Do you know what it is like to kill? To carve through a man like snapping one's fingers, exterminating a life as easily as breathing? Maybe he’d lost sight of that, since Korriban. Maybe it had been too long, too many bodies, since he’d properly realised how fragile life was.
The fear, he found, was the worst. Not the blood, or even the smell, though both were pungent and common. No. It was the fear. The terror in the eyes, conveying how deeply they didn’t want to die. How dearly they wished they had made different choices.
But then there were the loyal ones. Those that believed in the cause they fought for, and found their own life a suitable sacrifice. Like his own men, those he never planned to have. His soldiers, risking life and future not for glory, or credit, but fealty. He’d asked, once, when healing a wounded scout. Perhaps not the most unbiased census ever taken, but she’d been so serious. So piercing. She’d said loyalty required no reward. That he could never repay that which had been freely given, for he was one of them.
How they could see it in his eyes, that look only the experienced had. Knowing any moment could be your death, no matter what you wanted. The dark humour that came along with living such a life, at the mercy of lady luck.
Yet he tipped the scales in their favour, and they loved him for it. How strange, Morgan thought, that bringing them into more danger than ever made them only burn brighter.
Soldiers, his soldiers, streamed past him as the front gate of House Teral was overrun, Imperial boots uncaring for flowers or decoration. Bashing against the overwhelmed and terrified defenders until they crumbled, swarming deeper every moment.
Normally he would be there, in the front and pushing ever deeper, but Quinn had asked for a favour. To not crumple every ounce of resistance before his men ever got to work, and let them do their job. To conserve his strength, too, since Jaesa’s parents were most likely guarded by a jedi master.
Not that they’d found evidence of that, and it might not come to pass, but better to be safe. Which is why Alyssa and Inara were sticking close, shadowing his steps and never getting out of his sight. He himself might, might, be a match for a jedi master, assuming they didn’t send their best, but they wouldn't be. Not together, not yet.
So he walked calmly as his men cleared the space, disarming surrendering soldiers before long. Whatever business House Teral was in, soldiery wasn’t it. Or maybe he was underestimating the effect of his Chosen. Jillins did seem particularly aggressive today, starting at a hard shove and escalating from there. Maybe Quinn had asked the lieutenant to make sure his own talents wouldn't be needed, since favour or no he most certainly would have stepped in if the situation warranted it.
But none of that was needed, and the doors to the mountain stronghold opened involuntarily. He could spy Horas packing away leftover explosives as the rest of the Chosen scouted inside, his non-reinforced men securing the perimeter. Not too large a place they’d be needed inside, where a few ‘stronger-than-they-should-be soldiers could do more than a hundred average ones. Morgan observed them for a moment, his other senses primed on the building. Either the jedi was good at hiding or not there in the first place.
The stronghold had beauty to it, much of Alderaan did. Carved from grey stone and built in a large circle, vast height and snow peaked tops adding a backdrop that inspired awe. Even the building was made out of it, though only the outer layer. The aesthetic wasn’t worth the headache of an actual medieval castle, something which the builders must have agreed with, as modern fixtures could be seen throughout the structure. Lighting and defence, water and glass.
That last bit, especially, wasn’t so great for them. Even high quality, it had shattered more easily than the stone would have. He hoped the view from the courtyard was worth it, it would be the last time anyone used that side for pleasure viewing. Or for anything at all.
“Four people have been found inside, sir.” The sergeant saluted as he spoke, the impassive face of his helmet almost reflective. “Lieutenant Jillans confirmed two are of jedi origin. They have expressed a desire for peace talks.”
Now that was interesting. Morgan nodded to the man, making him salute again, and he walked inside as he spoke to his two charges. “I’m assuming one is a knight, the other a master. Both experienced enough at stealth to hide from scans. If they’re both masters, distract and disengage. You two and the Chosen should be able to hold him off and get away.”
“And you, Lord?”
“I’m going to hope their notion of honour is strong enough that they don’t gang up on me. If it doesn’t, same plan. Just more complicated.”
They both nodded, exchanging a look he disregarded, and stepped over broken stone as he entered the main hall. A grand wooden table had been pushed to the side, along with the chairs, and even the rug was rolled up and put out of the way. The civilians, which he presumed were Jaesa’s parents, looked both terrified and resigned. He sympathised.
“Sith. No, Morgan. That is your name, isn’t it? I am Master Volryder. I have heard much.”
Morgan tilted his head, focussing his presence on the other one. A weak master or decent knight, and his ability to feel relative strength brought a small smile to his face. The days of only feeling for raw power were long behind him, thankfully. He himself was a good example of why that counted for very little. The knight felt steady, steadfast, but nothing Alyssa and Inara couldn't deal with. He jerked his head to the man, making them and the Chosen refocus. “Where does Karr keep finding you people? I swear, at this point he’s just being illogical. Battleships, scores of soldiers, jedi after jedi. Doesn’t the order have other things to do?”
“I am here on his request.” Volryder admitted, a grin on his face. It looked startlingly authentic. “To protect the innocent and all that. In truth I’m here for you. To meet you face to face. Is it going too far if I say you’re shorter than I expected?”
Morgan snorted despite himself, the whole room watching them like a hawk. He ignored them. “And I can truthfully say I don’t know a thing about you. You don’t care about the two terrified civilians? I’m pretty sure Jaesa is important to Karr’s plan.”
“Karr this, Karr that. That man has been a walking disaster since his mission to Korriban. I don’t like the man, if that wasn’t obvious. And if I truly cared about the civilians, they wouldn't be here. Could have gotten them off planet hours ago, though it would have been a fifty fifty if I’d gotten them past your ship.”
“You’re using them as bait.” Morgan shook his head. “To get to me. You’re supposed to be the good guy here, Master Volryder. And the knight, doesn’t he get a say?”
Said knight was busy holding a staring match with Alyssa, the pureblood licking her lips invitingly. The image of a black widow came to mind, though he was interrupted when the master barked a laugh. “What, this guy? Not one of mine, that’s for sure. I make sure my apprentices leave my tutelage with a sense of humour. You’d be surprised how far it can get you.”
“So he doesn’t care?”
“Unable to.” Volryder shrugged. “Brain injury. The perfect soldier, I see why Karr likes him. He’s also under my command for the duration of this mission, so he’ll stand there and glare for as long as I feel like talking. Speaking of, you’re half right. I am using them as bait, but not to ambush you. No. I wanted to talk.”
“Why?”
“Because it's what I do. Always been good at it, became better when I studied on Tython. Learned to sympathise through the Force. Jaesa’s not the only one with a gift, though hers is better than mine. So I talk and try to understand the people I meet. Do you want to know what my impression of you is?”
Morgan contemplated attacking right then and there, but held off. He was kind of curious, but more than that the man seemed unwilling to attack him in turn. Not even a hint of aggression, which made him hesitate. “Sure, why not.”
“Splendid. I get the feeling you’re a lonely man. Not because you are alone, but because of the people you’ve left behind. A life ripped away because the sith needed bodies for their war machine, dumped on Korriban to learn or die. A man that tries his best to be good with the cards he’s been dealt. A warrior that values honour, respects conviction. Broken and reforged, managing to cling to some shards of his past.”
“You’re not here to kill me.” Morgan realised, his tone incredulous. “You’re here to recruit me.”
Volryder laughed, a bitter sound. “Wouldn't it be nice? To, for once, not be judged and despised for the colours you wear? The order isn’t all judgement and brimstone, Morgan. It can be kind, accepting. Whole sects of people dedicating themselves to the blade. Not for war or slaughter, but because they respect it. To feel closer to the Force through the art of their discipline. Like-minded scientists who’d help you save billions through fleshcrafting, revolutionising medicine and healthcare.”
“It isn’t that easy.”
“Why not?” The jedi demanded. “You think I care about a pirate and a hundred soldiers? Pardons for all of them. The sith you tutor? Bring them. Hell, keep training them. Your friends in the Enosis? Keep them. I want you on Tython, where you were always supposed to be. Happy and eager to learn, finding a Master that could teach you to be great. Forget the war and its consequences. Forget Baras and his empire of lies. He can’t touch you on the homeworld of the jedi, or anyone you love.”
Morgan sighed, raising his voice. “Everyone out.”
“Sir, I don’t think-”
“Out! All of you, out.”
Inara hesitated the longest, needing a glance, but after a half a minute of soldiers marching and sith dragging their feet he was alone. Volryder waved at the knight, who turned around and stuck his fingers in his ears after putting the parents somewhere safe. Morgan ignored that with the ease of someone used to Vette. “I will take that as a good sign, if you’ll forgive my arrogance.”
“Don’t.” Morgan took off his helmet, letting it clatter to the floor with an uncaring toss. “I’m not here to kill them. I don’t want to, for starters, and it won’t serve my purposes regardless. So here’s the deal, Master jedi. Leave. I give you my word neither of these two will be harmed or killed, and will live good lives to the best of my ability.”
Volryder looked at him for a moment, eyes seeming to grow brighter. “You don’t plan to kill Jaesa at all, do you? You want to turn her. But not to the Dark, no. You don’t believe in the Dark. Oh. Oh. Some people would be very eager to meet you.”
“They already have.”
The jedi laughed, grinning wildly. He really was quite a handsome man, and if Morgan swung that way in the slightest he could see how that grin would make him very popular indeed. “Of course they have. Come with me, please. I have enough pull to ensure none will touch you until the Jedi Council votes for your release, and then you can be free. Free of blackmail and duties you care nothing about.”
“I can’t. The sith are rotten, yes, but I can do so much more from within their ranks. To mould them into something great. Peace is good, living is better.”
The jedi titled his head. “Mould them for what? Not war with the jedi, certainly. You don’t care about that in the slightest. What else could cause enough pressure on the sith that isn’t sith itself? No, you don’t have visions. None of the signs are there. Something deeper. Something- No. Sorry, I’ll stop digging now. Curiosity can get the better of me.”
“That is appreciated.” Morgan said, wondering when he was going to stop meeting people like this. “And as interesting as this conversation is, I did have a goal in coming here. Which, I’m afraid, you are standing in the way of.”
Volryder raised an eyebrow. “I am?”
“Are you not planning to drag me back to Tython kicking and screaming? I get that feeling, pardon the presumption.”
“You have a keen eye, but fighting was never my specialty.” The jedi demurred, his lightsaber snapping to hand. “Thought I’d try something else first, but I suppose there’s no helping it. Go easy on an old man?”
Morgan shrugged indifferently, planning to do no such thing. A pulse in the Force was enough to bring Alyssa and Inara back, along with the Chosen, and Volryder did the same for the knight. Who was promptly fired upon, forced to give ground or become stuck in a crossfire. It also freed a few Chosen to scoop up the parents, which he noted. He didn’t have to win, here. Not with them on the first flight out of here.
Morgan ignored them after that, focusing his sight on the jedi. A look revealed mental shields sturdy enough manipulation was out of the question, and soul defences more than able to ward off his attack. Which left outmanoeuvring the man with the blade, something made somewhat difficult by the fact he wasn’t attacking.
It could show much, that first move, and so far many of his opponents had been more than happy to oblige. The silence stretched a moment longer than normal, making him exhale. Well, he was the aggressor here.
His knives shot out the same moment he did, angling around the man in those places his vision couldn't catch, and he lashed out as their lightsabers locked. The man redirected the kick with his knee, stepped sideways without abandoning his leverage, and tried to move inside his guard. Morgan answered that with a shoulder check, sending the predictable counter attack wide, and kicked again. This time Volryder was forced to block, wincing as his foot connected.
Very few people, he found, liked being hit by him. Soft Voice was one of the few that didn’t see it as all that special, and only then because he had a redundant nervous system. That and strength to match, though that was because the man was very good at reinforcing himself. Better than Morgan, though fleshcrafting made up for it.
In any case, Volryder grimaced and jumped back, Morgan sped after him, and the next several exchanges went the same. He would attack, it would be avoided or blocked, and the counter attack would fail to do much of anything. A few telekinetic attacks were pulled apart before they could reach him, he didn’t waste resources on doing the same, and his shield absorbed the rest. The jedi stopped doing that after it became clear he was able to defend against it.
No hidden technique to overwhelm him, no stealth sufficient enough to hide from view. Just a man very good at defending himself, but unable to hit back. And it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Whatever Volryder’s views were before, had some of those jabs connected he’d be standing there without lungs.
Then he got lucky, his knives shooting out and, predictably, being sundered by the blade. But not destroyed, which surprised the jedi. Hard to blame him, he probably didn’t come across much that held under his lightsaber. But it meant instead of two useless pieces of metal, Morgan had a functioning knife. One that straightened and shot out again, this time slipping past.
It didn’t bury itself deep, only an inch or so, but it was enough to make the jedi wary. More defensive. Which made this completely about endurance, and if Morgan was good at one thing, it was that.
This level of reinforcing the body ate at one's resources quickly, enough so after a minute or two they slowed. The jedi more than him, too, and Morgan realised what had felt off. Volryder lacked an edge. That instinct nearly all his opponents carried, be that young sith or hardened jedi. A diplomat first.
Which was why, after slapping aside an attack and distracting the man with his knives, he rushed him. Ignoring defence for offence, paying for it with a nasty wound on his arm, and slipping his wrist over the man’s shoulder. Breaking the elbow from there was easy enough, as was forcing his knives back around and in the man’s knees. He still tried to dodge, and with a surge of surprising strength, but his ability to walk was gone. No matter how strong you were, you needed muscles to move your leg.
Snaking his arm around the man’s neck, after making sure his lightsaber was out of reach, he applied pressure. Foiling two attempts to telekinetically grab his weapon, and one where he tried to detonate the Force in such a way as to blow him off, Volryder went slack.
Morgan set him on the ground gently, inspecting his arm. Deep but not deep enough, as expected. The man wasn’t great under pressure, not the kind a high level opponent could put on you. Reacted poorly, going for a crippling strike which did nothing to arrest his momentum. Still a gamble on his part, but then maybe not. He’d thought of a plan, weighted its chances of success, and acted on it. Instinct, telling him what he needed to know.
“Leave the knight alive!” He called, casting his senses to the other battle. His Chosen had been relegated to making sure the knight didn’t charge through and intervene in his own battle, something he appreciated, and his two sith were winning slowly but steadily. Two against one always carried more than double the advantage, he learned that lesson on Balmorra, so not killing the jedi should be doable.
He healed both his own injury and those of the Master, making sure the man stayed asleep for a few hours more, and the knight finally went down. Knocked over the head with a combined, if crude, Force push. The man didn’t get back up.
“Sir.” Jillins marched over, four of the men at his heels. “What should we do with the jedi?”
“Any casualties or injuries that need taking care of?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “A few light wounds, but nothing the medics can’t care for. The captain reported much the same for the other men, barring two exceptions. It seems House Teral is not composed of particularly skilled soldiers.”
“That and the jedi didn’t work to defend them.”
He was silent for a moment, looking at the sleeping man. The knight he could care less about, but Volryder had tried diplomacy. Tried to remove him as a threat not by force or blackmail, but opportunity. If he’d met the man a few months ago, who knows. But now? Now his path was set. Had been for a little while, he admitted.
The sith were rotten, and pretending he was powerless to stop them verged dangerously close to self delusion. And what better way to change an organisation than from the inside? If he could spare any other from experiencing what he had to endure, spare them Korriban, why not act? Why not fight for a better future?
Why not break the sith and their ideology over his knee, break them like they broke him, for daring to take his life away?
“You took a leap of faith, Master.” Morgan waved at Jillins, who indicated to his men. “And so will I. Get him to Bundu, then off this planet. Keep it discrete, use Vette’s assets if needed.”
Jillins nodded once, walking away as his men picked up Volryder. Hopefully his induced sleep would last until they could make contact with Bundu, since the man probably wouldn't react well to waking up in sith custody, but he trusted his men to deal with it. Which just left the parent’s, his whole reason for coming here.
The mother looked scared out of her mind, hands clawing at her husband. The man looked tired, something etched not just in his eyes but over his whole face. Like working a sixteen hour shift and coming home to a dark, empty apartment. Morgan nodded to them both, making the soldiers escorting them leave. “My name is Morgan, and I would like to apologise for the circumstances of our meeting. This is, as you are aware, about your daughter.”
“I knew it.” Parvin hissed, her tone scornful. Morgan blinked, the teary eyed woman transforming into one filled with zeal. “I knew nothing good would come of it. She should have married the match we arranged for her, like a proper girl. Instead she goes off galavanting with the jedi, no thought to her poor mother.”
Gregor hushed her, less gently than he’d expected, and looked him right in the eye. Numbness more than bravery. “Sith. Forgive her, the stress of hiding has not done her well. What do you wish for us?”
“Death.” He shrugged, causing the woman to shudder. “But not like you think. I don’t wish to kill your daughter, or those she loves, but my master disagrees. He insists you die, and so you will. I’ll present him with two bodies, two strangers will leave this planet, and we will never meet again. Don’t contact your daughter, don’t try to meet up with her. She will know you are alive, you will know she is alive, and any more than that will bring danger to you all.”
Two bodies were brought, unconscious but alive, and he motioned them closer. The man came, though the mother had to be encouraged, and he bade for them to sit. He thought about explaining, as would be the right thing to do, but shrugged. The woman he didn’t like much, Gregor didn’t seem to care, and the less they knew the better. Even explaining as much as he had was a risk, though mitigated by the fact they would be going far, far away.
The man offered his hand when prompted, Morgan put the other on the unconscious Teral soldier, and swapping them came as easily as it had before. It was work, it took concentration and effort, but nothing about it was difficult. Gregor stared at his hand uncomprehendingly, Parvin panicked to the point private Pete came over to hold her down, and he switched her too.
They’d even get the better end of the deal, gaining years of health and youth. Not a longer lifespan, considering the danger they were still in, but it was something. More than the mother deserved, if he was reading her correctly. He also put her to sleep when she alternated between fearful glances to him, her new body and the soldier still keeping her still. Pete bowed his head when he nodded at the man, picking her up.
Gregor followed on his own, having stopped caring after a few seconds of poking, and Morgan shook his head. All up to Vette and her exfiltration preparations from here. The best they were going to get, since John had agreed to look them over.
“Now, as for you two.” He looked down, the bodies of Jaesa’s parents lying there in soldiers armour. A quick flick of his lightsaber and they were without heads, and it only occurred to him after a moment he’d just killed two prisoners. Two people who, by definition, posed no threat. “But then again, you picked up a rifle. Knew the risks. Horas, put them in stasis after giving them proper clothing. And as far as anyone is concerned, these bodies are genuine.”
The specialist grunted. “The regulars are securing the perimeter outside, the Chosen won’t say a word and these two look very much the part. Solid plan, well executed.”
“Thanks.” Morgan replied, a tad dryly. “Always nice to get feedback.”
“Sir.”
From there he mostly watched as his army packed up from the engagement, setting what few captives they’d taken free some ways away, and he busied himself with patching up the seriously wounded. It came with more of the amazement, this time with an audience of curious troopers, and more people he’d rather not look too deeply at. Still, Jillins hadn’t lied and his job was done quickly enough. Soon he was watching from a transport, rapidly distancing himself from the planet.
And the second they lifted operational silence an urgent communication request came in, the pilot calling him to the cockpit. A short range, comparatively speaking, communicator was blinking like mad, the women activating it as he nodded.
“My Lord.” Clara said, her words rushing out. “Problem. Two enemy ships have blocked our departure from the docks, insisting you are to be taken into custody for violating truce and terms. Informing them you are not on board did little to deter them, and they warned the larger alderaanian navy is on route. Bluff or not, we need to leave. Captain Kala requests your presence during negotiations.”
Morgan took a moment to digest that, the pilot already running a scan. “Transfer me, and inform Vette we might have to leave without her. Quinn will lead the standard transports away and into space, I’d recommend rendezvousing somewhere that isn’t here.”
It was done in a moment, the holocommunicator splitting into two parts. One was his own captain, the rattataki scowling deeply at an older rodian. Neither party seemed pleased, and as the pilot drew his attention he saw why. Kala had managed to come loose from the station, meaning she was clear to fight, but outnumbered two to one. And she didn’t feel confident, so it was unlikely it would be a repeat of last time. That would be too lucky, facing barely repaired ships and disunified captains twice in a row.
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“I am warning you, Imperial. Turn over the sith or we will open fire.”
“And I’m telling you he isn’t here.” Kala bit back, every inch the aggressive warrior. It seemed wrong, to see her so worked up, and Morgan swallowed a smile. Stalling, playing on the belief her people were unable to control their rage. Smart. “But go ahead, see what happens. Spend the rest of your life afraid, knowing you have a sith hounding for your head. If you win, that is.”
Morgan cut in with a cough, making both parties focus on him. “I do believe she is correct, rodian. I don’t suppose saying we are leaving will make a difference?”
“You come to my home, exacerbate the tension to the point of open warfare and you expect to leave without consequence? Alderaan is not so easily cowed.”
“Then where is your navy, captain?” Morgan tapped his pilot on the shoulder, the woman already working away. Good thing Kala had insisted on replacing the Chosen transport with a newer model. Might make this plan actually feasible. “Don’t tell me two combat ships is all your planet has to offer? To say nothing of the fact some Houses may be hesitant to oppose me this openly. You know, just in case it causes the Empire to send a few hundred thousand men in response.”
The rodian scoffed. “Your master does not have the pull, nor the inclination. You will die here, sith, burning up in our atmosphere like so much trash.”
Kala cursed as the connection went dead, distracted as she gave orders. Morgan looked at his pilot, someone who’s name he should probably learn, and she wiggled her hand in response. Fifty fifty odds of boarding the larger of the two ships, he could work with that.
“Captain, any chance you could give us some cover as we attempt to take over the Hammerhead-class cruiser? It would free you up to focus on the modified Thranta, which looks a little small on our scanners.”
She jerked her focus back on him. “Yes. Maybe. Modified isn’t good, means someone put a lot of credits and time into making it better. We’re a smaller ship ourselves, and don’t think for a second we are weaker for it. Shit, is it too late to wish we could face those three Hammerheads again?”
“No such luck.” Morgan grinned, compensating as the pilot pushed the craft hard. “These ones don’t look half broken or disorganised. I’ll do what I can.”
Kala nodded grimly, even if she couldn't hide a grin of anticipation. “Try not to damage it too badly, it’ll make us a fortune in salvage.”
She cut the connection as he turned, seeing his men checking over their gear. Not great, having to engage without being able to resupply, but it would have to do. Jillins was talking quietly with Inara and Alyssa, Horas was moving among the men and handing out explosives, and he realised no speech was needed. Morgan turned to the pilot, eyes on the warship.
“What’s your name?”
“Jenna, sir.”
“I’m Morgan, pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, sir. I feel obligated to remind you this ship does not possess weapons capable of breaching military-grade naval armour.”
“Get us to that ship and lock it down behind you, I’ll take care of it. We’ll be keeping the soldiers on board plenty busy, you shouldn’t have any issues, but if it comes to that, leave. The plan is to take over the ship anyway. Speaking of, Jillins!”
The lieutenant walked up, snapping to attention. “Sir.”
“You and yours, as well as Inara and Alyssa, will be going after the engine room. Shut it down, preferably without destroying it. I’ll clear the bridge, try and convince the captain to stand down his men. I’m not holding out much hope. Could be up to four hundred soldiers inside, assuming they’re filled to capacity.”
“Nothing we can’t deal with, sir.” Jillins nodded, no hint of stress on his face. “Chances of a jedi on board?”
Morgan took a moment to sweep out his senses, something that became easier the further they got to outer space. The bright spots of those attuned to the Force, like waves in a pool, were nowhere to be found. “Low. Disengage and contact me should you encounter one my apprentices can’t handle.”
Both women straightened at that, he ignored them, and Jenna grunted as they crossed some invisible line. Close enough to be targeted, probably, and the fact he could see the battle confirmed it. The Aurora was angled partly down, its thickest armour taking a beating from the Hammerhead, but taking the Thranta apart in the process. He couldn't see much more than that, their scanners were likewise useless, but there were few fighters about. That was usually the problem in a two to one, Kala had told him once.
How double the fighters would shred your own, leaving them free to harass as they please. They’d gotten lucky with that once, it would be greedy to expect that again, but against all odds it looked like they rolled a twenty twice. That or the damaged alderaanian navy didn’t have enough to start with, loading their vessels with less than half their usual loadout.
But it wasn’t his problem right this moment, his attention taken by the scanners. Which showed four missiles coming their way, none of which he could do a damn thing about. With ten times his reserves he might have been able to nudge them off course with telekinesis, assuming they couldn't correct that, and with a hundred times stopping them in their tracks was on the table. Sadly, fine control and fleshcrafting couldn't do much.
It was fortunate, then, that he wasn’t alone. That others had spent a great amount of time learning skills he had not. Jenna accelerated further, causing a somewhat worrying whine to emerge from the engine, and he noticed how everyone else had already strapped in. He grasped the handhold close to the cockpit entrance a split second before the ship rolled, employing some simple fleshcrafting to lock his muscles in place. Anchoring himself to the floor would have been easier, and left his hands free, but this was more efficient.
When the evasive manoeuvre was done he let go, Jenna glancing at him. Morgan shrugged, grinning under his helmet. A one handed, sideways standup where his feet didn’t even wiggle. He’d never tried that before. His pilot cursed as only two of the missiles were fooled, the others correcting course and trying to catch up behind them. She pressed a button on her console, eyes locked and posture stiff.
Flares blanketed the area, he rode the turbulence of the detonations, and tilted his head as Jenna cursed again. She noticed, her tone annoyed. “If they didn’t know before, they know now. Expect resistance when we board.”
“Your job is to get us there.” Morgan dismissed. “Ours is to deal with what's inside. And I’m pretty sure they already knew, seeing as they fired on us.”
“Good chance they were automatically redirected by the ship's computer. Eta in two.”
He shrugged, moving towards the back. Four Chosen were already standing by, blasting charges in hand, but he shook his head. Normally, in the one instance he’d done this before, specialised weapons were attached to breaching pots. Weapons that cut through warship armour like wood, letting the complement of soldiers inside quickly and without issue. Jenna had been correct when she warned they didn’t have those.
They did, however, have lightsabers. Multiple, in fact, and he waited shoulder to shoulder with Alyssa and Inara. Breathing in and out, swelling the Force ever so slightly more each time. The Chosen exchanged some brags, dark jokes and darker laughter, and then that fell away too. Just him, his breathing and the Force, waiting for Jenna to give them the all clear. Or be blown into a thousand pieces by guns the size of their ship, reinforcements be damned. There was a reason jedi and sith travelled with armies.
Metal groaned as they attached, Morgan moving before their pilot spoke. Two other red beams of plasma joined his as they cut through feet of armour, each taking a third without speaking a word. Soon enough, though it felt much too long, a hole two men wide dropped a few inches. It did, however, refuse to fall outward. He grunted, nodded to the sith next to him, and kicked in unison. Once then twice before it came loose.
Straight on top four war droids, crushed by the sheer weight of the object. More were running down the hallway, but at least for now it seemed they were clear. Just the patrols responding to attack, though proper soldiers would be on the way shortly.
No reason to hang around. “Jillins, get to it. Alyssa, Inara, you’re under his command. You know the signal? Good.”
They went, tearing down the hallway as he dealt with the quick responders. Their transport raised its rear hatch, so as to not leave any curious soul easy access, and he was alone. Morgan turned, going the opposite direction as his men. Finding the bridge would be a hassle, not like they had a map, but internal navigation should be present. New crew had to find their way around somehow, not to mention visitors or rotating marines.
It still took minutes to find, time he didn’t really have, and when he rounded a corner that would bring him closer to the bridge he found a squad of soldiers. Alderaanian soldiers, making him blink. A rodian captain suggested a Republic complement of marines, but here they were. Bog-standard men, the kind he’d been fighting ever since he set foot on the planet.
“H. Halt. In the name of the Queen, halt!”
Morgan didn’t respond, speeding up to a jog. He swelled his aura at the same time, dipping into some unpleasant memories. It helped enhance the fear factor, he found, and the soldiers agreed. A third screamed and ran, only some of those managing to hold on to their weapons, and the rest flinched. Then he was past their forward ranks, and his fist lashed out. Again and again, denting armour and breaking limbs. Twenty odd heartbeats later and he walked away, leaving a pile of groaning bodies behind.
It was nice to be able to be merciful, he reflected, even if that wasn’t the goal. No. Killing wantonly would do nothing but turn cowards into lions, finding desperation functioned just as well as courage. Make it known he was accepting surrender, on the other hand, and they would take the easier path. Maybe it would even make convincing the captain to stand down easier, though he doubted it.
More resistance came, in various forms that mostly boiled down to ‘more guns should work this time’ and it became painfully clear the rodian was out of his depth. No jedi to counter Alyssa and Inara, none he had felt, and neither did either of his apprentices mysteriously disappear. Just normal soldiers desperately trying to deal with something they had no hope to kill.
Volleys of grenades were deflected or accelerated, detonating harmlessly away from him, while mass volleys of fire were returned or ignored. None of them had any experience shooting at sith, that was for sure. By then he was close enough to tear down what physical object they were hiding behind, be that storage crates or static low-yield shields, and he disabled them in a few seconds.
Then, finally, he came to the bridge. The blast doors were closed, of course, which stalled him for another minute as he cut through them. But he walked onto the bridge proper soon after and found the captain glaring at him. “Hold, sith. I die, or press this button, and the core will self detonate. Not even you will survive that.”
“Probably not.” Morgan admitted, walking forward anyway. The man tensed, thumb hovering, but did nothing. “And it was smart to disable communications between me and my men. Unfortunately, we Force users cheat.”
He paralysed the man’s hand as he moved past, ignoring the terrified crew trying very hard not to draw his attention. The Aurora had disabled the Thranta in the time he’d been busy, using the wreckage to shield itself from the Hammerhead. Kala was, as always, impressing him. “Tell me, captain. What do you think of your opponent?”
“Young.” The man grunted, shaking his hand. Morgan had freed him after making him drop the remote. “Planned to kill her here and now, before she could grow further.”
High praise. “Order your men to stand down. We’ll be taking the ship, because no action goes without consequence, but you and your people will be allowed to take the shuttles down to the planet. I don’t care about you or yours, captain. Do not make me.”
The rodian glanced at his crew, probably thinking the same thing he was. The man seemed willing to go down with the ship, to sacrifice himself for the greater good. His crew significantly less so. Hadn’t even told them about his plan with the core, judging by the spike of fear he’d felt.
“Jaden, open communications to all decks.”
“Sir.”
“This is your captain. You are to stand down, disarm and comply with Imperial demands. I have been guaranteed you will not be harmed, and that we will be allowed to take the shuttles down to the planet.”
Guaranteed was a bid of a strong word, but close enough. Morgan nodded as the man glared. “Thank you, captain. You saved many lives.”
“And doomed millions more. I see you, sith. I see what you are doing. Nonetheless, honour demands respect.”
He drew his sidearm, uncaring about how it looked, and aimed it in Morgan’s general direction. After a seconds’ pause he twisted it over, offering it and shaking his head. When Morgan moved forward a step, to take the weapon, two things happened at once.
A pulse in the force, twice short and one long, made him relax. Not a split second later the captain, who’d just offered his complete surrender, dropped to the ground. The man rolled sideways and sprang to his feet, thumb already pressing down on the detonator. “You cannot be allowed to live, sith.”
“Me specifically?” A second passed and triumph turned to confusion, then defeat. Morgan summoned the device, crushing it in his hand. “Not the sith in general, or my master, but me. Interesting. My people already control the core, in case you were wondering. Can’t overload that when they manually shut it down.”
The captain grunted. “I figured. I had to try.”
“Uncaring about the lives of your men? Snatching their freedom away for a fleeting chance, damn the consequences? You are a man of commitment, I’ll give you that. Anyone that still feels personally loyal to this man may stay, everyone that doesn’t is advised to leave.”
“Or what?” The question clearly slipped out by accident, a reflex more than defiance, but Morgan found his patience running dry as the navigator, the one that had spoken, went white. He grabbed the Force and pushed, blanketing the bridge in a clawing mist of fear. Terror absolute, like a predator breathing down your neck.
“Or I kill every single one of you. Kill your oath-breaking captain after ripping out his lying tongue, severing your limbs before spacing you into the void. Or I get creative, you walking dead, and find out how long your bravado lasts as your nervous system lights on fire.”
Half of his speech was heard only by the captain as his crew readily abandoned him. Even before his synthetic panic, which told him exactly how badly they resented having their lives decided for them.
Morgan calmed after a moment, though his voice hadn’t risen, and looked at the rodian. “What's your name, captain? What is the name of the man who despises me so dearly he’d sacrifice half a thousand of his own men to kill me?”
“Greedarian.” The man struggled to his feet, pulling himself together at record speed. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“A strong name. I’m going to take your voice away, Greedarian. Your ability to command. Tell them, when they ask why. Tell them a sith was more merciful than an alderaanian captain. Or write it out, I suppose. Now sit still.”
Greedarian froze, eyes wide as Morgan laid his hand on the man’s throat. It wasn’t so hard to alter the vocal cords, even without having studied a rodian before, and after five or so seconds the captain scrambled backwards. Then he stood as Morgan shook his hand, turning to walk away. Or run, since that seemed to have shaken the captain more than death had.
Morgan sighed and walked back to the centre of the bridge, looking down at the planet. Honestly, he was starting to understand why Bundu got so irritated when people broke their word.
After that it was a waiting game, only broken up by the ever increasing risk more warships would show up. After their thorough victory, though, no one else seemed willing to oppose them. House Thul had apparently flown into a rage shortly after Greedarian had initiated battle, claiming all manner of ancient treaties and rights, and to Morgan's surprise Duke Kendoh got a fairly large amount of support.
Mostly from the lesser Houses, and it was no doubt mostly theatre for personal gain, but even so the end result was real. No soldiers contested their shuttles as they ferried the captain and his men to the surface, nor did anyone say a word as Kala transferred her people to the Hammerhead.
All told it took nearly an hour and a half before they could leave, during which Vette had managed to wrap up her business, and Morgan walked on the bridge with a soft frown. His ship had taken a beating during battle, engineering crews were scuttling around like angry ants, but at least this area looked undamaged. Kala was in deep conversation with her chief engineer, using lots of sharp hand gestures, so he waited while scrolling through his datapad.
Commander Clara had sent a preliminary report, he winced at the estimated cost of repairs, but at the end a list had been attached. Casualties, both wounded and dead. Morgan scrolled through them slowly, trying to commit each name to memory, and paused at the end. Forty seven dead, nine of which marines. Nearly half of those he’d left behind while assaulting the Teral stronghold.
“Sir.” He looked up, seeing the chief engineer had noticed him. The man had promptly saluted, Morgan realising after a moment he’d kept his lesser stealth up. Here he thought people had finally stopped being afraid of him. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Kala had snapped her focus to him in the meanwhile, a feeling of fatalistic surprise surging briefly. Morgan found that unfair, seeing as he’d only been sneaking up on people by accident for a few days. “My Lord. Please, I’ve told you you can interrupt me if I don’t notice your presence.”
“You seemed busy.” Morgan dismissed. “And I took the time to read Clara’s report. She was somewhat light on the actual details of battle.”
The captain shrugged. “She wasn’t present for most of it. The alderaanian ships snuck up on us from behind the station, our scanners insisting they were little more than trading vessels. By the time emission readings and visual checks were performed it was nearly too late. That and some sympathisers manually overriding the station's controls to keep us tethered made for an unfavourable start.”
“Yet you got loose.”
“It was raised as a possibility during risk analysis, explosives being readied to blow ourselves clear. Only as a last resort, but that’s how it went. You were present for most of the negotiations, but the short version is that they wanted you. Demanded you be handed over to stand trial, etcetera etcetera. I stalled, you lifted operational silence and boarded the Hammerhead. The Thranta we engaged ourselves, winning by a closer margin than I’m comfortable with.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Checked over the readings we got, and we outgun it not insignificantly. Thicker armour, too.”
“And they had us beat in fighters and breaching pots. You should be well aware the difference those can make, seeing as you just took a warship with one.”
He conceded the point, Kala taking a breath and stifling the flinch of fear. She was getting better, but she still had the habit of thinking he’d bite her head off if she corrected him. “The battle itself I won’t bore you with, though in truth there is nothing much to say. I managed to outmanoeuvre the vessel and cripple most of their fighters, though I lost two of my own in the process. I hid behind the resulting debris field as you dealt with the corvette, making emergency repairs.”
“And how is she?”
“Tough little thing.” Kala admired, stroking the console. “But damaged all the same. Hyperdrive is fine, as are life support systems, but she isn’t going into battle again without proper servicing. In a shipyard, I will stress. Can’t fix our plating ourselves even if we had enough materials and the hangerbay is close to ruin.”
He nodded, mentally calculating timeframes. It would take time to get to Nal Hutta, assuming that was where they were going. Even if not, stealth was preferable. It was doubtful Karr would allow himself to be blown to bits from orbit anyway. “Do what you can, I’ll make sure she gets the time she’ll need. In the meantime I will need a shuttle, preferably flown by Jenna. If you can spare her, of course.”
Kala agreed without hesitation, Morgan suspected she only remembered who that was after doing so, and he left the bridge after extracting a promise to give the pilot a choice. This was going to be more dangerous than usual, for one, and an unwilling soldier always performed worse. Only after that, and half an hour in the med-bay to deal with the most critically wounded, did he stumble into his room. Hadn’t even felt them jump into hyperspace, though he cared little about the hiding spot his captain had chosen.
Tired, sore in a way fleshcrafting could do little about and more than eager for some rest, he found himself walking into four women sitting around his table. Morgan stalled as they froze, exchanging panicked looks, and he took a moment to realise they were Valkyries. “Vette!”
“Coming!” She came barging out of the kitchen with drinks, though only two of them, and the strangers shot to their feet as she clicked her tongue. “Off with you lot, and collect your sisters before leaving. Tell Amelia I want daily reports.”
They scrambled out, just about managing to not crash into him, and he levelled a look at his twi’lek. “That was unkind.”
“It was funny.” She argued. “Should have seen your face. I know it means befuddlement, they probably thought they had seconds left to live.”
“How long have you even been here?”
“Twenty minutes? Yeah, about that.”
“And why bring your theology-aligned guards?”
Vette wiggled her eyebrows. “What, don’t like coming home to four hot women sitting around your table?”
“Stop answering my questions with a question.” Morgan complained, undoing his armour with telekinesis. An interesting exercise in control and multitasking. “Also, I wouldn't wish your jealousy on my worst enemy.”
“I do not get jealous. And if I thought you’d have the slightest interest in them I wouldn't have brought them in the first place.”
He shook his head. “Not possessive at all, god forbid. What am I smelling?”
“Dinner! I didn’t cook, don’t worry. It is, technically speaking, stolen. Should be fine.”
His armour piled itself on a side table, not nearly as neatly as he’d like, and he accepted the drink with thanks. Then he investigated the smell himself, because you learn to fear Vette in a kitchen. It was as she said, though, and even he had to admit reheating was within her skillset. “Smells good. Time for a shower?”
“Should be.”
Doing so, and fending off Vette when she tried to steal his towel, he dressed into something that didn’t scream war-fanatic and decided to be a gentleman. Holding out someone's seat was one of their things, he was pretty sure, and doing so by employing more telekinesis was perfectly allowed. The fact he had already sat down when the idea occurred had nothing to do with it.
Vette, of course, promptly shattered his control by seating herself, not even seeming to notice. Damn, and here he thought it had been getting stronger. “So, how was your day?”
“Oh, you know.” She eyed her drink with glee, downing nearly half of it in one go. Morgan decided it was decent. “Took over another syndicate, made so much money and groomed Bob to take over. He seemed very understanding of his place in the organisation.”
“Did he?”
“What, you don’t think I’m scary?”
“I’m sure you are. And kindly don’t say groomed.”
“It's a perfectly normal word that selfish child molesters have co-opted, and I won’t stand for it. Anyway, he’s getting squared away. Then there was a slight rush as we prepared to join in the battle should it be needed, I’d rather not burn my credibility if not, but all's well that ends well. How about you?”
“Fought a jedi, killed some people without killing them and took over a warship with a transport. Busy busy.”
She leaned forward, enthralled. “I heard. Is it true you threatened to rip out someone’s tongue?”
“I did.” Morgan shuffled, reaching for the bread before she stole more than her share. “In my defence, people were being stupid. And breaking their word, which annoyed me more than it should have.”
“Hot.”
He groaned. “Please don’t start. And no, you’re not installing tongue modifications for my benefit. I can’t believe I have to say that out loud.”
“That was one time!” She sputtered. “I was joking!”
“You were not. I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
Vette slumped, spearing another piece of meat. “You know very well it's about trust. I can get a little enthusiastic, sometimes, so I need someone to keep a clear head. To set limits. Besides, with fleshcrafting it would have been easy.”
“And you know very well I’m not into that kind of play. Curse you for showing me that.”
She held up her hands, though her eyes didn’t seem very sorry. “I know, I know. I remember apologising for hours, thank you very much.”
“That. Alright, fine. Let’s talk about something else?”
“Sure! Why’d you let that captain man go?”
“I meant something not work related.”
A moment of silence passed, Vette putting a hand to her chin. “Hmmn. Not work related. No, no. You don’t do anything else, really.”
“I have hobbies.” He protested, trying to put an insulted undertone to it. “I cook.”
“You do cook. Anything else?”
“I. I keep in shape?”
“Weak.” She judged, kicking him under the table. She pouted when he didn’t show any reaction, then made a show of cradling her wounded toe. “Stop getting stronger, you brute. Or make me stronger, that’ll work.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is super strength, super durability, unlimited access to a high quality healer and limited immunity to Force powers not enough for you, princess?”
“No. I want more strength so I can physically bully you.”
Morgan lifted an eyebrow. “You mean try to goad me into picking you up, holding you down and ‘punishing’ you? Maybe give me a reason to be rougher, like it's that easy?”
“N. No.” She said, breath hitching every so slightly. “Why would you think that?”
“Oh, so it's not that? Good, good. I am a little tired, so it's probably best if we go straight to sleep. Long day tomorrow and all that.”
Her look of horror was only partially hidden, Morgan picking up his glass to take a drink. To hide his smirk more than taste the beverage, which had gone from average to meh. Vette spent the rest of dinner making increasingly unsubtle attempts at seduction, which he did enjoy greatly, but he put his foot down after that.
If he didn’t they’d spend all their time with the door locked, and despite her judgement he did have other things he enjoyed. Such as cuddling, or trying to find a movie that wasn’t a horrid drama. Hell, she was so busy being frustrated and taking it out on him he succeeded, getting well into some sort of action flick before she noticed.
Taking her frustration out on him involved lots of positioning, accidentally doing such things as shoving her chest in his face or just so ending up without pants, but honestly he couldn't complain. Splitting his focus was something of a core tenant of his fighting style, so paying attention to the entertainment while fending her off was doable. Fun, even, hearing her make ever increasing noises of distress.
Still, he surrendered when the movie was done and it was a somewhat respectable time to go to bed. And his surrender ended with her in handcuffs, which tickled his ironic fancy.
But he did need to get some sleep, and three hours didn’t count as a good night, so he managed to calm her down enough he could drift off. With a possessive, cuddly twi’lek lying on his chest, which while not helping his rest did help his peace of mind.
Which might explain why he nearly flung his datapad into the wall some time later, snapping back to perfect focus as it blared. He picked it up, seeing Quinn was calling with the urgent setting. This better be good.
“Sir. Apologies for waking you. Lord Baras is calling.”
Vette mumbled something he didn’t catch, lacking his ability to snap from sleep to awake in an instant, and he grunted. “I’ll be there in three.”
“Who’s that?”
“Baras. Time for Jaesa, I’m afraid.”
She half slapped him over the chest as she turned, managing a playful, if sleepy, pout. “Talking about other women while we’re in bed together. And you wonder why I insist on reminding you I’m the best.”
Morgan stood as he snorted, clothes floating over. “I end up doing most of the work, miss I-like-bondage.”
“I like that you like bondage, very different.”
He declined to get dragged into that argument again as he finished dressing, leaving her to her morning routine. Soldiers had to be raised, sith corralled and ships prepared.
It was time to get this show on the road.