Chương 60: Chap 60: Growing Rebels arc: Deploy

Nine thousand people moved in the ship, hyperspace blurring the deeper connections. The barrier between it and the deep Force was a fuzzy thing, there but not restrictive, which would mean that dimensional travel was entirely possible. Or at least between this dimension and his regular one. The souls existing in hyperspace while he was deep in the Force was a curious thing, as if looking through fogged glass, but it didn't necessarily hinder him. It was, in a word, strange.

Morgan let go of the Force and returned to his body, gently easing the pressure down. His three apprentices gasped as if air had finally returned, none of their usual composure present.

"And that." He said, exhaling slowly.

"Is why I am having you train your resistance with Star. Any questions?" Three heads shook rapidly, Morgan waving his hand.

"Then we'll move on. Meditate while I prepare the next step." Alyssa nodded, Inara giving a vague groan of agreement while Jaesa struggled to stand. So he might have gone a little strong at the start, but Morgan refused to feel bad. They wanted to feel what an Other was actually capable of, he showed them. Something about their assignment for John, maybe, or they had interpreted something he hadn't meant. Either way, all three returned driven. A little too eager, at that, so it was good to temper that with caution.

Better with him, where he could watch over their mistakes, than not. The manoeuvre to pick them up had been interesting, a ship dropping out of hyperspace before returning to the fleet at their calculated stops, and the stops themselves lasted hours. Had to, with the number of ships the fleet possessed. Especially with over a hundred vessels, where leaving one behind became a real possibility. And while most might be fairly light on personnel, being frigates and support, he wasn't going to abandon his men.

Still, it meant his apprentices had been dragged from their assignment with John straight into another war, small though it might be. And still not something he would have risked, except that isotope-5 remained an advantage for him alone. For now his fleet was fastest, which only really shined with someone like Kala in command, though sooner or later someone would figure it out. Fastest both in hyperspace and not, at that, which Kala had been more than eager to abuse.

Patrols covered a wider range, ships could assist or flee with less risk and resupply was easier than ever. She'd been quite excited by it all, really, which was good. Her mood had been somber ever since Clara had died on Belsavis, which was only natural, but ambitious captains had taken the opportunity to mumble. Oh politics, you ruthless bitch. Morgan had entertained none of it, of course, and the people jockeying for her position had been polite about it, but it was something to watch out for.

An issue to mitigate, especially if they got more aggressive about their politicking. Competition was fine, but he would not stand for sabotage. An advantage about personal power, though, was that he could sit in a room with twenty four highly influential captains and tell them in no uncertain terms what was going to happen if they crossed the line. Vette had made fun of him for it, as she was eager to do, and he supposed she had a point.

Because he had shown up in casual clothing, sat down as people years his senior saluted, and monologued for a few minutes about the annoyance of political manoeuvring. Oh well. Morgan was pretty sure they'd gotten the point, Kala sure had looked vindicated, and he had other things to do. Like talk to his apprentices about the danger of Nexus points, fusing souls and communicating with Others.

"Lord?" Alyssa asked, making him focus. The pureblood was still meditating, her eyes closed, but her tone was serious.

"May I ask a question, Lord?"

"In private? Always."

"What is our purpose?" Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"To learn. You are my apprentices, all three of you, and it is my duty to instruct you as best I can. In turn, I expect you to learn as best you can. Beyond that; I hope to see you grow strong enough to live as you deem appropriate. Hopefully in a manner that helps more than harms, but that is a choice for yourself, not me."

"Then what do you gain?" Alyssa asked, tone seeming honestly curious.

"You have plenty of sith willing to follow your orders, more soldiers still, yet it is we who are given power unlike anyone else. A highly unbalanced relationship, if you'll pardon me saying so, where we take much more than we give."

"I think Jaesa can answer that question, even if she won't admit to wanting to."

"He wants nothing." Jaesa replied, as if the answer was on the tip of her tongue.

"It is something I have come to accept as fact, even if it makes no sense to me. We could take all we learned and leave, use it to work an hour a day and live in absolute luxury. Should we do horrible things with our power he would feel the need to stop us, but if not? He would be saddened, if not greatly so, and move on." Morgan chuckled mentally. Honestly, her power really was something else. A good word for it, actually. Her power was honesty. Even if she didn't want it.

"But why?" Alyssa stressed, frowning.

"Why us?"

"Because he feels it is the right thing to do. The right thing being not throwing us aside. And as much as this is a delightful topic of conversation, I feel our Master wishes to continue the lesson."

"So I do." Morgan replied, shooting Jaesa a look.

"And you understand people, apprentice. An invaluable trait, one trained and enhanced by your power, but don't assume it is infallible. Especially not once you reach the level of sith Lord, facing others who are just as strong if not stronger, and which the three of you are close to. Not there, not yet, but close. Now, the lesson." Jaesa nodded, but the fact no one had been able to do so yet limited the effect of the advice. Morgan didn't press.

Some things needed to be learned from experience, somewhere where he could not, and was not, watching over them.

"Thank you for explaining, Lord."

"I explained nothing, because there is nothing to explain. But you're welcome." Morgan nodded to Alyssa, seeing Inara had finally regained enough self-discipline to not fall asleep. She'd taken the Other speech the hardest, clearly.

"The last discussion for today. Great Souls. The word I just made up for what Star described as greater beings that mortal souls were once a part of, though I question the explanation. Nonetheless, there are connections." He took a breath and continued, finding three pairs of eyes looking at him with rapt attention.

"These bonds, I interpret them as living threads, pushed from within the soul. Mine was suitably dense that it achieved nothing, while Lana managed to intuit some feeling while not being affected. Soft Voice felt nothing at all, while many of the less experienced Force users were enthralled."

"We did our prepared reading." Inara offered, answering his pause.

"The experiments with Hesper, I mean." Morgan nodded.

"Good. The culmination of this was the act of me removing my thread, stopping the effect. My seal, which I expect a thorough report on by tomorrow evening, stopped it from contacting other threads. All of this, however, hints at something more. At the fact that souls, even if I have my doubts on Great Souls, are connected. Of unique interest to you three, no?" It very much was, going by the looks Alyssa and Inara exchanged. Jaesa cleared her throat.

"I assume we are not to practise on our own?"

"Not unless the idea of melting into a horrific soul monstrosity sounds romantic." He replied dryly.

"I'll walk you through on how to sense your own tomorrow, but only as an example. I trust the three of you to do no more than that. And yes, I am aware it is more intimate than most people are comfortable with. You only need to do so with me here until I am certain nothing will go wrong." Inara stood first, bowing, and Alyssa joined her after a moment. Jaesa hesitated, but he didn't say anything one way or another. She got up when Inara opened the door, bowing her head before leaving.

It left Morgan alone, feeling Star pull at his soul. Bored, apparently, and wanting to play. Play meaning to pull a prank on an Elder, which Morgan found to be a terrible idea, and so convinced the Other it was much more fun to spar. Or, at least, an extremely slow, scripted version of sparring. Soul-searing, Star called it, or just searing. Which might be a mistranslation, since purifying fit better, but the Other insisted.

So Morgan found himself being compressed, his soul so deep in the Force nothing of his body remained. Enveloped by Star and his many, many limbs, each trying their best to compress him into a black-hole. By some definition of trying, anyway. The Other was being exceedingly careful as Morgan struggled against even that, trying to harden his soul like traditional shielding. A concept that failed to accomplish much of anything, though it was giving him ideas.

Lachris had proven that his current defences were inadequate, both mind and soul, and he had been drawing a blank on how to improve. Yet this was similar but different, and already he found some ways to tweak his Force shield. To stretch and overlay, twist and vibrate. Nothing concrete yet, but it was progress. Time slipped by as he tried increasingly desperate ploys to withstand Star's assault, the Other intensifying the pressure every time Morgan managed a small victory.

Not a teacher, Star, though he wasn't sure what the Other was supposed to teach anyway. This was about practice and experimentation, though that implied Morgan knew what he was doing. Which he did, sort of, but also didn't. Fifteen minutes later Morgan snapped back to his body, exhaustion seeping into his very bones. Body aching as his soul made its displeasure known, fleshcrafting able to do little to alleviate the pain. Soul damage, as he had discovered with Soft Voice, wasn't so easy to reverse.

It put a rather annoying limit on the amount of time he could practise, in turn slowing his progress, but it was better than nothing. Star waved and slipped away, Morgan realising the Other had only invested a small portion of himself here, and the brief moment of clarity slipped away. More annoyance. Being on the cusp of a realisation, being so close, and knowing that trying to force it would do exactly nothing. Worse, possibly, if he delved too deep.

Meditation calmed him, soothing his soul besides, and he stood afterwards. Had a few more things to try before it was time to discuss priority targets with Kala and ground assaults with Quinn. But for now, the checklist. First up; creating Force sensitives. It was first because he had very little hope of actually creating one, Teacher had tried and failed according to the man's holocron, but it was good to go over it himself. It also required volunteers, though the risk of harming them was minimal.

He had advertised the opposite, just in case, and still twelve souls had been willing to risk it. The time to be both amused and frightened about that would come soon enough, but for now he just wanted to try. Particularly, he wanted to try before his meditation-enhanced mental state diminished. A button on his datapad let the medical staff know he was on his way, abandoning the training room as he did.

The subject would be asleep, ensured by drugs and without even a hint of the Force, and that suited him just fine. Not like non-Force sensitives could feel their soul anyway, and it let him avoid the people themselves. Not that he had anything against them, necessarily, but it took a certain kind of being to volunteer for this. People that might, say, try to touch him. Again. He really hoped his apprentices could make use of the soul binding worm-threads. Having gone through that for nothing would suck.

Medical personnel stopped and straightened as Morgan entered the room, the med-bay all but empty. With enough room for half a thousand souls and two more in an emergency, it felt almost hauntingly silent. Not that he cared, especially not in this side-room, and his attention was firmly on the subject. Laid on a medical examination table, the woman next to him double checking the subject's vitals. She stepped back as Morgan approached, bowing her head briefly before turning away.

Left the room, followed by her coworkers, and the door hissed closed. It left him alone with the sleeping man, Morgan putting a hand on his shoulder. Almost awkwardly so, but that melted away as he sunk both the subject and himself down into the Force. Protected the fragile wisp of smoke as the pressure thickened, surprised at the sheer delicacy of it. Perhaps unfairly, but then he'd never seen one contrasted by the Force before. Not like this, here in the deep stretches of the universe.

Never noticed how small they were. Morgan exhaled and constructed a shell, ensuring the man's soul would not accidentally vent into nothing, and performed the test. He had rambled to Vette about this a while ago, practical experimentation being put off as more pressing matters surfaced, but he'd never forgotten. Not completely. The idea that all it would take to adapt a soul to the Force was to attach threads and stimulate intake, manually cycling the Force through the soul until it learned to do so itself.

Putting the man to sleep was convenient for that, too, since he had no idea if that would hurt. The cow-thing hadn't complained, even while awake, but human souls were different. Comparing them was for another time, he reminded himself. The souls of animals were interesting, though, less complex yet larger, and he forcefully put the issue aside. Morgan calmed his mind and grasped the Force, not weaving or structuring but only grasping, and directed it to the subject's soul.

Which didn't know what to do with it, resisting with instinctual refusal, but that was fine. The cow had done that too, though asking it to use the Force afterwards had been where the problems started. So he pushed in a steady rhythm, not overwhelming but slowly increasing the pressure, and the barrier eased. Started to accept the Force, slowly filling until it learned to exhale. Again and again, until it breathed as easily as his own did. Lesser, both in quantity and speed, but breathed.

A full success, which was expected but encouraging. But it didn't feel right. Neither had the cow, but that was an animal. Now he got the sinking feeling that while the soul accepted the Force, the man wouldn't be able to wield it. Morgan checked once then again, but eventually ran out of things to procrastinate on. Took a step back and turned, leaving the room and stepping inside an observation chamber. Pressed a button next to the one-way glass, two nurses and a grey-haired sith entering after a long minute.

A minute he spent second-guessing, suppressing the desire to tap his foot and ignoring the urge to go over there and wake the man up himself. There were protocols, one of which was that none of the subjects ever had contact with him, and he would hold to them. He was an unnecessary variable, anyway, and one easily removed. Drugs were injected and the man came to, somewhat dazed and clearly confused.

The sith spent a few minutes asking and answering basic, easy questions until the man got his bearings, which took longer than it should have when accounting for the drugs alone, but his vitals were stable. Then the moment of truth, testing. Normally you would be able to tell, if you had the right training, if someone could use the Force. A feeling between instinct and recognition, rarely wrong. But this was special, so trials had been prepared. Three main categories, each testing a possible area of skill.

It was broad, but everyone capable of using the Force should at least pass one. Be that basic telekinetic repulsion, pushing a rock away from themselves, enhanced reflexes or instinctive defences. The latter was the most fool-proof, from their experiments. No matter one's power in the Force, the soul would put up some manner of resistance when interacted with. Without training it did very little, easily brushed aside by even the freshest of recruits, but it was there.

So the tests began, and with each failure Morgan grew more certain something had gone wrong. Not terribly so, the subject was responsive and stable, but neither was he exhibiting even the slightest sign of Force sensitivity. The rock moved not an inch, his reflexes were well within normal limits even when surprised, and the sith-healer shook his head when pushing the man away. Only a stumble, but there should have been resistance. There wasn't.

The volunteer seemed disappointed, which didn't make Morgan feel any better, and he pressed the button next to the speaker.

"Keep testing, and I want the full report by tomorrow morning. You did well, mister Abercrombie. Thank you, and I'm sorry the experiment didn't work out." He let the button go and left, mentally categorising it as a failure. Too easy to perform, perhaps, so others would have already tried it. Lana had looked at him funny when he'd asked her to perform the operation, though. Told him she might as well slit the man's throat, which would be a kinder death than soul-venting.

But still a failure, Morgan mentally going over the experiment again as he walked the hallways. Which is what he would use to blame his distracted mindset, he decided, as the knife entered his neck. Angled upwards, thrust with enough strength to pierce bone and accurate enough to destroy most of his brain. Made from beskar or similar, by the sheer sharpness, and stopped before it could go through more than a fraction of his skull.

The man froze involuntarily as Morgan took control over the man's body, gently sliding the knife out of his own head. A strange feeling, to puppet that, even if it didn't have to go far. The wound closed at a visible rate, Morgan raising an eyebrow.

"Was that supposed to kill me?" There were nine other souls in the hallway, three of which Chosen, and it brought a measure of pride when it was his soldiers that reacted first. Stopped when he held up a hand, because the assassin might as well be dead for all the threat he posed now, but still. Good on them.

"If I let you speak, are you going to try and kill yourself?" The man didn't answer, but Morgan was fairly sure the answer was yes. He didn't know this was Baras, but the man had been quiet for a while now. Using a non Force-sensitive assassin, one good enough to pass through their screenings without technology to aid him, and going straight for the brain? Then again, Baras would probably know the knife wouldn't work.

The coating of poison was probably the most lethal he'd ever encountered, sure, but it was just regular poison. Which meant his fleshcrafting was able to keep it in check, unlike the Force-eating kind he employed against Lachris.

"Lieutenant?" Morgan asked, beckoning his Chosen. The woman walked over, saluting.

"Where's Jaesa?" The woman took out her datapad, tapping away for a few seconds, before turning it to face him. The words 'not to be disturbed' were overlaid on her contact information, and Morgan grunted.

"I did give them the day off, I suppose. And, now that I think about it, I have been meaning to try out something new. Say, mister assassin, how would you like to have your personality overridden?" That finally got a reaction, the man's heartbeat rising by a few beats. Morgan took manual control over that too, along with his other organs, and the feeling finally brought out fear. Less than expected, it was uncomfortable to be puppeted to that degree, so the man was very well trained indeed.

"That was a trick question." Morgan answered, nodding to himself.

"You three, carry this one. I'm pretty sure there's an empty operating room two hallways back." The Chosen moved to pick up the man, Morgan turning. Kept the fleshcrafting restraints, since he had only just been in time to save the man from himself, but a few feet wasn't an insurmountable distance. His control suffered, but it wasn't like the man could fight him. Not with being unable to use the Force. Morgan pointed to the table as he entered the room.

"There is fine. Guard the door?" The soldiers did as asked, two moving outside as the lieutenant remained. The woman didn't crowd him, and unlike with most soldiers he trusted the Chosen implicitly. Morgan touched the man's shoulder, stripping the cloth between his fingers with some small telekinetic cuts. A shame about the uniform, that, though it was probably stolen.

"So, and excuse the monologue, you're pretty much fucked. Normally I'd have my apprentice cut this short, but I feel I've been relying on her overly much. And, well, you did just try to kill me." Oh, stolen.

"Lieutenant, check on whomever this man impersonated. Right then, no technologie in you. Smart. Someone would have picked up on that during intake. It does leave you without quick methods of suicide, since I took the liberty of turning that fake-tooth into sugar. Clever bit of work, that. I'm not surprised my people missed it." It really was. It was an actual tooth, for one, though thinned to allow the man to bite through it.

Filled with a substance that looked remarkably like dentin to his fleshcrafting senses, which it wasn't, and someone who was just ensuring general health would have missed it easily.

"Sorry, I was monologuing. The pill is sugar now. I would offer you an opportunity to test it, but I'm not arrogant enough to be that stupid. What I'm going to do now, essentially, is to try and connect your thread to mine, which I already took out and so doesn't exist. Very untested, which is why I haven't worked on it before now." He grasped the man's soul without further delay, hunting for that little thread of soul-stuff able to influence behavior.

Found it after some searching, gently invading the man's soul and rummaging around, but it was inactive. That was fair. It had only become a problem after his had started acting up, so he supposed experiments were in order. He had time, anyway, so it was fine. Morgan poked the little thread and it awoke, seeming to blink and regard him with boundless curiosity. He sent it a package of intent, using only broad concepts, and essentially asked if it wanted to bond.

The thread wiggled excitedly, pushing towards him with surprisingly little effect. Morgan tilted his head, realised the man's soul was pretty dense for a non-Force user, and shrugged. Fed the thread some power, which it gobbled up greedily. He pulled back, exiting the man' soul and flaring his own. It didn't seem to matter to the thread there was nothing to bond with, even if it did reach him, and now it was having some effect. Then more, and more, until the whole soul was being dragged along.

Morgan encouraged it for a little bit, all but seeing the soul influence the mind, and opened his eyes. The assassin was looking at him with utter confusion, as if he couldn't believe he was being restrained. Morgan felt nothing but absolute devotion, which would have made him stop this right then and there if the man wasn't an enemy, and slowly returned his ability to speak.

"Don't talk unless you're answering a question." Morgan said, talking before the man could.

"Do not lie. Do not withhold information. Make the answers you provide as direct as possible. Ask for clarification if you are unsure about a question. Do not kill yourself. Do not harm yourself. Do not flee. Do not move without express permission. Do you understand these rules?"

"Yes." Morgan nodded.

"What is your name?"

"I567T." Well, that was sad.

"Why didn't the Force warn me you were about to attack me?"

"I don't know." The assassin paused a beat, continuing with a small frown.

"I underwent a ritual before my assignment started. I don't know what it did, but I can guess." Of course he didn't know. Fate manipulation, perhaps? It would have to be limited, but it was one of the few things that fit. Something to watch out for in the future, though it probably wouldn't work on Force sensitives subjects. If it would, Morgan saw no reason why Baras wasn't already ruling the Empire. Speaking of; "Who ordered you to kill me."

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"B3HJT."

"Who, to the best of your knowledge, is the highest ranked person that ordered you to kill me?"

"B3HJT."

"If you had to guess, who is ultimately responsible for ordering you to kill me?"

"Darth Baras. I suspect he took over the Sanctuary."

"What is the Sanctuary? Who runs it?"

"It is where I was raised. Where I was trained. It is ruled by the Supreme Sovereign."

"Who is the Supreme Sovereign? Where is the Sanctuary?"

"I don't know, but I suspect it to be Darth Baras. I don't know, they put us to sleep until we arrive at our assignments and before we return."

"If you had to guess, where is the Sanctuary?"

"I don't know." Damn.

"Are you aware of any other plans to negatively influence the Enosis or its allies?"

"No." Well, that didn't actually tell him much. He was already running low on his expertise on interrogation, though he supposed there was always that question.

"Is there anything you feel I should know?"

"The poison is lethal, and there are no known antidotes."

"I neutralized it as we talked." Morgan replied, somewhat dryly. Either the assassin believed something that wasn't true, Baras sucked at picking poison, or his fleshcrafting was progressing to the point where he was basically immune.

"Thank you for your cooperation, I567T. I wish there was something of your mind left to save."

"I was created to serve my purpose. If this alternate state wears off, which I hope it won't, I will try to resume my mission and kill myself."

"Yeah." Morgan sighed, shaking his head.

"Of course you will. One final question, I think. Why now?" The assassin blinked, frowning to himself.

"I was not given a deadline. I was to ensure your death by destroying the brain, killing myself afterwards, and I judged hyperspace the best time to do so. Your ship-quarters are too well guarded, explosives would not have worked and poison administered by food was against my directive to confirm your death."

"Thank you. Lieutenant, get this man to Enhanced Interrogation." Morgan ordered, pausing briefly.

"And have Jaesa do another sweep of critical personnel. I'm going to remove his ability to control his body, essentially locking him into his mind, and that will need to be removed before he can speak again." The woman saluted and put her datapad away, having made notes as the interrogation occurred. Morgan waited until her fellow Chosen dragged the assassin away, nodded to another salute, then exhaled heavily. Spoke to an empty room, tone tired.

"So that was either a message from Baras saying that he could find me anywhere, a taunt to provoke me or self-delusion. Fuck."

"Are you really telling me he almost got assassinated?" Vette demanded, raising a furious eyebrow at Zethix. The devaronian seemed unimpressed, though that could be because she was angry in general and not at him." Again? Do we know by whom? It better not be the Empire's Hand."" Emperor's hand, and I think you knew that, but Mad Mouse says it's unlikely. Someone with a serial number for a name, coming from a place called Sanctuary and probably answering to Baras.

Apparently Morgan, and I'm paraphrasing the Chosen lieutenant that observed the procedure, took control over the man's mind and made him his best friend. The assassin seemed quite concerned about the lethal poison he just injected his target with."

Vette paused, slowly raising a hand to her chin.

"And is that what actually happened?"

"More or less." Zethix replied, frowning lightly.

"He did on purpose what's been happening by accident, apparently figuring it out then and there. Not technically mind control, though it influences emotion and mood to the point it might as well be. Not without its flaws, and Jaesa managed to get a little more out of the assassin later, but close."

"He really is utterly determined on becoming a terror, isn't he?" The devaronian grinned.

"No need to sound so hot and bothered by it. It's being kept under wraps, regardless, and I'd appreciate it if you don't spread that around."

"Of course not. And I'm not turned on by his ever growing, increasingly arcane powers. That makes me sound shallow."

"Yes, that would be terrible." Zethix murmured, head turning.

"Ah, I have to go. Master Volryder seems to wish to speak with me. I wish you good hunting."

"Have fun being bored in meetings!" The connection cut and Vette slumped, tapping the table. Good hunting indeed, though she wouldn't be doing much of it herself. Two weeks wasn't much time to find the Emperor's Hand, but one lucky bribe had given her a thread to pull. One that, if she was lucky, would lead to more. Of course, she'd need to deploy her more dangerous assets to actually deal with them.

The kind she didn't mind losing, personally, since they had little hope against the upper members of a sith organisation. But without their puppets and resources the threat would be blunted, and she wasn't above spending ten-to-one in their favor. She could afford it. And they, according to Morgan, had been abandoned by their object of worship. Always sad to see a cult fall apart, and usually quite violent. Not that she minded. Especially not with her there to reap the benefit.

But that all relied on her people actually finding them, so she sent them to hunt in her name. To pull at the thread until the whole tapestry came tumbling down, her downtime spent patching the last of the cracks in her organisation. Which were many, but she only had to oversee the people overseeing the people fixing the damage. Control of money, that was the real power she held. Who got paid and who did not, the worst of them necessitating her to pay for yet another man to kill them. Or woman, she chided herself.

Ruthless bounty hunting was for all genders. And speaking of bounty hunters, she had that uprising on Sinta Four to oversee. Deep in hutt space, at that, and the closest to their center of power on Nal Hutta. Not counting Nar Shaddaa itself, which was a grey area. Not even the Cartels could manage to keep track of everything happening on the ecumenopolis, and with both the Republic and Empire poking around they couldn't exactly rip her operation there to shreds.

Well, they could, but then both of those hungry, hungry governments would start asking why perfectly legitimate corporations were being attacked. Take the opportunity to impose sanctions, confiscate goods and install committees. Anything to take a slice of the wealth being generated there, especially while at war. So the hutts would have to content themselves with a shadow war, one that got significantly harder when twenty thousand twi'lek recruits made themselves at home on their pretty moon.

Still finishing up their training, but taking the fight directly to the Cartel had generated plenty of volunteers. So her factories were secure, at least for now, which meant she could use its economic engine to expand. Slow and cautious wasn't going to win her first place, that she knew. More branches were being opened, both legitimately through the Medinal Corporation and unofficially by smugglers, and she was far too big for the small players to really do anything about it.

On the softer side of crime, the kind she herself employed, incentives were offered. People kept their positions, perhaps standards were brought up, but overall nothing much changed. Just that she was in charge now; some distant, shadowy figure they paid tax to. The rest of them? The assassins and slavers and drug rings? Those got the boot. Thousands of them, specifically, as her mercenaries swept through their ranks like the Wrath of the Goddess.

The ashes would make for a good foundation, installing her own people would make it secure, and everyone slept a little easier. Endlessly she expanded, and the work was almost boring. Read the summarized reports Amelia sent, usually containing yet another minor victory or some mindless issue that needed her approval to solve, and when she worked through the dozens of requests more would be waiting. Thirty nine, Vette believed the count was up to.

Thirty nine men and women working under Amelia, sorting through a truly ridiculous amount of information. Decentralized, communicating through a secure network Miraka's slicers had created, and handling the endless flow of paperwork. Approved or denied minor requests from the branch leaders, those that fell under the two million credit line, and took care of operations that didn't belong to any particular branch. Independent contracts, high-value assassinations, bribery of government officials.

Sensitive work, in short, and apparently Amelia would like to have another two dozen helpers. But discrete, educated and loyal people were hard to come by, the vetting process alone taking months. Vetting process, final approval needed by Vette. Truly, she was a comical genius. She snorted, shaking her head and imagining the disappointed sigh that pun would have earned from Morgan. Days passed without much change, progress slow and problems minor.

The last few of her major security concerns were addressed, her bigger branches installed the military-grade defence installations their sister branch on Nar Shaddaa produced, and the training of her twi'lek legions was expanding. Most of her operations already employed a few companies of her kin, hundreds of twi'lek bound by zeal and gratitude. None knew her personally, of course, but her efforts on Ryloth were well known. Her continued efforts, at that.

A good reputation is currency, and one she wasn't keen to spend. Six days it had been since Morgan left to liberate the poor bastards stuck in the True Empire. A very new name, Morgan himself only learned of it this morning during their call, and one she could only roll her eyes at. Some people shouldn't be in charge of naming things. But finally, finally, her people had pulled through.

Found a solid lead on the Emperor's Hand and their gross overestimation of their importance in the galaxy, one of their smaller bases located in Republic territory. A grin formed and her fingers tapped her datapad, the bones of a plan forming. The jedi would factor in, she was sure she could get them interested, and one of her mercenary ships boasted an impressively oversized missile-bay. Oh yes, that would do nicely.

Morgan smiled at the long-distance communicator and leaned back in his seat, finishing up the last part of his paperwork. He didn't have much, Soft Voice took care of most of it, but it seemed his friend was still feeling petty about being left behind. Even after ten days. At least the company had been good. Vette had regaled him with a tale about having found the Emperor's Hand, or at least part of it, and how she planned to use jedi as her soldiers. He approved.

Then she had assured him, without any prompting, that him mind controlling people wasn't something she was worried about. Went into great detail, in fact, to the point it looped back to making her seem worried and then back again to unworried. He enjoyed listening to her ramble, though, so it wasn't a great pain. And the fact Soft Voice was gossiping about him to Vette of all people did assure him. It meant the Enosis was fine in his absence, even if idle hands made for annoying friends.

He pulled his necklace from behind his shirt and twirled it through his fingers, turning it over and over as he spent some minutes doing not much of anything. Finally, and only after playing with the necklace for longer than he probably should have, did he stand. Made his way over to the engineering bay, requesting a workshop from the chief working there. Was shown to a hastily abandoned crafting room, filled with the wonders of the future. Mostly advanced 3d printers, he found, though there was a workbench.

Which, conveniently, already had several bars of steel stacked on top of it. It would no doubt be worked into one of the endless little repairs the Yamada needed, but he wasn't planning to use much. Wasn't going to take more than needed, either, and he left the tools well enough alone. Cleared off the workbench, after a moment, and floated all the instruments back to where they belonged. Or where he thought they belonged, anyway, which was good enough.

Took one of the bars, a solid ingot of steel, and placed it front and center. Morgan let himself sink into the Force, his breath slowing until he felt the faint pulse of the cosmos. Let himself be one with it, that subtle humming he had first noticed in the Tython Nexus Point, and let himself be. Slowly, every so slowly, peace came. Not easily, and not nearly as strong as on a proper vergence, but good enough. Opened his eyes once the proper mindset was achieved, looking down at the ingot of steel.

Saw the patterns of Force swirling and thinning, an almost electric hum of energy flowing through the steel. Gentle and subtle, more felt than seen, and only something he could observe when his expectation was near nothing. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, but he didn't let himself be dragged under. Tried to do what had come instinctually after the first time he meditated on Tython's Nexus Point, though his mindset had been clearer back then.

He pressed his finger against steel and dragged down slowly, letting flesh slide over metal. The weave of energy followed as if being dragged, bouncing back after a second's pause. Did it again and again, slowly nudging the energy out of balance. It didn't seem to mind, flowing in the new pattern as easily as the previous, and Morgan let energy flood his arms. Not the full extent of it, he didn't need that much and it was still damaging besides, but enough to rend the metal.

Grabbed the ingot properly, gently applying pressure as if tearing a piece of paper. The ingot deformed, flowing like tar instead of bending, and he almost dropped it in surprise. Looked at the grooves his fingers had made, how it curved where it should have broken. The pattern of energy followed its new shape, though it seemed less energized. Morgan injected it with the Force, which did nothing much at all, and tried guiding the flow instead. Sped it up, slowly at first but with increasing speed.

Energy brightened as the Force got sucked in, faster and faster. Morgan slowed it down as an uncomfortable feeling grew in his stomach, returning it to baseline. Brighter than before, but no longer increasing.

"Alright, so." Morgan muttered, putting the manglet-yet-smooth steel ingot aside. He grabbed his datapad, jotting down rough notes.

"I'm pretty sure that it's going to explode if I keep it up. Any way to keep it stable at unstable levels? Creating it requires a mindset unsuited for combat, so making them in battle is out." Minutes passed as he ran through the procedure, noting down the method as best he could. Not something that was in Teacher's holocron, though the only reason he was able to interact with the energy at all was because of the artificing lessons. Morgan paused, shaking his head.

"Look at me, immediately jumping to explosives. How human of me. Then again, Alfred Nobel invented dynamite. Human indeed." A knock came before he could delve further into experimentation, Morgan having to smother a brief moment of irritation. Not their fault it was time-consuming to get into this kind of mental state, even if it had been slipping. He voiced an invitation and a captain poked his head through the door, moving inside once he looked over the room. Cautious. Morgan approved.

"Sir. Admiral Kala wishes to inform you the advanced scouts have met resistance sooner than anticipated. The First Fleet is likely to engage in combat within the hour."

"Very good, captain. I'll be along shortly." The man left, Morgan finishing his notes before making his way up to the bridge. He wouldn't normally look over Kala's shoulder like that, but he didn't have much else to do. Not without going back to his experiments, which wasn't advisable when this close to combat.

Boarding crews didn't benefit overly much from his presence, and not worth the risk besides, the trick he pulled on Belsavis wasn't something he was going to be repeating anytime soon, and he didn't have any other skills. Well, actually, why not repeat it? Trying couldn't hurt, especially if he discussed it with his admiral, and Star shouldn't drag him down this time. No matter how well intentioned. Star's knowledge about mortals and their limits was still somewhat spotty.

The bridge at war footing when he arrived, Kala seated a-ways behind the captain's chair. Four holo communicators were open and within reach, showing four faces that he knew to be the four division captains, and the console showed their fleet in full. He got a nod and not much more, which was expected with them so close to battle, but the eight sith station on the bridge bowed. Seems someone had improved security, since four of them were just shy of his apprentices. Not in skill, perhaps, but in power.

And power could count for a lot, especially in groups. Morgan ignored them and stood close but out of the way, looking over the data the forward patrol had sent. It seemed as if the territory claimed by the True Empire, while only half the size of that claimed by the Enosis, had actually been populated beforehand. It would explain how they had managed to harden their position so quickly, defence platforms installed and hyperlane routes mapped.

It meant his First Fleet couldn't arrive at an unprotected angle, nor bypass their perimeter entirely, but Kala didn't seem worried. Since she was commanding thirty destroyers, a dreadnought and seventy frigates, that was fair. But neither was she the type of person to rely overly on superior numbers, so there was a proper strategic plan. Morgan let the Force take him as he waited, time ticking by slowly as they got closer and closer to their exit.

Combat could begin immediately, their military intel nearly an hour out of date, or there could be no one there at all. Just empty defensive platforms, left behind as True Empire ships fled. Neither was something he could do anything about, so he spent his time recuperating. His soul healed much faster than Soft Voice's did, something to do with his high level fleshcrafting ability translating intent, but even so he had pushed it further than was strictly recommended.

But being so deep in the Force made concerns such as harm seem inconsequential, even if he was getting better at sticking to pre-made plans. His distracted nature in the deep Force was still an issue, but less. Still, four days since sparring with Star and he wasn't fully healed yet? Annoying. The call to raise shields made him refocus, seeing time was nearly at hand. He wasn't back to full strength, but good enough.

Not like he was going to be in physical danger, anyway, so even if he pushed too far he was relatively safe. Not quite as safe as he would be if Lana was here, but she was on the Sandworm. The modified super-freighter was the center of the second division, or so Kala's briefing had explained, and the most likely to be boarded due to the threat it represented. Represented in the whole battle, that was. His admiral had been very clear about which part of their formation was most likely to see the heaviest fighting.

A good place for Lana, even if she, just like him, wouldn't be doing any boarding. The ship exited hyperspace fifteen seconds before the countdown, which took Morgan by surprise, but Kala seemed too busy to pester. So he kept his mouth shut and tried to look self-assured, eyes roving over the constantly updating battle-map. One hundred ships, they were, and the enemy had them beat for numbers. The True Empire, its fleet looking mightily strong for having existed a scarce number of weeks.

Being mostly made up out of Imperial defectors could do that, giving them a number of war-tested vessels and the crews to operate them, until one looked closer. Morgan was by no means a naval expert, let alone fit to command a ship, but osmosis did teach him some. Like how their formation seemed oddly scattered, his finger all but able to draw circles around the separate groups that made up the whole. It fit Soft Voice's theory that their military ranks were less than unified, even if they had numbers.

And the Enosis had isotope-5. Not all of their ships, not yet, but most of the destroyers and a number of frigates. It made them fast, and even a moderately skilled admiral could wreak havoc with them. Kala was much more than just moderately skilled. Especially when captain Ikkus took care of the actual running of the Yamada, allowing Kala to focus on the battle as a whole. Already his admiral was barking orders and adjusting pre-positioned formations, the system they were in both unnamed and uninteresting.

A small star with nine celestial bodies and no anomalies. It left Kala to do what she did best without distraction, Morgan more than willing to put his faith in her. He breathed in the Force as battle commenced properly, fighter-wings testing the waters as long-ranged railguns took potshots. Closed the distance, the Enosis fleet not moving nearly as fast as it could. Which meant the True Empire was surprised when Kala had the first division advance at full speed.

Pull ahead rapidly, the left flank engaging in battle much sooner than anticipated. Ships scrambled, even Morgan could see that, and Kala started to build her victory. It quickly became too chaotic for him to follow, which was fine, and Morgan closed his eyes. Emptied his mind and looked, tens of thousands of souls shining like stars. All the soldiers, crewmen and pilots in both fleets, hundreds of Force-users among them. Most of the latter in Enosis ranks, which brought a smile to his face.

It strained his mind to focus on one particular cluster, a destroyer going by the amount of people, and more still to locate the bridge. It had been so easy on Belsavis, to just do instead of having to work for it, but now he had a sane consciousness to work with. One soul directed others, instinctual obedience being given by those around it, and Morgan whispered to it. An echo of madness learned from the Dread Masters, twisting the mortal soul beyond repair. Finding them was hard.

Ensuring it was an enemy was hard. But this? This was easy. The soul winked out as the remainder shifted to obey another, and then that soul was twisted too. Their commander executing the captain? Brutal. Effective, too. But the acting captain wasn't killed like his predecessor, and madness spread its taint. Morgan stumbled as he pulled away, having to grasp the console to maintain his balance. A horrific headache pulsed beneath his eyes, which was new, and his reserves were more than half empty.

Kala turned his way, finishing an order he only half heard.

"One of their destroyers is behaving erratically."

"That would be because of me." Morgan replied, trying to ease the pain. It remained, pulsing incessantly.

"They shot their captain, but the commander should turn properly deranged any second now." The admiral didn't turn back to her people, head tilting slightly.

"Could you do it again?"

"Not like I did on Belsavis, if that's what you're asking. That was barely me. But only once more? It'd give it an eighty percent chance of working, so probably best that it isn't absolutely critical for me to succeed."

"This one. The modified destroyer." Kala said, pointing at the map. It looked central to their inner flank, protected by no less than nine other ships.

"Someone important is on it, and they're being aggressive. I can finish this cleanly and without losses, but not if they keep pushing this hard." Without losses meaning full-on ship destruction, Morgan was pretty sure. It had already gone well, which he would put partly on their speed-advantage, but if he could assure the lives of his people… Morgan delved back into the Force, seeking out the soul. There were no sith Lords here, not those that belonged to the True Empire, but there were sith.

And three of them were close together, on a ship filled with zealous souls. His target. He pressed down his focus and found resistance, three little sith combining their power to stop him. They were strong, employing more raw reserves than he could on a good day, though their cooperation could use work. Still an annoyance. He wasn't fresh, and they seemed too skilled to be rank-and-file sith. Apprentices to the four Lords, then. That fit.

Morgan had no time or patience to spare them, but breaking them quickly would take too much strength. Strength he needed to cripple the ship. An idea came and Morgan looked at the three sith, smiling down at them. Hesitation and fear bubbled beneath their shields, he was briefly curious as to what they saw, and Morgan whispered the secrets of the deep Force to them. It wasn't an attack, not really, and they had come here to stop him. Came to his level, where intent and willpower mattered more than reserves.

To a place they did not understand, not truly, and believed themselves secure. The barrier they put in place was bypassed when they failed to account for perspective, Morgan twisting the secrets down then up again, and their minds stilled. Slowed until they were nothing but the need to understand, to create, and their souls turned brittle. It would have been easy to kill them, then, but what was the need?

Already those close to the little sith flinched back in terror, disappearing as sith sought understanding through violence, and they would not stop. Would not quit until someone made them, and he doubted their Masters would bother to rehabilitate. The ship was steadily falling to panic, spreading as more and more souls started winking out, and Morgan retreated. Hesitated, because here pain was a distant, abstract thing, before grunting.

What he returned to was agony, having pushed too hard too quickly, and something in his mind burned. Hammers were beating his skull from the inside, knives carving into his eyes with every flash of light.

"Got it done." He said shortly, releasing a flood of endorphins. They helped, some, but there would be no more Force usage today.

"Barely."

"The modified destroyer? Grid-3" He turned to Kala, narrowing his eyes.

"Yes?"

"It's still behaving normally. The ship two positions over isn't, drifting as if her bridge is empty."

"I missed. Great." Morgan groaned.

"Not like I get a make and model number. Was it a destroyer, at least?" Kala flickered her eyes back to the battle, apparently judging it handled for the time being.

"It was. And someone important was on it, too, going by how their formation stuttered. I was wrong. Who was there?"

"A trio of sith. Powerful, though unfamiliar with the proper Force. They're busy tearing their ship into many little pieces. Most likely the apprentices of the sith Lords of the True Empire. God, that's a terrible name."

"It has brand recognition." Kala mumbled, turning towards the communicators.

"Pull back the Inca, captain Guun. Your flank is about to be pushed. Use your undamaged ships to absorb the blow, then let them flee. Redeploy on the right, double speed." Morgan watched her prediction come to pass in real-time, wondering how whiny it would sound if he were to complain that he had to work for his precognition. Very, probably, so best not risk it. It was rather abstract, watching the battle play out a holo-map, and he could see nothing with his own eyes.

The Yamada hadn't even entered combat yet, and by the way Kala was ordering people around she believed it to be winding down. Which was proven correct when the ships under Senior Captain Guun arrived to reinforce the rightmost flank, where the heaviest fighting was taking place. Morgan suppressed a wince when the Forcefull Tide was destroyed, caught between two enemy destroyers and overwhelmed before help could arrive. One hundred and fifty soldiers, give or take, with another hundred in crew.

A quarter of a thousand people dead, just like that. The tipping point came sooner than he thought, though, since the True Empire still boasted seventy percent of their forces. They themselves were down to ninety percent effective fighting strength, but ships still surrendered. Fled, if they were in a position to do so, with various levels of desperation. Uncalculated hyperspace jumps for the truly afraid, with strategic retreats for the more disciplined.

Some ships kept fighting, either to buy time to avoid an uncalculated-jump or out of spite, but not most. Kala was having none of this resistance business, using her now vastly superior numbers to avoid any more losses, and then it was over. Morgan looked over the screen, forty ships drifting quietly through space. Forty ships to be added to the Enosis fleet, from corvettes to destroyers. No dreadnoughts, but then those were rare to begin with.

Forty ships won in a battle not even lasting half an hour, having lost one vessel. Another thirty one were damaged, some needing weeks of extensive repair, but that was all. Kala must have read the confusion off his face, which was actually somewhat worrying, and she stepped up next to him. Lowered her tone, managing to not look suspicious while doing so.

"It looked even, if we go by ship-class average, but it wasn't. We have isotope-5, modified ships and the advantage of picking the time of attack. They were disunified, you killed their highest authority halfway through the battle, most of them didn't even want to be here in the first place, I could keep going. Oh, and half those ships had inexperienced crews."

"But don't spread that around." Morgan finished, inclining his head.

"Because a hard-won battle will boost morale. You are, as ever, a maestro of war." She looked briefly confused, shaking her head, and turned back to her central command. Still seemed to appreciate the compliment, even if she didn't fully understand it, and Morgan was interrupted when someone brought him a datapad. Found a message from jedi Master Timmns waiting for him, dated to seven hours ago. He supposed they had been in a communications blackout to avoid detection, lifting only when battle had started.

It wasn't a long message, at that, and Morgan skimmed it as his people moved to secure his new ships.' Lord Caro, I am wounded, and this message is written on strong pain medication. I apologize if my speech or grammatical structure is less than a communication of this magnitude deserves, but I shall get to the point. The Dread Masters are dead. Bestia and Tyrans escaped Belsavis, abandoning their still-unknown plans concerning the salvaged vessel we found them with, and we have chased them far.

I will give credit where it is due, for it would not have been possible without Master Yolanda nor padawan Hemin. In times of peace I would have put forth a motion to promote the latter to the rank of Knight, for he sorely deserves it, but in war that would be a grave disservice. Thanks must also be given to several brave, steadfast jedi Knights, both those lost on Belsavis and those joining me after.

They wish to remain anonymous, a favor I will do them gladly, but their service to the good of the people is something I will never forget. We did not meet under good circumstances, you and I, but time and reflection have given me clarity. That and some of the most gentle scolding I have ever had to endure, a skill Master Yolanda must have practised a great deal indeed.

I have come to see that you tried to make the best out of a terrible situation, a situation you had no hand in creating, and I treated you unjustly. Several vastly terrible plots have been thwarted or ended by your hand alone, the Dread Masters being but one, and for that I thank you. And I am sorry. I have already submitted a full report to the Jedi High Council, urging them to view your actions in light of your service to the galaxy, and I hope they see reason.

Our mission on Belsavis would have seen me dead or worse had it not been for you, and from all reports you have not stopped growing. You are not a jedi, Morgan of Nowhere, but that does not mean you are evil. I wish you fortune in your mission, and may the Force be with you. Your friend, Jedi Master Timmns Aduli.'