Star Wars: Vergence III, Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

 Terminus

“Ah, Baron Tagge! It is quite an honor to finally meet you in the flesh.”

“The honor is all mine, I’m sure.” Leinad Tagge smiled at Queen Jool as he sipped from his glass of wine. “And please, you can just call me Leinad here. I’ve only been Baron for a few weeks; I’d rather ease into the professionalism that the title entails.”

“Understandable,” Queen Jool replied, her bright red lips curved into a grin. “Why has it taken you so long to assume the title, anyhow? You’ve been a leading figure for TaggeCo for so long that you might as well have been Baron.”

“You can think my father’s stubborn cousins for that. Even before I was born, they had been vying over the title and stabbing each other in the back to get it. After I came of age, I decided it would be best to wait for the last of the old guard to die out before staking my claim. Fortunately, none of my generation has tried to challenge me for it.”

“Oh, it will happen eventually. Just you wait.” Jool winked at him. “Take it from a Hutt. We know all about warring families.”

Laughter erupted from Queen Jool’s table as its occupants continued to exchange small talk. Sare Valrisa watched them all from the corner of the room, studying Leinad Tagge in particular. From what she had learned from MR-V, the current Baron Tagge had been born to Sareth just a few days shy of the Battle of Endor, though his silvery hair made him look much older than the thirty-eight years he was supposed to already have on him. His father, Andreo Tagge, had been the governor of Cerea up until his mysterious death shortly after Leinad’s birth. Having been the same age that Leinad was now, it was unlikely that the cause of Andreo’s death had been anything natural and most media outlets chalked it up to suicide. This had left Leinad in the care of his father’s greater family and, as he grew older, he quickly made his way to the top of the Tagges’ expansive corporation. While Valrisa had little if any interest in the Tagges’ intrafamily drama (as much as MR-V was willing to tell her), she was interested in the Baron Tagge’s relationship with his maternal family… specifically his half-siblings.

While she had been made aware since she was very young of the Dowager’s other children, she had never had the privilege of meeting most of them. She knew about Sareth’s eldest son Tyron, of course, as the Dowager constantly sang his praises and he was first in line to earn the Valrisa estate should she ever pass. However, Sare Valrisa knew very little if anything of her other half-siblings; indeed, Leinad Tagge was the first she had been made aware of. While she could simply interrogate MR-V about the others, she wanted a one-on-one audience with Tagge herself; not only to hear it from his mouth, but also to gauge what he knew about their mother’s other enterprises.

Unfortunately, this kind of setting—with all sorts of businesspeople and politicians busying about the cantina—was a bit too public for that kind of conversation. She needed to get him alone, a task that was going to be easier said than done.

She scanned the rest of the cantina to note where the others were. Typha was standing nearby, watching Jool’s table as vigilantly as she was. Vessin was patrolling the rest of the cantina; Valrisa had convinced the Gran barkeep to let the Mandalorian woman in to serve as security, though Jool’s guests had brought plenty of their own to accommodate them. Kadar and MR-V were outside, as droids were not allowed in the cantina and Kadar was, well, Kadar. In the short time she had known him, Valrisa could tell that crowds were  not his thing. She certainly could not judge him for that.

When an entourage of what appeared to be labor workers wearing identical gray uniforms entered the cantina, pushing a repulsorsled that had some sort of drape concealing its contents, Leinad Tagge abruptly stood up from the table and glided over to meet them, walking straight past Valrisa in the process.

“It is about time,” the Baron said, his voice suddenly turning cold as ice. “You were supposed to be here hours ago, before the rest of the guests showed up! Now I’m going to look unprepared in front of them!”

As the workers offered their hasty apologies, Queen Jool slithered up to join Tagge. “Don’t worry about it, darling,” the Hutt purred. “It’s nothing to fret over. This is an informal gathering anyway; certainly not something that will be aired on the HoloNet.”

Tagge tightened his suit collar. “Even so, I want to come across somewhat presentable, if only to prepare for the eventual unveiling. Besides, I want to please my potential investors here.”

“So long as the product is satisfactory, we can care less about the presentation,” said a rake-thin Muun businesswoman. She and others from the table, along with other patrons in the cantina, moved to gather around the repulsorsled, eying it eagerly. “Please. Show us what you have prepared for us.”

Straightening himself, Tagge put on a professional smile and stepped up to the sled, putting a hand on the cloth. “It still requires a few finishing touches, but regardless: I would like to present to you all the latest product to come from the collective minds of the Tagge Company.”

He whipped off the cloth to reveal a pristine silver droid laying upon the repulsorsled. While it had the proportions of a standard protocol droid, its torso and limbs were heavily plated, with clear armaments decorating its arms. From where she was standing, Valrisa could not quite make out its head design, though whatever it was, it was enough to get a reaction from Tagge’s audience. Some of the potential investors recoiled away from the droid, startled looks on their faces.

“Is that… is that an HK unit?” asked a Koorivar businessman.

“It is intended to invoke the design, yes,” Baron Tagge replied.

“Surely you are aware of the controversy surrounding that line of droids?” said the Muun businesswoman from before. “Czerka was forced to discontinue it after the fiasco with the HK-87 units.”

“We intend to amend the mistakes Czerka made with their line of HK droids,” Tagge evenly responded. “This particular unit is an amalgamation between the HK-series and the L8 prototype developed by my father’s cousin Orman Tagge.”

“A prototype that ended poorly for TaggeCo,” muttered the Koorivar. “Forget it, Tagge. I am not investing in something that will surely fail.”

A scowl crossed Tagge’s face. “At least give me a chance to test it. Iann, switch it on.”

One of the workers obliged the command and pressed a switch on the side of the droid’s head. Its photoreceptors glowed to life and it slowly sat up on the repulsorsled.

“STATEMENT: HK-47 is ready to serve, Master.”

Gasps erupted from the audience as more of them started to back away. Some of them even started for the exit. Tagge’s eyebrows furrowed in consternation as he frowned at the droid.

“I don’t understand,” he murmured. “I thought we overrode the base programming.”

“You did,” Queen Jool said smoothly, not at all disturbed by the change of events. “But I had my good friend Tivec undo it for me.”

Valrisa’s eyes went to the Lannik slicer in question, standing beside the Hutt with a proud expression on his face. She then looked to Typha, who appeared to be as tense as she was feeling. Vessin was also watching everything closely from afar, her hand on her holstered blaster.

“What is the meaning of this?” Tagge exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Queen Jool. “Did you sabotage me?!”

“Perhaps in the future you should find workers who aren’t susceptible to bribes,” Jool said coolly. “Also, you should always think twice before agreeing to meet with a Hutt.”

She made a gesture with her hand and the door to the cantina suddenly slammed shut, sealing them all in. As Valrisa, Typha, and Vessin all drew their blasters, the droid extended to its full height and deployed all of its armaments, aiming them in every possible direction as Tagge and the other businesspeople cowered before it.

“Valrisa, darling, I’d advise that you and your friends don’t cause a ruckus. I don’t want to bring any harm to you; this wasn’t supposed to involve you in the first place.”

“Then why did you allow me to stay?” Valrisa snapped, glaring at the Hutt.

Jool smirked at her. “Because you’ve given me an extra leverage that I did not initially have. I was expecting this to turn into a bloodbath, but with you here that might no longer need to be the case.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Hutt seemed to ignore her as she flicked her eyes back to Leinad Tagge. “Tell me, Baron. Now that your mother has met her untimely demise, what does that leave you with?”

Tagge stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Come now, don’t take me for a fool. I am well aware that you are one of the children of Sareth Valrisa, the Dowager of Sedratis. Her third born, if I am not mistaken.”

Tagge swallowed, staring at Queen Jool hard now. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, now that she’s dead, it means that everything she owns must now be passed down onto her heirs. But who is supposed to get what? How is that decided?”

“S-surely it is decided by the Dowager’s will,” said the Koorivar businessman, glancing nervously between the droid and Queen Jool herself.

“But there is no will,” Jool said firmly. “Because instead, Sareth invoked the Charge Matrica, an ancient ritual that has not been invoked in over a thousand years.”

“How do you know about that?” Tagge asked.

“Because I had the pleasure of meeting her once and, in her drunken stupor, she let slip many things that she most likely did not intend to.” Jool placed a pudgy hand over her heart. “It has been my woman’s honor that I have kept much of what she had said to myself for all these years. But today, I see an opportunity to exploit that secret knowledge. And I would not be much of a Hutt if I passed up on that opportunity.”

“And what opportunity is that?” Tagge snapped, his face turning red as he balled his hands into fists. “What does turning my droid against me and holding us at blaster point have to do with—”

The droid pointed its arm-mounted blaster at him and fired. Tagge’s head was vaporized in the blink of an eye and his headless corpse crumpled to the floor. Screams erupted from the other businesspeople as the droid proceeded to unload its weapons on them, killing them off one by one.

“I would have liked to give him an answer,” Jool sighed. “But I suppose this will do.”

“No!” Vessin charged into the fray of the bloodbath unfolding before her. She raised an arm and unleashed a column of flame from her gauntlet, bathing the silver droid with fire. Valrisa saw some of its plating start to peel off, revealing a more copper-colored exterior beneath the chrome finish. The droid ceased firing on the businesspeople to directs its attention to the Mandalorian, at which point Typha raised her sniper rifle and fired off a shot.

The plasma bolt pinged harmlessly off the droid’s cranium and it swiveled its head to look at her. Vessin seized on this opportunity and drew a vibro-knife, lunging at the droid to stab it in the neck. Without even looking at her, the droid grabbed her arm with its free hand and twisted it, drawing an agonized scream from her lungs as the knife fell from her hand.

“OBSERVATION: Current opposition is severely lacking in combat skills. Initial analysis of situation indicates a high probability that everyone in this room, save for the master and other designated exceptions, will die a most horrific death.”

“There is no need for that,” Queen Jool said. “You may stop now.”

“CONTRADICTION: Designated targets have not yet been eliminated. Combat protocols will continue to run until all meatbags have been properly disposed of.”

Jool let out a heavy sigh. “Tivec, shut him down.”

Her Lannik majordomo obeyed the command and, with the press of a switch on a device he was holding, the droid loosened its grip on Vessin, his optical sensors shutting off. As soon as her arm was free, Vessin swung with her leg and kicked the droid to the ground.

“Enough!” Queen Jool bellowed, her voice reverberating against the walls. “Do you have any idea how much that thing cost me?”

Valrisa drew her blaster and pointed it at the Hutt’s head. “Not as much as the bounty that I’m sure is on your head,” she muttered.

Jool peered at her from behind the eyelashes of her one good eye. “Darling, there is no need for such hostility. I’m on your side.”

“My side? Your tin-can just attacked one of my companions.”

“Only because she got in its way. Droids don’t think like we do, hon. They don’t have a moral—”

“Don’t call me ‘hon,’” Valrisa snarled. “Why did you just kill Tagge and all of these other people?”

“They were bystanders, my dear. Collateral damage. Baron Tagge would only agree to meet with me if I brought his potential investors here as well. Some of them happened to be rivals of my own that I wanted gone, so I thought, why not kill two mynocks with one stone?”

“But why Tagge? And what does this ‘Charge Matrica’ have to do with anything?”

“Because by killing Tagge, you now have a larger piece of the pie.”

Valrisa blinked in confusion. “What?”

“With one less contender in the way, you now have a better chance at winning the Charge Matrica.”

Suddenly, Valrisa found her mouth to be very dry. She slowly lowered her blaster as she stared at Queen Jool with a blank expression. “You’re saying….”

“You are one of the Dowager’s seven children, are you not? Unless I’m mistaken, the Charge Matrica requires there to be seven, and seeing as how you were born around the same time she told me about it, that makes you the seventh.” The Hutt raised a hairless eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?”

Valrisa did not answer her. Instead, she crouched down onto the floor, buried her face in her hands, and groaned.

Jool stared at her with a perplexed expression before looking over to Typha and Vessin.

“Was it something I said?” the Hutt asked innocently.

Before either the Pantoran or the Mandalorian could answer her, an explosion rocked the cantina as a large hole was blown through the hole. Emerging through the smoke with weapons drawn was Kadar, pointing his blaster at Queen Jool and the few surviving businesspeople that had not yet been killed by the droid.

“Nobody move!” Kadar growled. “What’s going on in here?”

“Don’t worry,” Vessin sighed, still massaging her sore arm. “Everything’s under control. For now, at least.”

Kadar didn’t seem to buy this as he did not lower his weapons, keeping them trained on Queen Jool and her Lannik majordomo. “I should have known better than to leave you alone with some Hutt,” he muttered, carefully stepping over the body of a dead Heptooinian businessman. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

“I beg your pardon,” Queen Jool retorted, her red lips forming a thin line as she glowered at the white-armored Mandalorian. “I must object to your blatant stereotyping—”

“Am I wrong?” Kadar gestured at all of the bodies littering the floor of the cantina. “Please, tell me how I’m wrong. I would love to hear it.”

Jool harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. It’s not like you can do anything to arrest me; my clan rules over Terminus. I can very easily pin the death of Baron Tagge on you and no one would be the wiser.”

Kadar kept his blaster trained on the Hutt but said nothing. Valrisa then rose to her feet and recomposed herself, setting her cool dark eyes on Queen Jool.

“Who are the other heirs?” she asked.

“You don’t know their names?” Jool asked, bemused.

“I was never made privy to them. I know of Tyron Valrisa but not the others. Who are they?”

Jool seemed to study her carefully for a moment before answering. “Valera Teramo of Serenno, is one. She’s just about four years older than you, I believe. I hear she’s getting married to the Senator of Naboo.”

“Good for her. Who else?”

The Hutt rubbed her chin—or rather, the area where her chin would have been. “I believe her second child was with someone from the Praji family. Their name escapes me. And then there are the two twins from one of the Tapani families. I forget which one it is; there’s so many of them.”

“Sounds like the Dowager married into lots of influential families,” Typha remarked.

“Naturally. She needed to procure a large enough wealth for her children to fight over, so she went for those with the closest ties to the Empire. The Valrisas, the Prajis, the Tagges.” Jool returned her gaze to Sare Valrisa, a twinkle in her one good eye. “Though I can’t say I know who your father was. I don’t believe the Dowager ever said, even in her drunken stupor.”

Valrisa chewed her lip as she mulled over this information. It was not until now that she realized that she herself did not know the identity of her biological father. She also wasn't sure if she even wanted to know.

“Do you happen to know where my... my half-siblings are?” she then asked the Hutt.

“Last I heard, Tyron was in the running for Chief of State over at Coruscant. As for Valera, I believe she and her husband are getting married on Naboo. You might find her there.”

“I’ll start there then.” Holstering her blaster, Valrisa started for the exit. “Thank you for your time, Queen Jool. It’s been nice talking to you.”

“Oh!” Jool stopped her. “But weren’t you wanting to speak with Tivec here?”

Valrisa spared a glance at the Lannik. “That’ll no longer be necessary. Besides, I’m sure he has more important things to do, being your majordomo.”

Jool rotated her cybernetic eye with her fingers. “If you say so. Hopefully we’ll meet again soon, Lady Valrisa.”

        Valrisa did not respond to the Hutt as she, Typha, Vessin, and Kadar exited the cantina through the opening the latter had made in the door, leaving behind Queen Jool, her majordomo, the droid who had killed Baron Tagge, and the still-cowering businesspeople.

Star Wars: Vergence III, Chapter Three

 CHAPTER THREE

The Supremacy, somewhere in the galaxy

“You seem unsettled, young one.”

Kylo Ren stiffened, squaring his shoulders as he stared at the boy sitting on the opposite side of the red ray shield. The child known as Kalon Sendor sat cross-legged on the floor of his cell, staring at the Knight of Ren with bloodshot eyes. He couldn’t be older than five and yet those eyes carried with them a sense of wisdom that could only be accomplished by someone who had lived hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. The voice Kalon spoke with was also no voice of a child but rather of a man who sounded as old as the stars themselves.

The two of them were alone in the cell block, the guards having been dismissed by Kylo himself. The Supreme Leader, as far as he knew, had no idea that he was down here, preoccupied with the First Order’s gradual occupation of the Outer Rim as well as the two captive Skywalkers located elsewhere on the Supremacy.

“Something is troubling you,” Darth Vorath said. “Is there something on your mind?”

Kylo Ren stared back at the boy serving as the ancient Sith Lord’s spirit, struggling over whether or not to respond. Darth Vorath’s return from the dead had come out of nowhere, occurring just as Kylo had been poised to kill the Dark Lord’s own flesh and blood, thus bringing an end to the legacy of Vorath and his Sith Order. Whether or not Vorath’s return was a result of Kylo’s mission in eliminating the last of his Sith Order, the Knight of Ren was not so sure. He also was not sure if the Supreme Leader had even foreseen this; from his brief interaction with Snoke after being retrieved from Damosus, Kylo had gotten the impression that his master was as surprised as he was by this phenomenon, though he could not help but wonder if Snoke knew more than he was letting on.

“I’m sure he does.” Vorath’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “But I assure you that my rebirth was not planned for by your master.”

Kylo’s head snapped up and the boy grinned.

“Oh, yes. I can read your thoughts. Not really a difficult task when you wear your emotions on your sleeve.”

Kylo’s gloves crinkled as he balled his hands into fists. At this point, there was no sense in continuing to bottle the questions swirling in his mind. This was most likely his only shot at getting the answers he desired. It was now or never.

“What were your plans for me?” he asked, his voice sounding hoarse even through the modulator of his mask.

The boy grinned broadly at him. “Surely it should be obvious. I wanted a Skywalker under my control. Lord Nemesis was powerful in his own right, but due to his nature as a clone, he lacked the raw strength of his template. You, on the other hand, as a direct blood descendant of Anakin Skywalker, were sure to have that power.”

“But why me? Why not my mother or my uncle. Surely they would have been just as strong if not more so.”

Vorath chuckled. “How could I have corrupted someone like Luke Skywalker after Darth Sidious had already failed to? Even my attempt to turn him via the Emperor’s clone proved to be… a wasted effort.”

Kylo did not know to what the Sith Lord was referring to. He was trying to wrap his head around what he had learned from Vorath back on Damosus; things that Snoke had refused to confirm or deny when the Supreme Leader had retrieved him and the Sith Lord and the Skywalkers.

“You rose to power after Sidious—after the Emperor perished,” he then said, altering the track of the conversation. “How long had you been waiting?”

This question was enough to give Vorath pause. The boy’s grin vanished and his expression became a blank slate.

“I had been waiting for a very long time,” the ancient Dark Lord said quietly. “Thousands of years, in fact. Many of them were spent in suspended animation, watched over by loyal followers. As soon as I sensed that Sidious and his apprentice had perished, I emerged from my slumber and immediately began making preparations for my ascension.”

“And Sidious never sensed you?”

Again, a pause. “If he had, I’m sure he would have done everything in his power to rid himself of me.” Although Vorath tried to hide it, Kylo could detect the slightest hint of uncertainty in the Dark Lord’s voice. Perhaps Vorath didn’t know for sure whether or not Palpatine had ever sensed the ancient Sith when he was alive, and if he had why he had done nothing to address Vorath’s presence.

No doubt reading Kylo’s thoughts, Vorath spoke up again. “The matter is irrelevant. Sidious is dead and therefore no longer an obstacle. In time, I shall reclaim the mantle of Dark Lord of the Sith and finally finish what I had set out to do so long ago.”

“You don’t think the Supreme Leader will try and stop you?” Kylo asked.

The boy tilted his head. “Is the Supreme Leader a Sith?”

“No. Or rather, he doesn’t proclaim to be.” 

“Then he doesn’t have much reason to stand in my way, does he?”

Kylo shifted on his feet. “Well, he has you imprisoned. If he did not perceive you to be a threat, then I am sure he would have let you go free.”

“Would he?” The grin returned to the boy’s face. “I can’t say I share your assessment of him. Then again, maybe he has changed in the twenty years since I’ve last spoken with him. I haven’t had the pleasure of speaking with him one-on-one yet.”

“And when you do… what then? What exactly is your plan?”

Vorath let out a sharp, short laugh. “As if I would tell you. As soon as you leave, you’ll run blabbing to your master and he’ll know how to get rid of me. No, I’d prefer to keep him on his toes; make him wonder if perhaps I could be of use to him.”

“Or he to you,” Kylo muttered.

“Ah, catching on already. Good. Perhaps I was not wrong to choose you.”

Kylo stepped closer to the ray shield, anger suddenly pumping through his veins like adrenaline. “Listen closely,” he growled. “I will not be your pawn. I have already done so much to undo the legacy of the Sith. I will not partake in their rebirth, or whatever it is you have planned for them.”

“I don’t believe I asked,” Vorath replied. “I was merely making an observation.”

“An observation that was not asked for,” Kylo snarled. “Whatever your intentions for me were, they are now moot. My allegiance is to the dark side and to the First Order, not to you. Never to you.”

“What about Snoke? Is your allegiance to him?”

Kylo opened his mouth to speak but was unable to muster a response. All that came out was a frustrated growl as he turned on his heel and began to storm away from the cell. He was halfway down when Vorath’s voice followed after him.

“You have much potential, young Solo. Do not let it go to waste.”

Kylo Ren nearly paused in his step but he forced himself to press. He refused to stop for even a moment, lest he allow the Sith Lord’s words to sink in.

*  *  *

“Our scouts have returned from their survey of the Mandalore sector,” reported the holographic figure of General Pryde, standing alongside the other members of the Supreme Council that were gathered before the audience of the Supreme Leader. “The Mandalorians have already begun fortifying their most vulnerable and most strategically valuable systems, including Mandalore itself. It is clear that the Mandalorians will not be siding with the First Order in its affairs and will resist any attempt we make to seize their sector.”

“That is to be expected,” said General Quinn before anyone else had a chance to speak, ever the bold one. “The Battle of Mandalore last year solidified their allegiance to the Resistance, however loose it may be. We won’t be able to bring them to our side the same way Darth Taral did.”

“Taral was a useful distraction, nothing more,” said Supreme Leader Snoke, his voice instantly commandeering the gathered generals’ attention. “Whether the Mandalorians stand with or against us is irrelevant to our overall goals. If they stand in our way, they will be dealt with accordingly.”

“What about the other sectors surrounding Mandalore?” asked General Hux. “Meerian, Belsmuth, and Demetras… if necessary, I will gladly lend my own ships to—”

“That won’t be necessary,” General Pryde said sharply, glaring at Hux. “Your place is in Dominus and its surrounding sectors. I can easily handle Ojoster’s neighboring sectors.”

“Surely I will be the judge of that?” Snoke said wryly.

Pryde’s attention snapped back to him and he bowed his head, mildly chastened. “So long as it is your will, Supreme Leader.”

Snoke waved a dismissive hand. “Regardless, you make an excellent point. You shall all stay in your designated sectors and move your fleets to the neighboring regions. General Pryde, I will entrust you with the subjugation of the remaining sectors bordering Mandalorian space. We will box them in and prevent them from reaching out to their Resistance friends.”

“So it shall be done,” Pryde murmured.

“Hux, you will direct your forces to the Shadola and Jubilar sectors,” Snoke went on.

“What about the Ash Worlds?” Hux piped up. “Surely New Alderaan would be a strategic loss to both the Alliance and the Resistance.”

Snoke narrowed his eyes at him. “After your display at Mon Cala, I am not so sure I want to entrust such a daunting task to you.”

A look of mortification fell upon the red-haired general’s face but he did not argue against the Supreme Leader’s statement.

After assigning the remaining commanders to their roles and locations, Snoke leaned back in his throne to appraise the six members of his Council. The future of the First Order and its success rested on their shoulders. Their accomplishments—or lack thereof—were going to be what made or broke the empire he had envisioned.

The Force preserve them all.

“I have nothing further to say to you,” Snoke rumbled. “You are all dismissed.”

One by one, the six holograms dissipated into thin air. At that moment, the doors to the turbolift swished open and the masked form of Kylo Ren stepped out into the throne room.

“Ah, welcome, my apprentice,” Snoke greeted him with a grin. “How did your little talk with Lord Vorath go?”

For his part, Kylo Ren barely paused in his stride. He crossed the distance between the turbolift and his master’s throne before dropping down onto one knee, bowing his head.

“You summoned me, master.”

“You did not answer my question,” Snoke said pointedly. “What did you garner from your conversation with Darth Vorath?”

Kylo hesitated before responding. “Not much, I am afraid. It was merely a repeat of what he told me back on Damosus.”

Snoke could sense that his apprentice was withholding something from him, but he decided not to press the matter. Not yet. The situation regarding Vorath was intriguing enough in his eyes that he was willing to let it play out rather than to intervene, if only to see how his apprentice handled it on his own. Besides, there were other matters to attend to.

“That’s a pity,” he said instead. “Perhaps later on, our Dark Lord friend will be more willing to… open up.” He then rose from his throne, extending to his full height and towering over his kneeling apprentice. “I understand that you have a lot of questions on your mind; about what Vorath said to you on Damosus.”

Kylo Ren lifted his head up to look at him. “Was any of what he said true?” Even with the modulator of his mask, Snoke could hear the despair in his voice.

“I was not there,” Snoke replied. “What did he say to you?”

“That he was the one who brought me to you. That he intended to make me a Sith. You told me that those people who took me worked for you.”

“They did. They served me as well as Vorath. I never lied to you about that.”

“But you never mentioned Vorath. You even raised me to ignore the teachings of the Sith. Yet I was supposed to be one?”

“I had no desire to train you as a Sith,” Snoke rumbled. “I was only to be your caretaker until Vorath was ready to begin training you. But after he and his little Sith Empire fell, I was left with no choice but to raise you as my own. And so I did.”

“Does his presence here change anything?”

“Not at all. I have already invested too much time into you, and into the First Order, to go back on things now. I will deal with Vorath as seen fit, but he will pose no threat to my plans.” Snoke paused to look at Kylo, silently studying his apprentice’s mind for his emotions. He had to give his student credit, for he was unable to garner much with a cursory scan. He would doubtlessly would have found more if he prodded harder, but he couldn’t help but be impressed by how more closely guarded Kylo’s feelings were.

Of course, that was going to change rather quickly.

“As for you,” he continued, “I have one last trial for you to face. A trial that will determine your future as my apprentice and as Master of the Knights of Ren.”

“I am ready, master,” Kylo Ren replied. “I will not fail you.”

Snoke smirked. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Whatever it is, I will surely—”

“Don’t,” Snoke sharply cut him off, raising a bony finger. “I have heard it all before. For once, my apprentice, I want your actions to speak for you, rather than your empty words.”

Kylo bowed his head. “Forgive me, master.”

Snoke dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “Your trial begins on Mustafar, in the ruins of the fortress that once belonged to your grandfather.”

“And?”

“And nothing.” Snoke turned his back to the Knight of Ren and stepped back to his throne. “These are my last instructions to you. Anything else you will need, you will find on Mustafar. The next time we speak, you will have either graduated from my apprenticeship… or you will be dead.”

He allowed himself a private grin as he sensed a sharp pang of emotion from his student. Ah, there it was.

As Snoke sat back down in his throne, Kylo Ren rose to his feet. A moment of silence passed between them as they stared at each other. Snoke could sense that Kylo wanted to speak, to have the final word in the conversation. But whether it was because he couldn’t get the words out or because he decided it was not worth it, the Knight of Ren instead simply turned and strode back down to the turbolift. The doors opened to accept him and closed as soon as he was through, leaving the Supreme Leader alone to his own thoughts.

He knew that the next time he saw that ridiculous mask, the man wearing it would not be the same one that had just left. It would either be a new man, changed for the better… or a dead one.

Star Wars: The Path of Revan, Part 2 - Tasiele

THE PATH OF REVAN

Part II: Tasiele

3,699 years before the Battle of Yavin

“So. This is where your true loyalties lie.”

Long-suffering looks stared back at Tasiele Shan as she stood before the assembled members of the Jedi Council. Her own master sat among them, furry hands folded neatly in his lap as he bowed his head in resignation. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of betrayal as she gazed upon the Cathar; surely he should have been standing here with her before the Council, rather than taking their side in this decision. When Master Ram-Parr had taken on Tasiele as his apprentice, he had a reputation in the Order for being unorthodox in his methods and views of the Force. But ever since his appointment to the council, he had reneged on those views and had become yet another conservative drone of the Order, regurgitating whatever Grand Master Orkam and his ilk fed him.

Tasiele had never had a high opinion of the Jedi Council. But now, in this moment, she felt nothing but resentment towards them.

After a moment of letting her words sink in, the Kel Dor Master Zym—a recent addition to the Council—leaned forward in his seat and made a steeple with his long orange fingers. “What you must understand, Jedi Shan, is that the Republic is understandably concerned about the… rhetoric you have been spreading in recent months.”

“Rhetoric,” Tasiele repeated, not bothering to mask her incredulity. “Is that what you’re calling it now? You think I’m trying to persuade others into siding with me and my views?”

“It’s what your ancestor did,” grunted Grand Master Orkam, dark eyes narrowed at her.

Tasiele met his glare with her own. “I am not Revan,” she said coolly. “I am well aware of the mistakes my ancestor made and I know well enough not to repeat them.”

“Do you, though?” The question came from Master Irma Yorr, head of the Jedi Archives. Her white tendrils twitched against her scalp as she studied Tasiele with piercing violet eyes. “Jedi like you have been known to repeat the mistakes of those before them. Revan’s own actions were a repeat of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma, and their actions were a repeat of Ajunta Pall and his followers. How do you know that you will not slip the same way they did?”

“Because what I speak of is not of the dark side, as much as you try to insist it is.” Tasiele allowed her gaze to sweep over all twelve members of the council, her eyes moving from one member to the next. “Love is not something we Jedi should fear and abandon. Instead, we should embrace it and make it a part of who we are. Some of the greatest Jedi that have lived have practiced love and turned out the better for it. Just look at the Sunriders, or even my own family for that matter.”

“You are not doing yourself any favors by using your family, notorious as they are, as an example,” Master Orkam said gruffly. “Besides, you are fighting a losing battle. The Council’s decision is final.”

Tasiele frowned at him, her expression darkening. “Then you truly have become pawns of the Senate.”

“Their reasons for wanting your exile are justifiable,” said Master Nikil Nobil, sitting upon his coiled up tail as if it was a throne. “Darth Revan and his Sith brought forth much destruction to the galaxy, the results of which the Republic is still recovering from. The Supreme Chancellor’s own homeworld of Telos Four is proof enough of that, regardless of the restoration efforts that have been made to the planet.”

“Is that what this is about, then? You are punishing me for the errors of my ancestor?”

“We are not punishing you,” protested Master Ram-Parr, speaking for the first time since Tasiele had stepped foot into the room. “This is merely a precaution, if only to assuage the concerns of the Senate. Your exile will not be a permanent one.”

“How long will it be then?” Tasiele snapped at him. “A year? Ten years? Fifty?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Master Zym. “Perhaps once Chancellor Onasi’s term has ended, you will be able to return to the Order.”

Tasiele rolled her hands into fists, glowering at the Kel Dor. “That won’t be happening,” she muttered. “You know it won’t.”

Zym said nothing in response to this. She then redirected her focus back to the Grand Master, taking in his wizened appearance. At ninety years old, Orkam was clearly getting on in his years, having served as Grand Master in a third of that time. Nonetheless, his resolve was as strong as it had ever been and he met Tasiele’s gaze with an equal amount of ferocity.

“What about my daughter?” she finally asked. “What will become of Satele?”

“She will be trained in the ways of the Force,” said Zym, his tone softer now. “Your friend Ngani Zho has already agreed to teach her as soon as she is ready.”

Tasiele allowed herself to relax at this. Perhaps the Council was not as heartless as she had perceived them to be. Looking now at Master Orkam, she could see a glint in his tired eyes that perhaps indicated regret. Maybe this was as hard for them as it was for her.

Seeing that there was no point in arguing any further, Tasiele Shan bowed her head towards the twelve Jedi Masters. “I have said my piece. If it is the will of the Order that I leave, then I see no point in resisting. I will humbly accept my exile.”

“We will come back for you, Tasiele,” said Ram-Parr. “That is a promise.”

Tasiele smiled at him, though it did not carry the mirth he was no doubt hoping for.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Master….” 

Star Wars: The Path of Revan, Part 1 - Vaner

    A series of short stories that all have to do with Revan and his legacy.

    Mainly born out of hype for the KOTOR Remake they just announced.

 THE PATH OF REVAN

Part I: Vaner

3,935 years before the Battle of Yavin

“…Of course, it was around this time that a rising star in the Jedi Order was beginning to garner attention, both from his peers in the Order as well as members of the Republic.”

He sank back in his seat, exhaling deeply as he tapped his fingers against his desk, a nervous tick he had developed since he was a teenager. The teacher did not seem to notice, continuing on with the lecture without interruption.

“Very few know the actual name of this particular Jedi. The media referred to him as ‘the Jedi’s crusader’ while the Order itself branded him as ‘the Revanchist,’ a name which was eagerly adopted by his followers. It was not until after the Jedi had learned of the tragedy that befell Cathar that the galaxy came to know the name of Revan.”

He had heard it all before. Every history course he had taken while growing up had covered this particular topic. While he shouldn’t have been surprised, given how fresh it was in the public’s shared memory, it did not make it any less surreal. After all, how many could say that they had to listen to a lecture about a man whom they had never known, a man who they had never met.

A man who had been their father.

“It was not long before Chancellor Cressa rewarded Revan’s accomplishments by naming him Supreme Commander of the Republic Military, a move which would have been controversial under any other circumstance but was unanimously accepted by the Senate. With his newfound role, Revan proceeded to….”

He stopped paying attention to the lanky Muun professor as they continued to drone on. He did not need to take any notes because he already knew what he was going to write for their report. It would be the same thing he had always written. He practically knew them by heart at this point.

When the lecture had finally concluded and class was dismissed, he was the first one out the door, making swift strides towards the campus grounds. Byblos was a beautiful city world and he was more than grateful to have been admitted into its prestigious university, though a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if his name had anything to do with it. Very few knew that he was the son of Revan, but enough of them knew that he was the son of Bastila Shan, Grand Master of the Jedi Order. The faculty had insisted that his name and family had bore no influence in being selected by the academy—after all, there were plenty of students with the surname of Shan that bore no relation to him—but he couldn’t help but have his doubts. The whispers of his peers certainly never went unnoticed; he could hear them talking about him behind his back, arguing that he only got in because of his mother or pointing out that he was spending his life here rather than the Jedi Temple…. 

He would have been lying if he had said it didn’t get to him. A day didn’t go by where he wondered if things would have been different had he been born to parents who weren’t powerful Jedi, or if he had been born with Force sensitivity and trained as a Jedi. Instead he was, pursuing a degree in political science and a career as a politician, living a more or less ordinary life. He didn’t go on adventures that spanned the galaxy or defeat evil megalomaniacs, and he certainly did not know how to even hold a lightsaber, let alone summon one to his hand without even touching it.

It wasn’t as if he wished that were the case. He was perfectly happy with the way things were now; his mother had even encouraged him to explore himself, to be his own individual rather than be beholden to his family’s legacy.

He just couldn’t help but wonder what his father would have thought of him, if he were to see him now.

He could already hear his mother say: “He would have been proud of you.” And it was probably true. After all, she had known Revan whereas he didn’t. Others he had met who had known Revan had said similar things to him while he was growing up, though a part of him wondered if they had truly meant it.

Of course they had, he tried to tell himself. Why would they have lied to you?

Although, if his history lessons were anything to go by, Revan had not been the most perfect man the galaxy had known…. 

“Vaner!”

Snapped out of his thoughts, Vaner Shan came to an abrupt stop and turned around to see a familiar face quickly approaching him. She slowed down as she got close to him, stopping just a few feet away from him. Slightly out of breath, she brushed her dark hair back and stared at him with worried blue eyes.

“I tried calling out for you as you were walking out,” she said. “I guess you didn’t hear me….”

Vaner sighed. “I’m sorry, Iden. I just… have a lot on my mind.”

“I understand,” she said softly. From anyone else, the words would have rung hollow. However, Iden was one of the only people he had told the secret of his parentage to and the only one who had believed him. Perhaps it was because she could relate to what he was going through. While no one in her family were known to be Jedi, she nonetheless came from the distinguished Vanicus family, which had produced many influential figures over the course of the Republic’s history. Her grandfather had been Orley Vanicus, a war hero who had fought in the Great Sith War, and her own father was a leading member in the Galactic Senate. It was likely because of this legacy that she had joined Vaner in pursuing a political career; she had even admitted to him that it was partially because of pressure from her parents that she was even attending the University of Byblos.

“You know it’s not too late to change paths,” he had said to her once, holding her in his arms as they stared at the stars.

“I don’t think I ever could,” she had replied. “I’m already halfway down this path. Might as well see it to the end.”

He applied a gentle kiss to her hair. “And what end will that be? Supreme Chancellor, perhaps?”

She snorted. “Don’t tempt me. You don’t even want to know what I would do with that kind of power.”

He chuckled lightly. “I guess I’ll just have to run against you to ensure the safety of the galaxy.”

She rubbed her cheek against his. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

He came out of the memory to find Iden still staring at him. She was closer to him now, her small hands resting on his shoulders as her blue eyes gazed into his brown ones. The campus grounds was pretty much deserted this late at night—the history classes were always the last ones to let out—which meant they pretty much had the grounds all to themselves. 

She leaned in closer to him, her breath warming his face.

“I’m sure your father would be proud of you.”

Everything else seemed to fade away as their lips joined together. Wherever his current path took him, he was grateful that it had intersected with hers.

Star Wars: Vergence III, Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

  Sare Valrisa had been to plenty of shadowports in her life, but none of them quite compared to Terminus. Located at the very edge of the Outer Rim Territories, Terminus was the last stopping point on the Hydian Way before one got into Wild Space and the Unknown Regions that lay beyond the charted galaxy. As such, it was home to all sorts of beings, some belonging to species that she had never seen before. This diversity extended to the vessels that they arrived in, which filled the hazy skies above. While this made it an easy world to get lost in if you were on the run, it also made it a very dangerous world. Under the thumb of the Hutts, there were very few laws on Terminus. While there were enough peace marshals on the planet to dissuade any from kicking up too much of a ruckus, they were more than willing to turn a blind eye to any crimes that could very easily be swept under the rug. Because of this, one always had to watch their back because no one else was going to watch it for them.

As she made her way through the bustling streets of Terminus’s crowded spaceport, her face concealed by a cloth mask and opaque goggles, Valrisa looked over her shoulder to make sure her companions were still with her. Typha Lorr was close to her as always, a large scarf wrapped around her neck and covering her mouth. Also accompanying them were the two Mandalorians Kadar and his daughter Vessin, fully clad in their armor. The fifth and last member of their group was the droid known as MR-V, waddling after them as he tried to keep up. The droid had been in the servitude of Valrisa’s mother Sareth Valrisa; upon the Dowager’s untimely death, MR-V had been recovered by the Resistance and had become their key in uncovering the secrets of the Malvis Cabal. Unfortunately, most of his memory banks were heavily encrypted and even the Resistance’s most skilled slicers couldn’t get their way into his database without corrupting or erasing it. 

It was because of this that they had come all the way out here to the edge of the Outer Rim. Typha happened to know of a slicer that could help them and they had agreed to meet with her and the others on Terminus. Valrisa wasn’t sure how her partner knew of this slicer, and when she tried to ask her, Typha only gave her vague answers in response. She could only hope that Typha wasn’t trying to hide anything from her and that she had a good reason for keeping this knowledge to herself.

Valrisa cursed herself for even having such thoughts. After she had gotten rid of that Sith artifact—the Eye of Kaas—she had stopped hearing its voice in her head. However, the doubts it had sowed in her mind were still there, tingling at the back of her mind. They weren’t as loud, of course, but she could still hear them. Every once in a while she would start to question whether Typha’s felt as strongly as she did for her, or wonder if the Pantoran would ditch her as soon as someone better came along. She knew she was stupid for even thinking those thoughts, and Typha had not done anything to even warrant them. In the three years they had been together, Typha had not shown any sign of infidelity or done anything to give Valrisa a good enough reason to believe that she was even harboring such thoughts.

Of course, it wasn’t like she watched her partner’s every movement or tried to read her mind. Maybe she was thinking those things and Valrisa was just too naive to—

She shook her head to jolt herself out of this train of thought, nearly bumping into a large Gigoran as it lumbered past her. No, she couldn’t think those things. She shouldn’t. There was no good reason for her to even—

“Val?” Typha’s voice graced her ears. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Valrisa said, a bit too hastily. “I’m just… trying to find my way around here. Where did you say this slicer was meeting us?”

“The Black Star Cantina. It’s just up ahead.” Typha cocked her head, gold eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re all right? You’re acting kind of strange.”

“I said I’m fine. Just get a little jumpy when it comes to places like these. Never know who you’re gonna run into.”

She didn’t bother to look at Typha to see if the Pantoran bought her alibi. The five of them continued to make their way through the spaceport before finally reaching the Black Star Cantina. The two Mandalorians and MR-V stayed outside while Valrisa and Typha headed in. Inside, the establishment was deserted, which was surprising given the planet it was located on. Valrisa had expected it to be packed but not a single soul occupied the seats at the bar, which was being wiped down by a solitary Gran. Upon noticing them, the barkeep flicked her three eyes to the newcomers and her snout split open into some sort of sneer.

“We’re closed,” she said, her voice harsh and raspy. “Come back some other time.”

“Closed?” Typha asked. “But it’s still daylight. Most cantinas are open well into the night.”

“This isn’t most cantinas, hon. Besides, I don’t have much choice. Queen Jool wants to use this space for a private meeting and you don’t say no to someone like Queen Jool.”

Valrisa raised an eyebrow, though the Gran wouldn’t have been able to see it due to her goggles. “Who’s Queen Jool?”

The Gran snorted. “You must be new around these parts. Jool is the new head of the Gorensla clan, after Drabbus bit it. She rules Terminus now, along with the rest of Drabbus’s ventures.”

“Well, that’s great for her,” Valrisa muttered. “Anyway, we were supposed to meet up with someone here. Has anyone else been by recently?”

The Gran narrowed her trio of eyes, staring at Valrisa warily. “Wait a minute. Your voice… it sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

Valrisa tensed, staring back at the Gran through her goggles. “I doubt it,” she said. “I’ve never been here before.” This was a partial lie, as while she had briefly visited Terminus once before back when she was with Perrili’s crew, she had never been to this particular cantina before. She certainly didn’t remember a Gran bar keep who sounded like she puffed cigarra sticks every waking day of her life; something like that would have stuck in her memory.

The Gran continued to eye her with scrutiny before finally saying, “It’s Dani, isn’t it? Dani Kieran?”

Her heart skipped a beat at this. She wasn’t sure if being mistaken for someone she had just met and had turned her entire world flipped upside down by killing her mother was any better than actually being recognized. “Pardon?”

“You probably don’t remember me,” the Gran went on. “It’s been, what, ten or twenty years? Always lose track. My name’s Drea, if that rings a bell. Drea Rees.”

“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got me confused for someone else.” After a moment’s consideration, she slowly removed her goggles to reveal her dark eyes but kept the rest of her mask up. “You can call me Sare.”

Drea Rees snorted dismissively as she returned to cleaning the bar. “I don’t need to call you anything, ‘cos you all need to leave. Queen Jool will be here any minute now.”

Without warning, Typha brushed past Valrisa and stormed up to the bar, planting her hands on the counter. Drea barely looked up at her, though her three eyestalks visibly twitched.

“Listen here, lady,” Typha said harshly. “We didn’t come all this way to meet up with my guy just for you to shoo us away. There was supposed to be a slicer here by the name of Tivec Nuin. Short guy with long pointy ears. Seen anyone like him lately?”

“Did he look something like this, darling?”

The low, husky voice had come from the entrance to the cantina and Valrisa turned to see a large green shape taking up a majority of the doorway. It took her a moment to discern what it was she was looking at and she immediately felt a twinge of disgust in her stomach when she finally did. The newcomer was a large Hutt with leathery green skin as was common with member of the species; what wasn’t common was the small red and black corset that tightly hugged the Hutt’s chest, as well as the bright red lipstick across her mouth and the purple eyeshadow applied to her right eyelid. Her left eye had been replaced by a cybernetic, a scarlet jewel glowing in the center of a metallic ring.

Distracted as she was by the Hutt’s appearance, Valrisa barely noticed the short and sharply dressed Lannik standing next to the slug, tugging at the edges of a mustache that covered his entire upper lip. The two of them entered the cantina, followed shortly by an entourage of servants that made up the Hutt’s retinue; some of them were heavily armored and heavily armed while others wore clothes that left little to the imagination, all ranging in species and gender.

Slithering up to Valrisa, the Hutt spread her pudgy arms in greeting. “To whom do I owe the pleasure of meeting?”

Valrisa cleared her throat before speaking. “My name is Sare. This is my partner, Typha.”

“Sare, you say!” the Hutt purred, a strange sound coming from a member of her race. “As in Sare Valrisa?”

Valrisa stiffened but said, “Yes. That would be me.”

“Oh, where are my manners?” The Hutt extended a hand to her, which Valrisa reluctantly took in a handshake. “They call me Queen Jool around these parts, but there’s no need for you to abide by such honorifics. Just Jool will be fine.”

“Um, pleasure to meet you, Jool.” Valrisa then drew her hand away and glanced at the Lannik standing next to the Hutt. “And you must be Tivec Nuin.”

The small, long-eared man raised his nose at her. “As if you could mistake me for anyone else.”

“Tiv, what’s going on?” Typha came up to stand beside Valrisa, removing her scarf to reveal the rest of her blue face. “You didn’t tell me that this was going on. What are you even doing with Slug Lady here?”

“How charming,” Queen Jool said dryly. “Tivec here is my majordomo and one of my most trusted advisors. Without his help, I wouldn’t have been able to arrange this gathering.”

“What gathering?” Typha asked, still looking at Tivec. “You didn’t say anything about a gathering when you told us to meet you here.”

Tivec smirked at her. “I didn’t think it was relevant. Once the gathering is finished, I will be available to assist you in whatever it is you need done. It is up to you whether or not you want to stay around long enough for the gathering to finish.”

“How long is this gathering supposed to take?” Valrisa asked.

“About a week. Maybe two, depending on how things go.”

“Two weeks?!” Typha exclaimed. “Forget it. We don’t have that kind of time. I’m sure we can find some other slicer here on Terminus.”

Tivec shrugged. “No loss of mine. I hope you find what your looking for.”

With that, he strode past Typha and Valrisa, snapping his fingers at the rest of Queen Jool’s entourage. While the servants followed the Lannik, Valrisa returned her attention to the Hutt herself.

“What is this gathering even about, anyway?”

“Do you plan on attending?” Jool asked.

“It depends on what your answer to my question is,” Valrisa replied, which earned her an incredulous glare from Typha.

Jool’s thick red lips curved into a smile. “Well, it’s more of a party than anything, really. A celebration of my ascension to the Hutt Council.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Of course, I couldn’t have done it without Tivec. He was the one who poisoned old Drabbus and got him out of the picture for me.”

Valrisa couldn’t help but show her surprise at this. “Wow. And here I thought he was just a slicer.”

“Oh, he is so much more than that.” Jool looked longingly towards Tivec. The Lannik was now shouting out orders to Drea Rees, directing the Gran on how to prepare the cantina. “So, so much more.”

“Aaaand we’re out of this conversation.” Typha tugged on Valrisa’s arm. “Come on. There’s bound to be another slicer who can—”

“But wait!” Jool interjected. “I haven’t told you who’s going to be there yet!”

“I doubt it’ll be anyone we know.”

“Regardless, there’ll be all sorts of highly influential beings from all across the galaxy! You will doubtlessly find plenty of opportunities to choose from.”

“We don’t need them,” Typha said before Valrisa had a chance to speak. “Thank you for the offer, but we really should get going.”

Jool sighed, a bit theatrically. “That’s a shame. I won’t keep you any longer then.” She flicked her gaze to Valrisa. “It’s been nice meeting you, Miss Valrisa. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Valrisa frowned at her. “My loss?”

“Your mother, of course. I heard she had died in a terrible accident on Ord Mantell.”

“Oh.” Valrisa’s tone turned cold and suddenly Typha’s idea of leaving didn’t seem so bad anymore. “Right.”

“Such a terrible loss. She may have not been much of a people person, but by stars did that woman know how to run her businesses. She knew how to get things done, you know.”

“Uh-huh.” Valrisa was already walking for the exit, Typha close beside her. “I appreciate your condolences. I guess we’ll see you around.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that.” Jool’s voice followed the pair as they exited the Black Star Cantina and stepped back out into the bustling streets of Terminus. Kadar and Vessin were outside waiting for them, along with MR-V.

“That was quick,” remarked Vessin. “Did you find your slicer?”

“We did but he’s not going to be any help.” Typha huffed as she crossed her arms. “So now we’re back at square one.”

“I saw a Hutt and a bunch of servants go in after you. What was that all about?”

“Ah, it was just some slug lady throwing a party for getting on the Hutt Council or whatever it’s called.”

Kadar cocked his head at this. “Hutt Council, you say. Wouldn’t expect one of their members hosting any kind of event on a planet so far out from Hutt Space.”

Typha shrugged. “Sounds like there’s gonna be a lot of non-Hutts there, so maybe they just chose Terminus as some sort of neutral ground.”

“I guess that’s what that is all about.” Vessin pointed to a cluster of people in business suits gathered nearby, conversing in low, hushed tones. “They showed up around the same time as the Hutt; they pretty much gawked at her like she was some sort of celebrity.”

“I believe those are representatives of the Tagge Company,” said MR-V, speaking up for the first time since they had arrived on Terminus. “They have had a close relationship with Mistress Sareth ever since her short-lived marriage to Andreo Tagge. I believe her son was just named Baron Tagge recently.”

A shadow fell over Valrisa’s face as Typha and the two Mandalorians all looked to her. Her dark eyes scanned the cluster of businesspeople and was able to single out a young man with silver hair who seemed to be the center of their attention, dressed in an elaborate white and red suit. His eyes briefly met hers for all but a second before moving on to something more interesting, but it was all she needed to solidify her decision.

“On second thought,” she murmured, “I think we’ll be attending that gathering after all.”

Star Wars: Vergence III, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

  Dax Goldam knew he should have seen this coming from a mile away. If he was being honest with himself, he was surprised it had taken this long for things to go sour.

It was hardly the first time he had been faced with a bunch of blasters pointed at his face, nor was it the first time those blasters were being held by those he would have considered his partners. He had been at this long enough to know that there were no such things as friendships in bounty hunting, but he had been with Remar Almor and his crew for long enough to assume that maybe, just maybe, there was something genuine and heartfelt to their working relationship.

Evidently, Remar did not see things the same way.

“It’s been a good run, Dax,” the older man said, smirking behind the blaster pistol he had leveled at Dax’s face. “But good things can’t last forever, you know.”

“Come on, Rem’,” Dax replied, pointing his own weapon squarely at the older man’s armored chest. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t. You can just lower the blaster and let me leave here with my prize.” Remar gestured to the gold ornate crate situated between them. “That way, we both get to live and go our separate ways.”

Dax frowned, his green eyes narrowed. “I thought you were better than this, Remar. I thought you were supposed to be honorable.”

Remar snorted, shaking his head. “In this line of work, honor gets thrown out the window. I’ve learned that the hard way more times than I can count. I’ve been stabbed in the back so many times, I could show you the scars.”

“That doesn’t give you good reason to stab others in the back, though. Besides, Dok-Ondar’s offering us a pretty hefty amount to bring this back to him.”

“So? I know some people who would pay twice as much for this thing.”

“Doesn’t matter. A deal’s a deal. We’re taking this back to Batuu.” 

Remar sneered at him. “And whose ship are we taking it in? Pretty sure that hunk of junk out there is under my name, not yours. And I don’t think Sharbrook’s gonna let you fly it. Sorry, kid, but I’m afraid you’re outvoted here.”

As he said this, a large shadow fell over Dax and right away he knew it was over. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his blaster and reluctantly holstered it, never taking his glare off Remar. The other bounty hunter simply smirked and did not lower his own blaster as a towering Wookiee stepped around from behind Dax to join him.

“Go ahead and carry this thing out,” Remar said to Sharbrook. When the Wookiee gave a questioning grunt, he answered, “Don’t worry. He’s smart enough not to pull anything stupid.”

Without further conversation, Sharbrook hoisted the Ryloth Ark up onto his large shoulder and carried it out of the room. Remar moved to follow him, slowly stepping towards the doorway as he kept his blaster and eyes trained on Dax.

“I’ve enjoyed working with you, Dax. Really. I don’t regret any of the time we’ve spent together. But I think it’d be best for both of us to go our separate ways before we end up killing each other.”

He made it to the doorway and hovered his hand over the control panel, flashing a toothy grin to meet Dax’s baleful gaze.

“See you around, kid.”

And with that, the door slammed shut and Dax was left alone in the dark room. He waited several minutes for Remar and Sharbrook’s footsteps to recede into the distance before moving for the exit himself. To his relief, Remar had at least had the heart to not lock the door or bust the controls. The metal door swished open and Dax stepped out of the warehouse into the cool Phaedan night. The bodies of security guards still lay where Dax and Remar had blasted them, filthy rodents picking at their remains. They immediately scampered away as Dax walked past them and strode down the narrow alleyway that led from the warehouse district into the streets of Derapha, pulling his black trench coat closer to his body. He didn’t care if the authorities found the bodies; crime was such a regular occurrence on Phaeda that they would likely just toss them away and not bother looking too much into it.

While he had always expected Remar and Sharbrook to ditch him one of these days, Dax had not expected this one to be the one that broke the spamel’s back. It was just supposed to be a simple job, breaking into the warehouse of a recently deceased relic collector and taking the Ryloth Ark before it could be seized by the government of Phaeda. But no, Remar had to turn around and make it about him. Now Dax was back at square one, out of a job and out of a method of transportation. It was an unwanted repeat of what had happened to him five years ago, when his crew had abandoned him on Desevro after failing to catch Baron Salvan Tai. He supposed he should have learned his lesson after that, but then he had signed up with Remar’s crew and allowed himself to feel complacent. A mistake he should have known better than to make.

Puddles splashed beneath his boots as he stalked down the streets, brushing past other denizens of various species. One look at the nasty scowl on his face was enough to dissuade any of them from approaching him or giving him any trouble, which he was grateful for. Up ahead, he could see the faded neon sign of a local cantina. If nothing else, he could at least drown his sorrows until he found or thought of a way to—

A hand shot out of an alleyway he was passing by and grabbed him roughly by the arm. As he was pulled into the alley, he used his other hand to draw his blaster and took aim at his assailant. Before he could get in a single shot, the weapon was knocked out of his hand and he was slammed against the wall by a strong pair of hands. As he struggled against his attacker’s grip, he tried to get a good look at them but was unable to make out much detail.

“Stop struggling,” a soft, modulated voice spoke into his ear. “I just want to talk.”

“I don’t,” Dax grunted. “Get off me before I—”

“I have an offer to make you, Dax Goldam. One that I know you can’t refuse.”

At this, Dax paused in his thrashing, staring at the space where he believed his attacker’s face to be. “How do you know who I am?”

“We all have our connections. The people I work for have heard of your reputation and have a job for you that would be… befitting of your skills and worth your time.”

“What kind of job are we talking about?”

The assailant finally moved off him, taking their hands off his shoulders. As they stepped back into the dim lights of the adjacent street, he was able to see that they had a slender yet athletic build, most likely female, and wore a silver chestplate over a black leather undersuit. The mask she wore concealed her face, though the light gave him a brief glimpse of human eyes peering behind the eyepieces of her mask.

“I take it the name ‘Kadar’ holds some meaning to you?” she asked.

Dax sucked in his breath. “How do you know about that?”

“We know a lot about you, Goldam. A lot more than you would probably like me to know.” She stepped closer to him again and her figure once more blended into the shadows of the alleyway. “My employers want him dead as much as you do. They also have a thing for poetic justice and, given what they know about you, they couldn’t think of anyone else better suited for the job.”

Dax realized he was breathing heavily. The masked woman raised her hands to him again, this time to trace a line from his shoulder to his chest. A lump formed in his throat as she voiced the question he was waiting for her to ask.

“Do you want to finally avenge your father, Dax Goldam? Do you want to kill Kadar?”

He wasted no time in answering her.

In an instant, Remar Almor’s betrayal had already become a distant memory.

*  *  *

Phaeda had already become a distant memory by the time Remar Almor and Sharbrook’s ship had made the jump into hyperspace. The Ryloth Ark was secure in the ship’s cargo hold and they were well on their way to meet up with their employer.

As the swirling blue tunnel of hyperspace spun in the viewport, Remar leaned forward in his seat and keyed in a transmission to said employer. Within moments, the miniature image of a draconian being materialized between his and Sharbrook’s seats, seated upon a stone throne with giant wings tucked behind him.

“Mr. Almor,” said Drakmos the Despised, member of the Malvis Cabal. “It is good to hear from you again, especially so soon. You bring good news, I trust?”

Remar smirked. “I sure do. The Ryloth Ark is in our hands. We’re on our way to Ord Talavos as we speak.”

“Splendid!” Drakmos interlaced his long scaly fingers together, his snout splitting open in a grin full of razor-sharp teeth. “Did you have any difficulty in obtaining the item?”

“Not at all. One of my partners—ex-partner, now—did try to object to us reneging on our ‘deal’ with Dok-Ondar, but I was able to convince him to… stay out of the way regarding that.”

“Excellent. I look forward to meeting you on Ord Talavos, Mr. Almor. I will have your reward waiting for you… as well as another job.”

Remar arched an eyebrow at this. “What kind of job are we talking about?”

“I will provide you with the details once you get here.” Drakmos made a small wave with his hand. “Have a safe journey, Mr. Almor. I will see you soon.”

With that, the dragon-like man’s image winked out of existence. Sharbrook let out a harsh growl from his throat as Remar leaned back in his seat.

“Can’t say I like the sound of that either,” he muttered. “We only agreed to do this one job for him, and that was only because he was offering more than what Dok-Ondar had promised us. Now he expects us to work for him full-time?”

Sharbrook responded with a rough bark.

“I know what kind of reputation these Cabal guys have,” Remar snapped. “I just didn’t think…. Like, I thought they’d be more like the Hutts, you know? Just a staple of the Outer Rim, kind of like what Black Sun used to be before they went kaput.”

The Wookie made a low whining sound. Remar sighed and he kicked up his legs onto the dashboard, letting the autopilot guide them through hyperspace.

“Look, let’s just play it by ear, okay? Who knows, maybe it’ll be a job that pays well enough so that we don’t have to take up another job ever again. Maybe we could finally get that private resort on Glee Anselm we’ve been wanting.”

To this, Sharbrook said nothing, though his silence was all that Remar needed to hear. The rest of their journey continued in this manner, with the two of them saying nary a word as they navigated the stars.

Star Wars: Vergence III, Prologue

PROLOGUE

 Sedratis, over twenty years ago

MR-V had seen his master furious before. In fact, it was pretty much a daily occurrence. When he wasn’t the target of the Dowager’s verbal attacks, it was usually one of her servants or her guests. No one was ever safe from her fury; concepts such as etiquette and human decency were the first to go as soon as Sareth Valrisa had been scorned. It was perhaps because of this behavior that visits from guests had become less frequent and her pool of lustful suitors had dried up, though her track record of dead husbands may have also been a deciding factor in that latter regard.

Today, MR-V wasn’t sure whom or what was the current subject of the Dowager’s rage, as none of her sentient servants were present in the room and she had yet to take notice of his presence. She sat on her knees upon her massive bed, back facing him, as she grabbed fistfuls of her golden hair. The elaborate dress she wore was disheveled and torn, making it look as if she had just survived an encounter with a nexu cat. She released a shriek of agony as she tore bunches of hair from her scalp before pounding the mattress with her fists, blood leaking from where she had pulled her hair. MR-V’s programming dictated that he come to the aid of his ailing master, yet something took over him and prevented him from taking any further steps into the room. All he could do was watch as the Dowager continued to wreak havoc on herself.

“Useless!” she screeched, digging her long nails into the mattress in an attempt to tear it open. “Absolutely useless! None of the children — not a single one! — has the gift I’m looking for!”

MR-V processed these words in an attempt to determine who the Dowager was referring to. He could only deduce that she was referring to her own children, of which she had borne six. As far as he knew, all six of them were in good health and being cared for by their respective families; he knew not of this “gift” that his master was referring to or why she was so distraught over her children lacking it.

Her scalp still bleeding, the Dowager grabbed her head and fell face-first onto the bed, her body trembling as she sobbed into the mattress. “Seventh one… I still need a seventh one. The Charge Matrica requires it.” 

MR-V ran the phrase through his processor but was unable to procure any results from his database. He briefly considered questioning his master right then and there but thought better of it when she suddenly shot up into a sitting position once more, her back still turned to him.

“Yes,” she murmured, her rage suddenly swept away. “Yes, that’s it. I can find someone who already has the gift. Someone that is strong with the gift. But who…?”

It only took the Dowager less than a minute to ponder this question. Then she started to giggle, wrapping a finger around her golden hair as she tittered like a little girl.

“Oh. Oh, yes. That would be absolutely wonderful.”

As MR-V struggled to comprehend his master’s external musings, she slowly turned around to finally look at him, blue eyes gleaming in the darkness of the bedroom.

“Oh, Marv. I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Mistress,” MR-V said tentatively. “Is everything all right? You appear to be injured.”

“Everything is fine now, Marv.” He had never heard her speak so softly, so kindly towards him. She slowly came down from the bed and started to walk towards him, her torn dress hanging loosely from her body. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“But… your scalp, mistress. You are bleeding.”

“Not anymore,” she said, even as blood continued to trickle down the side of her head. She reached behind MR-V’s large bulbous head and he felt her hand fall over his deactivation switch.

“You require medical attention,” he tried to say.

“Everything is fine now,” she repeated. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

She pulled the switch and MR-V knew no more.

STAR WARS: VERGENCE

Book III: The Seventh Heir