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inyri · 2 months

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Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 41: Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Trigger warning: graphic violence, depictions of torture, body horror.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

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Author’s Note: Please note the trigger warnings. I had to step away from this for a little while (all right, more than a little while). Chapters are consecutive, of course, and as I posted the last one and moved to wrapping up this one I found life imitating art in a very, very uncomfortable way. I don’t talk a lot about my work for many reasons. Normally it’s not very exciting. And then there are the days that stay, the reminders that sometimes the world is deeply, viciously cruel in ways that are hard to process. As part of my work I met two men who were subjected to that cruelty, heard their stories, and helped care for them on their paths back home.

The first iterations of this series of scenes were very different from where we ended up. Nine and her team were far nastier at first, which wasn’t really true to her, and then I tried to make it funny which- well, obviously we can see the problem with that approach. So this is where we ended. It’s still an ugly chapter, but here we are.

This chapter is dedicated to AD, AH, and all victims of torture.

Good Soldiers Follow Orders

Theron follows her close as a shadow as they make their way from her ship across the base, dodging carefully around the first watch guards on their patrol routes. A month ago it would have been simple but a month ago they’d been sloppy; since then she’d ordered new watchposts set, new floodlights installed, locked down the turbolift platform to the valley below. There were so many other places to land a ship on Odessen, canyons and clearings and deep, dark forest far beyond the view of the towers, and it would have been far too easy for an infiltrator to sneak in.

Or one might simply use your landing bay. Valkorion’s armor gleams as an arc of light cuts across the path. In through the front door. All comers welcomed. Perhaps Arcann should-

The illusion shatters when she steps through it, the sentence left ominously unfinished.

Second patrol. Third patrol. Through the external door on the heels of a pair of Sana-Rae’s adepts, weaving through the hall and crammed into the back corners of the lift with an absolutely massive Zabrak with a distinct half-ring of glitterstim around one nostril (she makes a mental note- the cantina’s more than necessary but if they’ve got a spice problem that’s another vulnerability they can’t afford), down the hallways into Science Wing and nearly to the lab- outside door’s open, good, but how’s she going to-

Shit.

She’s six steps ahead of herself in contingency plans as usual, mind racing, but that doesn’t matter worth a damn when she fucks up Step One. Stopping so abruptly he almost runs right into her, she grabs Theron by the wrist and pulls him into the darkest corner of an empty meeting room. His head tilts in silent confusion as she reaches toward the stealth generator clipped to his belt. I thought- he starts to sign, one hand raised.

Switching, she replies, left-handed; pulling it free, she replaces it with hers. Backup has a shorter clock when the main’s off. If it overloads-

Theron nods. Bad. Right. Where should I stand?

Back- her fingers stutter as she considers (Void, she really isn’t thinking, is she? She needs to be. One mistake and the whole thing comes apart)- back left corner. You’ll have a five-count to get through the door before it closes, then don’t move and-

Don’t say anything. I know. He repeats the sign, an added emphasis. I promised.

She rubs her forehead, trying and failing to settle the ache building between her eyes. I know. Come on.

***

The inner laboratory door slides closed with a soft hiss, just muffling Theron’s last few footsteps as he settles carefully into the corner, and she lets her stealth field drop.

“I got your message.” Nine forces the words out, forces strength into her voice as she sets the lock. She cannot falter, not now. “SCORPIO, give me the holo. Let’s get it opened up.”

“Commander.” Doctor Lokin looks up from across the room, setting a handful of instruments and an empty syringe- not all clean, she notes- neatly into place on a polished metal tray. Beside him, her would-be killer slumps forward against the treatment chair’s restraints, an intravenous catheter in his right arm and his lower body wrapped in a surgical dropcloth, head covered by black fabric and bound around the middle with thick strips of spacer’s tape. “We were just beginning.”

[ sleepy already, cipher? but we’re only just beginning.

when hunter’s slap hits she startles bolt upright in the chair and then wishes she hadn’t, her ribs shifting beneath the straps like so many shattered potsherds as she grinds her teeth to keep from screaming. she’s screamed so much already and she won’t give him the satisfaction of another, won’t-

hunter gestures- toward the woman, she thinks, it’s getting hard to see now with her face so bruised. let’s wake her up, hm? ah, no- something cold and metallic tightening on her right index finger- the other hand, to start. now the left side, still the index finger, tighter and tighter and oh void it hurts it hurts it hurts she’s got to say something or it-

i’m telling you, she gasps, when those reinforcements get here from- and there’s a sharp snap and she can’t help it and she screams-

keep singing, little bird. I do so hate to have to break your pretty wings.]

Her hand throbs.

“I didn’t tell you to start without me.” Her stomach churns even as she curls her fingers into an easy fist, testing their movement; she couldn’t do that for a month after Corellia so it’s only the memory of pain, isn’t it? “And how long has that tape been on? We need his eyes open, not swollen shut. It’s too fucking tight.”

“If you’re referring to this-” Lokin lifts a pair of bloody-gripped forceps with one finger and a long-suffering look- “your knife tipped his saphenous, and I assumed you would prefer he not hemorrhage before you had the chance to work. I’ve only just run the amytal in, nothing more. But,” he squints at the rings of tape, flips a vibroscalpel from the tray into his palm and before she can even begin to move he slices through the binding neatly, once and then again, “you aren’t wrong. SCORPIO restrained him while I was busy with his leg, but I ought to have-”

SCORPIO turns from the console, shoulders lifting in what might have been a shrug. “My primary directive on Odessen remains operational security, Commander. He cannot share what he cannot see.”

“Yes, but-”

One of the wall-mounted monitors beeps, shrill and insistent, until Lokin prods it with a gloved finger and it lapses into red-flashing silence. “He’s starting to wake. Shall we?”

Void, she hates interrogations. (She used to be good at them once, when she was younger and followed orders better. She used to be good at them because of course, why waste precious time on subtleties when you can simply pry and bend and break and it all comes out in the end either way- maybe in pieces, yes, but that was just another puzzle to solve if one was clever enough, even if it was messier-

Orders were orders.

She used to be good at them once. Before Corellia.)

“Is Lana coming? She’s covering for me with Sana-Rae, I think, but-”

She turns too quickly as the door opens behind her and as she spins the room tips sideways and then it starts to spin, too; pausing midstep, she grabs at the nearer benchtop to steady herself, her left hand raised as a counterbalance. Lana clears the doorway in two steps, the worry lines across her forehead deepening.

“I’ve got you,” Lana murmurs. “We’ve just finished, and I had a feeling you might-” she only wrinkles her nose a little as she glances toward the instrument table- “want my help with this.”

When she nods the world shifts unpleasantly anticlockwise. “Yes. Dialing out blind on his holo’s a losing proposition. With any luck he’ll talk, but I’m not counting on it and we haven’t got the time to wear him down.” Pressing her lips together against a wave of nausea, she inhales. Exhales. Inhales. The spinning slows.

“Physical methods, then?”

She shakes her head- oh, Force, there it goes again- inhale. Exhale. “Just tell me what you see. I’ve been bled on enough today, and if we push too hard-”

“Does it matter? You can’t possibly intend to let him-” at her gesture Lana lowers her voice, just above a whisper- “walk away from this. An attack, here, on you- there have to be consequences.”

“Do I look like a Jedi to you? You know me better than that.” When she says it Lana snorts and rolls her eyes and to be fair she has a point- of course she has a point- but a misstep now could be the last strand of a rope to hang herself by, the final block knocked loose that brings the whole tower crashing down, and she can afford that far less than to give away a shred of undeserved mercy. “You’re a step ahead of me, that’s all. I need the who before I decide the what.”

Lana sighs. “I know. I only- I defer to you, Commander. It’s your decision.”

“Maybe, or maybe it’s Trant’s. But we won’t know until we know, and-” another warning chime from the monitors; another warning look from Lokin. “We’re running out of time. And when we’ve finished I’ve still got to talk to Koth and Senya, and-”

“Already postponed, and that can wait in any case. There’s nothing to discuss that won’t keep for a day. We’ll call them once we’re in transit,” Lana eyes her up and down, “after another round of kolto.”

“I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Lana’s hand comes to rest beneath her lifted arm; with the world still half-spinning she’d have missed the subtle pulse of energy if Lana hadn’t flinched when their fingertips meet. “Force help me, you’re not - I’ll take it over, Nine. I’ll… I can do it. You should rest.”

“No.” When she shakes her head the room stays level now, at least. It’s something. “No. This is my mess to sort out. Just lock the door.”

***

Five minutes later all she’s got out of him is a slurred sequence of names, ranks, and serial numbers (lying, Lana says each time from her perch behind the chair, though she knew that long before she said it) and the unwavering gut-punch certainty that the man is an SIS agent. With so little actual information to go on and their databases two years out of date- when Theron left he’d downloaded what he could but slicing back into the mainframe to sync them’s a risk none of them are willing to take right now- trying to find a name for her attacker’s useless, with dozens of dossiers a partial match to the same physical parameters: average height, average build, Underlevels accent, Republic emblems tattooed on biceps and back and another handful laser-faded to barely visible outlines. With half the Republic’s infantry dredged up from the Coruscant undercity’s gangs and prisons and half the SIS (and nearly all of SpecOps) poached from the army, she could have shot into the Dealer’s Den or the Red Rancor on a Primesday night and hit five clones of him in a straight line between the door and the bar.

She studies his face from every angle, waiting for a memory to trigger, and- no, still nothing, barely a nod in the corridor or a passing glance in the mess line. Three weeks on Odessen and the man’s practically a ghost, a traceless alias for a name and a ride hitched on a transport from Port Nowhere. Granted, both she and Theron had been off-planet most of that time, but stars, if this one got in so easily how many more could?

That’s a problem for another day. It has to be.

But for now SCORPIO runs the serials, just for the sake of thoroughness, and- ah. Those faces she knows: Corellia, six years ago; a Coruscanti gala, bloodstains on a black dress; Dromund Kaas, only a month or two before Zakuul.

She just hadn’t known their real names, then. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had.

Orders were orders.

“So you’re ten dead men in a trenchcoat, then? And you’re wrong about that last one, by the way. That was probably Cipher Four. I’ve never been to Ord Mantell.” She pushes his commpad away with a scowl. The damned thing’s wiped clean- all the more likely he’d spoken to Trant within the last half-day, then; that was a lesson from Alderaan that only the Director ought to have learned. With enough time they could have recovered it, but they don’t have time. So she turns back to him instead, her thumb and index finger poised on closed eyelids gone puffy from the pressure of the binding. “Last chance to make this easier on yourself. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

“More’n ten. Way more.” His words are less slurred now, the serum finally taking effect, and Lana sits up straighter. “‘nd hells take your easier. You’re gonna kill me anyway, so-”

Void, why are they always so insistent on dying?

She doubts he can see her, so she just adds a twinge of melodrama to her sigh. “Not necessarily, agent. You tried to murder me. Naturally, I objected-” a little more pressure on his eye, just enough that he starts to shift against the restraining strap- “but if I really wanted you dead I’d have let you use your kill pill instead of wasting perfectly good antitoxin on you. I can be civil if you can.”

Lana closes her eyes, focused and still.

“To be clear, you’re alive as a means to an end and it’s in your best interest to cooperate. But you and I know how it goes, don’t we?” When she lifts her open hand SCORPIO presses the holotransmitter into her palm. “Good soldiers follow orders. It’s not personal. You were only doing as you’re told.” She leans in closer, knee jostling against his mended leg just a little harder than necessary as the paper drape crinkles, voice lowered in a simulacrum of confidence. “Stars, I remember those days. He sits in his big office and sics you on a target, unclips your leash and you just- well. Ours not to reason why, hm?”

The cuff around his right wrist clinks against the arm of the chair as he makes an obscene gesture.

Wrong tactic. Well, then.

Her sigh’s loud enough to make him flinch. “And it was all wrong, wasn’t it? All that planning, all that time pacing, writing a five-line message that he never even saw, all for nothing?” His breath stills, his heart rate spikes, and Lokin hooks another syringe to the IV port and slowly pushes the plunger down. “DId you think I wouldn’t see? I’d almost feel sorry for you if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic.”

His head lolls forward against the restraint, a counterpressure against her hand.

“Oh, no, no.” Shifting, she pushes him back upright with two fingertips in the center of his forehead. “Not yet. Not until-”

“I almost got you.” His mouth contorts- it might have passed for a grin in a darker room, teeth bared, feral- and something in his voice makes her hair stand on end. She recoils, pulling her hand away from his face even as he pauses. “So fucking close. Just a few more seconds and I’d’ve bled you dry, Cipher, and then I’d-”

(The words barely register; he’s not the first and certainly not the most creative person to threaten her with postmortem indecencies but somehow they always think it’s going to shock her into silence, as though it’s the single most awful thing that could ever happen when she’s lived through far worse horrors and more to the point she wouldn’t even know, she’d be dead).

“-see enough and you know Shan’d come running- Force, that would’ve been even better, the look on his traitor face even if it was the wrong way round-”

wait.

WAIT.

no, Trant wouldn’t have-

When she blinks she sees it all in the span of a millisecond: half a hundred ways it could have gone, half a hundred indignities inflicted, half a hundred times it breaks Theron for just long enough for the blow to fall. Lana must see something else; she makes the smallest little sound, a muffled gasp of disgust covered over by knuckles cracking in clenched-fisted fury and then a snarled Sith curse she doesn’t understand (but Valkorion clearly does- she isn’t wrong, he murmurs) and it brings her back to herself.

Her comm buzzes; her eyes flick down toward the screen.

Kicking him for breaking comm silence would be counterproductive, she supposes, but what does Belsavis have to do with anything? If Theron knows his name he ought to have just said so, not making her work harder than she already is.

< don’t know him but think I know the unit> <told Marcus it was a bad idea> <don’t think he listened>

That would explain the burned-off tattoos. Stars, has the SIS truly become that desperate? Or was this another Garza project- some experiment likely as not to fail just as Eclipse Squad had, so why waste frontline troops when the Republic had a whole planet full of froth-mouthed maniacs more than happy to keep killing as the cost of their freedom and if things did go bad, well, they were going to die one way or another so what did it matter?

Then SCORPIO blinks once, head turning toward her comm and then, slower, toward the corner and oh, damn it all-

“Didn’t think the SIS went in for necrophilia,” she says conversationally, covering her mouth over a particularly exaggerated yawn as Lokin barely stifles a snort. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Jedi. I am curious, though- did you pick that up on Belsavis, or was that why they locked you up in the first place?”

His teeth clench.

“Piracy? Hm, no. Some flavor of war crime, I’m sure- oh, I know. Fragged your CO, I’d bet. You’ve got that sort of look.”

“Onomatophobia. Go fuck yourself.”

(She’d come at it all wrong, hadn’t she?

She’d thought this wasn’t personal because for her it wasn’t. Okay, fine, with Trant maybe it is, now, but this is no old enemy. She only hurt him to start with because he cut her first and deeper and even Theron doesn’t know his name- and stars know his memory’s brilliant, to judge by his stories he remembers everyone he ever worked with and it was far harder for him when they weren’t all just Minder Ten and Fixer Twelve and Watcher Three. The garotte alone might have been sheer bloody-mindedness in a way she wouldn’t have expected from the SIS, but even the Republic for all its supercilious moralizing had its fair share of sadists; Hunter hadn’t truly been one of them but they’d certainly all thought so at the time and still they’d all turned their heads, every single time, even when she’d screamed until her voice gave out.

Of course her control word was in her Republic file. He wasn’t the only one to try to use it, the first ones in earnest and then, when she’d shredded enough of them into bloody little pieces that they realized it didn’t didn’t hold her any more, as a vicious sort of mockery. That worked a bit, she supposes; maybe it always will. Not well enough to save them, of course.

She’d thought it wasn’t personal, that orders were orders and he’d come after Theron because he had to. But stars, she’d been out of the game for five fucking years and he’s practically got her dossier memorized, errors and all, and he’d called Theron a traitor and the first time she really pushes his buttons he-

Oh, this was very personal.)

“No,” she says, and breathes, trying to untie the panic-knot tightening in her chest, “I don’t think I will.” Snatching up a scalpel from the instrument tray as her voice wavers, she presses its tip, just so, beneath his chin. “You thought you were close? Close only counts in horseshoes and heavy ordnance, puppy, and that and a slip of my hand’ll buy you an unmarked grave. And-” he’s trying not to move, trying not to flinch. A single bead of blood wells up beneath the blade and stars, it’d be so easy, just one little movement and stay calm stay calm stay calm- “you still haven’t answered my question. When did you last hear from Marcus Trant?”

Lana exhales as her gaze comes back into focus, lip curling. Whatever she saw, she didn’t like it. “Today. It was today. But beyond that-”

“It’s good enough.” It was never going to be that easy. “SCORPIO, you don’t still have Belsavis census access, do you?”

A yellow flash, and then- “I am no longer tethered to Ward 23, and what I retained is long out of date. Proximity would be required.”

“Never mind. We’ll move on to the holo, then. Doctor?”

“Ready.” Lokin nods approvingly as she sets the scalpel down. “Retractor?”

“Retractor, please. Left eye.”

One click. Two clicks. Three.

The ‘pub squirms, fighting the restraining strap in earnest as he tries to blink against the cold metal instrument. “What are you-” his pupil constricts until she shifts the operating light away- “you gonna take my eyes now, Cipher? Keep ‘em in a jar somewhere, or-”

The holo’s scanner locks on as she holds it level with his forced-open eye. “No, thank you. I never was much for souvenirs.”

It chimes cheerfully as it comes to life in her hand; she flips idly through the settings. The user ID’s a string of alphanumeric gibberish, the message system’s not set up and the whole thing’s still on factory default but she’d expected all of that. It’s almost certainly a burner. The call log’s intact, though, with four time-stamped entries. One: incoming but barely five seconds long, likely a functionality test. Not useful. Two: outgoing, eighteen days old. Confirmation of arrival? That’s a Coruscanti subnet, but that could be a handler. Three: outgoing, one day old, to the same address as the second- they’d landed back from Nar Shaddaa by then.

Four: incoming. Coruscant again, but a different address. One minute and six seconds duration.

Two and a half hours ago.

He said he’d call it off, Void damn him. If Trant kept his word and she’s wrong, if she burns the last thin strands of the bridge between Theron and everything he ever believed in to ashes and she’s wrong-

(He did say he would call them. Reflected in the freezer’s glass door, Valkorion tilts his head contemplatively. And tell them what?

He said-

he said-

[-but those last few breaths last longer if you don’t struggle, don’t they? You’ll figure that out soon enough.]

For the first time she can remember there is something like approval in his smile. So you did hear it, he says. But oh, little Cipher, you didn’t listen.)

She gestures to Lana and Lokin, pointing with two fingers at each one in turn and then the door with a snap of her wrist that sets it throbbing. “All of you but SCORPIO, clear the room. Now.”

Lana blinks but it’s Lokin who speaks first. “Commander, if I may? If you plan to proceed further, the subject may require additional stabilizing mea-”

“Wait outside until I call for you. That’s an order.”

He’s halfway to the door before Lana starts to move from the benchtop and even then she pauses beside her as she passes, one hand on her shoulder and her mouth lowered level with her ear. “You’re not getting Valkorion involved? I know you’d rather not dial out blind, but I thought I felt-”

“I’m not,” she murmurs in reply. “On either count. But if this goes bad I don’t want you in the room when it does.”

“All right.” The sheer force of disapproval contained in Lana’s sigh might have leveled buildings; it isn’t all right and they both know it but it’s far too late to argue over it now. “Should I go and find Theron, then? I can think of some excuse to keep him with me until you’ve finished.”

They both startle at the sound of SCORPIO’s voice. “Unnecessary. He is-” her heart stops as the droid’s eyes flicker- “secure.”

“We can’t be certain of that. He still doesn’t know, does he? If there’s a second-”

“I see many things that you do not, Lord Beniko.” Five metallic fingers uncurl ceilingward (not toward the corner; her heart stutters, then resumes). “I am perfectly certain.”

Lips pressed together, nostrils flared, Lana grits her teeth against a retort before she simply continues toward the exit. “Then I will wait,” she says, a sparking halo of electricity coiling around her words as the door slides shut behind her, “until I am needed.”

And then the room is quiet save the beeping monitors, the ‘pub’s ragged breathing and the sharp rattle of his restraints, and Nine glances sidelong at SCORPIO as she settles herself carefully in the blind spot on his right. “Be nice.”

“Error. Program file: nice not found.”

She must have iterated again; the sarcasm’s new. Rolling her eyes, she glances down at her comm again.

< Also, you are welcome.>

She flicks an ironic salute toward the droid and that too makes her wrist ache. More time in the tank, then, on the way to Voss. More time lost that she can’t afford and a favor owed that she probably can’t afford either- stars know SCORPIO’s kept secrets for her well enough through the years but she’s no particular fondness for Theron; the last time he’d cracked a joke about needing a processor update she’d signal-locked his implant to play That Slippery Little Hutt Of Mine on repeat for forty-three minutes straight until half his face was twitching and he’d finally apologized- but hopefully that can be negotiated. Ongoing access to the network, maybe. Lana will fuss and she’ll be right, but if that message had gone through unintercepted they all know what it might have meant. It’s a small enough price.

“If you’re done arguing-” the ‘pub’s slurring again. He’s burning through the serum faster than she’s ever seen- “either get this thing off me or-”

If he keeps that up she may as well not bother with the call. She ought to have known better than to think that he’d say much of anything useful but his ranting’s absolutely tedious; they’re going to need to gag him after all, aren’t they? It wasn’t supposed to be that sort of interrogation, but she also hadn’t particularly expected him to- oh, if he calls her that one more time she might just stab him after all. (Like he’s got any room to criticize- all her old sins could overfill an archive but at least she’s not a stars-damned corpsefucker.) “Shh.” When she tilts her head toward it SCORPIO picks up the spacer’s tape and tears a strip from the roll, pressing it firmly over his mouth until th+e noise quiets into muffled incomprehensibility. “That’s quite enough out of you, I think.“

Hm. That brings to mind a better idea, actually.

“Do we have enough input for a voiceprint? Something like this?” Tapping a brief message into her commpad, she sends it through to SCORPIO. Only a few lines, but if it truly is Trant on the other end of the connection it should be enough to be certain.

It has to be enough.

She doesn’t look toward the corner. She mustn’t look toward the corner.

“Way more than enough.” It’s near enough a perfect mimic. SCORPIO folds her arms smugly and the ‘pub goes grey. “Prepared for playback.”

“On my signal, then, but give me a twenty second delay on video.” Her fingers twitch despite themselves, tingling at the tips; she forces her breathing into rhythm. (Lana was right. She isn’t fine.

Lana was always right. But she doesn’t have a choice.)

Inhale. “And prep the package files for transmission on verbal command. No passcode.” Exhale.

A pause, a flash of scarlet. Inhale. “Yes, Commander.”

Exhale.

Inhale. She smooths her hair back, adjusts her collar carefully under her chin, slaps both cheeks briskly with closed fingers to bring a little color into them and even that little jolt rattles her brain inside her skull. She considers, briefly, the backs of her eyelids. That seems to help. Exhale.

The far corner remains quiet.

She lifts the holo in line with the ‘pub’s eye once more as his pupil shimmers finely from side to side; they’d definitely pushed the dose too high but even so it’s far faster than it ought to be, chasing some other vice out of his system, and the camera struggles, beeping and chirping error after error until finally it locks on.

Inhale. Exhale.

She meets SCORPIO’s gaze, scrolls back to the end of the call log, and presses redial.

Inhale.

“Connecting.” The tinny synthetic voice of the SIS operator sets her nerves on edge. “Connecting.” Come on, pick up-

The channel opens with a click and she nods, lets her breath out into the following silence before the voiceprint begins.

“It’s done. Shan and the Cipher. Wrong way ‘round, but-”

“Well-” the video delay goes both ways but she doesn’t need it, she’s heard Marcus Trant’s voice in so many briefings it’s burned into her brain; the last brittle shard of hope she’d clung to shatters and leaves her with nothing left but rage. How dare he- “it’s about fucking time.”

Oh, she is going to end him.

***

Nine’s body language shifts then, her spine rigid where she’d been starting to hunch forward in fatigue, her hands fisted, fingernails digging hard into her palms. Her stance settles, just a little wider, forward on her toes; her chin lifts. He can’t see her face, still angled toward the prisoner.

“Send the photo confirmation, then execute extraction- and get your video on. Where are you?” Force, he’s going to throw up. Even when Jonas told him, even after hearing Marcus with his own ears he hadn’t wanted to believe it. He’d called it off. It had to be a mistake- or maybe Nine’s paranoia got the better of her (and he knows why and he doesn’t fault her, she can’t help Valkorion in her head and the poison he’s feeding her day after day after day) and this was just another shadow to peer into. Dragged into the light, it would have been nothing at all. A mistake. A mistake.

She nods to the droid once again. “ Just a few more seconds. Bad connection but I’ve almost got it.”

He shudders. The copywork’s uncanny and he knows for sure that’s not all readback. If SCORPIO gets it in her head to playact as one of them, starts giving orders in Lana’s voice or Koth’s or his own? He’s no reason to think she would, but whatever loyalty she seems to owe starts and ends with Nine. They’ve got to talk about it, at least.

Nine angles away from their prisoner, raises the comm chest-high as the little hologram springs up in the hollow of her hand. He can see her better now, her face blank and beautiful and perfectly, utterly cold, and then she smiles and-

(He has spent far more time than he’d ever admit to, from Rishi to Ziost to Zakuul to tonight, every hit and hurt and shattered bone and her bloody armor left in a pile again and again on the medbay floor, being scared for Nine.

This might be the first time he’s honestly been scared of her.)

“Hello, Director,” she says. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s only a little flinch, but it’s there. “Cipher. Still alive, I see.”

“Commander. You lied to me, Marcus. You know what happens now.”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.”

Every syllable of her laughter’s a rifle shot, clear and piercing. “Yes, yes. You said you’d call, and you did.” By his posture he’s caught and he knows it, back straight, shoulders set. “But you know perfectly well that wasn’t our agreement. To go by the way Theron spoke of you I’d have thought you an honorable man, but-”

Marcus lifts one hand, a futile placation as Nine’s mocking smile fades back into hard-eyed silence. “I really am sorry about Theron, for what little it’s worth. He-”

“You’re sorry?” That wasn’t a laugh, not quite, halfway caught in her broken throat. “You’re certainly about to be, but Theron’s fine. This puppy was just as stupid as the last one- worse, actually, since he got himself caught in the bargain.” She turns her body, lets the camera capture the prisoner behind her straining against the chair straps in wide-eyed muffled fury. “He never got anywhere close to Theron.”

“He knows, then?” (He still can’t see Marcus’ face. He isn’t sure whether he wants to.)

She shrugs, noncommittal. “One thing at a time.” Her free hand gestures vaguely toward the instrument tray. “I’ve been a bit busy, I’m afraid, and now I’ve got all these dossiers to send off-”

“I’d suggest some time in kolto first. You don’t look at all well, Cipher.”

“Commander.” When she blinks her eyes stay closed half a second too long and she sways back and forth and stars, she needs to sit down before she falls over but she’s too stubborn to let anyone see her hurting. He knows her tells now, though- her jaw clenches, her left hand curls and uncurls. “Five years in carbonite couldn’t kill me. You honestly thought a garotte would be enough?”

“No,” Marcus says softly. “Not really. But we make do with what we have, don’t we?”

“I suppose we do. SCORPIO, transmit file Eclipse . Full recipient list.”

One red flash, two green. “Transmission complete.”

(She really did it. Oh, fuck, she really, actually did it.

He should never have gone home. He should never have gone-

It isn’t home. Not any more.)

Marcus sighs. “Where?”

“Everywhere.” Nine looks up abruptly as one of the monitors sounds yet again; she reaches up and simply shuts it off completely and at this angle he can finally see properly, both of their faces in profile. “Every reputable news service in the Core Worlds and about half of the disreputable ones, so you may want to warn your receptionist. I suspect your switchboard’s about to melt.”

“She’ll handle it, and Eclipse Squad was Elin’s mess. I’m afraid I can’t comment. Now, if we’re finished-”

“We are not. Transmit file Legate. Full list. Call it off. Now.”

One red flash, two green, and Marcus winces, his composure finally breaking. “Are you out of your fucking mind? No one came out of that clean, you least of all.”

“I might be.” A knock at the door- no, it’s there, not here, and a comm chiming. “But Legate died in a warehouse collapse on Quesh, poor thing, though with all those warheads going up at once confirming it was quite impossible. Pity.”

A single vein pulses across his forehead.

“Call it off.”

Another knock. “Do you think Theron will believe that?”

“He doesn’t need to. He knows about the Castellan restraints- he’s known for years.” She glances, for the smallest fraction of a second, toward his corner. “I think he’ll understand if I blur the truth a little.”

(He nods before he remembers she can’t see him. Of course he understands. He wishes she hadn’t done it, wishes she hadn’t needed to do any of this, but of course he understands.)

The room goes quiet, the stillness broken only by restraint buckles clinking against the chair frame.

“Do you think he’ll believe this?”

The angle of her head’s a wordless question.

“What wouldn’t you do to bring down an enemy? The head of the SIS, no less.” The framing of the projection changes, the bottom edge of a screen coming into view as he stands up slowly from his desk. Marcus’d always lived at the office, one of so many bad habits he’d passed down to him over all the years they’d worked together (the work always comes first, he’d said. It always will. It will take everything you can give to it and then it will take more and you’ll swear and shout and threaten to quit. And then you won’t, because this is what we were made for. And that is how we win). “It’s everything you ever worked toward. So: a foiled assassination attempt in your own base- how terrible.” He clicks his tongue, a mocking little tsk. “You’d have to retaliate, and who would fault you?”

Nine’s eyes narrow.

“But if it came out that you set it all up- a few intercepted messages, perhaps, shared by an old friend-”

Her lips draw back from her bared teeth. “Stay away from him.”

“I’m finished,” Marcus says. “I know that. But that doesn’t mean you get to win. Once a iiar, always a liar, Cipher Nine. Who do you think he’ll believe- you? Or me?”

No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t . Not that it would have made a difference, but Marcus couldn’t have known that- Force, he really is going to throw up.

(When Theron joined the SIS he was seventeen years old and every adult he’d known for more than a galactic standard month had abandoned him, sold him out or simply sold him at the first sign he’d outgrown his usefulness. It took nearly a year on Coruscant, nearly a year of steady paychecks and a bed to sleep in every night, before he owned more clothes than he could fit into a go bag; it took almost two before he stopped apologizing for asking for equipment. But Marcus never gave up on him, even when he fucked up (which back then was more often than not), even when he bristled and snapped like a half-wild animal, even when he wanted to give up on himself. If Master Zho had been the nearest thing he’d known to a father- stars knows it wasn’t Jace, especially not now- Marcus had come close too, once.

Once.)

She takes a deep breath. She’s fading fast, now, hands tremulous even as she’s fighting to keep the holo steady. He can’t just sit here and watch this, he can’t, he can’t-

“Her,” Theron says, letting the stealth field drop as he takes a step forward and she spins, startled, at the sound of his voice. It comes out as a gasp; he doesn’t even know how long he’s been holding his breath. ”Who do I believe? Her. Always.”

Marcus buckles like he’s been gut-shot, bracing himself against his desk. “You- you said you hadn’t told him yet. You said-”

“I think you’ll find that I didn’t.” Nine smiles, absolutely feral and absolutely beautiful, and he steadies her with one hand at the small of her back. “Though as you can see, I really have been busy.”

The last time he saw that look on his face was the day the blockade went up around Coruscant. “Hello, Theron.”

“Hello, Marcus.”

He sits back into his chair, heavy, elbows resting on the desktop. “This office would have been yours, you know. You were ready for it. But you’re on the wrong side of the war.”

“Which war?” Nine says it at the same time he does and then she dips her head, ever so slightly- you first. “We’re here fighting Zakuul. We’re here fighting Arcann,” he continues, “and we’re finally winning. I know you know that. I know Jace knows that, and I know you’re both still fighting the same fucking war against the Empire that you’ve been fighting since before I was born because for you that’s the only thing that matters. But I’m not.”

“You dare-”

“I made my choice,” he says softly. “Now you make yours. Are you going to drag the whole SIS down with you?”

Marcus rests his head in his hands. For a moment it’s the day after the Ascendant Spear, the day after Ziost, the day after Tython, the weight of a thousand impossible choices and ten thousand lies pressing down on him, and then he looks up and shakes his head. “No.” He sighs. “No, I’m not. What happens now?”

“Resign,” Nine murmurs. “Retire. Disappear before the Senate comes for you, or let them scapegoat you: I don’t care what you do, but you will call this off. You will do it now, and if I ever have reason to doubt you- if anyone from the Republic so much as breathes harm in Theron’s direction- the Ralltiir file goes public.”

Someone’s pounding on his office door, a woman’s voice shouting something incomprehensible as he reaches out of frame, and then a few moments later a series of four tones in a cadence burned into his own memory- send message; subnet selected; confirm?-

Message sent.

The holotransmitter in Nine’s hand chimes.

“Done. Now, if there’s nothing else?”

Nine turns once more (and he turns with her, careful) to put their prisoner back into frame. “What do you want me to do with him? I’d put him back on Belsavis if I was you, but-”

Marcus stands up abruptly, even as he makes a face as she says Belsavis, at the unmistakable sound of a single round of blaster fire and the hiss of a door sliding open. “Elin,” he snaps, “not now -”

“Yes, now.” General Garza’s got a blaster pistol in one hand and a commpad in the other when she crosses into camera view. “I just got a fucking call from the fucking- oh.” She cranes her neck toward the projector. “Well, we can fix that problem, at least-”

The call disconnects abruptly.

Nine sags against him, exhausted. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I know I promised-”

“Commander.” He’d nearly forgotten SCORPIO was still at the console until she speaks, and he’s never heard that tone from her before; he looks sharply up at her and follows her sightline. The prisoner’s sitting bolt-straight, back rigid, eyes wide, and a high-pitched whine like a drill through durasteel shrills warning from somewhere that isn’t his mouth- “Commander, get down!”

All Theron can do is drop where they’re standing, his body a shield over Nine’s, before there’s an awful wet noise and the smell of blood and something else familiar in his nose, hot and metallic and not his and not hers and even though he knows he shouldn’t he looks up again and oh, fuck-

The lab door slides open and Doctor Lokin comes running into the room, Lana just behind with her lightsaber blazing, and they both stop short at the sight of it, at the ‘pub still strapped into the chair with half his head just gone and at him and Nine on the blood-spattered floor.

“What- who-” Lana covers her mouth with her free hand. “What in the Void happened?”

Nine’s shaking so hard she can barely move; he curls her close against him to keep her upright. “Not me,” she whispers. “Not me.”

#inyri writes #equivalent exchange #swtor #swtor fanfiction #imperial agent/theron shan #nine/theron #cipher nine #thank you all for your patience #as i wrote this one fought me for a very long time #so i hope it was worth the wait #and the next chapter is kinder to them i promise

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tiredassmage · 2 months

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wip wednesday

woe! for it be wednesday and the desire to make words domed me in the head last night, so you may all have more 'dot what au are you on now?' wonderings! the premise context on this one is a bit long-winded, so the short of it is aus with friends! au where friends blorbo was the inquisitor! [it... does not go well. for most involved, lol press f, etc.] so! this piece is several(?) years post-nathema conspiracy, a little drabble on... tyr and theron and trying to heal through the aftermath of an eternal alliance era that... wasn't so kind to them.

“Theron…” Tyr sighs heavily with a hint of frustration that Theron wants to flinch from. He struggles to swallow down the urge wriggling at the back of his throat if only because Tyr’s hand draws steadily up and down his arm.

“Look at me.” Two fingers reach out and gently tap under Theron’s chin with the softly rasped words.

Theron nearly frowns a moment, nearly shrugs his chin out of his partner’s embrace, but reluctantly gives to the request. Tyr rewards the tilt of his head by caressing his jaw. A soft, easy smile starts to paint across the ex-Cipher’s lips.

He’s tired - a very different kind of ‘tired’ than Theron remembers when they stood together in the Alliance. The Kaasi edge has started to bleed from his voice after the many years separated from the capital planet for something a bit more roaming, for something warmed by a sun more commonly seen than that which may or may not have broken through the storm clouds.

Theron leans faintly into his calloused palm. A few more silver threads mix with sun-muddied blonde at Tyr’s temples. He used to say Darth Nox - Emperor? It… Well. It doesn’t much matter what the dead prefer.., does it? - would drive him to it earlier. He’d smiled less and less about it as the Alliance matured.

But now..? Now, the ‘tired’ looking back at him has a gentler kind of warmth - the kind he hasn’t felt… maybe since Rishi.

The thought’s almost enough to make Theron tremble.

Tyr shuffles a bit against the pillows, squirming to lay a bit more on his back, to steady Theron against him. The brief grunt of effort dispels the smile for something more…

Theron’s eyes drop, blindly skimming along, eager to find some indeterminate distraction to settle on. His hand moves towards Tyr’s wrist. He shouldn’t need to-

“Theron.” He can hear the frown without having to look back. That was more like it.

Except the caress moulds firmer and directs his fleeing eyes back to Tyr’s knitting brow.

“Stay. Please?”

Theron blinks, breath stilling in his stiff shoulders.

Tyr’s next smile is fragile, framed with barely a breath of a tight chuckle. “I… I’ve lost quite enough, by now… Or so I thought, at least.”

Theron’s jaw shifts. Tyr’s touch softens to fingertips tracing the line of his jaw, his thumb brushing along his cheek.

And his eyes follow. “I’ve thought I’d lost everything so many times.” He swallows. His touch drops lower once more, cupping under his jaw to steady his thumb against Theron’s chin. “I’d thought… Finally… Finally, I’d lost everything, and I had no more to lose… Only to find there was always just… one more thing… Always something more to lose…”

The tightness around Tyr’s eyes threatens to shorten Theron’s already arrested breathing. He faintly realizes his other hand has tightened, twisted into Tyr’s shirt against his side. His grip nearly flexes to release, but-

“Always some… part of me to lose, I guess,” Tyr breathes shakily.

The same hands that hadn’t followed when Tyr left Odessen… however many cursed years ago it’d been now. The same hands that had strangled any hope of better out on Nathema - had strung it up in odd tresses and shot it bloody before it could even realize it’d waltzed into a trap. Tyr closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath with some unsteadiness. His thumb works uneasily across Theron’s chin, drawing their eyes back together. “And then I…” Another sharp exhale that cracks the painful veil threatening to constrict around him once more. “And then I didn’t… I haven’t lost you, Theron. Not yet.”

#dot words #wip wednesday #ch: tyr #theron shan #imperial agent x theron shan #[this is. the worst timeline y'all. except for this. at least they have each other still.]#[but damn it cost them... it cost them so much. sniffles]#swtor #swtor fanfic #swtor fanfiction

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swtorpadawan · 1 year

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Invincible

Author’s Notes: The following story takes place on Yavin during the Shadow of Revan storyline in my Halcyon Legacy. CW for violence, original character deaths, and brief blood and gore. Also – this is a rather long one, folks. My apologies.

“Dammit! We’re being driven back.”

Theron Shan’s face glowered in consternation as icons representing various Yavin Coalition military units shifted across the holo-map, many of them retreating while a few flickered out entirely.

The Revanite counterattack against the Coalition forces here on Yavin IV had come suddenly, besieging Republic and Imperial troops alike across a wide front. Within minutes, many of their forward positions were isolated if not overwhelmed, while the remaining defensive hardpoints were pinned down, unable to support other troops when they needed it the most. All coordination and communication between the reluctant allies had seemingly gone out the window in the wake of the assault, and the cybernetic communications relay in his ear was being bombarded with requests – pleas, really – for reinforcements, for support, for orders, for any help whatsoever.

Standing around the makeshift conference table at Coalition headquarters, the other members of the ah-hoc ‘leadership council’ – Lana Beniko, Satele Shan and Darth Marr – were likewise intently reviewing holo-transmissions and reports as they came in. Beniko’s expression was one of focused and controlled anger. That was the kind of personal discipline that made her such an effective Sith. Satele (Theron was trying very hard not to think of her as his mother at this moment) watched over the proceedings with a frown of contemplation. Until she saw the necessity to interject herself, she would keep her peace. Marr… well, Theron obviously couldn’t see the expression of the Dark Councilor’s face behind his metal mask, but Marr radiated intensity under normal circumstances. Right at this moment, with all their plans at risk and the campaign itself in doubt, the closest thing the Sith Empire had to an actual leader was positively seething.

None of them had bothered to respond to Theron’s dire assessment of the situation.

The unprecedented Yavin Coalition composed of the Imperial troops commanded by Marr and the Galactic Republic forces led by Satele had successfully invaded the moon known as Yavin IV and – up until just a few minutes ago – had appeared to be on the verge of victory, pushing the remnants of the Order of Revan back until they were almost at the base of the ancient, pyramid-like temples for which Yavin was infamous. Some of the forward Republic recon troops had even reported they’d been facing greater resistance from the indigenous Massassi warriors than they had from the Revanites.

Now the Coalition forces had been caught overextended, with the Revanites driving a wedge between the Republic and Imperial forces. It seemed almost everyone was calling for reinforcements, air support, resupply, orders… the command headquarters couldn’t cope with it all.

“Isolate the problem.” Satele Shan’s voice was carefully measured as she broke her silence. She may have just as well been presenting a logic problem to a group of Jedi younglings in a classroom back on Tython for all the alarm she demonstrated. “Revan is attempting to distract and overwhelm us. Otherwise, his attack would have been much more precise. If we can look past his maneuverings and identify his true strategy, we’ll be able to understand his intentions.”

As if on mental reflex, Theron realized that she was right. He recalled Master Zho teaching him that same technique so long ago in his childhood, and he strongly suspected that Zho had been the one to demonstrate the same stratagem to Satele once upon a time in the Grand Master’s own youth. (Though he had a very hard time imagining Satele ever being a youngling.) Coalition command had been thrown off its game. Junior officers of both factions were scrambling around the conference table with the communications aides urgently relaying messages and reports. Just outside field commanders were yelling for their troops to form up and prepare for deployment as soon as the orders came down. The sound of artillery fire could be heard in the distance…

These factors were all just distractions.

Theron had always preferred being a field agent over being an analyst. Indeed, he’d been more than a little rankled when Marcus Trant, the Director of the Republic’s Strategic Information Service, had temporarily placed him on desk duty as a punishment for one of his “unsanctioned operations”. (Alright, it had been several “unsanctioned operations”.) But that inclination didn’t make him any less effective at analyzing tactical information. Utilizing his cybernetic implants, he crunched the numbers, trying to make sense out of all the chaos. Finding his center. His sense of calm…

Time seemed to slow down for Theron. As he looked down at the map, he didn’t see soldiers fighting and dying or the Coalition at risk of collapsing. Instead, he saw a clearer picture start to take shape.

After a moment of contemplation, it became obvious to Theron that the Revanites’ numbers were not as impressive as the ferocity of their attack would seem to suggest. Nor was their counter-offensive as broad as it had initially seemed on the map. Yes, the Coalition flanks were being pressured, but only half-heartedly, as if to discourage reinforcement or encirclement of the main thrusts by the Order. The allies still enjoyed a significant overall advantage in force strength by better than a two-to-one margin; maybe even more. But that advantage had been neutralized by the Revanites’ rapid advancement…

“There.” The crisp, Imperial voice interrupted his thought process.

Much to Theron’s chagrin, Lana Beniko, the former chief aide to the Minister of Military Offense of the Sith Empire (and his erstwhile partner for the last few months in exposing the Revanite conspiracy), had found the solution first.

Beniko re-oriented the holo-map, zeroing in on one particularly deep thrust into the Coalition lines. The display flickered as live holo-streaming of the scene quickly followed the three-dimensional image, projected above the map.

“This is the tip of their spear.” She explained, as they watched the small group of Revanites effortlessly tear through a platoon of Republic soldiers. The assailants appeared to be cyborgs… led by a single armored Sith Lord. “Their vanguard. It’s the lynchpin to their attack. Their momentum is keeping us hamstrung.”

Theron immediately recognized the design of the cyborgs from their mission to Rakata Prime months earlier. Infinite Elites. Revanite volunteers surgically enhanced with Rakatan technology in a process developed by Gorima – a sick, twisted Selkath scientist who’d been operating a secret laboratory on Manaan, the same creep who had briefly tormented their ally, Jakarro, the Wookie smuggler. These cyborgs were incredibly powerful, with their advanced, regenerative capabilities allowing them to shrug off most attacks. Revan had intended to build an entire army of the Infinites, using them as his shock troops. They’d proven to be so dangerous that Theron had even wanted Jedi Master Corellan Halcyon, their ally against the conspirators, to terminate the Infinites they’d found on Rakata in their stasis pods out of hand. (Corellan had refused. Typical Jedi nobility. With hindsight, Theron shouldn’t have been surprised.) Regardless, he’d been relieved when their efforts on Manaan and Rakata had resulted in the destruction of the completed Infinite prototypes, as well as the technology required to create more of them.

Apparently, that sense of relief had been premature.

There may have only been a squad of them, but these Infinites were nevertheless hammering through their formations like a juggernaut, the thin end of the Revanite wedge driving into the Coalition lines.

“Revan must have gotten them off Rakata before we moved in on them.” Theron heard the frustration in his own voice even as he silently called in an air strike via his implant. “He planned this. Keeping them in reserve until now.”

Seconds later, the quartet around the table watched as a squadron of Republic dive-bombers unleashed their payloads upon the advancing squad of Revanites. As the holoprojection flickered to adjust to the smoke and fire, Theron witnessed a Jedi and a Sith leading Coalition commandos into the area. The intelligence agent briefly allowed himself to hope that this strike had finished off the Infinites and would blunt Revan’s entire counter-offensive.

That hope quickly evaporated as he saw the massive Sith Lord who had been leading the Infinites rise to his feet, activating his twin crimson lightsabers. Theron had not initially identified this foe beneath his strange, ornate armor, but now, on closer inspection, he realized that he recognized this mighty Sith Pureblood.

Indeed, nearly everyone in the entire galaxy should have recognized him by now.

“Kael.” Marr hissed behind his mask, the Dark Councilor’s voice was dripping with venom and contempt.

Lord Kael Nosrol Krannus was a towering Pureblooded Sith Warrior of great renown. Over the course of his relatively brief but infamous career, he had led countless operations against the Republic, from crushing the War Trust on Taris to freeing the Dread Masters on Belsavis. Dozens of Jedi and thousands of Republic soldiers and civilians had fallen beneath his blades, including wiping out at least one Strategic Information Service team at a safehouse on Nar Shaddaa. According to the intelligence reports Theron had read, he was wanted for a long series of war crimes and had gained a reputation for brutality even by the standards of the Sith. But it had been on Corellia where his ruthless butchery against his enemies had earned him a new epithet: The Emperor’s Wrath. He had become Vitiate’s chosen, hand-picked to eliminate the Emperor’s enemies both in the Republic and within the Empire. Although the Sith Lord had never formally been named a Darth, anyone would have been foolish to think him any less deadly for that lack of title. Indeed, he had already crushed several of the most powerful Darths in the Empire for apparent disloyalty to the throne, even slaying his old master, Darth Baras. He’d thus cemented his claim as the Emperor’s Wrath before going on to lead Imperial troops on Ilum and beyond.

There had been no reported sightings of Krannus in almost a year, not since he had supposedly broken with the Dark Council and the entire Imperial hierarchy. Locating him had been a priority of the SIS for some time.

Right at this moment, Theron sorely wished that the Emperor’s Wrath had remained missing.

He watched as the Sith Lord stormed through the Coalition commandoes, ignoring multiple blaster shots to his body mere moments after shrugging off the aerial bombardment.

The Coalition Jedi and Sith attempted to divide Krannus’ attention, attacking him from opposite flanks; the Twi’lek Jedi on his right with his lightsaber and the human Sith Lord on his left with Force lightning. For a moment, Theron thought they might have succeeded when the Jedi’s blade caught Lord Kael’s armor squarely on the shoulder while just missing his helmet – a blow that should have all but severed his arm – while the Sith’s lightning blasted at his armored torso.

Impossibly, the massive Pureblood shrugged off these lethal assaults and then, in a single move displaying more agility than should have been possible for a man of his size, simultaneously impaled both of his opponents, one lightsaber sinking into the chest of each.

Just like that, the effort to stop Lord Kael and the Infinites had been snuffed out, the few the surviving commandoes quickly overwhelmed by the Infinites.

Theron grimaced. Not even Mandalorian beskar should have protected the Sith Lord so completely from the kind of punishment Krannus had taken, and he wasn’t even slowed down.

As a stunned silence settled around the table, Theron remembered that the Coalition had already definitively ruled out any orbital strikes from the fleets above. The main temple held by the Revanites was protected by a force field for one thing, and for another they’d decided that the risk of friendly fire falling on their own forces was too great. (Though Marr, of course, hadn’t been thrilled with that decision, given the stakes in play.) That danger was even greater now with the Infinites driving so far into the Coalition lines. There was nothing else he could think of in the Coalition’s arsenal that could have stopped Krannus.

“Please magnify on his armor.” The firm, unexpected voice cut through the silence.

It was only then, as he looked up at the speaker, that Theron realized there was a fifth individual watching the display above the holo-table. Jedi Master Corellan Halcyon looked like he had just fought through Hell itself while simultaneously looking resolute enough to invade it for a second time at a moment’s notice. The Jedi’s robes were singed at the edges and his armor was lightly scorched though undamaged. His expression, normally healthy and open, was darker and grimmer than Theron had ever seen before with bags under his eyes and a pallid complexion.

He doesn’t look good. Theron thought to himself. But one could not have told that from his posture or from the clarity of his voice.

This was the champion who had taken down the Emperor’s Voice on Dromund Kaas. Who had spear-headed the raid on Korriban and then mere hours later had liberated the Jedi Temple on Tython. The one person who Theron and Lana had trusted when they’d gone on the run after they’d been framed for killing Darth Arkous and Colonel Rian Darok on Rakata Prime. On Rishi, he’d defeated Nova Blade pirates, Mandalorian bounty hunters and Revanite conspirators in quick succession without seeming to break a sweat, inflicting more damage in a few days than Lana and Theron might have managed in months.

Since the joint task force had arrived on Yavin three days ago, Halcyon had been even more impressive. His reputation alone demanded respect from friend and foe alike. Every time a trouble spot emerged, every time it appeared bad feelings over decades of war might drive a wedge between the reluctant allies, Corellan had personally intervened, acting decisively yet amicably, putting out fires before the leadership council even knew about them and showing a mutual respect that puzzled the Sith, impressed the Imperials and inspired the Jedi and Republic troops to put their differences with their allies aside and behave themselves. If the Hero of Tython – who’d probably fought and killed more Imperials in combat – Sith and otherwise – in his relatively young life than anyone else still breathing (aside, perhaps, from Satele Shan herself) had made no objection to fighting alongside the Empire, hardly anyone else could either, given the circumstances. He hadn’t started this campaign with a reputation as a diplomat, but he definitely seemed to be building one for himself, albeit unintentionally.

His entire demeanor seemed to have changed since coming to Yavin. At first, Theron wanted to think it was just the proximity of so many Sith. Then he wondered if it might have been that their target was Revan, a figure who was almost mythical in the tales of both the Jedi and the Sith. Heck, Corellan, like Theron, had probably grown-up hearing bedtime stories about the legendary fallen Jedi.

But now, Theron was starting to fear that it was the presence of the Sith Emperor here on Yavin. The same tyrant who’d captured Corellan and his crew at his Fortress years before, imprisoning them for months. The same cancer who was, if reports were to be believed, responsible for much of the suffering the galaxy had experienced dating back to the Mandalorian Wars.

The same enemy who Corellan – and the entire Republic – had hoped had been permanently destroy during the attack on Dromund Kaas.

All this has to have taken its toll. The SIS agent privately suspected. It was rumored that Halcyon hadn’t been sleeping; simply meditating for an hour or two at a time before pressing on with whatever needed to be done. He’d rotated his crewmembers regularly to keep them fresh, then had headed off on another mission. Each time, he’d check in with the temporary command center at the base camp, reporting on details he had observed that might have been missed through the various chains of command.

He also hadn’t shied away from putting his own crew at risk when necessary. Yesterday, he’d designated his loyal astromech droid, Teeseven, to oversee the advance sensor array they’d set up, thus keeping the Coalition’s monitoring system impartial. Later he’d ordered Sergeant Rusk to take temporary command of a company of Republic troops who had lost their commanding officer during the fighting. The veteran Chagrian soldier had quickly whipped that demoralized unit into shape, and even now they were successfully holding one of the critical defensive positions along the Coalition’s lines despite the Revanite assault. And just minutes ago as the attacks had begun, Corellan had assigned his squad medic, Doctor Archiban Kimble – or ‘Doc’ to anyone who asked – to treat wounded Imperial soldiers who’d been cut-off from their recovery camps. The Imperial officer on site had sworn an oath that no harm would come to Doc, and that he would be returned safely to the Jedi Master afterward.

Satele and Marr had provided the leadership and legitimacy. Theron and Lana had delivered the expertise and intelligence on the Revanites and how they operated. But it had been Halcyon, with the aid of his crew, who had brought a sense of unity to the Coalition.

Theron had worked with Corellan Halcyon off and on for more than two years now, ever since enlisting the Jedi Master in a couple of off-the-book operations to deal with problems the SIS would have preferred to remain under wraps rather than address through “official” channels. He was a bona fide hero. A paragon, even. The best Jedi warrior of his generation. A champion of the Republic and the protector of the free galaxy. Honestly, he was exactly what most Jedi younglings grew up wanting to be. The guy the Republic military put on their recruitment posters.

Since they’d arrived on Yavin, Theron had learned that beneath that surface, Corellan Halcyon also possessed a keen tactical mind. One that understood full well the strategies employed by Sith and Jedi, Empire and Republic.

By now, Halcyon had become extremely effective at combating the Revanites, regardless of which faction they’d previously worked for. Their enemies might all claim to serve Revan, but it had been proven on Rishi and now again on Yavin that they weren’t all ‘one big, happy family’. The Order of Revan desperately needed symbols to rally around; specifically, they needed the symbol of Revan himself.

That was the kind of unifying symbol that Halcyon was providing to the Coalition.

And it was now apparent to Theron that the Jedi Master was proving surprisingly adept at approaching people undetected. Even where it concerned dealing with allies.

Even when dealing with Force users as potent as Darth Marr and Satele Shan.

Theron usually prided himself on maintaining a good sabacc face. After all, he was an SIS agent. That sort of went with the territory. But he had no doubt he looked startled right at this moment. Lana had also blinked in surprise at the unexpected arrival. Marr’s face was concealed by his mask, but even his head tilted up in surprise as Corellan’s voice cut through the room.

Only Satele seemed nonplussed at the Jedi Master’s sudden appearance, simply accepting it in stride. If the Grand Master was concerned with Corellan’s behavior or physical appearance of late, she had clearly decided not to reveal that in front of the Sith. She nodded in Theron’s direction, who was only now reminded that he was the one at the terminal controls.

The Republic operative swallowed, increasing the magnification on Krannus’ armor as requested. Some of the resolution was a bit hazy – that often happened when transmissions were broadcasting during a battle with portable surveillance equipment – but the distinct pattern across Krannus’ body eventually became clear. The bulbous pieces looked strange to Theron, who was familiar with a great many body armors commonly used throughout the galaxy by soldiers, mercenaries and Force-users.

“I don’t recognize that design.” He admitted.

“Nor do I.” Lana admitted, who looked over towards Marr and Satele, questioningly.

The Jedi Grand Master was once again in silent contemplation, as if the answer to the problem was hiding right in front of her but would only reveal itself in time.

Officially, Darth Marr was the head of the Sith Empire’s Sphere of Military Strategy and was the second-longest tenured active member of the Dark Council. Unofficially, Marr was effectively running the Empire at this point, having bent the Council to his will. Analysts in the SIS had been taking bets on how long it would be before Marr formally declared himself the new Emperor.

Theron hadn’t taken that action on the bet. Marr knew what had happened to Darth Malgus on Ilum when he’d tried to claim Vitiate’s throne and establish a “New Empire”. Even when it came to Vitiate himself, who’d ruled the Empire for more than a millennium, the facade of invincibility that once came with that position had been shattered. As an institution, the Sith Empire only operated properly when everyone was too frightened of the Emperor to challenge him, or to risk compromising his goals with the internal squabbles. The title of Emperor must have looked much less attractive considering the present political climate, where any Sith who claimed supremacy risked being pulled down and destroyed by his fellows.

Theron suspected that Marr was playing a much different game.

Regardless, he also had to assume that Marr had more practical knowledge than just about anyone else living concerning the multitude of exotic weaponry of the Sith. And he was being silent.

That silence worried Theron intensely. With all the other surprises the Revanites had thrown at them over the last few months, the last thing they needed was mysterious Sith armor that seemingly made one of the most dangerous Sith Lords living invincible.

As he tried to analyze the armor for weaknesses, he could only consider it an effort in futility.

“Honestly, it doesn’t look like armor at all. It looks more like… shells.” He added, grasping for any observations.

With Krannus leading them, the Infinites couldn’t be stopped. With the Infinites leading the Revanite assault and driving a wedge into the Coalition lines, their entire offensive couldn’t be stopped.

Invincible, indeed.

“Orbalisks.” Corellan’s calm, matter-of-fact voice cut through the silence once again.

Theron turned to look over at him again. The Jedi Master was looking down at the projection in what he could only describe as ‘intense detachment’ as the magnification moved out again. In the projection, Lord Kael had Force-leapt onto an attacking Imperial Walker, knocking the towering machine over before eviscerating its driver with his lightsabers for good measure.

Theron was realizing no one else had responded to Corellan yet. He had no idea what an ‘orbalisk’ even was and no one else seemed to be stepping up either. In the absence of any elaboration, Lana took the lead this time, her brow furrowed intently as she addressed the Jedi champion.

“Do you know how we can stop him?”

Corellan Halcyon turned away from the display and towards Lana. The two of them had – along with Theron – developed a surprisingly strong working relationship these last few months. They had made a good team, regardless of their personal, political and ideological differences. (And Lana allowing the Revanites to abduct and torture Theron. That had been a bump in the road.) This question undercut a reversal of roles; usually, it was Corellan relying on Lana and Theron for information, direction or analysis.

But here in this instance on Yavin, the people standing around the table were relying on the young Jedi Master for his knowledgeable insight.

“We can’t.” Corellan answered firmly, gently stressing the first word. “But I will need some help.”

That wasn’t lost on Theron. The Hero of Tython clearly had something specific in mind. Something he intended to personally put into motion.

Corellan had followed Lana and Theron’s lead on Manaan, Rakata and Rishi, and he had likewise acknowledged the authority of Satele and Marr as leaders of the leadership council assembled here on Yavin.

But now, he was calling his own play.

We’ve underestimated him. Theron considered. All of us.

The Hero of Tython raised his arm to chest level, tapping the communicator on his wrist.

“Kira. We’re up. Maneuverer Alderaan-Delta-Three.” He paused, checking his chrono and apparently doing some quick calculations in his head. “Eleven minutes.”

“On it.” a familiar, feminine voice answered. Corellan closed the channel just as quickly.

Since they’d started working together, Theron had long come to understand that Corellan usually only operated with one of his companions by his side at any given time. He had always assumed there was some method behind his choice; a specific companion for a specific kind of mission. That would make good strategic sense, though the particulars in Corellan’s thought process usually escaped him.

Theron had met Kira Carsen several times. First on that Corellian rescue job almost two years ago, then more recently at Carrick Station before the assault on Korriban. He liked her. Frankly, she was probably the most outgoing Jedi he’d ever met and she was genuinely funny. (Granted, her jokes directed at Theron about being ‘Satele’s kid’ had grated on him, but he could deal with that.) Her combat record was proof that she was fantastic with a lightsaber, too. He’d been rather surprised that he hadn’t seen her working beside Corellan lately. He knew that she’d been by his side earlier on Rishi but when Corellan had first arrived at the safehouse Theron shared with Lana and Jakarro, Rusk had been accompanying him. Later, he’d seen Teeseven and Doc at his side as well. He’d found it curious at the time, idly wondering if the two Jedi were ‘on the outs’ somehow.

Whatever Corellan had in mind – whatever ‘Maneuverer Alderaan-Delta-Three’ even meant – he’d clearly decided he needed Kira with him to execute his plan.

The Jedi turned towards Theron and Lana.

“Set a timer.” He requested. “I need every bomber we can get in the air to hit Kael and the Infinites in exactly ten minutes in successive waves. Then pull them off after 30 seconds.”

Theron set the timer on reflex, then checked the data. The Infinites had advanced well past the range of the remaining Revanite anti-air flak cannons. At the speed they were moving at now, it would be a tricky target; even fighter-bombers usually weren’t designed to hit a target as small as a single squad. But he could predict their movement speed and relay those coordinates to the pilots.

“We can do that.” Theron offered. “But you just saw that it won’t keep them down for long.”

Corellan looked down at the SIS agent intently. For a second, Theron thought he might have seen a hint of a grim smile on the Jedi’s lips.

“I don’t need it to keep them down for long.”

Without another word, he turned and headed towards the exit.

“I’m ending this battle.” He spoke as he walked away from the table intently, never breaking stride or even looking back over his shoulder. “Now.”

Theron blinked as the Jedi Master departed, then turned back and looked at the others.

Lana seemed uncertain. Satele looked concerned but continued to keep her silence. Marr… Marr just continued to watch the passageway where Corellan had exited, as if trying to decide something. Theron now realized that Corellan hadn’t even asked Satele or Marr – the Coalition’s nominal leaders – for approval of his plan.

Without anyone needing to say anything, Theron relayed the orders.

Kira Carsen was more than ready to go when she’d gotten the call.

Three days of barely seeing any action back on the ship while a massive battle waged around her had admittedly left her antsy.

Corellan would have known that, and she knew he wouldn’t have held her back this long without a good reason.

She’d also barely seen him since they’d arrived on Yavin. He would have known how that would make her feel, too. She knew he wouldn’t do that to her if it could have been helped.

(It also didn’t help that they could both feel the Emperor’s presence here on Yavin. Deep down, she’d always known he hadn’t been completely destroyed on Dromund Kaas. But feeling him this close still put her on edge.)

These were their lives: They meant everything to each other, but the needs of the rest of the galaxy would always come first.

Kira knew that. She understood it. She even accepted it.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

Still, she’d been monitoring the situation carefully. Kira had been in enough battles to know that this one was rapidly approaching its climax: the fight between the Revanites and the Coalition would be decided over the next few minutes.

And in this crucial moment, Corellan Halcyon, the vaunted Hero of Tython, had called her. She’d never admit it to anyone, but that meant something.

(It meant everything.)

Kira didn’t know if she’d ever be a Jedi Master. That goal had once been a driving ambition for her; something to solidify her sense of acceptance within the Order. To give herself that reinforced sense of belonging that she’d been seeking for most of her life. Maybe she’d even have been able to stir things up with some much-needed policy reforms. But the last few years – spent with Corellan and their crew – had eventually led her to reconsider her career goals.

She was happy with who she was. And with where she was in her life.

For example, Kira couldn’t imagine there were many Jedi Knights who could outfight her in a one-on-one lightsaber duel at this point. After all, Kira had been the one who’d struck the killing blow against Darth Nox on Tython, one of the most feared Sith in the galaxy and a particularly infamous member of the Dark Council.

But Corellan was the most driven lightsaber duelist she’d ever met. He was up before dawn most mornings (long before Kira usually rose), sparring with Scourge for an hour before even showering and sitting down for breakfast. Then, if they didn’t have a mission that day to keep him occupied, he’d spar with Kira in the early evening, working them both almost to exhaustion.

He was dedicated.

(And if Kira had ever felt overshadowed by her partner, he’d more than made it up to her during their nights alone together. Lightsaber training wasn’t the only thing he was dedicated to.)

And he did his homework, too. There probably wasn’t a holocron or text on lightsaber combat in the Jedi Archives that he hadn’t borrowed for review at least once.

But as valuable as those had been, they couldn’t begin to compete with the knowledge provided by the individual who lived in their cargo bay.

For someone like Corellan Halcyon, training with someone like Scourge was more valuable than a dozen holocrons. The former Emperor’s Wrath had spent three hundred years hunting and slaying the Emperor’s enemies, effectively becoming a ‘boogey-man’ within the Sith Empire. Kira thought it was ironic that most of those ‘enemies’ had been Scourge’s fellow Sith. (After all, up until these last few years, the Emperor had had little to fear from the Jedi, himself.) He’d taught Corellan dozens of techniques that would aid him in facing and defeating his enemies.

In the years since Dromund Kaas, Corellan’s reputation among the Sith and Imperials had only reached new heights. Even most Mandalorians refused to accept contracts on him anymore; not since his meeting with Xadya on Makeb.

Kira hadn’t listened to every lesson Scourge had taught Corellan about ancient Sith weapons and rituals, but she’d gotten the gist of what orbalisks were. (And frankly, the things sounded incredibly disgusting to her. As neat a trick as it sounded, invincibility would not be worth having those nasty bugs all over her body and digging into her skin.) According to Scourge, Vitiate had destroyed all known records of the blasted creatures decades ago. Not because he feared they could make a rival Sith powerful enough to face him; Kira’s ‘father’ was apparently far above such physical concerns. No, it was more to discourage any ‘fools with delusions of grandeur’ who managed to master the Dxunian creatures from even attempting such an act.

And Corellan being Corellan, he’d put in more than a little thought into how to counter an enemy employing the parasites should the need ever arise.

Kira supposed she owed the ‘Big Tomato’ a ‘Thank you’ for that kind of help.

The culture of their ship facilitated this kind of thinking. Hundreds of hours of training amongst their crew had led to the creation of dozens of combination maneuvers for various contingencies. Alderaan-Delta-Three was one such combination. With Scourge’s assistance; Kira and Corellan had trained for it in parts, but they’d never actually had the chance to use the whole thing in a real fight.

To Kira, that uncertainty made this job even more exciting.

Also, she’d get to bring her speeder-bike. Things were always more fun when they involved speeder-bikes, in Kira’s opinion. It would be a pity to lose this one; she’d spent months customizing it just the way she liked. Force, it was even purple.

But if this worked, then it would be worth it.

Both for the thrill of the thing, and to win this battle.

The sooner they got off this rock, the sooner she and Corellan could get some alone time together.

Theron knew that lightsaber enthusiasts and gamblers alike had been debating for years who would win in direct confrontation between the Hero of Tython and the reigning Emperor’s Wrath, and for good reason. The two champions of their respective factions were contemporaries: Corellan Halcyon and Kael Nosrol Krannus were near enough the same age with vaguely similar ‘career tracks’. Both were practitioners of Jar’khai, wielding a single-bladed lightsaber in each hand at once to devastating effect. Both had incredible combat records and a plethora of accomplishments, any one of which would have granted any warrior legendary status in the wider galaxy. Both had seen action at many of the same flashpoints that had defined the current conflict for the last few years.

Taris. Balmorra. Belsavis. However many others.

Frankly, it was a wonder that the two adversaries, these titans of the age, hadn’t met in battle before now.

Between the two of them, four consecutive Sith Lords at the head of the Empire’s Sphere of Military Offense - Vengean, Baras, Arho and most recently Arkous – had met their ends; the first two by Krannus and the latter two at the blades of Halcyon.

(Theron had heard that the entire ministry had recently been placed under Marr’s “temporary” stewardship, since Arkous’ death on Rakata Prime. If Theron had been Marr, who’d spent decades as the head of the Empire’s Sphere of Military Defense, he wouldn’t have been in a hurry to formally claim that position any more than he apparently wanted to claim the title of Emperor.)

Nor was that the end of the parallels of their journeys. Corellan had reportedly slain Lord Kael’s brother on Belsavis. The Imperial Executor – a fanatically-loyal servant of the Sith Emperor’s will – had attempted to destroy the prison world to further Vitiate’s plans for a ritual that could have destroyed the galaxy.

(Just thinking about that report had boggled Theron’s mind. He was, after all, just a spy. Situations like this still felt like they were way above his pay grade.)

From what Theron had heard, Kael had been – if anything – even more loyal to the Emperor than his brother had been.

But now, seemingly in a complete reversal, the surviving Krannus had taken up with the Order of Revan. Conspirators who fanatically opposed the Emperor’s return to the point where most had turned their backs on everything they’d ever known, to ally with a fallen Jedi who’d gone missing for centuries.

What could have prompted such an astronomical shift in allegiance for the Sith Lord?

And now, after all of that, he was finally facing Corellan Halcyon.

Theron had it on excellent authority that Nar Shaddaa bookmakers had a massive betting pool of several million credits going of what would happen when the two finally met, with odds swinging back and forth between one or the other.

The intelligence operative couldn’t deny that as the fighters began their bombardment of Krannus and his Infinites and the seconds ticked down to whatever Corellan was planning, he felt a surge of adrenaline within him despite the circumstances. As he looked around the table above the holo-map, he could feel that the others were intrigued as well.

There.

Within seconds of the barrage beginning, an icon representing a speeder bike appeared, tearing across the map, skillfully dodging stray blaster fire along the battlefield. The Coalition had been employing a handful of the machines, mostly for transporting portable equipment and relaying messages and orders that couldn’t be safely transmitted. This, however… this wasn’t one of those efficient, practical, military vehicles. Based on the specs of the data-stream, Theron recognized this one as an Aratech Coral speeder, a high-end civilian bike designed for style and mobility as well as speed.

As the holoprojection focused on the speeder, Theron noted the two figures were mounted in the pilot’s seat, a smaller figure – with short red hair, he noted – driving the vehicle while their companion, larger, wearing Jedi robes and armor, had their arms wrapped around the driver’s waist.

Just before the bike crashed into the Infinites, the two Jedi leapt off.

The resulting explosion made the holo-display flicker as it knocked Krannus and his squad down yet again. Everything within ten meters of the point of impact was suddenly immersed in flames, the wild grass on the ground briefly catching fire before just as quickly burning out. Theron only now realized the speeder must have been rigged with incendiary explosives. As Corellan and Kira landed unscathed, their lightsabers lashed out at their fallen enemies.

Theron was starting to understand the broad details of their tactical plan. The Infinites were normally all but indestructible; but as Corellan had proven on Manaan, exposing them to extreme flames could briefly leave them vulnerable to direct attacks.

Including attacks made with lightsabers.

As Kira continued to finish off the stunned Infinites, Corellan turned his attention to Lord Kael, who suddenly found himself alone and isolated. The Pureblooded Sith had risen to his feet and now plainly recognized his opponent.

The Jedi Sentinel squared off against the Sith Marauder, with the fate of Yavin, the Order of Revan, and perhaps the whole galaxy on the line.

The Hero of Tython versus the Emperor’s Wrath.

As their blades met, Theron was tempted to ask for popcorn.

Kira’s lightsaber impaled the last Infinite before it could rise, finally snuffing the last of them out for good.

For a fraction of a second, she wondered who this person had been before their transformation. Did they have a life? Did they have a family? Did they fall for some bill of goods the Order of Revan had sold them to get them to volunteer for this insane procedure?

Would they regret that their lives had come to this?

She was reminded of Agent Galen, who’d worked with Kira and Corellan on Coruscant and later again on Nar Shaddaa during the Desolator Crisis. The SIS agent had been abducted by Lord Sadic, and then horrifically transformed against his will into an Imperial-aligned Power Guard cyborg. Thanks to the Jedi duo, the Republic operative had broken free of the Sith’s control and had found peace with his lot. Kira heard months later that Galen had eventually met his end while serving on an SIS mission, but he did so on his own terms, doing something that mattered to him.

Kira took some comfort from that memory as she steeled herself and turned to join the main event.

The duel before her was incredible.

Kael Nosrol Krannus was using Form VII to deliver ferocious blows from both his sabers without restraint. The powerful Sith Lord was considered by many to be the master of using Juyo with twin lightsabers. Corellan was, for his part, seamlessly alternating between stances: employing Form Three – Soresu – to deflect Krannus’ attacks before switching to the powerful strikes of Form Five – Shien – to press him back; precision and grace one moment, decisive strength in the next.

The Jedi’s approach was slowly starting to frustrate Lord Kael, who – to no one’s surprise – was responding with overwhelming rage. His only rival for the title of ‘mightiest warrior in the galaxy’ had finally engaged him in battle and that challenger had already taken the early advantage by eliminating his supporters. Even as she approached, the Sith roared, battering the Jedi’s defense with powerful blows.

Kira scowled. Even this varp-head was ignoring her.

His mistake. she vowed to herself.

Kira Force-leapt at Krannus, her green double-bladed saber flashing high above the battlefield.

“Eat lightsaber, jerk!” she called out.

Corellan timed it perfectly. As a startled Lord Kael raised his crossed sabers above his head to meet Kira’s attack, the Jedi Master’s own blue lightsabers found an opening, slicing low at the Sith Lord’s ankle.

Had it not been for the orbalisks, the blow would have cleanly severed Krannus’ foot, and that would have been the end of it.

Instead, the attack (mostly) glanced off the impenetrable armor. Wounded or not, the impact had definitely further enraged the massive Sith Pureblood however, pushing him even further over the edge.

“Shavit!” Krannus screamed in pain, his blades recklessly slashing at Corellan again even as the Jedi effortlessly jumped backwards, a graceful toreador fighting a mighty bull.

Kira and Corellan hadn’t had time to discuss this part of the plan, but through their Force-bond, she knew they didn’t need to. She felt what he was doing. Kael’s orbalisk armor may have protected his body and even fueled his rage, but even with the Force, his physical and mental stamina had limits. Especially if he were wasting energy with his frustration.

This wasn’t the ‘end game’, of course. That would come later. But Corellan was a savant at lightsaber combat. Where most skilled duelists could, at the most, think a few moves ahead against an opponent of equal skill, it felt to Kira that Corellan could see a dozen moves ahead, even against a Sith as dangerous as the Emperor’s Wrath.

Krannus had the advantage of strength and resiliency. With his orbalisks, he could shrug off nearly any attack.

But as his frustration grew, it would also turn into anger and rage. Those emotions would power a Sith, but it would also lead them to make mistakes. The longer this fight lasted, the more Lord Kael fell back on his instincts. And those instincts had been honed long before he had donned the orbalisk armor. Those instincts were plainly built on the premise of ‘The best defense is a good offense’. (After all, if your enemy was dead, they couldn’t attack you, could they?) Within minutes he was again fighting like someone who was supremely confident in his capability to overwhelm his opponent with his powerful attacks to the point of arrogance, not like someone who rationally knew he couldn’t be wounded and had adjusted his tactics accordingly.

Corellan Halcyon and Kael Nosrol Krannus were equals in nearly every way. But here, their differences shined through for all to see.

Lord Kael had the benefit of his impregnable armor.

Corellan had the benefit of having a plan.

And of having Kira.

As the duel in the center of the battlefield raged on, so too did the greater battle of Yavin.

Theron knew that there was a perception amongst the general populace of the galaxy that the great clashes between the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire were ultimately decided by lightsaber duels between Jedi and Sith.

Historically, Theron knew, that was rarely the case. While there were always exceptions, most major battles were instead decided by planning, logistics and – in Theron’s experience, what with being an SIS agent – superior intelligence.

He was starting to realize that – despite the Hero of Tython’s reputation as being exactly that, a Hero – Corellan Halcyon understood the same thing. Young though he was, at some point during his adventures, Corellan had learned to appreciate the difference between tactical planning and strategic planning:

Good tactics could win you a fight.

Good strategies could win you a war.

Because regardless of whether he and Kira could beat Krannus, in eliminating the Infinites and halting Lord Kael’s advance, he had already stopped the Revanites’ momentum cold. Their offensive had stalled.

The Coalition lines, buckling mere minutes earlier, were now consolidating and holding firm. Formations had regrouped, communications re-established. The pressure on the flanks faded as the Revanites struggled to hold their gains against superior numbers. The ‘wedge’ into the Coalition lines was now under pressure. Now, it was the Order of Revan troops that were looking overextended.

In that moment, Theron Shan finally began to understand why Halcyon had been so successful throughout his career. Yes, he was brave, skilled and powerful, but now he understood that this was what the Jedi Master had actually done on all those other worlds in his travels.

He didn’t do other people’s jobs for them. Instead, he took on the central problem those people were facing – the one obstacle that was causing the crisis and preventing the people there from doing their jobs – and that freed everyone else up to refocus on what mattered.

He helped people to help themselves. That not only earned him peoples’ gratitude, it also minimized any potential resentment people might have for being ‘rescued’.

And that’s what he was doing right now for the Coalition commanders.

Even if Corellan and Kira did fail to put down the ‘invincible’ Sith Lord, they had already defeated him. The Revanites were starting to be pushed back by Republic and Imperial forces all along the front. Looking down at a secondary display, Theron noted the icon representing the troops under Sergeant Rusk’s command. They had routed a group of the Order of Revan’s attack droids they’d been fighting and the Chagrian was even now driving his soldiers forward.

The tide had been turned.

Win or lose the battle, Corellan Halcyon had already won the war.

How long had they been fighting? Minutes? Hours? It could have been a day for all Kira knew. But the Force was surging within her, firing up her endorphins. She hadn’t felt this powerful since she’d purged Vitiate from her mind back on the Desolator above Tython years before.

Right now, with the adrenaline pumping in her veins, she felt like she could keep fighting like this forever.

And with Corellan at her side, she never questioned what the outcome of this fight would be.

It wasn’t courage, really. It wasn’t even faith, though Force knew she believed in Corellan Halcyon more than she believed in almost anything.

No. This was the confidence of certainty.

In the four years since Kira’s Knighting, Corellan had never taken on a new Padawan, despite numerous offers from the Jedi Council to do so. Nor had Kira accepted any assignments that would have allowed her to begin formally training a Padawan of her own; something she’d always intended to do herself.

Their physical relationship aside, this fight highlighted the reason why. They simply could not do the things they did with anyone else. Certainly not with a padawan.

They frankly would’ve gotten anyone else killed.

At some point, perhaps inevitably, Krannus had shifted his tactics, refocusing his attacks on taking down Kira while simultaneously attempting to hold off Corellan. No doubt he had decided that once he’d dealt with her, he could have turned his full attention on the Jedi Master in a one-on-one engagement with improved odds. Theoretically, it was a sound strategy, eliminating your weaker opponent so you could then focus on the main target. Kira and their crew often used similar tactics against particularly powerful enemies and their followers, allowing Corellan to isolate and defeat the primary threat.

But Lord Kael employing this plan in turn against this particular duo ignored three critical factors:

First, while she couldn’t match Corellan in sheer power or ability, Kira Carsen was still one of the most skilled duelists of her generation of Jedi. One who’d spent a childhood training to be a Sith on Korriban and who’d endured an adolescence just surviving the dangers of Nar Shaddaa and who’d spent nearly every day for the past four years training against the very best the Jedi Order had to offer. As far as she was concerned, she was no one’s “weaker target”.

Second, countless Sith – and far more Imperials – had already attempted this exact same tactic against the pair of Jedi. Thus far, it hadn’t worked out for any of them. Their ‘switches’ – where Corellan and Kira would suddenly change positions during a maneuver – had been the undoing of some of the deadliest Sith in the galaxy, most notably with Kira’s lightsaber spelling the end of Darth Angral on the Desolator and – much more recently – delivering the death blow to Darth Nox during the Empire’s assault on the Temple of Tython.

Third, the bond between Corellan and herself now far surpassed anything she imagined any two Sith – with their inherent distrust of each other – or any two Jedi – with their dogmatic dismissal of attachments – could ever experience. Kira and Corellan fought as one.

This Sith Lord didn’t have a chance.

As his frustration continued to build, Lord Kael let out another roar of rage.

“Schutta!” he cursed, calling upon the dark side as a massive radial Force blast knocked Kira and Corellan back.

Had she been on her own, Kira might – might – have been intimidated by the sheer power behind the blast. Krannus was proving to be even more powerful than Zu’fanda Pampya had been on Tython. More powerful than Darth Malgus had been at Ilum. Perhaps – in sheer power – he was second among the Sith only to Vitiate himself.

But fighting beside Corellan, with his innate combat senses and reassuring presence, she saw the blast it for what it was: a desperation move.

As she regained her balance, Kira found herself smirking in spite of the situation. The attack had been against both Jedi, but the expletive – with its feminine connotation – had unquestionably been directed against her. She’d gotten to him.

So when Lord Kael reached out his fingers and she felt the pressure of a Force choke squeezing her neck, Kira didn’t panic. Her own defensive barrier, having briefly flickered by the Force blast, reasserted itself, resisting the strength of the Sith’s attack. He was still restricting her breathing, but he couldn’t apply enough pressure to strangle her or to snap her neck. With time, perhaps, he could have rendered her unconscious.

But time was something Lord Kael Nosrol Krannus had just run out of.

Corellan Halcyon had risen to his feet.

As Kira glared into the Sith’s golden eyes, she could tell the moment they both sensed what was about to happen. Engaged this closely to Kael, she could feel him start to panic as he desperately used the Force to hurl her towards the oncoming Corellan, clinging to the hope that it would buy him a few more seconds to regroup.

And Kira… Kira simply placed herself in the hands of the Force. And in the hands of Corellan. Instinctively, she turned her body sideways in mid-air, watching in awe as a cerulean blue lightsaber passed above her by mere inches while sensing an identical blade passing below.

It took her mind a second to comprehend what had happened; as Kira’s body had been thrown towards him, Corellan had unleased both of his weapons in a twin-saber throw towards Krannus, one directed above her, the other beneath, no more than a meter apart.

It was an insane move.

Had Kira not turned her body at the precise instant she had, she’d have been sliced apart.

Before she could process that, however, she felt Corellan’s hand catching hers. Rather than pulling her into his arms, she instead felt his own body turning in place. Kira’s feet never touched the ground as her deep blue eyes caught his icy pale blues for a fraction of a second.

That fraction of a second was all Kira needed to understand exactly what Corellan was doing.

Had they been anyone else – any other two Jedi in the galaxy – this entire maneuver would have been insane. They’d have both been killed.

But they weren’t anyone else.

They were Kira Carsen and the Hero of Tython.

They were young. They were in love.

But above all else, they were heroes.

And today, with the eyes of the galaxy upon them, they would prove that claim beyond any doubt.

Spinning in place, Corellan effortlessly redirected Kira’s momentum, releasing her hand and hurling her back towards Krannus.

The Sith Lord had barely fended off the attack of Corellan’s sabers. Turning to see the Jedi Knight hurtling towards him through the air, her green, fluorescent double-bladed lightsaber ignited, even his Force-enhanced reflexes weren’t fast enough to block her attack.

In that instant, as the Emperor’s Wrath looked up at her in shock, Kira felt like a living weapon.

More, she felt like she was his weapon.

It was nothing like what she’d felt like when she been under the Emperor’s control. Back then, she’d felt like she was losing her own sense of identity. Like she was less than a slave.

Here, through her bond with her partner, she felt free.

Because someone like Kael Nosrol Krannus, who’d spent most of his life devotedly serving the worst tyrant the galaxy had ever seen in pursuit of his own personal power, would never understand that to someone like Kira Carsen, moments like this weren’t just worth dying for.

Moments like this were what she lived for.

Kira’s blow caught the inside of Lord Kael’s helmet as he screamed out in pain, dropping one of his lightsabers as he reached his hand up to grasp at the wound. She landed on the other side, turning to see that Corellan had regained his own lightsabers and was now standing alongside her.

Whatever Krannus’ helmet was made of must have been tough; he wouldn’t have survived this long if it wasn’t. But it didn’t protect his entire face.

As his blood spilled across the ground, Kira realized that she’d put out his right eye.

There had been a multitude parallels between Kael Nosrol Krannus and Corellan Halcyon over the years. But how they faced change and adversity were quite different.

Kael had once placed his total faith in Vitiate, the Sith Emperor, the being of ultimate power who had ruled the Empire for more than a millennium convinced that service to that monster was the truest path to power.

When he’d seen that faith shattered, he had thrown himself into the service of Revan, losing all sense of himself in his pursuit of revenge.

Corellan had once placed his total faith in the Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic.

When he’d seen things that had challenged that faith, from the Jedi Order’s dogmatic apathy on Voss to the Republic prison on Belsavis to Chancellor Saresh’s “military reforms”, he’d learned from it. He’d grown up. Matured. Evolved. He’d accepted that he could look past the shortcomings of others and find the strength within himself to do the right thing. That our beliefs could evolve without sacrificing the principals that defined us.

Corellan had accepted that he could change without abandoning the things that made him Corellan.

Their choices had now led these two icons of their respective, warring factions to this point here on Yavin at this exact moment.

With his remaining good eye, Lord Kael now glared at Corellan with a burning hatred.

“They call you the Jedi assassin.” He spat blood on the ground between them.

Kira felt a flash of anger at the Sith’s verbal snipe. She wanted to shout back at him that Corellan was the blasted Hero of Tython, and that he had saved the whole blasted galaxy, and that Kael could take his insults and go kriff himself.

Instead, she felt nothing but a cool acceptance from Corellan, who maintained a defensive stance with his lightsabers drawn.

“I would imagine they do.” He acknowledged, a placid expression on his face. “I’ve killed many people in my time, Lord Kael. Sith. Imperials. Criminals. Even a few rogue Jedi here and back on Rakata who joined you in Revan’s service.”

Corellan exhaled.

“I admit, at one point, even I was afraid I was turning into something I wouldn’t recognize.”

Krannus stood stunned, breathing heavily, a trickle of blood trailing down his red cheek from his ruined eye socket. Lightsabers usually cauterized the wounds they caused; this was something else. His body wasn’t responding normally. And whatever response he’d expected from his barb at the Jedi, it hadn’t been a confession.

“But just recently, I met with… with an old friend.” Corellan continued.

Kira knew instinctively that he was speaking of their encounter with the Force-ghost of Orgus Din, his old master, on Rishi. Corellan may have called almost everyone he’d ever met a ‘friend’, but she knew the few who actually got to him.

After all, she knew his story.

She knew everything about him, inside and out.

“That friend helped remind me of who I am and why I do what I do.” The Hero of Tython continued. “That I do have a future, if I can just let go of my fear that it will never come.”

He smiled wistfully.

“The strangest thing happens when we let go of our fears, Lord Kael. We become… well, I believe we become more of ourselves.”

To Kira, that very sentiment said so much about Corellan. Some cynical thinkers – and maybe even Kira herself – would claim that people were defined by their fears. How much suffering had been caused by people fearing their fellow sentient beings? Or for a lack of resources? Or a hundred other fears that seemed to drive everyone’s motivation? Even Kira’s own story had only really begun when she’d fled Korriban in fear of what the Emperor was doing to her.

Right or wrong, Corellan was exactly the kind of person who would think that people could only become the best versions of themselves when they let go of their fears.

That was one of the things she loved about him.

And he wasn’t finished.

“But that begs the question… with all the sacrifices you’ve made from just by donning that armor, what is it that you’re afraid of?”

Krannus’ good eye blinked once, and Kira found herself smirking as he snarled in anger at the barb. As Corellan raised his lightsabers, Kael’s hand lashed out with a massive blast of Force lightning towards the two Jedi…

All along the front, the Coalition forces were emerging from their defensive positions, starting to advance. Slowly at first; the Revanites were fanatics and they made their enemies fight for every step. But the loss of their momentum and the carefully coordinated counterattacks ordered by Satele and Marr were having the desired effect: The allies were once again starting to gain ground.

In a few minutes, if Krannus were even still alive, he’d be encircled.

So when Lord Kael’s blast of Force lightning struck Corellan’s crossed sabers, Theron decided that this had to be the end.

As lightning met lightsabers, the seconds started to pass. Roaring again in frustration, Krannus’ added his left hand to the attack, discarding his lightsabers entirely as the holoprojection flickered at the sheer power being unleashed from both hands.

Any second now, Corellan would break the circuit. He would turn the lightning aside and take the fight back to the Sith, even if he couldn’t directly penetrate the armor. Or, perhaps, he’d have Kira lead off with a series of distracting blows, then move in himself for the kill.

Once that happened, the leadership would order an all-out attack. The Revanites were already starting to buckle. Once Krannus was off the board, everything else would – Force-willing – fall into place.

He watched intently. Any second now…

Theron finally blinked, as the seconds kept ticking by and electrical charge against the sabers continued to build. Only now did he notice the awkward silence around the table.

“Uhm.”

Kira remembered, some years ago, Corellan discovering that he had no real aptitude for the Tutaminis Force technique beyond the rudimentary level. This was not particularly remarkable; only a small percentage of Jedi – among them Grand Master Satele – were skilled enough in the art of energy absorption to harness the truly impressive effects, like absorbing Force lightning or deflecting a lightsaber blow with their bare hand.

(Kira had heard a rumor once back on Tython that some Jedi and Sith could even use the Force to freeze a discharged blaster bolt in mid-air for several minutes by using only their minds before releasing it with full effect on a target. She’d always assumed that story to have been a crock: no one could ever identify a single individual who’d performed the trick. If Kira herself had seen it, she wasn’t sure that even she would have believed it.)

Still, it was a bit of a surprise that Corellan hadn’t managed to at least become adequately skilled at it. Aside from his old friend Ulannium, he was probably familiar with more Force combat techniques than any other Jedi of their generation.

But learning this one particular feat had always alluded him.

Still, hours upon hours of training with Scourge and Kira were sure to pay dividends eventually. The grumpy old tomato had probably seen more combat between Force-users than anyone else living, aside from maybe the Emperor himself.

But when Corellan had discovered the capability of doing something even Scourge had never seen or heard of before, even the Sith Lord had been impressed. And on that fateful day more than a year ago when the three of them had attempted this move together in a secluded valley on Alderaan, the effects had been, well… shocking.

Despite nearly being electrocuted during the exercise, Scourge hadn’t even been mad. In fact, he was as close to pleased as Kira had ever seen him. Heck, the grumpy old tomato had almost smiled.

The very rage that was powering Kael’s lightning attack was also going to be his downfall. Even with that pool of anger to draw on, sustaining this continuous torrent of lightning would be physically and mentally exhausting. Further, it would blind him to the fact that the charge building against Corellan’s lightsabers was actually growing brighter.

Lightning was supposed to dissipate against lightsabers; Tutaminis or no, it wasn’t supposed to build up.

Through Kira’s Force bond with Corellan, she could feel the moment coming. The Hero of Tython was focusing all his attention on the power building within his crossed sabers. In a sense, it felt like a test of wills between the Jedi and the Sith.

Engaged as he was, there was no possible way that Corellan could redirect that power himself with any kind of precision.

Of course, if Corellan were properly attuned through a Force-bond to someone skillful enough… well.

When the instant arrived, Corellan didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t even need to project anything towards her.

Kira simply knew.

She thrust out her green lightsaber blade, crossing it with Corellan’s weapons at a precise angle that should have been impossible to calculate.

The resulting blast of Force power erupted from the built-up charge, and it launched itself towards Krannus, faster than any of them could process.

The Sith Lord screamed in pain, blasted by electricity of his own making.

It was part of what Scourge had taught them about orbalisks: They were vulnerable to concentrated electricity. They could resist an attacking Sith’s Force lightning adequately enough… but they could not resist the wielder’s own power.

Kira watched as Kael continued to scream, the orbalisks literally burning off his body as the Sith Lord struggled to break free, to no avail.

As the final surge struck him with all the power of a thunderbolt, the Emperor’s Wrath was knocked off his feet for the third and final time this day.

The lightning finally dissipated.

The Sith Lord lay there on the ground motionless.

It sounded to Kira as if nearly the entire battlefield had suddenly gone quiet. She could hear blaster fire somewhere in the distance, but it felt like the planet itself was holding its breath for whatever happened next.

Corellan lowered his lightsabers, deactivating them as he exhaled in exhaustion, barely able to stand.

And yet, the victorious Jedi Master was still standing.

Krannus wasn’t.

Tired though she was from her adrenaline high wearing off, Kira reached out to Corellan through the Force, offering him a gentle caress. His eyes closed for a moment in acceptance and soon, his breathing started to return to normal. She could feel him becoming rejuvenated and felt more than a little satisfaction that she could have this sort of impact on him without even touching him.

He didn’t even look back towards her. But then, he didn’t need to. She could feel his upswelling of appreciation and gratitude as if he had squeezed her hand.

Corellan finally stepped towards the fallen Kael Nosrol Krannus. Kira, acting on reflex, followed at his side, looking down at the beaten Sith.

The smell of cooked flesh was revolting as it reached her nostrils, and she could barely contain the nausea she felt. As they looked down at their fallen foe, Kira could almost imperceptibly observe the Sith’s chest rising and falling; his breaths were ragged and broken.

Krannus was dying. And he clearly knew it.

With his one good eye, the Emperor’s Wrath glared up at the Hero of Tython.

“Finish them, Jedi.” He snarled weakly. “Finish those who have deceived us.”

Kira understood immediately whom he meant, even as Corellan stood in place in stoic silence.

The Emperor.

And Revan.

The galaxy itself had been engulfed over an insane feud that dated back three centuries.

It had to end.

A final sigh escaped Kael’s lips as his head fell back, yellow eyes still open, looking skyward.

The Emperor’s Wrath was gone.

Back at Coalition headquarters, Theron had been standing by to give the order the moment Lord Kael fell. Before Krannus had even taken his last breath, the Republic agent had already toggled the open channel on his communicator.

“All Coalition forces – this is command.” He announced. “The Revanites are broken. General attack. Again, all troops, general attack. It’s time to finish this.”

Theron fell back in his field chair as the icons started to advance in earnest across the holo-map. If there had been any fight left in the Order, any faith in their leader’s mad plans, it had been spent the moment Krannus had fallen: They were running.

No more strategic planning would be needed. Not for commanding the troops, anyway.

“Whew.” Theron exhaled in relief. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that trick before.”

He beamed, looking up at the others.

All three pairs of Force-sensitive eyes around the table were still locked silently on the projection of Halcyon, Carsen and the body of Krannus.

Lana’s mouth had fallen open in shock for a long moment before she’d quickly composed herself, swallowing before letting out a breath. Satele’s eyes were clearly focused on the projection of Corellan, as if silently scrutinizing him for something only she could see. If she’d appeared concerned for her order’s young champion before, she was definitely rattled, now. Theron had long reasoned that part of the famed ‘Jedi mystique’ involved keeping one’s mouth shut when you didn’t actually have anything to say. Grand master Satele Shan certainly personified that approach. Meanwhile, hidden behind his mask, Marr’s throat made a sound that Theron couldn’t even begin to describe, nor did he think any human mouth should have been able to make.

Once again, it was Satele who seemed to regain her senses first.

“Deploy the medical teams to recover our wounded.” She ordered, reasserting herself, the very picture of decisive calm. “Alert the fleet in orbit to be on guard for fleeing transport ships. We cannot allow Revan or any of his followers to escape us again.”

Theron, blinking surprise at the reactions of the others, nodded in assent and relayed the instructions.

As the battle of Yavin came to an end, the SIS agent reflected on what he’d seen this day. Lana was certainly highly intelligent and knowledgeable concerning the Force, but it was their mutual superiors who’d captured his attention.

Satele and Marr were two of the most active and accomplished leaders of Jedi and Sith in history. They’d seen countless battles over the decades, fighting endless enemies. Between the two of them, they’d probably opened Force-knew how many holocrons or other ancient texts to expand their respective knowledge of the Force.

Neither of them had even recognized the orbalisk armor that Krannus had been wearing. And certainly neither of them had seen anything like the feat that Corellan Halcyon, at just twenty-seven years of age, had just performed with his former padawan.

Reflecting on that, Theron finally turned his attention back to the live feed of the duel that had just ended.

Halcyon and Carsen had turned their backs to the fallen Sith Lord and were now walking back in the direction of the Coalition lines even as their troops advanced the other way. Their part in the wider campaign was done.

As she followed a step behind and to the right of Corellan, he saw Kira turn and glance over at him, an expression in her eyes that he couldn’t quite interpret through the projection.

Theron was usually a loner by choice. It suited his personality. But just for a moment, he truly envied Corellan Halcyon for having a partner like Kira Carsen.

Minutes later, now standing just outside of Coalition headquarters, Kira stood across from Corellan.

Right this moment, she wanted so badly to grab him and kiss him. She would have shoved him back against the nearest tree and…

But it wasn’t the place or the time. Even in this moment of relative privacy, there were too many Republic and Imperial officers close by. Anyone could have been watching them.

Meanwhile, Satele, Theron and the Sith were waiting for him.

Revan was still out there, preparing to do Force-knows what. Regardless of whether or not it was really him behind the mask, he needed to be dealt with.

And beyond Revan was the Emperor.

As always, there was never enough time for them. And until they gave it up, there never would be.

Still, in this moment, Corellan had let the mask drop for a bit. The cold front he’d put up for the Sith. For Marr, Beniko and even Krannus. The ‘Hero’ personae he’d put up for Satele, Theron and the Republic. She alone could see the vulnerable man beneath the invincible hero.

That was enough for her. For now.

The development of Corellan’s “mask” meant she owed Scourge another ‘thank you’. As much as she loved Corellan, she’d been worried the Sith would exploit his blasted heroic nature for their own ends. So along the way, he’d learned to present the face of someone else for when he needed it; someone who could consistently throw his enemies off based on their expectations of what a Jedi even was. Between his Force camouflage and the public demeanor, they didn’t see him.

Kira had heard that Darth Marr claimed that the mask he wore was his face.

Right now, it felt like Corellan’s face was a mask.

On the flip side, he’d probably worried both of the Shans with how he’d been acting the last couple of days in front of the Sith and the Imperials. That would need addressing at some point, Kira knew.

But here, alone with her for this moment, he could allow himself to be vulnerable with her. More than that, he could be himself.

That moment couldn’t last, of course.

“You’ll tell him that its time?” he finally asked her.

I love you. Was what Kira heard.

“Yeah.” she nodded in agreement. “I’ll send ‘Big Red’ in.”

I love you, too. Kira had answered.

Without another word, she turned and left, feeling his gaze following behind her before he, too, took his leave.

“How did he do that?” Darth Marr nearly growled beneath his mask.

The Coalition forces had turned the victory over the Revanites into a route. But no one could have discerned that based on Marr’s mood in their headquarters.

“How did he even know about orbalisks? They haven’t been seen in the Empire in centuries! I barely recall even reading about them from some forbidden text in my youth!”

“My lord, please.” Lana beseeched her new boss. She’d had the presence of mind to dismiss the support staff so they wouldn’t be around to witness any ‘potentially difficult’ discussions. “I can begin making discreet inquiries once this current situation is concluded.”

Theron didn’t have any explanation that could have placated Marr and decided to himself that a snarky remark would be ill-timed right now. So he and Satele were quietly continuing to coordinate the mop-up effort while Lana attempted to defuse the situation with the frustrated Dark Councilor.

Marr paused, turning to glare down at the younger Sith.

“Talented as you are, Beniko, I doubt even your guile could determine how a young Jedi learned of long-forgotten Sith techniques.” Marr’s voice had leveled, but he couldn’t quite keep the slight hiss from his tone as he addressed his subordinate. Indeed, it was so intimidating, he probably hadn’t even tried. Regardless of how he felt about her right now, Theron didn’t envy Lana having Marr’s attention in the slightest.

Fortunately, they were interrupted before things escalated any further.

“’There is no ignorance, there is knowledge’, Lord Marr.” Halcyon’s voice echoed in the clearing as he approached the table, as he quoted the opening line of the Jedi Code, the same doctrine that Sith Lords so famously rejected with contempt. Clearly, the Jedi Master had overheard the conversation.

Theron found himself surprised that Corellan didn’t sound remotely smug; just coy. Aside from his singed robes, there was little sign he’d just fought the battle of his life. Indeed, if anything, he looked reenergized.

“You’ve returned.” Satele noted assessing him with a conciliatory nod. “Well done, Master Corellan.”

If she was still concerned with Corellan’s state, and Theron had to believe that she was, she was keeping it well-hidden in her voice behind a shield of formal compassion. Her veneer of calm was as unflappable as always.

Corellan turned to the famed leader of his order and bowed, crossing his arm across his chest in the Jedi salute.

“Master Satele.” He returned the formal greeting, bowing his head. “Thank you for approving the bombardment.” Corellan paused. “I regret there wasn’t time for me to sufficiently explain the plan earlier.”

Theron bit his lip, remembering their previous conversation.

“So we gathered.” The Grand Master assented. Their exchange was entirely civil, but Theron noted that it had not been entirely warm.

“Yes, let me second those congratulations, Master Jedi.” Lana stepped towards Corellan, giving him a surprisingly genuine smile. “It was a remarkable victory.”

She paused as if about to speak further, looking past Corellan towards the entrance.

“Will we be meeting your talented companion?”

Corellan returned her expression. Somehow, though, the smile he gave her didn’t quite reach his tired eyes.

“I’m afraid not, Lana.” He answered. “Knight Carsen was needed elsewhere. But thank you.”

Again, civil words. But delivered more formally than Theron would have expected from a man who was usually so open.

Corellan paused and looked around at the faces around the table.

“What’s our status?”

Theron, undistracted from the drama with Marr, had been ready for that line of inquiry.

“All units report success.” The SIS agent reported. “The weapon has been shut down and all the Revanites have been neutralized.”

He let that sink in, knowing what was coming next.

“Only one more left to deal with.”

Theron didn’t have to announce who that was. Lord Kael Nosrol Krannus had been all but invincible, but in the end, he’d just been a follower. There was no doubt in his mind that Revan had been the one who’d donned Krannus in the orbalisk armor in the first place. They’d be foolish to think their quarry didn’t have more surprises in store for his enemies, even with his army thoroughly beaten.

“Iven told us where Revan might go.” Satele reasoned. “The Emperor’s final sanctuary.”

A moment of silence fell across the table. Defeating the Order of Revan had been one thing. Defeating Revan himself – and possibly the Emperor, as well – was something else altogether.

Marr regarded Halcyon with what Theron could only assume was an appraising look beneath his metal mask. It felt like the Sith Lord was finally regarding the young Jedi Master with new eyes.

“You must realize, Master Halcyon, that if you embraced the dark side of the Force yourself, then no one in the galaxy would be able to stand in your way. Not even Revan.”

His voice felt like a viper slithering up Theron’s arm as he dangled the other, temptingly.

“You would be invincible.”

Satele’s eyes narrowed at the suggestion that her order’s champion could be corrupted in such a manner and even Lana looked downwards and shifted her feet uncomfortably. Theron found himself torn between the practical advantages of a dark-sided Corellan Halcyon and the fear he felt in contemplating the Jedi as a Sith Lord.

But Corellan Halcyon himself merely turned and regarded the towering Dark Councilor in turn. Marr stood at least five inches taller than the Jedi, but they might as well have been at eye level for all that mattered. The thinnest of smiles came to the Jedi’s lips.

“But then who would you find to stop me, Lord Marr?” he asked. “When I became too powerful to be contained and ruled your Empire for my own benefit?”

Theron watched as Marr’s powerful shoulders clenched at the barb. The reminder of what Vitiate, a veritable demigod ruling the Sith Empire for thirteen hundred years, had done was still fresh in everyone’s mind.

Before Marr could respond, the intelligence agent decided to change the subject.

“We could call in help.” Theron offered, eager to break the tension. “Havoc Squad could be here within a day. And Barsen’thor Kaarz reached out to ask if we needed his assistance, as well.”

He considered their other options, glancing towards Lana.

“We could even call in Xadya, the reigning Champion of the Great Hunt, if the Empire wanted to contract some Mandalorian help.”

There was a quiet pause around the table, then Corellan shook his head.

“Not enough time. Whatever Revan is planning with the Emperor, we don’t have a moment to waste.”

Theron just nodded in agreement. He was unsurprised when again no one attempted to contradict Corellan’s assessment of the situation. Glancing sideways at Satele, he could see the reluctant approval in her eyes as well. Her concerns for the young Jedi Master could wait.

“We’ve got speeders prepped.” he promised, turning back to Corellan. “Jakarro is insisting on joining us as well. You won’t be facing him alone.”

Corellan just nodded back to Theron gratefully.

“Then let’s finish this.”

Without another word, he turned and headed back towards the exit, his ruined robes flowing behind him like a hero from some holovid drama.

Theron watched him silently as the others began their preparations.

He wondered if Marr had been wrong in his estimation.

Corellan Halcyon was, by all outward appearances, already invincible.

Deep within the Temple of Sacrifice, a man behind a metal mask scowled as he witnessed his final roll of the dice come up short.

He’d known that Kael had been a blunt instrument given the state of mind the Sith Lord had been in, all but useless the moment a more refined response was called for. Nevertheless, had played the hand the Force had dealt him.

Now his followers were routed or fleeing. Even his personal guards, the Infinites, had been lost in that last assault.

The Order of Revan was finished.

That was unfortunate, but the cult had served its purpose getting him to this point. He was strong enough to complete his great work on his own no matter what these interlopers threw at him.

They might have been powerful. They might even believe that they were invincible.

But he was Revan.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author’s Notes: Full disclosure, a small chunk of the dialogue late in this story is pulled directly from the Shadow of Revan expansion, just before you go to face Revan near the end.

I’ve had this story in my Work-In-Progress writing journal for many years. At one point, I started to actually write a draft of it, then set it aside when the scope of the work started to become clear. It’s by far the longest thing I’ve written. That was two years ago. The final product involved going through many, many drafts, and has been a burden for these last three months.

It was the hardest writing project I’ve ever finished since I started writing fanfiction.

I remember one day thinking to myself ‘The Jedi Knight crew spends all this time together. What do they wind up talking about? What are their common interests?’ So I decided they talk a lot about combat. Rusk is a tactical specialist. Kira is an adrenaline junkie. Scourge is basically an ancient ninja. Doc is a field medic. Teeseven loves lightsabers. Corellan is Corellan. I imagined the group spent a lot of time designing maneuvers the way coaches draw up plays in American football and basketball. For the record, I do remember that when I fleshed out this idea, I had Skillet’s “Invincible” playing in the background. This piece was also partially inspired by the action scenes in the classic Deceived and The Return trailers.

This piece was originally planned as a chapter in a five-part series, with each piece featuring a point-of-view alternating between one of the Jedi Knight companions and one of the prominent NPCs involved in the S.O.R. story. (Lana and Teeseven would have been “paired” together, for example, like Theron and Kira were here.) That project wasn’t coming along, so this story is now a two-parter in that duology, with this chapter being the first. I’m fascinated by the idea of a story being told from the points of view of different characters who have different perspectives on the same scene based on their own understanding and preconceived notions. I touch on that concept for this chapter and I’m thinking I intend to make it even more pronounced in the next.

Writing action scenes is … still challenging for me. But I’m working on it.

We never see them in the actual SWTOR game story, but I head-canon that orbalisks are not commonly used in the “modern” Sith Empire, with even the knowledge of their existence a secret suppressed by the Emperor. By the time of the Shadow of Revan expansion, even knowledgeable Sith like Marr have barely heard of them. (Obviously, certain select individuals – such as a three-hundred year-old Sith Lord – are obviously more familiar.) I was tickled by the head-canon that Marr kept forbidden Sith texts under his pillow as a child. I know that many of you are not fans of Drew Karpyshyn, but I enjoyed his Darth Bane Trilogy. Those of you who have also read it will no doubt be familiar with some of my inspirations for this chapter. I wanted to introduce a special element into this fight and giving orbalisks to Lord Kael seemed to make sense to me.

Speaking of which, Kael Nosrol Krannus is one of my oldest OCs, dating back to when he was simply known as “Nosrol”. (Which sounded too much like one of the orcs from Warcraft for my tastes.) The literal intent of the character was to take (almost) every single dark-side choice available in the Sith Warrior Class and Imperial stories since I so often play light side. Simply put, he’s my token ‘edge-lord’, as terrible a trope as that is. But he was also a hardline Vitiate fanatic, and as such he fit the role here: when you shatter a fanatic’s faith in something, they don’t usually become a better-rounded person with a fresh perspective. They just find something else to be fanatical about. That development is about as interesting as the character gets. Other quick notes on Kael: First, ‘Lord Kael and the Infinites’ sounds like a good name for an 80’s death-metal band. (No, that wasn’t intentional.) Second, the game-play rule that Sith Warriors can’t make Force lightning is dumb. Third, his line of dialogue at the end is a reference to the Obi-Wan / Maul scene from Star Wars: Rebels, one of my favorite moments from that series.

Fun fact, the first reference to Theron in the actual game story comes from Kira Carsen herself, during a post-class story letter. I head-canon that Kira, in contrast to the discreet Corellan, frequently teases Theron about Satele being his mother. (She eventually quits teasing him after she joins the Eternal Alliance, but that comes much later.) Aside from his encounter with Orgus, Corellan didn’t team with Kira for much of the Forged Alliances / Shadow of Revan storyline, primarily because he was concerned about Lana or Satele or possibly even Revan himself putting two and two together concerning their relationship. Obviously, that weighs on my favorite one true pairing. Other notes on Kira: First, @taraum is the reason I have Kira calling Scourge ‘the Big Tomato’ and so on. Years later, I continue to be inspired by her work. Second, I’ve head-cannoned for a while that Kira loves the color purple and would change her lightsaber color to it if it didn’t make the other Jedi look at her suspiciously. (Lookup the story “Apex” on ff.net for my inspiration on that.) Third, SWTOR gameplay is weird. Regardless of the settings, companions often wind up acting like tanks in the fights, drawing the attention of mobs. So I have certainly seen enemies trying to gang up on Kira while I’m playing as Corellan, and they usually pay the price. Fourth, Kira’s Tutaminis rumor was a light dig at the opening scene from The Force Awakens with Kylo Ren. All jokes aside, it wasn’t a terrible film, but I can only look back on it now as a waste of potential knowing what was to come.

Theron’s obliviousness to Kira’s relationship with Corellan is just good, clean fun for me.

Unintentionally, I feel I’ve laid the groundwork for the Eternal Alliance storyline and the choices Lana, Theron and other characters wind up making concerning Corellan Halcyon as the future Outlander and Alliance Commander. On its surface, there aren’t a terrible number of reasons why Lana Beniko would ‘draft’ an Outlander like Corellan, who is probably a bit too idealistic for her tastes. The Corellan she sees here has a ruthless streak in addition to being an inspiring figure. That is the version of Corellan she wants to lead the revolt against Zakuul. (This naturally leads to some misunderstandings later on after she frees him. “Lana Beniko disapproves” indeed!)

I’ve alluded before that in my Legacy, Corellan and his crew met with Theron well before the events in the Forged Alliances story on a couple of “unofficial” missions. That story is even deeper in my WIP folder than this one was and probably will not see the light of day.

The Twi’lek Jedi and human Sith Lord who died fighting Kael are named Pol’fenn and Fen Huang. They are obviously minor supporting players here, but they are featured original characters in my Barith Legacy, where (obviously) they don’t meet their end fighting my favorite evil edge-lord. I might write about that “alternate timeline” legacy some other time.

My characterization of Satele Shan feels very passive in this story and that may draw some deserved criticism. I intend to address that in the next chapter.

I don’t know if any of you caught it, but there was an homage to the classic Dark Phoenix Saga story from the X-Men comics. It was just a bit of narrative text that always stuck with me, and it fit Kira and Corellan.

Stay tuned for “Part Two” of this story, titled Allies and coming… someday. I probably need a break from this series for awhile, but I’ll get to it. Kira won’t really be there, but Scourge and Satele definitely will be.

Thank you, and may the Force be with you.

- SWTORpadawan

Tagging interested parties: @a-master-procrastinator @abbee-normal @abysskeeper @actualanxiousswampwitch @ainyan @amons-hat-enthusiast @ancha-meadow @anchanted-one @atlanta--airport @beaut-ful-d-saster @blueburds-but-swtor @cassthechaoticmercenary @certified-anakinfucker @chaosandwonder @chokit-pyrus @cinlat @commander-krios @connoissuer-of-fine-vines @cryo-lily @darthsinister66 @depizan @dynlegacy @eorzeashan @freedim @girlstandstill @gmkelz11 @grandninjamasterren @inventedbyawriter @itstheelvenjedi @jayofolympus @jbnonsensework @justadreaminghufflepuff @karanan @kemendin @kgoblin @khrushchevs-corn-farm @lemonlinelights @lonewolfel @magicallulu7 @boggedfrog @misthios00 @mysterious-cuchulainn-x @nostalgiaaftersimming @rangerslayer-97 @oolathurman @pentacass @princessthriller @rogue-kenobi @sealeneee @shabre-legacy @shadowysthings @shynmighty @space-unicorn-dot @starknstarwars @sullustangin @taina-eny @taraum @the-jedi-knight-enjoyer @the-raven-of-highever @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @tishinada @velvetsunset @vexa-legacy @vihola @wackyart @what-we-fight-for @wilvarin-chan

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chaoticstrata · 3 months

Text

Jonas/Jorgen WIP

No Jonas and Jorgen interaction yet, I'll get to it...eventually. >.>

----------------------------------------------------

Jonas ran his finger along the edge of his glass, half listening to his friend vent about their higher ups. Typical SIS politics and Senators butting their noses in where they weren’t wanted. Same old, same old. He could fall asleep and still know what his fellow agent was talking about. In fact, next his friend was going to bring up the Director pulling a few strings for him.

“...Director managed to get me out of the situation by--”

Called it.

As he tuned out of the conversation again, he refocused his attention to the lonely soul nursing a half-full glass at the bar. Fancy stuff too if Jonas had to hazard a guess. They were drinking either an expensive whiskey or rum, based on the color. Unsurprising since this particular lounge on Coruscant had quite the selection of hard liquor, and none of them cheap--which made Jonas idly wonder how the lone individual could even afford it. Officer or not, their pay couldn’t be that good.

“Jonas…”

Although, that’s a guess from several feet away, in a dim lounge, with him squinting at the glass.

“Jonas…”

He wondered if--there was a sharp tug on his ear.

“Jonas!”

“Ow, what the fuck, Theron?” the SIS agent exclaimed, turning to glare at his friend as he rubbed his sore ear. “Did you really need to be so rough?”

The brunette rolled his eyes. “You’re not made of glass, you’ll live. Besides, calling your name didn’t get your attention--”

“So you went straight to manhandling?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” Theron asked with a shit-eating grin as he sipped his whiskey.

“Kriffer,” Jonas grumbled, eyes drifting back to the bar.

He felt a slight tinge of annoyance as Theron leaned around him to see what he was looking at.

“Huh, he’s cute,” he commented, sipping his drink again, “I didn’t think he’d be your type, though.”

“I don’t have a type,” Jonas rolled his eyes before giving Theron a look. “And besides other’s said that about you.”

“Fine, I’ll give you that one,” Theron snorted, relaxing back against his seat. “Are you going to go talk to him, or just ogle him from afar?”

“I’m pretty sure he’d be liable to bite my head off if I tried,” he answered, sipping his drink before pulling his eyes away from the lone patron.

“Ah, so he’s met you already,” the younger man snickered.

Jonas whacked his stomach. “He met me on Nar Shaddaa…where I proceeded to flirt with his commanding officer…”

#strata wip #swtor #swtor fanfiction #jonas balkar #aric jorgan #theron shan #just two friends bantering atm

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anchanted-one · 2 months

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Record of Heroes Past Book 5. Book of Ciphers: Limbo

Summary: A time of great uncertainty is approaching. Darth Marr and Vajra Devarath—the Hero of Tython—have disappeared, following a decisive ambush by the mysterious Zakuul, a third Galactic superpower. While Kairegane Rooks—the Empire's Wrath—scrambles to save everyone from the new threat, Lana Beniko abandons everything in her race to save her husband. But her search may not be as smooth as she'd hoped...

This book is set in the five-year timeskip between Chapters 1 and 3 of KOTFE

#star wars #the old republic #star wars the old republic #swtor #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #lana beniko #jedi knight #hero of tython #theron shan #satele shan #arcann #vaylin #trooper #koth vortena

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greyias · 1 year

Note

I wish you would write a fic where... Theron somehow amasses a following of actual, physical porn bots droids and shenanigans ensue

I saw this prompt come in and devolved into a fit of heinous cackling. How, oh how could I resist trying to render our collective Tumblr nightmare into fictional text form?

Context: While not required reading, this is technically a sequel to this stunning crackfic, authored so long ago. If you need a refresher on the Medical Droid Love Triangle Saga, follow this link. Or this one, which is the real villain origin story of this fic. Or don't, you're already cursed if you click beyond the read more of this post.

With special thanks to @grumpyhedgehog, @sandwyrm, @storyknitter, @kitsonpaws, and @andveryginger for providing me with ideas, cursed pornbot summaries, and many cursed HoloNet websites that should never exist. You are not required to read any of this.

Technically rated T, but in reality rated N for Nobody, because no one should have to read this. I'm packing my bags, as my ride to superhell just came. Enjoy.

It had started as such a normal day -- if you could indeed have called any day on Odessen “normal”. What with the galaxy always being at the brink of some disaster or another, and their merry little band of misfits being led by the galaxy’s most notorious do-gooder, Theron’s schedule and to-do list had a tendency to get derailed on almost a daily basis.

This, however, was not how that usually happened.

He’d paused, mid-step, finger still hovering over his datapad, mid-entry as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, slowly dawning horror washing over him. His head turned slowly, like one of those doomed characters in a horror holofilm to look at the droid he’d just passed.

It was one of the new ones that had come in on a recent shipment. So new in fact, that there was still a fleet of them in the middle of being unpacked in the Logistics Wing. Shining, tall and blue, its highly polished quadranium head pivoted to look back at him.

“What,” Theron swallowed, willing his voice to sound even and not give in to the creeping dread, “what did you say?”

“Theron Shan,” the droid repeated helpfully, “is a master lover.”

“Oh no.” The words slipped out of their own accord.

“Just a moment, sir,” the droid continued, seemingly oblivious to the human’s distress, “I’m not quite done with your evaluation yet. Let’s see, where were we?”

“No no no no.”

The round flattened dome that served as its head tilted to one side, beady orange eyes sweeping over Theron from head to toe, before resuming its cheery, if horrifying report. “Subject is an exemplary specimen. In good cardiovascular health, above average muscle tone. Tall, well-built, and very clean...”

“Um,” Theron stammered. “I’m...” Flattered? Taken? Leaving? Wait--yes, that last one. “Going now!”

He didn’t give the cursed machine any more time to continue ogling him, instead taking off down the hall at a very brisk walk that nearly bordered on a jog. His mind raced at he beat a hasty retreat, trying to understand what was happening. It had been over a year since the The Incident, dubbed by some as the “Sexy Spy Virus”, and others by much more crude names, where a little harmless reprogramming had taken on a life of its own. Theron had been meticulous in his coding of the antivirus, wanting to ensure that the entire debacle would be forgotten. There was simply no way that it could crop back in on its own.

“Theron,” the brisk accented tone of one Lana Beniko burst in over his comm, “why did a droid just feel the need to inform me that they found rust on its insides during its last tune-up?”

“I don’t know,” Theron insisted, but his words were almost drowned out by a metallic clanking echoing down the corridor.

He threw a look over his shoulder, and to his horror, saw that his robotic admirer had decided to give chase.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” he quickly said into the comm as the droid picked up speed from a walk to an all out gallop.

“Theron,” she sounded both concerned and exasperated, which, considering Lana, was about par the course, “what’s going on?”

“Save me!” He shouted as he took off a dead sprint.

In his many years in the field, Theron had been threatened, sure. Shot at? Many times. He’d been drugged. Tortured. Stabbed through the gut with a lightsaber pike and lived to tell the tale. He’d run into Sith, Revanites, bounty hunters, thugs, fanatics and cultists alike. He’d been in more firefights than he could remember, and more covert ops than he cared to. He’d even been accused of being a traitor (although that was kind of the point at the time).

None of that compared right now to being chased down by a droid yelling at top volume claiming he was the best lover it had ever seen.

And this time, he was pretty sure it wasn’t actually his fault.

He rounded the corner from the corridor leading from the Logistics Wing, passing by the Commander’s (and at this point, his) Quarters. HK-55 and Z0-0M straightened to their full height at his arrival. Oh thank the Force, allies.

“Salutations: Agent Shan, you are looking quite spry today.”

“What?” he panted as he approached.

“Yes, Agent Shan, don’t believe what anyone else is saying!” Zeeyo exclaimed, throwing her arms into the air. “Your undercarriage doesn’t look rusty at all!”

Mind sharp as a tack, Theron realized the implications of this just in time, and dodged to the side, ducking and rolling as the assassin-turned-bodyguard droid lunged forward to trap him in a bear hug. Not pausing to even catch his breath, as soon as his feet hit the ground he propelled himself forward and further down the hall.

“Frustration: I only wish to profess my admiration for you, Agent Shan!”

“Nope nope nope nope!” Desperation was starting to tinge the edges of his words now.

The metallic clanking intensified as more droids behind him joined in the chase, all of their vocabulators joining in unison to tell him in one way, or another, that he was in fact, the pinnacle of sexual prowess.

Theron couldn’t run forever, despite whatever their programming was forcing them to say, his stamina would give out before the lustftul droids’ power supplies. As the corridor zigged and twisted, he saw an opening in the form of a door sliding open. Without hesitation he dove in, shoving the individual there, thankfully made of flesh and bone, aside as he slammed the door controls.

The door slid securely shut just as the thunderous clanking filled the corridor beyond, their lustful words of appreciation and encouragement nearly drowned out by the racket. Theron hadn’t bothered to look or count, but he was pretty sure that the number had risen from three in the scant moments it had taken Theron to dart from one corridor to the next.

He held up a hand to his lips as he turned to thank the person who had unwittingly provided his temporary salvation. The words of gratitude died on his lips, as he realized exactly who’s room he had sought refuge in.

For a moment, Theron truly considered surrendering himself to the lusty droid mob.

Draike Highwind’s face was caught somewhere between confusion and amusement, but the latter was winning out as he started to decipher individual phrases drifting in from the corridor. A dark brow arched higher, lips twitching with undisguised mirth as the stupid blue droid that had started this whole mess yelled once again about Theron being a master lover.

More seconds passed, the ruckus quieting down, before silence descended once more, and it was finally safe to speak.

“So,” Draike drew out the word, somehow lacing it with more innuendo than all of the malfunctioning droids combined, “what ya been doing, Shan?”

“Nothing!” he insisted, voice still hushed just in case one of the droids could somehow hear.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” His brother-in-law’s smirk widened into an almost feral grin, eyebrows waggling. “Sounds like you’ve been getting... busy.”

One of the greatest mysteries in the galaxy was how one man could make anything sound that dirty. “I was minding my own business!”

“Oh, I bet you were.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this.”

“I mean...” If looks could kill, the pilot would have melted on the spot. Unfortunately for Theron, Draike was apparently immune to that sort of thing. “How often do I get the chance?”

“Did you do this?”

“Me?” Draike let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Stars, I wish I could have thought of something this good! These are memories I will cherish forever.”

Theron massaged the bridge of his nose. “I hate my life.”

“I mean, I’m not really into droids,” Draike went on, either not knowing (or more likely caring) about his brother-in-law’s predicament, “flesh is more my kind of thing. But you know, if you and the little lady need to spice things up by bringing in a little metal--”

“Please stop. I’m begging you!”

“Begging, eh? So you’re saying you’re more into--“

“Forget it, I’m taking my chances with the sex-crazed machines roaming the halls.” His palm hovered over the door sensors.

“Theron, wait!” There was enough urgency in Draike’s voice to give him pause. “It’s dangerous out there, take this.”

At first, he was honestly afraid to look, expecting to be offered something like a condom or some other bad joke, but was surprised to see the other man holding out a stealth generator.

“To escape your fans.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“I know. I’m a genius.”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly nabbed the stealth generator before Draike could change his mind and frowned at the initials carved in the side in Aurabesh. “Is this even yours?”

“Eh, close enough.”

Whatever, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Theron would deal with those potential repercussions later. He flicked on the power to the stealth generator which let out a low, almost inaudible hum as a burst of life engulfed his form. He closed his eyes against the sudden burst of brightness, and when he opened them again, dark spots of the light pattern danced in his vision for a few seconds. He blinked a few more times before they faded away.

He waved an arm experimentally in front of his face, and only felt the slight movement of air. Draike didn’t seem to react at all, and that was probably good enough.

“Thanks,” he said, palming the sensor to the door.

Draike rolled his eyes and ambled out into the corridor, looking around with the air of a man all too used to hiding from those looking for him. Theron watched as he raised a hand to a very slowly moving GNK power droid.

“How’s it hanging?”

“GONK!”

“Oh yeah? You don’t say! I think I saw him head that way.” Draike pointed in the direction leading to cantina. “Just between you and me, I heard he’s sweet on that droid who’s a comfort enthusiast.”

“GONK! GONK! GONK!”

Still hidden underneath the stealth field, Theron had to bite down the urge to make any noise of frustration and just turned an invisible, irritated gaze at the other man’s back. As if sensing Theron’s irritation, Draike just grinned wider.

“Yeah, you know how those spy types are. Always toying with droids’ hearts. You could do better than him.”

“GONK!”

“Oh, you spicy droid! Yeah, trundle off that way, big guy. I’m sure you’ll catch him!”

With a loud clanking, the GNK droid began his slow and steady journey towards the cantina. As the echoes finally faded, Draike casually stretched, pointing towards the direction of the War Room.

Theron skulked on by, but not before giving his brother-in-law a well deserved whop upside the head. The stealth field flickered momentarily on the physical contact before shimmering back into place.

“It’d serve you right to get caught by doing that,” Draike sniffed indignantly, “after all I’ve done to help you.”

“When all of this is over--”

“Hush now,” Draike waved at the air in front of him. “You have bigger problems to deal with. Meanwhile, I will be heading to the cantina. And definitely won’t be live-streaming any brawls breaking out over the Master Lover breaking droid hearts everywhere.”

Theron snorted out an annoyed breath, and checked his urge to trip Draike as he sauntered off, hands jammed into his pockets as he whistled a jaunty tune. Like the purloined stealth generator, he’d have to worry about slicing and corrupting any servers containing evidence of this mess after he figured out how to stop whatever this was from spreading any further.

The upside to this whole unfortunate side encounter, was that the stealth generator made it possible for him to quietly creep around any droids he passed in the corridor. Most seemed to be making a hasty exit for the cantina, almost as if word had spread of Drake’s false rumor about his and C2-N2’s torrid love affair and every heartbroken circuit was flocking in that direction now.

And when he thought about it like that, when exactly had this become his life? Oh, right. Like fifteen minutes ago. Or however long this nightmare had started. Time had sort of lost meaning, if he were being honest.

He managed to make it to the war room, undetected and unmolested, and quietly snuck his way towards the irritable blonde Sith, holding her head in her hands as if she were battling the world’s strongest migraine. As Theron approached the Sith, he could hear her muttering under her breath in frustration. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat, causing her to jerk her head up in surprise.

“Who’s there?”

“Quiet,” Theron hissed. “They might hear you.”

“Oh, for Sith’s sake,” she exhaled, “where in the blazes have you been?”

“Hiding,” he whispered urgently. “These droids have all gone haywire!”

“And who’s fault is that, I wonder.”

“Not me,” he insisted, “not this time!”

“Right,” she said sardonically, “and I suppose that’s why there isn’t a reality holoseries entitled ‘Programmed for Love’ currently being live-streamed in the cantina for the entire HoloNet to see.”

“Damn it, Draike!” Theron cursed. “I thought he was joking about that.”

“Of course. How did I not see that coming?” she muttered.

“I’ll slice in and scrub all of the servers after we figure out this... this... whatever this is?”

“Your insecurities laid bare in binary?” she suggested, oh so helpfully.

“Why did I come to you for help again?”

“Because--”

It was at that point, that a probe droid, currently speeding its way towards the cantina, happened to take notice of Lana talking to thin air, and veered off its intended trajectory, heading straight for Theron’s position near the back of the war room. If the loud alarms and flashing lights were any indication, it had been able to see through his stealth generator.

Wait... those weren’t alarm proximities it was flashing. As Theron watched its rapid approach, he couldn’t help but stare at it in dumb fascination, brow furrowing as he tried to make out the images it was projecting. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say it was a bizarre mixture of Aurabesh and hologlyphs.

He squinted, just able to make out: “DX-98 🤖🔥 Analytical Scanner 💋🙏 Okara Droid Factory 🔍🌌💕 Exobiology Research 🥵🍑 Top HoloFans 0.7%!”

Before he had a chance to process any of that, the droid was already upon him, pincher arms spreading wide to snap him up for some purpose far beyond its original programming. He only had milliseconds to react before the droid reached him, when an explosive force sent the droid flying backwards harmlessly, and had Theron landing ungracefully on his tailbone. The stealth field fizzled out with a pop on his impact with the ground.

A familiar figure landed between him and the droid, twin blue scarves billowing behind her dramatically, blonde ponytail swaying with the motion of her movement. A small frown of concentration bunched her forehead as his wife threw a concerned look in his direction.

“You requested rescue?” Grey asked.

“Ah, my knight in shining armor has arrived,” he quipped back.

“I am not wearing my armor.” The frown of concentration morphed into one of confusion.

“I--never mind.” He pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his hands. “Thank you for the timely intervention.”

She graced him with a hint of a smile and a bob of her head in acknowledgment. “Any time.”

“As touching as all of this is,” Lana broke in sourly, “it still doesn’t solve our larger problem.”

“Yeah,” Theron rubbed the back of his neck, “you’re not wrong. It sounds like this has spread across the entire base?”

“It appears that way,” Lana said tightly. “You know, you assured me that all of this had been taken care of the last time we dealt with this issue.”

“Hey now,” he bit back, “I’m a man of my word!”

She snorted at that. “Tell that to the Umbaran Transit Authority.”

“How are you still mad about that?”

“You tazed me!”

“Focus,” Grey said, eyeing the stunned probe droid warily. “If memory serves me correct, you had a program you deployed to revert the programming of the droids the last time this happened.”

“Yes, that’s what doesn’t make sense.” He watched as the holoprojectors on the downed probe droid flickered, hologlyphs flashing rapidly in the War Room’s dim light. “I programmed it to eliminate all trace of the offending code. The only way it could be reappearing now is if someone took one of the infected droids offline before I deployed...”

Lana arrived at the same conclusion right about the time that Theron did, picking up the thought. “I seem to recall a certain someone requesting you replicate your work for less-than-legal purposes.”

Theron angrily punched the button on his comm as he growled, “Gault!”

The Devaronian’s voice came back immediately, almost a little too suave. “Theron! What a surprise to hear your dulcet tones requesting my presence.”

“Gault,” Lana managed to keep some measure of calm, “are you responsible for this current situation?”

“What situation is that?” he asked far too innocently, even as a distant call of a droid’s clanking nearly drowned out it’s loud declaration of the presence of rust on one Theron Shan’s “bolt”. There was a moment of silence before he continued. “Oh! You mean the lustful droids currently running amok on the base?”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Lana said dryly. “My original question stands.”

“I am shocked, shocked and scandalized that my name would be the first to come to mind! Might I remind you, it was one Miss Djannis who requested you create her a Shan Sexbot.”

“Yeah,” Kaliyo jumped in on the comms, clearly annoyed, the sound of metallic brawling nearly drowning out her voice, “I wanted it for hilarious crimes! Not whatever the fuck this is!”

“Gault,” a third voice, Hylo Visz, cut in. From the background noise, it seemed she was in the same location as Kaliyo. “I swear, if you don’t help us figure out how to stop this, when you’re not looking I’ll cut off your--”

“Okay, okay, geez!” He interrupted before his significant other could finish whatever that threat was. “Fine, it was me! I deactivated a droid before Theron uploaded his program.”

“Of course.” Lana rolled her eyes upwards, as if asking the Force for patience.

“In my defense,” Gault continued, “originally it was just to shut the stupid thing up! But then Kaliyo came up with that brilliant idea for the Shan Sexbot Distraction, and I thought, why not hold on to this beauty in case it came in handy for a con?”

The sound of Theron smacking his forehead in frustration echoed throughout the War Room.

“So you know, just had a fun idea come to me the other day, so I extracted the original programming and altered a few things, and tried to put it into a new droid for my plan.”

“Did that droid happen to be a blue medical monstrosity?” Theron was actively massaging his temples at this point.

“I will have you know,” Gault said, “that BL-U3 is a consummate professional. You would be lucky to have him perform a medical exam on you!”

“Yeah, that was definitely his intent,” Theron shot back. “Purely professional and not lecherous at all! Which was not in any of my code.”

“Hey, I never claimed to be very talented when it came to software programming. I may have made a mistake or two when altering your code.”

“May have?!”

“How was I supposed to know that the remnants of the Gemini Frequency code in our systems was going to work after the entire Eternal Fleet had gone offline and deploy your software STD to the entire network? Sue me!”

“I’m considering it!”

Before the mostly pointless argument could escalate any further, the sounds of metallic clanking from above, roughly from the location of the cantina, began to grow closer, the cacophony increasing in volume, until it sounded like it was coming in all directions.

“That is not a good sign,” Grey’s mutter was nearly lost to the noise.

“Hey,” Drake’s annoyed voice cut in over the comm, “my livestream is now officially ruined! I hope you’re all happy!”

“I’m afraid to even ask why,” Theron said.

“Oh, it seems all of my extremely eligible and single contestants heard your voice over the comms and abandoned challenging Seetoo Enntoo to unarmed droid combat for the right to court you, and are now all headed in your direction.”

“Oops.”

“Worry not Agent Shan,” the unusually warbly vocabulator of C2-N2 came over the comms, “I will not rest until I alone can provide you with the ultimate in comfort!”

“We should probably get a different housekeeping droid after this is all over,” he told his wife.

That seemed a lesser concern to Grey, as she had shifted into Alliance Commander mode, and was currently on the comms, shouting for every available member of the Force Enclave to get to the War Room as fast as possible to help hold off the incoming army of lustful droids.

Yeah, come to think of it, that was probably more important.

“We must use nonlethal force,” she stressed, giving a particularly severe look to Lana when she said that, getting a simple nonplussed shrug in return, “as we only need to hold the droids at bay until we can come up with a solution. They are not to blame for what’s happening.”

Theron begged to differ, but she was probably right in this case. The cost of repairing or replacing an entire base full of droids would be astronomical.

As Force users began to stream in and take up position around the room, the sound of wheels racing along the metal plating caught Theron's attention, and he looked over to see a familiar silver T7-series astromech racing into the room. He tensed up instinctively at the sight of a droid, as anyone would have in his situation.

“Teeseven!” Grey called out with a smile, clearly not as wary or droidshy.

The little astromech let out a friendly whistle and series of chirps in binary, that roughly translated to: “T7-01 = Safe! // Been off network entire morning!”

“Oh, what a relief,” she breathed, “I would have hated for you to be infected with this too!”

He let out another series of beeps: “T7-01 = still in possession of original antivirus code. // Can tweak it and upload to servers = Save the day?”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Theron muttered.

“T7 = not scared!”

Grey’s expression melted into one of admiration and pride. “Teeseven, that’s incredibly brave -- but are you sure? Theron’s right, it could be very dangerous.”

“T7 = Jedi + Theron’s friend. // Helping > Risk!”

She looked at him and he returned the gaze with a small nod, realizing there wasn’t much in the way of choice. It was either that or let the droids overrun them. And then whatever happened when one of them actually got their hands on on Theron -- a prospect he wasn’t really that thrilled to explore right now.

“Fine,” he said tersely, “let’s do this!”

The two of them rushed over to the center console in the room, Theron pulling out his slicer spike as Teeseven plugged his scomplink arm into the main network terminal. The rest of their reinforcements from the Force Enclave arrived just in time and formed a ring around the two slicers. They managed to erect a large Force barrier just as the metallic clanging and clatter grew to a roar, announcing the arrival of the lecherous horde.

Near the front of the mob, Z0-0M threw up her arms in glee and excitement as she jumped to try and catch sight of her beloved. “There you are Agent Shan! You left before we could finish our conversation -- you were saying something about oxidation?”

“Interjection: Do not listen to this hussy, Theron! You and I will make sweet explosions together!”

Theron valiantly tuned them out as he took in a feed of the original antivirus code that Teeseven shared with him. Yes, this all looked correct. Unfortunately, he was going to need get a look to see how Gault had mutilated his beautiful original coding to know how to alter it.

Teeseven was two steps ahead of him, and a stream of code flashed across the HUD in his ocular implants. He watched in horror as he saw the butchery with his own two eyes.

“Gault, where the hell did you get this code?” he asked over the comms incredulously. “HornHub?”

“Excuse you, I only frequent the classiest places on the galactic communications grid, like HoloHump!” The growl of Gault’s name from a very angry Mirialan smuggler had him quickly adding. “You know, I’m just going to shut up and let you concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Teeseven, ever the valiant worker, ignored the conversation completely, and was hard at work running diagnostics on the altered code and the best way to modify the antivirus to address it. Theron watched the stream of letters and numbers fly across the HUD at lightning speed.

The little guy was good at what he did. He let out a flurry of beeps and whistles as almost the last piece of this very lurid puzzle started to fall into place. The little droid seemed to almost be singing along with the code as he wrote it, like a mechanical maestro conducting an orchestra. They were close, so close and--

The next whistle Teeseven let out was not his normal, cheerful way of communication, much lower in timbre and more seductive.

No.

Teeseven whirled his flat head around until his visual sensor faced Theron, and let out another wolf whistle, his holoprojector lighting up to proudly display: T7-01 🤖👀🔍 Observant 👁️🔭 Scanner 🔍🏞️ Tython 🌄👏 215 🍒♎ Repairing 👅🙈 Top HoloFans 3.6%

“What was that?” Grey shouted to be heard over the droids catcalling.

“No no no no,” Theron muttered, “we’re so close! Don’t do this to me, little buddy!”

“What happened to my precious baby boy?” Grey demanded, sweat trickling down the side of her face as she struggled to maintain the Force barrier.

Beyond the barrier, the rest of the porndroid army followed suit with Teeseven, all either wildly projecting their own series of hologlyphs and random facts about themselves and their planets of origins, while others struck disturbingly seductive poses, and a scant few demanded that “ShanDaddy” start a holocall with them in private.

With no time and no recourse left, Theron dove back into the system, yanking Teeseven’s unfinished code as he was nearly overwhelmed with lewd images and thirsty hologlyphs, struggling to finish and upload the code as the volume in the War Room rose to a crescendo just as the Force users’ began to fall, one after the other, their barrier weakening by the moment.

The overwhelming cacophony of hologlyphs, lewd poses, and robotic come-ons that had filled the War Room suddenly disappeared. All eyes turned to the droids as almost in unison, as they all powered down—a sign that their malware had been neutralized. Theron slumped back in relief, his work finally done.

Grey, Lana, and the others let out a long sigh of relief, the tension leaving their bodies in a rush.

“Thank the Force,” Grey murmured, sinking down to the ground. “I do not think I could have held that barrier much longer.”

Theron nodded, feeling a similar sense of exhaustion. He leaned back against the console, closing his eyes but was unable to banish the mentally scarring series of images that were probably permanently burned into his retinas.

“Remind me,” he said faintly, “to obliterate HoloHump’s servers. Once I’m done murdering Gault.”

“You act as if there will be anything left after I find him,” Lana said darkly.

“Remember everyone,” Grey spoke in her best and most official Alliance Commander voice, “murder is bad and frowned upon in the Official Alliance Employee Handbook.”

“Query: Why are we all in the War Room?” HK-55 asked as he came back online. “And more importantly, why is that blue meddroid manipulating its medical instruments into a heart shape, as if expressing affection towards the Commander?”

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serenxanthe · 25 days

Text

Zakuul: A SWTOR WiP

Seren and Theron try to have a conversation after five years apart while dodging skytroopers and Lana’s ire.

This is one of the eleventy million WiPs I’m working on rather than editing the final three chapters of my Coruscant story to upload to AO3.

I just typed this on my phone this morning so it’s 100% unedited, and I’m still on my phone, so apologies for any formatting weirdness that appears.

This is a small snippet of my story based on the rescue from carbonite through to founding of the base of Odessen section of KOTFE. It’s a bit of a fixit fic for where the hell was Theron for nine chapters?

Seren and Lana headed off a group of approaching skytroopers while T7 and Theron hacked into yet another security terminal, frantically trying to cover their trail and confuse and slow down their pursuers. An unfamiliar male voice sounded over their comms asking Lana if she had ‘The Outlander’. That was what she was here, Seren supposed.

Seren learnt that the man’s name was Koth Vortena and that he was piloting the shuttle that would meet them at the planned pick-up point. The shuttle that Theron had piloted in would be abandoned to further confuse Zakuulan Security. Lana and Koth’s relaxed banter was unusual for the Sith, or at least it had been five years ago, so Seren asked her, “Is that your boyfriend Lana?”

Theron snorted with a suppressed laugh, “That’s a good question!” he congratulated her.

Lana’s face was unamused, and her only answer was, “I’ll pretend that isn’t your greatest concern at the moment.”

Lana’s love life wasn’t Seren’s greatest concern, but she had successfully mostly satisfied herself that if Theron did have a new boyfriend or girlfriend, at least it wasn’t Lana, or this guy Koth.

Seren sighed inwardly, she should probably just ask Theron rather than trying to rule potential love interests out through a process of elimination. She was thirty now, wasn’t she? Maybe she should try to behave in a slightly more mature way. But in her defence she’d stepped into Valkorion’s palace having just turned twenty-five and now she was suddenly five years older. It would take time to adjust, she told herself.

They continued their escape, their pace by necessity frenetic, until a long lift journey of hundreds of stories within the spire forced them to pause. Seren had so many questions; what had happened in the galaxy, were the Republic and Sith Empire fighting the Eternal Empire, or each other, both, neither? Was Lana aware of Marr’s death? Where was the rest of Seren’s crew? She rested her hand on T7, grateful he was here at least. She didn’t know where to begin.

Theron was staring at her, seemingly unable to take his eyes off her face. Suddenly, her most urgent question was clear.

“Theron, are you… single?” Seren asked him, her heart in her mouth.

“WHAT?!” Theron exclaimed, “No, of course I’m not single, I’m…”

His voice and facial expression were so outraged that Seren took a step back, startled.

“Sorry Theron, of course you’re not. Of course. It’s been five years, I’m sorry. I wasn’t assuming, just asking, I…”

Lana rolled her eyes so hard she was worried she’d hurt herself. How had these two idiots ever managed to be in a relationship for five years when they seemed completely incapable of communicating with each other effectively? Their two year break-up somewhere in the middle of that was beginning to make more and more sense to her.

Theron was staring furiously at Seren, and she was looking anywhere but him, trying surreptitiously to brush the tears from her eyes.

“If I can interject here…” Lana started.

“Back off, Lana!” Theron snarled at her.

She ignored him and spoke to Seren, “Seren, what Theron is trying, badly, to say is that he’s not single because he still considers himself to be in a relationship with you.”

Seren looked up at her, her face suddenly suffused with shocked hope.

“Theron, what I believe Seren was asking is whether or not you are in a relationship with somebody else who you’d met during the five years she was in carbonite. Yes?”

Seren nodded in silent confirmation, then turned to look at Theron again, her eyes huge. “You’re not with somebody else?” She asked him, wanting to be clear this time.

Theron shook his head, “Never. I’d never… I waited for you Seren, I waited.” His voice sounded muffled, as if he was close to tears himself.

Seren swallowed, “You waited? Do you mean that… you didn’t meet anyone at all while I was gone?”

Theron shook his head, “I didn’t, I… couldn’t.” He broke off, furiously trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Seren stepped towards him and took his hands. “But Theron, you thought I was dead. How could you have been waiting?”

“I was grieving, then I found out you were alive, then I was waiting. Why is that so difficult for you to believe? Do you really have such a low opinion of me?” Theron was sad. And angry. He wasn’t completely sure at whom.

Lana was almost relieved when the lift jerked to a halt on the ground floor and they were greeted with a barrage of blaster fire from yet another group of skytroopers. This ongoing conversation between Seren and Theron was painfully protracted, and she was sick of hearing it, sick of being the dues ex machina in their space opera. They all needed to focus on surviving this escape, and the ache in her abdomen was purely anxiety over that, she told herself firmly.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #theron shan #angst #fanfic #my ocs #swtor oc #swtor fanfiction

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commander-krios · 8 months

Text

R & R

Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Archiban "Doc" Kimble/f!Jedi Knight, f!Jedi Knight & Theron Shan Rating: Teen Summary: Theron plans some elaborate gift for Katona after the capture of Darth Malgus, as a way to give his Commander and best friend a chance to relax. Somehow, he ropes Doc into it. Words: 4160 Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, SWTOR Summer Gift Exchange, Fluff, Humor, Love, Established Relationship, Banter, Teasing, Background Lana/Theron

Written as a gift for @sealeneee for the SWTOR Summer Gift Exchange <3

Read on AO3

Doc was a man of many talents, most of those being of the medical variety, but he knew what he was good at and made the best of what he wasn’t. He could field stitch a wound under heavy blaster fire. He cured diseases that most people gave up on. He saved civilians while pretending to be an Imperial and almost lost his head for it.

And despite all of the years they’d spent apart, Doc was somehow married to a Jedi.

Even now, when Katona was at the head of a neutral organization, working tirelessly to see her grand plans for the galaxy come to fruition, some nights spent at the desk in her room, pouring over datapads and flimsi like he had once upon a time, she still managed to squeak in time with him. And he was humbled by it.

But ever since the reemergence of Malgus, ever the wily Sith, Katona’s time seemed less available and the free time she did have was spent in tense silence. There were nights he’d fall asleep alone, waking the next morning to find her side of the bed hadn’t been touched. It was almost starting to feel like before, when he thought she was dead. And he didn’t like the way it made him feel.

The medical bay was silent, Elara Dorne working through paperwork while Doc restocked their supplies. It was usually him and Elara there most days. Sometimes Tharan Cedrax would show to aid them, especially during the days when they had wellness checks or a recent battle with many injured. Unfortunately, those days were steadily increasing, thanks to Malgus.

With a sigh, he closed the cupboard, only noticing that they were no longer alone. Katona’s advisor was standing in the doorway, eyes squinting against the brightness of the room.

Theron Shan.

Elara noticed him nearly at the same time, pretty blue eyes widening at the sight of the former SIS turned double agent turned whatever the hell he was now. “Agent Shan, what can I do for you?”

Theron’s eyes glanced in Doc’s direction and he immediately had an unsettling feeling in his gut. Something had happened.

Theron rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, turning back to Elara with a tense smile. “I need to speak to Doc, if that’s alright.”

Worry creased her brow, but she didn’t ask questions. Elara knew when it was needed and when it wasn’t. And at this moment, it was important for her to remember decorum. “Of course. Will I need to call in anyone to replace him for the day?”

Theron nodded, his mouth turning into a grim line. “That’d be best. Thank you, Elara.”

A few minutes later, Doc followed Theron out of the medbay, not exactly looking forward to whatever secret conversation was about to take place. There were many things they could be about, but the most likely reason was Katona. About his wife. That didn’t sit right with him, he’d barely spoken two words to Theron since he’d arrived, even knowing that Katona and Theron had a friendship that bordered on a sibling rivalry. He never fit into their dynamic.

And in truth, he never wanted to. Katona had found a friend to rely on, to confide in, much like Doc had Kira, Scourge, Nadia and the other Jedi for years on Ossus. He wasn’t going to ruin a friendship when that’s all it was. He couldn't help the jealousy he felt at knowing this man beside him had been beside Katona for well over six years: fighting by her side, protecting her, helping her build something amazing. Theron had even protected her from assassins by risking his own life when Doc couldn’t. He’ll forever be grateful for it.

But even now that they’d reunited, Theron saw more of Katona than he did.

“What happened?” He asked before the door had even hissed behind them.

Theron sighed, rubbing the spot near his implant, exhaustion creating dark circles under his eyes. Katona wasn’t the only one not sleeping it seemed. “Katona… is not well. She won’t admit it, but she can barely stand straight anymore, or keep her eyes open. I don’t think she’s slept in days, Doc.”

“The stress is going to kill her.” It wasn’t an overblown reaction, it was fact. If she didn’t relax, get some rest, or even do something that didn’t involve a life or death situation, she’d never be able to continue on. If the exhaustion didn’t kill her outright, it would get her killed on the battlefield. And Doc didn’t spend the last handful of years searching for her to lose her again.

“If an Imp doesn’t first.” Theron walked with him down into the military hanger, watching as soldiers prepped for deployment or spies raced to deliver their reports. Sometimes he couldn’t tell the difference between them, even with years working alongside them. “No matter what I say, she’s too stubborn to let someone else do the work.”

“That sounds like her.” Doc smiled despite himself, glad to see some things never changed. “If you have suggestions, I’m all ears. I haven’t seen her in days , at least.”

The cold sheets of their bed mocked him.

“I, uh, was thinking of setting something up.” Theron glanced at him with a sheepish smile, clearly embarrassed by his train of thoughts. “Like a fake mission. Something that she can’t say no to, but once she gets there, it’s something that forces her to chill out.”

Doc raised an eyebrow. “You know if she finds out it was a lie, she’ll probably kick your ass.”

“I’m not afraid of her.” Theron told him, rolling his eyes.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Theron snorted, but Doc could see his hesitation. She sometimes still scared Doc and they slept together. Katona was… well, she was something else. “Listen, we can blame it on Lana. It’s something she would do, right? Lie to get the Commander to rest. Without Katona at her best, Lana can’t do her job.”

Doc chuckled, stopping at the end of the landing pad, eyes glancing out over the beautiful Odessen scenery. He always was struck with amazement at the things the galaxy held that were untouched by human hands. He hoped there was more out there to be discovered. Because he was never tired of seeing it. “You can try, but Lana might kill you first.”

Theron let out something close to a laugh, leaning against the crude wall built into the side of the mountain. “You may have a point. Thankfully, Lana likes me enough to not do that sort of thing.”

Doc’s mouth twitched with a grin, nodding the way they’d come from. “You’re sure of that?”

With a frown, Theron glanced at the entrance of the military hanger, cringing at the sight of the pretty blonde Sith Lord… who did not look pleased.

“Theron Shan!” She snapped at the sight of him, heading in their direction with determination and maybe a little bit of anger. Ok, a lot of anger. “ When were you going to tell me about this?”

Theron winced as if she’d slapped him. “Lana, I can explain."

“Really?” The datapad in her hands nearly cracked with the amount of pressure she squeezed it with. “Please, go on. Tell me why you thought renting a pleasure barge was an appropriate use of funds.”

Doc’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “You did what? ”

Theron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s for Katona.”

Silence met their words, neither Doc nor Lana knowing where to even start with that .

“It-” Theron groaned, running his hands down his face. “It’s not going to be full of dancers or anything like that. The entire ship is set up for a fight simulation. To help train the Republic military during wartime.”

Lana stared at him in open suspicion, clearly not believing a single word out of his mouth. “Is that so?”

Theron grimaced. Oh so there was more. “There are also slot machines, gambling tables, a dance floor with good music. I think this one has a masseuse and swimming pool.”

“And you used Alliance funding for this?” She repeated, golden eyes nearly burning a hole through the man. Doc had to admit, Lana Beniko was terrifying, even for a Sith Lord. He’s just glad that he’s not the one who screwed up this time.

“Well, Katona is the Alliance Commander-”

“ Theron .”

With a quiet sigh, Doc knew this was why Theron had asked for his help in the first place. To smooth things over, to give the plan a little more viability in the eyes of Lana, and quite possibly Katona. Because neither were going to be happy about the deception, and Doc was well known for being able to make things a little less serious.

“While Theron probably should’ve ran it by you, Katona clearly needs a break. A way to blow off steam. We can work with this. Write it off as a training exercise.”

“That’s… not how this works.” Lana let out a breath, something that could be considered a sigh from anyone else. “ Fine . But when she finds out how much money went into this-”

“She won’t.” Theron assured her and Lana slanted her eyes at him.

“She will . And she will also know that it was you who spent it.” Lana smiled at him thinly. “I’m not the person who is going to cover for you when you screw up, no matter what our relationship might imply.”

Theron laughed nervously, looking at Doc for help. He only shrugged in response, not intending to get involved in that. Not when his own wife was going to be looking for blood later on.

~~~~

The shuttle lifted off a few hours later, Katona hovering behind Theron as he piloted it away from Odessen and in the direction of the pleasure barge where her simulated mission waited. A mission that she thought was a real one, with Imperials who had kidnapped a group of civilians from Dantooine. And Doc felt terrible for lying to her, but he was right about her stress levels. She needed to blow off some steam, get a relaxing massage, and do whatever else her heart desired.

He hated seeing her so worn out.

Those months during their hunt for the Emperor had been the first time Doc saw Katona crack under the pressure, the responsibilities. He didn’t want to ever see her like that again.

Once their heading was set, she moved farther back into the seating area, plopping down next to him with a groan. Stretching her legs out, she crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at him, hesitation in her gaze.

When he looked at her, he couldn’t help the smile spread across his own face despite the clear exhaustion that haunted her eyes. “What’s wrong, gorgeous? Never seen a man so handsome?”

“If I said no, would you start quoting poetry? You’ve already gotten me into bed, you know. And tied me down with that ridiculous wedding you concocted. You don’t need to try so hard anymore.” Her eyes still glowed slightly in the dim interior of the shuttle, but they softened as she watched him.

He chuckled, feeling some relief at how relaxed she was. Even over eight years after meeting her, she still surprised him. “I’ll never stop wooing you, beautiful.”

Katona rolled her eyes, but he could see the beginnings of a real grin on her face. “And I’ll never stop making fun of you for it.”

Her hand slipped into his and squeezed slightly, her eyes on the window of the shuttle as they approached the barge. Doc felt a thrill of excitement in his gut. He wasn’t sure what her reaction was going to be when she found out that this was a setup, but he was so glad to have her here, with him , and to see that she was ready to kick ass. He never tired of seeing the fire in her eyes, or watching her on the battlefield.

Or holding her close when all was calm in the galaxy.

“I’m glad you’re here, Doc.” She said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, the smile finally curling her full lips. “I miss this .”

He heard what she didn’t say. She missed him and damn it, he missed her so much it sometimes hurt. “You miss listening to me scream during a firefight?”

“Among the other times you scream.”

Theron coughed suddenly from the pilot seat and Doc smirked, enjoying watching Katona’s best friend squirm in his seat.

“What’s wrong, Theron?” Katona asked, clearly enjoying his discomfort as well. “Lana doesn’t make you squeal?”

The flush went from his face probably all the way to the tips of his toes. “That’s… none of your business.”

“I guess that’s a yes.” She murmured, snorting before her gaze shifted back to his. “But really, it’s been lonely without you around. For the last few years, I’ve wondered where you were. If you were alive. It sucked not knowing. Not a feeling I care to have again.”

“Is that why you’ve thrown me in the medbay with Elara? To keep me safe?” He should be annoyed by that, but found that he didn’t care about the reasons if it meant that Katona always kept him in the back of her mind.

“That wasn’t my decision. Lana felt your work with Nadia and the Jedi was more important to continue than forcing you into a combat situation.”

“I’d follow you anywhere, beautiful. Even into the depths of hell. You know that.”

Katona rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of his hand, her smile never slipping from her face. It was a nice break, sitting here with his wife, even if they were going to be fighting a bunch of droids soon. He wished the galaxy would give them more moments like this, where they can be nothing but Katona and Doc. Where they didn’t need to save everyone all of the time.

“We’re landing. Get ready.” Theron called from the pilot’s seat, putting the shuttle into autopilot.

Katona squeezed his hand before letting go. “Like old times?”

“Not quite.” Doc responded and with a grin, he met her curious gaze. “But it’s better. Because I’m with you.”

Katona wasn’t the type to blush, but he swore he saw a hint of pink on her cheeks. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Doc.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true, gorgeous.”

She laughed and his heart squeezed at the sound. “You’re also a terrible liar.”

Shaking his head, he followed her to the exit, knowing that the playful banter was over. Katona had a mission to complete and she would see it through no matter what. Theron joined them a moment later, double checking his blasters. Doc grabbed his medical kit, securing it to his back even though he doubted they would need it. Not a single droid was going to stand up against Alliance Commander Katona.

His feet touched the metal grating as he jumped from their shuttle onto the barge, steps echoing as he pulled his own small blaster, eyes darting around the dark landing pad, seeing nothing but grey durasteel and a few shuttles. No people. No droids. No movement. Nothing.

“It’s too quiet.” Theron muttered, glancing in the opposite direction.

Doc almost snorted, but managed to hold it in. An actor Theron Shan was not . “We have a Jedi here. I’m sure she’ll have no issue warning us-”

“Duck!” Katona shouted, pulling her lightsabers from their spots on her belt, igniting both simultaneously, the white crystals glowing eerily against the barge’s grey interior.

Doing as he was told, Doc huddled near a shuttle that wasn’t the Alliance’s, blaster fire aimed at him leaving burns in the hull. Katona threw herself into the fray with no regards to her safety, only intent on destroying her enemy. Her lightsabers slashed in a wide arc, severing the head from the closest droid in a shower of sparks. She spun, shoving one of the swords into the one beside it, leaving a burning hole in its middle.

Ducking another blaster bolt, he lifted his own weapon, firing on the droids that appeared out of a side door, aiming their shots at Katona. She turned again, deflecting the shots before jumping into the group of them, swinging her lightsaber in a circle and cutting them in half.

With as aggressively as Katona fought, the battle was over in a few minutes, nothing but sparks and smoking electronics left of their foes. The shuttles in the landing bay didn’t fare as well as Doc had hoped although their shuttle took the least amount of damage. Whoever was here partying was definitely going to need someone to repair the ships before they could leave.

Katona returned to his side, checking to make sure he wasn’t injured before doing the same for Theron. Once they were certain of their health, the men followed the Jedi into the hallway, door shutting behind them with a whoosh of finality.

“Theron, did you have the schematics for this place?” Katona asked, eyes peering into the darkness ahead, voice quiet but determined.

“It’s built like any other pleasure barge. Uh, not that I know.” He finished quickly. Katona completely ignored him, holding her lightsaber out like a glowrod, trying to light her path. “The hallway leads to a few side rooms where guests can sleep, a medbay, a dining room, before it leads directly to the main area.”

“And the prisoners? Where would they be kept?”

Doc rubbed the back of his neck, feeling like someone or something was watching them. “Probably in slave cages. Those would be near the private dancing rooms. Off of the main section.”

She only glanced at him, not bothering to ask how he knew about the slave cages. Because she knew him… knew of his dangerous missions against the Empire. Knew that he was going to do anything to save people from being subjected to the evils of slavery and other awful tortures at the hands of the Sith.

And he always would, until they finally killed him. Because the people… they didn’t deserve to suffer.

“Ok, so we know where we’re going.” Katona said instead, turning away to continue on through the darkness. “Let’s go.”

They met several more waves of droids on their path, Katona making quick work of each of them. Theron threw Doc a glance at once point, concern etched on his features, eyes full of worry. This was too easy. Katona was going to suspect something was up if they didn’t have some type of challenge.

The waves of droids were supposed to get progressively more difficult the better you did in the simulation. It didn’t appear that it could keep up with Katona’s aggressive fighting style. Sooner than they wanted, they stood outside the large double doors that led to the main room of the pleasure barge.

Katona’s eyes trailed over him briefly, softening when she realized he was unharmed. “Be careful in there, both of you.”

“That I can do, Commander.” Theron replied, checking his blasters once more, ready to finish this.

Doc smiled at his wife, wrapping a hand around her wrist, thumb brushing gently against the skin there. “Let’s go, beautiful.”

The door opened, strobe lights hitting them in shades of green and gold, lighting up the inside of the room more so than the dim orange lights that hung overhead. A group of droids hung near one of the sabacc tables, no prisoners in sight. Thankfully, there was most likely no actual group of prisoners. Just droids and the people who ran the simulations.

A large droid approached, flanked by a few of the smaller droids they’d been fighting along the way. It didn’t attempt to talk, to negotiate, to do anything but lift the barrel of its weapon and fire. Theron rolled out of the way, ducking behind one of the slot machines near the entrance, a blaster bolt nearly hitting him.

Katona shifted in front of Doc, lightsaber deflecting the attacks as they backed up quickly. Doc crawled under a table, ripping the medpak from its spot on his back and keeping it ready to go. Then he fired at the smaller of the droids from his new cover, giving Katona the opening she needed to slice through the enemy.

He managed to hit it in the power coupling, frying its circuitry and it dropped into a pile on the ground, the droid behind stopping momentarily to deal with the new obstacle. Katona’s lightsaber left her hand, cutting the droid in half before launching herself at the largest of them, catching the saber in midair.

The droid turned as she landed in front of it, ducking the moment it aimed its guns at her. Theron was keeping the other droids busy, his blasters doing considerable damage. Doc cursed, praying that the droid had its guns on stun, not kill, and tried to get a decent shot in.

None came, but it wasn’t needed. Katona spun on her heels, lightsabers leaving arcs of white light behind as she slashed the droid to pieces, a ferocity that was simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. A few seconds passed in silence, the droids sparking until they finally shut down with a groan.

Theron left the safety of his cover at the same time as Doc, watching the droids for any sign of movement. Once they seemed to be in the clear, he turned just in time to see a group of men approaching, all wearing fine clothing and smiling brightly.

The man in the lead clapped his hands excitedly, grinning from ear to ear. “Dear Commander! I hope you enjoyed my simulation. I must admit, I didn’t expect you to breeze through it as easily as you did.”

“What?” She glanced at the man, who was even shorter than Doc, her eyes slanting in suspicion. Her gaze swept over him, taking in everything about him in seconds. “What are you talking about?”

“The simulation? Your friends contacted me about it a few weeks ago.” The man puffed himself up, gripping the front of his jacket, looking like he was about to burst from the size of his ego. “I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“I…” She trailed off, unsure of how to respond, glare wavering. “Sure, it was great.”

The man smiled, although it seemed he was waiting for some kind of bowing and praise. “Well, I hope you enjoy our hospitality, Commander. There is much fun left to be had.”

When the men disappeared to finish prepping the “relaxation” portion of her gift, she glanced at them.

“This was a set up?” She asked, eyebrows lowering, a look of frustration on her face. “Why?”

“We thought you needed a break. Something to blow off steam before some relaxation. You deserve it. Everything with Malgus… it’s running you into the ground.” Theron rubbed the back of his neck, eyes nervously flickering between Katona and Doc. “Doc agrees.”

“I agreed that she needed a break, but I’m not the one who spent millions of credits setting this up.”

“And Lana? I assume she already threatened you within an inch of your life.”

Theron chuckled nervously, eyes dropping to his feet. “Yeah. But she thinks you need a rest too, Katona. You work too hard.”

“We’ve barely seen each other since I joined your Alliance. It might be selfish, but I missed you.” Doc lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist. A smirk curled her lips. “Are you angry?”

She rolled her eyes, huffing a laugh. “You know when I’m angry. I can forgive you this one time.”

“It’s because of my charming good looks, isn’t it?” Doc teased Katona, following as she went to check out the food provided by the company. “You can admit that it’s a primary motivator for you.”

Katona snorted this time, glancing down at him with not quite affection, but something that still set his blood on fire. “You’re not the one who needs to worry.”

Her eyes sought out Theron as he picked through the spread, not even realizing they were talking about him now. When the spy glanced up, he saw that Katona and Doc were watching him. “What?”

Katona laughed, a single sharp bark that had Theron widening his eyes in fear.

“Am I going to lose sleep over this?”

“Maybe. How much money have you put us out?”

Theron muttered something under his breath, turning his gaze away, knowing he was screwed.

“That’s what I thought. Don’t worry, Theron. It’s not going to hurt that much.”

Katona’s best friend sighed and walked away, mumbling under his breath about Jedi and Sith and something that Doc couldn’t hear. Not that he cared when there was food to be eaten and a wife to spend time with.

#my writing #swtor summer exchange #swtor summer gift exchange #swtor #star wars: the old republic #star wars the old republic #sealeneee #swtor fanfic #swtor fanfiction #jedi knight #f!jedi knight #archiban doc kimble #archiban frodrick kimble #swtor doc #theron shan #jedi knight x doc #f!jedi knight x doc

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krisslegacy · 8 days

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chapter 2.5 "not a lot just forever"

made a little interlude/dream sequence to push thru my writers block. check it out :)

chapter 2.5: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55307971/chapters/141895849

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#theron shan fanfiction #theron shan #swtor #star wars the old republic #knights of the old republic #the old republic #swtor fanfiction #q'rea and theron #star wars legends #star wars fanfiction #star wars

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kwrite1776 · 8 months

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A little while ago, I asked @sullustangin if I could print out and bind their fanfiction, and they agreed.

Just about finished with Volume 1 (parts 1 - 5 of Corellian Whiskey and Sullustan Gin) - ran out of vinyl and still need to work on designing a cover worthy of such a great fic, plus there are a some other issues I want to improve for the next time. But, I am super excited to have a copy of the story on my bookshelf.

Once I figure out how to make room on my bookshelf. This books already over 600 pages and based on quick formatting of the next parts of the story, future parts will be longer. By the time the story is done, I'm pretty sure it'll take up an entire shelf on its own.

But it's a story worth an entire shelf of space because it is absolutely fantastic. The story is wonderful; the characters are amazing and realistic, with strengths and weaknesses that make sense. Plus the relationship between Theron and Eva is just the best.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #theron shan #literally one of my favorites #do yourself a favor and read it #seriously #bookbinding #reading #swtor smuggler

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eorzeashan · 10 months

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Conspiracy, Pt. 1

How he managed to discover his stint as a traitor early on, Theron didn’t know.

Leave it up to the ex-Cipher to have skills far beyond his ken or the perception needed to see past his motives as only another Intelligence agent of his caliber could.

Disappointing as it was, Theron remained fully prepared to force his way out of the Alliance if needed; it would only serve his case as a traitor, and he was in too deep to back out now. He might’ve expected this, even.

“Take me with you.”

What he did not expect Eight to have was the gall to ask him to come with.

Theron had no intention of endangering someone else on such a risky mission, already excluding the glaring issues of how in Force’s name he’d swing it to the rest of the Order. The Alliance could live without Theron Shan, washed up spy, traitor to the cause, but its Outlander? Absolutely not.

He flatly refused.

Eight hadn’t so much as budged. Take me with you, he’d repeated with not an ounce of doubt or uncertainty, I need to leave the Alliance.

Now that had raised Theron’s brows past his hairline.

They’d argued about it, if one could call quiet tenacity a type of arguing, until Eight interrupted his tirade about how he wasn’t going to smuggle him off Odessen no matter how bad this looked with a stern glance and tilt of his snow capped head towards Theron’s holocom buzzing in his pocket.

“This is an SIS matter now,” He declared, and the statement knocked the wind out of Theron’s stomach. Their Eight, ever-so Imperial, loyal Eight, …was a double-agent for the Republic. Not that he had any right to call him out for it, being caught red-handed in the middle of traitorous activities.

“By whose authorization?” Theron asked testily.

-/-/-/-/-/-

ODESSEN, PRIVATE ROOM

“This is a surprise,” Theron said, schooling his features back into impenetrable stoicism. “Ardun Kothe.”

“In the flesh,” The former spymaster gave a professional smile- one that didn't reach past the crow’s feet of his wizened eyes. “Or not quite.” He chuckled, the flickering blue holo-figure of his form pacing back and forth in the palm of Theron’s hand.

Theron observed him with thinly veiled wariness.

SIS spymaster. Former Jedi. Failed leader of a resistance cell whose movements went mysteriously unchecked and wiped from the system. Theron had been well on his way to joining him in a similar fashion– then Ziost happened.

All the less to trust the man before him. “So what's this about? I thought the SIS cut ties with me by now, but clearly-” He gesticulated around the bare room, shifting uncomfortably. “-that's not the case.”

Ardun nodded curtly to Eight in the background, who mirrored the same gesture to his former cell leader. He turned back to Theron. “Not a pleasure call, that's for certain.” He gave pause. “I take it you're familiar with the Empire's experiments in brainwashing– says here you've done a bit of work in attaining samples– and you've met our Cipher.”

A knot of unease formed above Theron’s brow. He glanced askance at Eight, who still masked his expression with the same unflappable look he always wore. “...Where are you going with this?”

“I’m contacting you now because Director Trant believes in you.” Ardun continued, words rolling off the timbre of his steady voice. “Between the two of us, Agent Shan, all this talk of traitors and who’s betraying who- that's all a cover.”

Theron’s jaw tightened. “It's really not.” The reply came out shorter than intended.

Kothe shrugged. “Maybe so. But can you say you're not acting in the best interests of the Republic even now? That you’ve left your old home behind for good? You're short of allies, and you’ve cut yourself loose. Don’t be afraid to know where help is– where it always was. You'll need it in the coming days. I’m offering you a way back in. Saresh is gone, and Marcus needs your skills back where they belong.”

The help doesn't usually punish me for trying to save lives, but sure, he mused bitterly, recalling Saresh’s interference and grounding of his work.

So. The SIS was trying to make a back deal now that he’d exonerated himself from Alliance services officially. He couldn't say he didn't miss the Republic or the feeling of being on familiar ground, and he’d be lying if the prospect of returning to his old job and undoing all of the damage Saresh had done during her career didn't spark more than interest in him, but…

Theron fell silent. “No. This is something I have to do on my own.”

Ardun didn't seem surprised. “I understand. The SIS will respect whatever decision you choose, Agent. But this isn't just from the SIS; it comes from inside the house. Whatever you plan to do…we want you to succeed.”

The old ex-Jedi winked over his shoulder at him. “We’re leaving you with a little favor, off the books and off-record; use it wisely.” Ardun clasped his hands behind his back, gaze flinty and uncompromising. “Keyword: Onomatophobia. Thesh protocol, phase one.”

Behind Theron, Eight fell to one knee. His expression looked like he’d been struck.

Theron whirled around. “Eight–? Whoa, what's wrong?”

Eight failed to answer him. “Thesh protocol engaged. Shutting down.” He repeated robotically. The light faded from the other agent’s eyes– then nothing.

“Eight?”

No answer.

“Hey. Wake up.” He grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. Eight didn't respond, limp in his arms like a lifeless doll. No. This was wrong. He needed to get Lana, Eight was–

Horror dawned on Theron’s features as he took a furtive step back, expression quickly morphing from confusion, to open shock, then finally to white hot anger.

Eight had repeated Ardun’s words like a pre-programmed droid. Eight wasn't waking up. There was a keyword–

Brainwashing. Brainwashing. That was what he meant. That was what he’d been alluding to this entire time. The cold pit of his stomach opened up to icy bone-cutting dread, and he turned on Ardun with a blazing fury.

“What have you done, Kothe?!” He shouted, voice echoing off the walls.

The spymaster only smiled, wan and thin. “He’ll be susceptible to commands after he awakens. Use them wisely,” Ardun reminded him, his holo-figure warping as it lost connection.

“No,” He enunciated, hard and low and angry, “No! Don't you dare hang up- Kothe! KOTHE!” The holocall cut out. Theron yelled, slamming his fist where the holo had been. Crunch.

His hand came back covered in broken communicator parts. He stared at it, then hung his head. Theron punched the table again, this time much weaker, all the fight having left his body with no one to direct it at it.

Eight was still asleep, and he was alone, with no help coming and an ever-growing list of betrayals that he’d signed off on.

“Dammit,” He covered his face with his hands. A slight tremor ran through them. “Damn it all to hell.”

-/-/-/-/-/-

The flight after was filled with stony silence.

The first words Eight had uttered upon awakening had been “awaiting orders”.

Theron promptly shut the pilot’s door on him.

He felt bad about it, sure, but his head felt fit to burst with the conflicting emotions and sheer range of thoughts all coalescing into one throbbing headache that made him want to scream. He thanked the stars he still kept a spare bottle of n’etra gal around, a gift from his father around the time of the Ascendancy Spear, yet he never dreamed he’d be popping it open for reasons like this.

It took about half of the bottle and their flight time for Theron to feel ready to address the bantha in the room again, and even then he wanted to avoid it like the rakghoul plague.

Sure enough, on the other side of the cabin door was Eight, a deeply apologetic look on his face, hands fisted in the comforter as he meekly muttered “awaiting orders,” as if that were the only phrase in his vocabulary.

The spy eyed him with condolences. “So,” Theron sighed, plopping down on the other side of the bed next to him, “How does this work? You can’t do anything until I tell you to, or…” He waved dismissively, letting his hands fall back down to his thighs.

Eight considered this in deep thought. He shrugged. “Awaiting orders,” Eight said.

“Yeah… I got that part.”

Kothe hadn’t been lying about his instructions at the very least, but Theron wished he had. Gift my ass, he inwardly swore. You stuck both of us with a ticking time bomb and no way to defuse it except to take it far, far away.

Who knew if Kothe had already pre-programmed Eight all this time to act as an unwilling mole?

Either way, Theron couldn’t leave him behind in the Alliance. As long as Eight was compromised, he needed to be extracted. Any number of their enemies could take advantage of his fragile mental state, and Theron was not going to hand their best fighter to them on a silver platter… nor would he subject a long-time ally to something so heinous.

He slid a hand down his unshaved face, half-expecting to feel stress wrinkles forming beneath his fingertips. Eight looked at him with worry across the bed.

This was the SIS’ game: saddle Theron with a liability he couldn’t get rid of so easily, and if he did, completely undermine the Alliance from within with it. Not a bad play, ruining their Outlander like that.

But Theron wasn’t so easily done in; as far as he was concerned, nothing had changed save for a slight wrinkle in the plan. Vinn Atrius still needed to be stopped, and the Alliance was still in danger. Eight being his unintended and unwilling partner-in-crime didn’t steer them off course, although he had to make some serious adjustments.

He’d just have to wing the part about both of them joining the Order of Zildrog.

“Well, if I have to give you orders…”

-/-/-/-/-/-

NATHEMA

“We had a deal, Theron.” Vinn Atrius’ voice took on an edge– the man himself glared daggers at Theron, as if imagining crushing the other into a flattened pancake beneath his heel.

“I know, I know, just–” Theron put his hands up placatingly. “Hear me out. He’s on our side. We both didn’t like how the Alliance was being run–”

“What sort of fool do you take me for, Shan?” Vinn hissed, the air around him crackling with suppressed fury. The hairs on Theron’s arm stood on end. “Did you really think I would believe two of the Alliance’s top founders would defect, much less their hunting dog?” He threw a disgusted glare at Eight, who feigned ignorance in the corner of the barren base.

Vinn crowded further into Theron’s space, a hulking mass of boiling rage. “Your arrogance knows no bounds; I should kill the both of you right here and now!” He shouted into the spy’s face, finger stabbing into his chest with each spat syllable.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there, big guy,” Theron fought to maintain his composure, even as he backed up until his spine met the wall. Vinn’s massive frame loomed over him. “That hunting dog is tired of being under the Alliance’s yoke. You don’t know this, but it wasn’t his decision to fight for them. He owes them his life. Just as he owes me.”

“And? Am I supposed to be convinced that he won’t slaughter us all in our sleep?” Vinn scowled. “You speak of disillusion, yet this man murdered our Emperor– our entire royal lineage without a second thought.” The knight slammed his fist into the moss-covered wall beside Theron’s head. “He is responsible for all of it!”

“If you want someone to blame, blame Arcann!” Theron rebutted, eyes flashing. He balled his fists. “He’s the one who started all this. The rest of us were caught in the crossfire of your family conflict, remember?” Theron straightened to his full height in the face of Vinn’s rage, unwilling to be cowed. “The Outlander was framed for everything Arcann did, including the assassination of your beloved Emperor. Arcann and the Alliance used him to eliminate their enemies. He has more reason than any of us to be here–!”

“Know your place, fool!” Vinn roared, igniting his polesaber.

Theron fell silent, realizing he’d gone a step too far.

“If you remain so intent on proving his innocence…”

Vinn suddenly faced Eight, who reacted with alarm; the knight formed a claw with his dominant hand and pulled. Eight dug his heels into the ground and resisted, but he was no match for the Force without a shield. He zipped to the knight unceremoniously.

As soon as he was in reach, Vinn caught him by the wrist and violently yanked it upward. Surprise morphed into one of pain as Vinn hyperextended his arm well above his head, gripping hard enough to bruise. His feet dangled; Atrius was a much larger opponent in both width and height. Even in such a position, Eight withheld a cry of pain, unwilling to give Vinn the satisfaction of sadism. He bared his teeth at the knight.

Vinn decided he didn’t like the look, and tightened his grip on Eight’s wrist, hard enough to purple the skin. His polesaber ignited beside them with a hum, bathing Eight’s pained expression in a militant blue. Theron’s eyes widened to saucers as Vinn raised his saber hand to strike.

“WAIT!”

Theron hadn’t realized the shout came from his own throat, desperate as it was.

Vinn’s saber stopped inches away from contact. Eight didn’t move.

“Wait,” He repeated, this time, far hoarser, “You don’t have to hurt him. There’s collateral.” A trickle of sweat rolled down his cheek.

“Speak,” Vinn said imperiously.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes met with Eight’s, who appeared as unsteady as he felt. And yet, the other operative must have read his intentions, for the light of understanding entered the void of his gaze. Hesitant, yet barely noticeable, he nodded to Theron.

He wet his parched and cracked lips.

Vinn’s lightsaber still hovered, pulsing with blue light.

“We took...countermeasures. Insurance. There’s…a codeword that ensures obedience.” Vinn frowned, but Theron noticed the gleam of ambition in his gaze. He quickened the pace. “If I tell him not to betray us, he has to obey. He’s not a threat. I promise.”

Sure enough, Eight hung uselessly in Vinn’s hold, not a hint of hostility to be found. Were this any other situation, the ex-Cipher would have attacked him by now– had Theron not taken that into account.

Perfectly aware of his record for lethality, Theron had briefed him prior to the meeting to let him handle the Order at all costs. Granted, it left the other unable to defend himself, but Eight understood that the matter was too delicate to do it the usual asskicking way, and Theron had been working this case for months. It had sounded like common sense at the time.

Now he slightly regretted that decision, knowing what it sowed.

The fact that he trusted him still even at the current threat of injury…Theron had to spare him any amount of suffering. Yet sharing the secret of Eight’s susceptibility was playing exactly into their hands, and he didn’t know how to stop the sinking feeling that he was trading one evil for another, staining his tarnished record black– except it would be Eight paying the price, not him. His skin turned clammy.

“A codeword,” Vinn echoed, almost reverent. He de-ignited his polesaber. “How very like you outlanders, to be as backstabbing and manipulative as you claim.”

“Yeah.” Theron pressed his lips together into a thin, bloodless line. “So let go of him.”

The Zakuulan arched an unimpressed brow.

“Please.” He added, quieter.

Vinn examined Eight with a newfound curiosity, then released him from his grasp.

Eight rubbed his wrist and glanced upwards at Vinn with a mixed expression. Theron didn’t let him entertain any vengeful thoughts of violence, as much as he himself wanted to blast Vinn to bits. He lunged forward and yanked the other spy to his side well out of Vinn’s reach. The knight’s eyes tracked him all the way behind Theron.

“If we’re done chopping arms off, can we get back to business?” Theron asked tentatively, hiding the sheer discomfort he felt lingering in the air like a caustic smog. His fingers tapped nervously on Eight’s wrist, still holding onto where Vinn had squeezed dark bruising into his skin.

Eight peered warily over his shoulder at the Zakuulan knight, though Theron could feel his eyes boring a questioning look into his back every few glances.

Vinn Atrius folded his impressive arms over his chestplate. “...Very well.” He turned with a dramatic swish of his cape. “The Adegan crystals. You know what to do.”

“They’re yours,” Theron answered all-too quickly, wanting nothing more than to put a close to this disastrous meeting.

“One last thing, Shan.”

“One last–?”

“Leave the Outlander here.”

Theron tensed. “No.”

“I am not so foolish as to allow both of you in the field. He will be monitored.” Vinn stared at him with disdain through his nose. Theron glared back.

Vinn scoffed. “It’s that or the codeword. Unlike you savage outlanders, I can spare your friend the humiliation of what Lady Vaylin suffered–” He looked balefully upon Eight. “--though he deserves it. Make your priorities clear, Theron, or I’ll make all your decisions for you and him.”

Theron floundered for a mental foothold. A thousand bad scenarios raced through his mind. Neither of these were options, they were ultimatums. Ones he had no control over, no guarantee of safety. Leaving Eight alone with the enemy was tantamount to killing him with his own hands. Giving him the codeword even moreso.

Atrius tapped his foot impatiently.

He doubted his intentions enough as it was, but Theron couldn’t give him leverage. A hostage, of all things. Who was playing who? Now Theron was caught by the tail in both the Order and the SIS. There was no winning if he agreed. Yet the longer he let hesitation take hold, the more he could sense the suspicion growing from the former Horizon Guard, who looked ready to take Eight away from him by force any second now.

A sharp tug on his sleeve pulled him out of his anxiety-riddled thoughts. Eight wore a non-expression that gave little away, irises as dark as the black sand beaches of Rishi.

Theron’s brows steepled quizzically. He felt his heart rate lowering looking at the serene canvas that Eight’s countenance was. Always unflappable, calm, strong. How many times had they come to rely on his detachedness? His ability to face any threat with nigh a hint of fear in him? His eternal resilience, with the scars to prove it?

Theron gripped his chest. The fabric crumpled between his fingers. He’d promised him he wouldn’t have to bear their burdens anymore, and he was already failing.

Eight let the silence hang between them until the panic in Theron’s chest subsided to a dull ache. Then, like a gust of fresh wind clearing the unbreathable miasma from the air, he spoke.

“It’s alright.” He released his sleeve. “I can stay.”

Theron blinked at him, not comprehending. He shook his head vigorously. “I can’t let you-”

“He’s made his decision,” Vinn brusquely interrupted, muscling between them. Theron was shoved aside, tripping backwards on his heels as Vinn obscured Eight behind the curtain of his humongous cape. “Now make yours.” He glowered. “I have no time for dogs who come to lick the scraps from my heels.”

Theron grit his teeth. They ground against each other. He felt like a wounded hound who’d just been thrown out of the ring after a knockout. Screw you, asshole.

“Wait. Just… let me say goodbye, at least.” He said quickly, clinging to the last chance they’d have at communication.

The corner of Vinn’s lip curled upwards. Theron took his lack of objection as a yes.

He scrambled to remove his jacket, internally apologizing to Eight for not washing it sooner and praying that it didn’t smell too bad. Eight’s gaze was bright and curious as Theron draped the classic red jacket over his shoulders.

“Keep it with you,” Theron ordered, hand stopping to rest over the familiar worn leather that now rested on Eight’s smaller frame, “Whatever you do, don’t lose it. Okay?”

Eight seemed to get the memo. He nodded, short and sharp.

Theron gave him a small pat, hand hovering for a moment before falling to his side. He stepped back.

He was sure Eight was lost on why Theron was fawning over him like a lover– they were never what one could call “close” in the first place, and anything between them was more business than personal. Even the few moments they shared as partners in crime were distant at best, and Theron wasn’t going to lie about the emotional unavailability of their relationship.

But staring at Eight now, he mostly felt regret. He knew next to nothing still about the ex-Imperial. Even yelled at him a couple times for actions he didn’t approve of (which he wished he could rescind, as Eight no longer ambushed his quieter moments out of mischief and had taken to interacting with him purely out of necessity after). But that didn’t mean he wanted the last time he ever saw him alive to be…like this. Theron drooped.

No one had ever asked Eight’s reasons for fighting for them as their Outlander, him included. Turned out it wasn’t fair of them to ask everything of one person and give nothing in return but scathing remarks and more demands for the sake of their own lofty ideals.

When Eight killed the royal family of Zakuul, finally did the dirty deed and shed blood in their name, no one had been there. They’d turned their backs on him. A little bit of darkness, and the Alliance abandoned him completely in order to keep their shiny coats clean.

He had been their scapegoat, their hero, their alibi, and their sacrificial lamb all in one.

Theron couldn’t even call him a friend.

“We will contact you as soon as you have the crystals. Be ready by sundown.” Vinn carelessly tossed him a burner holocomm. “But know this: make one wrong move, and you forfeit your friend’s freedom. Betray us, and it will be his life. Is that clear?” Vinn’s voice was low, simmering with the threat. Eight, still in his grasp, flicked his uncertain gaze to the SIS agent.

“...I understand.” He flexed his hands reflexively, wanting to act, do more than gawk like a moron while Vinn had his way.

Vinn hauled Eight away by the bicep, the other forced to stumble awkwardly along due to the sheer height difference. He stopped just outside the entryway to the temporary hideout. “See that you do, Shan.” Eight’s pitying look followed him all the way until he and Atrius disappeared around the corner. Yet Vinn’s arrogant voice floated to him until they were out of earshot, ringing hollowly in his ears. “...See that you do.”

-/-/-/-/-/-

UMBARA

“The traitor’s just beyond that door.”

Lana doggedly marched ahead of Theron, anticipation and eagerness rolling off her demeanor.

Theron performed a simple sweep, carefully stalking behind the vulnerability of her open back. He had a wider area to cover today given the noticeable absence of their mutual friend, who ordinarily would be taking point adjacent to him. At the thought of Eight, a wrinkle formed in Theron’s brow.

Lana had chalked his missing status up to wanderlust, though it sparked no end to muttered threats about what an earful she would give him on his return.

Theron knew better; Eight’s eccentric habits made it easy to spin a white lie about his whereabouts. The ex-Cipher had a tendency to avoid the Alliance and its “menial” tasks on his off-days, but as a result, made it difficult to locate him in order to avoid being saddled with the bureaucratic duties he and Lana shared simply because he had “no talent” for it, and only came into the base to head missions more relevant to his skills.

Ones that involved gratuitous amounts of violence, mostly. Any work past the bare listed minimum had Eight disappearing the moment their back was turned. Theron wished he could do that with his paperwork, but alas, he was not afforded such special treatment.

“It’s as if he’s purposefully making our lives difficult,” Lana had thrown up her hands in frustration, paperwork scattering in the air as she slumped backwards in her chair when he gave her the news. “Just… tell me when he gets back. And no more of his excuses, do you hear me?”

It was almost cruel to obfuscate the truth from her.

The opening hiss of a pneumatic door signaled to him the trap was laid; Lana stepped inside, aghast. She lowered her lightsaber, glancing around the empty car with a muddled look on her ordinarily composed face. Not a soul inside. Her confident bloodlust dissipated into thin air, and with it, her only lead. The quarry was…gone?

“What-?” She asked aloud, failing to notice the traitor inching forward at her back.

It took a split-second. The Force screamed at her. She reacted, drawing her lightsaber in an instant. The blaster bolt deflected off the crimson edge and back at her attacker–

“Theron?!” She cried out, disbelieving. Yet she could only confirm the sordid truth as rayshielded walls fell around her, the blaster bolt dissipating uselessly against it. Theron Shan, her trusted ally turned traitor. Her golden eyes fell to the smoking blaster in his hand, pointed straight ahead. Her face fell. He’d attempted to shoot her. In the back.

She forced down the humiliation that welled up in her for falling for something so obvious, even as he stared at her from the other side of the rayshield with a grim expression, his aura tainted with a nebulous feeling that twisted and roiled in the Force.

How could he–? After all they’d been through…no, no– this made no sense. Lana controlled her breathing. She knew Theron.

She needed an explanation, and she needed one now.

“What in the blazes are you doing?” Lana hissed at him, saber thrumming with the anger that pulsed in her chest like a fractured kyber heart. Her tone bordered on electric, dancing with the imminent danger of her withheld wrath.

Theron sighed and lowered his blaster. “Stalling you,” He explained, as if faced with an unsavory chore. “I’m sorry, Lana. I should’ve done this long ago. It’s past time we ended this.” He set his wrist comp’s internal clock. “In a few minutes, this train will collide with the side of the mountain, and I’ll be gone. For what it’s worth…” His expression grew sympathetic. “It's been an honor to fight by your side.”

Lana stuttered. “I don’t– I don’t understand.” Hurt colored her pallid cheeks. “Theron, tell me what’s going on. We can talk about this.”

Theron appeared pained at her words. He looked away, shifting uncomfortably. When he lifted his eyes to meet hers again, they were filled with an uncountable tiredness to them that Lana had not seen before. “...The Alliance, Lana. We can’t do this anymore. It has to end. That starts,” He narrowed his embittered eyes, “with you.”

Theron took Lana’s speechlessness as a cue to continue, a sudden zeal replacing the deep melancholy that had previously dominated his features. His tone picked up.

“Our goal was Zakuul, but now that the real threat is gone, we’ve lost sight of who we are–and that isn’t the next galactic superpower.” He paced in front of her, the angry red of the rayshield casting him in a harsher light than Lana had ever seen before. “I won’t stand by and watch it turn into the next Empire, Lana. We’ve sacrificed too much to go on like this, and if the Alliance is another tool for grinding good men and women into dust…then it needs to be torn down.”

“That’s not-”

“And with the way things are going, we’re destined to return to the status quo by the next cycle.” Theron pierced her with his steely gaze. “Am I wrong?”

Lana froze, grip tightening on the hilt of her uselessly hanging blade. Theron’s eyes bore into hers. She could sense no regret, no point of return from his words. Yet the longer he spoke, the colder the tendrils of despair seemed to become, winding themselves around her veins, chilling her to the bone with this sinking feeling. Betrayal.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lana tried, failing to understand. For all her eloquence, in this moment she was truly at a loss for words. It was as if her tongue weighed duracrete, locked down by an invisible force that choked her very lungs.

Lana Beniko had never been trusting in the traditional sense, but it was Theron whom she shared more than one battle with. More than one war with. She’d thought…

Theron’s eyes widened, then lowered. “I…” He turned away, facing his back to her. Lana could see the visible slump in his broad shoulders, the way they hung like he carried the weight of the world.

She’d seen that same back working tirelessly on those nights when they burned the midnight oil together monitoring operations, Lana’s other bastion within the Alliance besides Koth and their errant swordsman, the one who had brought them together in the first place. The irony was almost laughable.

Theron a traitor, Eight a distant specter in their Alliance, and herself, saddled with the immeasurable burden of leadership…their little group was falling apart by the seams.

Perhaps that was her own fault, for trusting them through shared history alone. How could she have been so foolish to assume they were anything but enemies waiting for their chance to strike once the specter of Zakuul had been removed?

It was then Lana realized she’d overlooked a vital detail. A huge, glaring mistake, that she should have noticed sooner.

“Theron,” She spoke slowly, hesitantly, yet impossible to ignore with its underlying edge, “Where is Eight?”

#title much creative so wow #um.#swtor #swtor fanfiction #traitor arc #theron shan #vinn atrius #lana beniko #oc: orradiz #kotfeet #admin writes #ardun kothe #cw brainwashing #rishi trio #theron's no good very bad horrible day #if it's not exactly like the in game dialogue DONT LOOK AT ME. IM TIRED. IM TIRED #IM TIRED!!!!!!!!!!!

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