Morgan opened his mouth as the holo connected, Soft Voice appearing, and closed it as the devaronian talked right over him. "I set aside a month of operational time for this. A month, Mad Mouse. Now I'm hearing you spent ten times as long in transit as actually fighting the battle, and that the ground landing had to be delayed because you were too successful?"
"Alright, first off, you need to get laid. The stress is getting to you." Morgan grinned, letting it widen as the devaronian scowled. "Secondly, I just wanted to demoralise them when I threw Baras's head down the stairs. I didn't expect them to immediately switch their allegiance to me, nor did I expect that the man would even be there. I guess the higher-ups did in fact know who their Sovereign Supreme was. That or Baras told them himself. And how do you know about any of this, anyway? I literally just got back to the Yamada."
"Captain Ikkus kept me in the loop, and he was informed by your apprentices that Baras still lived. Whom you killed. Alone."
"The man was weakened." Morgan defended. "And strangely nice, which is one of the more disturbing things I've encountered to date. He was the superior fighter, technically, but the Dark Council took his ability to feel hatred when he fled. Thought they killed Baras, too, but that's beside the point. And yes, that does seem awfully similar to what I did to that inquisitor while imprisoned. Marr took inspiration, it seems."
Soft Voice grunted, eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think you succeeded if they failed? I'm assuming he used a cloning or possession technique to escape, which is easy enough to create redundancies for."
"I fed his soul to Star." Morgan answered, crossing his arms. "The man is dead. Now what's going on with you, exactly? I don't remember you being this much of a dick."
A few tense seconds passed, then the devaronian deflated. "Sorry. It's been a hard few days, and I will admit to some jealousy. You are the stronger between us, I realised that when I put the Enosis in your hands, but everytime I think to have closed the distance you pull ahead. It can be frustrating."
"The end result is always easy to want." Morgan replied, letting his tone go flat. "The route towards it not so much. But we are not children, nor petty sith, so enough of this. How fares the Enosis?"
"The Enosis is fine, for now, and preparing. We're officially operating three hundred warships, a third of which are destroyer-class, and it makes us one of the larger players. The True Empire and their donation helped, I will admit. But aside from that, nothing interesting has happened. Steady, slow work that brings results, you know the deal. What are you going to do with your newest cult?"
Morgan forced himself to relax, exhaling annoyance and inhaling peace. "Nothing. Loyalty so easily gained is just as quickly lost, so we're giving their location to the Republic. Let them deal with this mess. Until then we're stealing everything of value, and there's a lot of that, before we return to Enosis space. The Yamada is fine, for once, though the Wind Swept will need repairs."
"Small miracles."
The silence dragged on until Morgan raised an eyebrow. "...And?"
"And I'm thinking." Soft Voice replied, huffing. "Fine, it seems your task is done. I had hoped to get the Enosis on war-footing before you were finished, but needs must. I do have news, of a sort, that's both unconfirmed and slightly alarming."
"Oh good. I was almost growing comfortable."
"Now who's being annoying?" The devaronian snapped, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. It stopped after a moment. "Darth Arkous has been killed, purged by Marr's new directive of unity. It seems the man was indeed a Revanite, not that I doubted you, and a high ranking one at that. In addition, desertions are at an all time high, especially among the navy. A number of sith, too. Worse yet, the Republic is facing the same issue. It seems your tattletale session with the man had unintended consequences."
Morgan shrugged. "That's life. And I'm not really seeing the issue. The less strength the Empire has, the better our odds of winning. Unless we are facing the same?"
"Jaesa scared them off from trying to infiltrate us, is what we're thinking. And true, but Vette had a spy onboard one of the Republic vessels. It seems they're making for Yavin-4, taking the planet and refusing any access to the system. Any idea what that's about?"
"Nothing good." Morgan admitted. "But we can't afford to divide our focus. We fight the Revanites, we weaken ourselves. Probably to the point the Empire wouldn't have any issue dealing with us, at that. Warn the Republic where they are, but otherwise this isn't worth wasting time on."
"So you know what's going on there?"
"Sort of?" He admitted, coughing awkwardly. "Look, it was a long time ago. I know it's a trap and Revan is being manipulated, which he won't believe because he's crazy. I don't have time to fix his mess, and our dear Emperor is involved anyway. I can't face him, not as I am and certainly not without allies."
Soft Voice was silent for a long while, eyes steadily blinking but otherwise not reacting. Morgan frowned at the holo, confused, and reached out through the connection. Felt nothing there, the man apparently having left the room.
"Did. Did I just get put on hold?"
Morgan waited in sheer bemusement, half a minute dragging to a full one, before he returned. The devaronian came back to life, Morgan's senses telling him the man had just sat down again. "Sorry about that. So, Revan."
"No, no." Morgan replied, shaking his head. "Why was I just put on hold? And why, if you had something you needed to take care of real quick, didn't you just tell me?"
"It's not important. Can we move on, please?"
His plea was ignored, Morgan running through the options. Cast out his senses further, inspecting the room on the other end of the connection. Soft Voice was the only one there, but there was something. An echo, strong enough it needed time to dissipate.
"It took time for you to pick up." Morgan said, a grin forming. "And you were annoyed, like I just interrupted something important. Or sensitive. Who's the poor woman you managed to trick into your bed?"
Soft Voice groaned. "Politely fuck off, Mad Mouse. And you wouldn't know her."
"She goes to another school, eh? Doubtful. A Force user, clearly, and her presence feels feminine. More so than usual, I mean."
A flood of power rippled from the devaronian, tainting his readings. Morgan sniffed, his friend not seeming amused. "I need to unwind, Mad Mouse. You have Vette, I have my own ways. Let it go."
"Fine, fine. Have it your way. Am I going to meet her?"
"Not that kind of relationship." Soft Voice denied. "Now, moving on. Revan?"
"Leave him be for now. Try to get some spies in his ranks, to keep an eye out, but he's mostly harmless. Mostly. For now. Until he isn't."
"Really inspiring confidence, there, but alright. How about the traitorous Dark Council members? They're carving up their own territories, which includes but isn't limited to; Christophsis in the Outer Rim, a world rich in mining. Leritor, close to the first and with much the same reputation, and Belkadan, which is damn near on the other side of the galaxy. Acharon rules the first, Zhorrid the second and Mortis the last. Acharon and Zhorrid are keen to work together, and are quite stable as a result, but Mortis isn't. Prefers to be crowned king, apparently, which means he's going to be the first to die."
"The same reasoning applies to them as it applied to Revan." Morgan said. "We fight them, we'll bleed strength. Better to focus on the Empire, which will hopefully let the Republic deal with them for us."
Soft Voice shook his head, eyes flickering down as he scowled. "Lots of hope going around."
"Look, my man, I'm sorry for interrupting your exercise, but how was I supposed to know? Could have just ignored the damn call."
The devaronian waved an annoyed hand. "Not that. I just got an update about the Pride of Pursuit. My new flagship, since you kept taking my old one. Another dreadnought, and I'm pleased to inform you it has nine more laser turrets than the Yamada."
"And this is infuriating why?"
"Because it's late. Stealing the damned thing wasn't exactly easy, and Astara managed to get it shot at, but repairs should have finished by now. Yet here I am, being informed it'll only be ready in another seventy two hours."
"Ah." Morgan offered a helpless shrug. "Be happy the Enosis has an intelligence department capable enough to steal more Harrowers. I assume it's that class?"
"It is, and we got lucky. Just finished construction, going for her shakedown run with a hastily assembled crew. Which meant Astara could get a group of infiltrators on board, the Force-using non-lightsaber wielding kind. They took control rather easily from there, but apparently didn't account for its fighter complement. Which launched, because of course they did, and did fairly significant damage before the dreadnought could get away."
Morgan snorted. "That's one way to solve my thinly veiled theft of the Yamada, I suppose. Just get a new dreadnought. It's a wonder why no one else thinks of these things. Oh, no, wait. I might have an answer to that."
"I'm sending you to your death." Soft Voice countered. "Specifically, you're linking up with the First Fleet to strike at an opportunity target. The Empire is preparing a subjugation expedition at Hoth, striking into wild space before swinging around to attack the Republic at Ord Vaug. Our intelligence suggests that supplies and manpower have been delayed, no doubt due to all the defections, so you should be able to catch them off-guard as they wait."
"Stealing ships, then. Should be fun. Strange they're going after the Republic, but whatever."
"If by steal you mean destroy, and fun to mean hilariously dangerous, then yes. I'm sending you because you're our strongest asset, and the Imperial fleet cannot be allowed to find us. It will be on-guard, of course, but getting out before reinforcements arrives should be doable. We cannot risk you being caught there by another fleet coming to assist them, so no theft. Go in, destroy what you can, leave. You should have at least eight hours once on-site."
A moment of silence passed as Morgan committed the details to memory, shrugging. "I mean, it seems like a waste of ships, but sure. I assume Kala agreed to it?"
"Her idea." Soft Voice confirmed. "She's needed for another operation, though, so she won't be coming with you. Her protégé, captain Enzo, will. Colonel Elarius to lead the military element, though don't let the rank fool you. I'm sending almost half a hundred thousand soldiers for him to play with."
"That's a lot of men for a colonel to command."
The devaronian shrugged. "Perhaps. The influx of veteran recruits helped, but keep in mind that a large number of your soldiers will be green recruits. The colonel will know how to deal with them, even if his officers field double strength battalions."
"Very well. Assuming I don't fail horrifically, does the short-term plan change?"
"No. We'll use the chaos to bleed the Empire dry, and without engaging the Republic they are unlikely to try and stop us. It will take more than we have to attack Korriban or Dromund Kaas, so the next half-year will probably be raiding and recruitment. Retrofitting, too, to offset the losses we're most certainly going to take. But that's for later. Go and link up with the First Fleet, we'll talk after."
"I'll get it done."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan looked out of the bridge windows as the First Fleet inched closer, the Yamada slowly getting into its proper position. One hundred and three vessels, twenty nine of which were destroyers or equivalent, joining with frigates and yet more destroyers from his own fleet.
One hundred and seventeen warships. Fifty thousand soldiers, four hundred sith fighters with another three hundred Force healers. An army vast enough to give him pause, wondering how he'd gone from the Aurora to this.
The Aurora. Technically still his vessel, but the Yamada was just better. Sentimentality wouldn't serve him in war, and he wouldn't cling to it, but he did spend a moment to thank the ship. It had served well. Well enough it deserved a break, which is why he'd sent it home with the treasures taken from the Sanctuary. That much money needed a good escort.
The rapid nature of their growth did have consequences, Morgan knew. Skeleton crews were common, as were green officers, and it was worse the smaller the ship became. Some frigates were crewed entirely by fresh-recruits, only the captain having proper experience. Who were often new to the rank themselves, at that, though none with less than four years as a commander had been promoted.
War games were common, had been before his capture, and they helped, but this would be the proper test. The first true war. Previously trivial factors had to be accounted for, things like enemy repair capabilities and more, which is why he'd summoned both Elarius and Enzo to the Yamada.
The First Fleet had some advantages, yes, but never enough to disregard proper planning.
Morgan kept watching the forest of steel and engines as he waited, uncountable souls shining in his passive perception. Not technically passive, he did have to apply some concentration to keep it going, but not enough to be a noticeable strain.
And what he felt was strange. The ships were military-grade, either Imperial or modified civilian, and the equipment of both was well cared for. But it was the people that ensured it could be deployed effectively, and inexperienced officers had two main drawbacks.
The first was a lack of experience, which was in the name. Training alone was rarely enough, not for the chaos of combat, and mistakes would be made. Some small, some big, but mistakes. Nothing to be done about that, even if they had done their best to mitigate the worst of it.
Mixing veterans throughout, ensuring key positions had redundancy, the works. The second, however, was morale.
Plainly speaking, fresh officers broke. Their minds hadn't been hardened to the horror of battle, of watching your friends die and bodies break, and no amount of training could truly prepare them for it. So, when that critical moment came, they might hesitate. Or worse, flee.
Animal instincts removing reason and discipline. Initial adaptation was quick, which was where the term bloodied came from, and people would either temper or break. After which they would either continue or give up, though proper counselling skewed the odds towards tempering. Then time created a degree of apathy, of immunity, and a veteran was born.
So, with the First Fleet so filled with fresh graduates, he expected fear. Hesitation and regret, the realisation of going into battle finally sinking in. Nothing a good officer couldn't deal with, be they military or naval, but hesitation added up. And if enough people hesitated, disaster happened.
Yet he felt so little fear. No, that wasn't true. There was plenty of fear. But it was kept in check by low, cold anger. Determination burning away the desire to run, pushing them onwards where they might otherwise have stalled.
Soft Voice's words echoed in his memory, of outrage after his capture. Of an uptick in military recruitment, a bone-deep refusal to let the Empire take from them again.
Because most of the people here, manning the ships and preparing their rifles, weren't teenagers. The Enosis could heal almost any injury, give basic strength to old bodies, and so many had chosen to fight. Refusing to let go of what they were building, be that for themselves or their children.
A hundred races, enslaved and discriminated and suppressed, deciding that defiance would be the answer to aggression.
It kept him enthralled, background noise falling away as his two requested officers joined him. Elarius looked the same as he usually did, Morgan nodded to the man, but Enzo he'd only met once before.
The chiss looked both old and young, good genetics setting him around thirty even at forty. Responsibility and stress made him look fifty, but his eyes were sharp. Both saluted, Morgan waving them off.
"None of that. Tell me about the First fleet, captain."
"My Lord." The chiss said, taking a breath. "I won't bore you by repeating the report you have already read, so I will keep it brief. Extended engagement should be avoided to ensure newly assigned personnel does not break under the stress. Every ship in the First Fleet, from the smallest frigate to the Yamada itself, has been outfitted with isotope-5 engines, and our maximum speed is roughly thirty percent higher than it should be. With this advantage our plan is to strike, eliminate and retreat, dealing a decisive victory with minimal losses."
"Understood. Colonel?"
Elarius straightened. "Sir. Fifty two thousand, one hundred and nine soldiers have been assembled and are ready to engage in combat on your orders. I should stress that they are not all Reborn, nor even the majority of them, but I feel they will perform their duties with vigor. Boarding crews, repellings squads and security teams have been assigned, with the aim to ensure fresh soldiers taste proper battle before we are done here."
"Very good." Morgan nodded, waving towards the waiting fleet. A hundred ships, some double the size of actual skyscrapers, made for an impressive view. "How long until we leave?"
Enzo looked at his datapad. "Half an hour, my Lord. Final calculations are being performed and scouting vessels are due to return any minute now."
"Excellent. I will trace out the immediate future to ensure our trip goes well, though that isn't infallible. Our target is Hoth, as you know, which while on the fringe of Imperial space is still very much an Imperial planet. Should we expect any resistance from the surface?"
"Unlikely." Elarius said. "They have few weapons that can overcome their gravity well, and those that can won't be used. It would only draw our ire without contributing meaningfully to the battle. I expect them to adopt a wait-and-see approach until the naval battle is concluded."
"I see. And the fleet itself?"
"Our intelligence reports they are still there, and still waiting for supplies. Assuming they have not shifted position by the time we get there, the fleet will be holding a defensive formation around the planet. An aggressive attack, aided by our increased speed, will force them to engage before they can reorganize. If they are expecting us, or are already departing, strategies have been prepared."
Elarius asked for clarification about taking captured vessels, Enzo about parameters for accepting surrender, and time dragged on. An hour of discussing strategy, then another for minor matters, and then Morgan spent the rest of the day overseeing his apprentices.
Star got bored and demanded that they play a game of catch, which was actually a fairly horrifying ordeal, and he practised Fate manipulation to avoid having his face smashed in as they played. Learned to apply it to Star, too, though that went exactly nowhere. The ball, on the other hand, was more targetable, especially since it was made out of a soul.
Morgan didn't ask who it had belonged to.
Evening had come and the fleet had long since entered hyperspace, he ate dinner alone, and after a good three hours of sleep it was back to meditating. Without Star, this time, so actually restful.
Days passed in glorious mundanity, a word he was definitely going to irritate Vette with, and then days more. Hoth was, in layman's terms, on the bottom left of the galaxy, which was pretty close to the left-right where the Enosis made itself at home, and travel wouldn't take too long.
But that was relative to the whole galaxy, and it was still almost a week and a half before they got there. Traveling through unknown space took more time, after all, as you had to double check every jump before you made it. The Yamada was big, and he had plenty to do, but it was messing with his perception of time. More so than meditation was already doing, at that.
But finally, as he once again stepped onto the bridge, it was time. Enzo had made himself at home, standing where Kala had stood not so long ago, and security was tight. The Yamada exited hyperspace without issue, smaller giants of steel flanking her to the right and left, and a dozen frigates circled around them.
Not quite in the front lines, but close. No better place for a dreadnought.
Of course, the swirling colors of chaos gave way to little more than darkness and empty space, the First Fleet reorienting itself towards Hoth. His eyes were unhelpful, the planet and its fleet was still quite far away, so he looked to the console.
The Imperial fleet was where it was supposed to be, more or less, but something felt off. Not in the Force, for once, but in their position. Too far away from the planet, yet not moving towards them. Fleeing?
Forewarned. Morgan grunted, hearing Enzo order the fleet to non-isotope full-speed. Seen what Morgan just had, probably. The Imperial fleet was abandoning Hoth to whatever fate the Enosis would see fit to give it, not willing to fight.
How annoyingly sensible. "Will we catch them?"
Enzo looked backwards briefly, eyes returning to his console. "Yes. We can close the distance in twenty minutes, which won't be enough time to calculate their jumps. Fleeing without doing so is a possibility, but it would scatter their fleet and risk losing vessels. I think they'll fight. Better than being cut down as we catch up."
"Good." Morgan replied. "Open a channel. I want to talk to them."
"Opening now."
The holo flickered to life and Morgan turned to it, casting out his senses. Three sith Lords, blazing like bonfires next to their mundane soldiers, but not particularly strong ones.
"To the sith Lords currently accompanying the Imperial fleet stationed on Hoth, I'll keep this short." Morgan inhaled the Force, reaching out to inject terror into their souls. Shields rebuffed him, but that was fine. "My name is Morgan, better known as Lord Caro. I have killed Darths Ekkage, Lachris and Baras. I have killed more of your rank than I can honestly care to remember, and I have not stopped growing. Run, or I will shatter your minds and feed what is left of you to horror unimaginable."
Silence greeted him, the holo showing no sign someone had picked up, but he felt the result. Hesitation then realisation, three sith Lords going from bored to panicked. Morgan could almost taste their resolution to flee, nodding to himself.
It was after, some minute having passed, that the still open signal was picked up properly. It flickered from the small one at his side to the central command communicator, the wrinkled face of some admiral dominating it. Her face was drawn tight in withheld fury, tone on the edge of civility.
"I've never seen sith Lords turn coward, but I suppose it fits your kind well enough. They may have fled, risking uncalculated jumps like the traitorous scum they are, but I will not. The Empire will not fall. The Emperor will not fall. It is impossible."
Morgan declined to answer, closing his eyes and using her soul as an anchor, then pushed. His own crossed the distance in a matter of moments, and his reserves plummeted as he manifested a semi-physical body. Forgotten memories shook free, of watching a hallway full of soldiers slaughter themselves above Belsavis, and his projection stabilised.
The admiral stared at him, Morgan standing on her bridge, and blanched white. He smiled. "You have no idea what's possible."
His reserves bottomed out and he snapped back, vanishing from the bridge. Morgan managed not to stagger and took a breath, the communicator already shut down. Damn but manifesting in reality was costly.
Enzo looked between him and the holo, face turning into a frown. "What just happened?"
"I reminded her that distance isn't a guarantee of safety." Morgan answered, shaking off the fatigue. He'd be back to acceptable levels before the battle started. "Don't worry, I didn't strangle her. I've had that talk already. No killing opposition leaders before battle starts, for it will harden any future opponent and stop any notion of surrender before it can begin."
The chiss swallowed. "Right. Good. I mean, yes my Lord."
"Relax. I'm only a nightmare beyond mortal comprehension to my enemies."
Captain-in-charge Enzo turned back to the bridge, clearly not picking up on the humor. Morgan shrugged. He'd either get over it or not, and either way it wasn't such an important issue.
Morgan knew who he was, and he was past the point of making excuses for that.
Enzo officially took command as the Imperial fleet moved from flight to fight, shifting the Enosis fleet to deny them escape once the battle started. It would take a while before combat was joined, but until then intelligence could be gathered. Experience gauged and plans adjusted.
The while didn't seem to last long.
Two forests of glittering steel, moving through an absence of light. Two fleets seeking war. Nearly a thousand people for each destroyer, hundreds more per frigate, and more still had the Yamada not been the only dreadnought.
Torpedo volleys were exchanged, expected to miss but confirming everything from ship readiness to possible modifications, and Morgan watched the battle-map update. Huge swaths of territory being marked off as ships launched mines, the Enosis fleet accelerating yet again as they stopped pretending.
Morgan thought he detected some panic among the enemy, the way formations shifted and more, but he couldn't be sure. The Imperial fleet was their superior in numbers, but they didn't act like it. Maybe accelerating past what the enemy's console told them was possible had spooked them?
Being low on ammunition, food and more would cripple any navy, but this seemed worse. Maybe because it had been preparing for a long campaign, people enjoying what off-duty time they could. Being warned about the First Fleet would have helped, but they seemed far from ready.
The fact they had moved to flee spoke enough about how they perceived their odds.
The Yamada moved closer to the front as Morgan watched it play out. Unable to do much, not yet, and with little more to do than wait. Wait for Enzo to single out ships he would like maddened, critical phases of battle for Morgan to turn.
A trio of enemy destroyers pushed towards the Yamada, dozens of turret batteries unloading their charge, and her shields held. Returned fire, unleashing bombers as they moved to ship-on-ship combat. Close enough to see the enemy, where torpedoes did actual damage and defending against them came down to shields and screening fire.
Frigates served as mobile harassment squads, able to dart in and out of battle to add and relieve pressure, and the damage they could do was significant. Not alone, but they weren't used alone.
Nine Enosis frigates overwhelmed the rightmost destroyer and its escort, which had been getting close enough boarding teams had been launched towards the Yamada, and Enzo pointed to the left to single out the target. Morgan nodded.
This close identification became more important than power, but Morgan had familiarised himself with the enforcements of Enosis navy personnel. It assured him he was on the right ship, targeting the right souls, and he didn't bother manifesting himself.
The captain and his XO, standing amidst a flurry of activity as their ship engaged the Yamada. Morgan twisted them both, turning them against each other, and the bridge devolved into chaos. Another soul gained command as the first two killed one another, obedience shifting, and that one was turned mad too.
Chaos enough for the ship to lose much of its effectiveness, and they were not given time to recoup. Enosis bombers used their inattention to bypass shields, unleashing payloads straight onto armour. It ripped through them, the ship starting to drift as the engine was hit.
With the left destroyer occupied and the rightmost disabled by frigates, the Yamada turned her full attention to the center. Which, being outclassed by several hundred meters in length, went down in a blaze of fire. Enemy frigates were next, desperately trying to create space before they were torn apart.
Morgan reoriented on the rest of the battle, casting a brief glance at the state of his ship. Shields down to seventy percent, already climbing, and four turret positions disabled. Armour holding, no breakthroughs and the hostile boarding parties were being taken care of.
The rest of the Imperial fleet was in similar positions. Fighting was the best chance they had, even Morgan knew that, but their formation made no sense. Heavy destroyers staying in the back line, shielding damaged ships but not doing a third of what they could. Frigates retreating too quickly, too few fighters, way too few bombers, the list went on.
Made no sense, of course, unless you considered that they were undersupplied. The destroyers didn't have their full staff or security complement, which would let Enosis boarding parties capture them at will should they come too close, and the frigates suffered the same problem.
So the Enosis First Fleet was doing well, winning on all fronts, and the Imperials turned to flee. Their plan all along, Enzo certainly didn't seem surprised, as their combat-capable vessels bought time for everyone else to finish their hyperspace calculations.
Ships fought and people died as time dragged on, hulking monsters of steel and wrath tearing each other apart. An Enosis destroyer was lost, not pulling back quickly enough, and four enemy frigates paid the price for hesitation. The enemy flagship forced combat with the Yamada, which let Morgan single it out in the Force and snap her neck rather easily, and what tenacity the enemy displayed ended pretty soon afterwards.
Enzo completed his victory, orders flowed from combat to capture, and Morgan could see his face shift from focused to satisfied. He himself spent the time turning enemy vessels mad, the strain of distance lowering, until they adapted. Started shooting anyone who even looked like they might be compromised, which stopped him from turning their ships on eachother.
He sat back, watching them execute their own people out of sheer paranoia, and turned to sith. The lowly apprentices and military-attached berserkers. Turned those mad, too, which was both easier and harder for the exact same reason.
They could see the Force, feel it, so he didn't have to be as heavy handed. But they were also more experienced, so it took a little longer to twist them properly. But when he did, well. Executing a mad sith wasn't quite so easy, let alone finding out they were compromised before they shoved their lightsaber through your neck.
It was a little thing, in the grand scale of battle, but it helped. So soon enough the titans of war had finished their clash, dozens of Imperial wrecks littering space as twelve destroyers escaped. Some surrendered, Morgan ordering those ships evacuated under threat of destruction, and he cracked his neck as Enzo reported four friendly casualties.
An easy assignment indeed.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Vette beamed with utter glee as the reports kept coming in, one success after another. Weekends and evenings, sleepless nights and early mornings. A dozen failures and more credits than she could shake a stick at, but it was a success.
She even kept it away from Morgan, though that was less lying and more not mentioning it. Borrowing Enosis assassins was just the last step. Special operatives for the most dangerous and well-protected targets.
They didn't even need to be paid. Zethix had hand-waved it by saying she could have asked ten times as much for the isotope-5, which was true, but still. Nice of him.
Another seven successes in the moments she spent not looking at her datapad, only one failure added afterward. She clicked it, curious, and found the target had died of a heart attack four hours before his scheduled termination. Vette let teeth peek through her grin. "Such a failure."
"Ma'am?" Amelia said, looking up. The woman was clearly absorbed in her own work. They weren't alone, for once, but the Hungry Maw had plenty of room. Two dozen administrators were working below, only part of Amelia's network, and the woman cleared her throat again. "Lady Vette?"
"What? I'm basking in the feeling of victory."
"Yes ma'am." The togruta replied, tone dry. "I thought you'd wish to be informed that Nar Shaddaa has gone into full lockdown, and the Morning Sons are out in force. Our operations there have gone into lockdown themselves, as per protocol, but the hutts are incensed. A two hundred million bounty has been offered for your head."
"Can't collect when you're dead. My people know better."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "So they do, ma'am, but Bob feels it would be prudent to prepare for the worst. He's requesting the Nar Shaddaa branch to go to war-footing."
"That's as good as admitting guilt." Vette mused, shrugging after a few moments. "Eh, whatever. Tell him to be quiet about it, but fine. The Morning Sons are tough sons of bitches, pun fully intended, but they won't risk an all out war with the Republic this tense."
"They will if the hutts support them. The old families are not happy the Cartel has been decimated to this degree, and the Morning Sons contract is with the Supreme Mogul, not any one hutt. Toborro has been named that new Supreme Mogul, and he's known for his reckless nature."
"Uninteresting. " Vette complained. A ship moved to block her view of the twin-suns, making her frown, but it moved on quickly. Travelling with her mercenary fleet was secure, and in times like these that mattered, but still. She preferred anonymity. "Create a one credit bounty on him."
Amelia paused, the room below continuing their work. Morgan might be able to do privacy bubbles with spooky magic powers, but it was far from impossible to replicate with technology. "No one puts a bounty on the Supreme Mogul. They literally won't allow it. And by 'they' I mean the wider criminal underworld. It isn't done. Not against the leader of the hutt Cartel."
"And who's going to stop us?" Vette asked, clicking a report at random. Another dead hutt, blown up on his own luxury yacht. "The Exchange? Ukabi is dead, their lucrative Nar Shaddaa dealings dead with him, and their mighty Compeer was literally strangled to death four hours ago. And not by us, which just goes to show there really isn't any honor among thieves. They'll be too busy electing a leader to block me, since I doubt whoever killed him did so on a whim."
"It is a dangerous move, ma'am. It'll harden the bystanders even more than we already have, maybe even to the point of choosing a side."
Vette looked at her aide properly, smile dropping. "You assume that's not exactly what I want. Morgan is out there fighting gods and allying with horrors, building fleets and killing Darths. I, we, are not going to fall behind. The Supreme Mogul, the Compeer, whatever name anyone else gives their leader, all dead. What is mine is mine, what is theirs is mine, everything is mine. Nothing less will suffice."
"How wonderfully ambitious." John drawled, striding out of her secure entrance and into the room. Amelia nodded to the spook, Vette waving her hand in greeting. The man stalled. "That isn't the reaction I usually get when I break into places."
Vette snorted. "Plur, say hello."
Plur faded into view, his team with him, and bowed. "How may we serve, Honoured Lady?"
"See them?" Vette asked, pointing to the four sith. John nodded mutely. "They maybe sorta worship Morgan. A little. Them and the rest of their team have been specifically trained to recognize hardened or skilled souls, such as yours, and alert my regular security. Don't ask, I don't know how that works either. Anyway, they spotted you and I told them to let you through. They also serve as my personal security, which must be horribly boring. Say Plur, how loyal are you?"
"We would burn worlds to ash before allowing harm to come to you, Honoured Lady. Lord Caro would demand nothing less."
John held up a hand, claiming a chair as Amelia returned to her work. "Yes, yes. I get your point. So you've all grown up and taken my fun away, well done. Now what's this about declaring war on the entire criminal underworld?"
"Already done that. I'm just gonna escalate it." Vette shrugged, waving her guard away. The assassins faded from sight. "Damn but that's cool. Anyway, I've got this in hand."
"And I believe you. However, since I did train you, however informal it was, I feel somewhat responsible when you start wars. Did I hear right when you said you're doing this to not fall behind in a race for power with our magnanimous mutual friend?"
"Nice alliteration. And yes, you heard right. You feel like that's a bad reason?"
"No, no." John assured, holding up a hand. "Love motivates only secondary to fear and hatred. But, well. These people you're pissing off? They're in power for a good reason. Your new assassins, while impressive, won't be enough to kill them all. Which will mean fighting a war they have decades, or centuries, more experience in waging."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "You sound concerned."
"She's my friend, of course I'm concerned. I might also be envisioning what Morgan will do in revenge should you die, specifically to me. So, since I have brilliantly deduced that you won't be swayed, I am here to offer my not-inconsiderable expertise."
"All the intel Imperial Intelligence has on both the Exchange and the hutts." Vette demanded promptly, snapping her fingers. "Oh, and your blackmail on them. That would help."
John grinned, clearly knowing she expected him to say no. "Done. The intel will be a few months out of date, my former colleagues actually did a pretty good job restructuring and I can't access their data at will anymore, but I have an info-dump from before that. The blackmail will take some time, I only have hard-copies, but it's yours."
"And what do you want in return?" Amelia asked, tone positively doubtful. "Intelligence like that does not come cheap."
The spook's grin widened. "Well, this radiant twi'lek over here is connected to some very powerful people. I am old, and Morgan's gift has already staved off the worst of it, but that was months ago. A lifetime in terms of his growth. So just in case he can extend lifetimes any further, I'd like to be on the list."
"You know I can't speak for him." Vette replied. "But assuming there is such a list I can ask for you to be put on it. But in the interest of fairness, you asking him yourself would probably get you placed there at no cost."
"Yeah, about that. Turns out the Enosis took my little game of sneak a little seriously, and they take his security even more so. I'd have to declare my intentions, go through rigorous screening, visit a place of their choosing, all to even get a holocall with him. What I'm doing now is altogether less humiliating."
Vette rolled her eyes, reading between the lines. "So you're scared of him."
"Fucking right I'm scared of him." John said, all traces of levity dropping. "I've watched that man go from a pretty strong, pretty fast human with a lightsaber to something I can't even begin to comprehend. He loves you, and for some reason that doesn't make you want to run far away, but me? Any moment, over holo or not, he can just snap my neck. Click, just like that, one misstep and I'm dead. You don't fuck with Darths."
Vette raised an eyebrow. "Not to be a bitch, but I think my opinion of you has just lowered a little."
"Then you're a fool." John barked. Plur angled behind the man, still invisible, but if the spook noticed he ignored it. "A sith Lord is a killing machine that could rival armies, but ultimately still mortal. Darths? They manipulate concepts that we can't even fathom, play games we can't guess at. I have done this a long time, Vette, so listen to me now when I say this. Nothing, nothing, good comes from messing with them."
"So that's it? He grows a little too strong and you're done?"
"It's like people don't listen." The man muttered, voice rising. "It means I'm done fucking with him. No more surprise visits, unapproved meddling or unasked for advice. He tells me to do something, I'll gauge how much snark he will enjoy without becoming upset, then I do it. End of story. So yes, I can't speak to him about this, which makes you my next best option. And before you throw this in my face, yes it's different from when I acted against the Dark Council. I never came close to any of them, never so much as made accidental eye contact even from halfway across the galaxy, and erased any trace of my presence very thoroughly. It's not the same."
She paused for a moment, shrugging. "If you insist. He's not like that, but whatever. I won't complain if his reputation intimidates you. So now that we've established your point of view, and I tell my assassin-guard not to slit your throat for perceived slights, look this over."
Plur took the hint and backed away, John never having given the sith a glance. Confident, and she was briefly tempted to find out why, but let it go. The man seemed on edge enough as it was.
John scrolled through the datapad she'd handed him, eyebrow rising. His tone had returned to normal, that slightly bored drawl he seemed to favor, and she was fine with pretending that conversation had never happened. "Well, you don't do anything by half. Asasssination, blackmail, blackmail motivated assassination. Theft of valuable property, leading to death-by-pissed-of-superior, the list goes on. You do see the problem with your targets, right?"
"Most are public figures." She confirmed. "The faces. Some were actually in charge, of course, but others weren't. And faces will be replaced easily enough. It's what I'd like your opinion on, actually. How impressed would you be if I said that I used their deaths to expose the actual people in charge, leading to a second round of assassinations?"
"I'd say that's pretty basic, if impressive in scale. But you know why the SIS or my former brethren at Imperial Intelligence never did something like this? Because we could have. Not easily, perhaps, but we could have."
"Regale me, oh wise spook of the south."
The man snorted. "Because crime grows back. What money we could make, however temporarily, isn't worth the hassle of everyone bonding together against the government. You have it easier, to a degree, but don't think people won't hate you. They'll oppose anyone looking to rise above the rest."
"So what's your opinion, then?"
"How about a final exam." John proposed. "To graduate my training, so to speak. We'll go over your plan together, and I'll tear it apart. You defend or adapt, and the less I need to do that, the more I like you. And, as a distant second, the more likely the plan is to succeed."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Marc handed his boss the datapad, stepping back as he was waved away. A gesture that would have irritated him to no end, and two months ago he would have complained and raged.
Internally, of course. His dad had arranged the job, and at twenty seven he was already an embarrassment to the family. Not even a politician himself, just the secretary of one, and getting fired would probably get him disowned.
I shouldn't have killed her.
His boss, Marc tried not to think of the man's name if he could help it, sat down. All the way at the back, crowded with the other lesser bureaucrats as the important people discussed business. The door opened, Marc stiffening.
Grand Master Satele shan. It was rare enough for her to visit functions like this, rarer still for her to call one, and Marc felt his heartbeat skyrocket. Fear coursed through him, guilt and anger and bone-deep regret.
I should have hid the body myself.
Pointless platitudes went back and forth, and he was certain the Grand Master would look at him any moment. Sense his fear, read his mind, expose him for what he was. For what he was doing.
His eye itched and he pulled out a piece of sanitized cloth, rubbing the lubricant away. A perfectly ordinary gesture, one everyone had seen him do a dozen times before. Maybe that was why they'd picked him. For his eye, not as revenge against his father.
I shouldn't have snapped when she hit me.
It looked just like his old one, a perfect copy, except that this one faithfully recorded everything he saw. Stored until his blackmailers could extract the footage, a sealed session between the Grand Master of the Jedi Order and the Chancellor of the Republic leaked to foreign ears.
Not that Marc cared about that. He was more concerned about what they would do to him once his usefulness ran out.
Growing up with his psychopathic sister and career-driven father hadn't come with many benefits, aside from money, but the ruthlessness of people had been clear to him from day one.
I shouldn't have let them fix it.
But they'd been so understanding. So helpful and kind. Took care of the body, cleaned his apartment, prepared an alibi. It had been such a relief.
Then the demands had started, and Marc knew what his life was going to become. A little information here, a favor there, and soon enough he was proven right. Presented with a listening device the SIS would arrest him for owning, ordered to act normal and report back when he was done.
He held the power, technically, since they needed him to bring the eye back, but that was a fiction. Even if they couldn't spy on him remotely, since any incoming or outgoing signal would be picked up by the SIS, they would find him.
Marc spent a moment cursing his knife-loving, reckless sister before finding he didn't care about her anymore. Not after being shown just how small of a fish he really was.
It had been so cool, to see colors he never had before, and he'd been young when she took his eye. An accident, she had broken down in tears, and everyone believed her.
He'd believed her, then he'd been scared of her, and now she looked so small. So insignificant compared to what he was dealing with. Marc forcefully pulled his attention back to the Chancellor of the Republic, Dorian Janarus, and tried not to blink too much as the man spoke.
"As this is a closed session, I will remind everyone that there are no pictures or recording devices allowed." The older man said, tone grandfatherly. "I know we went over this at the start, but there's always someone who forgets to turn off an auto-notes function on their datapad. The Strategic Information Service will not be amused, I can promise you that."
Laughter was his answer, quite genuine, and Marc could see why the man was so popular. He was, in a word, likable.
The Grand Master, on the other hand, might as well have been carved from stone. Her eyes kept roving, posture tight and alert, sitting like she was expecting to jump straight into combat. Marc made brief eye contact and almost felt his heart stop.
But she moved on, and spoke after a suitable amount of time had passed. "There are numerous items we are here to discuss, but the main focus will be on the Empire. Specifically, their civil war. Three sides, two in active combat, and I shall state the good news first; Every moment they are at war, they weaken. As such we are winning by default."
Polite applause echoed through the chamber, twenty bureaucrats and politicians doing their best to impress the Grand Master. By the way her eyes flickered back and forth, by the way she didn't even crack a polite smile, she clearly found it ineffective.
"The bad news." She continued, and the room fell silent. "Sith thrive in war. Their numbers might fall, but expect individual strength and competence to rise. They build their system of rule on bloodshed and competition, so this is what they are made for. Should anyone here be lulled into a false sense of security, dispel it. The past will not reflect the future, not when comparing a peacetime Empire with one at war. They will lose ships but gain more powerful sith in turn."
None of that was news and still some looked surprised. The danger of dealing with bureaucrats, Marc knew. Change of office, different representatives being sent, people not reading their briefings as thoroughly as they should. Boring, but necessary.
Marc's boss shuffled. He almost rolled his eyes, almost, but kept his face passive. The man was in charge of diplomatic security for, in blunt terms, unimportant diplomats. A mind numbing, paper-pushing job that nonetheless required him to be here, though he would never speak.
It would be the five men and women at the central table doing the deciding, though Marc knew it was really between the Chancellor and the Grand Master. Fear thickened in his stomach as the man looked his way, but again, nothing happened.
"Well said." Dorian praised, the compliment easy and sincere sounding. "Our current stance of a non-interference, defensive stance is serving us well, so there is no need to revisit it at this time. Especially not as the Empire tears itself apart. Moving on. The proposed law alteration on the expansion of the jedi ranks within the Republic military…"
Marc listened as the meeting began in earnest, knowing it was futile to hope that this would be the last time he was asked to do something like this. His very life, ironically enough, depended on his boss. Should the man no longer be welcome at meetings, he was dead.
I shouldn't have killed her.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan blinked, Vette's voice smug through her grin. The holo flickered briefly, settling back down as the recording switched off and her face appeared. "See. I totally got someone spying on the Chancellor."
"So you do." Morgan agreed, impressed despite himself. "I officially apologize for calling your bluff. How is John, anyway? Haven't heard from him in a while."
"Eh, he's boring. Keeps insisting you're not to be fucked with anymore. Something about you bending space and time to your will." Vette shrugged. "Like I said, boring."
"Just space, and it's a little more complicated than that, but a shame. One less person to treat me like, well, a person. So you're now the queen of the underworld?"
Vette waved. "Well, not yet. John and I spent some time brainstorming, making sure the retaliation can be weathered, but soon. No one pushed back on my bounty on the Supreme Mogul, either. The hutts are furious, but the Cartel is still paralysed from my initial strike. It's going to take some time, but I'm on track."
"Aren't the hutts and the Cartel one and the same?"
"Mostly." She allowed. "You can be both. Cartel leader in the morning, government official at dinner, then back to kneecapping the poor around midnight. Surprisingly stable, for what it is, but they're also old. The people in charge have been that for a long time, and they were too focused on the war. Silly hutts, thinking their enemies can't learn. Can't organise into an actual threat. Thinking people would stick to the civilized ways of settling disputes. They kill thousands a day, yet I kill one hutt and it's an outrage? Ridiculous. No, a shakeup is exactly what we need, and if I have to be the one crazy enough to do that then so be it."
Morgan sighed. "I trust you, and I know you're capable, but please be careful? Far be it for me to insist on taking no risks, I'm not that hypocritical, but I'm here if you ever need something. Like those assassins, or whatever else you may need."
"I know." She replied, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "And I will ask if I need something. But honestly, the hard work is done. My organization survived its trial by fire, Ryloth is stabilising and tens of thousands of twi'lek are flooding my recruitment centers. Their loyalty allows me to take more risky moves, which lets me spread faster, and its picking up speed. Not like I'm organizing all of this myself."
"You're not?"
Vette rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I set objectives, oversee the plans and administer final approval, but I have dozens of lieutenants and branch-leaders to handle the details. Vision and strategic problem solving, that's my job. They conquer more territory, create branches, recruit mercenaries, that kind of thing."
"And they're loyal?"
"The branch leaders?" She snorted. "Fuck no. Well, that's a little unkind, but loyal is the wrong word. I made the penalty for betrayal clear, incentivized loyalty and ensured proper intelligence. The first few times people thought they could get away with stealing from me, bam. A company of mercs is knocking at your door, politely inquiring about your day."
"Fear is effective, I'll give you that."
"Fear, respect and reward. Loyalty, too, and is it racist to say I prefer my own people?" Vette pondered that for a moment, shrugging. "Eh, probably. Anyway, the twi'lek really like me. I wouldn't say they dominate my ranks, because they don't, but a lot of them are rising high. It gives a stabilising element to the controlled chaos of expansion, which in turn lets me focus on the big picture."
Morgan gave her an appreciative once-over, actually making her fidget. "You really are good at this, aren't you? Bundu called it an affinity, but that's just a word. I'm good at fleshcrafting, you're good at criminal management. And shooting, and sneaking, and I could go on."
"Please." She basked. "I love praise."
"I'm sure you do. But before that, what kind of timeline are you looking at? To take over, I mean."
Vette shrugged. "I donno. Months to finish this operation, at least, with months more to bleed them dry. The Exchange is big, the Cartel is old, and neither side is going to take this lying down. The sith help, more than you can imagine, but weeding out the fakes and the cautious and the smart takes time. After that? They'll consolidate, maybe merge if I'm really successful, and then I'm in for the long haul."
"I'm sure you'll make it work." Morgan assured. "Called me just to brag? Cause I won, yeah, but I do have some stuff to take care of."
"I did not, actually. Lana and Soft Voice, they each took a third of the Enosis fleet, right? Cause I can't get in contact with either, and I need to finalise some stuff with them."
"They're both doing what I'm doing, hitting the Empire now that they're divided. I get why you'd need Soft Voice, but what did Lana do to have you hounding her?"
"She promised me sordid details about you." Vette grinned, tone back to smug. "And so far she's failing to deliver. But I'll get my hands on them soon enough. How's your fleet, before I forget? Winning is good, but it can be more expensive than losing."
"What are you, a fortune cookie? Aaaand you don't know what that means. Nevermind. The First Fleet is mostly fine save for the fairly extensive damage. A result of our low casualties, actually, since with isotope-5 my ships can exit combat more quickly. So they switch out more frequently, let other vessels soak damage, but it does mean repairs. Less internal damage, which actually means less repairs overall, but still. We're doing the barebones now, should be done in an hour, then we'll leave. No sense in hanging around."
"Hmmn. How many ships did you steal?"
Morgan snorted. "Just the one, to spite Soft Voice. The rest we crippled during battle, and those plus the ones that surrendered are being destroyed. The crews and soldiers were being escorted down to Hoth, which I think finished up half an hour ago?"
"Such a softie." Vette cooed. "Can't believe people are calling you a big, bad Darth."
He sighed wishfully. "I would love a reputation as a softie. Can you imagine what it would do for my surprise factor? Them laughing at me, not preparing, then I come in with my lightsaber swinging and win the day. Now it's all ambushes and soul-stealing, though I will keep the 'running away from me stuff. That was useful."
"You made people run away?"
"I didn't say? There were three sith Lords with the fleet. Told them to run or be eaten. They ran. Last I checked they took their own ships and made blind jumps into hyperspace before battle even started."
"Impressive." Vette teased, leaning forward. "If you were here, I'd even give you a reward for it."
"If I was there I might even let you. But it seems we're out of time, since a lieutenant has been not-so-patiently waiting on me for the last twenty seconds. Good luck conquering the galactic underworld."
Vette beamed. "Good luck conquering everything else!"
The holo disconnected and Morgan turned, finding the soldier in question still as impatient as before. Morgan opened the door, looking at the man. Who straightened, though still remained annoyed. A pretty rare occurrence, these days, and Morgan found it almost refreshing. Almost, but it wasn't like he was going to complain about internal feelings. Not as long as the man remained polite.
"Yes?"
"Sir. Captain Enzo reports a priority call for you. He says it is someone by the name of Darth Hexid."
Morgan nodded. "I'll be there in a moment."
"Sir."
The impatient lieutenant left and Morgan took a moment to trace Fate, finding nothing out of place. But it hadn't warned him about Baras, either, so best not to take any chances. Hexid had a rather hedonistic reputation, these days, but her renown from before the Cold War was altogether more bloodthirsty.
The bridge, when he got to it, was silent. People worked quietly and with a tense air about them, captain Enzo standing in front of the long-ranged communicator. Morgan joined the man, nodding once. The call was accepted with the press of a button.
Darth Hexid, Morgan admitted, was striking. Beautiful in a sharp way, like hurricanes and tsunamis. A zabrak of undeterminable age, her appearance well cared for. No Dark side corruption was evident, aside from her yellow eyes, and she didn't speak a word.
Instead her presence started creeping in. Through the holo and invading his ship, Morgan's expression going flat. She realised he noticed, the invasion going from gradual to overwhelming , and Morgan narrowed his eyes.
Brought his own presence forward, which brought hers to a standstill. She started to retreat, an almost bored cast to her eye, and Morgan inhaled the Force. Let it fill him as intent was shaped, the very concept of indignation infusing the Force.
She pulled her aura back, her lazy grin widening, and he chased it. Without going deep in the Force he'd be limited, and distance would weaken it further, but this was a power play. A predator testing the waters, seeing how much they could get away with.
Morgan pulled the pure, structured intent from the memory of his prison, using its nature to bridge the gap between power and will. His presence flooded her side of the connection, Hexid's smile widening further still, and he let go after making it clear he could have attacked. Ignored her shields forged from intend-driven denial, which could probably stop him, and snapped back to his own body.
"I do like the spirited ones." She said, body language shifting from bored to interested. "And Synar was right, as she usually is. A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Darth Caro. I've heard so much about you."
"And you, Darth Hexid, but I'm not one for platitudes. To what do I owe this conversation? It was indicated to me that talks between you and the Enosis were still ongoing."
Hexid shifted, managing to drip sexuality without really doing much of anything. Morgan killed his hormones, the slight widening of her eye suggesting she could tell. Which, he found, was as impressive as it was concerning.
"Your victory on Hoth." Hexid replied, tone relaxed even as her posture stiffened. Only the slightest amount, but stiffened. "Me and some like-minded sith feel politics is more trouble than it is worth, but staying neutral seems less like an option by the day. The Enosis might find our assistance helpful in the months to come."
"I'm sure we would. What do you want in turn, and why risk going against the Dark Council?"
"What Council?" She asked, grinning. "Marr and his cohort of would-be-Emperors? I'm sure that alliance will end without bloodshed and betrayal. But even if it does, the man is too keen on pressing me and mine into service. Our very way of life is threatened, dearest Morgan. Why would we not take action?"
"And how many is we?"
The Darth pouted, managing to make it seem attractive instead of petulant. "Me and Synar are proper Darths. Another eleven sith Lords call us friends, and we keep them out of trouble in turn. I like a good war, we all do, but this? Too much unpredictability. Someone strong needs to be in charge, keep the rabble in line as we feast and hunt. It would bore me to death, Synar isn't interested and none of my Lordly friends have the power."
"I doubt you're here to swear fealty." Morgan said, tilting his head. "What do you propose?"
Hexid smiled. "You name a task you wish done, we accomplish it. If we like working together we'll go from there. I am only interested in maintaining my way of life, you know? I'm more than happy to leave matters of rule to more vigorous people."
Morgan didn't believe a word of it, she clearly wasn't expecting him to, and he grunted. "There's an Imperial shipyard around Celanon, optimised for the quick repair of military vessels. While not their most important shipyard, it is fundamental in stopping the gradual decline of the Imperial navy. As such it's well protected, and Darth Shaar calls it home. Only for the last three weeks, but our intel suggests she isn't leaving. Go there, kill her and sabotage the facility by destroying their main power-reactors."
"It would take months, if not more, to replace those." Hexid mused, a grin forming. "No fleet could take the system, not with the defences installed there, but us? I always did like my men bold. Consider it done."
The connection cut before he could say anything more, making him sigh. The tense atmosphere on the bridge relaxed, captain Enzo clearing his throat. "She wants something."
"Undoubtedly." Morgan replied, staring at the dead connection. "But we could use her help, and she'd have taken her chances with Marr if she thought we didn't have good odds at winning. Wrap up the operations here, captain. We have work to do."
The chiss was about to respond when alarms started ringing, the man pivoting to look. Their long-ranged sensors had picked up unknown ship signatures, Morgan watching it jump from six to sixty in seconds.
From sixty to over a hundred, then two. The screen shifted as the officer manning the post worked the console, organising a list of ship models.
Two dreadnoughts. Morgan felt the Force constrict in warning as he read the next line, all but slapping him in the face with ninety destroyers, and he closed his eyes as Marr's unmistakable signature blazed through the system.
A trap. Marr knew they had isotope-5 engines, he had told the man that himself, and still Morgan hadn't fully realised what it would mean. That their speed, while an advantage, was a known quantity now. And while Soft Voice had warned him reinforcements might be close, this wasn't that. No, this had been planned. Bait put in place and chess-pieces sacrificed.
"How long until we can evacuate the fleet?" He asked, watching Enzo stare at the monitor. "Captain!"
His tone snapped the chiss out of his stupor, head shaking. "Forty minutes, at least, to recall our people and calculate the pathways back. Their arrival necessitates us to divert from the route we'd been planning to use."
"And how long until we make contact?"
The captain looked at his console, face growing hard. "Half that."
"Get us out of here." Morgan ordered. He swallowed what he was going to say, Marr's furious soul streaming towards his. "You hold operational command, captain. Get us home while I deal with Marr."
A nod was his answer, Morgan letting himself fall deep into the Force, and he cloaked himself in the memory of pain. Looked at the Dark Council member preparing to rip him to pieces, whatever wounds Marr had suffered during his escape clearly having healed.
Morgan solidified his body and crafted a spear out of the memory of death, feeling his lips curl upward.
He had not forgotten, had not forgiven, and this time he wouldn't be locked in a cage. Wouldn't be wounded and tired as they fought. Wouldn't have allies, either, and the brief temptation to summon Star was set aside.
Marr wanted to fight? Lure Morgan's people into a trap after starting the war himself? Climb on his high-horse and pretend he wasn't a scourge on this galaxy?
Morgan tipped his spear with the feeling of oblivion, moving to meet the Darth.
He'd give him a fight to remember
Afterword
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]