John carefully controlled his expression as the long-ranged spy drone transmitted the footage, an old hand at pretending everything was going according to plan. He almost twitched when the Javlin was destroyed, dreadnoughts turning on the superdreadnought, and paused the recording right as the engine went critical.
He did love it when a plan came together.
“So.” He said, turning to the dozen people watching the screen in mute horror. “We were talking about the fact my plan was, and I quote, reckless to the point of stupidity.”
No one made a sound, the seasoned spies and high-level assassins not breathing a word. John didn’t stop the grin from taking over his face. “About how my employer was doomed the moment Baras got serious. Someone said I was overplaying my hand, I believe?”
“Look, Elkus.” Breema said, the information broker uncharacteristically polite. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it. I had concerns, is all. All of us did.”
The rest of the group didn’t seem to appreciate being dragged into it, though John nodded sympathetically. “Of course. How could you not, when Lord Caro has overshot every growth matrix anyone has made? After he killed sith Lords, an entire fleet defected to his side, personally took control over one of the largest Imperial operations in the last ten years?”
Breema swallowed, ‘Elkus’ smiling politely. Not like John was his only name. “Well, I- I mean we, are certainly impressed with his progress. You spoke about needing my man serving under admiral Cohanis?”
“Indeed I did.” John confirmed, leaning back. The screen was still paused, since he didn’t know the outcome, but after losing their flagship he had a hunch the battle was going just fine. “A data analyst, if I’m not mistaken. He’ll be needed to leave a door open for an associate of mine.”
The cereanian nodded, his usual haughty demeanour returning, and John turned to the other members of their little gathering. He might have somewhat overstated his position with Morgan, if not promised something he couldn't deliver, and it was fortunate the man was such a trusting one.
Getting to pick the time of the mass assassinations was making planning significantly easier.
And now the show with the Dread Master impression. Not them, John had studied their files extensively and it wasn’t their usual play, though people would think it was. Would make them wonder if the Dread Masters had defected to Morgan’s side, which was going to make people very hesitant.
He was proud of the man, he really was. From just another sith apprentice on Balmorra to someone capable of giving the entire Empire pause. Not forever, but the kid had time.
John was going to make sure of that.
“I have a point of concern.” Omelium stated, quieting the other members. The banker didn’t speak much, and when he did others listened. Being richer than everyone else in the room helped. “This sith Lord. Can he be trusted?”
Several people rolled their eyes, but John knew the muun was serious. To a fault, almost, which made him terrible at parties but great as a businessman. “Trust is the wrong word. Fair, I’d say. Treat him with respect, hold to your word, and he’ll keep to his. Don’t, or hurt those he cared about, well. The Empire just discovered what happens when you put him in a corner.”
Omelium nodded solemnly, John could almost see the calculations being performed in those placid eyes, and the man inputted a code on his datapad. John glanced at his own, seeing near a hundred million had been transferred. Liquid, untraceable and in numerous accounts, making it perfect for black-ops.
Who uses their own money for this kind of thing, anyway?
“The Empire took my sister.” Blaze said, breaking the silence that followed. “She was no pirate, no smuggler or intel-hoarder. She was pure. Fell in love, planned to have a child. But she married what our loving father considered a stain on his bloodline, an alien, and called in a favor at work. Through half the galaxy she ran, half the galaxy they hunted her, and my sister died alone and in the cold.”
The pirate drained his drink, putting it down with so much restraint the rage was obvious. “Let them all burn. My ships are ready, my King eager for blood. It will not be hard to convince him to raid, drawing out the vessels named The Seeker. Chief Strategist Ium will lose his son, just like you want.”
John nodded, the pirate captain leaving after throwing a thousand-credit chip on the table. Personal hatred, always a sure bet for alliance forming. Not that John himself was part of the Empire. No. That would be terribly embarrassing.
Simply a freelancer taking a job for an up-and coming sith, nothing more. A long job, granted, but everyone here liked money. Everyone worked with people they didn’t like. If he liked the sith, well. No one here needed to know that.
More deals were made, people assured and one particularly stubborn Republic spy blackmailed, and John walked out of the nightclub whistling a low tune. A stereotype, nightclubs and their shady dealings, but it served its purpose. Besides, the banker owned it.
Not that he trusted the muun, but he trusted the mutually assured destruction pact they had. He didn’t burn the man’s entire financial empire to the ground with an email, John wasn't burdened by having to survive the best bounty-hunters money could buy.
Like trust, but better.
Well, not really, but it was a good line. He nodded to his security detail as they linked back up with him, their presence outweighing the small loss of anonymity, and vanished into the underworld all the same. As much as this asteroid-port had one, anyway.
It had a name, John was pretty sure, but he honestly hadn’t bothered to remember it. Close but-not-too-close to Nar Shaddaa, where money made you a god and blood flowed like water. Truly, his home away from home.
But then the boring part of his job started, away from the backroom deals and veiled threats. The job of double checking every detail, ensuring his cabal of evil where holding up their end of the deal, and tracking the money he had promised everyone was untraceable.
People skimmed, spent it on whores and drugs and more, but it was within margins. It took time, though, and more time still as the inevitable problems started popping up.
Grand Admiral Yundi had a surprisingly competent counter-intelligence unit, meaning the plot on his life had to be scrapped, and then decided to be a dick and warn his friends. John would admit to some scrambling to save the plan, lest the whole of Navy Command would go into full lockdown, and finally managed it by discrediting the man.
Had to rely on Vette’s slicer, which stung a bit, but better than looking incompetent to his good friend Morgan. Honestly, though, who actually killed baby aliens? Hatred he could understand, born from fear or a need to feel superior, but Yundi strangled a child. Some poor zabrak couple, fleeing Republic poverty.
Justice found him in the end, fifteen years late or not, and John nodded with a great amount of satisfaction as an internal investigation case was opened against the man. Not because of outrage, this was still the Empire, but because it had technically been illegal. Good enough for his enemies, and the Grand Admiral had plenty.
Then the Pirate King, a man that only got as far as he did by being more brutal than most sith, went too far. John had to spend a long afternoon winging a new plan to draw out Ium, spending a rather terrifying amount of money because of the rush, and in the end got lucky when he found the idiot was sleeping with two women.
Some poison, a getaway fund for the misses, and done was the deal. Cutting it a bit close for comfort, but done it was.
And, as hard work had the tendency to do, it paid off. A week behind schedule and costing his faction many lives, but he watched with growing pride as Imperial Intelligence buzzed like a beehive. Sith Lords demanding to know why their admirals were dead, Keeper actually got strangled by Darth Marr for letting it happen, and John opened himself a very old bottle of wine.
If Imperial Intelligence were busy saving their own hides, they weren’t busy looking for him.
Called up Morgan, too, because being alone was as secure as it was lonely. Ran into the slight issue of being redirected to Lord Zethix, the devaronian politely informing him Lord Caro wasn’t taking calls, and sniffed when the sith hung up.
Used one of his last backdoor-scripts to connect directly to the man’s datapad, ignoring the fact Miraka was already tracking and destroying it. Honestly, good on Vette for finding a slicer that competent. No matter how annoying.
“John.” Morgan greeted, tone faintly dead-like. “Vette told me the Imperial Navy has been left headless. That was you, I assume?”
John nodded merrily, burying the sliver of fear worming itself into his heart. The man’s gaze had always been heavy, surprisingly so even for a sith, but now it seemed to look past him. Into him. The fact they were black as coal didn’t help. “Yup. As promised. Should take them at least a month before they can send another fleet after you. If they ever, really. I sure wouldn't.”
“Power always comes with a price.” Lord Caro said, eyes unfocussing briefly. “But I won’t deny the victory bolstered our number of ships. We lack trustworthy and competent captains, along with their personnel, but I am sure we will be fine. Did you know your soul is leaking?”
A sip of his drink covered the hesitation, John shrugging afterwards. “Quite the non-sequitur. Care to elaborate?”
“You are leaking.” Morgan repeated, seeming to struggle with the words. “A tiny hole in a balloon. I will bring you someone to fix it. No, no. No one will be good enough. We will meet, I will fix it.”
Bowing his head, and deciding that perhaps not taking calls was the right move, John grinned. “It’ll have to wait a little while, but thank you. Still in hiding and all that.”
“No. It needs to be fixed.” Morgan’s tone hardened, eyes boring into his own. “Someone will be in contact. We will meet soon. You will be mended.”
John nodded, not entirely sure how to deflect that without outright saying no, and he heard Vette’s voice somewhere off-screen. Not loud enough to make out the words, though it made Morgan nod once and disconnect.
Another sip and the glass was empty, John pouring another and setting it aside. Perhaps it would be a good idea to look into exactly what happened to Lord Caro, preferably before the man messed with the essence of his being.
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Oh well. At least bringing chaos to the Empire was fun. Challenging and costly, but it was one more thing off his bucket list.
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Darth Marr grunted as Baras took the floor yet again, the man’s position as Voice starting to grate more and more. Vowrawn had approached him, told him things he already knew, but even if it was a lie Baras held power.
Not a terribly great amount of it, all in all, but power. Which meant Marr would have to play the game to get rid of him, make deals with fellow Dark Council members and sully his reputation of non-interference. That alone would be too great a price to pay, and the man wouldn't make it easy.
But for now Marr let him play at being important. Let it weaken the pretend Voice as everyone pecked and bit until there wasn’t enough meat to support the bones. Then he would be dealt with, cleanly and without wasting resources.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he wished to just be done with it. To marshall his troops and bomb the Dark Council out of existence, not even they able to withstand the combined firepower of a dreadnought.
It was, however, only a fantasy. Not since before the cold war had the Dark Council ever gathered in one place, which meant the survivors would split the Empire apart. Baras droned on about something to do with Voss, trade embargoes and such useless grandstanding, before something happened that hadn’t occurred in eighteen years.
Their session was interrupted.
Aides enter the room from hidden doors, one for each of the Dark Council members, and Marr listened to his own. Listened as the men told him about rogue Dread Masters and lost fleets, the Belsavis operation a mere shadow of the success it should have been.
Baras, never one to let an opportunity go to waste, pointed at Marr. Pushed his own retainer aside with uncaring contempt, something which Marr could only shake his head at. You’d think a spymaster would know more about ensuring the loyalty of those closest.
“I warned you.” The Voice began, tone imperious. “Told you that this would happen. Do you think the Dread Masters would turn on the Emperor? That the liberation of our greatest assets on Belsavis failed because of some fluke? Lord Caro killed our greatest champions, allied with jedi to assassinate the Emperor's very advisors.”
Marr stood, pushing his aura out wide. Baras’s influence was pushed back, overcome, and Marr lowered his tone to something dangerous. “Do not presume to lay the blame on me, Baras. We handed you a fleet capable of conquering entire systems, a fleet with strength not mobilised since the end of the war. And you tell me your former apprentice won? Outnumbered, outclassed, outmanoeuvred. Hunted down and overwhelmed. Yet he won? You say he killed the Dread Masters, made the Belsavis operational command follow his orders? The only failure here is yours.”
“I only wished for one of our great champions to be free.” Baras denied, indicating the greater chamber. Many of the Councillors were less than thrilled, to say the least, but the man was nothing if not a practised orator. “The fact she is my sister is coincidental. You do not care that a known traitor, one you let go without lifting a finger, is allying with jedi? Killing our most esteemed heroes, laying waste to our fleets?”
Vowrawn cleared his throat, looking down at the Voice with thinly veiled content. “Assuming your claims are correct, this would be a matter for the Voice of the Emperor. It was His advisors that were slain, His authority challenged. You sent one fleet and it was routed. You sent sith Lords and they were slain. How will you resolve this matter, Baras? How will your apprentice be held accountable?”
“This is a greater issue.” The Voice denied. “One where a rogue sith Lord seeks to destabilise the very Empire to which we owe allegiance. I move to declare Lord Caro a traitor in full, the duty of every sith in this chamber to hunt him down. I am sure that soon your own informants will tell you what mine told me, that the Dread Masters were killed before my fleet suffered its defeat. That an arrogant, blind child is laying claim to powers he has no hope to control.”
Marr let go of his power, hating how the man had a point. “Lachris will be sent. Her apprentices will go with her, as will her soldiers. But if Lord Caro truly has risen to the heights of the Dread Masters, I will not waste more ships. I will not send more Imperial soldiers to die a fruitless death. Congratulations, Baras. You’ve made this my problem. My apprentice will clean up the mess you were unable to.”
Some scant few chuckled, Vowrawn the loudest, but the rest was silent. The Dread Masters had a reputation, after all, only growing since their capture. Old, certainly so for sith, and with powers that gave even them pause. Alone they were manageable, if one possessed a mental shield skilled enough.
The whole group? No single one of them could stand against it, and none had managed to forge an alliance big enough. Not that it was needed. Or even possible. If the Dread Masters were your enemy, so was the Emperor. That wasn’t a position anyone survived for long.
Or it used to be. Marr strode away as the session ended early, frowning deeply behind his mask. It still took nearly an hour before his own people got a clear picture on what had happened on Belsavis, which rankled, but his strength was not in intelligence. He relied on Imperial Intelligence for that.
An order that was severely disappointing him as of late.
One of his aides scheduled a meeting with Keeper as he locked himself in his private chambers, relaxing absolute discipline. Imperial Intelligence would need to be audited, preferably before another major failure like this one, and his own network would have to be grown. Relying on Imperial tools instead of his own was growing increasingly untenable.
Marr chuckled, a rare showing of positive emotion. Here he was, doing what he condemned his fellow Councillors for. Not that he had a choice. Letting a man such as Baras control when and how he learned information was beyond question, while it was also growing clear that he had less sense as a military commander than expected.
A concern when the man led their Sphere of Military Offence. But more than Baras’s own failure, it seemed Baras was determined to have his apprentice follow in his footsteps. There was some debate between his advisors whether Lord Caro was actually rogue at all, following Baras’s orders even now, but that didn’t feel right.
Perhaps if the Enosis hadn’t defected he would have bought it. Lord Zethix was a rare gift among sith, if of a different variety than Lord Caro himself, and it would seem many details were omitted from their time on Korriban.
That’s what trust got him, Marr supposed. The Enosis had been doing so well, finally proving his theory on military discipline benefiting sith. Had planned for the devaronian to rise as his direct apprentice, authority growing as more resources were funneled into the man’s powerbase.
Now it was gone. Gone because some fool sought to save their own hide, altering information to lessen culpability. To be expected, in hindsight, but Zethix had never given any indication of disloyalty. No hesitation when it came to his duty.
Marr straightened in his chair, fetching his datapad with a flex of will. Enough was enough, and the Enosis had proven utterly unsuitable for his plans. Some scraps could be rescued, perhaps, but he would start over. Find another candidate on Korriban, have Lachris clean up the old, and start on the new.
His will would be done, and the corpses of three sith Lords was a price he was more than willing to pay.
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Vylon looked over the shipyard from his office, watching the scattered pieces of the Javlin being brought inside. Only what the Enosis hadn’t taken for themselves, at that, but they didn’t seem to have the capability to haul everything.
Such a waste. The lives alone made it an inexcusable loss, to say nothing of their defenses thinning to compensate for the lost ships. All because some Dark Council member wanted to kill his apprentice, who was, according to the same man, a blight on the galaxy.
Rumours had been leaked of Lord Caro’s treason. Of how he turned on Darth Ekkage, helped jedi slaughter the Dread Masters. Vylon shook his head, resisting the urge to fetch his medically-prescribed calming chems.
Such deplorable crimes. Darth Ekkage, the beloved leader that branded her troops and slaughtered officers for failing her. A competent tactician, he would admit, and one that had a proven record of success. Of course, few people talked about the casualties her legions suffer. How some simple, basic level strategy adjustments could have saved hundreds of thousands of Imperial lives.
And the Dread Masters. Scarcely a day goes by where he didn’t wish for their return, doing nothing but lock themselves away and drive anyone that tries to talk to them mad. And the few times they did, actually, assist the Empire? Not too concerned with friendly fire, those mighty advisors.
So now a fleet was destroyed for gains which they had already lost, a sith Lord pissed off for doing nothing but wishing to be left alone. He’d read the files. Saw how little Lord Caro actually did to escalate the situation. Nothing but survive, that is. Vylon chuckled grimly, wondering when that would be outlawed.
The desire for self-preservation.
He was getting bitter, he knew that. Saw the signs. So had his superiors, few though he had. A moff was granted many privileges, be they military or administrative, and he had gained his rank at a young age. Mid thirties and already he could name those above him on one hand, though his rising star seemed to have come to an abrupt halt.
Sent here, overseeing a shipyard of no great importance. His staff gutted, duties stripped. Privileges intact, for now, but with little actual power.
Or so his superiors assumed. Because Vylon was a second-generation moff. Because his father had shown him how the game was played, how real power couldn't be taken away. So he had poured his resources into this new kingdom, ensured those loyal to him slowly took over the duties and offices needed to keep it running.
Build a fleet, which technically owed its allegiance to Lord Hyn, but who’s captains answered to him. The Lord was an absentee leader, regardless, which was exactly why Vylon had positioned himself to answer to the man.
Seventeen ships as of last month. Not so many, in the grand scheme of things, but his. Now he had to decide what to do with it, because as it was his patience wasn’t outlasting the idiocy of sith. Of warlords and petty tyrants refusing to see the bigger picture, even if it cost them their lives.
Vylon turned away from the window, abruptly tired of the sight. He would ensure the Javlin was written off as scrap, rebuild it, but he didn’t have the focus for it right there and now.
Turned to his desk, taking out a datapad he wasn’t supposed to own. One brought to him by a clueless delivery man, the trail vanishing when even the boss's boss didn’t know who’d placed the order.
How it had brought him in contact with what everyone else would probably consider an attempted shadow-government, moffs and admirals and generals all coming together to complain. Which was all that had happened so far.
So he wrote, compiling thoughts and complaints into an idea. Some semblance of a plan, which was more than anyone else was delivering. Vylon deleted it an hour later, sighing, but it seemed seared into his mind.
Refused to leave even as night turned to day, work taking his mind off it only scarcely. Perhaps talking about it with his most trusted had been foolish, had allowed it to solidify itself in his mind, but he was stuck. Stuck between grand ideas and their consequences, which would mostly come in the form of a sith darkening his doorstep.
An interesting problem, really. Sith could be defeated by ships, since they had to use them to travel from place to place like everyone else. Yet knowing which ship they were on, especially in a busy station like his, was essentially impossible.
Nor would opening fire actually result in the sith staying away. They would just send another, and another, until one of them got through. Then no amount of security was going to slow it down except for another sith. Which, Vylon had made sure, weren’t here. Useless to request them, since none would be willing to risk their lives for his.
So he talked with one of his new allies, a word he used very loosely, and only realised partway his decision was already made. That he was countering weaknesses and preparing for consequences, not deciding whether he should do it at all.
The general he was talking to boasted the services of a battalion of sith, a big word for what was essentially a gaggle of very dangerous yet loosely aligned predators, but would need something in return. A favor from someone else, and Vylon very quickly came to understand their group held two kinds of people.
The tired and the greedy.
He fell under the tired, those sick of watching soldiers die due to incompetence and infighting. A noble cause, though he was biased in that regard. The other group was only looking for career advancement. Not terrible on its own, and it made them fairly predictable, but less reliable than those properly invested.
Then one night, after a very long day and yet another report that demanded moff's volunteer resources for the Caro Problem, he showed his long-term plan to his ‘close ally’ Oliea. Who liked it so much the woman convinced him to show it to a few more, and by sunrise he was defending his argument against the wider group.
Vylon felt an old, sick dread in his stomach as he realised the very debate was treason, unable to stop even if he wanted to. For he finally slept without issue, and found fire returning to his veins.
The Empire was changing, sometimes subtly and other times before his very eyes, and he wasn’t going to be buried by it. His father’s creed thundered in his ears; Duty before all, no matter the stakes.
And his duty was clearer than it had been in years.