“When logic and proportion
Have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen’s off with her head
Remember what the dormouse said
Feed your head
Feed your head.”
-Jefferson Airplane
Contruum
An ominous feeling simmers between them, actively filling the space.
Under normal circumstances, he would evade her arrogantly pointed questions and withhold these feelings. Still, the strangeness of their arrival and discussion throughout their journey has given way to a more amenable exchange. She stands firmly behind his chair with a hand placed upon her hip.
“Not loving this for us. What happens when we are discovered?”
“Contruum remains Imperial aligned. Kimber Patten’s antics allowed us to make damn sure of that. Our avatars, after all, are emissaries of the Emperor so our presence should not be an issue.”
“How fortunate for us.”
Dahlia lowers her shoulders but knows this does not necessarily mean they are out of danger. Convenience may only be a pretext for something far darker. For his part, the context and shading provided were intriguing if not somewhat suspicious so she decides to push it.
“You said you didn’t know anything and were never involved with them.”
“I said not directly,” he reiterates, staring ahead. “Things may have gotten messy but we retained control here despite certain ethical detours. While the intrepid agent St. Claire did as instructed, I was unaware of his previous allegiance to the Trade Federation which…complicated things.”
“I hear dying tends to do that.”
“He was disavowed by the Empire first.”
She tilts her head, expression tightening in a way he finds infuriating, “How is that better?”
“No one said it was but he served his purpose. Played his role. Champions rise and fall, even unconventional ones.”
“You know, the mythological aspects of our lives are seriously disturbing when you really think about it. Solid lore though.”
“I suppose so, through a certain lens. Something I imagine appeals to you a great deal.”
“Obviously but indirect involvement still counts as involvement.”
“What are you asking me?”
“If you ever met them. The Four. Do not lie to me.”
He turns and takes a more measured tone.
“Not formally and met is a strong word. I only laid eyes on two of them in person. Here, in fact. On Contruum. I was dispatched in secret after Alexia’s behavior became increasingly erratic and she absconded with then-Emperor Dementat along with the governor of this world. Considering Karen’s…connection to the Emperor and sentimentality toward Governor Strye it became, as you say, a thing.”
Her eyes widen in anticipation, “I’ll bet. Please, continue.”
He allows it with a small nod.
“Alright.”
Considering its potential relevance, she has earned a bit more of his perspective.
“As the newly anointed Darth Kyja, Karen stormed into the government building with a rage that gave even me pause before promptly, if memory serves, physically and verbally assaulting several ranking Imperial staff, securing Kimber’s release from the increasingly sadistic games the Imperial Director – your father, as it turned out - was rumored to be playing with her, and took off after Alexia.
However, I was one of few people who ever saw Riley Patten’s mother and father together alive and bore witness to your elder sister practically torching the Imperial bureaucracy. The reaction to the whole ordeal was…mixed. There were many competing agendas as we have come to discover, the Imperial staff in question themselves were angry and confused, but Karen prevailed, the Voss-Ra’s faith in her solidified, and I returned to my post far, far away from here for the rest of it to play out. We know how that story ended.”
“We certainly do,” she murmurs, eyes shifting back to the moon they are steadily approaching. “So, we share a peripheral connection to this place but I must be missing the deeper significance.”
“Perhaps you are being tested. Both of your sisters displayed feats of skill and strength here.”
“Or we are being punished for exerting the agency you so impressively wrested back from Erinbol. Neither the Sith nor the Voss-Ra may appreciate us putting them in their places which is, let’s be honest, secondary to the roles we play. We are, according to them, destined for this. You think they would appreciate the initiative.”
Seif considers this while he transmits their credentials and destination to central command. Orders from the Emperor provide swift clearance to proceed without interruption.
“It would be risky to intentionally place you in a situation that may harm their chances yet again but they have gone to greater lengths before. To your point, this may not be the Voss-Ra’s machinations we are dealing with here. We shall investigate but stay alert.”
“Fine but keep it cool. We’ve got enough to worry about.”
Seif Guldon-Greyson senses a softening in her. There is still skepticism but also a willingness that had not existed before they departed from Byss. He made his choice and it forged trust, however tentative at first, which was quickly solidifying. She has started to care for him as well. Something he had, admittedly, always wanted. The connection. The family they kept from him. As tempting as the prospect is, he also knows this path leads to a distraction they simply cannot afford.
“Don’t. Empathy does not lend itself to the goals of the Sith.”
Her eyes are consumed with the stars beyond the viewport, “Perhaps…for what the Sith once was, not what it could be. Imagine...”
“The certainty in that statement is frightening.”
“It is meant to be,” she quips evenly, straightening her posture to push impossibly shiny hair over one shoulder. “That whole solo power trip vibe is tired. Played out. Feeling the feels is what the Sith are all about. I feel what I feel and I said what I said. Deal with it.”
His tone turns warning, “We talked about this. The only thing tired is your attempt at being flip even when we both know that is all part of the act.”
She sighs, expression hardening with resolve.
“The goal is power and the freedom that brings us but we only get that by winning. I understand that very clearly, thank you, and so do you. This is our only way out but, speaking of it, how has your solo power trip worked out for you? Is that what you wanted or is this what they told you to want? The Voss-Ra are the ones who changed things up for us, leveraging different roles in different ways to win.
You and I were never meant to be allies. Alas, here we are. If this had played out like a previous cycle they would have had one of us kill the other. Then where would we be? I say we make the most of this new frontier. Progress is not made with more of the same but hoping you don’t, like, die or whatever does not deter my focus nor does it obscure what must be done.”
“A rousing speech, to be sure, but I do not want your pity, princess.”
She rolls her eyes, “Let’s not get carried away. What’s down there?”
“A base, strategically hidden for planetary defense. It was converted for Imperial purposes after the planet declared its allegiance but, to my knowledge, seldom if ever used. That is where I feel it. Calling. Don’t you?”
“Yes but, for the record, if we get blasted to bits I am going to be super pissed.”
Seif groans wearily but guides the shuttle down and through the projection concealing the entrance to the base. A rather clever ruse to maintain its secrecy that he had been privy to on his last visit so many years ago. He sets them down on an empty platform, vast but tidy even in its apparent lack of use. They suit up; his hulking orange armor and her black mask, bodysuit, and cape. The hazy glow of the Etheralis fragment in his chest plate brightens her eyes behind the reflective void of her mask. She allows the intoxicating power to wash over her before turning and descending the platform together.
No one appears to greet them.
This does not deter Dahlia the way he feels it should. She struts steadily in front of him, heading for the blast door at the far end of the platform, finally feeling back at home in the chunky heels of her killer boots.
“Get a grip. This is a hangar bay, not a runway,” he hisses lowly, voice menacingly distorted.
“Everything’s a runway if you want it to be, darling. Don’t be so downbeat.”
“As usual, the brash humor is not helpful.”
“I’m tense. Cut me some fucking slack,” she mutters as they close in on the door.
They position themselves against either side, ready for a nasty surprise as she hits the controls, but beyond that, there is only more nothingness. Empty corridors and a heavy silence. Not so much as a repair droid zipping about. The unobstructed entry would almost be considerate if it were not so terrifying.
It is clear whatever brought them here does not want any witnesses, a realization not lost on either of them.
They follow the feeling that led them here, a dark pit that beckons from within. Her hand hovers over the saber at her belt as they press deeper. Twisting inward toward the center of the base, they emerge on a cargo platform near the bottom of a large, narrow shaft cutting through the center of the base. Crates and various electrical equipment lie orderly in the corners but it otherwise appears uninhabited.
Neither is comforted by the apparent anticlimax.
“I don’t like this. Here’s the hook but where’s the catch?”
Two figures blurred in motion, drop from the shaft onto the platform and rise to greet them.
Inquisitor Allom.
Inquisitor Feraas.
It is Feraas who speaks, “Inquisitor Involis, Darth D’Cera, we welcome you.”
-TBC
