Chương 59: Chap 59: Growing Rebels arc: Marshal

Morgan arrived with less restraint than he might usually have employed, presence flooding the street. The civilians had cleared out before he got here, abandoning restaurants and shops, but no violence was evident. Unless he was about to get a very good explanation, that was going to change. Two groups stood opposite each other, bristling even as the Force tensed. Had tensed, at least, until bending under Morgan's attention.

Star had taught him many things, now that they could talk, and artificially thickening his own aura was among the less impressive. Volryder seemed to be the only one not intimidated by the weight, the jedi Master standing with yet more jedi. Recruits brought here by Kell and Gasnic, weeks having passed without incident.

"Lord, please." The sith spokesperson visibly struggled to speak, the horde behind her losing all taste for blood.

"We only wished to ensure the peace and tradition o-" She cut off as he looked at her, swallowing the words. Morgan flicked his hand to Volryder.

"Explain."

"Why should a jedi get to speak before one of the Enosis?" Someone else interrupted, a male voice. If there had been silence before, now it was deafening.

"It is our right to represe-" Morgan found the source and strangled the noise, the fool finding no sound leaving his lips.

"You will wait for your turn to speak."

"We are guests of the Enosis, and wished only-"" Be Silent." The command unfolded through the Force, the jedi who had spoken growing wide-eyed, and all sound ceased. Stopped as if it had never existed, an utter stillness wholly unnatural. The artificial wind made not a whisper, as if the very ability had been stripped from reality.

"Now." Morgan continued, easing his irritation.

"I gave Volryder leave to speak. To explain, for he appears the only adult in sight. Your reasons and excuses will be entertained in good time. Master jedi?" Volryder tilted his head, shaking it briefly.

"Interesting. The situation, yes. I only came upon it some minutes ago, wishing to calm rising tempers. I have surmised that jedi Knight Yundas made, let us say, an unkind remark. Unwise, and born from a tired mind. Your sith took it more seriously than they should have, and tensions rose."

"Continue."

"It was afterwards that I arrived, and your sith Biala told me to leave. Yundas took unkindly to that, the sith insisted, and tensions rose higher still. Any attempt at defusing the situation was doomed, so I stated that I would disarm the first person to draw a weapon. It calmed the situation, in a certain sense, and bought time for a person of higher authority to get here."

"Which means me." Morgan said, resisting the urge to rub his temples." Biala, you go." The same version of events got told again, with different justifications and viewpoints, but her soul didn't shift. Which meant she was telling the truth, saving him a fair amount of work. He held up a hand as she talked further than what he needed to hear, blessed silence returning.

"Alright, this is what's going to happen. Yundas, apologise for being a dick. Biala, apologize for having less emotional control than an actual child. Everyone thank Volryder for saving your collective lives, because if I had come here with bodies on the floor I was going to get involved, and the lot of you will enroll in remedial conflict de-escalation lessons. Is anything, anything at all, of what I just said unclear?"

Forty eight souls bowed to his demand, some more grudgingly than others, and apologies were given through gritted teeth. Yundas had to be prompted by Volryder, which was a mark against the Knight, but it got done. The two groups made to leave and Morgan pulses his presence, eyebrow raised.

"Where do you think you're going? What, you get to have your little dramatic standoff and leave someone else to clean up your mess? I want this place neat and orderly, mop the floors if that's what it takes, and none of you get to leave before this incident is on record." A sith commander finally arrived, the woman seeming utterly confused about the mess, and Morgan pointed to the group.

"Treat them like toddlers until they learn to behave." Morgan ordered, turning away. The commander bowed, Volryder moving to join the cleanup.

"Not you, you noble idiot. Get over here." The jedi Master did, faint amusement bleeding past his shields.

"Of all the ways I expected this to end, jedi and sith coming together to clean up spilled drinks was not one of them."

"Personal responsibility is a thing within the Enosis, and they broke some chairs along with the drinks." Morgan replied, just loud enough for everyone to hear. His tone dropped again, sighing.

"Sometimes people need to be reminded that power doesn't absolve them of responsibility."

"Yes it does. Practically speaking, I mean."

"It doesn't while I'm in charge." Morgan amended, rolling his eyes.

"Anything you wish to add in private?" Volryder hummed.

"Contrary to what just happened, integration has gone well. It will take more than a few weeks, as you no doubt have realised, but already discussion is on the rise. Ideals challenged and opposed, skills tested and refined. A unique experience, and one I am glad to aid. Mental calm helps when dealing with foolishness."

"Meditating on Tatooine would have helped." Morgan agreed, noting the man's surprise.

"What? Oh, I saw you there. Kind of. You looked busy, so I didn't disturb you."

"You saw me. On Tatooine, despite not being there physically, and without me feeling a hint of your presence?"

"I could have been hiding behind a rock." Morgan defended, a grin forming as his annoyance drained.

"Or I might have been learning to travel with my soul. Fun stuff, though not as useful for spying as I imagined. Anyway, I'm glad you're here. As you have seen for yourself, my people could more than benefit from your experience." The jedi Master smiled a small smile, looking over the collection of disgruntled Force users cleaning their mess. By hand, at that, the commander hovering over them like an angry drill-sergeant. Volryder's voice turned somewhat sharper, the closest he'd ever seen the jedi to reproachful.

"It is a balm on the soul to instruct the young. Or not so young, since the Enosis recruits from all walks of life."

"Yeah, look. I know the jedi are generally the good guys, as much as such a term applies, but only raising your members from the time they are literal babies just doesn't sit right with me. Get consent from the parents, treat them well, you're still ensuring their loyalty by removing any and all influences that aren't your own. Or are you telling me that it's impossible to train a well adjusted, duty-bound jedi once they're over the age of eighteen?"

"More so than you'd think, though exceptions are made." Volryder responded, holding up a hand.

"But the issue stems from tradition. The jedi Order runs a certain way, with some very old Masters in charge, and change is slow. More to the point, change is dangerous. When the sith are loose the jedi are heroes. When they're not? People fear what they don't understand, and fear leads to anger."

"So make it relatable. The fact I offer free, Force-based healthcare is half the reason people join the Enosis. Cooking, industry, art, conflict resolution. All disciplines easily supported by jedi. Force users are rare, yes, but they're not that rare. Make it something people are familiar with, that the Force is just something Jerry two streets over does at work, and the issue ends."

"It's not that simple."

"Have you tried?" Volryder sighed.

"My predecessors have. Some even saw a measure of success. But inevitably, inescapably, something went wrong. Someone turned to the Dark side, bad press killed it, other Masters disliked the shift. It always lacked a powerful enough presence to bully through."

"Very subtle." Morgan replied dryly.

"But if I'm picking up on the subtext correctly, there's interest in it. Especially from the young generation."

"I feel duty-bound to recommend against building a better alternative and stealing the next generation of jedi from the Order."

"Well, with such a spirited argument against it I am left with no choice to back down. Or, alternatively, I'm going to do pretty much whatever I want and you can stop me if you care enough to try." The jedi Master sighed louder.

"Sometimes I forget you are yet young. Well, it seems this situation is under control, and I have a class on negotiation to return to." Morgan waved as the jedi left, leaving him to oversee nothing of importance. Shrugged and left himself, returning to the training hall he had abandoned. The sudden urge to take a walk had been both vague and insistent, which was an odd combination, but it seemed to have worked out. Teacher's holocron had actually been informative on that part.

Turns out, as you learned about the Force, it learned about you. Not in a literal sense, but sharing more of yourself with the universe allowed it to better predict what someone cares about. Everyone valued their lives, so the Force warns people of danger. But Morgan valued peace on his station, so it tried to warn him it was about to be disrupted. Vaguely, vaguer even than his early days on Korriban, but warn him it did.

It didn't warn him of the fact Lana was already in the room, and Morgan leaned to the side when she shot a technique at him. Tightly designed, enough so he only would have been able to lessen its power, but also unable to course correct. It impacted the wall behind him with a groan, clearly possessing some kind of telekinetic component.

"Hello to you too." He replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Shall I also start greeting you with hostile intent?" Another attack was his answer, Lana clearly not in the mood for humor. Morgan shrugged, reaching for his newest and most dangerous trick. Grasped Fate and pruned her future, her legs inexplicably clumsy. She dropped, scowling fiercely, but he only shrugged. Pulling punches wasn't how they sparred, not anymore, and if she ever met someone else capable of manipulating the threads of destiny she would need to be prepared for it.

Embarrassment was much better than death, generally speaking. Her will fought his, and she clawed control away from him. But only partly, though getting better by the week, and it gave him an advantage that was hard to overcome. So he weaved and danced through her attacks, closing and altering her options. Slapped her over the head, once, which he might admit was him being petty. Still, he hadn't forgiven her for kicking him in the balls.

It had been unnecessary, and highly painful besides, and two weeks hadn't stopped him from seeking vengeance. Yet the fight continued, the room large enough they had space to move, and she adapted. Lana was, as ever, highly skilled in the more arcane matters of the Force. Enough so that his advantage was nullified in a number of minutes, and Morgan let Fate go free. She tried to grasp it herself, tried to turn the tables entirely, but it slipped through her fingers.

She grunted and focused, Morgan drawing his own lightsaber. Now, without him bending Fate, she was technically the more skilled duelist. And with her growing skill in fleshcrafting, he couldn't exactly outlast her. She'd more than learned not to let him touch her, not to contest him when it came to brute strength, and that his fleshcrafting control suffered at range. But he was familiar with her too, these days. Knew how flexible she was, how far she could push before her body failed her.

Sunk into stealth, dampening large portions of her precognition, and not being able to use his active strength didn't matter when he couldn't touch her anyway. Then she was forced to block instead of dodge, and his seal loosened. Let him use a brief moment of raw physical strength, energy coursing through his limbs as her guard broke, before reapplying his stealth again. Lana staggered, needing precious moments to recover, and he let her. Blasted a wave of air at him, Morgan anchoring himself to the floor.

His threads of fine telekinesis had grown less numerous, over time, and these days he wove them into thicker strands. Less was subjective, however, and thousands still attached him to the floor. He used it to not only counter her technique, but push through it. Combined it with his physical strength, though stealth had to be dropped again. A balancing game he was growing better at, Lana having to scramble aside.

His foot clipped her, carrying enough strength to unbalance, and his lightsaber was at her throat before she could recover. Lana froze, seeming to war with herself for a brief second, before deflating.

"Alright." Morgan said, nodding.

"Want to tell me what that was about, now?"

"Do you really want to know?" Suppressing the reflexive reply, and giving that question the proper consideration it deserved, he was almost surprised that he did.

"I do."

"You remember Harran?" She asked, and he was even more surprised that she actually answered. Lana Beniko was growing to feel at ease, he realised.

"The captain you slapped me in the face with on Belsavis? The one I was talking to."

"Not my finest moment. Soft Voice called me churlish, I think?" Lana snorted.

"He did, yeah. You told me to make sure he was fine with the power balance, so I've been taking it slow. Enjoying his company, basically. Turns out he wasn't as alright with it as he pretended. I insisted that he'd tell the truth, and who I thought was an open-minded person turned out to be not."

"I'm sorry." Morgan offered, sighing.

"I lucked into Vette, I really did, so I've got no words of wisdom. I am obliged to ask if we need to clean up a vaguely humanoid pile of limbs." She exhaled, which he was generously going to call a laugh, and shook her head.

"He is unworthy of staining my blade."

"Korriban really fucked us up, didn't it?" Morgan asked, making Lana raise an eyebrow. He shrugged.

"I find it a relatable sentence, which really isn't a good sign for my psyche. Then again, who really wants to be normal?"

"Boring people. Now cease your attempts at consolation and let me try to beat you to death."

"Well, at least you said try. And I'll have you know my counselling skills are widely recognized as supe-" He stepped back as she tried to slice his throat, which was just all kinds of rude, and had to turn the controlled move into a more desperate scramble. Found her lightsaber extending farther than it should, a trick he never really found all that useful, and tried to shatter her knee in turn. They kept sparring far longer than usual, her aggression slowly bleeding away, and he let himself enjoy it.

The adrenaline and growth, refining techniques that might one day save his life. But eventually she slowed, ran out of reserves, and Morgan suppressed a smile. Good to know he was still able to outlast his opponents. She sat to meditate, Morgan contemplating for a moment, and joined her. Sent her a burst of intent, which she interpreted quicker than ever, and held out a metaphorical hand. Dragged her down and down into the Force, greeting Star when the Other peered at them curiously. Are we going on a hunt?

No hunt. Morgan replied, the words halting but proper. Showing Lana a true Nexus Point. Star shrugged, twisting away. Uninterested, clearly, and the Other had chores to do. Or that was what he picked up, but he still had trouble understanding them when not spoken to directly.

"Can you stop conversing with horrors beyond mortal comprehension." Lana asked, stumbling briefly over her words. It was strange, speaking without a body, but as ever the Force supplied.

"And I've been to a nexus point."

"Not a nexus point. A Nexus Point. There's a difference, but it's better to show you. Stealth mode." Lana rolled her eyes but complied, hiding as he'd taught her. Morgan did the same, leading them onwards through the highways of the Force. A distinctly strange place, distance not mattering nearly as much as what might be on your path, but he and Star had practised. Tython wasn't really that hard to find, not once you knew how to look, and he let himself be dragged there.

Nexus points like it literally breathe the Force, if not particularly strongly, but it takes a certain perspective to notice. Lana didn't, seeming confused by his ability to navigate, but she would learn. He'd already taken Soft Voice here once, though that had been with Star, in an attempt to heal his soul. Hadn't helped, though the man had admitted it was relaxing, but now he wasn't here for a magical cure. Just a favor for a friend, letting her de-stress properly.

Venting was great and all, but nothing quite beat attuning yourself to the heartbeat of the cosmos. Or maybe she would scream and freak out. Time would tell quickly enough. Or not so quickly, having to drag Lana away from an Elder. He could see why Star had found that funny, now, though Lana herself seemed less amused. He shrugged and sent over instructions on how to feel and avoid their pull, which she started doing almost immediately. She was going to get better at this than he was, wasn't she? Oh well.

Jealousy was for the common people, and by now he was fairly sure Lana wasn't going to leave. Not unless someone did something very stupid, but if a not-a-breakup didn't do it then little would. They finally settled around Tython as the Force welcomed them, Morgan sinking back into it with a pleased sigh. Lana was more hesitant, eyes darting over to look at him, and he ignored her attempts at plagiarism. This wasn't about being more skilled, or even learning something, but about existing.

Something she understood after some time passed, stopping her struggle to let go. The Force immediately rushed to blanket her, which caused her to tense and break the effect, but she got there in the end. He was too busy feeling utterly at peace, accumulated stress becoming undone. When he was here with Soft Voice he'd been too busy keeping an eye out, and making sure Star didn't enthusiastically 'fix' the damage, but Lana could fend for herself.

Time passed, his friend figured out there really wasn't a trick to this, and he all but saw the lines of fatigue disappear from her face. It could get addicting, he knew, but if you had a will strong enough to get here it wasn't that big of an issue.

"Jedi." Lana warned lazily, watching them with a small smirk of amusement.

"Investigating?"

"Well, we are two unknown Force signatures hovering around their sacred planet. They can't actually feel anything, Volryder confirmed that, and we both know the Dark and Light aren't really a thing this deep. So all they get is this vague notion that something is amiss. They have a few people capable of digging deeper, but we can leave if they get close."

"Greedy of them to keep this all for themselves."

"Not to sound arrogant, but there's probably less than a hundred souls capable of doing what we're doing right now. The Dark Council and their direct apprentices, of course, and I'm sure the jedi have them matched. Independents and the like, too, though I haven't met many. It's not like this place would be busy even if they had shared."

"There's a good reason it's just the sith and jedi have gotten this large." Lana drawled, splashing a wave of Force over herself. The jedi looking in her direction frowned, turning away to inspect somewhere else.

"It's hard to train Force users, a problem the Enosis just seems to be ignoring with a disgusting amount of success. You'd need to be lucky, extraordinarily strong and wise beyond your years. Or do what you did, of course, and double down on luck." Morgan raised an eyebrow, smiling leisurely.

"Or be able to divine the future, use that to help you survive, then snowball as you steal the good stuff before everyone else knows it exists."

"What?" She replied, frowning.

"No. Really?"

"Hmmn. Ever since I stepped foot on Korriban, though it was a one time thing. You, Lady Beniko, never stood a chance. Snared in my web like a doomed fly." Lana snorted, rolling her eyes.

"I came to you, if I recall. Though I guess it explains some things. Things to look out for?"

"Some stuff. Nothing immediate. Isotope-5 was one of my better cards, damn but I love Vette, and at this point I've thoroughly pushed this train off the rails already. Oh, there's a revanite cult in Imperial ranks. Republic, too. Not really our problem."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Because I am known for my skillful lies and flighty personality." He countered dryly.

"Darth Arkous is or will be one of them. Not sure on the exact timeline."

"Anything else I won't believe?"

"Yup. But I'm not sure half of it ever existed in the first place, so I'm going to be cautious and keep it to myself. I've been lied to before, though usually not about the big things. You're taking this better than most."

"Of course I am the last to find out. Zethix knows, then, as does Vette. Kala?"

"No, though Quinn does. Why are you taking this so well?" Lana shrugged, causing one of the searching jedi to snap her head around. Lana made a shushing motion, the Force thickening to obscure them from sight.

"The Arcane comes with many gifts. Your apprentice can see the true nature of people, no matter their skill or defences, and it is far from the only affinity that exists. The padawan on Belsavis counters dread, one of the sith you fought on Hoth traced the paths of the future himself. Ekkage used the Force to store her lightsaber, and Void knows what else, though you've managed to copy that trick. I have found being surprised is a waste of time.

Oh, you're better at fleshcrafting than can be explained by aptitude alone."

"Alright, fine. Jesus. I get it, I'm not special." He shook his head sadly, Lana not seeming to buy the act.

"We should leave, though. They're bringing out the big guns." She was clearly tempted to fight, to see how far they could actually push, but she relented. Joined him as he pulled his soul-presence away, more a cloud than anything physical. It was weird, being this deep in the Force, and Lana clearly agreed. Briefly lost control when she saw her reflection in something he was pretty sure was an actual sun, her form shifting between a number of states.

Poking her helped, since it stopped the downward spiral, and he shepherded her back to their bodies. Seven hours, his senses told him. He opened his physical eyes and stretched, drifting over the datapad he had set aside. Closer to nine than seven, it insisted, and Morgan grunted. He'd have to work on that. Lana stood and, to his amusement, did a handstand. Sniffed when she saw his expression, rolling her eyes.

"It's a good exercise to wake up the body. No need to be jealous." Morgan raised an eyebrow and copied her, easily shifting his weight to perform a one-handed handstand. Not something he had actually done before, but fleshcrafting gave him a rather extreme control over his own body. Then she started doing handstand push ups, also on one hand, and Morgan let himself drop to the floor. Rolled with the motion, almost drifting to his feet.

"I wasted enough time on your self pity."

"I pity the fool who lost my respect." Lana replied, her tone relaxed.

"But I suppose you helped. Another spar? I'll even promise to explain some of my tricks." He suppressed the urge to lean forward, folding his arms.

"I suppose that would be worth my time." Vette thrummed her fingers on the desk, looking over the report. The attack on her people had grown from annoying to bad to horrific, but things seemed to have calmed. Protocols and back-up plans had done their job, and even the most damaged branches had survived. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Mostly thanks to the twi'lek, if she was being honest.

Planning and money and mercenaries could go far, but it was her species that allowed it to endure. Because planning failed, money ran out and mercenaries broke contract, but her people fought for something more. And her people knew loss. Knew how to lose without breaking, scattering to the winds with what they could carry. And after a few days, as the victorious Exchange and Cartels toasted to their victory, snipers found their mark. It had been both, in the end.

Amelia hadn't been sure at first, but it seemed two souls had seen sense. A dangerously pragmatic hutt and a mid-to-high level Exchange shotcaller. Both looked at her growth and decided to head the issue off at the pass, carving her territory up between them. Which they had. For a while. Even now her people were taking back what belonged to her, groups held together by the zeal of twi'lek refusal. Not all of her people, of course, and some that had run would keep running, but enough.

It let Dorka assemble his army, reinforcing the Nar Shaddaa branch to break the siege, which in turn let its economic engine pay for more soldiers. More bounty hunters and assassins. Now she was mostly back on track, her organisation being purified in a trial by fire, and they were stronger for it. Vette promoted more competent people, dealt with or fired the ones that hadn't performed, and worked on rebuilding her empire of crime. Which didn't do all that much actual crime, really.

Like she had told Morgan, money was made by supplying vices. Gambling, escorts, smuggling. The latter wasn't a vice, but avoiding the law to bring goods from a-to-b did mean someone had to buy the stuff her people were smuggling. All of that could be nasty and violent and horrible, sure, but it didn't need to be. So she made sure it wasn't, and made so much money that very powerful people had spent yet more money to rob her.

But that was dealt with, now, and the Cartels were horrified when two dozen hutts had been strung up as retaliation for an imagined slight. The Exchange really must be bastards, Vette decided, if they could be blamed for that without any evidence and people just ate it up. The morality of false flag operations aside - she'd made sure the victims weren't innocent - the Hutt-Exchange war had once again begun in earnest. Which left her free to relax the iron grip on her people, giving her time for different projects.

Namely, the Emperor's Hand. Morgan might have moved on from the assassination attempt, not wishing to waste time and resources on an organisation capable of hiding from him, but she wasn't so magnanimous. Someone had sent the Emperor's Wrath after her Morgan, and blood would be the only atonement she would accept. Not the easiest thing in the world, finding a well-hidden cult while her powerbase was still recovering, but even now her reach was vast. Not particularly thorough, not yet, but vast.

So she set people to hunt for rumors. To bribe sith leaving the safety of Korriban and Dromund Kaas, her familiarity with their mentality aiding in bribery. Tomes and knowledge, contacts and artifacts. And rumors were told to her people in exchange, though nothing as overt as direct answers. It would take time, which she was fine with, as hundreds of experts spent millions of credits to find those who had dared to touch those she loved.

Her Morgan could joke about how she was the queen of the underworld, but he was hers. And while she normally conceded he was better suited to deal with the Force side of their relationship, this fell partly under her purview. And that excuse was more than enough for her to hunt them down to the last. Jaesa looked over the company of Chosen, nodding to their captain after a moment. The woman saluted and barked at them to disembark, Jaesa still somewhat hesitant about this whole being-in-charge thing.

Soldiers were usually the ones in command, and before she had joined with Morgan she hadn't had much to do with the military at all. Some spooks that answered to Karr with reverence or uncaring apathy, at most, but nothing like this. But the order had come down, and her fellow apprentices had promptly declared to 'not be it'. She was surrounded by children, honestly. And, as she found out, being in charge sucked. Being not in charge, yet still having the person in charge follow your orders, was much better.

Which wasn't how it was supposed to be, but the status that came with being the apprentice of Lord Caro kept growing. Kept increasing, which meant even if she was put under someone else's command they ensured she had a voice. Listened to it, sometimes a little too much, but she never really had to plan everything out before. Yet her fellow apprentices stuck to their childish oath, taking the free time to make disgusting lovey-dovey eyes at each other.

And more, but Jaesa had spread a rumour and suddenly they remembered they could be discreet. At least ordering those two around was a silver lining, but this didn't make up for it. She'd been in battle before, of course, and had seen more soldiers die than she ever wished to, but now she was in command. She had approved the plan, finalised the date and ordered them into battle. The battle. That, at least, was straight-forward.

The battalion of sith she had, some technically stronger than her yet none even close to her equal, were waiting on the other ship. Their target was a rather fancy looking building on some planet she barely cared to remember the name of, home to someone with enough money to hire good security. And make it look legitimate, which she knew to be twice as expensive. The guards would be well armed, disciplined and experienced, their boss having multiple avenues of escape.

It was also, Jaesa thought somewhat petulantly, beneath her. Not in the sense that her time was wasted here, though that was also true, but in the sense that this seemed like something the Chosen could have done on their own. The fact said soldiers were here at all meant it was of personal interest to her Master, which is why the complaint had never left her lips, but still. Oh. The reason crystallised as the final preparations commenced, power being cut to the entire port.

It was overkill, the sith battalion alone was overkill, but what if it wasn't about the target? What if it was about them? The Chosen were well known to report to him directly, uncaring about earning favor or politics. Which meant they were uniquely suited to evaluate their progress, both her own and that of her fellow apprentices. Well, never let it be said she didn't rise to a challenge. Her senses expanded as they disembarked, mind processing the vast torrents of information.

Every soul, every emotion, laid bare before her. More than she could ever see without her gift, though recreating it against non-Force users was possible on a smaller scale. The building got bigger and security swarmed like ants, Jaesa's voice travelling no further than the confines of her helmet.

"Chosen squads one through five, press left. Inara, Alyssa, go with them. Sith unit one, press center. Sith unit two, press right. Chosen squads six to eleven, press right. Push hard." Her people obeyed and the right-most flank broke. Almost immediately, at that, the guards made up of a disproportionate amount of family-men. People that weren't going to die for a paycheck, not anymore. Because people change, and what might look like a veteran soldier with iron discipline could well have shifted their priorities.

Her sith and soldiers flooded the compound, the toughest of them outright blowing through physical barriers, and Jaesa tracked the resistance.

"Our target is fleeing south-west." She warned, the greed-filled soul more than matching the one in her briefing. Only one man could be that afraid of losing things he did not earn.

"Discourage him." A sleek transport tried to rise in the air and jerked strangely, a dozen sith combining their efforts to keep it down. The remaining sith dragged the man from the craft, jumping dozens of feet to board the ship, and Jaesa realised the battle was already over. She sheathed her unused lightsaber, pulling out the communicator. It connected within moments, the face only vaguely familiar to her.

"Target secure."

"Already?" John asked, a pleased undertone to his words. Jaesa's power cut to the core of him, finding it to be a genuine emotion.

"What I wouldn't give to have you on my payroll. May I see him?" Jaesa nodded to the Chosen, most of whom had done little more than intimidate, and the man was dragged forward to her feet after half a minute. The spook grinned and leaned forward, never having risen from his seat.

"Abascus. It really does me good to see you on your knees." Her target struggled and Jaesa watched the Chosen shift their grip, unnatural strength meaning the man was unable to move an inch. She'd known his name, of course, and his occupation, but what did it matter to her? Better to think of him as the target and let her temporary boss deal with the rest.

"I can pay." The prisoner said, and Jeasa snorted. He had money, sure, but the spook wasn't interested in it.

"Please, I have a family." A shake of her head grabbed John's attention, the man raising an eyebrow. Jaesa sighed.

"He does, but he cares little for them. Has a hound he does love and sent away days ago, presumably to avoid it getting caught in the crossfire, and considered doing the same for his family. He never did. This does imply he knew you were coming for him, or at least feared."

"Interesting." John mused.

"Well, you heard my lovely friend. Actions carry consequences, Abascus." Inara arrived and Jaesa turned to her, reaching out her other hand to break the target's neck. Listened with half an ear to the report, nodding when her own assessment was confirmed. None of her people had died, large portions of the enemy had surrendered.

"We'll re-embark and return to orbit." Jaesa ordered, shooting John a look.

"You can inform me of our next objective then."

"Of course. It really is a pleasure to have access to your skills."

"My Master wills it." She replied, and noted the small tremor of fear the spook hid so expertly. The urge to needle him was too bothersome to suppress, so she added; "Let His will be done." The connection closed and she cast an idle glance over the port, emergency lighting only just coming online. Another week and she could get back to actually important matters, but for now she had reports to write. She, Jaesa decided, would put Alyssa in charge next time.

"So, I know you might be tired of hearing me say this, but is this normal?" Morgan asked, a tired looking Quinn next to him.

"I can give you a good night's sleep, by the way. Won't take but a second."

"No, it's not. And please." Morgan reached out a hand, touch still aiding fleshcrafting even if not technically necessary anymore, and invigorated the soul. Not what sleep actually did, removing toxins in the brain and such, but close enough. It was actually the same thing Force users enjoyed, since a suitably energized soul could stave off the consequences for a time. Not forever, especially not for regular people, but it was doable once a week.

The general perked up, quite literally feeling the strain lift from his mind, and exhaled deeply.

"Thank the stars. I've been awake since four dealing with this, which allowed for a generous three hours of sleep. Can we have one of the healer's keep doing that? I'm not above throwing my political weight around to get one permanently assigned to me."

"Not unless you want horrific and unknowable side-effects. Once a week, no more. And that means seven nights of sleep before using it again, not a week of nothing, using it twice in a row, then another week of nothing." Morgan shrugged, waving at the milling crowd below.

"It's not a miracle cure. Now tell me what I'm looking at, exactly." The platform gave them a good overview of the repurposed hangar, thousands waiting not-so-patiently to be processed. Healers were out in force, taking stock of injuries and intent, but it would take days to sort this mess. It would be a miracle if their location wasn't leaked by now, especially with how the mass-influx overwhelmed their usually discreet transport methods, but the people had been insistent.

Some major had seen the writing on the wall and backed down, which had been a good choice. Angering thousands of veterans, disabled or not, could have turned nasty fast. They'd been getting them before, of course, but it seemed that a tipping point had been reached. Rumors of their ability to fix any wound became more and more believable, many a soul willing to enter active service again if they could be whole while doing so.

"You read the report, same as me." Quinn began, looking over the people.

"Three thousand, four hundred and twenty eight here. Another seven thousand on Gamma station. They're being surprisingly patient, but sooner or later tensions will boil over." Morgan found that to be an understatement, the uniforms and medals of two dozen militaries adorning the crowd. But, as was the actual problem, the two largest groups were Imperial and Republic. And since those two factions were currently at war, he could see why even discharged soldiers held grudges. Not that it was being tolerated.

Sith were keeping a stern eye on anyone looking to make trouble, emotional senses allowing them to intervene before things got out of hand. Morgan was quite familiar with crowd psychology, particularly so from experience, and had no wish to have to deal with it here.

"Placement will be the real problem." The general continued, signing something an aide brought him. The woman seemed to be doing her utmost to be invisible, though it wasn't out of fear. Strange.

"Not for some of them, those that served in planetary defence forces or as corporate mercenaries, but the Imperial Republic ones."

"Which one would be the more likely to do something stupid?"

"Hard to say." Quinn hedged.

"Imperials will feel more at home, even if we're stepping further and further away from the traditional structure, but they also have bad habits that need to be broken. Mostly racist ones. Republic soldiers won't have that problem, but having them obey or command people that they hate could turn nasty quick. Separating them is just delaying the inevitable, nevermind allowing for an us-versus-them mindset, so we're workshopping a few things."

"I see. Timeline?" The general sighed.

"Now that's the main problem. The Enosis is growing too big, too fast, and we need the experience these people bring. Eager volunteers are a blessing, don't misunderstand, but it can't make up for experience. So I want these men and women in leadership positions, which will create problems all on its own, and it's going to be a giant mess until then."

"Rough estimate?"

"Weeks." Quinn said, shrugging.

"And that's just placement. Months more for them to settle down and the initial friction to smooth over. Battle will help, nothing creates comradery like a shared enemy, but it can't be against either the Empire or the Republic. Not if they don't attack us first."

"I'll see if I can conjure up an appropriately evil enemy to fight." Morgan replied, amused. The Force twisted and his smile dropped, Quinn looking over.

"Hmn? Oh, nothing. Probably." The general shrugged.

"If you insist. Now, as much as this anomalous increase in recruitment will be a pain, it did come at a convenient time. You can only rush people through an officer-track so fast before it becomes a problem."

"That I can believe. That reminds me, we took in a number of the hutt-slave soldiers, didn't we? The ones from the Octavian Mining Group."

"We did. Twenty eight, and I know that number by memory for the endless problems they cause. Not their fault, admittedly, but after someone's fourth attempt at a violent breakout sympathy tends to run dry."

"A failure, then." Morgan sighed.

"Shame." Quinn grunted.

"Not really, actually. Guided meditation, even for non-Force users, has been of great help. Professional, Force-using therapists are rare, yet I've heard nothing but good things about their work. Seventeen have already been rehabilitated, though only to a point, and serve as military instructors. Not for raw recruits, of course, but specialist training and the like. Jaesa cleared them personally."

"Some good came of that, then." Morgan replied. He took a step back, someone pointing to their out-of-the-way but not invisible position.

"And someone just noticed us. I think I'll leave this in your capable hands, general." The man shot him an amused look.

"My Lord." Morgan let the mocking slide, moving away. It had only become worse as the Enosis grew, recruiting people from objectively horrific conditions, and the Reborn weren't helping matters. Nothing as overt as shrines and sermons, those he would have put a stop to at once, but subtle things. Like telling people the healing corps was his invention. Technically true, in the sense that he and his apprentices helped set it up, but misleading. Yes, he took care of some of the harder problems.

Things involving the soul, though fortunately that wasn't as big a drain on his time as he had feared. Yes, he gave classes. Feeling mighty inadequate lecturing about health in front of actual medical doctors, and so mostly kept to the Force side of the discipline, but he gave them. Hundreds of people put thousands of hours into making it work, yet he got a disproportionate amount of the credit. Trying to downplay it had backfired, making people assume he was being modest, and so he was trying avoidance.

Time would tell if it was going to make a difference. Fleeing aside, things were going well. A little too well, perhaps, but paranoia should have a limit. So he took his ever dwindling free time and shut himself away, contemplating the nature of the soul. Specifically, why it was so intent on making people pay attention. He'd never been particularly vain, which hadn't changed when fat had turned into muscle, and his looks could best be described as vanilla.

Not a downside, and Vette didn't seem to mind, so there was no correlation between his physical body and a proud soul. Meaning there must be something else going on, because none of the considerable knowledge stores he had access to really managed to explain it. About domination and intimidation, sure, and Volryder had remarked it was similar to lamps attracting moths, but no one had actually been able to tell him why.

The seal was more a feature than technique, at this point, and shaped his control finer still, but it didn't hint towards understanding. Not that his control could get much better. Not outside the body, anyway. Telekinesis training was starting to return diminishing results, and fleshcrafting was mainly slowed down by his own imagination. And ethics, since he could think of plenty of horrible yet effective things. Perspective, that nebulous word, was something else.

Not a technique to practise or skills to sharpen, but helpful all the same. It was his main avenue of growth, really. Perhaps he had been spoiled before, but it took time to progress with other skills. Slowly refining his combat style, making small improvements to fleshcrafting, breaching into the early parts of artificing. That last one was fascinating, and Teachers holocron had plenty on it, but unlike fleshcrafting he seemed to have no affinity for it.

High control still mattered, and his familiarity with the Force saw him breeze through the earlier exercises, but it needed time. So, the soul. The issue was dealt with, technically speaking, but knowledge was best understood. Adding to Teacher's holocron was nice, too, and he was already planning to make one of his own. One without all the needless cruelty, since his former Master had been insistent about collecting all information.

And using it, for that matter, but at least he had been tactful enough not to push Morgan onto the same path. He sat and exhaled, slipping down and inwards smoothly. Examined his soul for any changes, which wasn't exactly a scientific affair, and found nothing. It had grown bigger, if not terribly so, and thickened substantially, but that wasn't unusual. Bigger since his reserves had grown, which they always did with use, and thicker after all his training with Star.

Adapting to the pressure of the deep Force, the Other had explained. Not an advantage in power, but it did bring resilience. Yet nothing that screamed I'm-attracting-people. At first he'd thought it was just Force users reacting to those stronger, but Timmns and Lana had voiced their disagreement. It wasn't gravity, just attraction. Which itself translated into different forms, the most benign of which was a sense of longing. Not too strong, not if people expected it, but there.

Then came obsession, which was vastly worse and bordered on mind-control, and then there was the worst of it. Those that felt love, physical arousal, and a desire to do anything for his approval. Now that very much was mind-control, and thankfully he'd figured out his seal before any of that could happen outside carefully controlled testing chambers, but all the same. Volunteers were plenty, even after that failure, and people didn't really seem to grasp the issue at hand.

Vette did, though she came at it from an angle of possessiveness, and his high-command regarded it with the expected seriousness, but the volunteers themselves? Nothing. Maybe because there hadn't been any hint of the effect being permanent, fading within half an hour without fail, but still. Time to figure out what caused the issue, shut it down, and maybe learn to control it for enhanced interrogation. Probably kinder to make them want to talk instead of forcing them to, anyway.

Morgan breathed, letting his mind calm with every exhale. It clearly wasn't going to be as simple as reasoning it out, so meditation would do. Which was more effective on a nexus point, but he supposed there was an advantage. Nexus points were knots of Force, allowing one to come closer to the universe than was probably safe. As a result, though, your own soul was contrasted by a sea of distraction, even if made for easy stealth. Here, on the other hand, there was nothing but him.

Enosis sith didn't go this deep, not nearly, and neither Soft Voice nor Lana were currently meditating themselves. So all that was, all that could be, was him. Just his soul, breathing and exhaling the Force like its very own little Nexus point. Introspection came without warning or fanfare, his mind examining the soul with curious detachment. The ball of fluff, so murky looking, yet filled with the whole of his being.

His Force resistance meant the barrier was thin, soul and body closer than they should be, but that was just a physical manifestation. The body was an extension of the soul, not the other way around. You had a soul, then you grew a body. The soul strengthened, the body followed. The soul learned to interact with the Force, it grew. So if there was no attraction, yet people were attracted… It wasn't his soul. Or, more specifically, not something his soul did on its own.

A moment of concentration and one of his usual volunteers shocked awake, Morgan briefly surprised the man had been sleeping. It wasn't that late, was it? The man hurried over, which Morgan felt a little bad about, but he wasn't going to risk leaving. Not when he was this close. Hesper sat as he arrived, Morgan nodding to him and blatantly realised he wouldn't be able to feel the gesture. Did as they had done before, dropping active defences and sinking into meditation.

Not a man suited for combat, Hesper, but someone with a strong sense of self. Old, just over a hundred, and a master of mental discipline long before he joined the Enosis. Also someone that outgrew their non-combat classes on the Force at record speed, which was why the man was here in the first place. His favourite, at that, because the man shrugged off the worst of the effects. Could still be affected, if he failed to protect himself, but able to banish it at a moment's notice.

In other words, the perfect test-subject. If only Morgan had found the man before half a dozen failures. Not dangerous ones, but embarrassing all the same. Morgan felt the man's soul come into focus and inverted his seal, allowing it to become dormant without having to dispel the not-technique. Hesper's soul reacted almost immediately, shifting to come closer, and Morgan observed. Did nothing, which they had tried before but never with him in this mindset, and let it happen.

Minutes passed, minutes where nothing happened and the mans' soul grew ever more determined to move. It wouldn't translate to physical movement, not with Hesper, but the soul was not so constrained. And, finally, Morgan saw something. A thread pushing from within Hesper's soul, incapable of breaking the shell. Yet it still pushed, which made the soul move. Affected mood and desire, all in an effort to come closer. Morgan observed his own soul, finding nothing, before there was the slightest shift.

Just in the corner of his non-existent eye, growing still when he focused. He invaded his own soul, poking a hole while capturing the excess, and saw a similar thread. Smaller, or perhaps only so in contrast, and unable to really do anything but wiggle fruitlessly. It would explain why he felt nothing himself, and why suitably strong Force users weren't affected. They were, but it was too weak to actually do anything.

A pull and the thread was ripped out, Morgan only realising how hasty that had been after the fact. Yet something in him insisted, self-assured that nothing would go wrong, and the strand of soul-stuff was left struggling in nothing. A parasite? No, not foreign. It was him, but acting on its own. Morgan found that a singularly displeasing thought, and the thread grew still. Stopped struggling, cringing away as his displeasure rippled out through the Force.

Hesper was gone, as was the protocol when encountering unexplained changes, but Morgan had felt it. How the man's soul stopped struggling, settling down once the thing stopped fighting. What in the actual fuck had he stumbled onto? Star arrived as if the Other had been waiting, Morgan knowing that to be untrue. The more he learned, both about himself and Star, the more he realised how limited the Other was down here. It was comparatively shallow, for him, yet for Morgan this required effort.

But he hadn't called Star here for training, and the Other knew that. Digested the intent-package Morgan sent, inspecting the rogue soul thread himself. Soul link. Star stated, sounding somewhat disappointed. The bonds that hold greater beings together. Your understanding would name it a gestalt, a collection of souls forming something bigger than the sum of its parts. Morgan digested the meaning of that over a number of minutes, the Other content to wait.

He himself was growing, he really was, but learning another language was always hard. Especially when it had the nasty habit of turning the unprepared insane. Does everyone have one? Morgan asked, shaping the intent slowly. Why am I the only one that this has happened to? You are not. Everyone has them. Yours wished to become United again, nothing more. It happens. It happens. Great. Morgan sighed and spent a moment recovering from the exchange, Star sending some corrections his way.

A habit of theirs, to critique their conversations. It helped Morgan learn and Star understand how to talk to mortals, though the Other seemed to struggle with the concept of fragility. Why did mine wish to become United? Morgan asked, some time later. Is it something that can be triggered? Star shifted, Morgan interpreting it as an eyeroll. Yes. Creating gestalts is a trick many use to strengthen their connection to the Force. It is fake power, but power all the same. How can I prevent it? Remove your thread.

You have already done so. It is rare for them to become active on their own. Another pause, though Star seemed to only grow more articulate as Morgan's understanding grew. Perhaps comparing him to a child had been unkind. Why did mine wish to become United? Morgan repeated, Star's attention seeming to wane. I need to warn my people if it can happen again. It tasted the power of what you called a Nexus. Was this not your intent? No, Star, it hadn't been. Morgan sighed, not voicing the sarcasm, and waved his hand.

Is it guaranteed to happen when someone meditates on a Nexus point? No. One in one hundred, perhaps? Your numbers still confuse me. Not too terrible, then. Might explain why some sith go mad when they branch into the higher mysteries of the Force, melting into some cronenberg-like soul entity. Or why some jedi Masters meditate and are never heard from again, lost until they unravelled. But one in one hundred, or even one in ten, could be warded against.

Teach people to recognize the signs, an altered version of his seal to stop the attraction, and the issue was solved. Interesting that the seal helped, now that he thought about it, since all it really did was scatter the Force going outwards. Maybe the threads couldn't find anyone when he did? Only working on Force users was strange, he asked Star, and was promptly informed non-Force using souls are boring. Too weak, then. Or unable to make contact.

He went to ask more, to clarify and talk for as long as Star's patience lasted, but was interrupted. By Soft Voice, of all people, who didn't act as a messenger all that often. Morgan opened his eyes and looked the devaronian over, nodding. Took a moment to shift his mindset from Other-speech to regular, not wishing to accidentally curse his friend. Metaphorically speaking, of course. It was actually quite hard to curse people literally.

Muscle was starting to return to Soft Voice's frame, making him look less like a sickly tree about to fall over, and his expression was serious. Also curious, so Morgan spoke first.

"Fixed the potential mind-control issue. Turns out that's something that can happen if you meditate in a Nexus point, which is good to know, but my seal contained the issue long enough to fix it. Properly meditate, I mean, like the three of us did."

"When people start to revere my very existence you'll be the first to know." Soft Voice answered, tone somewhat dry.

"Until then I'm going to be happy the problem is resolved, and maybe get Mirla to write something to that effect into our protocols. I, however, come with news."

"I figured." Soft Voice hummed.

"In short? Your failure to die has created consequences. Four sith Lords have banded together and taken their followers into wild space, doing much the same as we are. Of course, when they find slaves, lives don't improve. Under new management, if we're going to be kind about it. They are spreading, using the Empire's distracted nature to enslave and coerce themselves an army."

"Strong?"

"The sith, yes. Our intel says they go by the name's of Knellon, Zpire, Banee and Calamis. Apprenticed to important Masters, relatively speaking, and with skills to back up their greed. The army they are building? Not yet. Numerous, but scattered and rife with infighting. Normally I'd say we ignore them, but…"

"But?" Soft Voice seemed briefly disappointed, perking up after a moment.

"But, if we do nothing, it'll be open season in Wild Space. Nothing much that can match a determined sith Lord, not out here, and if enough of them try the Empire will be forced to do something."

"And sweep us up in the meanwhile." Morgan finished, sighing.

"Well, not like I really needed the extra motivation to stop cruelty. Marshal the fleet. We're going sith hunting." The devaronian grinned, drawing himself up, then deflated.

"And I'm not coming, am I? No, of course not. Someone needs to stay behind, especially since both Quinn and Kala are going, and I'm still recovering. Fine, have your fun. I want a new dreadnought if you destroy mine again."

"It was barely scratched." Morgan shot back, grinning despite the sudden onset of war.

"Besides, with me and Lana gone, you can be in charge again. No one there to argue or spoil your fun."

"That is an upside, true. Yet my responsible nature will allow for only four daily hours of sloth and indolence. Maybe one of greed and gluttony, and certainly no more than five of lust. Truly, I won't know what to do with myself."

"Somehow, someway, you always find unique methods to lower my opinion of you. It's almost impressive." Soft Voice waved his hand dismissively.

"Go play messiah again, wonder boy. I'll hold down the fort, ensure no one can find us by having the Enosis prepare to change locations, the works. You know, again."