"Welcome to Dromund Kaas, Lord and Lady Sion."
Meetra hears that greeting again and again as she, Tony, and the rest of the small entourage they have pressed into service from the staff at Fortress Sion arrive at their destination. Tony's conspicuous red shuttle parks at a giant and extremely busy central spaceport. There, liveried servants from Darth Azamin's villa await them. Their luggage and servants are soon loaded into a transport while she and Tony are whisked away to a separate, far more luxurious vehicle. Then their little caravan takes off for the twenty-minute journey to Darth Azamin's home. Curious and nervous, Meetra remains glued to the window peeping out at the unfamiliar world.
If there is a Sith Empire equivalent to Coruscant, it is Dromund Kaas. This is the capital world of the Dark Side, the seat of government, the epicenter of commerce, and the home to the wealthy power elite. But that's where the similarities end.
For starters, unlike Coruscant, Dromund Kaas has plenty of natural environment remaining. The Sith world is a humid, temperate rainforest that has been cleared in areas for development. But the rest of the planet remains stubbornly wild jungle. And while Kaas City might appear to be a typical urban center—it's crowded with people and transports during the midday bustle—a closer look yields puzzling differences. For unlike on Coruscant and every other Republic city, Meetra does not spy any trash or graffiti. The streets and businesses are uniformly clean and neat, even the gutters. There are no blaring billboard advertisements to catch your attention. No lurking vagrants on the sidewalks. No blaring horns, no wailing sirens, or even loud street music. She doesn't see vendors hawking their wares, or even any traffic accidents.
Instead, there are colorful flowers planted in neat rows in the street medians. There are uniformed schoolchildren waiting in crisp lines to board a school bus transport. All the traffic lights are perfectly synchronized, and no one shouts curses at anyone. Polite, purposeful civic orderliness prevails. Sameness predominates as well. The buildings clearly have been arranged according to a master plan. They are of a uniform style and height, with similar building materials and color schemes. It's a lot of bland grey, black, and white with the occasional accent of red. The repetition makes each city block seem remarkably similar to the previous, to Meetra's foreign eye.
But the sameness doesn't end there. The surrounding vehicles all travel at a uniform pace, without the usual jockeying for position and passing. While there are pedestrians everywhere, no one jaywalks. The people collect in a small herd at the corner and wait their turn to cross as a group. Observing all this conformity for the duration of their trip, Meetra decides that the Sith are a culture of rule makers and rule followers. Rules are their thing. All this order must be the upside of fascism, she decides.
"We're coming up on the oldest part of the city near the Palace," Tony tells her. He's pleased by her keen interest. "This is the pricey real estate, known as 'the Hills.'" There are seven hills, he tells her, and they comprise the original footprint of Kaas City. After the city was destroyed in the Hyperspace War, the Hills were rebuilt as a residential area. All the oldest noble families built their homes there to be near Vitiate's new Palace.
Darth Azamin lives in a secluded enclave on the ultra-exclusive Palatine Hill. His home, like all structures dating from the early days of the Hidden Empire, bears witness to Sith society's persistent fear of the Republic. The men and women who originally designed these homes had vivid memories of the Republic invasion, Tony explains. They constructed their large family compounds with siege in mind. Sure enough, the Caesar family villa turns out to be less of a picturesque pleasure palace and more of true military fortress. The interior space is organized around high perimeter walls with battlements for artillery positions. Look closely at the stone scrollwork, Tony prompts her as he points. That's not just for decoration, those are sniper slits. That sort of design feature is very typical of homes in the Hills, he assures her.
"When the Republic came, they viewed every Dark Force user as an existential threat," Tony reminds her. "The first time, they exiled us, but we didn't die out like they hoped. So, the second time, the Jedi killed men, women, and children indiscriminately on grounds we were too dangerous to be left alive. It was with that slaughter in mind that these homes were built. Many have secret tunnels and hidden underground bunkers to use as escape routes."
The sense of fortification is evident on the inside as well. Once they are welcomed by Lord Azamin's housekeeper, Meetra discovers that there are giant manually closing doors at the end of most rooms to lock away advancing invaders. But notwithstanding the defensive practicalities the home was built for, it nonetheless manages to be exceedingly luxurious. Meetra walks through arched doorways, past ornate pillars, and through rooms with barrel vaulted ceilings. Everywhere Meetra looks, she sees carved wood and inlaid stone patterns. There is none of the interchangeable pre-fab, modular design she's used to back home. Instead, these spaces appear highly customized and hand hewn by humans, not droids. Like Fortress Sion, the furnishings are lush and garishly colorful. Altogether, it gives the impression of baronial splendor.
"How old is this place?" Meetra asks Tony under her breath as they follow the housekeeper down yet another carpeted hallway filled with family portraits.
"Eight hundred years or so."
"Wow . . ."
"Cornelius says that even after living here all his life, it still feels like his father's house . . . that he'll never really own it. He says he's just taking care of it for future generations."
"There are already a lot of generations," Meetra quips, gesturing to yet another portrait of a red faced Sith Lord in full armor. The walls are festooned with dead Darths.
"Genealogy is a Sith thing," Tony shrugs. "Family matters on the Dark Side."
Touring the Caesar compound feels a bit like walking into a time warp. Who has manually opening doors any longer? Why do you need a staircase and not an elevator? Who uses an actual key in a mechanical lock? Maybe these anachronisms ought to feel quaint, but they're not because the home is so aristocratic and meticulously maintained. Very few buildings of this vintage are left on Republic Core worlds where progress has swept away the vestiges of the past in favor of relentless progress. From that perspective, Darth Azamin's house seems more akin to a museum than an actual residence.
Meetra can't help but perceive the predominant theme of Sith culture at work here: the obsession with the past. So much of present Dark Side society is shaped by long ago tragedy and misfortune. And so, of course, these people are obsessed with the revenge of the Sith. Why wouldn't they be? They need only walk around their homes to be reminded of their past defeat.
Meetra doesn't much care for Darth Azamin's house, but she loves his estate grounds. The natural world is everywhere growing in abundance. It's so much Force that it balms the mind. Ivy covers much of the perimeter walls, softening the bellicose look of the ramshackle old place. The back terrace has a charming flowering trellis overhead and potted bushes are tastefully scattered about. But the real showpiece is the back garden. Darth Azamin has several acres of jungle greenspace to be traversed by meandering pebble paths. There's even a small pond in the back.
"There used to be a greenhouse," Tony sighs glumly as he looks out their guestroom window.
"For roses?" she guesses.
"Yes. Cornelia learned to tend her roses here."
"You're upset," Meetra verbalizes the emotions Tony's been leaking through the bond ever since they set foot in the villa. "This place is bringing back memories."
"I'm always like this the first day I'm here," Tony answers honestly. "I'll be better tomorrow," he promises.
Groping for ways to avoid causing him more pain, Meetra slides up next to Tony and offers, "I don't have to wear her crown—"
Tony cuts her off. "You're wearing the crown." The bond tells her just how emphatically he feels about the subject. Still staring bleakly out the window, Tony quietly insists. "If we walk in the throne room and Vitiate instantly knows our fraud, I want you to die dressed as the Jedi princess you are. Besides, that crown belongs to Lady Sion and you are my Lady Sion now."
Meetra backs down in the face of his emotional intensity, opting not to debate what it means to be Lady Sion. "I'll wear the crown."
Looking to change the subject, she peers beyond the garden down the slope of the hillside to the giant stone and steel complex nestled below between the adjacent hills. "That's the Palace, right?" It isn't pretty. Back home, there are warehouse complexes that have more appealing architecture.
"Yes," Tony confirms, "that's it. That's where we're going."
"It's huge." Far larger than the Galactic Senate building complex on Coruscant.
"Supposedly, when it was built Vitiate said he wanted the Republic to be able to see it with the naked eye while in orbit . . . so the Jedi would know where to find him."
"Looks like he succeeded," she judges.
"No one alive has ever seen him. He never leaves. He just stays there in seclusion. It's a big part of the problem. He's so out of touch." Tony turns to her. "I think it's best that you stay in tonight while I make the social rounds with Cornelius. I want to test the waters for how I'll be received. That way, we can strategize for how to handle adding you to the mix."
"Whatever you think is best." As always, Meetra defers to his judgement on how to handle her deception.
"I don't think it will be commented on. Few here will know that I have remarried and those who do may infer that you're tired from the long flight or simply assume you're pregnant."
"Okay." Meetra is more than happy to skip the first night of revelry. The lead up to the big Sith holiday Black Sabbath is two weeks of nightly parties. Lords and Lady stop by two, maybe even three, grand receptions each evening to relax and socialize. And since all but the most junior Lords are home from their faraway posts, the party season amounts to an annual homecoming and extended family reunion. To hear Tony tell it, there will be hundreds of guests coming and going at each gathering at any given time. The receptions are a who's who of the ruling class.
"You will need to attend the party here tomorrow night," Tony tells her. "As family, you're considered an unofficial hostess."
"I'm not family," Meetra grumbles.
"According to the Sith concept of family, you are," Tony assures her. "People will expect it. You need to meet expectations."
"Alright, I'll go. Now, come here." She reaches for him. It's mostly to give Tony the hug she knows he needs right now. He's a tactile guy and lately she's been forcing herself to be more demonstrative for his sake. "Let me heal you now while we're alone," she murmurs. "This place is so stuffed with servants that we might not get another chance."
Tony hesitates and pulls back. "Do you think that's wise?"
"You don't?"
"I don't know. Using Light Side power here feels sort of wrong . . . maybe even dangerous." His brow furrows as he complains, "All of this makes me anxious. I didn't want to come."
She didn't want to come either. But there wasn't really an option to avoid it short of outright defying the Palace. "We're here. You need this," she reminds him. "Let's risk it."
Meetra feels the same tangled mix of excitement and dread that Tony does about this trip . . . well, maybe even more so. It's for the intimidating social calendar to come, for her latest Sith Lady glow up complete with blingy crown, for being the houseguest of a Sith Lord who once tried to murder her, and for the sure-to-be-terrifying presentation to the enemy Emperor. But that's not stopping her from soldiering on. All of this is dangerous. What's a little more danger?
Tony nods slowly and comes around. "Okay."
She's just about done healing him when his comlink buzzes to indicate a new message. "It's Cornelius," Tony announces as he checks his device. "He's on his way here to see us."
"You think he's going to do it?" That's the question of the hour. Meetra knows how much Tony wants his brother-in-law to join their plot, but Azamin didn't exactly leap at the opportunity to be Dark Lord.
Tony sighs and makes a face, and that's pretty much his answer. "There's always Plan B," he offers, meaning Revan.
"I'm fine with that." Meetra doesn't trust Darth Azamin. She's not keen on him being the next Emperor. Unlike Tony, she will be perfectly fine if he turns them down. "Let's go see what he says."
Together, she and Tony head to meet their host. Meetra is lost in the cavernous villa but luckily Tony knows the way. He lived here several summers during his Naval Academy years, he reminds her.
By the time they make it downstairs to the main living room, Darth Azamin has arrived and is waiting for them. It's clear from his fancy ceremonial armor that he has come straight from the Palace. He looks harried, but he's trying not to show it as he welcomes them.
"My apologies for not being here to receive you. The Council meeting ran very long."
Tony nods. "We understand. Duty calls." He's taken no offense.
Lord Azamin looks his brother-in-law over with clear relief. "It's good to see you." Their host says this in the perfunctory way that men greet each other in the macho Sith Empire. Lords might spend decades getting in touch with their inner feelings to hone their power, but they inevitably project a remote, strong, silent, and if they're wearing a mask, blank facade to their peers.
Tony, who is bare headed in the privacy of his extended family's villa, replies the obligatory, "It's good to see you as well."
The brief look of brotherly affection the two men exchange is unmistakable—but blink and you'll miss it.
"My Lady," Azamin gets around to acknowledging her presence now.
"My Lord," her clipped response is as frosty as his welcome.
Looking warily between them as he senses the mutual undercurrents of distrust, Tony immediately dispenses with the pleasantries. He gets right down to business. "There is much we should discuss."
"Indeed." Like Tony, Darth Azamin looks tense. That doesn't bode well for this conversation, Meetra fears.
Glancing around, Tony registers the servant hovering silently near the door. There's another footman stationed in the hallway. Well aware of these potential eavesdroppers, Tony takes action to remove them. "You there, fellow. Fetch us some water. And close the door. There's a draft in here and my Lady easily takes a chill."
The command is said in a harsh, dismissive monotone that stressed Tony never uses back home. It's Meetra's first glimpse of the Dromund Kaas version of Darth Sion. As stark as the class hierarchy seems back home, it is doubly evident here on the ultra-formal Sith capital world. Aristocrats like Tony can boss around anyone for anything, even another Lord's servants. And no one—not even Tony—bothers to put the veneer of a request on their orders.
Little Darth Azamin grunts as his lackey obligingly exits. "That won't do it. Lately, I worry this entire place is bugged and my whole staff is on the Palace payroll. Let's take a walk in the garden. We can talk freely there. The bushes don't have ears . . . that I know of."
"Good idea," Tony readily defers to his host.
Their trio now troops in silence through Azamin's villa to exit onto the back terrace. From there, they proceed past the many helpers who have already begun preparations for tomorrow night's party. In silence, they traverse the enormous sloping back lawn that leads to the rambling gardens.
As soon as they are a few steps down a winding garden path, Tony confesses what he doesn't dare put in a comlink transmission. "I had a visit from General Lacerate. I signed up to be his civilian sector strongman."
"Did you now?" Azamin takes the news in stride and responds with a glib understatement. "That's unfortunate." One look at Tony's miserable face reveals just how unenthusiastic he is about the situation. Astute Azamin quickly perceives that the recruitment was coercive, not strategic.
"How ugly did it get? Did it reach an ultimatum threat?"
"No. I gave in preemptively."
"A wise choice. He will at least wonder if you are truly loyal to his cause. With your reputation, he might believe it."
Glowering Tony snarls, "I wouldn't support that guy to run my local garrison, let alone the Empire!"
The little Admiral reaches to clap his longtime friend on the back in a gesture of solidarity. "It won't come to that. Whatever happens, he'll never be Dark Lord."
"He's horrible," Tony vents as beside him Meetra vigorously nods agreement. "He's every bit as awful as everyone says. And he's come out of nowhere! There have been rumblings for years ever since Revan, but Lacerate's name was never one of the potential challengers. And yet, here we are . . . waiting for that pouty brat to make his move . . ."
"It's because he's so young," Azamin weighs in. "No one believed the first Lord to rival Vitiate in centuries would be a man so inexperienced and obnoxious."
"We need someone competent to step up to supersede him." Tony looks pointedly—and hopefully—to his brother-in-law. "Someone with experience and judgment."
The Sith Admiral dodges the subject of becoming a rival candidate. Instead, he asks, "Have you learned anything as his lieutenant?"
"Nothing. I've had no contact with him or his team since that meeting."
Their host considers this answer. "That's probably for the best. The more distance between you and them, the better. But you're incriminated now." Darth Azamin looks worriedly at Tony. "I'm sorry, my friend."
"Me too," Tony sighs with resignation. "But Lacerate had a cruiser parked over my fortress. What could I do?"
"You could have killed him," Azamin replies bluntly.
Meetra shoots Tony an 'I told you so' look.
Darth Azamin catches it.
"If you're ready to take on Vitiate, you ought to be able to handle Lacerate," their host reasons coolly. He raises his eyebrows, clearly expecting some kind of explanation.
"Oh, I could take him," Tony retorts. "But it didn't seem the right time."
"So now, you've hedged your bets . . ."
"Hardly. I'll never support that demagogue for Dark Lord," Tony vows vehemently, "but I saw no reason to pick a fight with him at that particular moment." Tony glances to her and grumbles, "I had enough at risk already."
"What's done is done," Meetra speaks up to remind the two men. There's no point in second guessing Tony's decision now. "It's all the more reason to preempt the plot by getting to Vitiate first."
"What if we just get to Lacerate?" Azamin proposes. "Supposedly, he's landing here two days from now."
Tony's eyes narrow. "He's making his move?"
"One would assume. Rumors are rampant." Darth Azamin's veneer of smooth Palace insider now deserts him. It's his turn to bemoan the coming coup attempt. "Lately, this city feels like a sparking thermal detonator with a short fuse. Antoninus, I was at a dinner party last night that was like a festival of speculation. All the Lords were trying to assess whose side everyone else is on. A few drunk ones were actually telling."
"Lacerate claimed to have support at the highest levels. Even on the Council," Tony reports grimly.
"That could be true."
"Really?" Her pretend husband gapes at how high up the hierarchy the plot may have reached. "I thought he was bluffing . . ."
Speaking low under his breath, Cornelius Caesar laments, "No one knows who to trust anymore. That's the danger of men like Lacerate. They spread fear and paranoia in their wake and death is sure to follow. These are such treacherous times . . .."
Tony frowns worriedly and his brother-in-law keeps confiding. "When I got back from Rhelg, I confronted Tenebrae about leaking our audience with the Emperor to Lacerate's camp. He denied it, naturally. But then the next day—the very next day!—I discovered that it was Raxus all along!"
"Raxus. You're kidding me." Tony looks floored.
"Raxus is in on it," Lord Azamin confirms dolefully. "And his youngest son is a praetorian! His closest kin guards the Palace."
"So, it will be an inside job . . . "
"Oh, assuredly. If they have Raxus, who knows who else is in on it."
"But you're sure about Raxus?"
"He approached me to recruit me for the cause. I stupidly took the meeting because I never suspected he was in Lacerate's camp. I assumed he was coming to complain to me about the situation. Instead, he was Lacerate's pitchman. I was blindsided, Antoninus, like some newbie Apprentice in over his head."
"Lacerate wanted an introduction to you . . . the Colonel he brought with him kept pressing me for it . . . I guess they went around me with Raxus. This is bad . . . Cornelius, this is very bad . . . " Tony's spooked expression says it all.
"I know!" the indignant Sith Admiral practically yelps. "And then, I had to suck up my pride and go apologize to Tenebrae for accusing him. I told him about Raxus so he wouldn't get fooled into a meeting like I was."
"Tenebrae . . . I can't believe that old fossil is still around. How old is he now?"
"Who knows? That grumpy wizard is freakishly overpowered and perpetually out of favor for his bad attitude and big mouth. I told Tenebrae that no matter what his issues are with the Emperor, Lacerate's coup is not the solution. I may have uh . . . been . . .uh . . . a bit forceful on the topic . . ."
Tony shoots his longtime friend a knowing look. "Lost your temper?"
"Yes." Embarrassed Lord Azamin all but hangs his head. "I think I may have scared Tenebrae, I was so insistent."
"Did he listen?" Tony wants to know. "Because the last thing we need is a bunch of clergy following the Chief Priest to Lacerate's camp. That will give the imprimatur of religious authority to that godless upstart. He'll start saying the Force is with him and Lords will believe it."
"I think Tenebrae's safe," Azamin judges. "He said he hopes he's in the throne room when the General makes his move so he can kill him himself. That's such a joke—Tenebrae doesn't even wear a sword—but I believed him. He meant it."
Darth Azamin sighs heavily and worries, "So many are rumored to be supporting Lacerate. If even half of the names Raxus fed me are true, the Empire is in big trouble. Antoninus, what do they see in him that we don't? How are so many good men getting duped by that obnoxious kid?"
Tony looks his brother-in-law in the eye as he tells him plainly, "Here on Dromund Kaas, you don't see the everyday Empire like I do. This has been a long time coming and then came the war and Revan. Revan sparked conversations that might have felt unthinkable a generation ago."
"Meaning?"
"There is so much pent-up desire for change that people are latching onto the first viable option who comes along. Morale among all people—the Lords and the commoners alike—is low since our defeat. It's only going to get worse when all these new painful economic reforms kick in."
Azamin starts pacing now as he grouses, "The opportunism of the guy is what kills me! Lacerate is not in it for the Empire and anyone with half a brain can see that!"
"That's my point, Cornelius," Tony complains sadly. "People don't care who replaces Vitiate so long as he's gone. People want regime change, and they'll settle for anyone who's willing to try it."
Cornelius Caesar stops marching with clenched fists and nods soberly to acknowledge this truth. "I hate," he spits out his words, "that things have come to this. We are better than this!" Ignoring Meetra as is his habit, Azamin addresses Tony to urge, "We must do something. Now! This week!"
"We are ready," Tony replies, with a little extra emphasis on the 'we' pronoun to include her. "We've got some new tricks—"
"Like what?"
"An extended Force freeze that's like true paralysis. A time pause that works on an individual basis. And my Force crush has improved."
"That all sounds good." Sour Azamin actually looks impressed. "What else? What can you do to counter groups? Large groups."
"We've got a shockwave of Darkness and a decent Force barrier now."
Azamin digests this news.
"There's red lightning and Force speed too," Meetra volunteers.
Again, Cornelius Caesar ignores her. He focuses on his brother-in-law. "Your power has grown considerably since we last spoke."
"Yes," Meetra immediately affirms on Tony's behalf. "We have stoked the dyad. He's now a very hard man to kill," she brags on her pretend husband.
"Don't be too impressed," Tony is sheepish and a little self-effacing as always in private. "I'm still lousy with a second sword."
"If you have that kind of power, then a single blade will do," Darth Azamin harrumphs. "But you need her," he points to Meetra, "to help you?"
"Yes. Her power amplifies mine. Without her, I'm as average as I always was."
"You were never average," Azamin counters gruffly even as his eyes find her and linger thoughtfully. Addressing her finally, he asks her to assess the odds. "Hypothetically speaking, who wins in a match between you two and Malak?"
That's easy. "We do."
"Why?"
"Alek was more brawn than power. He fought more with his body than with the Force."
"And in a match between you two and Revan?"
That's less of a sure thing, but Meetra feels reasonably confident of victory. "We do."
"Why?"
"We are two on one."
"And in a match against both Revan and Malak at the peak of their power?"
"We win," Meetra decides after a moment of deliberation.
"Well, then," Azamin concludes, his red face brightening somewhat, "you are a formidable pair. I can't say that I'm enthusiastic about fighting alongside a woman, but it seems will need to take her with us when we assassinate Lacerate."
Meetra looks to Tony.
Tony looks to her.
In unison they respond, "No."
"No?"
Tony shakes his head at his brother-in-law and declares, "That's not what we're here for."
"It solves the problem," Azamin begins arguing.
"It only defers the problem," Tony argues back. "If he's as organized as you believe, then someone else from his faction will step forward to take his place. At most, we buy ourselves a few weeks."
"We have to do something!" Azamin is adamant. "Antoninus, I will not stand by and watch this Empire crumble into civil war!"
Tony stands his ground in the face of this impassioned appeal, but his face and the bond tell Meetra how concerned he is about what he's hearing.
"I have been counting the days until you arrived, praying to the Force that nothing happens until you were here to help me preempt it. I can't do it alone!" Azamin outright wails. "And right now, the only Lord I trust to help me is Tenebrae and he'd be hopeless in a fight. I need you! You and the new powers you learned from your Jedi woman!"
Tony now admits error. "Maybe I should have killed Lacerate when he came to me, but it's too late to end things now with an assassination. It's not that simple—"
"It can be!"
"It's not! He is the symptom, Cornelius, not the cause! Kill him and another Lord will take his place!"
"You want to come for the Emperor still?" Azamin speaks his treason in a soft whisper after first looking around to make sure they're alone.
"Yes." Tony is emphatic. "We're here to kill Vitiate, and we want you to be Dark Lord. It's the same plan as always, Cornelius. Are you in?"
Yellow eyes lock with yellow eyes for a long moment as Azamin hesitates.
Meetra and Tony exchange looks, and she sighs. Apparently, they're still at the same impasse they were at on Rhelg.
"You're the best choice . . . you're the only choice . . ." Tony half pleads to his brother-in-law.
"Don't expect me to believe that. I know Revan is your fallback plan," Azamin snaps.
"He's only an option if you decline." Tony starts negotiating. "If we make you Dark Lord, you can decide what to do with Revan."
Hell no! Meetra glares at Tony and then speaks up in a tone that invites no argument. "Revan must be released to return to the Republic." That's non-negotiable as far as she's concerned. "Revan lives!"
Azamin blatantly ignores her. He scowls across at Tony. "I don't want to be Dark Lord."
"Stop whining, Cornelius, and do it."
"You do it!"
"I can't, and you know that! So, man up. Now's your chance to go down in history."
But Darth Azamin stubbornly resists. "The problem is Lacerate!" he howls. "My main concern is Lacerate! Let's kill Lacerate."
The two men are arguing like brothers now, just like Meetra remembers Revan and Alek doing years ago. This is what it means to be family—to be vulnerable and raw and maybe sometimes livid with someone without the fear of lasting consequence. To know that you can say and do things and still eventually be forgiven. Because there's a deep well of love beneath the conflict that cushions even the lowest blows and harshest words. Azamin is getting louder and increasingly heated while Tony's words become softer and more intense. Azamin's got a temper, but Tony is more patient. It's not hard to see how their personalities complement one another.
"Be a hero and save the Empire—help me kill Lacerate!"
"Vitiate is the real issue. He's always been the issue and he will continue to be the issue until he's gone!" Tony hisses back his refusal.
"Not really," his brother-in-law huffs.
"Cornelius—"
"Lacerate has you implicated in his treason, or have you forgotten? And when he makes his move, his men will simultaneously seek to slaughter every member of the Dark Council, and that includes me! Ergo, Lacerate is the issue!"
Azamin stamps his foot with frustration. "Lacerate is the one who's going to get us both killed! The last time I checked, the Emperor wasn't planning to execute either of us. Not yet, at least." Gritting his teeth as his color rises and his voice raises, the little Admiral digs in. "Lacerate is the problem! He needs to go!"
Meetra sighs and crosses her arms. This is the worst conspiracy ever. None of them are on the same page.
Lord Azamin keeps making his case. "In any scenario, Lacerate has to die. If we kill Vitiate and I'm Dark Lord, Lacerate isn't going to just go away. He'll be coming for us! You know it to be true!"
Meetra looks to Tony. What about Revan? I don't trust him with Revan. She doesn't trust Darth Azamin generally.
Tony isn't listening to the bond. He's bargaining with his brother-in-law. "Why kill Lacerate first?"
"It buys us time. You rushed your training, and look how much your power has grown. Think of what you two could do if you had more time."
"More training might not help. Regime change is less about Force tricks and more about destiny," Tony declares, sounding very him. "Plus, killing Lacerate might multiply our opponents. When he's gone, there could be several Lords who will want to claim his support."
"So we let them fight it out amongst themselves. Divide and conquer," Lord Azamin plots. "And maybe there won't be anyone to step up. That will depend on how Vitiate responds. If we get him to execute all the main conspirators, that might be the deterrent we need."
Meetra doesn't like the sound of that. Azamin's planning a bloodbath. But maybe that's inevitable. However things play out, people are sure to die.
Tony doesn't respond to Azamin. Meetra can tell he is torn and wavering.
So can Azamin. "Killing Lacerate takes the heat off of us," he presses. "You said you wanted to choose the time and place to strike at Vitiate independent of Lacerate's plan—well, this will enable you to do that."
"He's here in two days' time?" Tony asks. "That's the day we're at the Palace. Cornelius, who knows if we're going to live through that appearance to be around to kill him. The Emperor is surely going to recognize her Force imprint and he might start asking questions."
"Or, he could ignore her completely as a pretty decoration for the cameras for his feel-good annual holiday honors ceremony," Azamin counters.
"I hope you're right."
"She's always been a risk." It's an 'I told you so' comment from their host.
Tony glances to her and sighs. "I know. But I need her. We need her."
Darth Azamin tries a new angle now. "Killing Lacerate will give us a chance to get a victory under our belt. Think of him as the warmup act to Vitiate. You can show off those new skills."
Meetra frowns. He's holding out for us to prove ourselves against Lacerate. He doesn't believe we can do it.
I'm not sure we can do it. And we might not get a chance to try, if we don't make it out of the throne room alive.
In which case, we're not killing Lacerate either, she points out.
"Antoninus, you're supposed to be the hero who got revenge on the Jedi Exile. Be a real hero now and help me kill Lacerate. It will save both our skins."
"It's going to earn us a lot of enemies," Tony frowns.
"Vitiate will be in our debt. That's worth something."
"Until we kill him," Meetra inserts herself. But yet again, neither man seems to be listening to her.
"Fine," Tony blurts out. "We'll help you kill Lacerate. But you have to agree to be Dark Lord and promise to send Revan home."
That's a decent deal. They'll both get what they want. Meetra and Tony look to Azamin.
The Sith Admiral hesitates again.
By now, Meetra has no faith in the man. Frustrated, she throws out an alternative. "Why don't we kill Vitiate tomorrow when we go to the throne room?"
Both men turn to peer at her. Azamin is squinting at her like she's an idiot for the suggestion.
"We'll never get easier access to the guy," Meetra reasons stiffly. "And it will definitely preempt Lacerate's coup."
"The whole Council will be in attendance. Are you planning to kill them too?" Azamin jeers. "Because I thought your plan was to keep the regime mostly intact."
"That is the plan," Tony confirms.
"Then you can't attack with the Council present. Each and every one of them will support Vitiate until it's clear he's lost."
"That's right," Tony concedes.
"Most might be too old to swing a saber, but they are some of the most personally powerful Lords in the realm. You'd be stupid to ambush VItiate with them around to help him," Azamin informs Meetra with more than a hint of smug male superiority.
"He's right," Tony turns to her. "We've got to get to Vitiate alone."
"So where does that leave us?" Meetra complains, growing weary of this bickering.
"Our offer's still on the table," Tony reminds his brother-in-law. "We help to kill Lacerate, but you agree to be Dark Lord and to release Revan—"
"Shhhhh!" Meetra interrupts him. "Someone's coming!"
It's one of Darth Azamin's many liveried servants. The man presents himself and bows to his Master. "My Lord, there are four praetorians arrived from the Palace," he reports in an anxious tone.
Meetra looks with alarm to Tony. Are they busted? Uh oh.
Tony's brow furrows. This can't be good.
"Praetorians . . ." Azamin breathes out his own dismay.
"Are we being arrested?" Tony wonders aloud in a dry tone that is far from funny.
Their treasonous trio now exchanges covert worried looks.
"No, no, my Lord," the servant hastens to add. "They are an honor guard. Their captain said the Emperor sent them for your personal protection. Praetorians are being sent to all the Council members' homes." The spooked looking servant now asks his Master, "Is something wrong? Are we in danger?"
Darth Azamin smiles easily and reassures the man. "No, not at all. There is no reason for concern," he lies.
"Yes, my Lord." The gulping servant says the right words, but it's clear he doesn't believe them.
"Tell them I will be in to greet them shortly. I'm just finishing with my guests."
"Yes, my Lord."
The servant departs and Meetra, Tony, and Azamin consider this latest development.
"So . . . Vitiate knows Lacerate's about to make his move and he wants to protect you . . ." Meetra surmises.
"More like Vitiate wants to watch him," cynical Tony corrects her.
Darth Azamin has yet another spin on the unwelcome development. "Knowing Vitiate, this doesn't necessarily mean he wants to keep me alive . . . more like he wants to be the one to decide whether I live or die. He won't let it be Lacerate's decision."
"You know, those might not be Vitiate's praetorians," it occurs to Meetra. "If you're right that Lacerate's planning an inside job, the General might have managed to have Vitiate send his goons to every Dark Council member's home."
"You mean they're the General's assassins?" Darth Azamin groans.
Meetra shrugs. "Maybe so."
Troubled looking Tony weighs in. "It's plausible. It would be an expert level move, too."
Beleaguered Azamin exhales wearily, wipes at his face, and wisely ends their discussion. No one feels comfortable talking treason now that the Emperor's violent enforcers are on the premises. "Let me think more about what we have discussed. We can talk later. But for now, I need to go greet my uninvited guests and find out what they're up to." Under his breath, the little Lord adds, "This situation keeps getting more and more complicated . . ."
"Maybe we shouldn't have stayed with you . . . we're endangering you," Tony worries aloud.
"No, I'm glad you're here," Azamin instantly shuts down that talk. With a wry glance he adds, "If you two are as good as you say, I might need your protection. There is safety in numbers."
That's Tony's cue to staunchly confirm, "I'll always have your back, Cornelius."
Their host returns the sentiment. "It's mutual, Antoninus. Whatever happens in the coming days, we must stick together." The Sith Admiral shakes his head and sighs, "Force be with us. Even you, Jedi," he adds with a dubious glance at Meetra.