"How can I help?"
Tony doesn't look up from reading his datapad. There is trepidation in his voice and through the bond. "Well, my grandfather taught me to face any threat with faith, confidence, and calm."
Yikes! That sounds a little too much like a personal pep talk. Meetra gulps. "A wise plan."
"It's today's plan, unless you have a better one?" He looks to her.
Meetra shakes her head no. She'll take Tony's lead in this instance. Even after all of the discussions she has sat through over dinner, she still feels way out of her league navigating internal Sith politics.
"Put us in a low orbit where we can send a clear transmission."
"Are we calling your Apprentice?" Is this a strategy session?
"No. We're calling this Colonel Turgor fellow who Lacerate has sicced on me. I need to make contact straightaway to show him that I'm not intimidated."
"Okay."
"I was hoping to be ignored . . . that Lacerate's henchmen would prefer to chase down the prominent players in the major systems long before they made their way down the list to me. But it looks like that's not happening. I will need to at least humor his surrogate for now."
As she pilots, Tony explains, "This call is not to discuss the substance. I prefer to do that in person, and I'm sure he will too. This call is to set the tone and figure out what we can."
"Understood. I'll listen carefully," Meetra promises.
"Good."
Tony puts his helmet back on for the call. Meetra stands just out of view to listen in.
It takes a few moments and several intermediaries to get the actual counterparty on the line. Meetra recognizes the tried-and-true technique of using gatekeepers to cultivate a sense of power. She rolls her eyes as not one, but three of the Colonel's aides pass Darth Sion up the chain one by one. Finally, a middle-aged human looking man in armor appears on the transmission. Colonel Turgor is not truly red faced like Darth Azamin. Turgor appears more like a fair skinned human with a sunburn, and he lacks the usual facial peculiarities of the pureblood ethnic Sith Lords. He must be one of the elites with more Dark Jedi ancestry, Meetra surmises as she watches unseen from the periphery.
"Colonel," Tony inclines his head to acknowledge the man.
Dour Darth Turgor looks Tony's mask over without enthusiasm before he responds. "Sion. You're a hard man to find."
"Am I? You caught me on the rare day when I am not on the throne," Tony responds easily.
"Where are you off sneaking around? Your Apprentice and assistant purport to have no idea where you are and when you will return. I find that curious."
Tony brushes off the suspicion. "That is their loyalty showing. Cohors can be a bit protective of my health situation. I am just leaving Rhelg currently."
"Rhelg? You some kind of pilgrim, Sion?"
"Yes. I regularly come here for renewal. Praise be to Darkness," Tony intones like the faithful Darksider he is.
The Colonel grunts and declines to add his own piety in response. His expression is not so much skeptical as it is annoyed by Tony's overt religiosity. "I await your return," he responds ominously.
Again, Tony chooses to ignore his adversary's confrontational tone. "Is this a new deployment?" he asks, feigning ignorance. Tony is casually coy. "What brings you to my out of the way system?"
"I have been tasked with updating the civil defense protocols for the outlying garrisons," Turgor replies, rattling off an obvious lie.
Meetra can sense Tony's smirk behind his mask as he starts needling the Colonel about this underwhelming pretext for a meeting. "Strange that I have heard nothing from my Viceroy about this . . ."
"The threat of a Republic invasion remains high," Turgor snaps. "We must be vigilant."
"Yes, of course." Tony now innocently inquires, "For how long can we expect for you to remain in our system?"
"Until you and I can speak in person. I'm just passing through."
"These civil defense protocols are indeed pressing, if they need my personal attention . . ."
Turgor confirms, "They are," in a tone that will not accept 'no' for an answer. He fairly growls, "Make room in your schedule to see me, Sion."
"As you wish. I should arrive home this afternoon local time."
"I'll send a shuttle to bring you to the ship."
It's a ploy to volunteer himself as potential hostage that Tony breezily declines. "Nonsense. You must come to me and stay as my dinner guest. I insist. My wife will complain for days if she learns that a man of your stature was not shown the proper hospitality. I'll never hear the end of it."
The Colonel pauses a long time before accepting the invitation. "Very well."
"Excelsior. I am anxious to hear the news of the Army."
"There is much to discuss. I will be bringing a colleague with me."
"Is that necessary?"
"Yes. The new protocols are highly technical."
"I see. In that case, I will ask my Apprentice to join us for dinner. We'll make it a party," Tony replies seemingly offhand when in fact, he is evening his side to match their numbers. As a woman, Meetra knows she does not count.
"I'll be looking forward to it," Turgor's words are nakedly insincere.
Tony's reply is too. "As will I."
Tony ends the transmission, yanks off his helmet, and sighs. "That went about as well as I expected."
"He wants something badly. You're about to get strong armed, for sure," Meetra predicts. "Shall I send a message to Mrs. Warrath about dinner? Cookie will need a head's up."
"Yes, please. Normally, I would give this guy an audience in the throne room to force him to speak out loud before witnesses what he wants to say. But I want you present, so this will need the veneer of a social occasion."
"You want me there in case—"
"I need to kill him."
"Oh."
"This meeting could be the standard ploy to gain my allegiance. Or, this could be a hit job because they want to send a message to Cornelius. I am known to be close to Cornelius." Tony twists his jaw like he sometimes does when he is reflective. His tone is wry. "And here I thought the most dangerous thing I would do today is send off those ashes and the blood sample faking the death of the Empire's most wanted fugitive . . . " He smiles at her and adds, "I'm glad you're dead. That's at least one risk we can downplay."
"I don't like him—the Colonel, I mean. He was lying and he knew we knew it."
Tony shrugs. "He's following orders like a good soldier. Turgor is probably the typical Army type. Those guys have no finesse in how they deal with you. All the sophistication of the Empire is in the Navy these days, as Cornelius will tell you ad nauseum."
"Whatever," she sniffs, not thinking much of Darth Azamin's opinion. "I still don't like him. And I have a bad feeling about this."
Tony commiserates. "So do I." And perhaps that wariness is what prompts his next comment. Looking her over, he ventures, "Now that we have faked your death, how do you feel about dyeing your hair?"
Meetra raises a hand to ruffle her blonde locks that are so distinctive amid the Sith. "I've been thinking about that. The hairdresser thought black would be too stark a contrast with my skin tone. When I brought up the topic, she suggested an ashy brunette."
"Does that mean light brown?" Tony squints at her cluelessly.
"Yes."
"Sounds good. Make it something conventional that will attract less attention."
Meetra nods. "I can do that."
"Do it this afternoon when we get back. If things go awry at dinner—especially if there is fighting—I don't want tales of a blonde female Force user with a sword. That could raise issues."
"Understood." Meetra is fine with dyeing her hair. Hell, she once shaved it all off. She knows it will grow back.
And that's how many hours later, Meetra finds herself staring in the mirror at a new woman. Lady Sion now has medium brown hair with cool face framing highlights. Her brows are tinted to match. Meetra judges the makeover to be acceptable, if a little jarring. For if ever she had imagined a Dark Side version of herself, this brunette Meetra with vampy makeup is it.
When he sees it, Tony blinks at her new look and then pronounces it a good disguise. "I barely recognize you." The comment tells her that he misses the blonde.
Just like for the dinner with Darth Azamin, Meetra wears her most chic dress, the one ordered from Dromund Kaas. But this time, she's coming to dinner fully armed. Meetra has a blaster strapped to the outside of one calf in a holster and her borrowed red lightsaber is strapped to the other leg. Both weapons are well hidden beneath her long, sweeping skirt. It will be easy to retrieve them under the table while seated at dinner. But hopefully, the evening won't become a melee.
It's no surprise when Darth Turgor blows off the scheduled late afternoon meeting that is the pretext for his visit. 'Something came up.' Yeah, right. Turgor's shuttle arrives in time for dinner.
Watching the landing pad through binoculars from the fortress balcony, Tony is relieved to report the results of a quick scan. "It's just two men, as promised." There's no hidden strike team aboard the shuttle ready for ambush. Tony orders his own men to stand down. Then, he and Meetra head to receive their unwelcome guests in the fortress foyer.
In strides Darth Turgor. Meetra recognizes him from the earlier transmission. The other Lord is a red faced pureblood and he's younger, almost boyish looking. He must be the aide. But he thoroughly matches his boss' swagger, Meetra notes. Both men are dressed for battle in cape and armor, as is Tony. Nothing about the meeting registers as a social occasion.
"Sion," Turgor greets Tony and then herself. "Lady Sion. Thank you for having us." Turgor puts a veneer of social pleasantry over what is a command performance if there ever was one. The Colonel has his warship physically looming overhead as an inky shadow in the twilight sky. It's far from subtle.
For his part, Tony smiles like a genial host and gestures to his left. "I believe you have spoken with my Apprentice, Lord Cohors."
"Yes, of course. Cohors," the Colonel issues a perfunctory nod to the tall priest. Then, he immediately turns back to Tony. "No mask, eh?" Turgor seems surprised to see Darth Sion without his helmet. Or perhaps he is surprised to see that Darth Sion does not appear the least bit zombie to match his reputation.
Her pretend husband takes that reaction as his opening to boast. "You find me exceptionally well tonight. My Darkness is surging." It's a veiled threat that is as unmistakable as the capital ship parked above them.
The Sith Colonel takes that news in stride. He presents his companion. "Allow me to introduce my commanding officer, General Lacerate."
Meetra's chilly fake smile now becomes rather fixed. Well, fuck.
Tony's poker face is as terrible as usual. His thoughts through the bond show plainly on his face. Tonight just got harder.
Guess who's coming to dinner? It's the young Sith Army General who plots revolution and has a grudge against Darth Azamin. This is the man who will either martyr himself and others, or kill the Emperor and kick off the next Sith civil war.
Can we kill him now and end things right here? Meetra's half serious.
It's tempting, but let's see how this goes.
"General, welcome." Tony ushers his guests forward and into the living room. A servant arrives with hot canapes as Meetra begins collecting drink orders. She jumps into duty as hostess to this increasingly fraught dinner party.
Keep their drinks full. Let's get them talking. Guys like this love to talk about themselves.
Can't we just run out and roll a grenade in? Because that's what Azamin would do.
Our goal isn't to kill Lacerate, it's to kill Vitiate.
I'm here for Revan.
That too. And none of it will happen if we out ourselves and reveal the dyad now.
Got it.
The Lords ostensibly relax over drinks. But in truth, no one is relaxed and everyone knows it. As usual, Meetra is ignored. That's a good thing because it excuses her from making small talk. Instead, she has a silent, front row seat to the low-key verbal brawl that is four Sith Lords posturing hard. All the macho puffery might be mildly entertaining were the stakes not so real.
Turgor is the one to direct the conversation as Darth Lacerate manspreads on the couch and silently observes. Glancing over at her fluttering about, the Colonel begins speaking of her predecessor. In the Republic, that would be considered rude. You don't talk about the dead spouse in front of the new one. But in the Empire, talk of family ties is a proxy for talk of strategic alliances. None of this is about her, Meetra knows.
"Your first wife was a Caesar, no? Cornelius Caesar's twin, I believe."
"Yes."
"Tell me about her."
"She's been dead two hundred years," Tony answers in the flat tone he always uses when he references his murdered family. "I've moved on." He gestures to her and smiles.
Meetra smiles back, giving her best doting wifey impression.
Turgor persists in speaking of the past. "Are you close with the Caesar family still?"
Tony deflects the question without lying. "Cornelius hasn't made it out here for the holidays for at least twenty years."
"I was surprised that he was picked for the Council," Turgor comments. "Everyone assumed Azamin would never get a Council seat after he killed his father."
"That was a long time ago."
"Yes, but our Emperor has an excellent memory and old Cato Caesar was in his inner circle. Tell me, is it true that you were with Azamin when he was dragged before the throne by praetorians?"
"That was a long time ago."
"The stories say that our Emperor fried him within an inch of his life."
"He recovered."
"As did you."
"Yes."
How come I've never heard about this?
It's not my proudest moment.
"Is it true that when it was over Azamin announced that killing his old man was worth the punishment?"
Tightlipped Tony nods. He's clearly not relishing these memories. But he dutifully brags on his brother-in-law's behalf, "Our Dark Lord laughed. Said he killed his own father and look how far he rose. I remember that Vitiate said he would watch Cornelius' career with great interest. At the time, I thought it was a joke, but I guess he was serious."
"What did that feel like?" young Darth Lacerate finally speaks up. He sits forward in his chair and eagerly asks, "What does Vitiate's Force lightning feel like?"
Tony's eyes—so yellow right now because he feels threatened—lock with Lacerate's. "I enjoy pain," he reminds the room in that slow cadence he likes to use on his throne. And that is all Tony will say on the matter.
The pair seem inordinately interested in Darth Azamin. Turgor resumes his questioning. "Is it true Azamin hates Vitiate for that humiliation?"
"You'll have to ask him that yourself."
"He's a busy man. We're finding it hard to get on his schedule."
"I can't help you with that."
"Azamin's a cagey fellow. No one seems to know where he stands on anything. Do you?"
"I can't speak for Cornelius. You'll have to ask him yourself."
Tony keeps deflecting questions, but Turgor gamely persists. "We want to know whether Azamin and ourselves might have views in common. He was reputedly something of an agitator in his youth, was he not? To hear the tales, he was all for reform back then. Might he be receptive to hear our thoughts?"
It's treason spoken casually and phrased reasonably, but it's deadly all the same. Meetra instinctively knows that tonight is risky in a way that none of Darth Sion's prior dinners have been. This isn't abstract talk of revolution, this is a meeting with a Lord who is planning an actual coup. The only thing more dangerous than refusing Darth Lacerate might be joining Darth Lacerate, she worries.
But right now, Tony is doing his best to avoid complicating things for his brother in-law.
Could they actually want Azamin for an ally?
Doubtful. But maybe.
Do you think this meeting is all about him? And not you?
Let's hope so.
"Cornelius has mellowed a bit through the years. I, however," Tony pauses to flash a smile that shows teeth, "have not." Tony's doing his best creepy routine. He knows he has a reputation for off-putting cruelty even among his own kind. He uses it to advantage.
But for these men, Tony's aegis seems to provoke more curiosity than it quells. Darth Lacerate, the would-be Dark Lord, again speaks up. "I've heard the tale of your revenge on Darth Telos and his brothers. That was . . . excessive." It's said with equal parts disgust and respect.
"It was what they deserved," Tony purrs. "Squeamish, General?" He raises mocking eyebrows at his guest. "I would not have expected that of a man in your position."
Meetra smothers a smile. Tony just called Lacerate soft in Sith Lord speak.
"I can kill, Sion. Rest assured, I can kill," the General counters coolly. "I like a quick, clean kill myself," he boasts. "Be it an honorable warrior's death or a prisoner's execution, I like death swift."
"I don't. I like to savor it."
Tony lets that statement hang in the room a long moment. Then, he leans forward in his seat and threatens, "You should know that I will do everything I did to Telos to any Lord who comes to take my system, to harm my people, or to harm my family. I pride myself on my tolerance. In many ways, I am a man of moderation and restraint. But I know no limits when it comes to safeguarding those under my protection. Whatever happens in the future, never forget that, my Lords."
Tony now looks to her. "Is dinner ready? I'm famished. Talk of blood always makes me hungry."
"Yes, my Lord," Meetra immediately pipes up. She stands, the Lords are obliged to stand as well, and the group heads next door to the dining room. Time for phase two of the galaxy's most bizarre dinner party.
The dining room seating arrangement looks like staging for a hostage negotiation. Turgor and Lacerate face off against Tony and his Apprentice. Meetra is seated several empty seats away off by herself, like some afterthought lackey who is present but inconsequential. Meetra knows her peripheral placement is intentional—Tony wants to deflect all attention away from her. Not that it matters, she judges. Their guests seem entirely oblivious to her.
Servants bring the food, pour the wine, and then withdraw. That's when Lord Turgor remarks, "I heard a story about you and a band of Republic pirates found hiding out in your system. Your solution was brutal, but effective."
"They were enemy criminal trespassers," Tony shrugs. "They had it coming."
"I also heard you once saved a transport full of schoolchildren that was adrift in an asteroid field."
"Asteroids do not concern me."
"Not many would have the daring to attempt that rescue."
Tony smirks. "I do more than rule, torture, and kill . . . but only on occasion."
"Like the time you challenged your neighboring Lord Administrator to a duel because he insulted your pink shuttle?"
"It was a faded red," Tony harrumphs. "I like a red ship. But over time, the color weathers to a faded red."
"Faded red as in pink?"
"Faded red as in faded red. Darth Flay had a rather inventive name for my ship that I won't repeat in mixed company. I took strong objection to it, and he refused to retract."
"You won," Lord Cohors tells the room. "And handily, I might add."
"Flay was gracious in defeat," Tony recalls. "There were no hard feelings. We worked together successfully for years afterwards."
Lord Turgor moves on. "There was something about the Naval Academy Provost's daughter as well . . ."
"Now that," Tony bristles, "wasn't me. That was all Cornelius Caesar's doing. It was a case of mistaken identity that got me in a lot of trouble at the time. Force, we were just kids back then . . ."
"That youthful indiscretion dogged you into the Navy, I understand. Kept you from promotions."
"I suppose. It was much ado about nothing. Cornelius married the girl, which is what he wanted all along, but his father wouldn't allow it. Lord and Lady Azamin were a love match," Tony remembers with a smile. "But he had to compromise the girl to marry her. Cornelius never did get along with his father-in-law the Provost and, well, neither did I. For years, it was awkward at holidays."
"You do a lot of fighting, Sion." This aggression meets with approval from the Colonel. "Tell me about the time you Force-choked your Viceroy over budget cuts."
"More tales of the distant past?" Tony looks bemused. "What is this? A catalogue of my exploits?"
Beside him Lord Cohors smirks. "He's rattling off your greatest hits, my Master." The two men share a chummy laugh.
But across the table, the faces are serious.
"You intrigue me, Lord Sion," Darth Lacerate announces.
His henchman Turgor volunteers, "We read your official file. We have highly placed friends in the Palace. They provide us access."
Lacerate nods. "You've been around a long time, Sion. You have a colorful resume, and I'm not talking about your pink ship. You even had a stint as a marauder. What was that like?"
"Violence is necessary for my survival."
"Yes, I've heard."
"Is it true you decapitate prisoners an inch at a time?" Turgor wants to know.
"Was that in my report?" Tony's eyes narrow and then reflexively dart to her. He knows how she feels about torture.
"Yes. Is it true?" Turgor's curiosity is lurid.
"I have earned my title as the Lord of Pain," Tony replies, owning his brutal reputation. "But I don't much care to discuss it over dinner."
"Your official file lists your bodycount as 'unknown,'" Turgor persists.
"That's unknown as in un-knowable. Any other questions, my Lords?" Tony is getting impatient with his interrogation.
"What was Exar Kuun like?" Darth Lacerate wants to know. "We studied him at the Academy."
Tony thinks a moment before he answers. "I suppose brash is the best word for Kuun. He acted first and reasoned second. He was less a military genius than he was lucky."
"That's not the conventional wisdom."
"It's my opinion."
"Some thought he might challenge Vitiate," Lacerate remarks offhand. His reference to treason is accidentally on purpose and the whole table knows it.
Tony disagrees with that assessment as well. "Kuun was more interested in his one-man jihad against the Republic. He would have made a terrible Dark Lord."
"You signed up with Revan too, did you not? Lord Sion, you make a habit of allying yourself with reformers and malcontents," Darth Lacerate slyly observes.
Tony brushes off the point. "Half the systems between here and Ziost signed up with Revan to avoid being invaded. Out here, the Palace openly acknowledged the ploy. My Viceroy was unbothered by my actions."
"Were you actually with Revan or were you hedging your bets?" Lacerate quizzes.
Again, Tony avoids taking a position. "I never met Revan. The Republic got him before I got the chance. That was Vitiate's strategy all along—to let the Jedi capture or kill their own. The Emperor let our enemies do the dirty work for him."
"True. But admit it, Sion, you wanted Revan to succeed," Turgor goads.
Tony and his Apprentice exchange looks. "What makes you think that?"
"Stop being coy," Darth Lacerate chides. "I understand you have created a haven for dissenters in this system. You welcome all sorts of radicals. It's nothing new—you've been doing it for decades."
"We speak our minds out here," Tony allows. "I value a free exchange of ideas and opinions, even those I disagree with. I am not threatened by dissent, even if it concerns my own leadership."
"But especially if it concerns Darth Vitiate's leadership, yes?" Turgor flashes a knowing look.
"Sometimes, you can learn from your critics," Tony points out.
"If only the Emperor would learn from his," Lacerate sighs theatrically. Eyeing Tony, he presses, "What do I need to say to hear what you really think, Sion? Do I need to come to vespers once a month and join your little nest of insurgents?"
"I'd advise against that, my Lord," Tony drawls back. "The Palace infiltrated the vespers group long ago."
"Oh, they know what I'm up to, as well," Darth Lacerate brags. From there, he segues into the direct talk of treason that everyone has been dancing around up until now. "Lord Sion, let us dispense with the preliminaries and drop the pretense. I know that you are a longtime quiet critic of our Dark Lord."
Tony doesn't deny it.
"Now then, I'm here because I want your support when Vitiate's regime falls and I ascend the throne."
Finally, we're talking business. Meetra has grown weary of the long lead up.
Wish me luck.
There's no such thing as . . . oh, forget it.
Tony now puts down his fork, sits back in his chair, reaches for his wine glass and swirls it. Peering over the rim, he probes, "By support, you mean . . . ?"
"I want you to be my warlord out here. I am lining up a strongman for each sector. They will keep order on my behalf during the transition. They will preempt challengers who might attempt their own bid. I plan to consolidate power swiftly. I do not want the Empire falling into civil war."
"No one wants that," Lord Cohors says gravely and with a meaningful look across the table.
"Why me?" Tony inquires.
Lacerate starts stroking his ego. "I think you could be very effective as my representative. You are known as a first-rate administrator, you have a history of diffusing tensions, and you have the longest tenure of anyone on this side of the Empire. Having said that, you aren't afraid of a fight. You even pick a few fights. But your er . . . exotic reputation precedes you. Few will seek to cross swords with you if they can avoid it."
"You have the Army's support, yes? You'll have a head start quashing challengers with that firepower," Tony predicts.
"There is the Navy . . . It's unofficially led by your former brother-in-law," Colonel Turgor reminds the room yet again of that connection.
Tony makes no comment on that topic. Instead, he points out, "I have a local garrison and the system police force. That's not enough to engage in a minor war on your behalf."
"The Army will equip you," the General promises. "We'll provide what you need in terms of troopers and equipment. You and an Army officer of my choosing will be in command. Together, you will be my military and civilian leadership for the sector. Local guys like you know best how to defend your systems. You know where to look for trouble. And you, in particular, know a lot of the potential troublemakers."
Lacerate is clearly fearing rivals, as he should. He tells Tony, "There are opportunists who will see regime change as an invitation to aggression. Some will want to challenge me, but others will be looking to grab territory or wealth to better position themselves going forward. There could be chaos when Vitiate's reign ends. Sion, your job is to help me keep order in this corner of the Empire."
"What's in it for me?"
"My appreciation."
"And?"
"It's a chance to control more than this system. You would be my de facto Viceroy." Lacerate is offering power, plain and simple.
"So . . . you plan on taking out the existing Viceroys and the Dark Council?" Tony surmises.
"For the most part, yes. Regime change is more than the man at the top. His closest advisors and confidantes must go as well. Out with the old, I say. I want a fresh start for the Empire."
"I see the wisdom of that approach," Tony observes. Like so much of what he has said tonight, it's a neutral comment that gives little away.
Lord Turgor speaks up. "We'd like an introduction to Cornelius Caesar. We'd like to bring him onboard as well. He could be a valuable asset to our coalition."
Tony says nothing.
It's Darth Cohors who goes there, asking the question he probably shouldn't. "And if Azamin refuses?"
Lacerate does not mince words. "His fate will be the same as all other Lords of his stature: if they're not with me, they're my enemy." It's classic Sith logic.
Meetra recognizes the implicit threat against Tony as well. For if he's important enough to seek to recruit, then he's a potential enemy as well.
"It's not personal, mind you," Lacerate speaks breezily of political assassination. "I am a great admirer of Admiral Azamin, like so many other Lords are. But that renown is why I must have his allegiance."
"We'd like a meeting with Azamin," Colonel Turgor repeats the earlier request.
Meetra doesn't like it. That feels like a setup.
That meeting will never happen. Cornelius is no fool.
Yet again, Tony declines to engage on the topic of his brother-in-law. Instead, he fishes for details. "When are you making your move?"
"You will get notice when it happens, not before."
"How are you making your move?"
"You know I can't tell you that."
"What makes you think you can win?"
"I have the full backing of the Army."
"And the Navy?"
"We have no Navy to speak of since the war. But I have several Admirals among my cause."
"Which Admirals?"
"You know I can't tell you that. But let me assure you that I have broad support among the military and civilian leadership. I have many friends at the highest levels, including . . . " the General teases dramatically, "on the Dark Council."
Tony dutifully nods to this dubious claim. "Impressive. Most impressive."
His Apprentice speaks up now. "Do you plan to make a military assault on the Palace?"
"No."
"Then all that firepower means nothing," Lord Cohors reasons.
"The firepower is for after I kill Vitiate," Lacerate answers. "You don't just take the throne, you have to hold it."
"How are you going to take it?" Tony keeps asking the same question different ways.
"I am a Clodian and a Valerian, with an M-count north of fifteen thousand," Darth Lacerate brags. "I was first in my class at the Academy. I am very good with a sword and I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
Tony takes a long, slow sip of wine before he carefully counters, "I have no doubt that you are as formidable as you claim. But that won't be enough."
Turgor bristles on his boss' behalf. "How are you so sure?"
"I have felt Vitiate's lightning, remember? I have borne the brunt of his power. It is immense."
"I can handle him." Lacerate has a cocksure confidence that Meetra finds so at odds with Tony's measured caution.
"I honor your commitment and I admire your abilities," Tony responds evenly. "But do not underestimate the Emperor, or you will suffer the fate of Revan."
"Revan is Jedi," Colonel Turgor wholesale dismisses the comparison. Beside him, preening Lacerate fairly glowers with indignation for it.
Striving for a way to avoid dissing his guests, Tony now starts trying to dissuade the treasonous duo. "General, you are a cunning Lord with many talents. Your war record is exemplary. The support you have assembled proves how respected you are. Are you certain it is best for the Empire if you take this risk? Might your leadership find another path?"
"Vitiate is unfit to rule!" Lacerate huffs. "His reign must end! It is an offense to our people that he is still on the throne!"
"Regrettably, my Lord, our leadership isn't an issue of honor or merit. The only qualification to be Dark Lord is power. I mean no disrespect when I say I worry you will not prevail." Tony looks his guest over a long moment before he probes, "Have you considered what happens in the event you lose?"
"I would rather die a patriot than live under Vitiate's tyranny."
"It's not just you who will die," Tony reminds him soberly.
Lacerate is unconcerned. "My supporters know the risk and they are still with me. That's how hungry the Lords are for change. This is happening, Sion, whether you like it or not." The younger man now issues a thinly veiled threat. "The Lords who cling to the status quo will be next after Vitiate on my list."
Lacerate's bluster is verging on uncomfortably aggressive, but Tony declines to escalate the conversation to an argument. In a very Tony move, he placates the General and invites him to bluster some more. "I honor your cause. Truly, I do. There are few things I want more than seeing the end of Darth Vitiate. Give me your pitch, General. Tell me why you should be Dark Lord."
"It's simple really." The young General announces, "Faciam imperium magnum iterum," and sits back to let the pithy point sink in.
Translation?
He says he wants to make the Empire great again.
What's that supposed to mean?
I'll ask him.
Tony nods gravely at the two Lords across the table. He's giving them plenty of polite consideration but little actual deference. "A great Empire . . . that's certainly a goal we can all get behind. Can I get a few specifics?"
Darth Lacerate has lots of opinions on matters big and small, and they start to rush out in a stream of consciousness flood. It quickly becomes a rambling rant of grievance. He begins by excoriating Darth Vitate. The Emperor is entrenched and stalled, made overly cautious by his success and tenure. Where once Vitiate led his people out of defeat, Lacerate now accuses him of presiding over the Empire's fast-tracked decline. The Sith need new blood to lead them out of the mire they are in. Vitate is too damned old, Lacerate complains. Too focused on the Sith remaining hidden and playing defense. We cannot hide forever, Lacerate rages, nor should we.
Looming ever large and threatening in the background is the indomitable Galactic Republic, ready to pounce. That is a theme Lacerate returns to again and again: fear. Fear that history will repeat itself and the Sith will suffer defeat again, fear that the Empire's best days are behind it and it's all downhill from here, fear that the Dark Side has been made weak and that the Sith brand is tarnished. But there's still one last chance to avert disaster, and that's to install him as Dark Lord.
Vitiate is not the man for these times, the General insists. A sorcerer cannot do a military man's job. Lacerate cites the failed Mandalorian war as clear evidence that Vitiate is no longer fit to lead. For the primary purpose of the Dark Lord, in his opinion, is to advance the cause of the revenge of the Sith. Predictably, the hothead General is yearning for war. He repeats again and again his intent to re-start hostilities.
All the revenge manifesto makes Meetra inwardly sigh. Are you guys ever going to let go of the past?
Not any time soon.
It's a cultural obsession, if you ask me, this toxic revenge mythology.
Agreed. It has come to encompass an entire moral code of Darkness. Devotion to our revenge, we falsely assume, is our absolution for the extreme acts we will do to achieve it. Plenty here would cheer a Jedi genocide even as they bemoan our own holocaust.
That's so fucked up.
We need to move past revenge to a new vision of the future. But in order to do so, we need a new leader.
Not this guy. Honestly, I can't believe you people actually believe all this stuff. That the Jedi are evil. That democracy is mob rule. None of that is true.
You have your own version of the grand lie in the Republic.
We do not!
Do too. You're the good guys, the ones committed to freedom, equality, and justice . . . and also exile, super weapons, and mass genocide for those who dare to see merit in the Dark Side.
Tony has a point, Meetra must concede. Yeah, we're not perfect. But we're far better than you believe.
So are we.
Not if this guy becomes Dark Lord.
Meetra inwardly recoils from the strident young General. Lacerate is not far from her own age and yet she feels decades his senior. There's something juvenile about his reductive understanding of leadership. His many criticisms of the current Dark Lord might be valid—Meetra herself is not a fan—but they are stated with astounding petulance. It's as if Lacerate believes Vitiate lost the war to stymie the General's career and cheat him out of victory. Never mind the massive loss of life and resources squandered, Lacerate's main complaint seems to be his own personal lost opportunity. The inherent arrogance—or maybe it's entitlement—underlying Lacerate's treason makes it all seem small. Like this coup is less a long overdue popular uprising and more personal payback.
Hot take: he's a bit young to teeter so close to megalomania.
Did you really expect him to be any less prideful?
Yes. You're a Sith Lord and you're not like that. Even when Tony has got his mask on doing his hardest posturing, he never gets close to Lacerate's breezy, hateful smugness.
This whiney kid is nothing like me.
I know. Thank the Force. I could never be dyad bonded with this asshole. He believes everything he's telling you. It's . . . terrifying.
He's a fool to be saying half of this out loud.
That's his allure, right? He says the things others fear to say. And that probably gives him a cheeky charisma in some people's opinion. It occurs to Meetra that it's a good thing this guy is in the Empire and not the Republic. Because at least here, the Emperor can make him go away. Back home, a demagogue like this would be free to keep running for election . . . and maybe might win in the right set of circumstances.
Once he's sufficiently vented about his Emperor, Lacerate starts talking policy. Here now, he lapses into a particularly ruthless sort of authoritarian demagoguery that Meetra finds revolting. It's a lot of bombast about the Empire becoming too weak/too Light/too Republic, but scant detail on his proposed fixes. If there are any overarching governance principles at issue, Lacerate isn't saying. That makes his coup look like a power grab, pure and simple.
Meetra has to force herself to keep a straight face as Lacerate speaks. He envisions himself as the Sith savior ready to fight the forever foe the Republic with a scorch-the-earth zeal. But strangely enough, his fever dreams of bloody carnage seem to be divorced from any underlying ideological or religious motivation. Why exactly will he make war on the Republic? What does he seek to gain beyond glory? It's not really clear, beyond the usual revenge of the Sith chest thumping. But Meetra suspects that deep thinking isn't General Lacerate's strong suit. It's all about him and his ambitions.
Like her, Tony is underwhelmed. He's even worse than I've heard.
This isn't a stump speech of meaningless promises. He believes what he's saying.
Yes, and with absolute power, he could do all of it.
You can't possibly support this guy.
Lacerate has positioned himself, at least in his own mind, as the perfect mix of principled heckler and youthful, determined hero. Meetra is chagrined to discover how closely the General is intentionally styling himself after Darth Revan.
Revan started all of this, whether he knows it or not. Every Lord wants to be Revan.
Not you, she thinks, mindful of how Tony keeps backing away from suggestions that he become Dark Lord.
Oh, I want to be Revan, but for different reasons than this fool.
Is Darth Lacerate the legitimate Dark Side analog to the Jedi Order's Revan? Hardly, Meetra judges. Lacerate has far too much cringey smarm, and that precludes true hero status in her mind. But listening to him has Meetra wondering anew about Tony's theory that Revan is a secret Sith. Could it be true?
I believe it's true. It explains so much. But I can't prove it.
Does it matter if it's true, if no one believes it?
I hope so. Shouldn't the truth matter?
This from a Sith Lord? Can I point out the irony of you making that statement?
Deception as a strategy has its place. But truth matters, Tony insists. And Force bless him for it, Meetra thinks.
Lacerate has just outlined a vision of the Empire that directly contradicts everything Tony wants for his people. But he keeps nodding along like he agrees. Whenever there is a lull in the conversation, he offers up some meaningless statement that encourages his guest to keep venting. Now again, he is politely noncommittal. "You make a compelling case, General. I can see why many have signed up with your cause."
"Does that mean you'll be my warlord?" Lacerate finally gets back to the purpose of his visit.
"Who else have you approached for the job?"
"Just you."
"Who's your second choice?"
"We don't have one."
Bullshit.
Agreed.
"Change is coming, Sion. I'm inviting you to be part of it. Are you in?" Lacerate demands.
"Yes." Tony doesn't hesitate when he answers. Meetra smothers a smile as she hears him slyly commit to something he knows will never come to fruition. "If you kill Vitiate, I will gladly support you. My sword will be yours to command, General."
Lacerate refuses to accept that contingent punt. He growls back, "That's not good enough. I need solid, unequivocal support. Now. Tonight. Are you with me?"
Tony nods affably. "I agree with your goal, and I have no quibble with your plans. It's your ability to deliver that worries me. But rest assured that when you kill Vitiate, I'm in."
"I am too," Darth Cohors speaks up dutifully.
Darth Lacerate is displeased with the pair's determined stonewalling. Through gritted teeth his snarls, "I wouldn't be doing this unless I think I can kill him." Clearly, the General is unused to hearing a soft 'no' for an answer.
Darth Sion and Darth Lacerate now lock eyes for a long moment as Meetra and the other men look on warily. Here come the threats of violence, she fears, as the Force starts signaling danger.
"I can kill Darth Vitiate," the younger man insists.
"Prove it," his host challenges.
"What?"
"Prove it. See my wife there at the end of the table?" Tony directs his guest's attention towards her. "Choke her with the Force."
"My Lord?" Lacerate acts as if he has misheard.
"Master—" Darth Cohors objects.
"Choke her with the Force. Make it good and hard," Tony instructs. "Don't kill her. But don't tickle her either. Use your full power."
What the fuck?
Play along like when we faked your death. Don't put up a fight.
Make him think I'm weak?
Yes. Assess his power while you're at it.
"You're certain?" Darth Lacerate is dubious.
Tony waves away any concerns. "Yes, yes. Go ahead."
"Very well."
Suddenly, Meetra is heaving and gasping. It takes all her concentration not to fight back. Her instinctive will to survive is strong. Plus, she hates to lose.
Tony is feeling it all through the bond. For the benefit of his audience, he leans into his creepy, cruel reputation. "I can feel her pain. Do you feel it? Delicious."
What do you think?
I could totally take this guy.
Good.
"That's enough. Release her."
The General instantly complies, and Meetra's head slumps to the table. She doesn't have to feign her physical aftermath. Getting Force choked is not fun. Her eyes are watery, her nose is runny, and her breaths are fast and shallow.
"She didn't even resist," Lacerate complains.
"She did, but she is weak with the Force. You overwhelmed her with your great power," Tony explains, and Meetra is glad she's face down on the table to hide her smile at that ridiculous statement.
To his credit, Lacerate shoots her an apologetic look. "Sorry, my Lady." While the General might barely acknowledge her, he is queasy about casually harming her. It's the first point in his favor all evening.
Tony is just getting started, apparently. "Now, shoot some lightning at my Apprentice," he orders the General. "He can take it."
Lacerate shoots, but Cohors deflects the Force energy. But the next time, the General nails Tony's Apprentice and sends him sprawling to the floor, his chair overturned.
"How was that? Strong, eh?" Tony looks thrilled to see the priest get hit. "Perhaps you can do this, General. Now, choke me. Let me feel your power."
The General obliges. Tony ostensibly fights back and now it's a Force battle across the dinner table.
You're right—he's nothing special.
Careful or you'll overpower him.
Do I look like I'm trying hard?
Not really. Squeeze your fist or something. You're entirely too calm.
Is that better?
Yes. But not by much.
Thankfully, across the table the sweating General has his eyes squinted in concentration. He doesn't seem to notice how relatively unaffected Tony is. "H-Had e-e-nough?" he pants out.
"Y-Yes," Tony pretends to give up.
Lacerate releases him and Tony makes a show of regaining his composure.
Either of us could easily take him.
Right. So, are we doing this? Under the table, Meetra slips an unseen hand down to retrieve her lightsaber.
Tony doesn't answer her. Looking to the General who just 'bested' him, he nods his respect. "Indeed, you are powerful," he intones.
Darth Lacerate positively beams.
"Tell me, are you a religious man?" Tony probes.
"Not particularly."
"I am. I am a humble wretch before the awesome power of the Force. I revere—and fear—my maker, and that makes me a believer in destiny. Do you believe in destiny?"
The General shrugs. "Doesn't everyone?" Ambition explained as destiny is a very Sith thing.
Tony has been a listener all evening, but now it's his turn to make a speech. While much of tonight has been a pretense, nothing about Tony's slow, unfolding words is a lie. He absolutely believes them. Staring the General down, he testifies to his faith: "I believe in destiny. I believe that certain things happen for a reason, be they good things or bad things. Why? Because the Force makes its wishes known. It works its machinations over years and through different people, sometimes through free will and other times through direct divine intervention. But in the end, no matter how long it takes and no matter how many lives it involves, the Force finds a way. The Force always gets what it wants, whether we acknowledge it or not. And so, I have but one final question for you, General." Tony peers at his opponent to ask the ultimate question: "Is the Force with you?"
Lacerate seems stumped by the question. Like the issue has never occurred to him.
Tony exchanges looks with his Apprentice. Then, he rephrases the question. "Let me state it differently. Are you with the Force? The questions are one in the same."
Lacerate looks to Turgor who nods his encouragement. It's the General's cue to bray, "Yes, to both. I am with the Force and the Force is with me. I am a favorite of the Force," he declares, sounding like a petulant child. It's just the sort of prideful hubris that in fairytales gets you smote by lightning.
This fucker is an arrogant idiot. With Tony having goaded Lacerate into that 'test of power' stunt, Meetra is unafraid of a fight, especially with the element of surprise on their side and superior numbers. The only question is whether they wait for the General to make an overt threat of violence before the sabers are lit. Because Meetra has no doubt that Darth Lacerate is about to threaten punishment to get what he wants. He's a bully and he will use a bully's tactics, she's sure.
But Tony preempts all that. "Well then, General, I am satisfied. It is settled. I will be your warlord."
What the FUCK?
Ignoring her, Tony lifts his glass to propose a toast to his co-conspirators. "Death to Vitiate. Long live the Empire, and long live Dark Lord Lacerate."