Chương 48: Chap 48: Belsavis arc: Tomb-World

Twenty two years he'd been on this planet. Six of those since he'd managed to get himself transferred to Site Four, an unassuming name for what might well be the worst place imaginable. If the wardens hadn't cared at his old place, they sure as fuck looked like nannies here. Sam didn't much like the new neighbours. Riots, violence and death-games were part of life, hundreds of the vilest beings he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting playing an endless game of betrayal. He was old, by now. Too old to care.

Back then giving up had sounded more appealing than joining the fruitless struggle, battling for privileges and power he cared nothing about. Until he met the Doctor. Typical egg-head, though better with people than usual. Sentenced for experimenting on the homeless, convinced he could create a cure for some affliction he'd never heard of. It went bad, people died, and the man found himself here. Where he discovered technology no one could make sense of, experimenting on his fellow inmates.

Unlike before, the Doctor had plenty of volunteers. Managed to get his success rate from a pathetic one in ten to a near guarantee, granting a host of benefits. Super strength, advanced regeneration, endless aggression. Sweet temptation for those looking to be the boss. Sam didn't care. Not really. It amused him, seeing prisoners recycle the stuff back to the Doctor, but nothing more. Until the man approached him, made him an offer.

A special stem-cell treatment he had the right sort of genetic code for, whatever that meant. He'd agreed, because he wasn't going to live long anyway. Might as well spend a few weeks at the top before he died. Maybe he could see what it was like, in a try-everything-once sort of way. To his surprise, it worked. He rose to the top of the food chain, recruiting the Doctor to his side. Then more, pressing people into service to do his bidding. Relishing in the power he wielded.

Power he never imagined could be so addicting. Then he was betrayed, stabbed in the back, and the Doctor merrily extracted his special treatment to give to someone else. Sam hated the man for that, crawling in a hole to spite the man and die. But the Doctor had made a mistake, left behind some of the nanites that had been part of the treatment. The little machines rebuilt his body, if weaker than before. But that was a blessing, Sam realised. A priceless lesson on power.

No matter how strong you were, surrounding yourself with the disloyal was courting death. So he, mostly fueled by spite, did it right. Went to the underdogs, the young kids who'd never known life beyond these walls. Used that old, forgotten military training to teach them. Mould them. Slowly, ever so slowly, he rose back to the top. After twenty two years he knew the system. Knew how to play it to his advantage.

The woes of age had vanished as technology fused to his frame, lesser strength applied far more precisely. Sam got transferred twice more, his followers splintered. Each time he found the broken and weak, refining his methods and training. Relearned what it was like to be respected, to respect others in turn, and find fulfilment in that. So he worked, using his mother's stubborn streak and his father's viciousness to wage endless war on this battlefield they called Belsavis.

He grew his ranks, bounced back from ambushes and devastating losses. Even recruited the Doctor again, parcelling out rewards to his most loyal. The man wasn't so keen to betray him, this time. Not with hundreds of loyalists at his side. Sam led them to break out more rakatan technology, his army growing ever more powerful, and learned why that was a very bad idea when a third of them went rampant. Spouting nonsense about some Glorious Infinite Empire, forcing him to purge the ranks.

That was a hard time, the once-in-a-lifetime discovery only part of the cost. The wardens extracted heavy bribes for an absence that long, not to mention favours he found revolting. But he recovered, as he always had. Recruited more young, savage men and taught them discipline. Sheltered a growing number of women from the horrors of the world. If some of them took a fancy to his troops? All the better to keep them loyal. Then the Empire arrived.

His Warden, a spineless coward Sam had been bribing for nearly two years, turned vicious. Said it was better to kill the prisoners than have them recruited wholesale. Sam disagreed, mobilising his men. And won, since he'd been keeping his stronger assets in reserve. Raided the armoury and looted the corpses, his men finally looking like the army he trained them as. Then, because he saw no real reason not to, he assaulted the hole they kept his second in.

Garred had been busy, Sam discovered, and his numbers grew by a third. A bit rough around the edges, but proficient killers. He took a deal no sane individual would refuse, receiving thousands of weapons for the promise of creating more chaos, and promptly set to rescuing the full might of his followers. Cracked facility after facility, absorbing smaller gangs and using them as shock troops. Welcomed brothers and sisters he hadn't seen for years, every battle seeing his numbers grow.

Then the Empire had withdrawn, roughly two days ago, and Sam reined in his people. Had them fortify Site Four, securing two months worth of food as he did. His lieutenants questioned the decision. The more chaotic elements looked to be rebelling. They stopped once the predictable happened, a hundred factions soaking the ground in blood. Hated enemies and drugged up psychopaths, tens of thousands of knives turning on itself now that the divide keeping them separate was gone.

Sam took his seven thousand and sat tight, riding out the storm with minimal casualties. Active fighting died down quickly, as it usually did, and then the skirmishing began. The territory marking and alliance forming. None of which he was particularly interested in, really. Very few people could be trusted to stick to an agreement, let alone one that benefitted someone like him. Unfortunately, that was when the bad news started.

Of an arriving sith Lord taking command, him being the reason for the lack of Imperial support, and a death cult wishing to blow up the planet. Along with the galaxy, apparently, though he didn't put too much stock in that. His scouts reported the Imps were taking care of it, which was good, but less good was the new direction they seemed to be taking. Far from blundering around, a mistake none who lived here would ever make, they were probing carefully.

Leaving obvious rakatan technology alone, whole teams of sith arriving to contain them. Bad, bad news. Sam was no fool, hadn't believed the representatives when they said the Empire would take them off-world. Hadn't believed that his people, the vast majority being non-human, would be welcome there. Which was when some idiot drug peddler decided to poke the giant, and any hope of Imperial leniency died. The man's people killed a patrol of Imps. Managed to corner and wound two sith, though they managed to escape.

Sam was unsurprised to hear their entire operation was put to death, though his scouts were telling him something that made little sense.

"I'm telling you." Oberon insisted, waving his hands. The man had taken plenty of evidence, one of the reasons he was such a good scout.

"Torn apart. Lurkers, though I've never seen them in numbers this great. The damned amphibians would never risk getting that close to settlements, let alone attacking prey that fights back." Sam frowned.

"Lurkers hunt in packs. The guards used to complain about them ruining the drinking huts."

"Of thousands? Varactyl too, maybe a couple dozen. I didn't even know Belsavis had those, let alone wild."

"They were attacked by cowardly fish and mounts?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. Oberon scowled, opening his mouth, but Sam waved him down.

"I believe you. Stranger things have happened, that's for sure. Maybe someone found a way to control them, used them as an army. Bad news for us, should they be hostile. Prepare the men. I don't want the sentries getting lax." Not much chance of that happening, but Sam preferred orders to be repeated to the point of redundancy. The chain of command tended to distort information both up and down, except in the most disciplined of militaries, and he had no interest in being caught off guard.

Making it somewhat annoying when he was. Shaken out of bed, nearly four in the morning, as his officers filled him in. How beasts snuck up on them during the night, disabling the patrols meant to guard against exactly that. It pointed to outside influence, something he confirmed as he stepped atop the walls. One singular man, armoured but without a helmet. With varactyl at his side and lurkers in the wings, both good enough climbers to negate much of their defences.

His people would hold, though blood was inevitable, if it wasn't for the man. A thing he'd seen once before, during a mixup while being transferred. A sith Lord.

"Sam Winched." The monster said, voice carrying further than it should have.

"I have come to speak with you. To return your soldiers. A token, so to speak, of my good intentions." There were plenty of ways the thing could have learned his name. Records, his own sentries, other prisoners. Reputation and wardens. Sam knew that. It didn't make him feel better, didn't quiet the whisper of suspicion insisting it had been read from his mind. Lurkers brought the captured men, almost gentle with their wicked claws. Still animals, though, and their master frowned.

"Easy, little ones. Easy. Hunt-mates, hunger-crippled. That's it, nice and placid."

"You speak to them?" The question left his lips before he could stop himself, making him pull out an old trick. Asking another and hoping for the first one to be ignored.

"Why are you here, sith? We have nothing of interest." The thing shrugged.

"You could call it that. I find uttering the words helps to narrow the web of connections, focusing my intention. I'm much better at it than I was on Dromund Kaas, I'll tell you that. Controlled chaos at best, back then. Something to set loose and run away from. Now I can weave a pseudo hivemind between their most influential members, which leaks to their followers. Quite an interesting species, really." One of the varactyl at his side nudged the walking nightmare, making the man scratch it behind the ear.

"And then there's these little fellows. Or not so little, as is the case. Loyal, smart, quick. Easy to train and good in a fight. Less control and more conversation, though still a fair amount of control. Don't play all that well with each other."

"Why are you here?" Sam repeated, tone hardening. Never let someone else control the narrative, never let them ask all the questions. When feeling fear, display strength. When feeling secure, feign weakness.

"Our deal with the Empire was broken by your side, not mine." Shrugging, while still petting the beast, the thing waved his hand dismissively.

"That was the old administration. The new one isn't quite so eager to raid and plunder, blindly flailing in the dark. Hiring local guides is an old, time tested method of eliminating a lack of intelligence."

"You want to hire us?" Sam asked, surprised. He cursed internally, hating how it made him sound. But that wasn't it, couldn't be it. Ah, he was being absorbed. Recruited into the larger whole and used up.

"No, not hire. Recruit. Why?"

"Because most of you were born here. A warning, however, should you accept. This would be a second chance. A singular second chance. You will be held to a higher standard, retrained and expected to obey orders. Rape, assault of civilians, infighting. All would lead to a court-martial, if not worse." Sam frowned.

"And if we don't agree?"

"Then I leave." The thing shrugged.

"From my limited experience you and yours seem the most disciplined, the most well trained, but you are far from my only option. I will not kill you, if that is the concern, but neither would the Empire assist in any further capacity. You would, in simple terms, be on your own. Masters of your own fate, without allies or assistance. If you manage to get off Belsavis? The galaxy is a big place. If not? Well. Death, I would assume." A murmur broke out amongst his officers, Sam quieting them with a harsh gesture.

This was not the time to appear divided.

"You hold us in a position of weakness, sith. Tempt freedom while delivering enslavement. I am no stranger to recruiting and using lesser troops as meatshields and distractions." The spotlight shining on the sith didn't appear to irritate it, not since the start, and also let Sam see emotion drain from the thing like water did oil. The monsters rippled with emotion, varactyl keening as lurkers twitched. A stark contrast, the single statue surrounded by a sea of feeling.

"I was a slave once, Sam Winched." The thing spoke.

"And my word means nothing to you, but perhaps that of others might. Look up what happened on Quesh not two weeks ago. I assume acquiring access to the wider galaxy has been one of your first priorities." It had been. His officers did as the monsters slowly grew calmer, a datapad being shoved in his hand not five seconds later. Sam looked at it, feeling his question about what he should be looking for evaporate. A wookiee was screaming about freedom and uprisings, the crowd of thousands hanging on his every word.

How a suit of armour, the one that now darkened his own doorstep, was christened a saviour. Of slaughter unlike anything he's seen before, violence no implant could replicate. Sam handed the device back, swallowing. What in all the cursed depths was going on?

"We spent some days trying to get that to go away, but it has spread far." The sith said, still looking like a damned slab of stone.

"Not great for my continued anonymity, but it has its uses. Should you join me, and that is very much an offer, you will be paid. Have the option to leave, after the not-yet agreed upon time of service has passed. Will be afforded medical care, opportunities for promotion and the acquisition of skills. I will wait ten minutes as you talk with your people." The sith vanished behind dense growth, the tide of creatures disappearing with him. Not gone, even calm that many monsters made noise, but outside of their view.

If that had been an attempt at making them feel at ease, it failed.

"We join him, we die." Garred muttered, a sour look to his face. Lost his kid when a sith escaped containment, if Sam remembered correctly.

"I don't care if it's hard, I say we find our own way out." Two others murmured in support, though the rest of his command stayed silent. Not quite an even split, but close. If they went, some wouldn't follow.

"If we don't join someone, we die anyway." Ellei growled, voice twice as deep as any man. Something about her implants hadn't taken too well.

"Sooner or later some idiot is going to poke something they shouldn't, and then the rakata are going to look mighty smug as the things they imprisoned here tear us apart. The wardens were corrupt, lazy assholes, but at least they kept order." Breck peeled his eyes away from his datapad, clearing his throat.

"Been looking up the sith, found some stuff. Goes by the name of Morgan, no last name given, and he's done a lot more than start some riots on Quesh. Says here he's got a private army, big-like, with his own ships. More sith Lords, too. Someone by the name of Zethix. Ah, he's also known as Lord Caro? Cults do some weird shit, I guess."

"What's not on here are rampages. Easy to find for anyone else, the dark-web is full of that stuff, but nothing for him. Either he spend a lot of money hiring slicers to scrub it cleaner than anything I've ever seen, or he doesn't do them. Either way, if we join, I don't expect we'll be keeping much power. Doesn't seem green enough for that." Sam grunted, rolling his shoulder. Damned bone-sleeve.

"Mergers always bring chaos. This is too big for us to decide on our own, I'd say. Wake up anyone still asleep, start organising a vote. Equal share, even for the new guys. Tell them what he offered, the price, and we'll see what to do from there." His men saluted, moving to get it done, and Sam grabbed as much courage as he could. They'd need way more than ten minutes, and he needed more information. If the sith was lying, well. He didn't think their security doors were going to stop someone with a lightsaber.

Morgan was petting another varactyl, the thing as tame as if it'd been trained since birth, and the lurkers got out of the way as Sam approached. Finding the thing, at least, hadn't been hard.

"Lord Caro?"

"So they call me. Came alone to prove you're not afraid?"

"I came alone because I didn't think it would matter how many men I brought." Sam replied, relaxing his stance. If the sith wanted to play it casual, he could do casual.

"They say you freed a whole bunch of slaves on Quesh."

"They said correctly."

"Thought the Empire supported slavery." The sith Lord shrugged.

"They were Republic facilities, but I'm sure you can find the details if you care enough. Funny thing, people have largely stopped questioning my behaviour after I demonstrated I could kill them. Free slaves, ally with jedi, do whatever. As long as I don't annoy someone more powerful I can do pretty much whatever I want."

"Sounds about right." Sam confirmed, not having to work too hard to fake a grin.

"You can get us off Belsavis? Some of my people, most, are here for a reason. Good reasons."

"Considering I took command over this disaster called a prison break, I'd say I have a good chance of making it happen. And I told you about second chances, Sam. You run a tight operation, keep your people handled. Few actual psychopaths, rapists or child murderers. Even the most hardened killers have morals, I find." Sam shrugged, risking a look at the lurker eyeing him up. Well, there were probably dozens doing that very thing, but this one he could see.

"It's bad for morale. People with shit impulse control make bad soldiers, especially in a decentralised power structure. We need time to vote."

"How long?"

"An hour." He just about managed to not make it a question, surprised when the sith nodded. The monsters took off as if obeying some unheard command, Sam flinching back when one used him as a jumping board.

"What?"

"The People's Army, I believe you know them, are attempting to open a tomb. One that they have been warned away from, so now I'm going to kill them all. Greed without limit is a dangerous thing, but I'm sure you know that. One hour. I'll be back." The thing moved, flickering away as if fired from a blaster, and Sam found himself alone. He went back to his people, waving down the ambush party he was pretty sure the sith knew about. If Sam was going to die, he was going to die fighting.

Now he had to see if everyone else was smart enough to realise this wasn't a winnable one. Morgan released the dead lurker queen, though it didn't really have a gender, and watched its soul detach. Another was selected in record time, the pack going through a fairly complex social ritual, and he gently attached the new leader to the web. A moment of strain, passing a hair slower than the previous one, and his horde grew back to full strength.

More, even, if he counted the winged demon things that had lived in the not-so-sealed tomb. Smart ones, too, tunnelling out a passageway where none were likely to spot it.

"Fifty eight minutes." He muttered, petting Feathers as the varactyl preened.

"Close enough. You ready to see our friends again? Maybe eat them if they turn out stupid and attack?" Feathers clicked its jaw together, a thrilling whine reverberating through the forest. The others of its kind joined, though the lurkers didn't. Connected or not, both were very different species. The endless wave of droids turned out not to be so endless when his lurkers finally finished tearing the machinery apart, his horde swelling yet again as the survivors returned.

They bore the marks of their victory, the threat ended before it could spiral out of control. A shame he couldn't steal it, but by the time he'd gotten here the looters had already managed to wake it up. Morgan wasn't worried. This place was littered with the things. When he arrived back at the repurposed prison he found the welcome more warm than the last, the gate opening as he bade his army to wait. Not too hard, all things considered, but the strain of it added up.

Balancing that many minds, even if woven into one whole, took effort. Concentration. Not too much Force, surprisingly, but then this was more experiment than not. Few places had predators in large enough numbers to be worth it, let alone with complex societal structures. Convenient, since he didn't have to run down every straggler himself, but not something he could employ everywhere. Sam nodded tensely to the guards, making the men and women lower their weapons.

More men than women, at that, though Morgan didn't care to guess as to why that was. He probably didn't want to know in the first place.

"We voted." The man began, the audience more than a little cautious.

"We accept. You get us off the planet, we serve as guides. One year of service after that, not counting the necessary training." Morgan snorted.

"Four, including training, and every piece of rakatan technology in your bodies gets removed. We have the medical personnel to ensure you survive the process, and I won't have people serving in my army that are as compromised as that. You will each be compensated for the lost power."

"Two years, including training, and I'll agree on the tech. Officers retain their current ranks."

"Two years." Morgan agreed.

"Contract extension to be offered afterwards. Officers retain their ranks, but will go through basic training. Each will work closely with one of mine, comparable in rank, which will judge their competence. Those unfit to serve will be demoted as needed, though the same will apply upwards." The man stuck out his hand, Morgan shook it, and four fifths of the room shot to attention. The last group, which Morgan hadn't paid much attention to, scowled.

"What about us?"

"You chose to stay." Sam shrugged, pointing towards him.

"Take it up with the new boss." The duros pulled his weapon, everyone scrambling for their own. The man looked directly at Morgan, judgment plain on his face.

"You're just going to leave us here?"

"Why should I care about you?" The question seemed to stump the blue skinned humanoid, still holding his weapon.

"So that talk about slavery was just that, huh? Figures."

"You have two seconds to holster your weapon, and if you point it at me or mine, you will die."

"Fuck you." The duros barked, muscles tensing.

"I won't be left behind. I won't become a puppet for you to co-" Morgan sighed, straining without showing an inch of it. Seeing Darth Synar snap the necks of over a dozen souls without moving a muscle had looked damned intimidating, enough so he practised. It was harder, the gesture provided more unconscious visualisation than he thought, but he managed. The duras dropped to his knees, life leaving his eyes as Morgan severed the two largest veins supplying the brain with blood.

His people backed away, dropping what weapons they wielded. Sam grunted, doing an admirable job of covering for his terror.

"Damn idiots."

"Survival brings out the worst in us." Morgan agreed.

"My people will be in contact. Stay here, for the time being, and ensure no one touches the deeper parts of this prison. If they try, kill them. The Republic and reusing old infrastructure, honestly."

"You got it, boss." That handled, and the recruiting mission seeming to go well, Morgan turned around. Left the mess of dealing with a split faction and securing a rather massive rakatan complex to his new soldiers. Time would tell if they would be worth something, but the cost was fairly cheap. Hell, he even got a relatively large amount of Ancient-One tech out of it. Sam and his fellows had spent too long around it, clearly.

Even the lesser ones were on par with Chosen, the man and his officers possessing as much raw strength as his apprentices. Less skill, of course, and unable to use the Force, but still. One giant advantage. The curse, which wasn't technically correct but close enough, inside it wasn't that strong. Promoted bloodlust and the urge to fight, lessened as age took its toll. The rakatans probably used them to create super shock-troops, or maybe it was just baseline gene-treatment.

No one really knew much about them, not even him. It did highlight a problem, mostly one of numbers. The odd seven thousand souls in that facility were blindingly bright, even for him, but on the whole? That was nothing. The Empire could mobilise ten million professionally trained troops and follow it up with another, and though losing either would be bad, it was far from crippling. The last major war between them and the Republic? It lasted twenty eight years, without a clear victor, and claimed billions of lives.

Not counting the civilians, because not even the Republic had bothered to actually keep count. Seven thousand was nothing. The former slaves training on their moon-facility were nothing. Quantity was something everyone but him possessed, so something would have to change. Quality, in this case. The speciality of Fleshcrafter Lords. But, again, it was a numbers game. It didn't take him long to enforce a Chosen, especially not now, but thousands? Ones that he would have to physically be close to, no less?

A nightmare of logistics, one that would come to a rapid stop the moment he got separated from the army. So, as he was fond of doing, it was time to delegate. Morgan set his army of beasties loose and made his way back to base, nodding as the guards saluted. His presence had become somewhat normalised as he kept coming and going, stamping out problems before they could grow out of control. Which they were very fond of doing, of course. The rakata liked building self replicating weapons of mass destruction.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Looking at you, Star Forge. One neat way to solve his problem of scale. Also one neat way to lose his mind, so that secret was staying buried in the depths of his consciousness. The complexity of the Force-facility aside, and how the thing brought the Infinite Empire to its knees through corruption, it was destroyed. Mostly. Probably.

Even if a piece of it had been found, by him, on Nar Shaddaa well after its supposed demise. He wasn't going to go searching for the rest of it. Regardless, delegating. He'd been taking some time to scope out the best fleshcrafters within the Enosis, somewhat disappointed by the results, but his apprentices would make a good start. They, in turn, could teach a number of others. It would be good for them, solidify their own understanding.

You never did realise how poorly you understood something, or how well, until you needed to explain it to someone else. Morgan assured himself that wasn't a reflection on how often he needed to adjust his pupils' lessons. Which, he was somewhat annoyed to find out, where not on the planet. The downside of not having a fixed schedule, he supposed. The upside was that he could dodge people wishing to waste his time. Or gawk. He hated gawking.

But half an hour later found the priority shuttle dropping off his apprentices, all three trying very hard not to look rushed. Jaesa was the best at it, he judged. No surprise there. She had been doing this Force thing longer than any of them.

"You called, Lord?" Inara asked, her emotions more tightly guarded than normal. Annoyed, or had he interrupted something sensitive?

"Lord?"

"I did, I did. I've been thinking about expanding the ranks of the Chosen, increasing overall quality. Soldiers that don't grow tired, I've been told, perform quite well. Same with the fact that allowing them to close the distance is somewhat of a nightmare for the enemy. Lots of broken limbs, shattered skulls, that sort of thing. Exactly what I intended." Alyssa's mouth twitched, doing her best to suppress a smirk.

"How many, Lord?"

"All of them." Morgan held up a hand, forestalling objections that didn't come.

"A lesser package, at any rate. I'm thinking thicker skin, high endurance, but no super-strength. Make them durable but not strong, which should lessen the options for misuse. They won't be Chosen, of course. I'll take care of them myself. But the rank-and-file will be better, which I can't do on my own. That's where you three come in."

"Are we ready for that?" Jaesa asked, uncharacteristically nervous. Fleshcrafting wasn't her speciality, they both knew that. Better than most, though.

"We've done it before, but that was the standard package. Won't altering it increase the risk of death?" Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"What? No. This isn't regular sith Alchemy. Screw up badly enough and they'll be in pain, sure, but nothing I won't be able to fix. I realise most of what you know about sith isn't exactly pleasant, with good reason, but I'd like to think I have proven to be better than that." Inara and Alyssa nodded like that was the most true statement he could have made, instead of the joking tone he'd been going for, while Jaesa nodded a touch too quickly. Morgan sighed.

"Moving on. You brought the company I asked for?"

"Waiting at the barracks." Alyssa confirmed, pointing.

"Haven't told them much, just that it was on special request of our Lord. They didn't seem to question it."

"Right, about that. This is, and will remain, an offer. Make that clear to everyone you reinforce. I want verbal and written consent, something I should have done since the start." Alyssa snorted.

"I don't think many will complain."

"All the same. I'm sure-" Morgan paused, not really knowing who was in charge of paperwork.

"I'm sure their officers can point you in the right direction. Bother Quinn and Mirla with it, if need be. I'm sure they have nothing better to do than cover for my incompetence." He started walking before they could agree, all but barging inside the company's quarters. Soldiers scrambled as their captain intercepted him, saluting. On the young side, but she seemed serious enough.

"Sir!"

"At ease, captain. You and your company have been selected so that my apprentices can practise making pseudo Chosen at a rapid rate. Congratulations."

"Thank you, sir!" Morgan bit back another sigh. He really did need to stop being sarcastic with people like her.

"I was joking, captain. This will be a voluntary procedure, and even if you do agree, I'm here to ensure no harm will come to you or your men. Be aware that while the risk of death or permanent unexpected alteration is minimal, pain could be fairly common."

"I volunteer." The captain answered promptly, casting a look behind her. The soldiers had formed up next to their bunk beds, their off-duty, fatigue clad bodies standing ram-rod straight.

"How about it? Want to trade some pain in exchange for becoming the perfect killing machines?" Ninety six souls barked their agreement, not a wobble of hesitation between them. Morgan nodded, feeling a mixture of exasperation and pride.

"Lie down on the bed, my apprentices will come around one by one. I will be alternating between them, teaching them to apply the changes faster. You will get hungry, so after being double checked by myself you will go get breakfast. You will eat as much as you can, and I mean that quite literally. The body will need an increased amount of calories from this point onwards." He turned back to the captain, nodding to her small office. She led the way as his apprentices prepared themselves, whispering among each other.

"Sir?"

"Get Quinn on the line, if you please. It's probably a good idea to tell him I'm about to double our monthly food consumption. Here's hoping he prepared appropriately." Quinn had not. The man was also getting over his hesitation about voicing annoyance, though Morgan could tell he was just as pleased. He liked better, more durable soldiers. Made for all sorts of interesting tactics. Not Morgan's speciality. He turned, seeing his apprentices had each selected a victim.

He could tell they were already getting to work, the Force bobbing and weaving as the soldiers tensed underneath their hands. Not the fun kind, either. Pain was different, that would only come if they made a mistake, but it wasn't exactly comfortable. Morgan joined them, focusing on Jaesa first. The other two had a better foundation of the art, true, but they lacked vision. That mindset needed to understand the Other. Not strictly necessary, really, but it meant they could not boast a certain flexibility.

Like a craftsman who loved their work and one doing it for the pay. Both would get it done, but one delivered a better result. Slower, too, usually.

"Don't worry about the blood pressure." He said quietly, not wishing to disturb her concentration.

"It will stabilise as you enhance the body more thoroughly. The heart should always come first, lest the muscles starve. Without increasing strength, yet retaining stamina, they will need additional energy without an increase in density."

"How?"

"By increasing latent regeneration." Morgan sent his own power through the soldier, making the man stiffen further, and gently guided Jaesa through the steps.

"The less the muscle tears, or repairs quickly enough for it not to matter, the harder they become to tire. The more energy we feed it, the faster that happens. Some increase in strength is inevitable, of course, but without targeting it specifically that will be minimal. More efficient blood will ensure lactic acid does not build as quickly, again allowing for increased stamina." They worked for a time, slowly increasing in speed as she got more comfortable guiding instead of controlling.

Jaesa tilted her head as a problem fixed itself.

"Remarkable."

"We are, biology aside, increasing the connection between body and soul." He agreed, steadying a pattern as it threatened to unravel.

"The soul knows what the body should look like, and as we work it has more access than normal. Learning what it can fix, and what is better left to us, will come with practice." Morgan let go, forcing her to quickly stabilise the portion he abandoned, and he nodded as she maintained the soldier's heartbeat. She didn't even scowl at him, busy as she was, so he moved over to Alyssa.

"Don't-Don't mess with the soul." He said, somewhat startled.

"Don't touch that, alright?" Alyssa frowned, the woman lying on the bed snapping her eyes open.

"I do that with Inara all the time. Let's me feel what they do, creating more references for me to draw on."

"Sound logic." Morgan assured.

"Except that Inara, compared to your patient, has a soul made of steel. Let's not subsume the very essence of her being, alright? Certainly not by accident. We'll practise on how to feel relative strength later." His apprentice got back to it, the poor soldier looking much less certain than before, but she didn't complain. Would have had a sound reason to, really. Morgan probably would have. Still, not a word. An hour turned into two, the room slowly emptying as their speed increased.

Morgan left them to it, after that. The whole point of it was to ensure they could do this without him, so he could get other work done. Besides, at this point any major flaws were removed from their technique. All they needed was practice, something served better without him hovering over their shoulders. Which led him to the Chosen, Jillins and his officers greeting him at the door. They'd taken over an entire building, it appeared to be a kind of recreational one, and Morgan looked them over.

Just shy of four hundred, their recruiters were always looking for talent, and already highly trained even before they joined. Then they got super strength, super stamina, even more training, and you were left with the elite of the elite. And now he was going to make them even more durable. A less dramatic upgrade than the rank-and-file were getting, admittedly, but thicker skin isn't something to sneeze at.

Shrapnel and concussive grandes would do less damage, any close quarter combat would be safer, and it never really hurt to increase their healing factor. It was pushing what the non-Force enhanced body could take, admittedly, but he was confident he could squeeze increased reflexes in there too. Their caloric intake would be rather massive, to the point it would be a good idea to make special emergency rations for them, but it would be nice to fight with soldiers that could keep up.

Or at least not fall behind as quickly.

"Sir?" Jillins asked, an uncomfortable few seconds having passed.

"Colonel Quinn contacted us about a possible performance increase?" Morgan nodded.

"The more I grow, the more you grow. In this case that means an advanced biological upgrade, because you lot seem to have become my personal enforcers. Representing me, in a way. Which means you'll need all the help you can get, because I've been making enemies like it's going out of style." The captain hesitated, making him frown, and he followed as the man beckoned him to a private area. Of all the things he was expecting, that wasn't it.

"It is my duty to advise my superior officers when I suspect them to have possibly overlooked something important." Jillins began, forging on after a seconds' pause.

"As such, I will say that any further increases to our individual strength will come with certain emotional consequences."

"Speak plainly." Jillins sighed.

"You do this, turn them into what anyone sane would consider apex-predators, you'll have a cult on your hands. One that, I will admit here and now, I won't be able to control. Not fully. There have already been incidents where Chosen overheard less than flattering jokes, innuendo or complaints. Which, in a severe lapse of judgment, they saw to correct."

"They have been harshly reprimanded." The captain explained, seeing the look on his face.

"But that requires that I am made aware of the problem. If their officers don't see anything wrong with such behaviour, say because they agree with their actions, things get covered up. Crew gets paid off, engineers threatened into silence. I saw more than my fair share of that on Balmorra, even if then-lieutenant Quinn shielded us from most of it." Morgan narrowed his eyes.

"And you believe that will only get worse should I impart some small measure of power? Added to, whatever."

"Small from your perspective, pardon the correction. Most of us never even dared imagine wielding this kind of strength. Not political, or even military. Personal, direct power. The ability to, for the rest of their lives, ensure they and their loved ones are protected. Lives which, if you haven't been made aware, they will live for a long while."

"What?"

"Cell decay is down by thirty percent." Jillins explained.

"Increased regeneration, by my logic, will only make that go up. You hand away lifespan therapy like it isn't one of the most sought-after procedures money can buy, and I'm really not surprised people react strongly."

"Are you saying I shouldn't do it?"

"No. But I am saying that discipline will, in certain aspects, worsen."

"Then I'm going forward with it." Morgan decided.

"And I'll have a talk with the officers. I'm getting regretfully used to this cult stuff, but I won't stand for behaviour like that. Worst comes to worst, you come to me. I'll get more directly involved."

"Understood."

"Good. Let's get to work."

"You don't take me anywhere nice anymore." Vette complained, clearly having the time of her life. Her Siantide blaster was tearing through the enemy with insulting ease, flesh-puppets falling with every squeeze of the trigger.

"It's like romance is dead." Her Valkyries were keeping a tight guard around her, something Morgan approved of heartily, and on the other side of the looming hallway Jirr was tearing people limb from limb. Literally, at that. He was briefly tempted to reinforce the wookiee right then and there, just to see what would happen.

"You begged to come with." He replied, pulling an Enosis sith back when she moved forward too aggressively. The woman was dragged further behind by her squad leader, being furiously reprimanded for getting out of position.

"Also, this might be the strangest collection of people I've ever fought with." Two squads of Enosis sith-regulars, the thirteen man unit boasting no less than nine Force users. A rather more skewed balance than normal, but he wasn't going to make an issue out of it here and now. Jirr was leading twenty of his best men, the most diverse collection of races ever wearing Imperial armour, while Vette had her warrior-woman.

The wookiee had proven himself an experienced fighter, being absorbed into the Enosis instead of sent away to the training moon, and some scant few of those recruited on Quesh had joined him. Less than a hundred, if he remembered correctly, though he'd have to look up the exact number. His apprentices weren't here, busy as they were teaching the best healers of the Enosis how to reinforce people, and neither were Lana and Soft Voice.

The latter was busy ensuring his people were properly protected, kidnapping attempts were about to go through the roof, while the former was doing something he wasn't invited to. Her words. Mirla had been none too pleased at having a giant target painted on her fleshcrafters, which was fair, but the Enosis second in command had barely been able to contain her glee. Everyone wanted super-soldiers, apparently.

Maybe he'd have to go talk with the selected Enosis members himself, impress on them the foolishness of spreading that little technique around. Test their mental shields, maybe. Hide the knowledge in their souls? No. That wouldn't stop some Darth from ripping it out anyway, and he wouldn't know where to start. Well, he'd always known it would come out sooner or later. Most people simply didn't have the amount of capable fleshcrafters needed to get anywhere near building an army.

Soft Voice was ensuring it stayed that way, all those who possess more than the basics under very close guard. Which was just the healers, really. Most sith under their banner knew how to administer first aid, which cut down on casualties rather drastically when kolto ran low, using the art, but there was a good reason he felt comfortable sharing it now. Aside from the fact being hunted down for its secrets was somewhat of a moot point.

"I dislike these things." Jirr rumbled, nodding when he came close. A surprisingly mellow man, especially after how they met.

"They smell wrong." Vette sniffed, shrugging.

"Look wrong, too, but I figured that out at the start. Clones?"

"Broken clones." Morgan confirmed.

"Well, that implies they went wrong after manufacturing. Flawed? Either way, it seems some rakatan was fond of flesh-and-blood soldiers over droids." She accepted a datapad from one of her people, answering when she'd read what it had to say.

"Marvellous. My expert says they come from the same genetic donor, twenty fifth generation at least. He's very eager to get his hands on something that can keep producing functioning embryos after copying its source material that many times. Says he'll pay twenty million if I can get him the machine intact. The wonders of scanning equipment. Can you imagine having to drag some poor doctor down here?"

"You are being lied to." Jirr warned.

"Rakatan technology goes for ten times that when broken, nevermind functional. I looked it up." Vette looked at him and sighed.

"I know, big guy. I know. You know I know, so stop pretending to be stupid."

"Apologies. Simple wookiee's get put to work, smart ones get executed."

"Well, now you work for him. He prefers his minions intelligent, independent and I can't think of a third one that starts with an I."

"Integrity." Jirr supplied.

"Initiative. Indomitable." Morgan sent her a disapproving frown.

"Please don't refer to my people as minions."

"Don't pretend you think of them otherwise." She shot back, also shooting another ambusher. A human with faintly off-putting eyes, either too close together or too far apart. Morgan couldn't quite decide.

"Besides, I'm pretty sure a few here pride themselves on being minions."

"Stop saying minions. Also, lieutenant, do you think we're about done here?" The man saluted, looking over his squad. Most looked worn out, paranoid or some combination of the two, though they maintained functioning discipline.

"I think so, sir. Thank you for the opportunity to test squad combination manoeuvres."

"Good. Someone fetch me that corpse." Jirr did, picking it up with strength usually reserved for Force users. Morgan knelt down as it was dropped at his feet, touching the things forehead. No soul, which was very weird to feel, and from the way its brain functioned it couldn't be more than four hours old. Implanted memories, probably, and grown to maturity in a tube. Closer to five, actually.

Five hours to create a well trained soldier, capable of independent thought and biologically wired to be loyal to the Infinite Empire. Ancient One tech indeed.

"Alright, that should do it." The corpse exhaled, breathing out lethal air-born microbes that scattered into the wind.

"Judging from their gear I don't think they have masks advanced enough to stop that, but keep sharp. I'll be very annoyed if one of you dies because of complacency." Vette joined up with him as they got moving, scanning the facility-tomb as she did.

"Any particular reason that won't win any war you take part in?"

"Besides masks, climate and a general sense of morality? It targets their dna, and them being clones, it only targets them. Doing that with an idea as nebulous as an enemy would probably wipe out a few neighbouring towns. Or, you know, the planet. Anyone without access to some very good breathing masks. Even this I set to degrade rapidly, though it's a tossup if that'll work. First time I put that into practice."

"Cool. Cool."

"Not really, but sure. What else did the datapad say? You were too surprised for it to just be some doctor getting back to you."

"Boo." She complained.

"It was going to be a surprise. I had this thing planned and everything."

"I could pretend?"

"Nah, it's ruined. So, well. Ryloth is free. Also, we got started on isotope-5 mining. About ninety six percent has been mapped out, with a generous error margin of four. We might have taken the team working on applications, but it's essentially just an excellent source of energy." Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"Already? Got any of the stuff out of the ground? They make ships go really fast, by the way. Very useful."

"I am rather good at this whole thieving thing, thank you very much." Vette huffed.

"Besides, no one really knows the stuff exists. Just some fringe research, initial mining operations, that kind of thing. Swooping in and taking over wasn't that hard, really. Just leveraged some assets held on Ryloth, bought the entire outfit, ramped up production. A miner got this idea to extract the stuff using specialised droids, since there isn't much compared to the amount of stone around it, and we put that into action. Should be all ours in a few months, assuming no interruptions."

"Oh. Well, that's good? No planetary destabilisation?"

"No? I mean, if people were fighting over it, yeah. Would have taken years instead of months. Involve destructive efforts to get to it before others. Now? We're just another outfit mining stuff no one cares about, let alone want for themselves. And yes, we got some of it out already. Covering our tracks is nearly a fourth of the cost, but I assume you don't want anyone else having it."

"You assumed correctly. Well, I expected that to be harder, but well done."

"That's because you didn't do anything." She snorted, rolling her eyes.

"The nine thousand people involved, along with the several hundred million in assets, would probably disagree."

"I'm at that point again where I'm not entirely sure what you're up to." Vette smiled.

"Very good. Anyway, Ryloth is free."

"You don't sound too happy about that. Or not as happy as I expected, anyway."

"I expected it to take longer." She admitted, no hint of irony in her tone.

"Wanted to be there for the big push. Instead Dorka wins another victory, liberating some mountain clan I've never heard of, and recruitment increased by four thousand percent. A new government formed, hostile mercenaries started to break contract, and just like that it was over."

"So now you have your people scrambling for as much power as they can?" She looked insulted.

"Of course not. We've been planning that since day one, there's no scrambling involved. We already own the spaceport, several government rebuilding contracts and some two million square miles of terrain."

"My mistake."

"Usually. Anyway, Ryloth is free. Didn't quite take over, way too many people for that, but let's say the people in charge are sympathetic to mine. They also desperately need trade to resume, which is something I am more than happy to provide. Also offered very generous opportunities to roughly four hundred thousand twi'lek resistance fighters. Most of them took it, too. I have a bigger army than you do, now, which is very pleasing."

"Got ships for all those twi'lek?" Vette shrugged, stepping over the corpse of another clone. The airborne contagion worked, clearly.

"I will soon. Well, soon-ish. Might be using hired transports to get them place to place for now."

"By you, you mean Dorka, Amelia and such? Since you just got the news, I mean."

"I'm in charge." She argued.

"That means their accomplishments are my accomplishments."

"You got that backwards."

"You're backwards." Morgan rolled his eyes.

"I'll take that as your token of surrender. So, you accomplished stealing a galaxy changing isotope, which will be done in a number of months I should add, while simultaneously freeing your homeworld. I'm thinking my allowance is starting to get a little light with those achievements in mind."

"Says the man being tutored by a once-in-a-millennium Alchemist, able to create super-soldiers like snapping his fingers, and is unimpressed by a piece of machinery that can make an army out of nothing."

"I'll agree that we're both growing outside normal expectations." He offered. Vette thought it over for a second, nodding.

"Wonderful. Do send that isotope to Soft Voice's people, along with the researchers. I'm sure he can compensate you adequately. I was serious about my allowance, by the way, and these clones are too easy to wipe out. Case in point." A group of four dozen, arranged in a rough ambush position, laid still and dead. Some of the less hardened soldiers shuddered, the flesh-droids still looking pretty human. Morgan frowned, tilting his head. Human?

Made sense the rakatan didn't make their slave armies out of their own race, too proud for that, but humans were just one of their options. The only template that survived, the lucky one among dozens? Unlikely. Ah. It had probably run out, someone had stumbled onto this place a while ago, and poof. More dna for it to create soldiers out of. No surprise, humans were one of the more greedy species.

"Creepy flesh puppets aside, what did the general want?" Vette asked, nudging one with her armoured foot. She shrugged when he raised an eyebrow.

"I saw one of his officers insisting he'd talk to you. Thought we were beyond stupidity like that, but I suppose wonders never cease." Morgan snorted.

"I'm pretty sure I was having lunch at the time, and the Chosen on duty told him to hand it over or get bent. No idea how long the officer spent arguing, but I wasn't disturbed. He was delivering the location of Darth Ekkage, to answer the question. Turns out Baras' Lordly spy kept records of his secret mission. Hell, Thos didn't even attempt to destroy it when he found out. Maybe the man isn't as bitter as I thought."

"That, or he found your display dismantling Lord whatshisname suitably intimidating. Probably still scheming, though."

"Probably. Anyway, we know where she is. Getting there is another matter, a nice friendly vacation spot known as The Tomb. Some nasty stuff in there, by all reports. It houses our friend Darth Ekkage, some other nasty prisoners, and this thing called the Mother Machine. I think it has a name? Don't remember." Vette looked at their party, none of them paying any attention to a conversation that warranted exactly that.

"You giving us privacy?"

"I am indeed. Speak freely."

"Cool. What's a Mother Machine, and why don't I like that you know it exists?"

"Something about the rakata and the disease that wiped them out, I think? Vaguely remember that it claimed to have created some species, including the twi'lek, but we'll have to see. The thing, or she if you want to be polite, likes messing with dna. Maybe see if I can trade with it."

"You do that." Vette mumbled, casting a suspicious look at the clones.

"Anything else down there I should be worried about?"

"Probably. Nothing I can think of at the moment, though. She didn't make those, to answer your unspoken question. The Tomb is way deeper."

"Sir." Jirr called, voice loud enough to echo.

"You might want to take a look at this." Morgan sped up, joining the wookiee as the man pointed further down the massive hallway. A bunch of corpses were neatly dragged into a pile, no clone to be seen. Rough looking men and women stripped naked, armour and weapons gone while clothes had been discarded next to them.

"Disturbing, but we already knew we weren't the first. Literally the problem, in fact. People keep waking up dormant facilities." Jirr shook his head.

"Not that. I recognize their symbol. Sons of Betrayal, which is an unfortunate name for the obvious and because they actually fielded a lot of women. I was part of the mission to establish open communications, talked with them about joining the Enosis. Some of them seemed intrigued, especially after I told them about what happened on Quesh." Vette shot him an amused look as Morgan stiffened, gloating without ever needing to speak. He ignored her, brushing his fingers over the corpses.

"Malnourished, dehydrated, weakened muscle structure. They've been here since the riots began, maybe a day or two after at the latest. I suppose it's lucky this didn't happen months ago, even if it still had suitable biological material. This place probably goes dormant if no one threatens it, building a self-defence force but nothing else."

"Giving the self-multiplying machine autonomy would be reckless." Jirr agreed.

"Even for the rakata. Looks like they were hunted down and starved, possibly in an attempt to conserve resources." Morgan waved them onwards, only some particularly clever or lucky clones having survived his plague. Those were taken care of easily enough by his collection of soldiers, and the enormous facility ended somewhat unceremoniously. Oh, the room was still big. Bigger than the hallway by a fair stretch. But it was just a room, dead clones littering the floor by the hundreds.

Working on what he assumed were artificial wombs, though he preferred not to guess.

"Set the charges. I want this place blown to pieces after we've left." He ordered, Jirr's people moving to obey. One of the main reasons they were here, really. Former miners that knew how to handle high-yield explosives. That and the fact that he wanted to keep an eye on the wookiee.

"Do set a perimeter, if you please." The Enosis lieutenant snapped out of it, barking orders as he stopped gawking. His people set a guard at the entrance, no need to have some straggler get a lucky shot in, while the Valkyries were poking around. With purpose, at that. Vette was overseeing them, clearly intent to steal whatever they could. He left them to it. Though, now that he had a moment, there was something trying to whisper into his mind.

Not having much luck, not after having to pass through Force resistant flesh and his very well crafted mental defences, but trying all the same. Morgan located it after isolating the source, keeping an eye out for more threads of influence. Sure enough, now that he was proving to be less than pliable, it was moving on. He snapped them more violently than strictly necessary, the wave of emotions letting him get closer still. It was not, as he had assumed, the cloning machine.

That used the Force, sure, but it wasn't anything special. Behind it, though, and after having to go through a fake wall, there was another room. Much smaller, filled with broken machinery. And one not so broken droid. He raised an eyebrow as it punched him, the blow hard enough to dent steel. Morgan braced himself at the last moment, slightly leaned back to bleed some of the momentum, and grabbed the metal fist. The droid tried to withdraw, seeking to break his grip, and paused when it couldn't.

Morgan liked to think it was out of surprise, but more likely the thing was just calibrating. So he slammed it against the wall, then once more when it proved to still be functional. The droid fell and didn't get back up, letting him look around the room properly.

"E-e-e-e-eternal glory." The fake soul spoke, sounding nothing like galactic basic yet perfectly understandable.

"E-e-e-e-e-e-e-evaluting threat. The Infinite Empire will r-r-r-r-reign supreme." Morgan shrugged, finding its soul and smothering it in nothing. Literally pushing out its presence in the Force and supplanting his own, curious about what would happen. It attacked him, unsurprisingly, but honestly the thing wasn't that strong. Insidious, maybe, and hiding pretty well after it lost the first confrontation, but nothing he couldn't find.

There wasn't an Other nearby to act as a bloodhound, they didn't seem to like Belsavis much, and bribing one that liked him to come over seemed redundant. Still, he found and killed the last trace in short order.

"Why are you torturing a machine?" Vette asked, having joined him shortly after it started proclaiming its love for the rakata.

"I mean, everyone has hobbies, but that seems a little twisted." He didn't answer, focussing as a rudimentary control panel unfolded in its soul, and flipped a switch. Another fake wall moved aside, showing its actual body.

"Damn. The rakata build souls like computers, or close enough, then gave them limited sentience. We're definitely taking this one with us."

"The tech you're having people shot for messing with? You want to not only take it, but keep it on the ship?"

"Don't let the rust fool you." Morgan grinned, waving at it.

"That's a fully functioning droid factory. One that makes very good war machines, at that. From the impression I got it only needs raw materials, some time, and out comes the killing machine. Two dozen a day, maybe? Will go really nicely with the training facility we've set up."

"Of course, we'll need proper screening. Took care of the quote unquote evil, which means it'll no longer operate without direct instruction, but I'm sure the Enosis has someone capable of both the Force and slicing. Maybe remove the fake soul and replace it with programming, but that's outside my expertise."" If it doesn't go rogue." Vette said, tone dubious.

"And if it'll still even work after being gutted, it's worth billions. More, probably. I don't think there's an open market for something like this." Morgan shrugged.

"Which is why we're not selling it. Should make for a great boost in combat readiness for the new recruits. War droids worth their metal are expensive as all hell, nevermind highly regulated. No, this one is all ours. Someone get me Soft Voice on the line. We need to talk about transportation and quarantine." He all but rubbed his hands together as Jirr's people got to work on the excavation, slowly watching the extraordinarily small factory be revealed.

Normally these things took up enormous amounts of space, needing an entire industry to support it. Hundreds of trained workers, months and months of preparation. This was going to be a much faster affair.