Maaks watched as Teroch paced with purpose, attentively paying attention to his crew with eyes that knew leadership and enthusiasm. The tone of the ship was good and the morals high. He exhaled his sigh with cigarette smoke and watched it float and weave through the air. He felt pitiful to feel guilt so close to him. Pitiful and shameful. He had never apologised. Never brought it up. He hadn’t paid his dues.
The cigarillo smoked a little as he stubbed it out on the chair, the metal turning a faint yellow colour as the heat slowly faded. A click of heels before him made his stomach drop.
“There. Are. Not Even. Words. This is a newly commissioned ship!”, he pretended to roll his eyes and faced the voice of his second commanding officer, “I expect better of you. Not only as an officer but as a medical officer. Those things are detrimental to your health.”
“Sorry.”
Almost taken aback by his reaction, she paused, her shoulders slouching slightly, “Are you...well? You seem-”
“I’m fine. It won’t happen again.”
He got up and swept from the room. Arcia looked on at him, surprised by his outburst when he was usually quite controlled. She looked at Teroch then, a questioning look on her face.
-
He passed the crew without his usual smiles. He couldn’t, not when the memory was so fresh and so cutting. He hurt him, his master and his son. All because of him, that man. He slipped into the turbolift and felt the crackle of the Force as it rushed to his sudden change in mood. Never again would he be manipulated by another like he had. Dash...
-[]-
Dash Kuatir. A venerable man in red. Wealthy, attractive and skillful in every sense of the word. An owner of a billion-credit industry, a leader of a famous cabal - and now a traitor. Just thinking the word fanned the flames of steady rage as he smashed his fist into the arm of his seat. It buckled slightly but did nothing to quell his intense anger.
Space was quiet and gave too much ease to mull on his emotions. Meditation had failed him, as the red skinned man has shimmered in and out of his calmness and much to his dismay, in the rare moments where he got angry, stuff broke. Now he sat as motionless as possible, staring literally into space in the cockpit of a shuttle he had taken from the Kuatir shipyards. Again, his mind flickered through various vandalistic methods to destroy the shuttle no matter how petty - some even with himself driving it straight into the tycoons vicinity, but still he did not act. Instead, he flicked through the report for the hundredth time, triple-checking it before allowing another wave of nausea to run through him.
Maaks threw the datapad against the console and sprung to his feet. He walked a few paces before dropping to the floor and forcing himself to do press ups. He could hear his teeth grind as grief and guilt threatened to swim through the strong stream of hatred that was becoming dangerously close to overflowing. The dark side of the Force had never had a strong pull on the Miraluka, not that he had felt drawn towards the light either. He kept it compartmentalised as something strange, only to be looked at when needed. Now he knew why so many of his colleagues were twisted. It was disgustingly gratifying to feel his hate spread out through the force like burning waves as he justified it over and over. Vicious strength ebbed and flowed as he willed, seeing the betrayers face melt and break and-
“Unidentified shuttle, you are entering restricted territory. I repeat, unidentified-”
He was on his feet in a moment, swiping the report to the floor to open a comm channel.
“Yes!”, he took a shallow breath and calmed himself, “Yes, I am well aware of how restricted this area is and I humbly request asylum in your station.”
The voice paused for a moment to allow the contempt to rise to the surface, “We don’t do that sort of thing. Turn around-”
“You do for Antoine Verlacc.”
A sharp intake of breath and suddenly, “O-oh yes sir, sorry sir. You are cleared for arrival. My deepest apologies.”
Maaks allowed a smirk. It was a codename of course, one for all of Dashs ‘companions’. They were generally treated as royalty anyway, but not many had ever come across a Dark Jedi. The Krath had made quite sure that no one think of him as a merely a good lay. His mood swayed back to a dark, foul place. Dash had invited him to come to the newly renovated station as it began its first completed run with him at the helm, nestled safely in a tucked away asteroid field nearby to a few pockets of expensive minerals. Which in layman's terms means stashed spice. He embellished it greatly, speaking of the great wealth of materials specially cultivated for his personal quarters, the grand food and wine and especially the explicit detail of his bedroom. Something stirred in his stomach and he breathed slowly. The thought of his touch sickened him.
The space station came in view and Maaks had to gasp. It was one of the biggest things he had ever seen. Five disc tiers lay atop each other, each connected by a central vertical hangar. The edges were carved from an intricate Hapan marble that glittered under any light and made it look like frozen flames. It was surely a Phoenix Cabal instellation and was armed to the teeth. On either opposing sides of the space station were too scary looking turbolasers. He couldn’t help but gulp. It wasn’t that he thought little of one of the most dangerous beings in the universe, that would be too arrogant. It was more that he knew he was right. Ignorance that stems from naivety can be a powerful thing when the situation was right. He just hoped he would be lucky enough to do whatever he was going to do and get out.
He still didn’t know quite what that was.
The shuttle was pulled into a tractor beam and slid perfectly down the tube. No doubt there was some hint of innuendo in its construction. It gave him time to get changed and he had just the perfect outfit.
-
Condensation crackled as the door to the shuttle opened, the airlock lights bright for a moment. As they dimmed, there were a few gasps at least and that was sufficient. He stepped down the stairs coolly and looked about as if expecting an attendant. The hangar staff looked at each other, fairly uncomfortable. Maaks fought a smirk.
The outfit had been left behind quite haphazardly by Dash. Pants woven from the finest silks, dyed black by crushed onyx. Ornate shoes to match with an upturned point on the toes, decorated with the darkest gemstones imaginable. A shirt, translucent at best that hung off his frame in all the right places and the colour of sunlight at dawn and a cloak made for royalty. Of the deepest crimson, set against a masterful blending of gold and bronze thread to look like fire with a grand rendition of the Phoenix Cabal symbol upon the back. His mask was his favourite part. It was made to be worn at a ball, hiding the features around the eyes. Only his eyelids, lined by his dark eyelashes could be seen through the mask.
It was a defiant move, that was true. Although the Miraluka was one in a thousand - one of Dashs greatest conquests of the flesh, he was still not a part of the Cabal. It was a company in a sense, an industry of course, but it was also a great family. The Kuatir name was one that was known by many across the Galaxy and those that walked with him in any of his ventures admired him fiercely. Too fiercely, perhaps. For admiration is the furthest one can be from understanding. He let that lesson push him to his next display.
“Well?”
A sense of panic spread quickly, until a security officer seemed to take charge. He was clearly a veteran and completely understood the implications of an unruly lover. Stepping forward, he shooed the staff away and was about to raise his weapon.
“You.”, he let the statement float over the guard for a moment before walking ahead of him a few steps, “You shall accompany me. I wish to be seated somewhere pleasant and with food and drink. I have had a long trip and he is expecting me.”
The guard blinked a few times as Maaks pretended to look around the Hangar with disgust. He held his nose, “Now, guard. A place like this is one that someone like I should not be exposed to. Do you wish to tarnish my delicacy? Hm?.”
The guard looked around for a moment and then looked back. It wasn’t working, not that he’d really had a plan. He had just hoped that making a big impression and acting like he owned the place would work. It had always worked for Sashar. He winced. That stung and he fought back a trickling of anger. but then he had an idea. he turned his full body to face the guard and lightly opened his eyelids, allowing a hint of the strange shadows that danced in his hollow sockets.
“Guard.”
He jumped and nodded quickly, avoiding eye contact and leading them to a turbolift. The Krath sighed and restrained his emotions as best he could. It was time to make a choice.
-
The viewing room was gorgeous of course and the youth couldn’t help but imagine destroying its perfection. Everything was made from wood and silk. Expertly finished to look like a room in a palace. There were drapes pinned about the window, cushions and chairs arranged neatly around a low table, each different but chosen to suit each other in their own special way and on the walls were art. Art that made your mind wander and your soul stir. It was fuel now. Spoilt. Rotten.
He lay on a chaise longue and found himself backtracking. Could he kill him and escape? Was he capable enough to do so? Or was it inappropriate. He had read the report. It was still only one side of the story, he should at least confront him. Still, he had never encountered a Selenian Shadewalker that could not dig out the truth in one way or another-
The door opened behind him. His sight flared into brilliance and he sat up. His flesh was pale and then red, his eyes were blue and then yellow and his hair blonde and then black. A tail slid into view as it coiled about him. He wore only a pair of black boxers and an intricately designed kimono draped over his body. He took two steps forward. His confidence, his power, his arrogance.
A pillow burst against the wall with the sheer telekinetic force put behind it. Then another, then a chair and a table. Maaks watched as his arms weaved through the Force as it obeyed him, saw as Dash rolled and leapt and ducked, his face contorted into something between frustration and surprise. A larger piece of art clicked off the wall and shuddered under his telekinetic grip.
“Maaks!”
He almost sound hurt, a droop in the corner of his lips. Maaks clenched his teeth so hard he felt his teeth screech.
“YOU!”, the painting shattered against the floor, “You killed them all!”
For a moment, the metamorphs mouth opened, questioning. He moved to speak.
“Don’t. Don’t even try. I had you followed. I had every detail painstakingly picked from the frakking ethers about that day. How could it possibly have come to you?! Why did you do this Dash?”
His voice finally broke as he pleaded. The strength falling away as he watched the sad face melt into nothing. Blankness. A businessmans face.
“It was nothing personal-”
“There were children. Families Dash, I thought you said you would never go that far-”
“They were casualties, Maaks. Unintentional. I needed to send a message so I wouldn’t be chased across the known Galaxies anymore. Sashar-”
“Sashar? Sashar what?! Sashar didn’t kill people I was close to, you did. He didn’t use me to get coordinates and kill civilians with indifference, you did! You killed the Kodiaks and you made it my fault, Dash! You’ve made this my-”
“So what.”
It was the statement that cut his ties. Something cracked, or snapped, he wasn’t sure what. In that moment he was already dead to him.
The Force crackled in him, dark and filled with instinct. And then it stepped out of him. A little taller, a little bigger but faceless against the Kraths rage. It was a turmoil of dark, ethereal shadow and it leapt out. Its hands were around his throat, squeezing, crushing. The tail lashed but passed straight through, his hands were suddenly vicious claws scratching and struggling. Just as his life was almost up, Maaks panicked. Suddenly the wall slid away and a shot of red hit him. It was too fast to understand but he fell to his knees anyway, his stomach burning.
Dash held no expression, only distaste. He rubbed his neck, the blaster aimed perfectly at the Miralukas head. He waited for the moment he would die quietly and felt the ground tremor about him shudder.
Then the doors flew past him and the room filled with the Force. Its pressure shocked him to his core and for a moment his sight faded. When it returned, Sashar was on top of him. They struggled with each other continuously, trading kick for kick, punch for punch. Blood splattered the walls with the force of the strikes. Then his saber ignited and red met blue, pushing Sashar back across the room, his armor smoking with the hits. Another section of wall appeared and Dash grabbed another blaster, doubling his efforts. Sashar, face stoic, let his aber move like oil across his body, deflecting and even returning some of the volleys. A blast of Force energy smacked him into the wall with ease, white bone poking through the red of his skin. He crumpled to the floor, whimpering.
Sashar walked swiftly and his saber bit flesh. It was over. Then he looked at him. Maaks winced under the gaze and tried to stand, half of him telling him to flee, the other telling him to stand and accept his actions. His leg crumpled under the weight and he fell into something. Sashar. He lifted him with ease and looked down at him. A sadness in his eyes that cut through anything else. The Miraluka swallowed, fighting to regain some strength.
“I-I’m sorry.”
There was more to say, but he had already choked.
“I know, ad’ika. I know”, he pulled the youths head to his chest, “You shouldn’t have come here alone.”
“I’m sorry. I had to. I was just so angry and so...and so...Teroch…”
“I know. This is the last lesson you will learn as a boy, Maaks. This is your first step to manhood. You have lived simply and kindly but that is not the full way of the Universe. There are two sides to the Force, ad’ika; for just like the light must be with the dark, good people must also be countered by those that would do unspeakable evil. Learn this now and you will never know this again.”
-
The space station was destroyed as they left, its remnants scattered across the asteroid field like ashes on a grave.
-[]-
“Hey Ad’ika, you got a light?”
Teroch walked into the medbay nonchalantly, a cigarillo between his lips and his fingers making a clicking gesture. Maaks stared at him for a moment, exhaling smoke at him, waiting for some sign, some indication. The young Elder cocked his head to one side, a childlike affectation. And that was enough. He sat up and sighed, a smile forming as he let his shoulders loosen.
“Sure kiddo, sure.”