Planting the Seeds of the Imperium

A black world stretched out from the annals of Yuthura’s past. A volcanic world; its jagged basalt slag covered landscape in which she was **** to walk across with uncovered feet. Sleheyron had been a first of many new experiences for the young Twi’lek during her time as a ****. Starvation, overexposure, mutilation were the **** punishments Omeesh the Hutt handed out to his slaves to stave off boredom. The crueler acts were the ones that bypassed the rending of flesh and violated the spirit, many of the younger slaves didn’t survive their second exposure to such trauma and those who did learned no matter the amount of cleansing powder ever made them feel clean again after spending a night in the worm’s chambers.

It had been Yuthura’s first night with the worm; alone being smothered and suffocated by the rolling mounds of fat that made up the Hutt’s body. She cradled her hope in her hand, caressing it as one would a newborn or lover; soft and delicately.

She had spirited it away from the kitchen when the chefs were busy serving Omeesh the eleventh meal of the hour and now it was hers. Her salvation her chance at freedom, Yuthura wiggled up beside the worms gaping maw and pressed the tempered knife into a lair of fat the Twi’lek believed a Hutt’s carotid artery was. The thin blade sank into the wiggling flesh; much like hot steel going through butter. But no blood flowed forth –she had struck pure fat and Omeesh’s sickly yellow eyes sprung open in alarm.

Panic stole her mind and decided her next action. Yuthura felt her muscles tighten as a rush of adrenaline unlike anything she’s experienced before flooded her system. In a speed only a seasoned soldier could manage the Twi’lek had pulled her savior free, repositioned and sank it in again.

Yuthura was rewarded this time by a splash of bitter smelling blood. Omeesh’s hand fumbled across his chest in search of the knife, its thick digits wrapping around Yuthura’s wrist. Rather than think it through, she let her instinct guide her as she dropped the knife into her opposite hand, dragging the blade across Omeesh’s wide face and back down to her previous wound.

A jet of noxious green fluid sprayed the room; coating Yuthura’s face and turning the Hutt’s vision into a verdant hue. The giant worm shrieked out in fear and pain as the knife continued to rip and tear at its flesh. The Twi’lek was smiling so hard her face hurt, but she persisted as repetition began. Lift stab lift stab lift stab.

When the blade finally broke off inside the monster she at last relented and stumbled off the wide platform that served as the Hutt’s bed. Omeesh has stopped struggling half way through their encounter but Yuthura fearing the worm was imitating a dead mynock and continued her panicked stabbings.

Her arms felt like jelly, while her feet felt like they were made from Alderaanian steel. She fought to remain aloft and fought even harder not to throw up and run to the nearest refresher. Omeesh polluted every inch of her now, even in **** the worm tormented her. Remembering how to move her legs and walk Yuthura sprinted from the household. Her flight to freedom continued throughout the night as she evaded the pursuing patrols and hounds they sent after her.

The rest was a blur; she couldn’t remember how she got off world or when she was picked up by the Jedi Order. It was as if she had been on auto-pilot up until that point. And now she was being **** to return to it, even worse she was being **** to acknowledge it. The memory of that night crawled to the forefront of his mind and the revolting aroma reappeared in her sinuses. Yuthura used those memories to fuel her muscles, her power, as she pushed through sequences of strikes with her stolen lightsaber. The scarlet blade swirled and danced between her dominant and off hand, each time the blade kissed the air Yuthura imagined each strike killing Omeesh again and again.

Drehar watched Yuthura twirl her bladed weapon inside his quarters from the bridge as he pretended to listen to Juhani, giving the cat girl the official nod and grunt of acknowledgement.

“So you agree with my plan?” were the first words he heard from when the Cathar started talking. He terminated the channel as she walked up alongside him.

“What?”

“Do you agree with my plan?”

“Sure do.”

“Really, one Hundred percent? You have no complaints?”

“Nope, nothing wrong with it I’m game for it all.”

Juhani smiled in disbelief. “I am shocked that you’d willingly trade all your cargo for such a cheap price. I guess you’re a better man than I gave you credit for.”

“Hey, wait a minute what’s this about selling my cargo?”

Juhani chuckled and pointed at him accusingly. “I knew it! You haven’t been listening to a thing I’ve said.”

The two broke down into a screaming match with neither willing to back down. It took one of their prisoners fully armed and armored walking onto the bridge for the pair to stop.

Sarkin Thes scanned the room instinctively, the pool of reflective metal where his face should moved left to right. His blaster was in his grip, ready to be leveled and fired in one swift motion should the Jedi or Smuggler pull anything. Though Michael had been clear no harm was to befall the two Jedi, he wouldn’t take any chances.

The trooper raised his weapon as Juhani flexed her right hand, drawing her weapon up off her belt by an unseen ****. “Problem Jedi? We really don’t have time for this?”

“Who let you out of your cell?” she whispered as Drehar lowered himself to the floor to escape the exchange of blaster fire that was quickly approaching his future. Sarkin didn’t shrug; it would throw off his aim and cause his shots to go wide. “Who do you think? Michael wants you and the Twi’lek ready to deploy as soon as we make planet fall.”

“And if I refuse to play his sick little game?”

“Then you can try and stop us, but you’ll be killing all those farmers in the hold too.”

Juhani visibly flinched as Drehar lifted himself just enough to take a glimpse as the camera feeds across the ship. Stopping on the cargo hold, the metal man understood what the bastard meant. “They’ve jacked my droids,” he counted the entire lot he had left - their batteries drained - on their not so faulty charging wracks. Though thankfully the farmers appeared none the wiser to their current situation as hostages, they appeared to be in fact working on something.

A sense of pride could be heard leaving Sarkin’s lips. “Yeah, Oris is shit with a blaster, but give that woman a capable datapad and a steady stream of information and power and she could slice her way into the Republic’s treasury by month’s end. Rewiring and programming some droids wasn’t too much of a challenge.”

When neither Juhani nor Drehar responded Sarkin figured the Cathar would fall in line. “Go inform the Twi’lek, I’ll meet you in the cargo hold in ten minutes to go over the battle plan.”

“W…what about me?” the cyborg chirped in, wishing he hadn’t as the crimson juggernaut turned his faceless plate to address him. “You get to pilot the ship and ensure the fuel lines don’t get breached in any ensuing firefights.”

Drehar mockingly pumped his good hand into the air in celebration. “Oh boy,”

Taking another glance at Juhani Thes backed out of the bridge slowly keeping his back towards the door as he went.

There was visible tension among those that gathered in the cargo hold. Aside from the four Sith soldiers all fully armed and armored; it was only Twitch -Phex- who stood apart from his companions dressed in complete civilian wear with Juhani and Yuthura standing side by side across from their once prisoners. At the request of the Jedi the farmers and other Dantooine civilians had been moved to the far side of the bay; remaining the unaware prisoners and surrounded by Drehar’s droids.

It was Sarkin who spoke up. “This mission has three parts. We need to get the fuel, rescue the **** labor and extract before the Hutt’s mobilize a counterattack.” He pointed to Yuthura with a gloved hand. “You know the terrain, you shall have point and be tasked with rescuing the **** labor alongside Jost.”

The one who Yuthura assumed to be Jost clicked his tongue and gave a small wave to her.

Yuthura didn’t argue, but Juhani did. “I’m going with her,”

“Negative, I need you watching Oris’ back while she taps into the Hutt system and gets us security access to recharge this ship’s fuel cells. Without that, we aren’t going anywhere. Once done, you randevu back here.”

Juhani was going to insist but ceased when she felt Yuthura place a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine,”

“Are you sure?” A nod was all Juhani got as a response.

Sarkin smiled inside his helmet. “Moving on, Telera and myself will be providing security for the ship.”

“What about Twitch? I mean Phex? What will he be doing?” Juhani cursed herself for falling back on the man’s nickname she had designated him. The crimson sergeant didn’t seem to care at the offensive designation of one of his own and answered. “Phex will be providing the locals with a distraction.”

Yuthura motioned for the man to continue.

Each of the soldiers gave a small chuckle with Oris -Carrot- sharing the joke. “The only distraction an explosive expert knows, make a big boom.”

---

Goza Sim had been working on Sleheyron for the past twelve years as chief of security for the local Hutt in charge of the tibanna gas refineries and **** markets. It was profitable and aside from the occasional scuffle with rival Hutt clans looking to move in on the terf it was relatively safe. Framed in a muscular light that his long bantha leather coat enhanced and armed with his prized Mandalorian blaster he typically patrolled the halls of the palace, collecting small bribes owed him.

Ever since arriving on this slag world, every inhabitant had complained of the air; of the noxious fumes and acidic winds it carried with it. Thankfully, as a Kel Dor Goza had never experienced such odors as his people’s antiox breath mask provided him with all the breathable helium and Kel Dor specific gases he needed and his thick hide was strong enough to withstand the vacuum of space for a time so the wind was no problem.

He had just finished his sweep of the third floors west wing, when a ball of fire illuminated the sky; transforming the veranda from a black scab into a sea of molten lava. The tempered glass fell away under the proceeding shock wave leaving Goza’s body scoured by dagger sized shards of glass, heat and steel.

Goza’s senses came and went as screams from his holocommunicator chirped at him. A shaking hand found the device at his belt and answered. A bloated disfigured Hutt expanded inches above the spherical machine. It gargled Huttese distorted by the interference and the Hutt’s own disfigurement.

“What is going on Goza? Why is there fire in my streets!?”

The quaking Kel Dor slumped himself up against the wall; doing his best to ignore the glass protruding from his physique. His covered eyes dilated and refocused as he took a bit more time to respond than the Hutt would have liked. “Well?!”

To ensure the continuation of both his career and life Sim had to lie; to make the Hutt believe he knew what already caused this. “I believe a detonation at one of the tibanna refineries may have caused this. I am scrambling response teams as we speak and ordering the Palace grounds closed.”

“Good, I want a report within the hour of my collective losses.”

“Of course sir.”

The Hutt terminated the link and Goza felt his shoulders droop. He couldn’t just lay there however and contacted his teams to secure the Palace and ordering fire suppression teams to combat the fire. And to get a medical droid to patch him up…

As he heard the acknowledgement of his staff he looked out to the sea of fire and smoke. He was grateful he couldn’t smell the cooked meat or hear the screams of the dying. As the Kel Dor lost consciousness he began to receive reports of Sith attacking...

---

Two silhouettes; one comprised of a shadowy lavender the other a sharp silvery contrast ran through the devastation using the alleyways when the streets were blocked off with debris or by groups attempting to combat the raging inferno. Jost or Mullet as Juhani referred to him was silent as he and Yuthura traced their steps towards the **** quarter. They had interrogated a local Gran for directions; with Mullet wanting to kill the alien once they had gleaned what they needed. Yuthura had settled on stuffing the **** three eyed mammalian in the nearest waste receptacle.

The Gran’s directions had been on point; the single story unit they stored the unprocessed slaves in was more akin to an oversized kennel by the amount of metal that covered the windows and doors than a house. These slaves had yet to go through the process of being fitted with shock collars or worse explosive chips designed to go off if they exceeded a preset range.

“You sense any guards about?”

“None.”

“What about traps? Ambushes?”

“None from what I can tell.”

Jost motioned with the barrel still aimed at the door. “After you,”

Yuthura took the initiative and closed the distance.

A brief tug at the door confirmed it to be locked. The door itself was old fashioned, unlike more modern doors it operated on hinges. It appeared to have a sophisticated series of interweaving locks all through the door frame; concealing the door’s hinges. A good security measure, but a lightsaber is the universal key to any door on any planet. A gentle thrust and twist of her wrists and Yuthura began to slowly guide the crimson blood around the door.

Shouts of alarm and panic could be heard from within; Yuthura had planned on asking for patience and silence from the captives. But who could not panic when a blade of heated energy was carving its way through the only door to a room you are in.

Using his armored fist Jost pounded on the wall demanding silence as he returned to watching Yuthura’s six. After seven minutes of uninterrupted cutting the door fell away; a super heated jumble of scrap iron.

Carefully the pair crossed the threshold and took in the slaves that huddled themselves in the far corner of the room. No beds or utilizes had been provided, several slaves had used the corners to relieve themselves and nearly all of them appeared to have been beaten and starved. The smell only seemed to reinforce the buildings image as a kennel.

“We are here to free you, lets go!” Yuthura shouted pointing to the door; their freedom.

No one moved. The slavers had used tricks like these before. Fabricating groups of “heroes” arriving to rescue them. Only for those same heroes to punish the slaves who fell for the deception. “Come on we don’t have much time our ship is waiting!” she pleaded still holding the crimson blade, drawing many a glance from the slaves. Many knew the weapon of the Jedi, but they also knew the armor of the one standing next to the Twi’lek. Many an alien had found themselves sold into slavery by folks who wore that very same armor. Again no one moved, which **** Jost to hurry things along.

“Kindness and hope won’t move these people. It’s been drilled into them that those types of sentiments will get them hurt or killed.” He sprayed a line of laser into the ceiling above the slaves; who hugged the floor; making themselves the smallest as possible.

In a voice he had heard come from his Sergeant many a time Mullet gave the slaves their marching orders. “You will form a line and march down those streets. Anyone who doesn’t comply will be shot here and now!”

A few hesitated and Jost aimed to follow through with his threat. His carbine lifted from his hands and clung to the ceiling as Yuthura pointed her weapon at him. “What are you doing?!”

The man snarled. “Getting them moving, if a few of them need to die for them to understand they need to obey us than so be it.”

“We don’t do that.” Yuthura said in a low ton.

“I will do whatever it takes to complete this mission and get off this rock! We’ve been given a good deal to follow through with this insane plan and you aren’t going to ruin it for us!”

Yuthura shaded the silver armor crimson in the glow of her blade as she buried her lightsaber into the reflective pool of his helmet. The soldier collapsed without a word or a curse, his carbine fell into Yuthura’s waiting hand. “Are you ready to move now?” she asked, tired.

“We are,” replied a Zabrak woman speaking for herself and a small Zabraki humanoid that clung to leg. Yuthura nodded, stripping Jost of his utilize belt and spare power cells. “Can anyone use these?”

---

Clearance for landing had been surprisingly easy with the quick thinking Drehar saying over an open channel he was delivering spice and slaves. Landing had followed smoothly, the trouble began when the Dock Officer and two Gamorreans wandered over; interested as to why no containers were being offloaded. The Officer; a thin lanky Mirialan had noted Juhani and Yuthura departing with their escorts - Oris and Jost respectively. But had missed the badly dressed Phex stumble from an escape hatch opposite of the ramp and slink away.

Sarkin; the charismatic walking scab that he was not so subtly offered the worker a bribe; in the form of a handful of Republic credits he had pawned from Elizac’s ship to ignore their arrival. Everyone loved credits, thugs even more so. So when the worker slapped the bribe away and so rudely called for the alarm to be sounded you can understand Sarkin’s reaction to space the fool. Shame too, the first and most likely last honest worker in a Hutt’s employee.

But even with his adrenal fueled spray of blaster fire Phex wasn’t going to kill all three of them. Telera stormed from her hiding place near the Claw’s unloading ramp and sprayed into the last Gamorrean guard; as it tried to run in terror, reducing the porcine alien into a squealing like a stuck mynock before Sarkin put the poor creature out of its misery. “Losing your touch sir?” Oils quipped which had the maroon silhouette kicking the Mirialan for good measure. “How was I supposed to know the alien wouldn’t take a bribe? Who turns down a bribe anyway, that’s just rude.”

A few of the Dantooine farmers were conscripted into moving the bodies to a less public place. Telera had just finished frying the last holo camera within sight with her rifle when Phex’s “distractions” went off.

---

Phex -Twitch- stood atop a highrise; watching the boring dispassionate landscape devoid of color and sound. A tremor shivered along the fingers of his right hand. Perhaps the implant was performing its function; running an electrical jolt through his nervous system or was it the simple misfiring of an abused brain? He didn’t know.

The constant delirium that befell him was terrible in the beginning. The Jawas who tried to steal the skin off his feet every night was exhausting and the constant dronning of the motes of twilight -whom had taken performing reconnaissance for him. They never ceased in detailing every suspicious movement or passerby. Pills or stims did little than numb the pain, making it harder to soldier.

His time on leave on the Mid Rim world of Gana had been quant up until the motes discovered the hospital staff were secretly Republic agents in league with the Jawas after his feet. He had been in the processes of garrisoning his room with supplies, explosives and some sand bags he managed to requisition when his CO arrived.

He didn’t understand why Sarkin was so adamant on they both leave that day. A few more hours and he could have had the entire place ready to blow, but orders were orders. Phex made sure to cover their tracks though and rigged his room to blow the next time his door opened.

This little operation was no different, yeah sure he was playing the “distraction” but he was positive that just silently meant he was to cover their tracks to ensure no one could track them down afterwards and no one could if everyone was dead...

Here is comes, he mouthed, rolling his head back in exaltation as a chained explosion took out a tertiary fuel refinery. A wave of heat cooked the air and burned the land as the wave of destruction spread, melting shops, homes and people alike.

“What a beautiful sound,” he cheered as the explosions chained into a tertiary fuel refinery which engulfed two thirds of the town and was slowly expanding. “This land governed by flesh, I shall paint it red!”

---

Juhani and Oris huddle together in a small overlooked corner of one of the refueling stations. The Jedi influencing the minds of those around them to forget their presence while the supposed ‘tech expert’ was typing away on her datapad; wires leading from the small data-slate into the exposed panel Carrot had just moments ago wrenched from its housing.

“How long do you need?” Juhani whispered.

“A couple of minutes, twenty at most.”

Juhani waved her hand in front of her, pushing out with the **** and influencing a guard as he got closer. “You’re hungry, you need to go on break.” She felt the compulsion take hold, the thug mumble something about some Roadian spice bread and walked off.

A few more minutes passed, the temperature of the room becoming unbearable as the very air moved in waves visible to the naked eye. Read outs on terminals and holo projects jumped with static before being scratched into oblivion.

“Anytime now Carrot,”

“What did you call m…”

Thunder shook the world as Phex’s distractions went off. Fire spiraled into the room from the windows and doors, crawling along the ceiling and walls.

“We are leaving now!” Juhani shouted any pretense of stealth evaporating as panic and terror took the minds of every sentient being in the vicinity.

“Almost there! Oris shouted back.

Juhani looked to the exit, fire encroaching upon it and back to the slicer. Her mind waying the option of leaving without her or not.

---

Yuthura and the group of slaves sprinted through the fiery streets the souls of the Twi’lek’s boots melting while the **** -barefoot- left skin behind with each step. A few collapsed from the pain, the hungry and exhaustion. Yuthura had stopped once to help them but she wouldn’t stop again -she couldn’t. If they all wanted to survive they would need to endure just a little while longer.

---

Sarkin and Telera fell back to the boarding ramp of the Claw. They had repelled the security forces twice, but they now faced something blasters and explosives couldn’t contend with, the fire; fueled by the rich tibanna gases of Sleheyron. Drehar had been in complete panic mode from the start of the operation; though he had managed to overcome his own hysteria long enough to acknowledge the clear signal from Juhani’s group and began the refueling process. Sarkin and Telera had switched to fire suppression sprayers located on either side of the ramp. Together they had cleared the ramp and a dwindling path to the ship. Only by some cosmic chance or the will of the **** itself did Yuthura’s group have the fortune to arrive just then. The Twi’lek was exhausted with a horde of newly freed slaves on her heels. They all piled in without any sense of organization, slaves -former slaves- darting every which way like wamp rats pulled from their hole.

Telera noted the absence of a silver sheen within the mass of bodies confronted Yuthura. “Where is Jost?” Yuthura for her part in the man’s ****, didn’t turn to face Oils -as Juhani calls her- and continued to help organize the manic people they had just liberated as she replied shouting over her shoulder. “He didn’t make it,”

About to ask for further details Telera halted as a panicked and winded Drehar sounded over the ship’s loudspeakers. “We are leaving!”

Sarkin tried his holo communicator but the blasted smuggler didn’t pick up. “Telera wait here for Oris and Juhani to get aboard. I’m going to have a word with that cyborg.” he shouted before running to the turbolift.

For her part Telera followed Thes’ orders but not before mouthing ‘we aren’t done yet’ to the Twi’lek.

---

Elizac Drehar was in the middle of remotely detaching the last fuel line when Sarkin stormed onto his bridge; accompanying him a frigid air. “Thought I locked that door,” the Captain mumbled his blaster raised at chest level. “You did, but our patron wanted me to witness this.” Gravel quibbed.

The temperature dropped as Michael manifested himself before the two men. The sound of screaming emerged from outside the ship, it was distant at first, but it came steadily closer and all the while becoming more intense, more distressed until it was undeniably aboard the ship and on the bridge. Drehar, knowing where this was going to end with make a break for the exit just as the tone abruptly shifted into maniacal laughter, coming in bursts and the silence between the clicking of locks could be heard.

All the view screens disappeared, replaced by a solid wall of hull. The lights winked off and from the gloom stepped a ragged man, rubbing his hands together, his blackened lips pulled tight over a broken jaw. Taking a step forward Michael opened his mouth; stretching wide in an eternal scream.

Elizac screamed as he turned his own blaster on himself in his last ditch effort to be free of this madness, but nothing happened. The trigger was frozen in place. He crumbled to the ground as both Michael and Sarkin closed in.

---

Juhani pushed herself to go faster, to dig deeper. She felt the flames licking at her heels as she carried Oris on her back. The orange haired slicer had screamed until her throat had turned raw. In her own stubbornness she had refused to leave until the last possible second and in those last seconds the terminal she had been face to face with exploded. Shards of heated metal, plastics and other circuitry lunged at her, lodged themselves in her face. Despite the shielding her full face helmet provided, a few shards managed to bypass it and lodge themselves in her eyes. The Cathar had struggled with the slicer; restraining her hands to make sure she didn’t shred her eyes further as she attempted to whip away the intrusions.

Juhani had been hesitant to knocking her out as she didn’t want to jostle Oris’ head with any **** behind it out of concern the shrapnel might move deeper. So she had been **** to bear with the sounds of screaming in her ears as she empowered her legs with the **** and carried the fully armored trooper back to their ship.

She felt herself slowing as they ran through fire and smoke, her resolve wavered for an instant as she bared witness the Claw’s ramp closing but it quickly turned iron clad as she saw a familiar violet Twi’lek telekinetically wrestling with the closing shutters-the ramp having completed its closing sequences. No words escaped her lips, there was no time, her body persisted and she crossed the distance between their **** and salvation to what others may describe as an eye blink. All those untouched by the **** simply saw an orange blur dart through the closing doors.

Exhausted beyond any definition of the word the Cathar tumbled to the ground, Oris falling alongside the Jedi.

Juhani felt herself look up and smile at Yuthura before her world fell dark.

---

The Lament’s Claw pushed itself above the world and passed its gravitational hold. The urban jungle they had spent a few short hours in had been reduced to a blackened husk of itself. The lone unblemished holdings that remained was the largest structure within the urban setting. A palace erected in some Hutt’s honor and protected by an energy dome. Many people had sought refuge from the inferno within the confines of the Hutt’s dwelling but had been shut out when Goza had ordered its activation.

The Kel Dor had **** himself to watch slaves, mercenaries and merchants being roasted alive. Many of them he had worked alongside, a few he even called friend. Reports were still coming in, with conflicting reports of Jedi and Sith working in conjunction.

The Hutt’s were not pleased with this disaster, and had quickly lynched a handful of individuals under the suspicion of being collaborators. When his time had come, Goza had masterfully argued his own innocence; managing to keep both his life and career all in the same evening once again.

This wouldn’t be overlooked, it couldn’t. The Hutts would hunt down those responsible and bleed them dry, and Goza wished to be apart of that.

---

Both Elizac & Sarkin were ejected from the bridge, the specter behind them assuming command of the spacefaring vessel once more. Out of pure impulse the veteran tried the door codes he had seen Elizac use hours before but the door didn’t open, in fact he could have sworn he heard more locks activating in response to his meddling. His curiosity satisfied, Sarkin grabbed the cyborg by the scruff of his shirt and dragged the man to Sick Bay where the medical droid administered a rather potent sleeping additive, leaving the ship’s former Captain docile for the remainder of the trip. After a brief rest, he awoke to find the ship had entered hyperspace once again. Deciding now to be a good time to survey the slaves he went down to the cargo hold, as not to rouse any tension with the newly acquired passengers he had left his helmet off; mag locking it to his utility belt opposite of his side arm. His rifle had been left in his new quarters -a larger more spacious storage closet the soldiers had taken as their own. Many of them malnourished, though a few looked like they’d make halfway decent soldiers. This still gave gave him no clue as to what Michael was planning. The ghost….man...thing didn’t tell him much other than what was expected of him, and he and his team had carried their instructions out to the letter.

A soft feminine hand crested his shoulder, halting the man’s pondering. He wasn’t surprised to see Yuthura, what he did find surprising was the absence of Jost. As if reading his mind through some Jedi sorcery the Twi’lek answered his unspoken question. “He didn’t make it, I am sorry for your loss Sergeant.” She gave a respectable bow her arms neatly at her side while her head dipping only slightly.

Jost had been with him almost as long as Phex had. “He was a good soldier, he will be missed.”

“Do you have some time Sergeant, I’d like to pick your brain if you’ve got the time.”

“As long as you keep your magic away from my mind and don’t try and sequester me or my own back in that holding pen I’m all yours.”

Yuthura led the way to a more private conversation could be held in Elizac’s former quarters. “This should ensure we aren’t overheard.”

His scarred face was smug, his body relaxed even as one hand remained on his pistol. “Listen I’m flattered, truly but I’m not interested.”

“We’re not here for that, I am more interested as to learning what Michael promised you all if you went through with all this.”

“What makes you think he offered us anything?”

“Something Jost said right before he died.”

“How did he die exactly?”

The two starred each other down. “Quickly,” she retorted in a cold malevolence. “and painlessly.”

His training moved his feet back, getting just enough space between him and the Twi’lek to ensure he wasn’t outright killed in the opening swing should she draw her lightsaber. It didn’t take a tactician to piece together the signs that she had killed Jost, but as to why he still wasn’t sure. “A good way to go then, quickly and painlessly aren’t something most soldiers get when they kick off.”

A quick look about the room told him he couldn’t use anything against her aside from his blaster; which she could either disarm him with the **** or reflect back at him with her weapon. Stuck between a Rancor and Krayt Dragon he shared what he knew. “He promised us amnesty from any crimes we may or may not have committed in service to the Sith Empire.”

Yuthura’s eyes widened. “And how precisely is he going to accomplish that? I doubt he has the power to mentally influence the entire Republic Senate into issuing a pardon.” Sarkin shifted the weight of his armor; rolling his shoulders as he did. “Says he owns his own world, I can only assume we’re heading there now.”

“That’s impos…” Yuthura started before the words lodged themselves in her throat. Her gaze immediately shifting to the nightstand next to the bed, the lone flower Michael had gifted to her so long ago his words echoing within her mind. I picked it in the Unknown Regions, I haven’t given it a name yet. Why would a man name a flower on a world unless he himself had either discovered it or ruled over the land it was found upon.

Yuthura felt herself exhale a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her stunned demeanor left Sarkin the opportunity to leave; which the man took. He was gone and out the door before anyone could say Pazaak.

For the remainder of the trip Sarkin took great pains as to avoided Yuthura. Who spent most of her evenings either meditating, tending to the passengers or consoling a stir crazy Juhani. Which made visiting the now blind Oris difficult and also somewhat awkward. Due to the injuries she sustained while carrying a fully armored Oris through a fuel fueled inferno Juhani had suffered several third degree burns along her arms, legs and chest. The medical droid had surgically removed her boots that had fused to her skin and issued regular dips in the kolto tank as well as a handful of pain-killers.

The only joy outside of seeing Oris slowly coming to terms with her injuries was the stoned expression the Cathar always made whenever he entered the room. It had been a full week of travel before they arrived.

The world was paradise, even from high in orbit by the naked eye one would see the purity of a sea that had never felt the corrupting touch of pollution. Making planet fall without a pilot, even guided by the hands of a ****-Ghost entry was difficult.

But the Lament’s Claw pulled through and safely landed upright with all its extremities in a man made clearing. The ship’s hatch blew open letting the cargo hold that had been filled with unwashed masses take a deep breath of unrecycled air. With the guidance of Sarkin and Telera they ushered everyone off, with Telera activating a few cargo droids to begin unloading the heavier equipment.

Yuthura shouted over the loud servos of the droids. “What are you doing?!”

Telera either didn’t hear the question or chose not to answer. I guess I have to talk to Sarkin again. Seeking out the Sergeant wasn’t as difficult as getting his attention. The man was already engrossed in supervising the organizing of supplies and construction of temporary dwellings in the form of tents.

By night's end, nearly everything that wasn’t bolted down had been dragged from the ship. Everyone present huddled around fires while others found company with another inside their own tents. Despite the new and bizarre sounds and wildlife echoing and moving around them in the underbrush, they felt content and at peace.

---

Michael opened his eyes to a resounding popping sound of his eye lids. He had grown comfortable not having a body, being covered in meat once more felt suffocating. He lurched upward causing the attending medical droid to double take to his sudden recovery from ****.

“Error error error error error.”

To avoid damaging the only medical droid aboard, Michael stirred Oris from her deep sleep to walk him through resetting the droids memory of the last five minutes. After the droid had ensured the stability of its five patients: Juhani, Drehar, Oris, Belaya & Tanzaar Havri, the droid had proceeded off the ship to await further commands from the new settlers of this world.

“Are you really here?” Oris asked, her voice a dry whisper of its usual strength.

“What an odd question, you are talking to me, are you not?”

“Sergeant Sarkin said you were a ghost.”

Oris swallowed, her tongue wetting her dried lips. Michael could feel her unease stirring, thoughts of both of them being dead and ghosts toiled within her mind. He put such thoughts to rest as he took her hand. She gripped it hard, Michael letting out a small yelp to bring a small smile to her bandaged face. “No dear, I’m alive and so are you. I will have Sergeant Sarkin escort you off this ship and to your new home.”

“Home?”

“That’s right dear, you’re home and your safe.”

As the Godling was about to turn away, Oris reaffirmed her grip on his hand. “Can you take me?”

A moment of silence later and Michael lifted Oris from her bed, carrying her like a newlywed and getting a handful of her exposed rear in the process. “Sure,” he chimed as he slowly walked her out of the med bay and off the ship to a crowd of onlookers. Stopping at the edge of the ramp, he placed her on the cold steel, wanting her feet to be the ones that carry her onto this new world.

She cried, understanding his intentions. Already Michael could feel Sarkin and Telera pushing through the crowd. Oris had just taken her second step, her toes curling at the softness of the orange grass when Sarkin embraced his underling. The sudden connection of physical contact caused Carrot to shriek which transformed into a squee as Gravel spun her around in his arms.

At this moment Sarkin appeared more like a toadying grandfather than a commanding officer. “Please don’t stare Telera, it's rude.” Even without looking at the oil haired trooper he felt her gaze lingering on his cold dead flesh, the old blaster scar still adorning his face.

“I..I’m s..sorry sir,” she clicked her heels and gave a salute which Michael couldn’t help but chuckle at. “I’m not here as your superior today, just your savior. Tend to your fellows and please assist the three Jedi from Med Bay off the ship. They should be at a stage in their recovery that moving them shouldn’t cause any harm...also please bring me a cloak, I’d rather not have more people stare at me.”

“Right away!” she returned first with the cloak which Michael promptly dawned. He had already taken to blending in with a mass of freed slaves by the time Telera and a few volunteers were in the processes of helping Juhani, Belaya and Tanzaar Havri from their kolto tanks and down and away from the ship's ramp.

Michael was contemplating his next action when the ship’s engines roared to life. Forcing everyone to dive for cover. When the smoke cleared Michael was nowhere to be seen and the Lament’s Claw was soaring into the upper atmosphere with Elizac Drehar at its controls.

As the emptiness of space replaced the bright skies the crazed smuggler began setting in a course for the Core Worlds. A cold, indifferent clapping sounded behind him. He swiveled on his chair to see who it was, his eye reticle hovered over a stoic Michael. The man slumped in his chair, his last ditch effort to escape for naught.

“Don’t look so down Drehar. You’ve actually done good this time in listening to your cowardice.”

“I..I have?”

“Surprisingly yes, I need to get things in motion and your brazen escape attempt was just the thing I need to get myself moving.”

“H...happy to help.”

Michael slithered on over to Drehar who like an abused animal small himself smaller and smaller in his chair, his one good eye downcast.

“I know I haven’t been too fair to you Drehar. But I am going to reward you after you do something for me.”

“What?”

“Nothing too hard, just become the most influential crime boss this galaxy has ever seen by the next time I see you.”

Drehar would ask if the man was joking, but he knew Michael never was.

Michael patted the man on the shoulder like a man rewards an animal with a head scratch. “Use the confusion and outrage of the Hutt Cartel from our attack on Sleheyron to raise yourself within their organization. They may have your ships transponder codes so I suggest you ditch this ship the first chance you get. Secondly, the Mandalorian clans will rally under Mandalore the Preserver in the coming years, but they will never gain the glory and strength they once possessed. In that moment of weakness gain their trust and their employ. Also keep track of refugees over the next few years displaced by the Mandalorian War and Jedi Civil War. When you have the credits discreetly fund programs to assist relocating these refugees to Nar Shaddaa and other areas controlled by the Exchange and Hutt Cartel.”

“But they’ll probably be enslaved as soon as they enter these territories.”

“Don’t concern yourselves with the fates of others. Just put all your attention and energy on my dealings.”

“R...right!”

“Once you leave this system it will be locked to all, but fear not. You will know when it is time to return to me. So engrave this systems coordinates in your mind and erase them from your ship’s memory banks.”

“It will be done,” the man prostrated himself to his new master. Michael was satisfied the man understood his place. When Drehar raised his head his Lord was gone, left floating in space amid the debris of the Star Forge. Michael watched as the Claw's bow stretched into eternity before jumping into hyperspace and out of the system. With his minion gone Michael pondered, floating in the cold vacuum of space.

The ability to create 'new rules' intrigued him. He had done so only sparingly; limiting any changes he imposed solely on himself. The rules could be cancelled if he willed it by destroying the written form or if another any rule falls into contradiction with another; with the former of the pair becoming void. But could another being nullify his rules if they located the written Word and destroy them? Also could he make temporary rules that after a period of set time before void? And could he make rules that only come into effect if a series of events occur?

He could test two of these theories now at least. With a minut exertion of his will, Michael summoned two pieces of the Star Forge over to him one no larger than a sheet of paper and the other his middle finger.

Scrawling onto a sheet of warped metal with metal would have driven the Godling crazy; attributing the sound to nails on a chalkboard. Thankfully, sound doesn't carry in a vacuum. With some carefully consideration and a lot of effort, Michael chiseled his new rule into creation.

1. Until such a time I -Michael Hazeltone- deem the Star Forge operational, all hyperspace lanes leading into and out of the Lehon system will be racked with cosmic storms making said lanes inaccessible.
2. Once the storms clear and the hyperlanes stabilize to safe use the sentient being known as Elizac Drehar will be compelled to return to the Lehon system.

As soon as Michael put a period at the end of his final rule he could feel them take effect. If he had to describe it it was as if space itself was seizing in its struggle to accommodate the new rules **** upon it. A swirling maelstrom of energy raged into the system in a set predefined course, enveloping the hyperlanes in its mass. Michael observed the new energies for a time, ensuring they wouldn't effect the ecosystem of Desten or its new inhabitants.

Michael felt his powers ebb momentarily, but he paid it no heed. Turning his attention and power at the task at hand: the reconstruction of the Star Forge.