness, something that could be exploited and used against you. On one hand he understood the circumstances and could commend such a secret being so well kept, on the other Marr held a measure of distain that someone in the wrath's position would be so foolish.

Had the years moved so fast, Marr thought, though in truth when he looked at it 15 years of war and conflict was really not that long at all. Nor was it such a stretch to imagine Raistlis was the child of one of the Empire's most decorated and renown warriors. Marr had to wonder however, just why keep that secret, leave the boy right where he could be had while being so utterly unprotected? Had Necrolis erred critically in believing Loun could oversee and keep him safe? Had Loun even told the man of his offspring?

Marr grinned suddenly as he had the thought that perhaps indeed the Emperor's wrath did not know of his own offspring. What sweet torment would it bring to spring that bit of information at the most opportune time to the man. Would that be just enough to push Necrolis, renown for his calm and patience, over the edge into recklessness? Marr wondered on that before finally brushing aside his mind's idle ponderings and hitting his private comm channel control.

"Pyrannus, Pumirra, I have need of you." Marr stated before adding, "We are going to be planning a welcoming party."

Blackheart Darkstar paced back and forth, hands clasped at his back and agitated. He had been assured Loun was alive, but denied any chance to see her to verify such for himself. Had Marr kept his word? Blackheart would not dare to openly question or challenge the Dark Lord, but he could not help but wonder if he had not been played for a fool. No, he thought, Marr was not one to not keep his word. Nodding as he thought along those lines, Blackheart reminded himself Loun had been brandished a traitor and would be dealt with. The last thing Marr would want is her trying to influence or sway and confuse him.

Glancing to the holding cell he paced before, Blackheart knew there was truth there in that thought. Just look at poor Raistlis, locked away and held like a prisoner all because he held to what Loun had told him. He had refused to hear out Darth Marr or believe anything any of them had told him. As such he was left to occupy the small holding cell with barely enough room to sit within its four pinkish energy walls.

"I had hoped we could talk, that you would come to understand and see the truth of things." Blackheart spoke, stopping his pacing and turning to face the pure blood sith.

Raistlis sat cross legged and unmoving, head lowered and face hidden by his hair as it fell forward. The young sith said nothing in response, did not move at all. The only indication he had even heard a word Blackheart had just said was a loud snort of derision. Blackheart sighed and shook his head.

"We do not need to be enemies, we never did." Blackheart commented. "Marr is only acting in the best interests of the Empire, acting on behalf of the Emperor himself. Would you be branded a traitor like Loun?"

Blackheart watched and noted the clenching of hands into fists. A reaction at least, he thought, even if the man did not respond verbally at all to him. Moving to the front of the cell, Blackheart crouched down and looked at the other man, once more shaking his head.

"At least hear Marr out, I mean really listen to him." Blackheart said. "I don't want to see you played for a fool here, Raistlis. You would be a terrible loss to the Empire and our ranks for the battles ahead."

Sighing as the man refused to acknowledge him at all verbally, Blackheart stood and made to leave. As he reached the doorway to the holding area, Raistlis' voice brought him to a stop. He had not expected him to say anything, but when he did speak there was little doubt on which side they were on.

"You're dead."

Raistlis lifted his head, burning hated showing in the narrowed gaze he levelled at the other young sith. Blackheart shook his head before laughing. The zabrak faced Raistlis for a moment to answer him. He could see there would be nothing further to be gained by trying to reach out to the man. He had made the effort to reach out, now Raistlis' fate would rest squarely in the hands of the Dark Council member who had incarcerated him. Blackheart doubted Raistlis would see the light of day ever again.

"I'm not the one in a holding cell waiting to face my destiny and fate." Blackheart responded pointing out their different situations.

Tobrian Szen looked over the lot of flesh he had just purchased from the sith. Korriban was always a favourite stop, usually yielding a few sellable assets, and for those he took off their hands that were not worth anything he was indeed well compensated for their disposal. Airlocks were in fact handy things. Szen had been trading for some time, long enough those that handled the prisoner transfers with him knew him and his ship on sight. They had even given him the nickname of the peddler of skins. Szen had grown rather fond of that title in fact.

The dark reddish brown skinned devaronian reached up to rub his left horn as he paced through the holding cells, eyes perusing over his latest purchases and assessing them. Hand rubbing his lucky horn, the slaver paused before a cell to peer in at its occupant intently. It was very rare indeed he would have a pure blooded sith as potential profit.

"Now just what do we have here?" Tobrian remarked, looking harder over the female.

Sure there were the telltale signs of her incarceration, the cuts and bruises, but that was something Tobrian was quite used to. Wounds healed, bruises faded, and scars often were a selling point that intrigued buyers as to how a slave got them. A few of his buyers actually enjoyed marking their property with new scars even, he knew. Not that such rough treatment mattered to him. Once he had payment for them, they were no longer his problem. It was that simple.

The woman was older, but still attractive enough. She had a fuller curvy figure, ample sized breasts, and appeared to still have some semblance of spirit within her. The only real downside the slaver saw was that they had gone and shaved her head bald. Pity he mused, imaging long dark tresses that might have once been there. Still, Tobrian thought happily, the sith had not stripped and broken this one. The rare find was worth quite a lot indeed, he guessed, knowing she was assuredly not destined for an airlock.

"You will make me a very very rich slaver, my dear." Tobrian said with a wide grin.

Loun looked over her shoulder at the leering slaver. She knew his type, knew all too well who he was. She had seen the prisoners escorted away, especially the young and female ones. She had seen his ship countless times arriving and leaving from Korriban. Loun had never once had the thought she would one day find herself aboard the vessel.

She gave the slaver a hard glare as she watched him assessing her. She could not help but feel her skin literally crawling as he leered and enjoyed her nakedness. Her first thought was to force choke him. Kill him, get free, but then what? They would know she escaped. They would hunt her down and kill her all the same. She knew she would never be free of the Empire, they would keep coming until they had her dead corpse as proof she was taken care of. She almost burst out laughing at the sudden thought she could always run to the Republic. She could almost picture it, walking up to a jedi and smiling in his face. Hi there, I'm a pure blooded sith who hates your guts but I've been branded a traitor, so would you mind if I hang out here on Tython with you all?

Loun shoved aside the foolish thoughts and then shifted in her cell, turning to face the leering slaver, sitting back and letting her leg wrap under while the other was bent and angled out exposing her sex to his view along with the rest of her body. She choked back bile that threatened to rise as she saw him taking in the full sight of her. I have him, she knew right then and there.

"Oh yes, you are a rare treasure and delight." Tobrian remarked, feasting on the sight of her, hand falling to rub himself through his breeches. "Worth oh so many credits."

"Why sell me?" Loun whispered low and seductively, staring through hooded eyes at the devaronian.

"Indeed, but then I can have you and sell you all the same." Tobrian remarked, already knowing he would indeed sample his own merchandise with this one before he sent her off for profit. "There's little else you could offer me."

Loun grinned slowly and slyly, seeing the man position himself right where she had expected and wanted. He was fully in her hands now. Such a simple man, she could almost have felt pity for him, but the truth was he was merely a means to an end. One might note an ant on the ground before crushing it under your boot, it didn't mean you felt any remorse at all when it crunched as you stepped on it. Loun never took her eyes off the man, resting her arm on her knee before flicking her fingers up and out, hand turning slowly palm upwards as she reached out and grabbed the slaver with the force holding him and lifting him off the deck plating.

"What the…"Tobrian cried out, eyes going wide as he was lifted and levitated. His eyes flashed back to the naked pure blooded sith in the cage expecting he was about to die. Suddenly the woman let her hand fall and he was once more on the deck, breathing heavy and shaking his head. "A fucking sith, you're a fucking sith!"

"You are observant now, aren't you?" Loun purred and winked at the slaver before moving and rising, walking over to the front of her cage to look pointedly at the man.

"I've been set up." Tobrian blurted out, hand fumbling for the blaster at his hip. "You were sent to kill me. I've been double crossed!"

"You don't think that blaster is going to do any good, do you?" Loun questioned and then laughed soft and light. "Think, slaver. If I wanted you dead, a flick of my hand you would be. They indeed were screwing you, but I have no reason to. In fact we can help each other. You did, after all, ask what I could offer you."

Tobrian stopped trying to get his blaster and eyed the sith woman warily. She was speaking the truth, he knew. Had she really wanted him dead he would already be so. He had no means whatsoever to stop her, not with her being force sensitive, and he guessed powerful enough in her own right. Despite that, he knew enough and had dealt enough with the sith to know they would just as happily sell out their own mother if it got them what they wanted. This one was clearly up to something, there was a story here, but honestly he had no clue what it was.

"So I set you free… and?"

Loun smiled the coy playful smile and brushed her hands slowly and teasingly down over her body and winked at the slaver, knowing all too well he could not help himself. She watched as his gaze went slowly chasing after her hands and then back up. Licking his lips, the devaronian frowned and looked once more into her eyes.

"And then you and I can help one another in a number of ways."