Chương 18: Chap 18. Balmorra arc: Preparing for War

Morgan walked after Quinn, his new lightsaber secured to his belt. Vette was walking some ways behind him, muddled feelings whirling through her, and he had no idea what to do about it. He hadn't meant to scare her. That bit about rearranging her mind had been too much, he decided. It wasn't even true. The Force could confuse, yes. Induce memory loss, if the practitioner was skilled enough. What it couldn't do was change people. It wasn't mind control, no matter the old jokes about jedi brainwashing.

But now Quinn was here, so he couldn't exactly turn around and apologise.

'Why not, exactly?' Morgan stopped, tilting his head. That was an excellent point.

"Quinn, go on ahead. I have something to discuss with Vette."

"My lord." Quinn acknowledged smoothly.

"The holocall is in chamber 7f, third level." Morgan nodded, thanked the man, and ushered Vette through the nearest door he could find. Best to have some privacy for this. A spike of alarm went through her, but Morgan couldn't quite figure out the cause. She had always been hard to read, and he never felt like pushing it. She had the right to her own emotions. He came up short when the door led to a fairly cramped closet, but by then Vette was already inside.

'Jesus, really making a mess of this.' Morgan turned so he was looking at her, the limited space forcing them close.

"I wanted to apologise about the mind rearranging dig. Sith can't do that." He tilted his head, considering." I can't do that. But since others need to get past your Force Freeze shield, such delicate work is made practically impossible anyway." Vette, for some reason, was looking rather breathless. It suddenly occurred to him he'd just dragged her into a closet without warning.

"Sorry about dragging you in here like this." A rush of disappointment went through her, Morgan not quite able to pinpoint where it came from. He resisted the urge to look deeper.

"By the Goddess, boss. Here I thought we'd be doing something exciting." Morgan looked at her, confused.

"What could we possibly do in a closet?" Vette mimed a bashful look and laughed, Morgan feeling like an idiot.

"Right. Ignoring that. I'm getting out of the closet." He heard her giggle as he yanked the door open, the urge to bang his head against the wall stronger than ever.

"Yes, very funny. Here I was trying to be reassuring."

"Don't feel bad." She cooed.

"You were very dapper. Like a shining knight."

"I'll never forgive you if Soft Voice starts calling me The Dapper Knight." Amusement was clear on her face as he spied at her.

"You really are just handing me all this blackmail, aren't you. What's a girl supposed to do with all this information?"

"Keep it silent, as a personal favour to me?" Vette snorted. Morgan frowned.

"Alright, how about I don't pin you to the ceiling and leave you there for a while?" Silence was his answer, and he didn't dare look back.

"That was a joke." Vette sounded disappointed.

"I know."

'But that's crazy.' He reassured himself.

'Just. You've made this weird, and now you're hearing things. Yes.' Their walk was silent, Vette still walking behind him. Great. Now she didn't even want him to look at her. This was going swimmingly. Reprieve came as they arrived at the third floor, Quinn waiting for them. Vette skipped ahead, to his surprise, and poked Quinn in the shoulder.

"This better be important soldier boy, we were busy."

'It damn well better be.' Morgan privately agreed.

'I've sure made a fool of myself for it.'

"I do not dare comment on the business of sith." Quinn answered dryly.

"Lord Baras is waiting, sir." Morgan nodded, walking ahead as Vette started asking about Quinn's pistols, whatever that meant. Probably just want a look at his blaster, knowing her.

"Apprentice." Baras greeted, the door clicking shut behind him.

"Things are moving faster than anticipated, and my focus will be elsewhere for a time. Rylon's son has been taken care of, but not as cleanly as I wished. My asset on the planet left witnesses, the fool. Rylon has gone rogue, and with the success of your mission no evidence of betrayal remains." Morgan nodded calmly, his mind going a hundred miles an hour.

'Things are moving out of order. Expected, but I hoped for more time.'

"Rylon has his Republic allies convinced of his allegiance, and poisoned the ground in the process. He will have full support when you confront him, and the commander is no stranger to killing jedi or sith. Kill him, and report to me when it is finished." Baras loomed, oppressive attention invading the room. Morgan shivered.

"Fail me, and I'll make you beg for death." The holo cut off, Morgan straightening. Death threats and intimidation had grown numb somewhere along the way, though he couldn't quite say when. His old Overseer had more than adequately prepared him to pretend, however. Improvisation at its best. Now if only he could get it to work when he was with Vette. Speaking of, Quinn was likely in need of a rescue. To his surprise, something which had happened far too much today, they were quietly talking.

They also pretended they hadn't been when he came close. Great.

"Lieutenant. Darth Baras has ordered the death of commander Rylon, and has given me operational control. We will likely cooperate with Soft Voice, Zethix, to achieve this task. You and the men get some rest." Quinn saluted. Morgan nodded to the man, then walked off. Vette skipped after him, waving goodbye to Quinn.

"So what we up to?"

"Come on, you must have noticed something. A glimpse at a girl's ass. Staring down cleavage. Anything." Vette encouraged. Quinn shuffled uncomfortably, looking at the door that the sith had disappeared through. The sith they were, to his great, visible discomfort, gossiping about. Vette almost rolled her eyes. Not like Morgan could hear them.

"I really don't think I'm the best person to ask."

"You're the only one that has spent any time with him, other than his sith posse. I'm not about to ask them." Quinn sighed, looking at the door again.

"Off the record, and you best hope this whole conversation stays that way, I've not. I cannot express how little a sith's sexual orientation is my business. Nor would I wish it to be, should it ever come up." He looked at her pointedly, making her huff.

"Fine, fine. It's weird though. I've never seen him check someone out. Not one glimpse at someone's ass, men or women. No lingering looks. Nothing. Well, besides the once. But I'm starting to think that was out of surprise, nothing more." Quinn shrugged.

"He is a fleshcrafter, yes? They are rumoured to have great control over their bodies, and I see no reason this should not include hormones." Vette nodded thoughtfully.

"That makes sense. Or wait no it doesn't because why would he suppress his hormones?" The lieutenant looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Why the interest?"

"Why do you know the capabilities of a fleshcrafter?" She shot back.

"Both questions we'd rather not answer, yes?" Quinn stiffened, nodding. The door opened just as he was about to say something, Morgan striding out.

"Lieutenant. Baras has ordered the death of commander Rylon, and has given me operational control. We will likely cooperate with Soft Voice, Zethix, to achieve this task. You and the men get some rest." Vette rolled her eyes at the nickname, then strode after him as he walked off, waving to Quinn.

"So what we up to? He didn't answer, and a surprisingly strong surge of guilt hit her.

"We didn't mean anything with the gossip, really. It's just-""What gossip?" Morgan turned to her, a smirk on his lips.

"You mean when you both fell silent the moment I came close? Not suspicious behaviour at all, rest assured. Completely normal." Vette grinned, the guilt evaporating as fast as it came.

"So you didn't hear, then?"

"About the surprise party? Of course not." She snorted.

"Good guess, but no. You want to know? I'll tell you, if you really want to." Morgan rounded a corner, two soldiers snapping to attention. She ignored them, Morgan waving them off.

"If I don't, will it impact me negatively?" Vette frowned, considering.

"Nope. More my problem than yours."

"Then keep your secrets. Let me know if I can help." They fell silent, Morgan getting that far off look in his eye when his attention was elsewhere. He masked it well, but not well enough for her not to notice.

'I know how he could help.' Her thoughts whispered.

'I know just what he could do.'

'Hush.' She whispered back sternly.

'No scaring off the sith with our less than vanilla outlook on life.' They found Soft Voice many stairs later, lording over an enclosed courtyard. It was filled with sparring sith, instructors stalking among them. Vette watched as two plainly dressed sith hacked into each other with barely restrained fury, another sith hurrying over.

"So this is what you came for." Soft Voice greeted.

"Blowing up towers and running from droids. We'd never have coped without you." Morgan scoffed, looking down as the instructor forced the quarrelling sith to meditate.

"You know me, I try to confound wherever I go. Fair warning on those droids though. Anyone but you, tell them to run." Soft Voice inclined his head, nodding to her.

"Pleasure to see you again. So, since I'd never get a straight answer out of Mad Mouse, is he keeping out of trouble?"

"Yup." She replied.

"Just some light exercise of near death, resurrecting a possibly extinct Force discipline and inspiring fanatical loyalty in his soldiers. The usual."

"That was therapy." Morgan muttered, looking over as the two sith, supposedly meditating, were inching to their weapons again.

"You two!" The whole courtyard froze as her boss's attention came down on it, the instructors bowing smoothly. The new recruits froze, looking uncertain.

"You had one warning already. If you want to fight, you'll get a fight." Vette watched as he vaulted the railing, landing lightly. A practice saber came flying to his hand, the instructors grinning as they ushered the remaining sith to the side.

"Who are you?" The rightmost acolyte, a pureblood, demanded. The one on the left looked just as indignant, but held her peace. Morgan nodded thoughtfully.

"I'm the man that just told thirty sith to take a break as I talk to you." He looked at the left sith expectantly. The woman broke her silence, looking over his shoulder.

"Inara Bakker." The pureblood glared at her, then straightened.

"Alyssa Gray. Gray foundries." He nodded, looking past their flesh. They shuffled uncomfortably as he broke their shields with a flex of will, waving his hand to an instructor. A trandoshan stepped forward, rows of teeth visible as he smirked.

"Lord Morgan, founding leader of Enosis. Friend to Lord Zethix, apprentice to Darth Baras. Survivor of the Culling. The Fleshcrafter Lord." Vette's ear twitched at the last title, not having heard it before. She looked at Zethix, curious.

"You're just gonna let him do whatever? I thought this lot was yours? The two quarrelsome sith looked much less certain as her boss walked close, saber held loosely in hand. Soft Voice huffed a laugh.

"These are as much his sith as mine. It was before your time, I know, but we once trained them together. Led them together."

"Anger is power. So the Dark promises. Emotion is strength. So the sith preach. I am not angry. I feel nothing for either of you. Come, see if the Dark keeps its promises." Vette shrugged, watching as the two sith visibly hesitated before attacking. She snorted at their teamwork.

"Those two are gonna wish they'd kept their mouths shut, especially with coordination that poor. It's been just me and him for most of it, true. Quinn and his squad have been assigned to us, but that looks to be temporary." Soft Voice picked up his datapad as it chimed, typing a reply before answering.

"Ah yes, the lieutenant. Most of his file has been redacted on personal orders of a moff. Made me curious, and Mad Mouse can be too trusting sometimes." Her boss smacked Alyssa over the head like an errant child as she stumbled, making her snort.

"Can he? Good to know. Haven't got the notion Quinn is untrustworthy, not so far. Anything interesting in his file?" Zethix waved his hand.

"Rising star. Disobeyed a direct order, resulting in Imperial victory. The moff took credit for it while destroying Quinn's career, you can fill in the blanks yourself. No idea how he managed to stay in the military, not with how angry the moff seemed when we inquired about the event, but sometimes she wishes to give her most promising members a second chance." The two sith below were on the ground, looking up through bloodied faces. Morgan loomed over them, every inch the warrior.

"Now, did the anger help you? Did your emotions give you strength?" The two looked away, wrath still in their eyes. Morgan sighed.

"Oh well. Be sure to keep it up. The Empire has no shortage of short-fused, suicidal sith. What will two more matter? Bastra, what is the average life expectancy of those kinds of sith again?" The instructor stepped forth, glaring at the two recruits.

"Couple weeks. Usually fall to infighting. Or they step on landmines, get smeared on the ground by artillery, those sorts of things." Morgan bent down, looking the kneeling sith eye to eye.

"Korriban has taught you strength through anger. Power through arrogance. It is fleeting. An illusion. You've been recruited for a reason. Because someone saw potential in you. I don't." He turned to the trandoshan, straightening.

"One week. If they don't shape up, kill them." The two sith stiffened, Bastra smiling as he bowed.

"As you say, my lord. Back to work! You two, with me. You've got until I run out of patience to show me why we should keep wasting oxygen on you." Vette waved lazily as Morgan joined them again, jumping ten feet like taking a step.

"Sorry about that. Got the old teaching itch." Soft Voice waved dismissively, pouring a drink and handing it to him.

"They'll learn. It's good they're getting to see some of you. Get a face to go with the legend." Morgan snorted, turning to her.

"All lies, I assure you."

"I know." She took a sip, warm wine pleasant on her tongue.

"The truth is so much more terrifying. Bit harsh to kill them, though." Morgan shrugged.

"They're weapons of mass destruction, and I'm treating them as such. If they don't learn control they have no place here, and I will not let them loose on the galaxy. I just focussed their priorities, that's all." He sat, taking a gulp of his drink. He relaxed, raising the glass to Zethix.

"Good stuff. I think."

"Uncultured." The devaronian sniffed.

"Barbarian. Waste of good wine." Morgan snorted, turning serious.

"Baras cut me free. I'm to kill commander Rylon as I see fit, reporting when it's done. As far as I know he's holed up in the Balmorran Arms Factory, imparting his knowledge and experience on the resistance."

"You heard right. Acts as an advisor and second to Cheketta, the man in charge. Cheketta is a former grand marshal of the Republic, and likely to resume that role the second he steps off this planet. Rylon is special forces, and has killed a fair share of sith. Mostly ambushes and traps, as those seem to be his specialty." Soft Voice tipped his glass.

"You also have very good timing. Darth Lachris has put me in charge of assaulting the factory, and you're more than welcome to tag along." Morgan frowned.

"Well, I'm no good at leading large assaults. You have anything that'll get me close to him? Some objective you need destroyed, preferably, as cover. Also, we need to discuss those droids. Vette raised some good ideas, but we'll need your help." She sat back and sipped her wine as they organised the death of the rebellion, wondering when she had gone from begging on the streets to sitting in on planet spanning operations. Vette shrugged.

'Oh well. At least the wine is good.' As the sun set on the domed city, Morgan found himself walking alone. Vette had gone off to do whatever she did when he wasn't with her, and Quinn was doing performance reviews. Vette had shared a picture of the squad's faces when it was announced, boredom etched into their eyes but standing at ramrod attention. He'd chuckled, it had answered part of the question of what she was up to, and now he was taking a stroll. No obligations.

The planning, insofar as it concerned both of them, was over. Just a simple, relaxing walk through some of the nicer parts of the city. Without armour, and his lightsaber tucked away discreetly, he drew no attention. Sobrik was a military city, true, but the residential districts still took nearly seven tenths of available space. A city needed more than just soldiers. Cooks, labourers, housing for family. An endless list of professions outside military life.

And those people needed to relax too, leading to shops and cantina's. Theatres and arcades. It was walking past a long line of admittedly cute cafes and bakeries that he spotted him. Morgan sighed, admitted he was bored anyway, and ambled over. The man didn't look up from his datapad as he sat down, a tired but happy looking man bringing over some pastries and tea.

"I've not spent much time in cafes lately, but isn't it usual to get your food after having ordered?" The old man reclined, setting down his datapad and taking a pastry.

"I ordered for both of us. Good to see you again, Morgan."

"And you, strange old man I've only met once before." The man laughed, looking pointedly at the plate of food. Morgan took one, finding it to be filled with a sort of jelly.

"John. And as you might have surmised our first meeting was not incidental. Nor this one, for that matter." Morgan took a sip, found it matched his tastes exactly, and sighed.

"Imperial Intelligence. You either really suck at your job or you need something."

"Very good." John praised happily.

"Cipher four, at your service. Well, not really. You know how it is. I prefer John."

"I assume the attendant you saved on Dromund Kaas was one of yours, then?" John nibbled on another pastry, shrugging.

"A coincidence, believe it or not. It happened about an hour after getting this assignment, so I improvised."

"And how have you been finding your mission?" The man scowled, tapping his datapad.

"Boring. And surprisingly difficult. No offence, not that I'm telling you what to feel, but you're not exactly subtle. That twi'lek of yours, on the other hand, has some serious potential. Not to mention that gaggle of sith that seem to worship the ground you walk on. I've the feeling Zethix would have a stern word with me, should he ever find out I'm tailing you." Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

"Like you don't know the names of everyone I talk to." Morgan rolled his eyes.

"And I have been very clear on the whole worship thing." John smiled, happy again.

"Indeed. Quite the conundrum you are. So there I was, busting my ass trying to find some way into the wing that Zethix has confiscated and reinforced, when I thought, why not ask? That Morgan seems like a reasonable fellow." The man leaned forward eagerly, tapping his datapad again.

"So, anything to report?" Morgan snorted.

"How about a question for a question? You can tell when I'm lying through decades of experience, while I can read your mind. Seems fair, no?" A flicker, short and quickly buried, went through the man. Fear, uncertainty. John laughed.

"Is it bad that I'm enjoying this? It's been awhile since my life has been interesting. Very well, after you." Morgan considered, then shrugged and went for the obvious.

"Did Baras send you to spy on me?" John inclined his head, mirth dancing in the man's eyes.

"No. This is Imperial Intelligence taking an interest. Reassuring, right?" He leaned forward, cupping his chin.

"Are you fucking Vette?" Morgan blinked at the non sequitur.

"Nope. Sleeping with those you work with doesn't end well." John blinked.

"Huh. Well, even I can be wrong on occasion. Your turn."

"Why did you set this meeting? Or late dinner. Whatever this is."

"I'm bored. I also think more can be gained by talking, rather than Vette shooting me when she eventually spots me. Like I said, she has good instincts." Morgan waved, feeling John's attention sharpen.

"What are your plans for Imperial Intelligence, should you sit on the Dark Council?"

"My, quite the faith you have in me." John looked at him without blinking, carefully relaxed.

"Fine. I have no plans for Imperial Intelligence, nor have I thought much about wielding that much power." The man scowled playfully.

"The first lie of the evening. Here we'd been doing so well." Morgan shrugged.

"Fair. I've thought about wielding that sort of power, but I truly have no designs for Imperial Intelligence." He waited for John to nod, then took a gamble.

"What do you know about commander Rylon, and how would you go about killing him?" John shrugged.

"Not much more than you, I imagine. He's old, and that makes him cautious. Doesn't go anywhere without his security, and even then rarely leaves the Balmorran Arms Factory. His resources stretch far, and it's estimated he's responsible for well over fifty thousand dead Imperial troops since arriving on Balmorra. Not to mention the assassination attempts he's survived. Play to your strengths, not his weaknesses. He doesn't have any." Morgan nodded, filing that away.

The old man stretched, paying the server with a few taps on his datapad.

"Last one. I'll even give it to you for free, since you've been a good sport." Attention settled on the old man, making him stiffen. Morgan leaned forward, smiling kindly.

"It's not a question, but please don't take it as a threat either. I like you, John Doe, and I like your candour. Endanger the people working for me, or my mission, and those sith that worship me? They'll hound you, tear you apart and bring your bones to me as presents." Morgen nodded, satisfied.

"Enjoy your evening, Cipher Four. I look forward to our next talk." Vette hid behind a large outcropping of stone, watching as Morgan and the rest of the men advanced. She could feel Greta next to her, hear her quiet breathing and subtle shuffling. The ground was not a pleasant one to lay on, Vette watching through her scope as everyone got into position. They had been, well, ordered would be the wrong word.

Soft Voice had suggested they could take out the redundant generators for the Balmorran Arms Factory, third in line. Its main and secondary generators were deep within the factory itself, as they should be, but disabling their tertiary backups would, she had been assured, make their job easier.

'Oh yes, so very easy.' She snarked to herself.

'Simply sneak into the factory, avoid all guards, security and traps, then blow the shield generators to bits so the main assault doesn't heroically die trying to force past them. Simplicity itself.' To distract herself from the current phase of the plan, which for her meant hurry up and wait, she trained her scope on Morgan. She'd been feeling rather spicy since yesterday's unintended teasing, and looking at him didn't help much. Armoured and armed, looking fierce in a calm, collected way.

Like assaulting a fixed position with less than ten men didn't bother him at all. A rock dug into her thigh, the pain not helping to calm her down.

'If only he wasn't so dense.' She groused.

'Maybe I should tie myself up, set up a use me sign and wait in the room?' Vette shook her head. Too forward. Far too likely to scare him off. She watched as Morgan jumped from a rock, plummeting over sixty feet and crushing the machine gun he landed on. The soldier manning it didn't fare much better, but Vette was already looking away. Quinn and his men opened fire from their elevated position, only one guard having protected the ridge that snaked along the facility.

Their intelligence predicted anonymity was their greatest protection, and she was starting to think they might have been right for once. A soldier, dressed properly for war, started shouting and waving his arms. She couldn't hear what the fool was shouting, but he stopped after she evaporated his torso. Using her anti-material sniper for this was overkill, but the effects on morale were immediate. Some bolted immediately, scrambling for the hills.

It was the veterans she was after, the ones that knew how important this place was. If the armed civilians wanted to run, she was happy to leave them to it. There. Someone, behind proper cover but not accounting for her position, was pulling grenades. She waited until he pressed the shiny button, then took his head. The explosive dropped, blowing two others apart and wrecking their cover. A woman, one of a species she had only rarely seen, was frantically calling into a radio.

She destroyed it, and the woman, with a light squeeze of her finger.

'Maybe something less risky. The bending hasn't been doing too much, but how about dancing? I could have a longstanding, cultural passion about dancing. He wouldn't know, would he? Yes, that could work.' Morgan pointed to the door, Jillins rushing forward to plant the blasting charges. She reflected that he hadn't meant for that to look so dramatic. Just as he hadn't meant to rile her up and then do nothing about it. Infuriating man.

'Patience.' She chanted.

'Patience is key. There's no time limit.' Everything promptly went to shit, like the universe itself was loudly disagreeing, and smoke obscured her sight. Quinn's soldiers came running out soon after, Jillins being dragged by Horas.

"All personnel is to retreat until further notice. Sith killer droids have been sighted, so stick to the plan. Lord Morgan will lead them away, after which we will secure the objective.' Quinn's voice was calm and clear, Vette feeling her heartbeat skyrocket. Those things had nearly killed him last time. They planned for them, true, but part of her had still thought it wouldn't happen. Her boss jumped out of the smoke, four of the things jumping after him.

She spared an idle thought of where the rest of them were, but focussed. One pointed a blaster, Morgan spinning wildly as he was blown away. Vette cursed, taking aim and smashing the offending droid against stone. It got up within the second.

'Slugthrowers. Fuck. Don't like it when they learn.' Morgan twisted and landed, scrambling back as four small devices flew out of the pouch around his waist. The droids didn't even attempt to dodge, bounding after him. She cursed as the high-grade EMP's did nothing, but they had planned for that too. Vette watched as the devices detached themselves again, all four flying over to a single droid. She shook her head at the control that must have taken, seeing as he was dodging four beskar swords at the same time.

That time the droid stuttered and slowed, and Morgan's voice finally came over the comm.

"EMP overloading is a go. Vette, they're all yours." Greta wordlessly handed her the pouch of special ammunition, Vette unloading her rifle with quick, sure movements. The new stuff went in, slowing her breathing as she aimed. Her finger hovered over the trigger as Morgan danced around the droids, until one, the slowed one, froze entirely. Just for a second. Just long enough to let her aim.

They had theorised that coating that many droids in beskar meant they hadn't skimped on the electronics, and she was proven right as it started to move again. Vette breathed out as her finger twitched the trigger, the priceless round shooting forward at twice the speed of sound. Its torso bent inwards as the beskar round violently tore apart its core components, the droid finally collapsing. The other droids jerked awkwardly, as if pulled by an invisible string, before turning to retreat.

She heard Morgan laugh as the four EMP's, still attached at the neck of the fallen droid, flew after them. Vette had just loaded another of her four remaining rounds as one of the retreating droids stumbled, its electronics stuttering. She blew open its side, muttering curses as it managed to turn a sure kill into a shallow wound. Morgan was there in a flash, his lightsaber stabbing into the broken armour. The droid collapsed entirely, and Vette grinned as the adrenaline hit her.

They had done some rough calculations on how expensive one of those things were. Even on a factory world, even with the resources of the Republic, coating that much beskar onto droids was ruinous. Worth the cost to kill sith, undoubtedly. But losing them? Vette's grin turned into a smirk as she imagined the sheer panic of whoever was controlling them, having lost hundreds of millions in minutes. Then she carefully repacked the remaining three rounds, representing all available beskar in Imperial hands on Balmorra.

She had no idea how Zethix had managed to get his hands on it, even her contacts in the underworld scoffing when she had inquired. Still, her plan had worked like a charm. Warm affection spread through her as it hit that Morgan had not only listened to her, but had put his full weight behind it. That he had trusted her, his life, to her plan. Her high turned to low dread as Morgan jerked, his lightsaber coming into a block. Dull brown robes fluttered as two jedi moved as one, Morgan scrambling to clear space.

She rapidly loaded her standard ammunition, feeling her focus sharpen. Jedi, unlike those droids, were not lightsaber resistant. Indeed, her fear seemed to be unfounded. Morgan's knife keened through the air, one jedi falling to the ground soundlessly. Vette took careful aim at the other, the cursed woman nimbly dancing out of the way.

"Was. Was that a padawan?" Her boss asked incredulously. Judging by the glare on the jedi's face, he was talking to her, not Vette.

"You took a padawan to an active warzone?"

"The Dark shall fail you, sith." The jedi shot back, a rock the size of her head flying at Morgan. Her boss dodged, his two knives calmly floating over his shoulder.

"Probably." He agreed. The jedi frowned, Vette easily able to see the anger in her eyes.

"Not as much as you failed him, however." The stranger snarled, jumping forward. As much as her face screamed rage, her technique was smooth. Vette didn't know much about lightsaber combat, but she did know Morgan. Knew he was being cautious for a reason. Horas took that moment to fire a rocket launcher, both Force users jumping back. The jedi looked at her fallen padawan, scooped him up and fled. Morgan waved off a pursuit, turning to Quinn instead.

"Enough fighting for today. Is it done?" The lieutenant saluted.

"Sir. The objective is destroyed."

"Very good. Take those two droids to Soft Voice. I don't doubt they're worth their weight in gold." Vette tilted her head at the odd expression, shrugging.

"So, it seemed my plan worked." Her boss turned to her, a grin in his voice.

"So it did. We'll have to see about getting you some more beskar rounds, just in case. Don't tell the mandalorians, they get weird about people turning that stuff into weapons." Morgan stretched beside Soft Voice, looking over the convoy through his scope.

"This seems a bit overkill." The whole of the Enosis were behind them, new recruits mingling in squads of five as the veterans paired up. Mirla was double checking something on her datapad, Kripaa beside her. Astara was to the right of him, looking over the assembled recruits sternly.

"You will be graded based on your performance. Stick to your squads, stick to your objectives. Any deviation born from bloodlust, anger or fear is an automatic fail. I will know."

"Because they need the test. This convoy also carries vital supplies for the resistance, and its guards are hardened Republic troops. They'll make for a good challenge." Morgan rolled his eyes, wondering if Vette was having fun with Quinn.

'Probably. She was vague, but it seemed to involve tracking down the people that had made her special bullets.' He smiled at the thought of Vette busting down doors, demanding more beskar bullets as Quinn's men looked on in exasperation.

"Showtime." Soft Voice ordered. Morgan flexed, then jumped. His friend was close behind, the rest of the thirty odd sith following eagerly. The convoy saw them, of course. Hard to keep this many sith hidden, even if they had felt like it. This wasn't a stealth mission. This was an exam masquerading as a wartime operation, overwhelming force to crush whomever was in their path. The trucks stopped, its soldiers opening fire.

Morgan shook his head as it was deflected or returned, then focused as they brought out the big guns. The two tanks aimed and fired without preamble, the sith spreading out immediately. Morgan kept half an eye on them, noting with satisfaction they had dodged properly. The tanks got off two more shots before they were too close, the troopers smoothly setting lines of fire. Nearly half of them threw grenades, four of them taking out flamethrowers.

Morgan took control of six of the small, explosive objects, sending them back. The Enosis veterans either deflected or returned the rest, spreading destruction among the ranks. The flame troopers were taken care of by Soft Voice, the devaronian strangling them with a raised hand. He scoffed, his knives finding flesh as they broke through the lines.

'I try that and they'll have the unforgettable experience of a hand gently holding their throats, nevermind lifting them into the air.' Morgan spared a second's attention to the drones recording every second of this fight. Mirla and Soft Voice would be spending the rest of the day grading, no doubt. The sith spread around him, the estimated four hundred Republic troops disintegrating as he watched. The new recruits were tearing into hastily prepared positions with vigour, one squad managing to topple a tank.

Their counterpart, the group that had the other armoured vehicle as their objective, had gone the more practical route. Two sith sheared off the barrel with little issue, the other three forcing the hatch open. Screaming reached his ears as they dropped grenades, forcing the hatch closed again. They backed off immediately, turning to their secondary mission. Mirla's voice drifted over, Morgan listening as his knives danced.

"Well, their training seems to be holding. It's only been what, two weeks? Look at them, all grown up." Astara scoffed, turning to her and glaring at Alyssa and Inara.

"Those two had their eyes opened by Lord Morgan himself. If they hadn't shaped up they'd be dead by now." He ignored their banter, turning to the two former problematic sith. Their hate had transformed into a flirty rivalry, gloating as they fought. Morgan shook his head, turning to Soft Voice.

"Good thing we don't forbid relationships. We'd have to kick those two out, for starters." His friend dropped the stone he'd been levitating, twenty heavy troopers screaming as they died under a hundred tons of rock.

"That we would. Astara apparently caught them, promptly starting a lecture on proper sex etiquette. They haven't stopped, from what I heard." Morgan snorted, but put Inara and Alyssa out of his mind. He turned back to the fight, his knives orbiting his shoulders.

"Or not." He mumbled. The last of the troopers were running, eager sith hounding after them. The convoy was a smoking ruin, yet all trucks were untouched. Kripaa was already directing squads to sort through it all, taking what valuables they could.

"Running out of money?" Soft Voice looked around, spotting the active looting.

"Not really. Those two droids you delivered will keep us operational for a long while, nevermind our regular funding. Be a waste to just burn all this stuff, though." Morgan shrugged, finding the two lovebirds walking over. Astara was behind them, looming as she prodded them forward.

"My Lord." Alyssa began, bowing awkwardly.

"I am grateful for the opportunity and lesson. I will not disappoint you." Inara nodded empathetically, tearing her gaze from Alyssa's bloodied face.

"So am I." Astara snorted, slapping Inara over the head. The woman looked abashed, bowing.

"My Lord." Morgan waved his hand, the two fluttering around each other as they got back to work. Astara looked on, exasperated.

"Well, the training worked. They stopped trying to kill each other. Not entirely sure sneaking off every other minute to go fuck in a closet is much better, mind you, but their teamwork improved." Soft Voice huffed, pulling the stone off the soldiers and freeing the gore underneath. He explained when Astara looked at him questioningly.

"We need this road more than the rebellion does. Keep those two in line. No shirking their duty to have some fun." Astara nodded, turning to stalk over to a recruit cutting off ears.

"What have I told you about trophies? Give!" The return to base was done in high spirits, trucks manned by sith passing though the last checkpoint. Morgan grinned at the look on the guards faces, his mirth dying as they came to the docking bay. Three sith were waiting for them, each feeling as powerful as Soft Voice. The centre one stepped forward, scowling deeply.

"Are you children done playing?" Mirla held up her hand, the squads behind her halting. Soft Voice walked forward, Morgan and Kripaa joining him. He focussed, feeling his scan rebuffed. Similar exchanges happened between them all, no clear winner emerging. Soft Voice broke the silence.

"Step aside."

"I am the apprentice to Darth Lachris." Their spokesperson sneered.

"I will not be ordered around by some military pup." Morgan frowned, recalling the report on the governor of Balmorra as Kripaa shifted.

"Ah, Lerek. Spare us the dick measuring and fuck off. We both know your master forbade infighting on the planet." Lerek smiled broadly, nodding.

"Indeed she did. But to be more specific, she forbids sith from infighting. She made no mention of, say, pretty little twi'lek." Morgan stilled as Lerek leered, Kripaa tensing beside him. Soft Voice hummed.

"She is under the protection of the Enosis. Harm her at your own peril."

"Harm her?" Lerek put a hand to his chest, appearing shocked.

"I would never. If she came to me, however? Begging for some proper sith protection? Well, far be it for me to deny her when she comes crawling." Morgan stepped forward slowly, Lerek smiling at him.

"Tut tut. You said it yourself. No fighting between sith." Morgan put his hand on his shoulder, ever so slowly. Lerek appeared the picture of confidence, looking at the hand disdainfully. When Morgan invaded the flesh, only the organs protected by his shield, Lerek's sneer died. When the Force screamed at him to move, Lerek remained frozen. His two companions hesitated as Soft Voice and Kripaa mirrored them, Lerek screaming silently. Morgan let his hand go, the sith falling bonelessly to the floor.

"It never ceases to amaze," Kripaa told the two remaining apprentices quietly.

"how much sith judge solely on raw power. Now fuck off." The two looked around, saw thirty tensing sith, and decided this hadn't gone quite to plan.

"We'll answer for that." Soft Voice sighed as the two sith had left, waving at Mirla. The truck got moving again, docking so their load could be admitted into inventory. Soldiers joined them, saluting before Mirla.

"He wasn't wrong when he said Darth Lachris forbade infighting on the planet."

"That wasn't a fight." Morgan noted, releasing the hot flash of anger in his stomach.

"I'll take responsibility, of course." Morgan repeated the same thing thirty minutes later, standing with Soft Voice in front of Darth Lacrhis. The governor snorted.

"Well, all is solved. My apprentice is not blind, deaf and mute. My rules weren't broken and the war effort hasn't been damaged. Hooray." The Darth narrowed her eyes, glaring at Morgan.

"Come on, out with it. You've prepared some clever defence."

"You forbade fighting, my Lady. I did not fight him." Lachris's scowl broke, laughing openly.

"Ah yes, the fleshcrafter. His shield should still have stopped you."

"No offence, my Lady, but not necessarily. Shields protect the soul, and most include vital organs and such. It stops others from ragdolling you, true. What it does not do, or what he did not do, is protect everything. His control was not able to dislodge mine, and disrupting sight, speech and hearing was not difficult when terror broke his concentration." The Darth held up three fingers.

"Firstly, the protections that you speak of have not been needed for some time, and even then are not expected from apprentices. Secondly, disrupting the three pillars of interacting with the world makes my apprentice worthless, and so he serves me no longer. Come." Both Morgan and Soft Voice followed as they stepped into a turbolift, descending deep into the earth. Soft Voice spoke as the doors opened again, revealing a spacious training room.

"What was the third thing?" Lachris walked inside.

"That you two have just become interesting. You and your Enosis both." Lerek was meditating in the centre of the room, milky white eyes looking their way as they entered. Lachris scoffed, motioning to him.

"It would take months for him to see with the Force, assuming he learns at all. Kill that waste of space." Morgan raised an eyebrow, his knives sailing across the room. Lerek dodged, something he found reluctantly impressive, only to miss the second. It came out clean on the other side, tearing through the heart.

"Despite his recent showing, Lerek was not a bad apprentice. Your equal, had he not succumbed to arrogance. Relying on my decree was foolish. Letting you touch him was foolish. Foolishness is fatal, as we have just seen." Lachris summoned a practice saber, shoving aside Lerek at the same time. The corpse smacked against the wall, Morgan calling a saber to his hand after raising an eyebrow. Soft Voice walked over, picking one up manually. Not because he couldn't summon one, Morgan knew.

His friend preferred not solving every little problem with the Force.

"Try not to cry. I need to work out some frustrations." Morgan backpaddled as his friend counter charged, finding his strength not equal to the task. Morgan focused on her shields as Soft Voice bought him time. They seemed like bulwarks. Immovable walls of power without the slightest flaw or mistake. Morgan shook his head and focused on the fight, his friend flying through the room. Then the Darth was on him, a fury of blows batting aside his defences and dislocating his shoulder in seconds.

Pain flared equal with awe, thousands of small probes and attacks wrapping around his shield. It held for a moment. The Darth flared her connection, cracking his shield and sending him flying next to Soft Voice. Both stood, exchanging a look. Morgan found humour and excitement reflected in his friends eyes, shaking his head.

"Come on, give me a proper fight." Lachris tilted her head, holding out her training saber.

"Or are you tired already?" The Darth's taunt slid off him like water, sending his own power to attack her shield. Lachris laughed, not deigning to waste attention on his attack as she charged. She was right not too, Morgan had to admit. The dome of blinding power was showing no reaction to any of his attack, and he had to rapidly break the connection as he felt something assimilate his power. This time Morgan and Soft Voice attacked together.

He went low while his friend went high, forcing the Darth into an unfavourable position. She solved it by blocking Soft Voice's strike and kicking Morgan away like an errant rat, impacting the wall with a thud. He grunted and climbed on his feet.

'It's gonna be one of those training sessions, then.' Several hours of instruction later found Morgan and Soft Voice sitting on the roof of the administration building, Morgan just finishing up the fracture in his friend's hip.

"Kicking you like that was petty." His friend snorted, taking a whole ham and tearing out a large bite.

"Perhaps. No doubt payback for that drop of blood that almost flew in her eyes." Morgan scoffed.

"The closest we came to touching her, so I'll count it as a win." Soft Voice looked at him, handing over the ham.

"Did you think we'd beat her? She is a Darth. They don't hand that title to just anyone."

"No, no of course not. I'd thought we'd manage to touch her, at least. Something more than serving as punching bags."

"Hah. Like you didn't steal every secret you managed to get your hands on." Morgan looked over the city, emptying a canteen of water over his blood covered face.

"Not as many as I'd like. Didn't get past her shield, naturally, and I didn't manage to figure out how it works. Like looking at a wall. It's made of stone. Brilliant deduction." Soft Voice cleaned one of his horns, looking at him.

"You can learn alot from looking at a wall. What kind of stone is it made of? What mortar did they use, and how thick are the bricks?"

"I know, I know. Just. I used to be able to copy it wholesale. It's what I did on Dromund Kaas. Took me three months of daily exposure, but I did it. Not that Lady Trix ever came close to Lachris."

"Boohoo. Welcome to the real world, where things aren't just handed to you."

"Fuck off. I managed to get some ideas for improvements, just so you know."

"Later. Don't have the energy right now." Morgan hummed, looking over the city and feeling some measure of strength returning to his limbs. He shook his head. The healing aspect of fleshcrafting was quickly becoming his favourite, no matter how useful extra strength was.

"Why'd you get so angry at Lerek?" Soft Voice probed some minutes later.

"It's probably the most wrathful I've seen you, come to think." He snorted at the unintentional pun, looking away.

"It wasn't what he said. Cliche and badly delivered. Five out of ten. It was, I don't know. The implication." Soft Voice stayed silent as Morgan scowled.

"You have the Enosis, and I still can't believe you pawned Mirla off to me for that, dick move, to keep you company. Baras is pulling me around the galaxy at will, so it's not like Balmorra will become the norm. Soon enough I'm off to another system, killing another spy. You have to clean up here, then Marr will send you to another warzone." He shrugged, pointing at him with the ham.

"Since I picked up Vette on Korriban she'd been there, you know? Someone to treat me like a person. I don't want to go at it alone again. To one day find out I can't take off the sith mask." His friend hummed.

"I don't think that one is leaving anytime soon. She was a terror before she ever met you, long before you turned her into a super soldier." Morgan shrugged.

"Had her slavery status scrapped this morning, so she can. Turns out the Sphere of Production and Logistics has precedent for that sort of thing. They didn't like it much, but she's free." Soft Voice hummed again.

"She'll be glad to hear it. Still, don't go turning everyone who insults or threatens Vette into vegetables. You'll get a reputation."

"No promises."