Sith Marshal

[MysticTrunks]

The charges for the man he had been following halfway across the planet actually were as long as his arm. He’d really done numbers and scrolling top to bottom it measured just a fingernails length longer than his own arm from armpit to middle finger. Quite a feat really, considering how many fugitives his career had brought him to over the years.

 

Taking another sip from a thick multifaceted glass he watched his quarry from across the rather large and public bar that was being used as “home base”. As a Sith Marshal he figured easily half of the captures, both arrests and defensive slayings, happened in one cantina or bar of some kind. Sure they went from upscale to the very bottom of the proverbial barrel, but a place where alcohol and spice was served usually where it ended. Even if it didn’t end there, some place along the hunt, there was a stop over in one bar or another.

 

Likely why drinking had just become a regular part of life for the Marshal. Not something to lose himself into like so many around him, but more as just something to do to cover the time.

 

The human with the wrap sheet as long as his arm was surrounded by his “friends” at the bar. That was something that always changed too. The people around them. Some simply were not good with people. While others could get them to flock around them like flies on a bantha’s back.

 

“Yep, wanted in four systems,” he could be heard bragging to a pretty Twi’lek of a muted green skin and large suggestive eyes.

 

Playfully she slapped at his chest, “Oh come on now, you’re pulling my leg, my Lord.”

 

With a heavy sigh the Marshal gulped down the rest of amber colored liquid giving only a slight siss as it burned its way down. “That’s right baby, four of them. You’re dealing with a dangerous man. I’m not your usual Sith Lord either,” the human fugitive said as he wrapped an arm about the Twi’leks slim waist and pulled her to his side.

 

As far as looks went, he wasn’t the ugliest. A pitted face from acne as a youth and a rakishly uncontrolled mop of dark hair on top of his head gave him the dangerous “bad boy” look that seemed to draw in a certain kind of lady. The Marshal came up to the bar next to him holding up a finger for the bartender to let him know he needed another before he said, “A Sith Lord did you say? Must be handing that title out free with the purchase of every drink if that’s the case.”

 

He kept his eyes forward looking at his own reflect and that of the man and his woman friend which is why he saw her mouth fall open slightly and the fugitives body tense at the insult before slowly turning around. The four men on the other side of him went silent as his pitted face was turning red and in the Force, anger swelled. “You got a problem here, redface?”

Turning to him he shook his head, “Me personally? Nah, no problem. Just think your lady friend there should know the man pawing at hers a lying sack of Hutt crap before your silver tongue gets her into your bed.” The men behind him stood, sliding off their stools one at a time. He opening his mouth to say something but the Marshal spoke first, “Like, say for instance, that you’re really only a failed apprentice that got hold of an old artifact before attempting to kill his Master. Yeah, I said attempted, she’s in a coma but legally that’s still alive so...”

 

It was pleasant to watch his “gang” look at him suddenly like something of a parasite. It wasn’t the part of attacking his master really, more the realization that this windbag was impersonating a Lord without having even graduated. Top of the hill to the bottom in two seconds, by the Force how easy it was to manipulate them sometimes.

 

The Twi’lek tried to pull away from him like he’d become a hot wire, “Who are you... No, forget that. I’m going to KILL you!” There was spittle and his eyes took on a sort of mad dog shine.

 

Flipping open a badge with the Imperial logo and a five pointed star behind it, “Sith Marshal Xana’tos. Quiy’shin Dorn, you’re under arrest for, well, the list of what you aren’t wanted for is shorter by now, and lets add impersonating a Lord to those as well now.” The four men behind him, took a step back, wanting no part any longer. Smart. Surprising, but smart.

 

Dorns hand twitched, reading to reach for the artifact in his inner tunic pocket. His head slammed into the bar top before his fingers even got into the first fold. Xana’tos moved, grabbing the arm and pinning it behind Dorn painfully up between his shoulder blades. For good measure he exerted with the Force again causing his head to bounce one more time off the durasteel bar.

 

With the Force now pushing his head tightly to the bar top, he pinned both hand behind his back before putting stun cuffs around his wrists. “On order of the Sith Council on behalf of the Emperor, you are hereby under arrest for crimes against the Imperium.” The response was a muted gurgle.

 

The bartender was holding a shot of Imperial whiskey he’d ordered before the tussle. Keeping one hand on chain between the stuncuffs and the push of the Force on his head, his free hand took the drink and gulped it down in one smooth motion, setting the glass upside down on the countertop.

 

“Miss?” Xana’tos looked to the Twi’lek woman, his eyebrow ridges arched slightly. The chin length black hair down over one side of his face. She looked at him, eyes wide before turning coy.

 

“Yes, Marshal?”

 

He reached into the Dorns back pocket fishing out his credit chit. He tossed it underhand to her, “Buy yourself and those four behind you as many drinks as you want on your friend here in thanks for not causing me any more trouble on account of his man here. He won’t be needing the credits where he’s going.” Quiy’shin Dorn was escorted from the Flapping Mynock in stuncuffs.

 

Quiy’shin Dorns memory lived on in four men and a Twi’lek dancer for the three day bender and luxury suites before the money went dry. Two days longer than Dorn himself managed to live on.

[MysticTrunks]

Ambush at Nar Shaddaa

 

Part 1 - Location Confirmed

 

It didn’t take long to find them. As gangs went they were small but given all reports, they made up for size with ferocity. That ferocity had made them feared. As the Jedi so aptly put it, fear led to anger and anger to hate and hate was the domain of the Sith.

 

This night on Nar Shaddaa held death on the stale air, Sith Marshal Xana’tos could not only smell it, but sense it in the Force.

 

It was day two in the setup. Last night, Nye’in had gone to the same cantina, drank to much, so far as anyone knew, and stumbled back to her ship through the bridges and walkways of the smugglers moon. Xana’tos had spotted two of them through the macro binoculars. First they noticed her, then they followed her. She’d gotten to her ship without incident. The Marshal though, followed them back to “base”. If you could call a two bedroom apartment that even a Dug would think twice about living in a base.

 

Five men, in one apartment. A simple bomb would take them all out. One thermal grenade and, poof, people would be breathing in their remains for the next year as tiny little particles. That was too easy though. This wasn’t an official mission, this was, as the lawyers put it, “pro bono” work. Might even qualify as a deduction on his Imperial taxes.

 

The Marshal watched them from a building a quarter mile away. All five were there as she had said. A fat human with puffy cheeks and a gut that was working its way over his belt. Another with some sort of cybernetic implants visible on his face. One horned Zabrak with the a strange tattooing of black and green, making him look less threatening and more like he could just be sick at any moment.

 

Finally, the last two. The special cases that seemed to run the show, why else would they have gotten first run? A white faced Rattataki who was very tall and the leader, a well lean muscled and very tall human with a blaster scar on his face.

 

The two that had seen Nye’in reported their new discovery. Lethan Twi’lek were a some what a rarity on a place like Nar Shaddaa, or at least free roaming lethan not enslaved to a Hutt were. “What are the odds?” he could hear them saying through the parabolic laser microphone he had trained on their durasteel window. It was the fat one, “I mean, seriously, we missed out on the last one thanks to that armored “hero” coming before we could take her back here. Now, ANOTHER one? You’re sure it ain’t the same one?”

 

They cyborg, apparently his implants went to his voice box, the sound was more metallic sounding than it should have been even with the parabolic laser, “Positive. This one has soft flowing patterns on her head. Not all hard and jagged like that other one.”

 

Silence for a moment as the laser reflected off some idiot in a long freight speeder that was flying outside the skylane, and then, “...up! The both of ya! We’ll wait for tomorrow then. If she’s dumb enough to do it twice... we’ll pounce.” Blaster Scar. He’d made the plan and Xana’tos could make his wish a reality.

 

Reaching into his pocket he took out his comlink and thumbed it on, “Nye’in?”

 

Her calm flat tone came back, “Yes, Marshal?”

 

“Get a good nights rest and tell your Mando boyfriend to forget your number for a couple days, you got a date with five men tomorrow. Wear something tight and revealing.” He couldn’t help ribbing her over that Mandalorian that had been fawning over her for nearly a month.

 

There was a pause and then, “Of course Marshal. I’ll just give him your number instead so you won’t be lonely.”

 

His red eyes looked at his com-link and he shook his head, “Nice. Get some rest Deputy, tomorrow will be a busy day.”

Edited June 3, 2012 by MysticTrunks

[MysticTrunks]

Part 2 - Gang War

 

Day 3

 

Over all the day had been relaxing. The Marshals favorite smashball team had one their game and he’d managed to clean his lightsaber inside and out, something he did often while watching the violent smashball games. Nye’in had even watched part of it with him, herself dismantling and cleaning her saber though in a much quick span of time since she didn’t jump to her feet at every badcall or missed opportunity to score.

 

His nerves were there, anyone that said they felt nothing before an operation with an agent in the thick of it was either a liar or just to stupid to know that gets people killed. Usually yourself. Being Sith however, that nervous energy gathered and strengthened the resolve in the Force. The dark side was his ally and he knew very well how to manage it.

 

That had been nearly eleven standard hours ago though. Now, as Nye’in stumbled her way out the bar for the third and final night, one lekku over her back, the other slung around her neck like a sash, it was go time. She’d worn a tight black dress that showed off her every curve like it was sculpted from living stone. “Wear something tight and revealing,” he had said, and she had done just that.

 

He had to give it to her. Had he not known she’d taken the three pills that converted alcohol in the body into harmless substances acting like a pre-liver, liver. She had put down a good six drinks and now stumbled and giggled her way down the street. Her handbag waving wildly about her as she spoke gibberish about her boss.

 

“Never... respects me. Just his paper pushing... Hussy! That’s all, pureblood ba... bast... jerk, doesn’t probably even know HOW to read or write.” She rambled on like this constantly. The Marshal rolled his eyes, as her boss, he’d get her for this later. Probably by making her do more paperwork.

 

Ten minutes into her walking ramble, they appeared. Xana’tos had been keeping a hundred meter pace in front of her on a predetermined path they had set out so it would look as if he was tailing her. The Force told him they were making their move. A sense of agitation, excitement, and a disgusting greasy feel of lust for their target. He had just passed the alley way they planned to ambush her from even if he couldn’t see them, he knew they were there.

 

It would take her a minute or two to pass that same point.

 

Once out of sight, he continued to walk, once out of hearing distance, he ran. His long black spec ops jacket it flapped behind him as he turned the corner darted around the building and went to double back on the alley. It had only one entrance, but a twenty foot wall was not a challenging climb or jump with the aid of the Force.

 

As he made his way, Nye’in was just now coming to the mouth of the alley way. Like wraiths they fell on her. Three at once grabbed her, coming out of hiding from behind trash bins and power panels. She was Sith as well and had felt the same greasy emotions. Just as they grabbed her she went limp to limit the jerking motions as they tugged her into the alleyway. She held tightly to her handbag and weakly beat at the nearest head with weak limp wristed slaps of her open hand.

 

“No!... stop, no! I have money!... take it, just leave me alone!” She said in a high pitched effort to sound like her very best damsel in distress. She was rewarded with an open hand slap to the face. Her anger flared and the dark side filled her.

 

They held her tightly slamming her against the wall. The Blaster Scar face stepped up to her as she struggled, about to spring the trap... when it happened. His dark blue eyes met hers and there was suddenly.... nothing. Her head swam and the grasp she had on the Force flitted away as she was lost and fell into his eyes. “That’s right girlie... just relax, we’re all friends here.”

 

A mumbled voice, was it her own? She couldn’t be sure, but she heard it repeat, “All friends here.” Yes, friends. Of course they were friends. She had seen their faces in pictures and, hadn’t they looked friendly at the time? Those eyes of his. They were amazing, all she had to do was keep looking into them and all her worries would go away.

 

Blaster Scar approached. Looked her over, “You were right boys. It’s our lucky week.” Stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers, he lifted her chin. “Isn’t that right girl? It’ll be your lucky night too.”

 

Xana’tos had reached the back of the alley way, only a large duracrete wall between him and the men on the other side. Something was wrong. For one there was no sound of a lightsaber, no cries of protest or pain and worse, no sense of anger in the Force. He could feel Nye’in, but she felt, muted, dull. ….. Force Influenced.

 

“Krif.” Fear and anger gathered and he pushed in the Force. The wind hit his face as his body went up in a high arch and landing on the edge. Three held Nye’in to the wall. The Rattataki watching bemused against the other wall and Blaster Scar before her his arms on either side of her head getting ready to...

 

“NYE’IN!” he shouted her name and all the effort of Force will he could thrust rippled out with the word. It swept down and over them like a pressure wave only visible to those with the eyes of the Force to see it. It passed over Blaster Scar and then hit Nye’in. The fog in her eyes cleared, she shook her head and a white blossom of anger and hate bloomed in the Force.

 

Her head snapped as she looked up and her mind cleared to see this grotesque pig of a human inches from her, his hands and arms on either side of her head. He was looking up at the Marshal, as the others had at the shout of the name. And then she moved.

 

The Force exploded from her to the left and right. Two men holding her left were pushed back ten feet, the one on the right only seven before he slammed into the back alley wall. Blaster Scars head began to turn but it was to late.

 

Nye’in grabbed his right arm with one hand then the other, wrapping her arms around him. She hauled herself up, lifting her legs in a fluid motion and tucking her body in like she was a sit up. Her long strong legs flew up and around his back, over his head, around his neck, and locked at the ankles before his face. Bodily she pulled with the strength in her legs and back, and adding the strength of the Force, the mans body began to bend back and his own legs now leaving the ground.

 

Bodily he flipped *** over head, Nye’in ridding through the motion until he slammed, face first followed instantly boy his body into the duracrete ground. Nye’in her self landing smoothly on her feet in a crouch. She reached for her handbag in the Force, it landed solidly in her hand. Reaching into the small gap the snap-hiss echoed around the alley as the blade sprung to life burning through one end of the bag. Standing she put a foot on the back of his head and held the lightsaber at his spine. “Stay. Down.”

 

The entire thing from the Marshals shout to her speaking, had taken no longer than five seconds. Xana’tos was impressed as hell. “Top of your class at the academy you said?” He fell the twenty feet from his perch, the four remaining men coming to their senses. Three getting up off the ground and the thing Rattataki just now closing his mouth.

 

Nye’in nodded, “In swordsmanship. Hand to hand, I was only second.”

 

“Clearly.” He looked around as the others stood, “Gentleman, Sith Marshals.” He declared loudly holding up a badge, the Imperial symbol on top of a large golden star. “Unfortunately for you though, we’re not here officially. Only way you get out now, is to kill me and then go after the lady there.”

“We ain’t got not chance agaist two Sith,” the Fat One spoke first. The others, save for the rattataki shook their heads in agreement. Scar Face lay motionless under Nye’ins foot and lightsaber. “You got them lightsabers and the Force. It ain’t fair!”

 

Xana’tos tilted his head slightly and narrowed his brow looking at the fatman. “You know, you’re right. That is unfair. Tell you what.” Making a show of it, he waved his badge in the air, then tossed it aside on the ground. He then unclipped his lightsaber, set it on the ground and kicked it aside.

 

“It could have been quick, but if you’d rather be beat to death. Who am I to argue?”

[MysticTrunks]

Part 3 - Cowboy Up

 

Nye’in rolled her eyes at the Marshals challenge, “Is that really necessary?”

 

“Nope, but I’m feeling benevolent and look at them. Four hardy strapping young men, except for the overweight fat one there, they have a chance to regain some reasonable ground in the dignity department. After all, you can’t weigh more than, what, one-forty, one-fifty? And you just took down their biggest sabbacc card.” His tone was casual, but his eyes watched as the four men shifted with unnease even as they took clumsy fighting stances.

 

“One-thirty and its muscle. Thank you.” She replied peevishly, her saber still so close to Scar Face neck that the collar was beginning to smoke and singe.

 

“You serious?” The fat one asked.

 

“No, he isn’t serious, but if we take him out we can take the woman. Boss ain’t dead yet,” Cyborg this time.

 

“Sounds about the right of it,” the Marshal responded. They had gathered in a loose circle now. The back wall of the alley to his back, the four of them in a nearly half circle, save for the place against the left wall Nye’in had their boss flat out on the ground. Smartly, they seemed to be avoiding her, knowing from her look any move at her would end his life and likely whichever was dumb enough to have made the move.

 

From his perspective, the rattataki was to his farthest right, then the cyborg, the fat one, and lastly the green faced zabrak who didn’t seem to talk much. They each gave one another nervous glances, waiting for the other to go in first. The only calm one seemed to be the rattataki, who only had eyes forward.

 

It was while he looked at the rattataki, the zabrak moved. His hand went to a hidden gun behind his back, seeing movement peripherally, Xana’tos moved. Pushing off hard with his right he was at him in two steps, his left hand stretched and connecting with the gunman's wrist just as it came up. The blaster bolt flashed past the Marshals head as he curled and ducked under the Zabraks arm, pulling the arm with him. As he stood behind the man, he brought the arm up and pinned it to his back, the blaster falling free.

 

As the blaster fell, into the Marshals open and waiting left hand, the zabrak cried out in pain as his shoulder separated with a tendon tearing rip. Reflex brought his bald and horned head back to land solidly with the Marshals forehead. Pain exploded there as a cut opened from the impact with smooth skin and not one of the many horns.

 

He still had the gun though, and one shot fired into the zabraks back. Fussing his spin in a blast of plasma and instantly cooking the surrounding organs. He fell in a heap. Paralyzed and unable to cry out as his overwhelmed system shut down from the pain.

 

As the zabrak fell he revealed the other three, charging at once. “Oh shi..” The fat one tackled him at the midsection, and ran the distance between him and the wall. His back slamming hard against it stopping the momentum and driving a croak from the Marshal on impact. The fat mans face was still down, not knowing what to do when the movement stopped. His nose shattered as the Marshals knee came up and connected solidly there.

 

The fat mans body relaxed only slightly. The butt of the gun came down on the back of his head, just wear the spine meets the base of the skull. His girth fell at his feet. Just in time for the cyborg and the rattataki reach him. The cyborg grabbed at his gun hand, pushing them arm up as the rattataki delivered a well placed left hook across his face.

 

They scuffled there, the large bulk of the fat man making getting in to close nearly impossible as he lay before the Marshal and his two gang buddies tried not to trample him. That was a mistake.

 

A right jab straight for the nose was sailing inward from the rattataki. The Marshal lurched down and kicked off with his feet to somersault over the fat man. The rattataki’s punch landed solidly against the duracrete wall with a crunch and snap of breaking bones. The cyborg, still struggling for the gun was unbalanced and yanked forward as Xana’tos hand pulled down into the somersault. His own head cracked loudly against the wall.

 

As the Marshal came out of the somersault in a crouch and turned to face them at the feet of the fat man, he tilted his head and arched one thick red brow ridge. The rattataki was almost dancing on his feet as he held his broken hand and the cyborg had knocked himself out and now lay head to head with the fat man, his *** pointing to the air above his folded body.

 

Somewhere in the scuffle he’d lost the blaster which was likely under the cyborg. Gingerly he put his hand to his own jaw, and moved it around. Bruised, but not broken. Blood from the headbutt ran down his face. For all that, he was pleased. He loved a good fist fight.

 

“Are you done?” a bored sounding Nye’in asked.

 

“Almost.” He looked at the three survives out of the four that he had just come against, “You lose boys.” Raising his his hand, he grabbed first the fatman, then the cyborg with the Force. A flick of the wrist and their heads turn a 180 degree spin with a snap and a last gurgle of air. The rattataki stopped his dance of pain and looked horrified.

 

The Marshals deep red eyes looked at him, “They were lucky. You won’t be. Yet compared to what your boss gets. Consider this the lesser of two evils.” Lifting both hands, the man raised into the air, pulled by the Force. As Xana’tos’ fingers twitched, each movement was accompanied by the wet snap of a bone. Forearms. Biceps. Femurs. Tibia. Fibula. Rib cage.

 

He was gasping for air from both the pain and his lungs inability to fully take in a breath with the pain of a broken rib cage. The Force let him go and he fell into a twisted pile of broken bones. His cries were muffled between gasps for breath. He wouldn’t last another five minutes, but those five minutes would be a world of agony of hell few men are ever cursed with enduring.

 

Nodding to Nye’in as he made his way to her, she lifted her saber, but not her boot. The Marshal crouched down next to him. Scarface nose was smashed into the ground, his eyes could only roll as he tried to make eye contact.

 

The Marshal spoke in a quiet voice, which only made it the more menacing to the man, “You have a very special talent. Force persuasion without training is a rare gift. Even more so to be strong enough to enthral a fully trained Sith. The problem with such a talent as yours, is you apparently must make eye contact for the effect to hold. For what I have planned for you though, you won’t be needing them any more.”

 

Looking up at Nye’in, he nodded at her boot. She lifted it and Xana’tos flipped him over. The first thing he did was to lock his blue eyes with those red orbs above him, “The other problem with it is, a fully trained Sith, knowing it’s coming, won’t fall into it.”

 

The blue eyes went went wide and the last thing each of them saw was the point of a yellow-gold light as her saber bit into each of them.

 

An hour later a large, man-sized, packing crate was left at the bottom of a Fury class starship. It had a hand written note tacked to the outside. In the quiet empty hanger a low muffled cry issued from within the crate.

 

“Saber Ki’riv,

 

Consider this a parting gift from your former Master. Enjoy.

 

X.”

Edited June 4, 2012 by MysticTrunks

[MysticTrunks]

Family Ties - Part 1

 

Xani’tos stifled a yawn as he sat in the kitchen area of the large mansion. Pulling his feet from the long table he stood, rubbed his face with a hand, and made his way to the pot of now cold caf on the far counter. “You must get mighty bored of this, Marshal. Sitting around, watching after us like you have nothing better to do,” came a sultry female voice from behind him.

 

He didn’t turn as he filled his cup of caf and took a long sip of the bitter and cold brew, making a slight face at it.. “No, miss, it’s just part of the job. But being bo...” Turning he saw she was wearing a form fitting shimmersilk nightgown that was both far too short at the legs and far too long at the neckline. The pause was only a second before he continued, “Bored, means no ones in danger. No one in danger means no one gets dead, and that means, I don’t have to go into the office and file reports. It’s what we call a win win scenario.”

 

She walked with purposeful slowness and grace into the kitchen her big green eyes watching him like a cat on the prowl, “Well, my daddy and I appreciate them sending you here after the death threats and the attempt on his life yesterday.”

 

He put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from closing the last foot of distance between them, “Ms. Jiksin, I’m flattered, honest... but. MMHHFF!!” Suddenly she had closed the gap pressed her mouth firmly to his and wrapped her arms over his shoulder and her fingers working their way into his hair. She spun him have way around and pinned herself between the kitchen counter and himself. Pulling his head back he looked at her, faces only inches apart now.

 

“I’d like to show you my appreciation Marshal.” That much he could feel in the Force, a swarm of emotions and wants was flooding into it. In his younger days he would have gone along and appreciated her appreciation. Now though, he furrowed his brow, something catching his eye far out the window beyond the large lawn on one of the many side roads around the property.

 

Taking his eyes off the place over her shoulder and out the window he met her lusty gaze, “Ms. Jiksin..”

 

“Call me Trini,” she cut in.

 

“Right... Trini.” He put his hands on her slender shoulders, making space as he spoke, “You and your family are what call a code P.I.T.A operation. Now as such, as much as I’d... love, to take you on your offer, I got a job to do. Your safety and that of your father, the moff, are too important. If we lose a P.I.T.A. level imperial like yourselves well, it just wouldn’t do.” His tone was level and firm but placating, also, he touched her mind in the Force, pushing the understanding home.

 

She pouted, her lip sticking out just so. “Now, I have to go check on something... Pardon me, Trini.” With that, he made his way back door. Putting his finger to the earpiece, signaling the surveillance team watching the house from the outside.

 

“A P.I.T.A operation?” came a male voice through his comlink earpiece. It was Travers, a non force using Marshal, as many of them were, that had just listened to the entire conversation, “I’ve never heard of that operational code before.”

 

Xani’tos made his way across the large lawn. The mansion was placed upon a large hill and the yard around went on for a good twenty-five meters from it around the perimeter. The area itself had many such mansions and a dozen off roads off the main road that passed through it. Off handedly he replied to Travers inquiry, “She’s a code Pain In The ***.”

 

The Marshal winced at the sudden burst of laughter that crackled into his ear. “Well, you got a stronger will than me Xan, half the Empire would give a half year's pay to do all kind of na …”

 

“You done Travers?” He cut him off, “I’m going to check on something, stay online, and for the love of the Force, man, get yourself a woman. The desperation in the Force is almost enough to bring a grown man to tears.” Coming to a hedge, he pushed on the Force, making a small tunnel in an instant peep hole to the other wide.

 

“Ouch Marshal, I’m wounded.” Travers came back, “Going silent, all clear inside the property still.”

 

There was covered hover car running behind a large dumpster. Fully tint on the windows and sitting just so that the line of sight from the drivers seat would go just over the dumpster, the hedge and make the back side of the mansion available for viewing.

 

An hour and a half went by like that. The only sound that of his own breath and the only movement, that of the steam from his breath in the chilly night air on Dubrillion. Then the drivers side door opened and a lone occupant stepped out holding a long barreled sniper rifle. He stood, watching the house through a pair of macro binoculars. Xani’tos turned his head and using the Force to enhance his vision just enough, could not detect any movement through the window the bedroom above the kitchen. The moffs main sleeping chamber.

 

The sniper apparently couldn’t either, he leaned the rifle against the car and tossed the binoculars on the seat. In no hurry he made his way around to the dumpster and there was the distinct sound of a zipper. The Marshal was up and over the hedge in a single Force aided leap as a wet stream began to drum against the dumpster, hiding the sound of the landing.

The sniper froze as a snap his from his right and the sudden appearance of a red/white lightsaber blade inches from his open fly. His hands went up slowly. “I know it’s really cold and being on a stakeout is probably one of the more boring aspects of wet work, but you know, that’s just part of the job. You shouldn’t leave your cars engine on and staying in one place for hours, tends to make you look suspicious.”

 

An indignant snort replied, “Turn around, keep your hands up.” The blade moved away as the Marshal too one step back and deactivated it, holding the saber between them as if holding him at gunpoint. A flick of the activation switch, and the blade would impale him on ignition.

 

“You might if I put it away?” The sniper graveled as he asked.

 

“I’d take it as a kindness to both of us if you did. Who sent you?”

 

“I was sent by the Hut...” WHACK! In a smooth motion the saber hilt turned, came forward, and connected with the Snipers forehead. By the time he stopped cursing, the hilt was pointed at his head now.

 

“Don’t lie to me. It makes me cranky and I’m do damned tire and the caf was to damn sour to put up with this stang for long. I’ll ask you again, who sent you?”

 

He pushed on the man through the Force. A mind trick wouldn’t work on a person like this, but enhancing emotions could give just enough edge to tip him over the line. The struggle on his face proved it. Finally he said in a slow even tone of defeat, “Trini Jiksin. The moffs daughter.”

Edited July 8, 2012 by MysticTrunks

[MysticTrunks]

(Took awhile to finish this one. Dunno why, but here it is)

 

Family Ties - Part 2

 

His earpiece whistled one long note before Travers spoke, “Xani’tos, if that’s true...”

 

“Yep, I know.” The butt of the lightsaber hilt thudded against the snipers temple and he collapsed. “Send someone to pick up the trash out here by the dumpster,” he said as he kneeled down and put the plasti-cuffs on the man, pulling the tab to tighten them.

 

“Roger that, clean up is on its way. What are you going to do?”

 

Standing, Xani’tos stretched his back and looked up at the large house with his new suspect. “I’m going fishing.”

 

Trini Jiksin stood in the hallway, just outside of her father bedroom she could hear him in there, pacing with worry even though the lights were out. That idiot sniper she hired should have fired by now. He had a thermal scope as well as night vision, the plan was simple and yet for some reason he was taking his time. Yet for all her annoyance at the hire gunman she felt nothing else, at least nothing that registered in the Force.

 

“Evening Ms. Jikson, everything alright?” Came the voice from behind her towards the stairs. She didn’t start or jump, to his eyes, she didn’t even blink as she turned to face him.

 

“Not at all Marshal, just a daughter worried about her father and a woman feeling a little scorned at rejection.” A coy smile played on her cherry red lips, “I was just going to see if daddy was okay. I think I heard him pacing, he does that most nights.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed that. He must do that a lot of nights. Being a Grand Moff and all, he has to have a lot on his mind when it comes to running his space of the Empire. Not to mention, worrying about his daughter, looking the way that she does,” he said with his best effort at an easy and casual tone.

 

“Yes, I suppose he does. Though apparently he has nothing to worry about when it comes to his daughter making advances on one of the Empires Sith Marshals. Not many men that haven’t been married ever turn down an offer like that, and even then, not all the married ones do.” Crossing her arms under her breasts and sticking one side of her hip out and leaning against a hallway table, showing its flair of curve as she took on the askew pose only women seem to pull off.

 

“Well, that’s where you got me. Already been married, have the scars to prove it.” Gesturing to the twin scars that crossed his eye horizontally and vertically under his chin length black hair. “You tend to be more wary of women after your ex comes at you with a lightsaber that nearly dissects your brain while it’s still in your head. Don’t take it personally.”

 

By now, he was almost straining in the Force to feel for her. She was there, her life energy was clearly standing before him just as her fathers was in the room next to them. But where they differed was the utter void of emotion and lack of anything resembling a sentient being. Her father by comparison was a rage of emotions that flooded the Force. In all his years, he’d not felt something so... cold.

 

Crossing his arms over his chest he watched her closely, “I’m curious though.” She arched a brow in answer to continue, “Was the fact that he does pace as he is no so often, the reason you told that sniper outside the perfect position and to wait until this hour to take your father out when he began his pacing?”

 

She only smiled. There was no shock of discovery or even indignation at the charge in her sense. “Really, Marshal. Is that what you came up here to ask me?” That was when he did feel something, it came in the form of red hot pain piercing the lower part of his side as a blaster bolt took him.

 

The shock of it almost got him killed, if not for the constant training and muscle memory of his body taking over. There had been no sign of intent to kill or harm, just her hand pulling the blaster from behind a potted plant on that hallway table she’d leaned against and her finger pulling the trigger. No emotion, nothing to resonate in the Force and warn him to pull his lightsaber. The woman was simply a monster.

 

The reflexes came to life though, his lightsaber in his hand, pulled by instinct in the Force to it from his belt where his arms crossed and intuition and the sense of energy deflected the next two blaster bolts. One into the door, the other hitting her squarely in the neck.

 

Xani’tos fell to one knee, saber in one hand, the left hand clutching the wound in his right side. It was then he did feel something from the falling female form as she dropped the blaster to clutch at her throat. Animal savagery.

 

The rest was was a blur of confusing images and noise until he could get his own shock under control. Not the shock of being shot, he’d been there before and as a Sith, pain was just something to be ignored until it was time to deal with it. It was the shock of being caught unaware that had blurred in his mind.

 

Jedi and Sith alike, even base instinctual animals feel something. Jedi for all their calm, still feel, they just cover it. Sith used it as a power source and even animals felt the thrill of the hunt and the kill or the fear of being hunted. This woman, the daughter of a backwater Grand Moff that barely registered on the top one hundred list of important Moffs, this Trini Jikson had gained a level of apathy and emotional emptiness that no Force user he’d met had ever achieved. That void, had not registered with in the Force and it had almost cost him his life.

 

The blur that followed was started with the Grand Moff coming out of his room at the shots fired and he was still craddling his daughter in his lap when Xani’tos came around and saw the rest of the Marshals and support team around them.

 

Travers was there, helping him to his feet, “What happened boss? How’d she get the drop on ya?”

 

“That’s a bigger question than you know, Travers.” Was the only reply he received in response.